Various kink meme / request fills. Special thanks to Beanie for being my awesome beta! --- Anybody, his hands tied over his heads and ankles tied apart, cock bound so he can't come and having to ride a dildo cowgirl style. Not gagged so you can hear every hitch of breath, moan, screams, shuddering please's. Make a good show of it, and maybe you'll let him come. Maybe you won't, just to see those frustrated tears track down his beautiful, flustered face. - “You an’ your fuckin’ toybox...†Arms in the air, he tugged a bit on the rough material wrapped around his wrists, and the pulley above him squeaked in return. “Christ, hardhat, you’re into some kinky shit...†Engineer finished up the tie around Scout’s ankles while chuckling that laugh of his, low and gruff and somehow knowing. A good deal of alcohol was already coursing through both of their systems and it was the only way Engineer knew he’d ever get away with it, in respect to both his own conscience and Scout’s overall character--quite frankly, he’d be surprised if the kid remembered much of this in the morning. Seating himself on the floor in front of the youth, Engineer grabbed hold of the opposite end of the rope hanging down from the pulley, and gave a firm yank. “Cripes, man--not so fuckin’ hard...†The older man took a moment to appreciate his handiwork. Scout was kneeling up on the ground across from him, naked from head to toe, wobbling a bit to keep balance as his arms were pulled over his head. His bare torso stretched out even tighter with every tug on the rope binding his wrists, every slight mark of definition in his chest made more distinct as it strained from the effort. His ankles were bound behind him as well, forcing him to rest on the top of his feet and limiting his movements to as much up-down motion as the rope gave way for. A haze of intoxication still overwhelmed Scout completely, and he struggled to keep his vision straight through a drunk, half-lidded stare. Whatever he felt slide over his cock a little while ago was starting to get uncomfortable--since when did they make condoms so fucking tight, anyway--but the best part about all this was the makeshift dildo stuck to the ground just beneath him, a smooth form of thick rubber pushing up against his ass in the most awkward-yet-obvious way possible. Engineer tapped his end of the rope impatiently against the metal of the pulley. “C’mon, cowgirl, show me what you got.†Scout scoffed, trying to spread his knees apart a little wider. “Ain’t no fuckin’...cow, alright...†Scout wasn’t even sure why he was going along with this--he just knew the thing under him was slick with lube and warm for some reason and he was still turned on as fuck from what Engineer was doing with his hands earlier before he left to go grab his damn toolbox. Scout pulled himself up a little, realizing this was as much help as Engineer was going to give him. His hands trembled as he tried keeping the focus he needed to carry his own weight; too weary to maintain the strength for long, Scout lowered himself as soon as he was in position--he inhaled sharply through gritted teeth as the toy slid inside, curved just right to push hard against a weird spot deep within him that made his hips twitch in reflex and his mind go totally fuzzy. A small jolt of pleasure trickled through him, and through it, Scout found the desire to start moving. He hauled himself up, and down again--Christ, it was filling him--feeling the muscles in his arms tensing as he started riding harder and harder against it--fuck yes, right there, fuck--the rope chafing against the skin of his wrists as he went faster. Engineer had gotten his overalls pooled around his hips sometime during the act. The smug look once settled on his face was faltering--he was stroking himself through the fabric of his shorts, too busy watching Scout from the neck down to pay attention to how closely the kid was watching him. “I ain’t that hammered, hardhat, I see how bad I’m getting to ya.†He ground his hips and made a complete show of it, lips parting into a flustered smile. “You fuckin’ love watchin’ this, don’tcha... fuckin’ pervert...†And to Scout’s satisfaction, he got the exact reaction he was looking for: Engineer replied with a mild grunt, pushing his hand against his obvious erection more insistently. But Scout wouldn’t give him the benefit, hell no. Let the old man do whatever he wanted to himself--Scout would just let himself go, and all the ol’ hardhat could do was sit there with that stupid look on his face and watch. But when the time arrived and Scout felt that familiar tightening in his gut--to be quite frank, nothing came. Scout readjusted his knees in confusion, hoisting himself up by the wrists and letting the toy slip against him once--oh yeah, he could definitely feel that, but for some reason he was teetering on the brink of climax, unable to finish himself off. He looked down at his crotch--he was unbearably hard, now--and realized whatever Engineer had wrapped around him was no condom. “Is that...what that’s...†The grin that broke Engineer’s expression sent Scout into a panic. “This...this shit ain’t funny, man.†Scout's voice was cracking now, in spite of himself. The rope above him was much looser than before--he couldn’t pull himself up when he tried--and every little movement seemed to press the toy against the single place he really didn’t want it. “T--take it off.†Engineer gave a breathless chuckle. He took his hand away from the front of himself and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, hand-held remote. “The fuck is that?