Or, Respawn Glitches: More Likely Than You Think. False memories, gene therapy, and you. ...How 'bout I genderswap your shit?! ==================== Prologue: ---------- "I'm a shootin' star, y'all! Don't stop me! I'm movin' so fast, time is dilatin'!" The RED Demoman could hear the varmint and his ridiculous sniggering coming from a mile away. He'd just come off of respawn after a pretty long wait time. He felt rather bilious, to put it kindly, and it'd been a while since he'd gotten any Scrumpy down his gullet. He was getting dominated left and right, and for that matter, so was everyone else on his team. He'd had it with that little runt. He pressed his back to the wall and slid towards the corner, peeked around the doorframe to look outside. The little idiot was legging it right down the center field like a wide receiver rushing after a forward pass, hustling across the bridge--TROMP TROMP TROMP! His footsteps were loud, fast--TROMP TROMP TROMP! They rattled his brain. The Demoman squeezed off a few grenades at the laddie, cackling. "Eat potassium chloride, ya wee screamin' bairn!" "Ahuh-huh-huh," the BLU Scout laughed, goofily drawing out his trusty Sandman, raising it high above his cap. "Hey batter batter, swing!" He took a few steps back, lining up his aim. "BOING!" The bat swung true, but the sound was more like a PING! as one of the grenades made like a pop fly and clattered up into the RED fortress sniper balcony. It detonated. The RED Sniper on board hardly had time to grab his hat and dive for cover when his body flew apart in an incendiary ball of flame and viscera. All that was the RED Sniper splattered the dirt, and stuck to the BLU Scout's treads as he darted into the base to grab their intel. The Administrator sat before her command station, the room darkened save for the light from a wall of monitors flickering a live feed of the carnage at 2Fort. She sat in her tall, leather chair, hair coiffed expertly, thin arms crossed tightly over her chest. She was not amused. The BLU team was gaining traction. They had captured a lot of territory and stolen quite a bit of intelligence from the REDs as of late. Nothing much had changed, perhaps it was a stroke of luck. Perhaps they were the better men, after all, or maybe the REDs just needed some incentive, a morale-boost of sorts. "We need a game changer, Miss Pauling," said the Administrator, reaching for a long, slim cigarette. The younger woman stepped out from the shadows, clutching a clipboard. She blinked behind her cokebottle glasses. "The BLU team has the advantage. They need a handicap." The Administrator's lips twitched. Miss Pauling dutifully stepped up and lit the cigarette for her boss, whose eyes, small, penetrating, swiveled up to pierce her with a harsh stare. "And what, exactly, is your proposal? More liquor? Feh." The Administrator leaned back, inhaling, and smoothing her hands down her skirt. She crossed her skinny legs. "Whores, perhaps?" "Um," said Miss Pauling. She blushed crimson. It was cute. It gave the Administrator a rather interesting idea. "Get the egghead department on the line, Miss Pauling." Miss Pauling stepped aside and returned with the phone, holding it and dialing, the receiver cradled on her shoulder. She listened for the ring and handed the receiver to the Administrator when she heard the lead technician pick up. "We need to run a few stress simulations. Yes. We'll start with the BLU Sniper. Make him a female." She scowled, and Miss Pauling's gut twisted anxiously. "I don't care. Be creative." There was a pause. She studied her nails. "No, no, hold them up in the next respawn and make something up." She took a long drag that decimated her cigarette as she listened. "Don't bore me with your concerns," she hissed, and modulated her voice into a sweeter one as smoke poured from her nostrils, "just make it happen." =================== Concrit welcome, first time poster, but this is just a quick intro to set the backstory for upcoming fleshy bits.
Unfair Advantage Friendly Fire: BLU Sniper x BLU ??? Part 1 ==================== The world below was a dusty swirl of gunfire and shouting. Perched in her nest, high above the throng, the BLU Sniper sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her wrist, happy to be above it all. She'd been sitting on a crate for a few hours, peering through the scope down on the battlefield, deeply invested in her work and paying no mind to the dull aching pain in her ass as it fell asleep, the intense headache and lingering nausea of a bad respawn that morning, and the cramped heat of the nest, crushing her. She was mindful of the time limit, hearing the haggard voice of the Announcer, dully, as it rang through the battlements. She caught the glimmer of an enemy Spy cloaking as he approached her Engineer's turrets. She blinked, taking a deep breath, and allowing her scope to charge. The wind was picking up, she could see it in the flapping of a pennant on a nearby building, and considered it in calculating her line of sight. She couldn't see the Spy, exactly, but she could figure out the shimmering lines of his cloaked silhouette, and she made a guess for it. She took the shot. The Spy screamed, his cloak falling away as his body swung, blood spraying from the wound in his shoulder. His face was screwed up, in obvious pain and fury. Her Engineer's back was turned as he worriedly began working on a busted dispenser. He was blissfully unaware. The thunderous report of her rifle was just chaff amongst all the noise of battle. The enemy wasn't down, he clutched his shoulder and raised his balisong, shuffling the remaining few yards towards the laborer's back, a billboard with "STAB ME" written all over it. "Hold still ya bloody spook," she murmured, ejecting the cartridge quickly, her movements trained. Her fingers moved with ease, chambering the next round without having taken her eye from the scope. She exhaled, emptying her lungs, urging herself forward in her seat, taking aim...click. She squeezed the trigger. The Engineer seemed startled when he looked back to see the Spy slumping backwards. He looked up in her direction, vaguely. He waved, thanks pardner. The Sniper shook her head, finally taking a breath, lifting her hat enough to swipe sticky, damp hair off her forehead. She got up to stretch her legs, and propped one boot up on a nearby crate, rinsing a few satisfying snaps out of her crunched spine. The Sniper heaved a sigh and pulled a bandana from her pocket. She used it, in vain, to sop up some sweat from her neck. It normally wasn't her style to pick off the enemy shot by shot. In sporting leisure time she'd juggle a can in the air, but it didn't suit her taste to juggle a human, to paw at him, to draw that agony out. Having been shot a few times, well, numerous times, now that she'd been employed by BLU for a while, she knew all too well what it felt like. On one mission, she'd been gunned down, sheared by the minigun of an ubered Heavy, and she'd lain gutshot in the sun for a few minutes, frying, until she finally bled out. It wasn't fun to die. She never got quite used to it, the buzzing, squeezing sensation of departing, and then reappearing in resupply. The longer you had to wait in respawn for a wave to begin, the worse your hangover was when you showed up on the other side. She always liked to opt for a killing shot, headshots were preferable, and she had no qualms with waiting for an opening, even if it took all day. However, her Solider had no qualms about berating her in front of her teammates on days when he didn't hear her rifle's booming report enough times on a given mission. She'd had to learn to shoot from the hip, at times, and to take advantage of the sheer possibility of a shot, rather than the precision kill. Over the course of the day she volleyed shot after shot down onto the field, raining suppressive fire down in front of her teammates, pushing the back the enemy tide. It was dull, but it was effective. It was what her team needed, and it was her duty to support her team. She took her eye off the scope to watch the field in gestalt when she caught a flash of blue pinstripes in the windows of the RED base. She didn't see her Spy very often in the open, but whenever she did, she made it a personal goal to try and estimate his route to clear it of nuisances before he had to manage them himself. She peeled her vision, squinting through the haze of dirty yellow sunlight littered with dust motes. Across the way she could see the hulking form of the RED Heavy, his girth passing by a few busted windows, with the Medic trailing behind him, advancing towards the hallway where her Spy was running, uncloaked. She trained her gun on the Medic first, and made the shot, ejected the cartridge. His jaw distorted as her bullet ripped through it, shearing it from his face. It wasn't exactly a headshot, but it would do. The Heavy stopped in his tracks after a moment, and when he turned around, she painted the wall behind him with his own blood. It felt good, in some twisted way, as she watched the BLU Spy hurdle the two men like obstacles--he even stepped on the fallen Heavy--as he moved onward towards his goal. Her lips curled into a small smile. She never, ever intended to tell him about all the times she'd saved his ass. Using her boot to kick fallen shells into the corner and out of her way, she patted her vest panel and felt for more ammo. Sweat ran down her face, and between her shoulder blades. The sick sensation of a drip rolling down her back made her cringe. She was hot as hell, trapped in the boarded-up nest for the time being, and didn't have a whole lot of ammo left. She couldn't exactly remember how the day started, but she'd been there since she'd respawned, about halfway through the match. She couldn't remember what did it, but right off the bat, she must has been killed, blown up maybe, and had to sit around in a long respawn. After that, she wanted some privacy, a nice place to camp out and not worry so much about having her back exposed. After stumbling out of the resupply, she and the RED Sniper both made a dash for the ladder at the same time, he screaming the whole time, going on about her being a woman. Just for that, when she got to the top, she decided to opt for some hijinks instead of professional standards, and scrambled onto the platform with her kukri at the ready to take a piece out of his face when he came snarling up after her, and he inevitably did. She took his head clean off, her first kill of the day. Later on, she'd seen him come slinking out of the enemy fort after the respawn wave finally kicked in, and she watched him find somewhere else to roost. Now, if she wanted to climb down, she'd be ripe for the picking and he'd take her out, instantly. It was undeniably the best sniper nest in the map, but she'd have to stay there for the whole round, rationing out her remaining ammo carefully. She pulled the rifle from the gap in the boards to reload. With the last bullet breeched, she glanced to her right. Her number one sniper mug was within reach, and she lifted it to her lips. The coffee was cold by now, crunchy remainders of the instant freeze-dry crystals at the bottom, and