Posting fics here, both adult and non-adult, for the Secret Santa Thread. The character limit prevents me from posting elsewhere, so if you're looking for a filled fic request, this is where they're hosted.
Demo beating a 'thinks he's the shit' Scout in a christmas drinking contest. Optional laughing comrades. ------------------------------------------------ This is UnBeta'd . Enjoy! The Red Scout was one of the most annoying scouts ever. On other accounts, Blue Spy's has been said to have been told by Scout Mom herself that when the little bugger came out the womb, He stole one of her kidneys. He was diagnosed to be a Kleptomaniac, but He was also diagnosed a to be a Smug little bastard. The Interviewer for the Red team noticed that his car keys and his car was missing! When he joined the RED team, He was the cocky and head strong, like any other scout. He drank BONK!, and he bashed heads in with his precious baseball bat. Around the third day of RED employment, His attitude grew and his Kleptomania grew. The Soldier reported his favorite shovel cozy missing. The team swore there were manly tears dripped from the Soldiers eyes when he told the team He knitted it himself. They caught on the boy's 'I'm the Shit' attitude and his shit eating grin. When the confronted him, He would deny it and give them a good smack with his bat. It was obvious the boy didn't seem to care, and just continued to harass his own teammates. He stole the Sniper's Shiv and Spy's Cigarette case. What he enjoyed most was to pilfering Engineer's tools right before a battle, and not telling him where they were afterwards. He even stole the Sniper's expensive crocodile bone sewing needles. The Sniper raged for an hour, and cried for two. He Never messed with Heavy, Medic, or Pyro. Scout knew when shit was just too dangerous. He didn't want to get his head bashed in, or his face burned off. He didn't even want to think about what Medic would stick in him. Demoman had to be is ideal favorite to steal from. He would steal bottles of whiskey that Demo would leave out for later drinking. Demo never seemed to care, he would shrug when He couldn't fine the Bottle he knew he just put on the table. But that's why he had a stash of Whiskey in the stash under his bed. Scout must have gotten frustrated with all of the ignoring of his attempts. for one day he entered the Demo's room while he was sleeping off a hangover, and stole his whole stash. When Demo woke, he was furious. The boys argued back and forth. the Scout insisting that he didn't steal the Demo's whiskey. The whole team had gathered to see the outcome of the argument. Soldier probably just wanted to see a fight, because he whispered encouraging words into Scouts ear, hoping it would get his ass beat. "YOUR GOING TO TAKE THAT FROM A MAN IN A SKIRT, MAGGOT? YOUR NO BETTER THAN THOSE BLUS." The Soldier whispered in Scout's Ear, managing to scare the shit out of him. "I ain't takin' shit from no one, man! Queerfag over there has the problem! I didn't take you freakin' Whiskey. So keep you Accuswhatsits to ya'self, Brotha!" The Scout said, puffing out his chest. "ITS A KILT, LADDY. And I know ye of all people had to do it. Your a Bloody Kleptomaniac for god's sake" The Scotsman displayed his lack of pants proudly. The Heavy looked at his arguing teammates, confused. Sure, the Scout was an annoying lettle man, but Team is Team, Right? He couldn't let his comrades fight amongst themselves. That would give those Tiny BLU babies an advantage. They could launch a sneak attack at any minute while his team was uncoordinated. They would kill the Dokter and Sandvich! He could not let that happen! "TEAM HAS PROBLEM! I WILL FIX." Heavy yelled, grabbing the Demo and Scout and dragging them toward the Cafeteria. He dropped the Two into a chair, and charged right back out. The Rest of the team walked in cautiously, confused on why they where hear now. The Engineer hopped that the two at the table didn't start fighting again. He had hoped the scout just give the Scrumpy back to Demo. He didn't want to tell the team that he saw scout sneaking into Demo's room after Ceasefire. That would prompt the Scout to tell the team he does sneak into their rooms at night. He only wanted to make sure they were safe at night, It wasn't like he was touching them while the sleep or anything. Soon the Heavy charged back into the canteen like a raged bull. In his meaty fists was a Long Neck Glass Vodka bottle, and the other held many shot glasses. he slammed them down on the table and started to fill the shot glasses with the Liquor. The table creaked in agony under its rough man handling. "The Fuck is this Shit, Man?" The Scout asked. "Ah Suppose You boys are gonna be havin' a drinkin' contest, Son." Engie answered, rubbing his temples. The heavy was already finished filling the glasses and placed Ten in front of each contestant. The Scout had at least some knowledge of the rules of a drinking contest. He knew if he passed out or Blew chunks he was done with. Then he would have to tell rummy over there where his whiskey was, and probably give him an...apology. Just the idea of the though made Scout shiver. The Heavy glanced at both contestants and nodded. "First to Finish all drinks is winner!" Heavy Shouted, causing the team to flinch. "GO!" The scout grabbed two of the glasses immediately. drowning them back to back. As he set the two glasses down, he picked up his third. Then the nausea hit him. He couldn't even think straight, he wobbled in his seat. Sure he drunk bear before, but this was Pure Russian Vodka. There was burning in his throat and His stomach. The alcohol brought tears too his eyes, and he could have sworn his throat was on fire. The Demoman chuckled, and he drowned his first glass and picked up his second. "This ain't