†asked Scout, blinking his eyes open wide before struggling half-heartedly against his binds. “What the fuck are you--†Engineer pressed a button. And the damn dildo started vibrating. “Jesus--!†Scout immediately sat up on his knees to get away from the sensation, but Engineer let the rope go way too damn slack--taut enough to keep Scout’s arms above his head but limp enough to prevent him from maneuvering himself effectively. Scout tried keeping himself up on his knees, the tip of quivering rubber teasing against his entrance; he entered a staredown with Engineer, and the older man was grinning again, that bastard, he was grinning because he knew. Losing his strength, Scout hissed a curse in defeat before sitting back down again, feeling the toy shove itself up his ass and tremble inside of him, and hell, this would feel so great if only he could just-- Scout’s hips began rocking back and forth, digging the sensation even deeper, in hopes a level overcoming this torture could be reached. He was so turned on right now it was getting painful--he doesn’t remember being this hard in his life and christ if he didn’t get some relief soon he swore his balls were going to explode. It didn’t help that Engineer already had his dick out in the open, jerking off while watching him suffer like this, he really was a weirdo--fuck, what Scout would do to have use of his own hands right now. Scout threw his head back and keened, breaths broken into sharp, stuttering inhales and slow exhales dripping with his moans. He kept his body moving in a frustrated repetition, aching for release, circling his hips against the quaking rubber until he was sure it would leave him bruised the next day; beads of sweat were dancing across his bare skin, and the dire pleading which once escaped unnoticed beneath his silent breaths grew to a slow, yet steady chant--please, please, please, please. He only suffered an increase in tension, though, and his begging soon became far louder than the buzzing of the contraption tormenting him; a few warm droplets slid down the sides of his face, and as far as Scout was concerned, it was only sweat. Engineer was still pumping away at himself when he shuffled over to Scout’s side, still stroking up and down the weight of his length as he watched the youth bend and writhe at the mercy of his invention. Finally, Engineer took his end of rope between his teeth, reaching up with a newly-freed hand to twist against something on the underside of Scout’s cock-ring. The small device sprang loose, and the boy was free. Engineer will never forget how tightly Scout shut his eyes, or how his following scream pierced the older man’s empty workshop with echoes even the walls would remember. Scout’s climax sent Engineer reeling--the rope fell from his mouth and whipped up over the pulley as he came on a near-soundless cry, shooting off his load across the ground just before Scout lost complete balance and fell right up against him. Panting, Engineer looked over his shoulder, and chuckled at the distance Scout had managed on his own. “Now that there’s some fine shootin’, sport.†The experience did little to sober Scout up--if anything, he was even drunker than he was before--and that was why he neither noticed nor cared that he had fallen face-down against the top of Engineer’s right thigh. “Shut up and get me the fuck outta this shit, toast-fucker.â€
Oh God- short, but man! That was hot. Off to my bunk; please write more in the meantime!
Holy shit, that was amazing. Please...write moar.
Thanks, Anons! :D Here, have another. --- Just once. It can even be short, a few lines, some imagery, verbs, nouns, adjectives...But it has to describe bottom!Heavy. top!Medic BONUS. But bottom!Heavy is the goal. - He knew better. He must have known better, Medic convinces himself, because no one could possibly be that foolish. Pinching the bridge of his nose with a free hand, the German sets his clipboard aside, the clacking of pressed wood against countertop far too loud in a room far too quiet. Heavy sits upon the examination table a few feet away, naked as the day he was born, and suddenly Medic finds ‘across the room’ wasn’t as far as it used to be. A sigh escapes the good doctor, and his hand moves from his face to motion in Heavy’s general direction. You know the drill. The Russian takes the glass container he was handed earlier back into his hands and pulls his legs up from over the corner, making metal supports creak beneath him as he positions himself on all fours against the tabletop. He can hear Medic approaching, footsteps brisk and sharp, and Heavy gives a tentative glance over his shoulder, already well-aware of the line he’ll receive in response. “Keep your eyes forward, bitte.†“...yes, doktor.†The bitterness in Heavy’s voice would have been more frightening if it didn’t fail to change a thing. Medic pulls on a pair of latex gloves, allowing the cuff to snap on the last tug--Heavy’s back straightens in anticipation. “I assume you are familiar whis zhe procedure?†“Of course,†Heavy assures, sounding amused. “Is ‘prostate exam’, da?†“Zhis is no laughing matter, Herr Heavy. Whis your medical history, you are running at high risk for--†“If I didn’t know better, I would say doktor is stalling again.†Laughing quietly through the resulting silence, the Russian positions the familiar jar between his legs beneath himself so that he hovers over it--he didn’t need to see Medic to know when the doctor became flustered. “Do not worry, I am only single patient,†he says. “One of many doktor sees today.