tasted like shit, but it did well to moisten her dry mouth. A shot rang clear, and impacted the boards facing the side where the enemy Sniper was roosting. It had been going on for a while, he wasn't any closer to hitting her than he was a few minutes ago. The mission was dwindling to its end, with only five minutes left on the clock. The field was lit up with struggle, a total firefight had erupted. She quirked a brow at the mess of muzzle flash, flame, and invective as it unfolded, REDs and BLUs alike scurrying feverishly, ants defending, ants attacking, ants all the same. She hustled up her rifle and shoved a crate around to new position with her boot, peering through the minute cracks in the walls to get a bearing on her team as they swarmed around the field. She saw the Demoman run around a corner, broken bottle of Scrumpy raised maliciously. He came running back with a RED Soldier on his heels. She took up her rifle, adjusted her seat, ass completely numb, and slipped the barrel out through the boards again. Another rifle shot discharged from a nearby rooftop, BANG, and she heard the board receive its impact, sending a fine dust and splinters into the air. She ducked down, withdrawing the rifle. There was a ray of sunshine streaming in through a new hole in the wall just a few inches shy of where her nose had been. She stayed down. She knew that trick. For instance, her rifle blows a hole in the wall and this moron Scout can't help himself but to peek through it, and get an eye full of lead as a reward for his curiosity. She figured the other Sniper had managed to ghost walk behind her position, whizzing a few shots in the same area to keep her lulled into a sense of security as he moved across the field to a new balcony. Not only had he done that, but she'd taken her sights off of him to cover her teammates. After a few moments, she moved across the nest on her belly to the far corner window and snuck a peek out towards his position. She saw the glint of his scope, and then it was gone. She pinned her eyes to the spot and rested the back of her hand on the sill to steady the gun. Somewhere on the battlements...a Pyro's gleeful scream, the hiss of his flamethrower, the shrieking of a singed opponent, possibly a spy. She couldn't imagine having to tread that dead, scorched, red earth in a suit like that on a day like this, not the Pyro's, and not the Spy's either. Beads of sweat formed quickly on her brow and rolled between her eyes. "C'mon, ya blind-eyed piker," she spat, gathering herself into a crouch, lining her sights on the building where she'd pinned the RED Sniper. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there. There were three minutes left in the match and after that, it'd be a cease-fire until tomorrow. "Ain't got all day." She didn't like having to camp while crouched. If anything she preferred lying prone, but that opportunity was few and far between lately. Her back and her legs ached. If the Sniper was looking, he'd surely see her, and she was wide open, but she didn't care. The first instance he betrayed his position to take a shot, she'd pull the trigger. The Announcer called out the remaining minute. Below, her teammates were in a frenzy; to be frank, shit sounded bad, for somebody. She didn't know who had the lead anymore. Desperation clutched at her insides. She thought about the Soldier's merciless bitching--he was probably keeping count of every round she fired--and gave an experimental, questioning shot, nearby the position of the enemy Sniper. The shot pinged off of the corrugated metal. There was no movement. She ejected the round but as her fingers left the bolt and the casing hit the floor, there was a sound from behind her that gave her sudden, horrifying pause. The trap door swung open and banged against the wooden floor. Her mind was elsewhere, but as soon as the sound registered, her hand was on her kukri. Damned Spy! She turned around, not giving the intruder any chance to take her back, but not fast enough to defend herself from much else. A big fist came from nowhere as the enemy Sniper cracked one solidly across her cheek, sending her glasses flying. She fell across one of the crates in the nest and landed, hard, on her arm. Scattered casings made musical, metallic notes as they rolled across the floorboards. In the sweltering desert heat, her vision was white-hot. Forgetting herself, she groaned, and covered her mouth with her hand, pulling back to see blood from her lip where she'd bitten it. Her kukri was still in her other hand, braced against the floor. She looked up at him, suddenly brazen, and yelling, "You ugly wanker!" He smirked. "Heh. Yer not a bad shot, missy. Been waitin' all day to get ya back for the clean shave." He motioned at his neck, where her knife had scored a major wound at the beginning of the match. "Oh get off it," she barked, starting to get up, sitting on her knees, unafraid of the man. If he was going to shoot her, he'd do so. If he was going to knife her, he'd do that. "You mad ya got bested by a chick, mate? You got a problem with me bein' a woman?" The enemy Sniper bristled, his sub machine gun in hand, and strode across the nest in one long-legged lope. He grabbed her, hauling her bodily up to her feet. He was really close, and while her mind flared with alarm, she took a few seconds to appraise him. He smelled musky, sweaty, and sun-baked. His skin was weathered, tanned, and there were a few telling, deep lines on his face. She gritted her teeth and hissed when the nose of his sub machine gun dug into her stomach. The Announcer called time, and trumpeted the winning team: Builder's League United. She felt mildly relieved, but the enemy Sniper didn't release her. "All right, all right," she said, gripping his wrist with her free hand, and pulling her kukri behind her back. "Round's up, cease-fire, lemme go." "I ain't done," he said, his voice low, gruff. He breathed against her neck, inhaling her smell. "Got no problem that yer a girl. In fact, I quite like it." He smirked, his eyes briefly wandering down the front of her chest. "Give us a kiss, and we're even...fer now." ==================== Whaaaat.
Please... Continue...... Continue with haste....
Hrm! Interesting concept! I hope it pans out. (Though, I have to admit I keep imagining your femSniper looking like Makani's FemSniper with her little owl hat.)
I like the build-up and the battle scenes. I'm very bad at writing these on my own, but I love when others do.
Unfair Advantage Friendly Fire: BLU Sniper x BLU ??? Part 2 ==================== "Piss off," she said, trying to steel her nerves, "ya sick drongo." "'S just a kiss, Sheila," he whispered. "We'll finish the rest tomorrow." She didn't like the sound of that, none of it. If he had retribution in mind, it had to be professional, it had to be served on the field, during a match. "Fuck off," she hissed, and jerked her knee up between his legs to crush his manhood, just like mum showed her, many years ago. He groaned and stumbled back, dropping the sub. "You...bitch." She watched him trip backwards, falling on his ass. "Serves ya right, ya pig!" She rubbed her cheek and added, "Lousy arse." She went to reach for her rifle and found herself shoved against the wall as the RED Sniper lunged after her, growling with rage. Her hat flew off her head as he struggled with her, trapping her to the floor. His knee came down hard on her chest, knocking the wind right out of her. She groaned out loud and pulled against him, but he had pinned her wrists to the ground. She kicked her legs and wrenched this way and that, but he had her. He had her, and it was after cease-fire, and nobody was coming to check on her. Her teammates knew she was a loner, she always disappeared for a while after missions. She'd normally traipse off into the dusk to her campsite or up to a roof to decompress. They wouldn't notice she was missing until mess hour. The upcoming sunset was surely to be lackluster, compared to some he'd seen, but it was a nicer thing to look at than his comrades, all sweaty and cheerful, amped for celebration and headed for the communal showers in the base. The BLU Spy remained on the battlements, opting for some solace, smoking a few cigarettes and strolling quietly along the map, his hands in his pockets. He drew a deep breath and glanced up. The sky was a ridiculous wash of pinks and oranges, mostly obscured by the many ramshackle buildings around him, and it was still blazing hot. He dug a finger between his neck and his collar, tugged on it briefly. He took a final drag from the dying remains of his cigarette and flicked it to the ground, crushing the dog end with his shoe. "Get offa me!" She struggled artfully, madder than a cut snake, and it seemed to elicit some mild pleasure from the other Sniper. He sneered and pressed his mouth down onto hers, forcing his tongue past her lips and into her mouth. When she bit him, he released one hand long enough to backhand her, effectively coloring her other cheek with a mark to match the other. She groaned, mostly in anger, turned her face and pinched her eyes closed. A tear ran down her cheek, or maybe it was sweat. "Dammit," he howled, and grimacing at the pain for only a second before slamming his hand into her throat, knocking her head against the floor. He squeezed. "Don't do that again. I'll make ya regret it." She felt fear strike at her heart. He was too big for her. For one thing, he'd have no trouble crushing her windpipe, and for another, she'd seen him on the battlefield, she knew what else he could do. She kept her eyes closed and focused on the pain, made it her courage. She had to stay clear-headed, present and in the moment, she had to look for a way out. The RED Sniper was fuming, consumed with some sadistic lust, his eyes wide and fearsome and glassy behind his tinted aviators. She could report him, afterwards, not sure of what difference it would make, but right then, things were looking grim unless she could turn the tables. He jerked at her shirt, ripping the top few buttons from their stays. She glimpsed her chance, a crack in the gateway, a chink in the armor. While his hands were fisted in her shirt, she grabbed his wrists and twisted her elbows one at a time up and over his forearms. She jerked each arm down and outwards, torquing his wrist joints. His hands fell away, they had to if he didn't want to break his fingers. Naturally, was startled. She used it, in turn grabbing his shirt and headbutted his nose. He howled, immediately falling aside enough for her to plant her boots in his chest, knocking him against the wall. The BLU Sniper made a grab for his sub, lying nearby on the floor. She squeezed off a spray that rattled the boards adjacent to his head. Long strands of hair fell over her face as she breathed hard, lying on her stomach, the gun shaking audibly, but aimed right at him. His hands cupped his nose, blood streaming between them and down the front of his shirt. Everything was still, save their heavy breathing. "Get. Out." A buzz of submachine fire racketed through the battlements. He looked sharply up at the sniper tower. The cease-fire had been called, and he'd watched his team and most of