ya' regular beer, boyo." Demo taunted, downing his second. The Scout frowned at the demo and drowned his third. It didn't have much of a burn as the first two had. But he couldn't get used to the taste. The scout didn't want to loose, that would make him seem like a fag. He could handle some pussy vodka! as he picked up is forth, he titled sideways dangerously. He wanted to spit it out as soon as it hit his tongue. He glanced up and noticed the Demo drowning his fifth with a smirk. He reassured himself that he would never drink again if he won this. So he drunk his fifth and it was closely followed by the sixth. It was a bad idea to even do this, the bile rose up in his throat and he tried to hold it there. He looked at the wooden table and watch the lines swim dangerously, and black creep its way into the corners of his eyes. Oh Man, Now he was going to faint, he was becoming such a pussy. The Demo was getting a nice buzz going. A buzz to a good Demoman meant he was full out drunk, and was ready to get even more Drunk. The Team watched as he swayed sideways, and muttered Scottish gibberish. It was more surprised that after he drowned his sixth and his seventh, he started to scratch at his face. He even lifted up his eye patch, and did something that made the Team draw back in disgust. When Scout looked up, He knew the image would haunt his nightmares forever. Demo had lifted up his eye patch full, giving the occupants of the room a full view of the empty and slightly puckered socket. The Scotsman had apparently had gotten an "Itch", and had buried his fingers down to the knuckles in his own eye socket. Scout watched the man push his finger in out of eye in disgust and slight arousal. Then the Demo pulled the finger out of the socket with a slight wet popping noise. His finger seemed to be coated in some sort of fluid, and His face was contented. The Scout vomited when the demo downed his eighth and ninth. It was a weird feeling that filled him as he emptied his stomach onto the floor and table. The Scotsman had to stopped to watched him vomit. Legend has it that he boy vomited out all of the bad juju in his soul that day, but he still was one cocky motherfucker. "Fuck man." Scout mumbled amongst a chorus of 'Jesus Christ's. His head fell forward suddenly, crashing into the table with a crack. He happened to land in his own vomit, and was drowning most gracefully. The Engineer rushed to his aid, the rest of them stunned. Meanwhile, Demo finished off his Tenth and slammed it own to the table. He was unaware of Scout's failure to hold his drinks down. He looked around, feeling slightly elated. His senses feel heightened under the remarkable influence of the alcohol. "Did Ah Win?" He asked, and he tipped his chair on its back legs. Engie has opened his mouth to answer, but didn't have the chance too for Demo passed out and fell. The chair he had been leaning backward in had tipped off its back legs, sending a snoring demo with it to the floor. The team store at the sight of him sleeping in the chair. But amongst the fall, Demo's kilt flipped upward, giving the team a very nice view of what was underneath. Everything was silent, Until... "TEAM IS REUNITED!" Heavy boomed joyfully, wiping away a tear. With a very ungraceful flourish, he grabbed the medic and bound out of the room, the team could hear his laughter and medic's stern scolding. Engie looked around, this had certainly become a disaster. The rest of the team seemed to be staring wordlessly at Their Demo's family jewels. So it was true He didn't wear anything under that thing. The scout would possibly need therapy, and some one was going to have to clean up all this Throw up. He sighed and made a mental note of talking to demo to at least wear underwear under his Kilt. Fuck His Life.
REQUEST: I'd either like spy/spy or spy wearing something classy/formal/suave/etc. ------------------------------------------------ You do not see him, but you hear his footsteps tapping in rhythm against the cold concrete. Even at this distance, you can hear. He’s a fool if he thinks you can’t—though no one else can. You know his ways like they were your own. They are your own. His footsteps vanish into the labyrinthine bowels of the base. You cloak yourself, and follow the acrid tang of tobacco smoke. He is leading you—to where, you don’t know. Away from the intelligence, away from your respective objectives. It doesn’t matter. Your orders are a non-object. No one can see you down here. Not even yourselves. He pauses. He stands still, as do you. He materializes before your eyes, back erect, shoulders thrown back. Limbs taut as steel cables. You stand stock-still as he does. His head slowly turns. You catch the glint of azure in his eye. Your head cracks against stone, and you feel his arm pressing you up against the wall, his arm against your ribcage, and sharp metal not quite kissing your throat. “My, my,†he says, coolly enough to freeze molten lead. “It seems as if the mouse has caught the cat this time!†He is only pretending not to feel the blade pressed into the crook of his spine. The knife slides away from your throat and instead you feel a silken finger catch at your mask, drawing it up just enough to expose skin. “I think not.