†You know perfectly well the others don’t receive this treatment. Taking a bottle from his inner pocket, Medic squeezes a gel-like concoction onto his gloved palm, smoothing the substance across his fingers. Why do you insist on subjecting yourself to this? The doctor’s mind clutters with aimless thoughts while he rests a palm against the other man’s behind and eases a digit into him with care and caution, unable to deny his own arousal as Heavy squirms uneasily beneath his touch. Medic feels him from the inside--massaging, stretching--and the motions Heavy makes in response become so strangely empowering, Medic slips forth a second finger before he even realizes what he’s decided. It was familiar--far too familiar. Medic mastered every stroke needed to get his temporary patient rising to his extent, every twist of his fingers which make the other man move insistently against him, Heavy masking his noises with agitated grunts messily twined between audible breaths. Medic knows the amount of pressure needed, how to caress with intensity, when to miss on purpose, to rile Heavy up until he’s on the brink of taking control and his agitation can almost be tasted. Every time, Medic longs for the day Heavy takes him over by force, but the former always falls a few moments short by stopping just before the man beneath him breaks. The doctor refuses to acknowledge his own desire. He’s foolish to want this, and yet still Medic unbuttons the bottom half of his cloak while reciting a ridiculous line about Heavy’s overall size necessitating a larger instrument, and still Heavy entertains him, giving a low, resounding chuckle before a short ‘I understand’ is accepted as means of consensus. And when Medic pushes in, already hard as hell from the mere concept of this moment, he’s far too lost within the experience to deny it as one of the most remarkable sensations he’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing. His palms press against Heavy’s sides when he buries himself completely inside, tight muscle surrounding him, warm and undeniably satisfying. The knowledge of having someone of Heavy’s size and power kneeling at his mercy inflames Medic with a shameful, fervent pride; he increases speed against his comrade, making sure to angle himself deliberately, spitefully against the only spot within the other man worth aiming for, and the unsteady rhythm evolves into a deep, delicious repetition that’s too much for Medic to bear--he’s already far too close to release for comfort. A thick accent smothers the words falling from Heavy’s mouth until there’s no telling if they’re English or Russian, and he continues rumbling foreign curses under his breath, low and deep and quiet as if ashamed to speak them. Medic forces his panting hushed in efforts to maintain a façade long since shattered, expressions of passion limited to a strengthening grasp against thick skin and breathless chants of ‘hold still, bitte, hold still’. Heavy slams a great fist against the tabletop to stop from crying out, growling Medic’s title before he came. Medic removes himself, moving a hand to his own mouth and the other between his legs to bring himself the rest of the way; the taste of rubber crosses sharply against his tongue as he bites down to keep his voice reserved, and he arrived with a sharp inhale, spilling semen across the towel laying flat beneath his knees. It spreads, electrifying, trickling through every nerve and resonating through his bones long after his body yields. A calming breath and a steadied heartbeat later, stern complacency returns swiftly to Medic’s expression. He straightens his posture and buttons down the front of his cloak, adjusting his glasses for good measure as if dignity returned with leverage. “...ze jar, bitte.†Heavy moves to hand the container over, his massive fingers curled around the spiraled edges. Medic’s hand is still trembling as he snatches the jar from Heavy’s grasp, careful not to spill the contents yet quick enough to withdraw himself and break skin contact with haste. The sounds of Heavy getting redressed echoes throughout the room--gentle clinking of metal buckles, small shifts of an adjusting bandolier. Back turned, Medic keeps his hands pressed against the corners of his desk, unable to bring himself to look Heavy in the eyes out of concern--no, fear of what he may see staring back at him. The guilt rises in his gut and for a moment he feels like throwing up--not because of the act itself, but the awareness of using another man so completely, it made him sick to his stomach. It was an act put on for the sake of saving face, shameless and inconsequential, a way of attaining pleasure in this godforsaken state of things--physical, exclusive, and temporary. God knows Heavy could overpower him at anytime, but he doesn’t. Perhaps he enjoys being used, feeling vulnerable. Perhaps there was nothing to feel guilty for. The door unlocks and the sudden noise yanks a single word from the doctor’s mouth out into the open, an expression of gratitude in native tongue which in hindsight was better left unsaid. “Is no problem, doktor,†is all he says back. Medic can barely hear his own thoughts over the sound of the door clicking shut, and he wonders if the day will come when neither of them will be forced to look away.
Seriously, I love this. I love it every single time I read it. Best fic request fill evar. Mind you, I still think there is so much in this one dirty little fic that could still be harvested, so remember... Medic leaves his office door unlocked and you are awesome.
There was one I recall that was based on a picture Syberfox drew with Medic, Spy, and Sniper all having a threesome. Does anybody have it?