the RED team retreat from the field. He couldn't recall having seen either of the snipers, though. He made his way towards the area where he was sure the gunfire had originated, his sense of nosy sense of curiosity getting the best of him. The RED Sniper was bewildered, his sweaty expression of surprise mangled with confusion. Reality filtered down on him, slowly, and as he gathered his wits, taking a deep breath, he seemed to break out of a trance. The broken nose had helped calm him, like a reset button on a malfunctioning piece of equipment. "I...I'm sorry," he said, which kind of surprised her. "Go take a flyin' fuck at a rolling donut an' see if I care," she said, crawling to her knees and then standing up, the gun well trained on his head. "Get out." All the while, a purple bruise was blooming across her cheek, angry, swelling. Her eye hurt like the devil too. She jerked the gun towards the trap door. He gulped back a knot in his throat, swallowing blood. He pinched his nose, grunting in pain, and made his way to the little door. The BLU Sniper's hairs stood on end as she watched him kneel, his head bowed. He looked up at her, his face looked like a solemn, apologetic bloodbath, as if he'd just awoken from a blackout. Perhaps he had. She pierced him with her stare, unforgiving, and watched him descend, wordlessly. She stood over the hatch for a long time, watching him go, still holding the sub. She looked around at the nest, backed up against one of the crates, and sat down. "Hmm." The BLU Spy watched the other Sniper descent the nest and disappear into the dusk. He hadn't missed the obvious wet stain and the continuing dribble of blood down the bushman's long face. When he reached the top of the long ladder, the hatch was open. Before he made it to the top rung, he could already see the his Sniper sitting on a crate, her face in her hands. He decidedly made a bit of noise as he climbed up the last few rungs, clearing his throat, understanding that she might not be so happy with a creepy Spy appearing without announcement in her nest when she seemed so distraught. He climbed in, stood up, dusted his suit lightly, and looked at his teammate. She had hardly stirred. If she noticed him at all, she didn't look it. He cleared his throat lightly. "A-hem," he said, "mademoiselle, is everyzing all right?" As he looked around, he saw the signs of their altercation--turned crates, empty shells scattered about, blood spatters. Or maybe the nest just looked that way all of the time, he wasn't sure. The Sniper looked up suddenly. She pawed clumsily at her face to wipe up sloppy tears, her cheeks stinging from the RED Sniper's wrath, and big fists. The Spy saw, and his stomach dropped, flooded with a strange emotion. He felt alarm, concern even. He would do terrible things to other men, especially on the battlefield, but he had a special, bent rage that he saved only for men who liked to beat up women. He stepped closer. "What 'appened 'ere?" His voice was firm, not compassionate, not consoling. It was characteristic of his normal tone of voice, but there was something else there, some element of the unhinged that only came out on the field during a particularly blood-lusty frame of mind. "Nothin' happened," she said, perhaps too quickly. "I was able to...get 'im off me." "Mon dieu," he murmured. Relief washed over him, partially, and was immediately replaced with another wave of disgust, and after that, more fury. He clenched his hands, the leather of his gloves protesting, sighing. "Crétin..." He gritted his teeth and began to calculate how much time it would take to catch up with the RED Sniper, but gave pause when his Sniper stood up, shaking her head. "Forget it," she said, beginning to brush past him. "Non," he said, and gently grasped her arm, stopping her, though he immediately let her go. "Wait." She swallowed down her shame and met his eyes, her breathing uneven and her eyes bleary. She was startled by the relative softness of his expression, what little of it showed from beneath his trademark balaclava. Her heart folded in on itself, the way it usually did when she caught his gaze lingering on hers. She couldn't bear it. She felt ashamed that he'd seen her this way. His eyes traveled over her, burning a path of embarrassment over her skin. She knew it was stupid, but she felt bad, she felt like she should apologize to the Spy...for being weepy, hell, for being attacked in the first place. "Are you all right?" he asked, finally. "I'll take up the cease-fire infraction with the boss," she said. It wasn't the answer he was looking for, really. "But please...don't say anythin' about the rest. I don't want anybody thinkin' I'm a...liability. Or that I ain't got the guts to be on this team." The Spy understood her pride not only as a professional, but as a sniper. He'd dealt with that pride personally. He watched her retrieve her rifle and sling it over her shoulder. He agreed that he would remain silent. "I'll go down first," she offered, ignoring his hard gaze. "I don't want you starin' at my ass on the way down." The Spy chuckled at that, "You win zis time," and allowed her to descent first. He went over a mental checklist and made some hasty plans to pay a visit to the RED Sniper's camper. Back in the barracks, the BLU Scout stripped off his shirt and threw it unceremoniously onto the Engineer's face as he turned, in front of his locker, to put down his hat. "WOO HOO HOO!!! How 'bout DAT, hardhat?!" The Texan groaned and yanked the shirt away. He pulled off his goggles and watched the lad in the throes of a weird, half-nude celebratory dance. The Soldier was sitting on the bench, shining his boots, dressed down to his blue striped boxers and white undershirt. He kept his helmet on. The Engineer wrung the Scout's damp, filthy shirt into a makeshift whip and nailed the kid when he bent down to reveal his narrow ass. CRACK! "Let that be a lesson, boy," said the Engineer, as the Scout screamed and stiffened, clutching his backside. "Not cool, man!" The Scout pouted a bit, suddenly thoughtful, and asked, "Hey Engie, whaddaya think about havin' a woman on the team?" "Aw heck," he grunted, and seemed a bit irritated that he'd brought it up. He continued, "I couldn't give two licks if our sniper's a man or a woman, so long as he's got my back." It almost seemed a rehearsed statement. "Dat the truth?" "Well," he said, "mostly." "D'ya think she's hot to trot? Been a while since I got my dick wet," said the Scout, rubbing his hairless chin, looking like a bastard philosopher contemplating the nature of existence: handguns, hussies, and hurtin' people. The Engineer gave the Scout a sorely bewildered scowl. "Boy, you got real problems." "I will pretend I did not hear that, maggot," barked the Soldier. "I will have it known that if any of my men are caught fraternizing with that woman, his dick will no longer be his property. It will be my property, and I will not be kind to it." The Engineer peered at the Soldier. What a peculiar thing to say. Sometimes he worried about that man. The Scout made a distinctly irritated noise, stripping off his boxers and socks, tossing them at the laundry chute, where they fell short and drifted to the floor. He sauntered on towards the showers, his arms swinging animatedly. When he turned the bend, engulfed by the steam cloud emerging from the showers, they heard: "You want tickets to the gun show, the gun show's comin' to you, bruddah," he called. "Ach, shaddup, ye idgit," responded the Demoman, from somewhere within the showers, his brogue echoing off the shining, white tiles. "I dinna ken if ye realize, laddie, but I seen wet rats wi' bigger pipes innat! The Engineer sighed and went about undressing, discarding his toolbelt and kneepads, when he heard the locker room door swing wide open. He glanced up just to see the Sniper waltz in, unannounced. Normally she'd wait to use the facilities after the men had long vacated, and while he and the Soldier were both still technically "decent," he felt his cheeks color with embarrassment all the same. "H-howdy, ma'am," he said, hoisting up his overalls and holding them loosely about his hips. The Soldier turned at the waist, eyeballed her from under his swaying helmet. "Private, are you LOST, or is there something we can HELP you with?" "Don't worry," she said, her stride unbroken, "I ain't here to spectate." She stood in front of the Soldier. "I gotta bone to pick with the REDs." "That does not surprise me," he said, not slowing from his spit-shine, his eyes glazing over, drifting into a ten thousand yard stare beneath the rim of his helmet. "They are our enemy. They are filthy, writhing maggots. Every night I dream of new ways to teach them to regret the day their mother bore them to this world wearing the color RED." The Engineer rolled his eyes as the Soldier continued to spout, but in taking a second, closer look at the Sniper, he saw the marks on her face, mostly the big shiner on the left side of her face. He tapped the Soldier, quieting the man's tirade before it got worse. "Hey. This is serious, Chief. Somebody givin' you grief, girl?" "That piss-tossin' bushman attacked me after cease-fire. I wanna know what I can do about it." The Engineer started. "Can he do that, boss? If he ain't gonna go by the rules..." "Let me tell you about the rules of war, cupcake, and you can decide what to do," said the Soldier, his voice gravely, intense. "Those men are devils, they will eat your soul. They are here to kill you in your sleep. You must be vigilant. You must kill, you must always kill first, and never stop." His jaw was set at an angle, he looked up at her from the bench with disdain. "If he has you running scared, you can always quit." "If you think I'm gonna quit 'cause of this, you gotta 'nother thing comin'." The Engineer sighed, and intended to be sincere in saying, "Yer tough, no doubt, but we're a buncha roughnecks, honey. You gotta be harder'n most to do this work. Some of us have been out here doin' this for a long time. Aint been around the fairer sex in years, some of us...course, that ain't no excuse..." The Sniper's temper flared. She practically needled the Texan into the wall with her stare. "This ain't about me bein' a woman, hoss," she ground out the familiar term, her voice low but her ignition point high. "You got that?" He jolted, looking a bit like a whipped dog. He flushed, lightly, and cleared his throat. He liked the Sniper. He didn't mean anything by it. "R-right. My 'pologies." "I expect to see you continue to put forth good effort," said the Soldier, resuming his polishing, "and not let the soft disposition of your gender affect you." The Engineer looked on after the Sniper as she clenched her fists and turned face. The Scout re-emered from the showers, laughing, hips slung with a loose, white towel. He paraded towards the lockers, smirking to himself. That is, until he saw her. "Hey hey hey, babe," he opened his arms wide. "Didja come to scope out the merchanHURK," he groaned, as she grabbed his face with her hand and shoved him, hard, into a locker. ==================== Oh dang, stay tuned, more coming, eventually you will be rewarded with smut, I promise.