†Your voice betrays more heat than you intended. You feel warm lips brush against your bare neck—teeth barely catching the skin. His hand has crept to your collarbone, and through layers—insufferable layers—of clothing there are claws, his claws, radiating not pain but pure heat. Downward they slide, down your chest, your stomach, and downward still… He permits you to loosen yourself from his grasp, but only a small amount. Either way you had no intention of leaving—not now. For you have been invited to dance. And you have more grace than to turn down such an invitation. With teeth he pulls the glove away from your hand. Stale, cool air drenches your fingers. His eyes beckon you. Danse avec moi, cheri. How, indeed, could you deny such a thing? His fingers are deft, unbuttoning your jacket, your vest—one-handed, to boot. He doesn’t dare relinquish his grip on the knife. Nor do you. But you are no slouch yourself. You unbuckle his trousers, feeling his hard erection pushing against his pants—as he must surely be aware of yours. You know all the steps. You act them out one by one. Like a puppet. Something in his cologne intoxicates you, you think. His trousers drop, and he permits your touch—a bare finger, not more. You touch the end of his erect cock, your thumb browsing the head, slowly, deliberately—as though reverently. But, no, this is mere caution—you do not trust yourself to do more than this. This dance has a pace; slow as it is, you daren’t exceed it. God knows you do not want to ruin your suit. You hear your breath catching in your throat. His hand is there, slipping into your pants to caress your own erection. A feeling of immense heaviness weighs down your brain, your cock. He is attempting to tease it out. Slowly. Deliberately. As he begins to tug your pants down, you feel a cold, sharp bite against your chin. You look him directly in the eyes. You see your face in them, rendered soft, formless, with lust. He sees this, and smirks. Yet you feel his hands begin to shake. Now your trousers are about your ankles, as are his, and it occurs to you that this is the point of no return. Something about that very concept strikes a fear into you. You do not know why it should. There is nothing to fear here. Nothing you have not encountered before. And yet— and yet— You edge back. Slightly. He shuffles along to the same pace—closing the gap between your bodies. He seems to taunt you. How dare you? How could you, after having been led to the edge of the water? Could you not stand to drink seeing your reflection? Your feet, entangled in your pants, fail you, and you topple backwards to the floor. Merde. He sneers, throwing himself down over you. Much more gracefully he catches himself, and his body hovers over yours, supported by thin pillars of arms that seem impenetrable to you. They enclose you. You're quite ensnared now. Merde merde merde merde merde. His hands are still gloved, and he takes the time to disglove himself with his teeth—pulling the silk away the way a lion tugs at a scrap of flesh. Casting them aside, he hocks a load of saliva into his palm, and begins to slick his bare cock. You feel his heat pulsing against you; close enough nearly to touch, his feet nested neatly between yours, his cock hovering over yours. You think you feel his knuckle graze against the underside of your shaft. Despite yourself, you moan, just barely. You still grip your knife in your white-knuckled hand. You bring yourself to raise it, now, to him. The point rests against his belly. Should he lower himself but an inch, he'd be gutted. He knows this. It is shameless, the game you two play. He dares to flirt with the mute threat—leans down, slowly, to run his lips over yours. His tongue darts out to lap at your mouth. You permit the gesture—in doing so, perhaps permit too much. He bites your lip. Hard. You taste blood. Your blood. You think it is time you led this dance. Your knife leads before you, jabbing sharply into his gut. He cries out, silenced by your hand against his mouth. Blood gushes out. Pinned beneath you, he bites. The heat of his mouth against your bare palm—the sharp smart of pain—sends a thrill through you. A misstep, to be sure, but you can most certainly recover. You pin him beneath you. The blood runs over your knife and hand. Your newly-moistened hand reaches down to moisten your cock. It had, it seemed, long been without touch. An ache you didn’t know you felt seems soothed—at the same time, drawn upward, outward. There is a spice to this blood, a fire that brings a new tempo to this tune. His crimson suit darkens with his blood. He curses you, drawing his lip up in a snarl. “Forgive me,†you utter. How delicious, such venom dripping from your mouth into his. You are entwined now, for better or worse. Your slick, wet shaft slides against his, the sensitive undersides meeting. His breath catches, for a moment—choked off abruptly as you let all your weight shift to your elbow, bearing down on his chest. He struggles to breathe. He bucks up against your body. You laugh, and take his cock and yours into your free hand. The way he grinds against you like this, you don’t need to—but no. You do not give a damn about his pleasure nor yours. You only care to possess, to take that which belongs to you. His hips continue to buck against yours, somewhere between arousal and survival instinct, and the sharp spurts of breath that issue from his throat are caught between pain and arousal. This feeling is exquisite. You are practically panting, salivating. When you come—much to your embarrassment, you come first—the sticky fluid smearing over you both, the stickiness you thought to expect is delayed. Then you feel it, spreading slowly, like a disease—as though through fabric. He laughs bitterly. He knows the same feeling. He hiccoughs as he climaxes. Cool air descends around you. Your mask is drenched in sweat. A thread of saliva drips from your open mouth onto his. Savagery. Pure, shameless, filthy savagery. He casts you roughly to the ground, clutching the wound in his stomach. The blood still pulses there. His hand comes away sticky, hued with blood and semen. You can only lie there, staring dumbly. Your head seems afloat in light. You view him as through a halo. Or a mirror. Somehow, he manages to stand. “Thank you,†he says icily, “for ruining my suit.†The last thing you see is the black gullet of a revolver barrel. When you wake up in the respawn room, you feel cold tile floor, and a warm stickiness against your stomach. You look down and there are crimson spatters rapidly setting into violet. God damn him. God damn you both, this was a perfectly good suit. What a waste. You can take a little solace in the fact that his is equally ruined.