>>6 I believe that was mine. I'm going to rework it a little bit before I repost it. But the thought that someone remembers it must be good, right?
>>7 i still have it mmmmm
>>7 But Amante, I want it noooooooow! I'm going to throw a temper tantrum right in the middle of this Chan and embarrass you! I'm fucking with you; take all the time you need! I'll eagerly await the results.
>>7 I think I remember this one, someone link me up when it's reposted. Hurf here have more oldfic. --- >>Demo/Scout, paying for sex. Canonically, Demoman is ultrarich with his $5million income from his three jobs; Scout comes from a big family in a bad area. Put the two together, and the only natural outcome is money for sex. >Bonus for Scout being all WTF IS THIS SHIT and weighing up his dignity against his...I dunno, cripple brother getting a wheelchair or some other sort of angsty shit. Delicious self-loathing and inner-conflict, I must have it. >Demoman should probably be like half-drunk and gruff. Scout should have a hard time understanding his angry, scottish sluring. And they should have extremely sloppy sex. Yes. - If you told Scout he’d one day agree to prostitute himself because everyone had their price, your reply would come in the form of a prompt beating with the nearest blunt object until you were forced to respawn. Yet, in spite of such self-important notions as pride, honor, and dignity, Scout couldn’t deny that ‘choice’ was a privilege he was stripped of the moment the offer was made. As independent as he made himself out to be, Scout came from a rather large family he’d taken it upon himself to help support; see, one of his older brothers had gotten sick--real sick--and the hospital bills were getting too much for ma to handle on her own. Seeing as a few of his brothers had families of their own to worry about, Scout sent back as much as his salary would allow, but as he was reminded by the letters from home, rent ain’t cheap and food ain’t free. He wasn’t sure how long his mom would last like this, and the fact he couldn’t do anything about it damn near killed him. Demoman knew all about it, too, the nosy fuck. And Scout vows, promises, assures himself it’s the only reason he’s standing in front of the Scotsman now, feeling all awkward and sweaty and swearing to god the guy could see through his clothes or something because that look of his was getting funny in the worst way possible. Demoman, on the other hand, didn’t mean to traverse the brink of perversion, even if he understood he’d crossed that Rubicon the minute his signature graced the check. Him and his team had been cramped up under dismal living conditions for several months and, quite frankly, the desire for human contact had gotten overwhelming, driving him to the point of...well, this. It wasn’t his proudest moment--what would his parents think of him now?--but he reckoned he could make it more of a trade than a purchase by helping someone else with their problems in the process. He needed sex, the kid needed money. Simple as that. Even though he didn’t think anything less of Scout for accepting, it never ceased to amaze the former what a few extra zeros could do to a person. Wobbling slightly as he rose to his feet, Demoman moved from his armchair, staring in a mixture of amusement and guilt as Scout tensed up with every step he approached. Demoman wasn’t sure whether his own expression was heavy with the lingering shame he felt about all this, but hell if he wasn’t going to at least try to enjoy it. He even deluded himself into thinking he could drink enough to make the kid resemble a woman; instead, it made his vision half-lidded and blurry, which was almost just as effective. “C’mere, lad.†Scout picked up on the graciousness lacing other man’s voice and his expression turned sharp, not much unlike a cornered animal prepared to strike. Shuffling forward with the utmost cautiousness, Scout noticed Demoman reach the bottom of his bottle and pretty much figured there was no way in hell he was doing this sober. “Let’s just fuckin’ get this over with, man.†Without another word, Demoman took Scout by the arms and craned forward to rest his forehead within the crook of Scout’s neck, taking in the boy’s scent as Scout exhaled in turn. Demoman’s breath is thick with the scent of sleeplessness and alcohol; his accent blankets the drunken slurs and explicatives spilling from his mouth, and by the time his hands slide under Scout’s shirt with the very impassioned possessiveness once absent from his tone, the only thing the youth can make out is that he’s angry. Scout wonders why they’ve taken to the floor, but realized the crazy bastard was probably too smashed out of his mind to process what ‘uncomfortable’ felt like. Demoman managed to turn Scout around until they were facing the same direction, although it made the task of undoing buckles more complicated than necessary. Scout buried his anxiousness beneath a scoff and a casual roll of his eyes, slipping his hands beneath larger, clumsier fingers and unbuckling his belt himself. He was rewarded by being shoved down on all fours. Ignoring the resulting objection, Demoman pushed his fingers beneath Scout’s waistband and swiftly