Unfair Advantage Friendly Fire: BLU Sniper x BLU Spy Part 3 ==================== She normally stayed outside, in her tent when the weather was nice, or in the camper van when it wasn't so nice. It had been a conscious choice to stay away from the others. Those men were the ones she had to look out for, on the field. She didn't like to give them the chance to judge her, to lust after her in the communal shower, to make snide remarks in the locker room. Just going and speaking to the Soldier about the incident had been a violation of her normal rules of engagement. Keep it simple, concise. Staying distant from the others was efficient. Part of having a plan for killing everyone she met was to not become friends with anybody. The Sniper made her way to the mess hall and paused at the sink to wash her hands and face of the dirt and grime of the mission. She then bent over the fridge, planning a small raid of its contents just as the Heavy and the Medic made their way into the cafeteria, already showered and changed into civvies for the night. The Heavy sidled up alongside her, surprisingly quiet for his bulk. "Excuse," he said. She stepped out of the way and felt her skin electrify as the big Russian brushed against her. Being bumped by his massive forearm was like being nudged by a battleship. She reeled, and watched him grabbing sandwich meat, fixin's, and the last few pieces of bread from the fridge. She still wasn't quite used to being dwarfed by the Heavy. She looked on weakly. God, she wanted a sandwich. It'd take twenty minutes to cook a sad, salty TV dinner in the oven, and she was dead tired. True, the food was all shared amongst them, but she wasn't quite sure how she felt about asking the Heavy to leave some Wonder Bread for her, especially after a grueling battle. They'd hardly said a word to one another in all the time she'd been assigned. She took an apple from the fruit basket and a bottled soda from the fridge, eyeing the Heavy as he went about his business, stoic, but purposeful in his motions. The Medic, in turn, was eyeing the Sniper. "Und how are you doink, frauline?" he asked, his eyes squinted somewhat behind his round glasses. "Oh," she said, looking over at him, feeling deflated, "I'm aces. An' yourself?" The doctor hummed in response and said nothing more, but studied her nonetheless. He had definitely taken notice of the big knock she'd taken, which she'd not bothered to approach him about. It looked pretty inflamed, tender. He wondered if she was going to be pathetic and ask for a huff off his medigun to take the edge off. Either way, he delighted in her awkward stance and enjoyed watching her look at the Heavy's back searchingly, not finding an opportunity to speak as the man used his brawn to craft a sandvich of sturdy Soviet construction. She chomped on the apple and remembered the pain in her face. She reached up lighty to prod at her cheek when she realized that Heavy was looking at her. His brow was quirked. The Sniper felt panic spread through her body as she looked at his hand, he was pointing at her. She looked around and realized he was pointing not at her, but at the knife in the block beside her. She gave it to him, handle first, with a questioning look in her eye, "This?" "Spasiba," he said, taking it, and she released her breath as turned back around, slicing the two sandviches on the diagonal, the way he liked it. "Er, Heavy," said the Medic, watching as the Heavy pushed a plate towards him, as was their usual routine, "not for me, tonight. I haff such indigestion. Vhy don't you share vith ze Sniper?" She chuckled nervously. Yes, yes. "Sniper? You vant?" He swiveled, holding the plate by its edge. "Baloneh sandvich?" She accepted it, a little to eager. "Yes. Thank you." She wiped her mouth with her gloved hand as apple juice ran down her chin. The big Russian laughed. "Nastrovje." He watched her take the plate and move to the counter. She crammed another bite of apple into her mouth and chucked the core in the refuse bin, munching furiously. The Heavy found himself grinning at her ravenously stuff the sandvich in her mouth, greedily chewing, eyes a bit wild with hunger. "Be careful vit' dat, leetle girl. Vill make you very strong." The BLU Sniper couldn't feel offended. The Heavy called everyone a little girl. Plus, she was starving. She ate standing up, to the bemusement of the Medic and the Heavy alike. Scarfing the sandwich down, rather unladilike, felt good. She paused, looking at the sandvich, made a little predatory noise at it as she admired the pinkish color of the meat, the soft green of the lettuce. It was like art. She crushed it into her mouth. "Look at dat. Is good," said the Heavy, prodding the Medic with his big elbow. "Sniper is small, but has appetite of giant man." "Thanks, tovarisch," she said, still chewing, making the Heavy grin at her parlance, though her accent wasn't so good. She smirked down at the olive, the last thing save for crumbs remaining on her plate, and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes slid closed, almost orgasmically. Not too bad. It was a sturdy meal; carbs, protein (sort of), everything a warrior needed to revive his fighting edge. She smiled toothily at the men and belched, loud, and it sent the Heavy into a fit of chunky, gravy-like laughter. The Medic frowned and grimaced, having to reach and adjust his glasses as the Heavy's big hands clapped down on his shoulder. The Sniper pulled a bottle of pop from the fridge and cracked it open, washed down the last remainders of the sandvich. The effervescent orange vapor drifted up her sinuses and the sweet stuff streamed down her throat, liquid heaven after a long, lousy day of fighting. She felt better, but she was filthy, beat-up, and still a little ornery. "Medic," she said, leaning against the counter, cleaning her mouth with the crook of her elbow. She waited for him to respond. "Mmn?" Was she going to ask for some healing? He felt a little excited. "Vhat is it?" "Can I borrow your shower, mate?" He paused, not expecting that question at all. "Vhat?" She shrugged. "I don't wanna wait around for Demoman an' the helmet party to finish up in there." "Be nice to Sniper," said the Heavy, knowingly, suddenly growing fonder of the leetle, leetle girl. "She never ask for help on field. Besides, I have seen Demoman's firepower...is too frightening for her." The Medic groaned and shook his head. "Ugh. Ja." He led her to the medical bay, unlocking the door to his office and switching on the light before allowing her entrance. His office joined up with the true medical ward via another door, this one with a frosted window. They entered the larger exam room, which had three gurneys in it, and counters with cabinets full of supplies. To the right there were double doors that led to what the Medic simply called "surgery." To the left, there was a door that read "storage." The truth was, the place gave Sniper the heebies. She didn't like to stay there long. She hoped to god that the doctor wouldn't ask to take a look at her injuries. He opened the "storage" door to reveal a room that suggested a laboratory. There were fifty gallon drums of chemicals, a table with a mad scientist's distillation setup, or something that looked like one, and an emergency shower with a drain in the floor. "Zis is not for bazink," he explained, feeling benevolent, but coming off a tad rough, regimented. "Quick rinse and go, ja?" The Sniper nodded, already with her towel and fresh civvies from her locker, which she had rarely accommodated the use of, in hand. "Doc, I appreciate it." "Don't zank me yet," he said, and closed his office door. He wondered how she even knew he had a shower in the first place. She'd been in his ward a few times, maybe she'd seen it, or maybe she'd been snooping around. Through the frosted glass, he snapped, "Don't touch anyzink!" She disrobed, placing her things in a neat pile nearby. With a quick tug of the chain, the shower dumped cold, really cold water onto her. She doused her hair well, and shut off the water to vigorously scrub down with a bar of BLU-issue soap. She left her hair dirty for the time being, rinsed off with another frigid sheet of ice water, stifling her squeals at the unpleasantness of it all, and toweled off. She flung herself into her night clothes and fled the scene. She rushed outside with her long hair upturned in the towel, and fished her keys out of her vest to unlock the back door of her camper. She planned to sleep inside, with the doors all securely locked for good measure. She a few moments to doff her hat and glasses, folding her vest and putting it away along with her belt and boots. Her dirty uniform, she dropped in a pile to be taken to the chute the next day. It had cooled considerably outside, but the camper held onto the heat of the day. The space was stuffy, and she sadly looked at the small window while cranking it open to produce a tiny, tiny bit of fresh air. She went to the window on the door and opened it, too, but just a few inches. She settled down, in a white undershirt, men's, and simple pale blue flannel pajama pants. She reached to turn on her little radio. The reception was a bit foggy, but a few impeccable strains of jazz cut through the fuzz...B.B. King, playing a long set for some jazz casual special. She relaxed against the wall of the camper and pulled her hair down from the towel, allowed her foot to bob along to the music. The light of the single overhead bulb cast a square of yellow onto the dusty ground through the sole window, on the door. The BLU Sniper unwound slowly as the tune shifted to a slower, more melancholy rhythm. B.B. continued to play, the volume low, but the music insistent. Her eyes drifted closed a few times. When she opened her eyes again, she was lying down and the radio was quiet with white noise. She turned it off and checked her watch where it sat on the ledge of a nearby counter. It was ten p.m. She'd slept for a few hours. "Augh," she groaned, knowing now she'd have a helluva time getting back to sleep. She reached up and touched her jaw, very gingerly. Her face hurt, bad. Her hair was still a little damp, and as her fingers wound through it, it was tangled, too. Before she could lament her condition or lower her mood any further, there was a light tap on the door. She looked at it, confused. The sound had been so light she doubted she'd really heard it, but another two knocks came after it. The Sniper glanced at her kukri and took it in hand as she approached the door. She pulled aside the curtains on the window and saw the BLU Spy standing a few feet away, looking fresh. She lowered the kukri, unlocked the door, and opened it, looking down at the Spy. His eyes twitched at her appearance, but resumed his cool demeanor, and was composed immediately of the usual stately presence of a well trained Spy. "Good evening," he said, straightening his tie. "May I come in?" Sniper took a step back and opened the door enough to allow him inside. She closed it behind him, and regarded the tall man as he stood by her bunk. "What can I do ya for, Spy? Come to check in on me?" "Indeed." His eyes swiveled over what served as her home. She felt a little embarrassed having the Spy in her personal space. She had a method to the run-down clutter of her van. She kept it clean, mostly, but the cramped space kept it looking perpetually unkempt. Odds and ends flowed from every available horizontal space. It occurred to her that she was in her pajamas, not exposed literally, but perhaps to someone so impersonal as her, her underbelly was showing a bit, and the last person she wanted to show it to was the Spy. At least, not this way, not when he was fully clothed. Wait, no, don't get started on that. She forced herself to tear her eyes from his broad shoulders, his tapered waist, his sleekness, his...sexy, tight little rump. "I'm fine," she said, and she was lying about it. He turned and regarded her things, but did not seem to exhibit any sort of emotion in regards to the disarray. "Did you tell anyone about what 'appened?" She shrugged again, feeling uncomfortable about her conversation with the Soldier. She sat down on her bed and looked between her feet. "I'm not afraid of 'im, whatever happens I can handle it. Look...I don't want anybody to look at me...differently..." The Spy turned around and faced her. Her hair was down, long damp curls down her back, just brushing the bottom of her shoulderblades. When it was dry, it was wavy, and she kept it pulled back in a plain ponytail, austere, no-nonsense Seeing her this way, it made him feel...excited. The armadillo on its back, no shield, no pretense. It somehow seemed preposterous to think that this woman was the body behind that monster sniping rifle during the day. He hadn't seen it yet, but he knew that snipers, when holed up in a nest long enough, would rain down other things than just bullets, but he couldn't imagine it from this vision before him, right now. He also knew she was letting him see her in this way. She could see the shiny tips of his shoes, and felt his gaze on her, and blushed hotly. "Listen." He took a few steps and she felt his fingers rest on her shoulder. "You are our Sniper. You look out for us, we look out for you. Do not underestimate your teammates' loyalty, ma chérie." He put his hands in his pockets and took a few steps to look at the rest of her camper, and then