Every repost is a repost repost repost. By Charshy. -- WHY YES I HAVE BEEN DYING TO USE THAT AS A TITLE FOR SOMETHING. Anyway. One-shot Medic/Spy smut. Based off my other fic, Chances, but not compulsory for reading delicious porns. Enjoy. <3 ---- “Are you sure you’re not hurting anywhere,†Medic asked, a deep frown lining his face as he eyed up his patient, his lips slightly pursed. “As if I could hide it from you,†the retort came warmly, and Medic had to concede the man had a point, as he slid gracefully from the hospital bed. “See.†“Very well,†Medic answered, and scribbled a note of his discharge onto the paper of his clipboard, before putting it down on the field hospital table. Spy smiled, pleased to be allowed to leave at last. There had been a number of skirmishes in the weeks since joining RED, and he had been unfortunate enough to have been on the receiving end of some severe punishment: a few broken ribs, fractured clavicle, and numerous cuts and bruises. Predictably, his former team hadn’t taken too kindly to his switch. The marks had now faded, and the stitches from various operations had been removed. Medic was good at what he did. It had been strange in the hospital. When working, Medic’s first and only concern was healing his patient. It made sense, he supposed, to cope with seeing blood and guts of your friends around you, but it had made the hospital stay somewhat dull: Medic insisted on letting his injuries heal to their fullest, so had put any hopes of horseplay out of his head at once. “You’re so professional, mon chèri,†Spy teased, snaking his arms around the other man’s waist. “But I would like my clothes, if you don’t mind.†He was wearing a hospital gown, but it was so thin he may as well have been naked. Medic cleared his throat. “On the back of that chair, Spy,†he said, firmly. Spy rolled his eyes, and fetched his clothes, pulling them on. Medic didn’t turn around, scribbling onto his documents, finishing his patient report no doubt. The suit was freshly-pressed, and not a single bloodstain or tear, and it felt good to put it on, right down to the tie. His mask, of course, had remained on at all times. The balaclava was no longer navy blue, but he valued it for its function. It kept him alive. Medic’s pen dropped to the desk and he finally turned around, although by now Spy was fastening his shoes. “It’s good to see you like yourself,†Medic said, smiling slightly. Spy nodded. It couldn’t have been easy, he realised suddenly, for Medic to have been the one to fix him up, seeing him weak and battered. So as he came over, he swooped to plant the Medic an unexpected kiss, backing him up against the table. “Not here,†Medic chided, turning his face evasively when Spy tried to continue, his lips meeting his cheek instead. “Let me take you back to your room.†That sounded good to Spy. The medical room was a long way, giving them plenty of opportunity to talk enroute, leaving much more time for other things. Spy was aware Medic had a busy schedule: he wasn’t the only one that had been injured, and the others required checking up on. “I feel like a new man,†Spy declared as they walked, side-by-side. “Thank you, docteur.†Medic waved a hand dismissively to say it was nothing. “You were a good patient.†A troubled look fell across his face. Spy frowned. “What is it?†Medic looked hesitant. “You tolerated the pain so well. I thought maybe you had lost feeling, but your reflexes were all there when I worked on you.†He said carefully, “Is that not the worst you’ve been through?†Spy shrugged. “I’m a Spy. We are trained to resist torture. And I have seen my fair share of hospital beds.†He continued quickly, “But don’t be worried. I learn from my mistakes. That was the first in a long time, and I would like to make it the last.†Medic nodded, but Spy sensed that something else was eating at him, but he seemed to be thinking. He opted not to interrupt. Medic had never withheld anything from him so far, and he trusted the man. He assumed that the reverse was true, or hoped so, because he had yet to win the confidence of the rest of the team, and that he could understand. They reached the door in silence, and Spy was glad to see his mended cigarette case waiting for him on the desk… damn, it had been a while since he’d had one of those… “No,†Medic said sternly. “You’re not having them yet.†Spy turned to him, annoyed at being bossed about, but noticed Medic seemed to regret his words. It was unlike him to speak thoughtlessly. “Spy,†Medic said finally, “I had a question. I… am not sure if it appropriate to ask.†“Ask it,†Spy said at once, wanting to know what weighed on the doctor’s mind. “Words won’t hurt me.†“… Would you ever let me remove that mask?†Spy blinked. He hadn’t expected that question. “My mask?