yanked his pants down around his ankles in a single motion, revealing pale, smooth skin under the yellow-tinted dimness of the overhead lighting. Scout’s body was leaner than Demoman expected, his lithe form taut and well-defined from all those years of running. It makes Demoman question whether or not the whole ‘pretending Scout was a woman’ thing would be that hard after all. Demoman took a small bottle from his pocket; impressed with himself for remembering, he squirted some of the contents into his hand, slathering a couple of his digits with it. He slid his hand down Scout’s backside until he found the right point, and edged a hasty finger into the tender ring of muscle. Scout lets a sharp stutter loose, a sound which evolves into a series of broken groans as the digit moves around, rubbing and stretching and twisting inside of him. “Christ...†he muttered into his forearm, brows knitting together. “Take it easy, why don’tcha?†Demoman used his free hand to push down on Scout’s lower back, moving to insert a second adjacent finger. “Ye got to relax, laddie...’s just gonna hurt more if ye don’.†“Don’t tell me to relax, Cyclops, you ain’t the one who’s gonna have a dick up your ass in about five--aah, shit...†Scout pressed his forehead to the ground. His soft shift in pitch, along with his growing arousal, made it regrettably obvious that Demoman had reached a spot that made this all half-bearable. Satisfied, Demoman took his hand off Scout’s back and used it to undo his own pants. Scout twitched as Demoman’s goatee suddenly prickled against the skin of his shoulder, the larger man’s mouthing wet and messy with the crude malformation of what was probably some kind of kiss. Withdrawing his hand from inside the youth, Demoman used it to put the rest of the bottle’s contents to good use; before Scout had time to tense in uneasiness, Demoman had already pushed into him. Scout sucked an inhale through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ hell...†The hand tight upon his hip, still sticky from lube, didn’t seem to let up as Demoman withdrew himself and continued dragging with sporadic movements, in and out, drawing forth indescribable feelings of ache and fullness: prolonged senses of pain tapered off by sharp stings of pleasure. Scout fought back the urge to break down altogether. Fuck it all if he was going to take this like someone as weak as he tried convincing himself he wasn’t. Made vaguely aware of his suffering, Demoman takes Scout’s neglected, half-hardened member into his hold, motioning until Scout’s suppressed moans turned less painful. His other hand maintaining a slippery grasp against Scout’s side, Demoman continued stroking the youth in time with his thrusts--faster, harder, tighter--his thumb dipping into a bead of precum and swirling around the head, the combination of sheer indulgence making Scout whine in a way he’d deny to the grave. Enjoying the attention way more than he wanted to admit, he arched slightly to allow for a more enthusiastic shifting of his own hips, and, defeated, called Demoman a string of names that would have earned him a slap across the mouth in any other case. Demoman’s mind was getting fuzzier by the second. This experience--the things Scout was saying, the way his slim, smooth body writhed beneath his grasp, the sheer tightness of him enveloping his length--was all quickly becoming far too much to bear. Scout bit against the inside of his lip and dug his palms into the carpet, hoping the whimper he let slip went unnoticed. He pushes himself backwards and grinds against the man in a near-flawless rhythm, clearing the shame from his mind with every wash of pleasure, with every shove against that spot deep inside of him, with every brush of friction against his own longing, until the result of his desperation ends up a stifled curse and a white splatter across the ground. A final push in to the hilt tears a growl from Demoman’s throat, his single-handed grasp on Scout’s waist now tight enough to bruise. Scout felt himself filling with the other man’s seed, warm and fluid, and the sensation turns his stomach to the brink of wanting to vomit. After what seemed like an eternity, Demoman pulled out and collapsed on top of the boy, knocking the air from his lungs while panting at much a brisker pace. When Demoman neither moves nor speaks for a few moments, Scout prompts him with a small ‘hey’. Demoman responded with a light snore. “Fuckin’ fag,†Scout scowled, incredulous as he channeled his efforts into shoving the sleeping man off of him. Once that was over with, he stood up and tugged his trousers back around himself, yanking his shirt up from the ground before heading out to the showers. The pain in his ass was starting to set in and he knew he wouldn’t be running too well the following afternoon. Rubbing the carpet burns from his hands, Scout turned to examine the mess one more time, giving a quiet snort imagining Demoman’s reaction to waking up on his floor half-naked and covered in spunk. Drunken bastard would probably think it was a wet dream until he checked his bank account. Scout shuts the door behind him and tries his hardest to pretend he’ll forget just as easily.