My REQUEST: If it's a DRAWING: I want a photograph of Sniper and his parents when he was a young man, and everyone's happy and smiling. And everyone has a moustache, yes that includes Sniper. If it's going to be WRITTEN: It has to be pertaining to this photograph in some way, my suggestion is that one of the other team members finds the photograph and asks about it, before the plot moves on from there. If you can think of something better then by all means go ahead with it. As long as there's the photo. ------------------------------------------------ A/N: Sorry it's so drabbly/terribly executed, sorry for the terrible ending, and sorry for it looking so rushed. Writer's block decided to rear it's ugly face just as I started writing. /-/ Sniper sighed and lowered his rifle. Everything was still and serene. Well, as seemingly serene as an inactive battlefield could get. Sitting in his loft and absentmindedly shooting at animals was moderate entertainment but could get boring quickly. But the quiet post-wartime atmosphere provided ample time to sit back and think, maybe reminisce a little—something Sniper liked to do in his spare time. Sniper sat back, resting his rifle across his lap and fished a small folded up square out of the front pocket of his vest and unfolded it—it was a black and white printed photograph. Deep wrinkles and canyons in the paper were evidence that the photograph had been folded and unfolded a great many times. Masking tape crisscrossed the back of the photo, holding it together where the seams and folds had ripped. On the paper was a faded photograph of Sniper himself—albeit ten years younger—and his family, all of them actually smiling. Sniper sighed, it was one of the more happy times he'd had with his parents. In fact, it's probably the only happy time he'd had with his parents. Not genuinely happy, anyway. Sniper moved to refold the picture and replace it in his pocket when suddenly it was snatched out of his hands. "HEY WHADDYA LOOKIN' AT?" came a loud obnoxious shout right in his ear. "Whossis?" Scout prodded, dancing up out of the way as Sniper twitched hard and dove for his photo. It was the only one he had and there would be no way to get another copy way out here. "Give tha' back!" "Why? Who're these guys with themustaches?" Scout asked, almost with a giggle. "Is that a woman?!" Scout roared with laughter. Jus' give it back, ya stupid little rabbit! It's very fragile!" Sniper cried, throwing himself after Scout who was now climbing out thewindowsill. "If ya wannit, ya have ta catch me!" Scout shouted before throwing himself out of the window. "Are you crazy?! Medic can't even catch up to you! An' he's a bloody health nut!" "Yeah, so? Tha's the point!" Scout shouted as he landed gracefully below, shooting a devious smile up to Sniper. He turned and sprinted off to hide somewhere amid the base's interior. "OI! GET BACK 'ERE!" Sniper shouted, leaning out of the window. "I want my picture back!" A faint shout of, "Then come get it!" rang out before all was silent. Sniper snapped his mouth shut with a growl and fumed his way down the ladder up to his loft. He swore he could hear Scout giggling over the photograph. It wasn't even thatfunny. It was the result of a family Halloween party mishap with superglue (it had been mixed up with the costume's glue). The worst part however was living with a mother who had a bloody mustache. Himself and his father had managed to look semi-normal. But not his Ma. She was a woman. And women don't usually have mustaches. Much teasing ensued that week while they tried to wipe the glue on the mustaches off. Sure it came off eventually, but it wasn't funny at the time. But once you look back on it years later... It is actually pretty funny— Sniper cut himself off there, realizing his thoughts were basically beginning to rant. With a start he realized he'd stalked his way into the basement. He also realized he had no idea where Scout was. Sniper snorted and decided to poke around in the basement anyway. After all, it was a good place to hide. Sneaking a peak inside the intel room, Sniper nearly collapsed from relief. Sitting on the desk, looking over his photo was Scout— looking utterly amused and oh so very smug. "A'right! Gimme back my photo, ya little blighter!" Sniper shouted, his relief evident in his voice. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever, pissy jars," Scout grumbled. "Wha's the story behind this pic anyway?" Scout began. "I mean... Whathappened to this poor, poor lady?!" Scout finally burst, laughing his way off the desk and onto the floor with a thud. "Seriously?" Sniper grumbled something and snatched the photo from Scout's hand. Immediately Scout leaped to his feet and blocked the nearest exit from the intel room. "Nah, man. I ain't lettin' you leave until you spill the beans," Scout chuckled. "Who's this weird-ass mustache chick?" Sniper hesitated. "My mom..." he muttered, almost inaudibly. "Wha? Didja say that's your mom?" Scout said. "Why—Wha—a mustache?! Really? What's the reason? Is she what you'd call a... A transsexual?" Scout gasped. Sniper immediately jumped. "NO! It was an accident with some bloody glue! What's wrong with you?" Sniper yelled. "Absolutely nothin', ya mustachekateer," Scout chimed. "So that was yer family, or what?" "Course' it was, you dolt," Sniper mentally facepalmed. "Why else would I be in th' photo with them?" "...wait that little squirt was you?!" Scout