turned around. "As a matter of fact, I paid a visit to our friend, and I do not believe 'e will be bothering you again in such a way." She felt the blush spread down her neck, feeling more relaxed that he was being so kind to her, but also feeling nervous at his proximity. It was a good kind of nervous. "What did you say?" "I did not say much," he admitted, shrugging. "In ze end, I put a knife in 'is back." It was more accurate to say that the Spy had put the knife in the RED Sniper's body many, many times, that evening, after cease-fire. They had...exchanged words, to put it nicely. They had exchanged so many words that the BLU Spy's suit had been painted red by the end of it. They had such a colorful conversation, in fact, that he'd had to shower off and change into a new suit before calling on her to visit. It had been a calculated move, their chat. "Why? Why did you do that?" He shrugged. "Zat is my job. I 'ave done it many times." Of course. But not after cease-fire. The BLU Soldier hadn't shown much interest in it, but breaking that rule had to mean something, to someone, or else there wouldn't be a cease-fire at all. There had to be some sense to all the madness they undertook out there, some rules to follow. If neither of the team was going to abide by the rules of cease-fire, they'd be fighting all night, all day. There'd be no rest for anybody. They'd be stabbed at breakfast, headshot at the TV watching Lucy after dinner, and bonked on the toilet. It'd be a nightmare. "But you did it for me," she said, a fuller blush creeping across her face, though it was hidden partially by the big bruise on her cheek. "At any rate, I should go." Feeling bold, she got up and stood close to him before he made a move to leave. He had retrieved his disguise kit and was preparing to place a cigarette between his lips. She pressed his hands down and leaned in to place a feather-light kiss near his mouth. "Thank you," she said. The Spy breathed with his mouth open for a moment, and then stepped forward to kiss her back, quickly. His lips pressed a damp, haphazard kiss against her mouth. When he pulled back, he looked a bit surprised at himself. He cleared his throat, snapped his disguise kit closed and stuffed it back into his pocket, and made for the door. As he reached it, his hand on the knob, he felt her behind him, her hand reaching, lightly touching his shoulder. The placement was impersonal, but the touch was intimate. She stepped closer. Into the fabric of his suit, she said, "Wait. I'm sorry." The Spy looked down and closed his eyes, resolving himself before turning around to look at her. "I didn't mean..." she added, but stalled out. She pulled her hand away, closed it, a flower bud wilting before her his eyes. She looked undeniably soft, perhaps not fragile, but delicate in a way he'd never seen, had not been able to imagine in such technicolor glory. Her hair framed upturned brows, a worried expression. He swallowed back his trepidation. "Did you zink I would not notice," he started, sotto voce, watching her face morph to concern, "all ze times you were covering for me, on ze field?" She gulped, sheepishly. "I...I dunno what you're talkin' 'bout, mate." "I figured you might 'ave a little crush on me," he admitted. "I did not want to...encourage anyzing...untoward." Sniper sobered herself and stood more rigidly, still feeling a hot blush betray her face. "I...I was just doin' my job," she said, repeating his line from before. "As are we all," he agreed, and then added, "but I cannot deny that I find you very...interesting." He reached up and cupped her face, outlining the bruise on her cheek. "We are both professionals, are we not?" She closed her eyes and relished the cool leather of his gloved touch, leaning into it slightly. They stood there for some time, she with the Spy's hand softly grazing her skin, her hands clasped into fists at her waist to save them from darting out and grabbing the Spy's lapels to crush him with a kiss. "Trés jolie," he whispered, his voice suddenly very close to her. She could feel his fingers move along her jaw. His gloved fingers slid against her ear. She could feel his warmth, smell his cologne, muted by the aroma of tobacco, of smoke. She allowed her lips to part, in earnest expectation that his lips would meet hers. "Do you want me to kiss you?" he asked, quite plainly. She nodded, somewhat dazed, but sure of it. Yes. She did want him to kiss her. He waited, but it wasn't exactly hesitation. He was smiling, and it was not a cruel smile. "Say it." Her lips trembled. She felt insane. She felt like a teenager, longing for a silly, sloppy kiss from the boy she admired from across the school. She breathed, "Yes." The Spy did not waste any time in applying pressure, his lips to hers. Sniper's impatient hands moved up the front of his suit, caressing the soft fabric en route to his shoulders. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body closely against his. He held the back of her neck, pursuing the kiss with gusto while his other hand traversed down the curve of her back. Sniper moaned softly into his mouth, and his tongue lapped against hers, tangling briefly. They continued at a ravishing pace for a while, until the two of them breathlessly surfaced for air. Sniper, recognizing the beginnings of her own arousal and that of the Spy's pressing into her, withdrew her arms and slid her hands down his chest, but his arms like tight bands still surrounded her, kept her close. "I...I don't have a crush on you." The Spy's expression suggested that he was not convinced, and he kissed her again. He kissed along her jaw and down her throat, eliciting many little moans and grunts of pleasure. He pulled aside the collar of her shirt to better access her collarbone, licking, nipping, and suckling as he went. He kissed his way across her neck and then returned to her mouth, his ministrations very soft, very relaxed. His stubble was rough, but it wasn't painful. He kissed her in a dwindling decrescendo, breaking their contact a few times, agonizingly drawing it out, until the very last one left her kissing the air. "I don't 'ave a crush on you, either," he said. ==================== Hommina hommina hommina!
Unfair Advantage Friendly Fire: BLU Sniper x BLU Spy Part 4 Here it is, jaaaah!!! Eet ees full of ze sexing! ==================== She gripped his lapels, jerked him around, and pushed him towards her bed. The Spy backpedaled, smirking, until the back of his knees touched the bed, at which point he thumped down, the Sniper gratuitously straddling him. She commanded with her mouth, pressing against his lips with hot breath and tongue and teeth. His almost ubiquitous five o'clock shadow bristled against the soft skin of her chin and cheeks, but the sensation was somewhat pleasant, and after a few more moments, it was forgotten altogether. Sniper allowed herself to press against the Spy, managing the small gap between them on the bed, half-crawling into his lap. The hem of her shirt rose up as Spy's hands found her hips, gripping them tightly and then relaxing as he allowed her into his space. Her skin prickled, each pore receptive and willing to receive his touch. The BLU Sniper practically assaulted him with her hands, fingers driving between what layers remained between them. She slid her hand over the sinew of his shoulder and under his jacket, pulling it away, and made appreciative, small noises at the niceness of his warmth, his lean muscle. Her tongue entangled with his, playing a deadly game of cat and mouse. The Spy prodded and explored her mouth with equal measure to her enthusiasm, their breath quickened, flashing against one another's faces. His hands raked gently up her sides, short fingernails dragging ever so deliciously over sensitive skin, giving Sniper pause to sigh almost deliriously into the Spy's knowing smile as their lips parted. She tugged his jacket off the rest of the way and smiled, folding it carefully and then dropping it off the side of the bed. She smirked at him. He took the opportunity to lift the shirt away from her body, tossing it to the floor and regarding that she was nude beneath it, unembellished. Many, many times he had undressed a woman to find frilly lingerie, over the top bustiers or bralettes with ruffles, ribbons, feathers, and all other manner of decoration impeding his view. While it was nice to see a delicate article, the real fun was what lie beneath, and the discovery of it. He quite enjoyed the simplicity of her nakedness beneath the rough, cotton shirt. It was probably the same shirt that Soldier wore beneath his jacket, but he tried not to linger on that thought, though it did arouse him, somewhat. Her plain skin a rather fair sort of medium tone, with a bare modicum scars, though that would change over the course of her employment, certainly. She had full breasts, not too large, but ample enough now that he wondered how he had missed them in her uniform. She hid her curves well. He purposefully and patiently removed his gloves to touch her with his bare hands. He slid his hands along her arms, feeling the trace muscles there, and over her shoulders, collarbone, the column of her neck. She was softened by his ministrations, visibly enjoying this interaction immensely. He gave a slight nod which Sniper hardly noticed through heavy, seductive lids. With her shirt disposed of, he made a play for territory and added kissing to his tour of her body, gently nipping the sharp ridges of her collarbone, his arms snaking up underneath hers, winding up her back to grip her shoulders, holding her firmly against him. Sniper adjusted her seat in his lap, fully straddling him, their torsos meeting. As he explored her body, expertly maneuvering his hands, Sniper allowed her fingers to trace the hard angles and planes of his body, too. He laved his tongue along her ribs, leaning her back so that the curves of her body became lean, long, lingering lines, all traceable by his tongue. He tasted a faint trace of sweat of her skin, smelling soap, the aroma faded, and from his throat came the tiniest grunt of arousal. Sniper's skin was ablaze with sensation. She hadn't been touched this way in some time, and the lingering, drowsy effect of the nap she'd had earlier mixed with the heady froth of her own arousal, floundering her brain with pleasure chemicals. She could feel Spy's growing erection press against her, and at that, she grew impatient with his lack of undress and pushed against him, jerking at his tie and appraising of his movements as he unbuttoned his collar. She pulled the tie free, dropping it as soon as it was loose, and watched as he lifted both his dress shirt and undershirt off in one swift, unceremonious overhead tug. She paused to run her hands over the exposed muscles of his arms before diving again for the plunder of his mouth. As they kissed she worked on his belt, whipped it ridiculously from its belt loops and tossed it into the ether. Spy's hands finally made their way to her breasts, with thumb pads rolling softly, palms cupping, softly manipulating, and while their movements suggested a lusty frenzy of wanton sex, the nuances of their engagement were affectionate. His hands soon trailed down her belly and worked fastidiously at the drawstring of her pants--he peeled them down her hips so he could squeeze each globe of her ass, appreciatively. Sniper gave him a devious look. No panties. She pulled away from him, moving her hands to the juncture of his legs and stroking against him, purred intensely against his ear, huffing warm, damp breath there. He growled almost imperceptibly as he tossed her, somewhat playfully, onto her back. She giggled softly and let him undress her. She watched as he kneeled between her legs. She felt warmth rush up her chest as he kissed down between the valley of her breasts to her tummy, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of the loosened pajamas and smiling when she shimmied her hips up, allowing him to slide them down, enjoying her skin as he did so. He nuzzled her sex, very sweetly, inhaling her scent, and did take notice when her breath caught in her throat. He laid more soft, moist kisses along her inner thighs, and licked the skin alongside her knee. He worked his way back up her body with strokes of hand and face and tongue. He sat up on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his trousers, undressed himself further. Sniper took the time to regard his body, and tried to ignore the flip-flopping of her stomach their activity was causing. It was exciting, yes. She hadn't fooled around with anyone in three years at least, and the last time it hadn't been so great. She'd been stealing glances at Spy for weeks now, she might have even spent some time lying in this very bed, mentally undressing him down to his... When he looked back at her, he noticed that her eagle eyes were targeted on his lower body, but not the part he wanted her to admire. "What?" he asked, breathlessly. As soon as he did so, he regretted his eagerness, his obvious eager need. Her eyes were wide. She sat up on her knees and put her hand on his thigh. "Nice sock garters." "Merde," he hissed, possibly blushing, and began to reach to undo them. "No." Her hands hurriedly covered his and she gave him a pleading look. "Let me do it." She placed her palm against his chest and pressed on him, until he relented, his legs bending and then placing