WELP. I tried very, VERY VERY HARD to make this SOMEWHAT KIND OF MAYBE all pro-looking but I ended up just kinda... Welp. Here you go. I'd still like to improve but I'm willing to admit it's probably the best it can get for my first shot at real, legit porn. (captcha: wasiwn. Was I win?) ----- The battle had not yet begun on a dusty morning, desert heat radiating from the rising sun. The soft orange light illuminated BLU Spy's figure as he stepped out for a smoke. He was confident in not being shot during ceasefire, but a sort of paranoid drew him under the bridge and into any peeking sniper's blind spot. There was a bellow of distant cattle, making him realize just how rediculous their position was. Teufort, of all places, was just miles away from a farm. Some of the civilians had even snuck around and watched the fighting on occasion. It was absolutely rediculous, he thought. He saw the RED Medic peering out from the corner of the doorway. The man resembled a gopher, he mused, stepping out the cigarette. Their eyes met and both pairs of piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into each other for a few moments before the medic popped back into the base. There were a few hush whispers between him and another of the RED members before he stepped out fully, one hand not-so-descreetly fingering the trigger of his syringe gun. Spy raised another smoke stick to his mouth. He stabbed it into Spy's chest, growling, "Mein Scout insists zat I deem it safe to jog out here zis morning. Zo, in accordance with zee ceasefire, you cannot--" "Oui, oui, monsier. I will not 'urt le lapin in his little sprint," Spy sighed, smoke curling from his mouth. Here he was, trying to have a civil smoke... He felt already exasperated at the thought of another little demon bolting in and around the bridge. The Medic looked at him with a raised brown before curtly straightening his posture and marching back into his own base. Not a moment too soon, the RED Scout bolted out with his bat, smacking a ball out across the moat and cheering as it rolled to a stop near an empty barrel. He went through the next few minutes between the bases, aiming for signs, barrels, even a bird or two. There was a moment of hesitation, Spy noticed as he pulled another cigarette (while ignoring the growing pile of ash at his feet), before the Scout sneered and hit the ball with another resounding crack. After that, the world blacken out. -- There was a loud pounding in his ears when he came to, the blaring voices didn't seem to alleviate it any. "--zee ceasefire! You could jeoprodize us all! Dummkoff!" "Look man, I ain't gotta listen to some little-" "Ja, you do! Now we have to take care of him and hope zee BLUs do not notice zat he is missing!" "He's a sleazy, backstabbin' rat! For all dey know he's out fuckin' some broad like ours does." Spy frowned slightly at this, though his protest was doused by the haze swimming in his head. He mustered up the courage to open his eyes, scanning the disturbingly familiar infirmary. The air was dry and still and smelled sweet from chemicals. The pristine walls glistened gold from the sunlight pouring out of the single window. It was a less-than heavenly sight for the BLU. The voices had stopped soon after, ending when the RED Scout had slammed open the swinging doors and exited. The Medic murmured unpleasant tidings in German, leaning over the bed and clicking his tongue. Spy stared back up at him with narrowed eyes. There was a drum banging in his head, but he still had a cold, unpleasant glare. Medic stood up straight and pushed his glasses further on the bridge of his nose. "Zee Scout decided to use you as target practice," he started, sympathy completely absent in his sharp, jarring voice, "And you are to return to your base ASAP." "Of course, docteur," Spy replied coldly. Yet, as he sat up, there was a rush of vertigo, flinging him from his confident steps and back into the hardened, paper-thin sheets. The spots in his eyes danced and a sharp bell squealed in his ears. Medic brought a glove-clad hand between his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. Fine, he thought, he'll leave eventually. There were other, more important patients to attend to. He pushed aside the dividing curtain. Their Engineer was propped on the bed and still deep in sleep. He had to have a cumbesome chest tube and splints for broken ribs. Medic almost chuckled at the injury's circumstances. The Engineer had been doting over his sentry before it swung manically to shoot at a BLU Scout. He could still remember the sound of the metal coming in contact with his colleague's ribs; the wet, bodily smack and the dull thump of bones popping open. Good times. The doors of the infirmary clicked open and the gush of cold air hissed past his ears. "Ja?" Medic called out, snapping from his daze. Sniper turned the corner and twiddled his thumbs nervously. It was already established that hospitals made the man uncomfortable, let alone hospitals run by a bloodthirsty, sharp-tongued German. It was interesting to watch him squirm. "G'day, doc. I, uh, wanted to check on Truckie, yeah?" "Fine, call me if zere is a problem," Medic curtly grumbled, pushing the curtains aside for the new visitor. He didn't see the way Sniper leaned over to catch a sight of the BLU Spy sprawled awkwardly among his torn sheets. Scout was probably recalling the events to his comrades already in details that weren't neccessarily true. The BLU Spy swooned with a low gurgle bubbling from his mouth, attempting to sit himself up. Both of his hands were brought up to his temples and he rubbed soft circles, cursing concussions and those with any affiliation to the diagnosis. When the Medic