gasped, falling silent for a moment. "I thought it was some random kid who walked in front'a the camera!" Suddenly he burst into laughter. "You were so tiny! You were almost cute!" Scout howled. "Comparin' you to young you is like comparing a freakin' ant to a... A... Akangaroo!" he cried. Sniper growled. His hand absentmindedly tightened on the handle of his kukri—jutting out just beside his hand, in crossed arms. Wanker. "Either you calm down and shut up, or I make you, goddamn hyperactive kid," Sniper hissed, growing more and more agitated and annoyed for every second he looked at Scout. "OOOhh~ We getting serious, pissy jars? Whatcha gonna do? Glue a mustache on my face?" Scout taunted, dancing around Sniper with a stupid smirk on his face. That's it. Sniper's kukri suddenly found itself being wrenched off his back and plunging into Scout's fast moving face with a volley of curses from the Australian. "Bloody wanker. Gonna teach you a lesson some day," Sniper hissed under his breath, pulling his kukri from Scout's slowly fading body to go retreat into his loft, hopefully avoiding Scout's respawn. " m'surprised you haven't learned from all the times I've killed you, yet..."
Demo x Sniper porn with Demo bottoming i guess (worksafe version: just something romantic, same pairing) ------------------------------------------------ This turned out a little more fluffy than I expected. I was stumped when I first got the pairing request, but once I figured out a concept it felt pretty natural. Hope you enjoy. Also I am shit at endings, the end. ------------------------------------------------------------- The RED Sniper sat down at the table in the mess hall, at once digging into the pile of mashed potatoes before him. He had started taking meals with the team only recently, and was surprised how much he enjoyed it. For a good while he had taken food up to one of his nests or back to his camper van to eat by himself, watching the opposite windows or listening to the one station the radio picked up. The frequency of songs like “Little Red Riding Hood,†“Red River Rock,†and “Red Red Wine,†made him suspect that the company was broadcasting it. The other side probably got an earful of “Blue Moon.†It was Medic that convinced him to eat in the cafeteria with everyone else. He’d gone to see the doc for some sedatives or something. Something to calm the nervous tics he was developing that were starting to throw off his aim. The constant threat of spies was getting to him; it wasn’t something he’d had to deal with in the bush. Medic hadn’t given him any little white pills or injections. He’d just looked at him over the rim of his spectacles in an infuriatingly amused manner (“This is bloody serious, mate!â€) and told him that maybe he should try to relieve his stress in more conventional ways first. “Vhy don’t you try eating viz ze rest of us for a change? You might find zat spending time outside of battle viz your teammates can be quite relaxing.†Sniper had left angry, but he’d tried it anyway. It wasn’t like he had any other ideas. It was actually quite nice. In their off time the other RED members were a colorful bunch of characters, and the conversation was never boring. He liked hearing stories of the city, of the country, of other countries, and all the different lives these men had led before ending up here. And he’d found that he was quite the storyteller himself, reciting Aborigine fables he thought he’d forgotten. Talking and laughing with colleagues that even approached friends really was helping him unwind, and his involuntary spasms occurred less and less. And there was one other effect that Medic had probably not envisioned when he had suggested it, but which made the biggest difference of all in terms of relieving stress. Tonight Scout was recounting the time he and his brothers had taken on the O’Malley boys, but Sniper was only half listening. He was keeping a close eye on the Demoman. He now thought he could predict which nights the Scot would pay him a visit, and tonight was looking quite likely. Demoman was staying relatively quiet, spending more time swigging from his bottle than anything. He was trying to get drunk fast, or more so than normal, anyway. The man was always at least tipsy, he seemed to work better that way, so when he wanted to let loose he had to get a good deal more inebriated than the average person. He was the epitome of a high-functioning alcoholic, but at the rate he was going tonight Sniper wasn’t sure he would have any functions left. He thought it was a pretty safe bet that he’d be hearing a slow arrhythmic knock on the camper’s door later. He smirked at the Demoman knowingly, but the Scot just turned away, pretending to listen to Scout’s animated tale as he drank deeply from his bottle. After dinner Sniper declined Heavy’s invitation to a game of poker and headed back to his camper. Poker wound him up, almost more than sniping, and besides, he was expecting a guest. He tried to tidy the place up a little, at least get the gun cleaning kit off the bed. He may have kept a messy home but his mum had taught him right where receiving visitors was involved. Once the place looked mildly presentable he flicked on the radio (“Red Dressâ€). Then he sat in the driver’s seat and waited. An hour passed, then another. It was getting late, and surely Demo was plenty full of liquid courage by now. Still, nobody knocked, and Sniper was starting to get restless. It was none of his business of course, what the other man was up to, and a month ago he wouldn’t have cared. But along with relieving stress, spending more time with the team had caused him to actually get to know the guys, and he was surprised to find that he was actually cognizant, if not concerned about their well-being. He’d noticed this during battle