his feet on the bed as he laid back, one hand resting on his stomach. His socks were nice, they looked silky, expensive. She smirked at herself and snapped the elastic, lightly, at which he gave her a dubious, unimpressed stare, his mouth a rather spartan, flat line that belied his internal delight. She obliged him in removing the garters, curious things, and tugged off his socks with decidedly less interest. She kissed his muscled calf as he grew restless and sat up on his elbows. The heat of her body against his skin was scintillating. He watched as her eyes traversed his body, from the lean, ropy muscles of his legs to the slender notches of his hips. She traced her gaze with light, grazing fingertips. Sniper's fingers touching his hips sent a visible jolt through him. It meant business. "Ticklish?" she asked, her voice low and almost hoarse, eyes glinting as he sat up, his face very close to hers. He cupped her cheek and studied the lurid mark the RED Sniper had left there. He tutted the blemish, and moved his gaze to her mouth. He dragged his thumb over her swollen, bee-stung lips. He grinned and descended on her, enveloping her with delicate kisses. Their bodies touching, sweat mingling, it took only minutes for the scent of their amorous attentions to fill the small space. Sniper reached between them to grasp his maleness at the root, her teeth gently trapping his lower lip in the midst of his grunt. Her hand was soft, warm, and moved slowly up and down his length. He gulped down air, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as she moved closer, her hands working at his manhood and her mouth kissing his tensed shoulder, moving upwards. She licked her lips and pressed her cheek against his. She whispered, "Is that good?" "Oui," he moaned. Sniper smirked and laid kisses upon his shoulder, stroking his hard, throbbing cock a little more vigorously. She pushed her breasts firmly against him as she moved down, swirling her tongue down his abdomen, laving alongside his bellybutton, pressing him back down onto the bed. He relaxed his head, eyes pinched shut and eyebrows hidden somewhere beneath his balaclava, mouth slack, parted in ecstasy. Sniper maneuvered her hands around his girth, pushing it up against his stomach, and after making him wait a few agonizing seconds, she licked all along his length, from his balls up to the tip, which she approached with some apparent hunger. Her small hands cupped his balls and held his manhood steady as she licked, teased, and applied soft suction. Spy sighed, an utmost happy-sounding sigh, and his hand found its way to the back of her neck, urging her, but not insistently. Sniper took him fully into her mouth, enjoying the feeling of his smooth skin, his taste, and the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath her. She went about her task for a while, enjoying the slight flexing of his hips, at which she placed her hands there, again eliciting a shiver from him, and she pressed her thumbs into the grooves of his narrow waist. Taking him deeply into her mouth, she hummed, sending the thrumming vibration up his cock, right up his spine. "Chouette alors," he groaned. Obviously removed to another place altogether, Spy bucked into her and urged her in French to speed up, continue, oh god, oh... Not long after, "Je jouis," came strained from his lips as his body tensed, his orgasm just beginning. Sniper maintained speed, determined to milk him for everything he was worth, taking out her anger, her frustration with him, and sensed as his orgasm began and he ejaculated into her mouth. She swallowed his fluid, not thinking twice about it, and cleaned him up with her tongue, riding out his orgasm as he drifted off briefly. She watched his chest rising and falling, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. When he began to relax, she regarded his tender hips, and kissed his right side, sucking and biting playfully, biding her time as he returned to Earth. Looking pleased with herself, she moved herself up over his legs, his member softening slightly as it shifted, and slipped into a neat hiding place between her breasts. She propped her chin on her left hand. "Did you eat pineapple today?" The Spy choked out snort at that. "Pardon?" She shook her head. "Nevermind." He looked at her for a long moment. "Come 'ere." She crawled up towards him. He pulled her in for a brief kiss. "Why didn't you have ze Medic tend to zis?" She turned her head. "What?" "It must 'urt," he said. "Oh," she said, remembering the bruise, the swelling. She'd forgotten it. She was still pooled in arousal, tingling, not paying the injury any mind, but looking at the Spy with a dazed expression. "I haven't seen it. Is it bad?" He rolled on his side and pulled her to him, saying nothing. He pulled her leg over his hip and ran his hand down her body and slid his fingers between the lips of her sex, finding the flesh there slippery with wetness. She moaned softly, and he watched her, raptly. He continued to rub, his dick surging back to life at the immense arousal he felt at her readiness for him, the oil slick of sex-readying lubricant her body supplied. She moaned when he slipped his middle finger inside, and moaned again when his thumb pressed against her clit. He kissed her, toying with her rapidly growing state of arousal. "I want you," she murmured, her hips gliding back and forth against him, pressing down into his hand, into his body. "Oui, mademoiselle," he told her, his own voice husky and roughened with passion. "Do you?" she blurted, looking around, the question unasked but obvious. He shook his head, relaxing back and placing his other hand on his forehead. "Non." He chuckled, almost cruelly, recognition floating down over him. "Non. I do not." Sniper looked forlorn, dizzy, and hungry. "Damn...I don't either." He removed his hand, fingers damp, and rested it on her hip. "Do you wish to stop?" ==================== Be efficient. Be polite. Use a rubber. Um. If there are errors in this story, I apologize. I don't have a beta. Feedback is welcome though.
Hommina hommina hommina indeed! This fic...guh! It's romantic and lovely, and I like the way you didn't bugger around with 3 chapters of setup/explanation for even having a chick there - just straight into delicious story.
>>8 He slid his hands along her arms Everything was wonderful until I misread "arms" as "anus" VAS IST, BRAIN? Also, <spoiler>SOCK GARTERS</spoiler>! Awkward mid-sex OHSHIT moment: The best kind of OHSHIT moment.
Unfair Advantage Friendly Fire: BLU Sniper x BLU Spy Part 5 I came buckets. ==================== She groaned. "No." There was a mischievous glint in his eye. The Spy sat up and kissed her, sliding his fingers into her soft hair. He whispered into her ear. "Zen I shall continue," said the Spy, "'owever, we must take zis to my bedroom." She hesitated. "But..." Her eyes fluttered closed as the Spy's lips brushed her ear. She was confused by his counter-offer, but the sensation of his touch was easy to comprehend, was fully realized. It might not have been fair, exactly, to ask her to agree to something while under the influence of sex. "As much as I enjoy ze...close quarters," he murmured, sucking on her earlobe in between words, "it is rather hot in 'ere, and my bed is larger." He leaned back to appraise her face, which was soft with utter arousal. "I must insist." She nodded, faintly. He smiled and began to retrieve his clothes, half dressing. He slipped on his shirt, but did not button it, and pulled on his pants, watching as she reclined on the bed, looking utterly edible and sexy. He took her hand and helped her up. "Come along, now, petite." He took his jacket from the floor, shook it, gave her a bit of a snide look, and then held it open for her. She took it and held it tight to her body as she stood, perhaps now feeling a bit nude, suddenly a bit shy. The Spy removed his INVIS watch and handed it to her. She looked at him with a blank face. What the hell is this? It was all too much. "Gather up what you need," he instructed. Giving the Spy a cheeky look, she grabbed a few underclothes and stepped her bare feet into her boots. She put on her hat and the Spy's watch, and looked quite the spectacle. She turned off the light and as the Spy stepped outside, she locked the camper door, shutting it tightly. They walked together in the darkness back towards the base. The Spy smoked a cigarette as they walked while the Sniper contemplated the implications of looping her arm through his, or, damn it all, holding his hand. She wanted to, but it was some strange part of her that seemed to come out of nowhere. It was odd, but she felt comfortable, it all felt a bit familiar. She was not given much of an opportunity to try and logic out the risk of holding his hand, though, because as they neared the entrance to the base, the Spy grabbed her hand in his anyway and led her through the entrance, telling her to activate the cloak so she wouldn't be seen. They sneaked through the base to the barracks and to Spy's room, the very last on the left. He unlocked the door with his keycard and shuffled the woman inside, slipping the INVIS watch from her wrist and back onto his own. He told her, "I shall return." Sniper nodded and watched him leave. The door closed with a loud snap. She looked around his room--the first time seeing a dorm room in general, and his in particular. The walls were bare, his closet was full of blue pinstriped suits and nice Italian leather shoes. It was nondescript. There was a desk, covered with files, and there was a bed. It really was bigger than hers, and it looked plush. A heavy wave of sandy sleep drifted over her as she looked at his 500 thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets. It looked like an oasis. She dropped her things, stepped out of her boots and removed the Spy's loaned jacket, hung it on the back of his desk chair. The BLU Sniper was at odds. She had been dreaming of this profane act for weeks, and here it was. She felt no shame, and yet she felt a peculiar sense of just how awful things could go over the next few days. She sort of hated that they'd had to stop, to give her a chance to start mulling it over. It was cold in his room, where it had been near stifling in her van. She shivered, partly in anticipation, and tried not to talk herself out of what she'd gotten herself into. Spy timed the charge of his cloak carefully. He'd need it to last while he picked the lock on the door of Medic's office. He kneeled on the floor, working quickly but trying to keep the noise down. He looked down the hallway towards the rec room, watching the flashes of light signifying that the television was on and someone was watching, or at least zonked out in front of it. He cracked the lock, slipped inside Medic's office, and rifled through the man's drawers until he found them. Bingo. The door opened, and the Spy slipped into the dark room without a sound. He might have asked himself just what the fuck he was doing, but the answer was inconsequential. He had been under contract by BLU for five years now. The Spy was no stranger to the rules, he knew that personal relationships amongst the contract workers was forbidden, and beyond that, it went against his personal ethics as well. Even a Spy had ethics, or at least a small list of things to which he wouldn't stoop. One of the things he'd told himself he wouldn't do was romance his teammates, or seduce them, or get intimate. Of course it was fine to mess around, so long as it didn't impede his job. He had known for a while that the Sniper stirred feelings in him that were more than just a professional understanding. He knew it would be troublesome if he let things progress. That had all been taken into consideration, of course, and rapidly thrown out the window when she'd kissed him, earlier. In light of his rather strange, personally vested foray into the RED Sniper's van after sunset, and the dealings therein, this behavior was not so far out of line. If he was going to break the rules, he may as well dash them all, and there was no better way than to do it than this... The fun he was looking at, in his bed, was snoozing lightly. She was snuggled in the center of his bed, amongst the expanse of his sheets, naked and with sexy, tousled hair strewn over plush, smooth pillows. He felt a twinge of profound delight spring up in his gut as he began tossing off his clothes to join her. It felt very nice to have a warm body in his bed, and such a cute face. She smelled rather nice. He sidled up next to her and brushed her hair away, revealing her face. He kissed her forehead, and purred into her ear, feeling inspired. "Ah, ma bichette. Seicome l'acqua nel deserto." The Sniper sighed languorously. "Oh is that you, Spy?" She stretched alongside his body, he could feel her muscles tensing like a bowstring, and then relax. "How d'ya say...not now, I have a headache, in French?" He chuffed, but it was in good humor. Her eyes were still closed, and she was absolutely uninterested in anything he could possibly say, even though he wasn't talking. "I know some French." He was interested in this. "Oh really?" "Mmm. Jer face sah tute sool," she drew out the syllables like taffy on her tongue. She slid he eyes open just a bit to read his face. "Je fais ça tout seul," he repeated, snickering only internally, not giving her the benefit of his keen enjoyment of her