†“I’ve seen all of you, I know all of you except your face. I don’t know what you look like,†Medic said, a little sadly. “I can’t help but wonder. Will that always be?†Spy sighed, understanding. Not once had he let anyone see him without his mask, not even his lover. “My mask preserves my identity,†Spy explained, “And until I leave service, it has to remain secret… if I ever want to leave service, that is. Otherwise, I am a target, forever hunted.†He paused, trying to put his thoughts into words. “I know that is a long time away. For now, my mask is my face, Medic.†Medic nodded, and Spy looked at him imploringly. “I will give you anything else I have. My identity, too, when I retire. Until then…†“I understand.†Medic put a hand on his shoulder. “I thought as much, but it does fascinate me, wondering what you really look like.†He smiled a bit. “But yes. I accept this. And…†“And?†Medic looked a little embarrassed. “Well, I can’t say I don’t find it… a little kinky.†Spy’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh, kinky?†He said, intrigued by this little titbit of information. “Now I am curious… what else should I know?†Medic laughed as Spy pulled his tie loose, wrapping it around his finger, holding it hostage. “Well, not seeing your face, I have to use some imagination –†“What else do you imagine,†Spy purred, already having several images conjured up in his mind, and deciding on a method of loosening the other man’s tongue… using his own, against his neck. “Mm, well…†Spy could feel the heat radiating from the other man on this topic. “Nothing extreme… being… restrained, a little…†“Perhaps we should experiment,†Spy murmured against his neck, beginning to loosen the tie in his hands. “Perhaps we should,†Medic agreed in a deep sigh, melting into the attention, secretly thrilled at the possibilities. “Then you want to know what I’d like?†Spy murmured up against his ear, nibbling at the lobe. “Mm…?†Spy unhooked his own tie, and wrapped around Medic’s wrists suggestively. “To try this right now.†Medic nodded fervently, hypnotised by the wicked sparks of the other man’s eyes. “Ja,†he whispered, face tilting upwards as Spy began relinquishing him of his clothes, the better to feel his fingers roam over his bared skin. He was led firmly to the bed, where his boots were yanked from him, and he had to repress the smile as Spy landed backwards for his efforts. Spy dived on his jodhpurs at once, pulling them and his underwear down in one swift move, freeing him from the layers of tight fabric. He was getting harder with the thought of what might be next, his cock resting against his hip, but beginning to graze his stomach. Gazing upward from where he lay, Medic caught sight of two colours, and realised Spy was still holding their ties in one gloved hand. “Trés beau,†Spy murmured throatily, admiring the view from where he stood, twirling the ties idly between his fingers. “And all mine.†With that, he grabbed Medic’s arms, joining them at the wrist, before taking the doctor’s own tie and tying his hands together. He grinned at his handiwork as Medic tried to move them, without success. He kissed Medic hard, before pushing him down onto the bed, lying down in front of him. A thrill ran down his spine, to become a sharp ache between his legs as Medic obediently raised his arms above his head, inviting him to ravish and worship. Spy’s freshly-pressed suit became a crumpled mass on the floor as he hastily made to do so. Medic’s eyes followed appreciatively as Spy joined him on the bed, sliding between his legs and leaning over him for a deep, appreciative kiss. “Mm,†Medic murmured as their skin brushed, an almost electrical charge setting his nerves alight. His hips raised slightly, but Spy pushed them back down, grinning. “Not yet, mon chèri.†He rested on his forearms, leaning into the crook of the doctor’s neck, feeling the traces of stubble prickle against his lips, before kissing and biting, finding that nice, tender spot near his shoulder that made the doctor’s breath become faster and shallower. His hands, meanwhile, fluttered his tie over his skin – he still held it – as they ran over his chest and stomach. Spy languidly worked his way down past his collarbone, leaving little rose marks where he bit and sucked at the skin whilst Medic’s breaths came in small gasps. “Is good… m-more…†Spy acted as though he did not hear, and continued his lazy trail, although he could not resist taking a hard nipple between his teeth, and flicking the tip of his tongue over the sensitive skin. Medic twitched, a soft whimper coming from him. Spy liked that sound, and repeated the process for the other nipple, trying not to smirk as he felt the stomach muscles beneath him tighten. His fingers liked the feel of the tense skin, trailing them lower, and lower… “Mm,†Spy commented, as Medic attempted to raise his hips towards his hands. “After something?