re-entered, he straightened and folded his hands in his lap cooly, finding it the most innapropriate time to show weakness. However, before the Medic could even open his mouth, the door opened again. It was the RED Spy. BLU sneered. "Docteur," RED greeted, bowing his head slightly and taking a moment to send an icy glance BLU's way, "Monsieur." He herded the doctor out, leaning close and whispering. In the meantime, the BLU Spy had leaned forward and snooped behind the curtain. He smirked to see the Engineer out-of-order, and he was even somewhat elated to see the little birdy tending to him. It was almost an emberrassing, dirty secret that he found the Sniper quite interesting and, dare he say, handsome. Not their own; the BLU Sniper was a crude person that had more fun telling their Scout dick jokes than reading, like the RED Sniper did. He only had a few moments to scan (check out) the Sniper before the doors flung open again. Before he knew it, he found his skin pierced with several small needles ejected from the Medic's needlegun. He bristled and stared at the two at the door, with their nasty grins, before looking down at the needles. "Oh merde." -- It still smelt of antiseptic, which may or may not have been a good sign. Spy took a moment to blink away the heavy drowsiness from his eyes, though it was useless. His head was still as foggy as it had been when he was smacked in the head with the baseball. Still, he thought, he had to know where he was. His arms and legs felt heavy-- that is, until he turned and realized that they were simply tied to the chair. In an instant, he snapped from his daze and thrashed the best he could. "Ach, stop fussing," the RED Medic growled, taking a hand and pressing Spy's midsection back onto the bed. "What is this, what are you doing!?" he snarled, feeling exposed without his arms and legs drawn out. He had heard of a vivisection, but he was unsure if RED was sick enough to allow that- even with respawn. "I vill do nozzing," Medic replied curtly, "If you reveal zee location to your intel room." "Bah!" Spy spat, "You cannot torture me, 'urting me would violate-" "He ain't gonna hurt ya, spook," Sniper called out from the corner of the infirmary. "What- what is he-!" "He vas curious," Medic snapped, "Und he is right. I vill not hurt you, but..." Spy bit his lip and doubled his attempts at escape, though it was fruitless. Once the gloved hand ran down his stomach and down his crotch, his willpower almost melted. He hadn't been touched by someone else in a very, very long time, and the promise of sexual gratification was a tempting thought. There was a moment of hesitation on his part, considering what a cocky fellow he was. Spy was overly confident in his secret-keeping skills; why not just let them play their little game? He stopped and drew a long, shakey breath. The nagging doubt in the back of his mind wouldn't let him give in quite as easily, and his burning gaze seemed to convey that pretty well. Medic's frown had deepened and he waved over the Sniper. The man's eyes did not leave Spy's, even as he violently ripped open his fly (a button snapped and rolled to the floor, coming at rest at the doctor's foot) and tugged down the frenchman's trousers and boxers to his wirey, tense thighs. He smirked at the sight of Spy's half-hard cock (had he really gotten that sensitive?) and drew a finger across the underside. Spy sneered and tipped his head back, stifling a small whimper in his throat. When the rough callouses of the marksman's hand engulfed him, he nearly cried out. Sniper was rough, twisting his wrist in the slightest and drawing his thumb across the leaking head. No, Spy thought, there was no way he could show them any weakness. He knew better than that... He knew better- That thought was thrown out the window once something wet and velvety wrapped around his cock. This time, he couldn't hide the moan that reverberated though his chest and spilled out of his mouth. He wriggled against the restraints and looked down in time to see Sniper's eyes staring up at him past the orange aviators. The frenchman almost unwound at that point, but the marksman had just enough sense to pull away and wipe a hand across his face just before the sweet release Spy was looking for. "W-What are you-" he started. He swallowed thickly at the sight of a flushed Medic and Sniper kissing openly, their lips bruising and slick against each other. It hit him that, son of a bitch, they were probably fuckbuddies during ceasefire. Spy felt his cock twitch and he bit his lip to suppress another groan. They shot glances at him on occasion and whispered something to each other, but it was all inaudible past the pounding in his ears. The marksman began to push off the doctor's labcoat and knocked off his own hat, but was pushed away before he could continue. The Medic growled something in Sniper's ear, making him grin wildly. The unbridled look between them and directed at Spy promised something that he couldn't quite translate. It took him a few moments to catch up to reality and watch them duck down on either side of his hips. Sniper's hands pushed his hips down and he continued his ministrations, lapping up the side of Spy's rock-hard dick. Medic curled one hand around the base of his cock and tongued at his own side, his other hand reaching to fish himself out of his jodhpurs. The intense burning in his stomach and the warmth carressing him made Spy moan loudly and toss his head back (only to make contact with the hard, metal surface, though the bruise seemed less and less important by the second). The sweet teasing was nice and good, but the thought of release and relief was unbearable. He felt Medic draw his tongue