attempt to mangle his mother tongue. "Very funny, ma petÃt choux." The sheets sighed as she turned a little and tucked her arms neatly in front of herself, wrists folded beneath her chin. "What did ya find?" He held up the package. "Only if you wish to continue." "Romance me some more, an' we'll see about it." "Je t'adore, but of course," he said, sliding his hand over her hip, the package neatly situated between his pointer and middle finger. "Je t'aime a la folie, my shortsighted friend." She took the package from him and held it, just to take it away, to own the situation to some degree. "You say that to all your Snipers." He smiled, faintly. "I wouldn't put it zat way." "Tell me somethin'," she said, looking at him, with uncensored, searching eyes. They were piercing without those silly aviators walling them off from plain view. "What is it you want to 'ear?" He was relaxed, which normally wasn't surprising, but considering that he had a bedmate, and it was support personnel, it was a little unsettling. The Sniper rolled onto her back and let the sheets uncover her body. She let one arm rest above her head, fingering the plastic material of the little packet. The solitary window above the Spy's bed let in the only light. The moon was a waning crescent, illuminating the room in a silvery bluish hue that highlighted and accentuated the curves of her body most adequately. She was lovely. She was not the Sniper who hunted heads in the daylight at the high powered scope of her rifle. As she looked at him, he was not the man whose calling card was a sinister cackle and a knife between the ribs. "What did you think when you first saw me?" she asked. What a woman's question. The Spy recalled their assignment to the base, and the altogether brief introduction. "I thought you were a disagreeable spinster who 'ad divorced herself from all traces of 'er feminine side." She was a bit astounded to say the least, it wasn't what she expected, and it wasn't what she wanted to hear, but his honesty warranted a slight nod. "All right..." She felt a bit vexed, and her lips formed an adorable little moue that the Spy could not resist. "I also thought you were quite 'andsome," he said, tipping her chin to steal a kiss, and looking quite pleased with himself. "So...tonight..." "Just let it be," he said, tucking a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. "Tomorrow, ze killing will resume, and we will see what ze next night brings. But for tonight..." He leaned in, as if conspiratorial, giving away a bit of intel on a whisper. He hovered near her mouth. "I am enjoying zis." "It's not a crush," she said, against his mouth, but not yet kissing him. "As I said, ze feeling," he said, pulling her closer, "is mutual." He approached her body with renewed interest. From his bed, the vantage was immediately better. He rolled her onto her back and took inventory of every inch of skin on her body. He used his hands, his body, his lips, his tongue, he perused her with vigor, resuming his fingers to the cleft of her thighs and stroking her to within mere nanometers of fracturing her mind, sending her spilling ass over teakettle into the oblivion of yes, more, more, and the borderlands of oh god, I can't feel my legs. If she'd ever had a partner so giving, so diligent in his attention and his expression of interest in her fulfillment, his memory was sandblasted from her memory by the notion of the Spy, between her legs, his hands and his fingers and then his lips and tongue limitless, doing things to her that spoke of some unholy geometry altogether. In the essence of some shred of modesty, she clamped the hand that wasn't clutching the Spy's head over her mouth as a ragged moan escaped her. He drew her back from the edge of eternity, gentled her down off the ledge. He pressed a kiss into the jutting out of her hipbone and then made his way back up to her mouth. He was breathless, and his eyes were full of lust. His look must have been a reflection of her own. "Spy." "Je te vieux," he said, and as she guided her hand down his muscled abs to his cock. Feeling his hardness, she realized she still had the little package in her other hand, though she'd crushed it somewhat. It took her a second to locate that hand: it was under a pillow. The Sniper wondered where she was, and tried to remember her name, and how she'd gotten here, but she gave up not long after trying. She opened it, tossed aside the wrapper and shoved the Spy into the bed on his back, unrolling the condom down his shaft. Spy remained somewhat passive, still watching her, as she straddled him, her hips moving up and over his cock, sliding along it without penetration. She bit her lip, and Spy grunted slightly at the sensation along the underside of his dick. It felt good, all of it did. Her hips rocked, and his followed, hands on her again, helping to push and pull her along. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, shifting enough to allow his cock to stand upright, and then moved down onto him. She wiggled slightly, righting herself atop him, eliciting sexy noises from his throat. "Yes," he said, as she rode him, "yes, ma chérie." Sniper moaned and threw her head back, absorbing the feeling of his thick cock rooted within her, filling her. She rode him as he had not been in a very long time. Her thin body worked along with his to bring them crashing together, a sheen of sweat coating their bodies like a fine mist, their skin hot and her ass clapping delightfully against him when she bobbed up and down, faster. "Oh, yes," she moaned, leaning back, and he wasted no time reaching forward with his hand to press his thumb again into her clit, his other sliding up to her tits, massaging them. "Uhgnn...oh...god..." Spy watched her intensely as she rode him, a bit in awe. She looked magnificent in the subtle light that dusted their bodies. He began to sit up, his arms tight around her waist, gripping her as she writhed and re-settled in his lap. They kissed, sloppy, ravenous, mouths clashing, tongues darting, teeth nicking. He put his hands on her hips, helping to guide and pull her down onto him, deeper. She groaned mirthfully and kissed his neck, sucking hard, biting his trapezius and eliciting a groan from him, too. She nuzzled his ear, and bit at it through his mask. He groaned louder and flung her onto her back, plunging into her core with more vigor, hitching her legs around his waist, clutching at her ass with both hands and driving into her. It seemed she had found his "go" button. In his mind, he thought in streams of color, the color of her hair, the paleness of her skin, the few reddish scars, the periodic, brown mole; he thought in sounds, the slapping of their flesh, the panting of their breath combined, her longing noises, mewling, moaning, and girlish little grunts; he thought in smells, her sweat, his sweat, her juices, his, their saliva, his cologne, cigarette smoke, lavender--was that her? Spy had been with women, quite a few, and he could tell that this little Sniper had experience too, but this was different. He had bedded men and women alike, but he'd not bedded a coworker. He had since trumped that concern, but still, the newness did not elude him. She was small, but lithe, with muscles showing just slightly in her arms, her legs, and ass. Her ankles hooked around him, her knees squeezing him, drawing him in, closer, deeper, harder. He cupped her jaw, turning it so that he could ravage her neck. She sucked his forefinger and thumb into her mouth when they moved close enough to her lips. Her tongue swirled over and around his fingers. Her hands began to scrape at his arms, curled around his forearms as he braced against them. Things were just warming up. She scratched up his biceps, his shoulders, and clutched his back, opening her mouth and gasping when his throbbing member hit her G-spot so perfectly. His hands found their way to her wrists, trapped her, pushed her down into the bed, captured her mouth with his, claimed her. Sniper submitted herself fully to him, to his body, to his will, as she lay beneath him. She clenched her internal muscles against him, bucked against him, following his rhythm as best she could. She let herself release, letting go of her fear, her worry, and her insecurity. Her breasts bounced beautifully as he pumped into her, and her breath came in fast intervals, and his dick felt magnificent, and she felt truly gorgeous. Spy's hands wandered her body, stroking her hips, her thighs, gripping at times and then soothing, petting. He rubbed her clit with his left hand and slipped his right hand up her body, to her neck. His fingers slid into the sweaty tangle of hair at the base of her neck, gathered, and then pulled gently, just enough. "Don't stop!" she moaned, her voice low, scratchy, desperate. He sat up abruptly, pulling her legs from his waist and pushing them up towards her, plowing her hard for a few impossibly deep thrusts, and then flipped her half onto her stomach, without disengaging. He held one leg against his chest, fucking her sideways. She grasped the bedsheets, god they were soft, and cried out before snapping one hand over her mouth, in the essence of maintaining some shred of modesty. Spy gripped her, fingertips pushing indents to her skin, their bodies exquisitely flush as he fucked her, hard, just shy of complete desperation. He closed his eyes, listening to her muffled shouts into the palm of her hand. He gave a few more deep, merciless thrusts and then pushed her all the way onto her stomach, though he slipped from her while doing so. She dropped her forehead to the bed, upper body sluggish, and he dragged her hips up to meet his cock again, thrusting in slowly to the hilt and picking up his pace. He gripped her ass with both hands, pulling her over and over against him. He leaned his head back, relishing this feeling. "I'm close," she panted. He took her arms and pulled her up against him, his chest pressed fully against her back. She spread her knees wide, completely submitting. He pressed his cheek against her shoulder, their bodies one, their breath in unity, fever pitch, all there was in the universe was their frenzied fucking, spiraling out of control. She made an array of sexy noises, and he ate it all up. "Ugh, dieu," he moaned. The Spy was reaching his limit. he reached to stroke and rub and press and pinch her clit, still thrusting hard and fast. Her body began to tense, tightening, her hands grazing his thighs, head tipped back. She gritted her teeth together, feeling the unwinding of a hot coil of fire in the base of her spine as he coaxed an orgasm out of her so expertly. He brought her back to infinity, to the meeting place of black and white, red and blue, pain and pleasure, to the sizzling, vibrating line between good and bad, male and female, hot and cold. A cascade of muscle contractions wracked her body. "More," she hissed, "more!" of what, she could not say, could not imagine, not in any language. "That's it," he murmured, guiding her hips. "Come for me, ma chérie." His sultry voice in her ear was just the ticket. She was wordless as her orgasm unraveled, her entire body flexing and tensing and clutching and clawing, nerve endings flickering and flashing like fireworks. She fell apart into a sinfully delicious, twitching mess. Warm, melty softness flooded her vision, clouded her brain. She unraveled. Spy felt it as she came, and kept up with her, filling her, drawing it all out, and as her head dropped back against his shoulder, he felt his own orgasm coming, and let it come, bucking into her forcefully, agonizingly until he came, moaning, his hot breath on her shoulder at the juncture of her neck. He slowed his movement, gentling her as their breathing slowed, ironing out the sensations, riding it all back down into their respective bodies. "Ughnnn," he sighed, their movement finally still save for their shallow breaths. He held her against him, taking a long while to feel out his nervous system and take status of his body. They stayed there, sweat cooling on their bodies, their panting suddenly very loud in the quiet, cold room. ==================== LONG PORNO IS LONG. Tell me...was it worth it?
He nuzzled her sex ... eliciting sexy noises from his throat. What, um, what kind of noises? She groaned mirthfully Did she...did she laugh? She made an array of sexy noises, and he ate it all up Pfft what. Maybe replace three in every five instances of "sexy" with, I don't know, ANYTHING ELSE. So much of this fic is great, and then some of the phrasing makes me feel like I'm reading Jean M Auel, or Juliet Marillier, or Sara Douglass. Not in a good way. In a if-you're-not-comfortable-talking-about-sex-then-don't-try-to-write-it way. Your emotions and romance and story are lovely, it just fell down a bit at the actual porn, unfortunately. (In an unrelated note, captcha = "bacons")
>>12 Anony-writer here. RE: groaning mirthfully. Shit, good point, although perhaps I have groaned and laughed at the same time during sex. Probably could have worded that better. I'm sorry it fell short, but I enjoyed writing it. I haven't written in a while and the sex scene just came gushing out in a weird frenzy. I knew before posting that it's probably the weakest part of the story, but...meh. I actually wrote all the other parts around it. Thank you for the input. I guess being told my smut is crap and my story is good is a compliment!