†“Anything. Do what you want with me,†Medic murmured feverishly, his eyes closed, his glasses fogged. Spy growled softly, finding the words irresistible. “Saying something like that… you ask for trouble.†“I trust you.†Spy’s jaw nearly dropped, but Medic’s eyes were closed, so there was no sign of lost composure. When… had he ever… been told he could be trusted, by anyone? Something as special, as rare as that, put all thoughts out of his head of the slow, sensual torture he had been planning to put Medic through. “Alright,†Spy answered, his voice surprisingly soft, as an idea formed in what remained of his rational mind, sliding back up the length of Medic’s body, and plucking his glasses from his face. Medic’s eyes opened hazily, but Spy raised his tie over them, and turned it into a blindfold, tying it tightly, more so than he had done the wrists. “Can you see anything?†“Nein.†Medic wondered what Spy was up to, and hoped he wasn’t going to take this too far, when he heard Spy move, and something soft hit the floor. He didn’t get time to wonder what it was, as he was kissed, deeply and sweetly… He realised with a jolt something was different. Skin. Warm, flushed skin of his chin and nose pressed against him. “You-†Medic exclaimed, in the moment he should’ve taken for air. “Mm-hm,†Spy answered, and Medic drew him in with his arms, his bound hands useful for this task, so as better to feel him. He could feel light stubble, not as harsh as his, soft skin, slightly damp with perspiration. He explored his face with his lips like a blind man would Braille with fingertips. His hands shook slightly as his curiosity was fuelled, pushing Spy down slightly, so his hands could find his hair. He let his fingertips slide into it, not able to trace the scalp with his bound hands… the hair was thick and soft; he wondered what colour it was. Spy busied himself meanwhile by kissing and biting his skin… it was just too much to stand. “Spy,†Medic breathed, writhing until Spy’s weight left his chest. He turned himself over with a little effort, resting onto his elbows. “Please…†“Oui,†Spy whispered, leaning over him, running his hands down to the other man’s hips, before kissing his nape, trailing his lips down his spine. Medic moaned, still finding the feel of skin and stubble instead of fabric a delicious new sensation. Until Spy upped the ante, his hands grasping his ass, and suddenly his tongue dipped below his tailbone. “Ah-!†Medic shuddered, a small part of him thinking of medical hygiene and the larger part thinking don’t stop, oh god, more… or was he actually saying it aloud? Spy’s tongue was ruthless and working against him harder, until he began to rock back slightly, wanting more, deeper and harder… “bumsen Sie mich jetzt…!†No translation was needed. A tone like that had Spy obeying at once, grabbing the lubricant from its bedside home and slicking himself quickly, holding onto his lover’s back with one hand, whilst guiding with the other, pressing against him until the slightest give, easing inside. “… de merde!†Spy swore, as Medic let him slide in easily, right to the hilt. “Medic…†“Yes,†Medic moaned, pressing his hips back, desperately. With his eyesight gone, it seemed as though his other senses were working overtime to compensate. Spy shivered at the push, and didn’t hesitate to respond, riding hard and fast as Medic wanted it, leaning over his back until they slid to almost their stomachs, sweat-slick and grinding together. Medic cried out as his cock dragged against the bedsheets, adding a rough dimension to their play, but Spy took it in hand, stroking him firmly, making the other man swear and gasp and moan. “God… mon chèri,†Spy moaned against his back, kissing away droplets of sweat. When Medic’s hips began to rock erratically, Spy tried to keep them both in check, but the frantic pace was too much for him as well. “Spy!†Medic cried, and that note of desperation drove Spy to give it his all, faster, harder, wanting him to come first… Medic’s back arched beautifully, and he came into his hand forcefully, his body spasming with the intensity of his orgasm. It was enough to make Spy lose his mind, and with a shudder he spilled deep inside, feeling stunned and satisfied. It took few moments for them to recover breath, disengaging to wrap around each other in a satisfied heap. Spy smiled as Medic nuzzled and kissed at his face lazily, and helped him out by untying his wrists, and soothing them with his fingers. Medic sighed at having his hands free, reaching for the blindfold, but was stopped at once. “Un moment.â€