as well, when he spent more time looking for team mates in trouble he could help out with a well-placed shot than just looking for any stationary head that would get him a kill. Maybe Demoman was just drinking to drink, not to get up the nerve to approach Sniper. Maybe it was Sniper’s own wishful thinking that led him to an incorrect conclusion. He gave himself another 15 minutes, then he would get up to take a stroll. Just a walk around the base, that’s all, to get some air. If he ran into Demoman he could say hello, he wasn’t going out to find him or anything. He jiggled his booted foot up on the dashboard while he waited, feeling the tension building up in him, just like it did when he was lining up the crosshairs. This would take a bit more to relieve than just a successful headshot though. He stood up a minute earlier than planned, turned off the radio (“Lady in Redâ€) and put on his hat as he stepped through the door into the crisp desert night air. Things were fairly quiet as he walked through the base. He passed by the rec room, where Engineer, Medic, Heavy, and Pyro were still playing poker. It looked like it had changed from a casual game into one of silent intensity, and Sniper was glad he’d declined. Everyone else had probably headed to bed, especially after the seemingly endless back and forth of the battle that day. Sniper told himself he was just making a natural circuit, not looking for anything in particular. Demoman could do as he pleased, drink as he pleased and not come see Sniper as he pleased, and it wasn’t Sniper’s place to go and check up on him. There were no obligations, no ties, even if they had become connected in other ways on more than one occasion. He came across the Scot halfway between the bedrooms and the showers. He was leaning heavily on the brick wall, like he was taking a break to wait for the world to right itself again. Sniper approached, attempting to be casually cheerful. “Oy, mate, havin’ some trouble there?†He cursed himself for not thinking of something better. If the other man hadn’t been so drunk he might have noticed. But he was quite drunk. Sniper thought perhaps more so than he’d ever seen him as Demo looked up, squinting his one eye as he tried to identify who was in front of him. After what seemed like quite a long time, his face finally registered recognition and he slurred, “Oh, s’you. Ahwas just on me way ta ye car’van, but….ah…had tamake abitova detoo-“ Demoman heaved forward, retching a bit. Sniper caught him before he fell to the ground, straining under the near-dead weight of the other man. “Whoa there, mate. Think we betta get you to the toilets on the double, ‘fore you make a mess ‘a tha floor.†Sniper dragged the other man, who was mumbling incoherently and seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness, the rest of the way to the showers. He opened the door with one hand, shifting his weight to support Demo and pulled him in before the door closed on them. Spy was at the large mirror in front of the row of sinks. His mask snapped against his neck as he pulled his thumb out from the edge, having apparently just put it back on. Other than that he was wearing nothing but a towel, and watched the Sniper struggle across the tile with mild interest. “Ah, what ‘ave we here?†he asked, more than a hint of amusement in his voice. “None a ya bloody business, spook,†Sniper bit back. He knew it was no use asking for help, so he didn’t bother. He grunted a bit as he lurched the last few feet into the stall and managed not to crack the Scot’s head on the seat as he brought him down to face level with it. Demo gave a miserable sort of moan and asked “Kin I…†“Er, yeh, we’re here. Go ahead, let it out,†Sniper replied, feeling a bit awkward. He turned away as Demo began gagging into the toilet, wondering when he had been appointed to drunk duty. He looked around idly and his eyes fell on Spy, who now removed the towel and walked over to the locker like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Sniper quickly found somewhere else to look. He attempted to tune out the sounds of Demo vomiting, staring blankly at the opposite wall and thinking his prediction about how tonight was going to go had been somewhat incorrect. “Ugh… las’ tiiime,†Demo began slowly, bringing Sniper out of his stupor, “Las’ time I hannae been able tae hol’ it down I was…was a wee lad.†“Yeah, maybe go easy there, eh mate?†the Australian said, turning back and kneeling down next to Demo and placing a hand on his back. He looked over his shoulder at Spy, but the Frenchman was turned away, buttoning his dress shirt. “S’ard,†Demo replied, leaning heavily on the toilet bowl. Sniper reached up and flushed it. The Scot looked up at Sniper and opened his mouth to say something else, but swiftly put his head back down and continued retching. “Er…yeah, I know but…†Sniper waited till the sickening sound of vomit hitting water ceased, “Ya don’t need ta get this drunk, mate. And…†he lowered his voice, “It’s not exactly uhm…attractive, you pukin’ your guts out like this.†“’E should ‘ave a shower,†said the Spy from right behind them. Sniper jumped at the sound of his voice so close. “Fuck off, Spy.†Sniper hoped he hadn’t heard, or at least insinuated anything from what he had been saying. “Just trying to ‘elp,†Spy shrugged. He smirked knowingly and took out a cigarette. “Ain’t s’posed ta smoke in here,†Sniper mumbled, looking back at Demo, who was panting heavily. “And what, exactly is going to catch fire in a room full of tile and water?†“Ya stupid bloody tie if you don’t mind your own business, ya damn frog.†“Get tae fuck,†Demo added, his voice echoing somewhat in the toilet bowl. “You two ‘ave a lovely evening,†Spy said cooly, then turned and walked out of the room. Sniper watched very carefully, making sure the door was closed before he turned back. “Bloody wanker. Thinks he knows everything, don’t know nothing,†he muttered, patting Demoman on the back, “Hey, how ‘bout some water, eh?