Unfair Advantage Friendly Fire: BLU Sniper x BLU Spy Epilogue I took >>12's advice and went back to my copy of part 5 and found/replaced four or five of the "sexies" and it got better. I just want this damn story to be done so I can stop thinking about it! Here! ==================== "Lie down," he suggested, still regaining awareness of his body. She carefully leaned forward and all but collapsed into the bed on her side, knees bent, her head on his pillows. He got up to dispose of the used condom and returned from the bathroom with a warm washcloth. Through slitted eyes, sleepy, inebriated, sated, exhausted, Sniper watched him approach the bed and sit down. He draped the washcloth across his knee and rummaged in a drawer, producing and lighting a cigarette. The flame set the room ablaze in a stark, sudden flash, and then was gone, leaving just the red-orange cherry of the lit end of the cigarette and curing wisp of grey-white smoke ascending. He took a draw and blew it out, away from her, and set his hand on her knee, kindly. "We made quite a mess," he said, quietly. There was amusement in his tone. "'Ere..." He nudged her so that she laid flat, and he used the moist, warm washcloth to gently clean her, very delicately. She watched him, silently, mind fuzzy. If there was anything to say, she wasn't capable. She folded her hands atop her stomach and just...enjoyed it. She felt almost shocked by his gentleness, by his kindness. Even during their hard, fast fucking, he had been considerate, had been more than good to her. Maybe there was something she could say. It was softer than a whisper, "Thank you." "De rien," he said, tossing the washcloth aside when he had finished. He sat and smoked for a while, blinking into the darkness, his mind utterly blank, and both of their bodies uncommonly still and serene. After a bit he looked over at her. She'd tapped his thigh. He looked at her hand, and she made a grasping motion, at which he smiled and handed her the cigarette. She held it between her index and middle finger, and took a drag, eyes closed, her lashes a thick, dark fringe on her cheeks. She released a thin trail of smoke from pursed lips and regarded him, drowsily, before digging her head deeper into plush pillows...nicer than the ones she had. He leaned over her, propping his weight on his left arm, and watched for a few seconds. She held the cigarette lightly between her fingers, wrist draped lazily over her forehead, lips parted. Her eyes were glassy in the darkness, a ten thousand yard, blissed out stare trained on the ceiling through half-closed lids. Spy took her hand, grasping it delicately, and removed the cigarette, placed a light kiss on the back of her knuckles. Putting the cigarette back in his mouth, comfortably, the motion well-practiced, he turned away and inhaled deeply, the hot smoke curling down his throat, into his lungs. When he turned back, smoke cascading from both nostrils, Sniper's eyes were closed, her breathing even and shallow. Spy let her sleep, and went to his desk. He felt relaxed, his mind cool and peaceful for the first time in weeks. He stood near his workspace, not bothering to switch on the light, and shuffled some folders around with an air of seeming carelessness. Some folders were color-coded, some were not, stacked in somewhat neat piles, or creeping out of drawers, and lying open. There was even a stack of accordion folders stuffed with files and paperwork on the the floor next to his desk chair. He looked over his shoulder at the lady in his bed, who rolled luxuriously onto her side, showcasing her back and outstanding hourglass curves, shoulders dipping into her waist and then arcing up into wide, sultry hips. His eyes perused the formation of her body for only a moment before he retrieved a key and opened a lower, deep drawer full of hanging files. He adjusted the cigarette in his mouth from one corner to the other as he drew in a breath, the cherry glowing more intense. He removed a camera from the back of the drawer and shamelessly took a picture of the sleeping woman. If the flash woke her, well, he'd deal with that complication if it arose. He liked to have little mementos when there was so very little else that composed his secretive life. She had fallen asleep half on top of the covers, which just wouldn't do. He put the camera away and then jostled her only enough to pull aside the duvet and sheet, and then covered her loosely. The action felt odd, unrehearsed. He wasn't quite sure he considered himself a doting lover, but it seemed a natural thing to do. Spy crawled into bed, watching her, not that interested in whether or not she woke up. He slid into place closer to the wall, his eyes trained on her face. He leaned against the headboard, noted the ash on the end of his cigarette, and leaned over to the side table to tap it off, and stub out the rest. The woman sensed his movement and her arm slung out across his waist haphazardly. He couldn't help but smile, however faint, and place his hand on the smooth skin of her upper back. He didn't quite feel tired, though he was well spent. He thought he would just rest his eyes for a minute... Maybe it was something about her training that woke her, a subconscious urge to stay focused, in the present moment, always aware...or maybe it was the movement rocking her body, but something simply made her open her eyes. One instant in comfortable sleep, the next, she woke, unsure of the time or the date. She took a full breath and began to take stock of her present situation. She felt her hand, resting on warm flesh; she felt her head, also on warm flesh, rising up and down, slowly. She began to realize that she was on her right side, curled up, leg wound across another leg, not her own, her right arm tucked beneath her. His arm was draped around her back, his larger, warm hand softly cupping her hip. She could hear distant beating, was that a heart she felt, pulsating against her ear? There was something on her head, it was a chin, and from a nose there were consistent, low sighing breaths against her head. She panicked for a second, and recounted her recent memories. Foremost on her mind was the puffy, stubborn pain in her face. She remembered that, and then she remembered the camper, and the Spy, and the Spy's tongue, and she calmed. Her fingers twitched lightly over his skin, almost without her consent. A warm feeling of recognition washed over her. She remembered, vaguely, that he had been ticklish about the hips, so she carefully avoided them. She could only see his right side, as she was propped against his left, and her fingers tip-toed up his chest, trailing slow grazing touches along his ribs, to his pec, pausing to trace his collarbone. She made a careful adjustment to look up at him, all she could see really was his neck and his jaw, shrouded still in his balaclava. She had never expected him to remove it, had never even deigned to ask. It only occurred to her then that it was a bit odd that she'd been fucked by a masked man. "Hm, petite is ready for more, I take it?" Sniper felt her face redden immediately, her chest filling to the brim with sudden embarrassment. She pulled her hand away, only to have it clasped by the Spy's. He held it softly, his thumb brushing over her fingers, and brought it back down to his chest. She cleared her throat and curled up against him a bit tighter. Treacherous fingers be damned, she liked the feeling of being pressed to him this way. His left hand trailed up to her neck. He cradled her head, softly, fingers weaving through her hair, massaging her scalp. She leaned up, realizing that he was propped, probably uncomfortably, against the headboard. She looked at him with big, watery, sleepy eyes. She didn't hesitate. She leaned in and kissed him, sloppily, maybe a little playfully, on the mouth, though she half-missed his lips. Spy kissed her back, but did not increase the intensity, simply let the kiss remain soft, dwindling. She closed her eyes and laid down fully, next to him. The bed yielded enough space for them both to lie down flat next to one another, but she huddled against him, their arms touching. She let the blankets fall dangerously low over her body and pinned one hand behind her head. Spy relaxed beside her, his back aching a bit, his neck stiff form having fallen asleep sitting up. He propped his head on his hand and laid on his side. "I did not say as much before," he said, his voice low, "but you 'ave a lovely body." He reached out and pulled the sheet down to expose her to the darkness, to the purview of his eyes. He slid his hand over her stomach, grazing over the prominent ridges of her hipbones, gazing appraisingly, appreciatively. She blushed again, willing her breathing to stay in check amidst the fluttering of butterflies stirred within her chest. She didn't know what to say, but she told him thank you, and was ashamed of how timid and embarrassed her voice sounded. Spy looked up at her and smirked, but she wasn't threatened or even irritated at it. The mild expression of shame fled from her face, and was replaced with a plaintive, sheepish look of...contentedness. Her soft expression startled him, somewhat. He softened his look, trying not to dwell on any one of many inappropriate emotions and returned to his spectating of her body. He traced over her ribs, and delighted in the shivers he elicited with his touch. He bent over her more and dipped his lips to caress her tummy, brushing his scruffy face against her. He slipped his fingers below the sheet and grazed his hand down her thigh while his mouth wandered up to her neck. He pressed his mouth damply against hers, her lips rather bee-stung from their vigorous, bruising kisses. "Do you think," she murmured, ghosting her hand over Spy's garbed head, wishing she could run her fingers through his hair, "anyone heard us, earlier?" "I could not give a damn if zhey did," he said, his lips moving against her. "I quite enjoyed hearing you sing, songbird." At that, Sniper lightly slapped his shoulder. When he looked up at her, she was indignant, but it was cute. Spy chuckled at that. "I should get up," she said, beginning to sober up, pulling on her armor. "Go back to my van...get some sleep." The Spy let her rouse slightly, and then pulled her back down. "Sleep 'ere for a while. I will make sure you are not discovered 'ere. I always wake first." In the morning, Spy was not the first to wake. Loud banging on his door woke the Sniper first. She jolted up, clutching the covers to her chest, eyes wide, immediately awake. "Shit," she said, her hand pushing her hair out of her panicked face. The Spy sat up and stared at the door. His balaclava was rumpled. He did not look or feel very dignified. It was not his best moment. "MAGGOTS! OPEN THIS DOOR!" A grim sort of smile appeared on the Spy's face. It might finally be time to take revenge on the BLU Soldier for blowing his head off some weeks ago. The banging continued for a few moments longer, and then it stopped, and the quiet was deafening. The Soldier did not give up. He was going to plan b. He wouldn't negotiate with the door, and so, shortly thereafter, a shotgun perforated the lock, and boot kicked it in, almost knocked the door from its hinges. The door, silently, in some unknown and ancient language, asked for its next of kin to be informed of its death. "Your dick is mine, Frenchie." ==================== Fuck that! Upcoming in Unfair Advantage...Cross-Faction or more Friendly Fire? Probably not more from me, at least for a while. I gotta reconsider my sex writing strategy. Why did I just spend three days writing a TF2 Harlequin romance?! Actually...somebody else write something! Let's just call this the genderswap thread and you guys can post stuff here if you have it.
Oh Oh! genderswap thread! now I MUST write down an idea I've been sitting on... but it's damn long, so it will be a while methinks. Also: "Your dick is mine, Frenchie." = awesome line
Hmmm... I may post some genderswap/crossfaction because I'm into that kinky shit. Although I'm terrible at writing sex... I shall contemplate this...