Spy pulled his mask back on reluctantly, adjusting it so it sat comfortably, before removing his tie from Medic’s face. “Mm,†Medic murmured, looking Spy over, admiring all he’d missed, whilst Spy just smiled, and let himself be examined by the discerning doctor’s eyes. “Now, mein engel,†Medic said, in an ominous tone of voice, “My turn to play, yes?†Spy blinked. “Don’t you have rounds to do?†“Nein.†Medic grinned like a shark. “You require an additional muscular therapy session before I can discharge you. It is on your record.†“Muscular therapy…?†“It will take a few hours, at least,†Medic stated, pleased, putting his glasses back on. Not so professional after all. Spy was impressed. “So what can I do for you, mein Spy?†Medic asked, smiling. “Try to do what you couldn’t do during my operations, docteur,†Spy suggested, waiting for the little lines of confusion to appear in Medic’s face before finishing, “Make me scream.†---- THE END!1111
Every repost is a repost repost repost. Another one by Charshy. -- Inspired by the great Medic-huffing thread in /dis/, with thanks to WTFTastic and Drink Me for beta. <3 Decided to take another angle on the twisted-doctor past from the official Medic profile. I put it in /afic/ for the bloodiness of it. Enjoy. --- War Wounds --- For a moment there was just the low rumble of collapsing stone and brick, before the familiar wailing began – not that of the sirens, they'd long become background noise – but the screams, a blend of children, men, women; the injured, the healthy, the dying – "Son, come on," his father was saying, his voice strained. He was but a doctor, tiny little surgery on the far side of town, but he had vowed to try and help as he could; the hospital could not handle all the injured. At first, the teenage son had just been bandaging, reassuring the wounded. "Only handle the minor injuries", he had been told. But as the war had stretched on, as the bombings became more frequent and fierce, what constituted a minor wound had changed. Carrying a rattling bucket of needles and anaesthetic, the young man moved over the rubble where people were screaming, trying to pull the conscious and unconscious alike from the wreckage. He knew what to do by now, his parents scattering to help assess what they could immediately treat. He had the first body deposited at his feet by his mother – stronger than she looked. She used to be a doctor until the regime forced her from the family business – in theory at least. She still assisted his father. He prepared the needle. His hands no longer shook from practice, finding the vein with efficiency and delivering the local anaesthetic, the small mercy he could offer the groaning man until surgeons could do anything for his obviously broken, half-crushed leg. He never looked long at their faces; he was always scared of what he might see, ever since the one time he'd had to help bandage the wounds of one of his ex-girlfriends. He didn't do a lot of dating, and that suited him fine anyway; he didn't care much for girls. But in those times, it was best to look like you did, before questions were raised... questions that the young man already knew the answer to. But the screaming still went on all around, his parents shouting to each other, trying to help as many as they could as people brought them whoever they had rescued. So much screaming. "Doctor!" Everyone made that mistake. He wasn't a doctor. His family were, he was just trying to scrape through college – "Doctor, please!" He couldn't cry, not now. They couldn't help everybody... some of the screams had died down now, making actual voices sound clearer. "Doctor!" Closer, no longer statistics but individuals – "Doctor!" He was shaken, eyes flinging open, covered in a sheen of sweat, being rocked by one huge hand. He was shaking himself. "Doctor," came the soft, rich voice from beside him. The hand stroked along his side, in a reassuring fashion, but it all played out before his eyes, even though he was awake. "Is okay Doctor," Heavy was mumbling to him. "I am here with you." Medic couldn't reply, couldn't stop shivering, trying to fight the memories flooding back. He couldn't stop them, couldn't stop remembering. It was today's battle, he knew it was, because it reminded him when – - "hold him still, son," his father had said gravely, looking very pale and ill. The young man did so, silently, observing the destroyed arm trapped under the archstones of what had been an historical building, the man still attached to it shaking and struggling, and watched his father use the only thing that was to hand to pull him from the wreckage, before the whole thing came down on top of them – He'd raised the saw, snatched up from a spilled builder's toolbox, and then the screaming began, the blood, and