†He got up and went over to the sink, turning over a cup that held a few toothbrushes and filling it with water. He brought it back and handed it to Demoman, who was now leaning with his back against the stall partition. Demoman took the cup and threw it back, downing it quickly. He huffed once it was done and handed it back. Sniper took it and refilled it, and this time the Scot just held it, taking a clumsy sip every now and then. Sniper sat on the floor a few feet away, watching him and trying to think of what to say. He had just about decided on something when the other man got there first. “Dinnae have…tae look afterme,†he said, his head lolling against the wall. “I know but uh...jus’…You looked in a bad way, I was a bit worried, is all.†“Yeknew I was…comin’ tae see ye.†He put his hand on his head, as though to hide his face. “Er, well I sorta thought…I mean… well yeah,†Sniper felt embarrassed, Demoman looked like he was about to cry. “Ye were bloody right…†Sniper stood up suddenly. Tears were the last thing he wanted to see from the Scot. “Spy’s right, you should have a shower.†He pulled the other man up and pushed him towards the shower stalls. He wasn’t wearing his blast gear, so it wasn’t too hard to get him undressed. Plus, he’d done it before, though the circumstances had been different. He wasn’t sure if the eyepatch could get wet, and hesitantly reached for it. “No. Leave t’on,†the Scot said firmly, sounding a little more lucid. Sniper goaded him into the stall, where he leaned against the tile. Sniper turned the cold water on full and stepped back. “AUGH,†Demoman yelled at the shock of the icy water. He tried to step out but the Australian pushed him back in and made sure he stayed there and didn’t slip or drown. The Scot let out a stream of unintelligible curses as he was held under the cold spray, but he didn’t fight. After about five minutes Sniper turned the water off and handed the other man a towel. Demo looked more sober, and a bit sore at the way he’d been treated. Sniper let Demo dry and dress himself, sitting on a bench and feeling more and more awkward. Now that he was somewhat sober he might actually remember some of this. He was less and less sure of how to talk to the other man. He felt the bench shift as Demo sat down next to him, and he looked over, keeping his gaze down so all he could see was the other man’s leg. Nothing was said for a few moments so Sniper looked up. Demoman was looking at him through his one eye with a mixture of anger and waryness. Sniper went ahead and said what he was thinking. “Do ya…still want to come back to my camper?†Demoman looked away for a long while, and Sniper thought he might well start crying again. But eventually he said, “Aye, alright, but-“ he got to his feet a bit unsteadily and headed over to the sink. He sorted through the pile of toothbrushes in the basin until he found his own, then set to work brushing his teeth, taking at least five minutes. When they left the bathroom Demoman seemed a bit paranoid, constantly looking around as they walked towards the back of the base. When they passed by the rec room, Sniper looked in, seeing Heavy, Medic, and Engineer still playing. Pyro had probably lost or gotten bored. When he resumed his path to his van he realized that Demo was no longer with him. He turned around and saw the other man standing on the other side of the rec room doorway, just out of sight of those inside. Sniper watched curiously as Demo waited a good thirty seconds before affecting a casual gait and walking past. He joined Sniper on the other side and urged him on. As they exited the back door Sniper realized Demo hadn’t wanted the other members of the team to see them together. He hardly thought they would have guessed at what they were doing, but he didn’t give the other man any trouble about it. When they got to the camper Sniper opened the door for Demo, who insisted that Sniper go first. Sniper thought he was starting to get an idea of just what was going on with Demoman and obliged him, climbing up into the makeshift home first. The Scot followed and shut the door behind him, turning the lock. He stood in the low-ceilinged room awkwardly while Sniper sat down on the bed. Even though he had just been more drunk than he’d ever been when he was with Sniper, after the shower he was more sober than he’d ever been when he was in Sniper’s van. Things didn’t seem to flow as naturally as they had the other times. Sniper cleared his throat awkwardly, then asked, “You er, feelin’ all right? Want some more water or anythin’?†Demo looked around, as if he were searching for something, and Sniper had a clue as to what it might be. “I’m alright…D’ye have any-“ “No,†Sniper replied before he could finish. That subject might be a good place to start. “Listen, mate…I know it’s not really any of my business what you do, but when you’re here... Ah, well I guess what I’m tryin’ ta say is that ya don’t need to get so drunk to come visit me. In fact I might be more inclined ta let ya in if you’re not completely sloshed.†Demoman turned away, like this wasn’t something he wanted to hear. He looked like he was going to take a step towards the door, but Sniper said “Come here,†firmly and the Scot turned back. He looked angry, hurt and ashamed, but he obeyed and walked over to the bed, sitting down on it. Sniper looked him in the face and asked him “Now what is all this about?†“I...I don’t…s’right hard, ‘tis,†Demo began, not meeting Sniper’s gaze, “Admittin’ to m’self that this is what I wan’, that…this s’what I am.