up the thick, hot vein on the underside of his cock while Sniper wrapped his lips around him again. The combination of sensations was making Spy go crazy. Merde, the back of his mind desperately pleaded, you're going to go insane after this, just stop it now and- Another desperate shout inturrupted his thoughts, just as orgasm was about to hit. Though, once again, they pulled away just in time. He raised his head to protest, but couldn't tear his eyes from the sight of Medic leaning over and nibbling at Sniper's neck as the latter gasped hotly. He smirked and, just loud enough for Spy to hear him, muttered, "Yer gonna have to tell us where it is if you want us to finish you off, mate." His resolve was being chipped away, but... "N-Non!" He was regretting making himself comfortable in the infirmary when he could have easily pushed through the diziness and retreated into his own fort. He eyed the two closely, as Sniper leant in and whispered something into Medic's ear. "Nein! You just-" he replied, but was stopped short. The marksman smirked and traced his tongue along the shell of his ear, whispering in a more urgent tone. Spy was more than positive that their intentions were less than innocent by this point. The doctor didn't protest when his dress shirt was pulled open and eased off of his strong shoulders. He drew a hand up and bit against his gloves when his jodhpurs were roughly tugged past his knees. The frenchman's resolve wasn't the only one tossed away. Sniper drug up Medic's body until he was stradling Spy, a dark blush splattered on his face. They both shivered when their hot flesh made contact, a lovely invitation for the marksman to swing his legs over the bed and press his still-clothed body against Medic's naked back. There was a moment of heavy silence that fell over them, save the sound of some fabric russling and the binds across his legs cut away. He was sure he could have gotten out if he wasn't so desperate, even with two people perched on him. He started to taste blood as his teeth cut into his lip, the feeling of the doctor rocking on top of him was more than pleasant. He didn't even notice his pants being tugged off until something warm and wet prodded at his entrance. He wriggled and made to protest, but there was something so lovely about the feeling after a long time. Medic, though almost in a delerious trance, had enough of his mind to lean in and whisper, "Zee intel, Herr Spy." "T-third..." he began, losing himself in the feeling of two fingers roughly pushed up his ass. "Third f-floor..." Sniper's eyes bore into him disturstingly, and Spy could only give them a wavering groan and assuring them, "Oui, f-first door from the righ-ahhh." The last bits of sanity pressed in the back of his head felt ashamed for the stuttering, but the rest of his brain was drunk with a need for desperate release. The next few movements were a blur. Sniper fished himself out of his pants and thrust balls-deep into Spy, making him cry out in pained ecstasy. Almost at that same moment, with furrowed brows and soft whines, Medic impaled himself on Spy's cock. The combination of feelings making him moan out loud and wrap a leg around them both. The doctor shakily reached to the binds on his wrists and tore them off, immidiently moving his hands to grip at the edge of the bed. He moaned wantonly and ground against Spy, who had begun to grip roughly at his hip and wrap an arm around his waist. It was a flurry of movement, with Medic lifting and dropping himself on Spy and Sniper pulling back slowly before snapping forward. The frenchman wasn't sure if he should have been pushing back or thrusting up, his hips quivering and twitching messily. He moaned in abandon and tossed his head to the side, feeling his mind scramble and his entire body grow tense and burning. There was a fire in his stomach that licked up his entire body, making everything sensitive. Medic was making small noises every time he dropped down and Spy was sure he could hear Sniper grunting against the doctor's back. He took a quivering hand and brought it to Medic's dick and tugged. The doctor was the first to unwind, knuckles white under his gloves. He cried out hoarsly, leaning back as far as he could without knocking Sniper off. His cum made a sticky mess on his and Spy's stomach, and the sight was enough to set the frenchman off, erupting deep in Medic with a low moan spilling from his mouth. Sniper was the last, pushing forward and biting into Medic's shoulder to muffle any of his own sounds. -- Spy was back to his base by the time battle began and was smoking three cigarettes at the same time, a deep feeling of guilt welling up in his chest. He swiftly stepped through his base, hearing the distant chirp of a sentry. He stamped out all three smokes at once and was about to make his way down the spiral ramp leading to the intel room when the scent of blood made him stop in his tracks. He cloaked and peeked around the corner to the battlements with infinite care, peeking into the makeshift nest the BLU Sniper had made. The smell of blood was still fresh, and he could see a few splatters on the floor. Deeming the room safe, he turned the corner fully. "Oh fuck," he murmured under his breath. There was a knife sticking up from the body in front of him, a very familiar knife. With a small sigh, he hefted the body over his shoulder and hastened his walk to the intel room, pausing to stare at the BLU Medic's body at the entrance. "Oh fuck."
>>11 Oh, fuck me, this was just spectacular and it made me feel... Begging your pardon; I'll be in my bunk, and I'm not coming out until some...issues, have been addressed.
The last fic was no doubt the best of them all. Bravo!