then the /silence/ as the man passed out limp in his arms. He couldn't look away, appalled and fascinated by the blood and flesh staining the jagged teeth of the saw as his father dropped it, bandaging the stump with trembling hands. The young Medic had been too shaken to help the other victims. He couldn't move, he just stared, still kneeling, at the blood, flecks across his face and on his hands, like red gloves as he held the saw, like some twisted trophy. He'd kept it. It had a strange power, igniting some fascination in him every time he looked at it. It hurt but it had helped to heal. Pain and suffering were prerequisites to be healed, as was the infliction of it – He was increasingly independent at his age, not yet in his twenties but still willing to help his parents in anyway he could; they were good people. Good people were also under the suspicions of their local Helfer, for harbouring "undesirables", or whatever spin the Party fancied to put on it. People like /him/, for instance. He was smart enough to toe the line and suffer being alone to stay alive. He had been terrified of the man. All it took was a breath out of line and he might be reported to someone much higher, taken away like the others he'd heard about. He didn't keep a single picture, not a single line of incriminating writing. He could swear the man could see right through him, and was just waiting for him to put a foot wrong. Except on that day, when the patient dumped at his feet was the Helfer himself. All that power meant nothing when buildings fell around you. He was conscious, and angry, holding himself together well. "For god's sakes, boy," he said, snappy from pain, wincing, "do something. I'm no use to anyone like this." Medic nodded quietly, his face pale and serious as he calmly loaded a needle, measuring the clear fluid. He was much calmer now than he had ever been in the previous bombings. He'd seen children die, seen his parents cry over a friend, a relative that couldn't be saved, seen to the last moments of those dying, who waited for beds in the hospital – "Thank you," the officer said gruffly, as the needle was withdrawn from his skin. "How long will it take...?" "Not long," was the simple answer. He had others to help, but he soon returned to study the dead man. The most imposing figure in his life, dead. A little mix of this and that in the drugs he had been given to administer at his discretion. The man deserved it. He wished it had been more painful. But this way, there were no questions, he was just another victim of the disaster. After that, it was easy to offer mercy to those beyond help. He was not a doctor, thus he was not bound by the same morals of his parents. He let people drift into sleep, perfecting his mixture, for silent, quiet death. Healing was futile, he realised that now. People broke too easily. He could save them for today, if he could, but it seemed like death was a mercy for most of them. He couldn't take it, how, how could he fix this, make it so he didn't have to let good people die? He couldn't stand to see anymore dead... "Doctor," Heavy said, more loudly, driving him from his terror for a second, he realised he was wrapped tightly in his arms. He was shaking so badly, then, that the other man was trying to comfort him - Oh god, comfort. The day it was taken from him forever – September 12, 1944. The bombs fell, his parents had rushed to the scene, whilst he was left to gather up all the materials he could to support them. And then he'd heard the explosions, louder than ever, as he screamed for his parents, watching as dust and rubble littered the streets beyond. No, oh god no, not them – he'd let everyone else go, but they were the only people left that mattered, the only constants in his life. He ran out into the destruction – what did life matter now, what did he have left – his parents were dead! He pulled into the rubble, merely one of the screaming masses now, beyond reason. Two good people, two loving parents, both of them, gone, gone forever... Tears ran down his dusty face leaving silty streaks. He never would forget seeing them, skin torn from bone, as though twisted examples of the human musculature diagrams adorning his father's office. He hugged them, his clothes and arms stained with their mingled blood, the last human warmth leaving them as he sobbed. No one could help him. He couldn't even get up to help others move the debris, like he had always done. He was utterly alone. He was incoherent, letting out years and years of torment in his tears. Why did the good people die? The only way he'd seen any evil be punished was by his own hands. No, why couldn't he save them? His parents had been doctors. What good had healing done them? They were dead! What was the point? His fingers snared into his hair, pulling it and grasping into his scalp. "Medic, stop..." Heavy's enormous hands curled around his wrists, gently pulling them away so he couldn't hurt himself. "H-Heavy..." he moaned in agony, trying to keep himself together. He needed to forget, he didn't want to remember! It was why he was there at all. How he had created the medigun. After his parents had died, he had done the one thing, taken up the one goal to focus, to keep what shred of sanity he had left: he would make people /indestructible/, so they could not be killed. He couldn't save his parents. He might save others. He falsified his records, using his father's identity to secure his title, officially a doctor in the state's eyes. After that day, there were no shortage of test subjects – aware or not – in which to enhance and perfect pure death, as well as achieve the impossible. The former was a beautiful poison – undetectable, and could kill or bring to the brink of death depending how much he injected into a likely vein. He found it was beautiful, bringing death, so much easier, hurt so much less than keeping them alive... His research went unnoticed – thankfully, because he heard rumours here and there where the research of other doctors went. He wanted to /help/ people, just... not through traditional methods. Healing didn't work. It was only temporary. People died. He was starting to find something, breaking through. He had made a rudimentary device, finding his personal chemical blend was best inhaled, creating a distributing mist. He added colorant to measure the dosage. He intended to bring them immortality, eventually, but for now, invulnerability. There were a few... accidents. But those people would have died anyway. He /tried/ to save them. Tried to give them the power to be free of pain. When he failed... a strong dose from his syringe would let them be free of /everything/. The war ended. No more tests or trials, and as soon as he was able he escaped to the U.S.A. There was nothing left for him back in his war torn city. He wanted to never go near it again. He worked practices under his father's name, travelling place to place in search of solace. He still worked on his invention, refining it, harnessing its power, getting greater access to more varieties of drugs in each station. Until RED tracked him down. Their sources had been good, to find out about a young man who performed miracles in Stuttgart, and to know exactly what he had made. They offered money, the facilities he needed, and all the test subjects he could want should he capture or kill their rival organisation members. He had hesitated at the thought of seeing death again, but at the same time his hands trembled... ... he would be controlling death itself. Syringes into a gun, they suggested, let their enemies die in silence, cause of death unknown on the autopsy report. With their funding and full backing, let him tweak his medical formulae. Maybe they could offer a more effective distribution method... some sort of fuelpack and a larger spray. He didn't know or care for the side-effects of his "medigun", as RED dubbed it. What did he care for these people, they volunteered to be part of a war. They knew they might be casualties. He would keep them alive just long enough to be useful, and that was all RED seemed to require. He was allowed whatever weapons necessary to defend himself. He knew exactly what he wanted to use. It had been carefully packed in all his travels. He kept the saw blade polished to a mirror sheen, but he knew – he knew it could carve flesh and bones. It reminded him of his /purpose/. Soon enough in RED he achieved his dream – creating an invulnerable state. It had been a tricky formula, but he had done it. The ingredients had to be pressurised at just the right temperature, so it was limited in scope. But he could only imagine what he could achieve if he kept practising, kept experimenting, kept going until – "Easy, ssssh," Heavy was saying, in the here and now, calming him down with his embrace, nuzzling his neck. "I'm here. Forever for my doctor." Medic choked back a sob, overcome with shame. He'd used it countless times to keep the other man alive, but what kind of life might he be left with? How long would Heavy's system be able to take the horrific cocktail of drugs for? How could he ever tell him what he had done? He was too scared to begin researching the side-effects. He was scared to know what damage he had wrought, knowing he was destroying the most precious thing he had. His reason to live, and his reason to heal. And that, more than the memories, was the true nightmare.
I just found these, and I love them. Perfectly written, why doesn't this have more notes?