†Sniper’s suspicions had been correct. He felt a pang of sympathy for the other man; it probably wasn’t easy being a Black Scottish Queer Cyclops. Sniper put what he hoped was a comforting hand on Demo’s knee. The Scot flinched a little, but relaxed after a moment. “Listen, mate. No one knows ‘bout this,†The Australian began, hoping that he could string his thoughts together into a reasonable statement, “No one’s got the right to know. They don’t know, and they’re not gonna judge ya. And the last person’s gonna judge ya about this is me.†Demo scoffed. “Sure, s’easy fer you,†he shot back, staring at the hand on his knee, “S’hardly any different from bein’ normal fer you. Fer me it’s…I…I’m not a man.†Sniper tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help but let out a short one. Demo glared at him and Sniper shut up and turned serious again. “You’re a right bloody idiot if you think that. Ya could wring my scrawny neck one-handed if ya felt like it. And besides…anyone who can take…that, and enjoy it…he’s got bigger balls than any other wanker out here.†Demo laughed this time, he sounded relieved, and Sniper relaxed a bit as well. “Yeh’re right, I know, bu’…it jus’ ain’t easy…thinkin’ bout what they might say,†“I told you, they don’t know, they don’t matter, and they can piss off,†Sniper replied. Demoman finally looked him in the face and nodded, grinning slightly. Sniper knew he probably wasn’t over it like that, but for now he was letting it go. Sniper thought about how all this time the Scot had been drinking before coming to see him because he had been ashamed and then asked, “Why’d you get so drunk tonight? You never needed that much before.†Demo looked down at the floor again, gripping the fabric of his jumpsuit pants tightly. “Oh, I ah…had somethin’ in mind I wanted tae ask ye, but…more I got thinkin’ about it…harder it was tae do without a lil’ more scrumpy.†“What is it?†Sniper asked, now extremely curious. “I…I wanted tae ask ye…if…†Demo stopped, squeezing his eyes shut. Sniper could tell he was truly struggling with this and gripped his leg a bit tighter. Demoman took a deep breath and said, “I wanted tae ask if yeh’d kiss me.†He spit it out fast and then looked at Sniper out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his reaction. Sniper bit his lip, trying not to laugh at such a simple request. It wasn’t something they’d done before, it just wasn’t something that came up or that Sniper had thought of in the midst of it. Now he knew why the Scot had stopped to brush his teeth before they had left the showers, and he was rather glad for it. Without any other answer he turned Demoman fully towards him and leaned in, kissing him full on the mouth. Demo closed his eye and let out a bit of a moan, leaning into Sniper and opening his mouth up to him. Sniper took the invitation and darted his tongue into the Scot’s mouth, where it met with the other man’s own tongue pushing back against his. It felt easy, natural, all of the awkwardness between them over the evening was gone. It was a logical and simple progression to start undressing Demo again, and Sniper felt the Scot’s precise fingers unbuttoning his own shirt as they continued to lock lips. When they were both mostly undressed and panting heavily they stopped for a moment. Sniper leaned over to the side of the mattress to root around on the shelf until he found the little bottle he was looking for. When he turned back Demo was looking a bit nervous again, so Sniper pulled him down and gave him another long deep kiss. It seemed to bolster the Scot’s spirits and he pushed Sniper back onto the bed. Sniper was a little surprised. Usually Demo took a more passive role, but he wasn’t complaining. He watched the other man above him, straddling him and grabbing the bottle from Sniper’s hand. He opened it and poured an amount into his palm, then tossed it aside. The next thing Sniper felt was the Demo’s calloused, dark hand around his cock, spreading the fluid around. The Australian moaned and sat up on his elbows a bit to watch the dark skin enclosed around his own paler arousal. Demo was watching him as well, his eye half closed in lust. Sniper nodded, as if he needed to give permission for Demo to do this. The Scot nodded back and lowered himself down onto Sniper. After that the Australians mind went blank. His recollection of the rest of the evening was painted in broad strokes of sound: needy low moaning and hushed panting, taste: the salt of sweat and the hint of toothpaste, and the steady building of pleasure so intense he thought he might go insane. ---------------------------------- In the morning Demoman was gone, that much hadn’t changed. Maybe the Scot had actually remembered what had happened that night since he was somewhat sober. Whether it was a good or bad thing Sniper figured he would find out soon. As he groggily felt around for his glasses he wondered if he had made any real difference. At breakfast Demo pointedly avoided his gaze, even though Sniper sat across from him while they ate their powdered eggs. Bit rude, he thought, asking a bloke to kiss you and then ignoring him like that. As the ten minute warning sounded throughout the base and everyone rushed to get to their equipment, Sniper thought that maybe it was time to take things into his own hands and pay Demoman a visit instead tonight. After all, he couldn’t cure the Scot’s hangups in just one night of amazing sex.
Engie/Spy, lesbian genderbends ------------------------------------------------ It had been a long and harsh season for the opposing factions. The REDs were losing ground quickly, the BLUs pushing their troops deeper into the icy mountain range. Several blizzards had plagued them since the beginning of December and as it neared the end of the year the weather showed no sign of letting up. The REDs, low on supplies and morale, began to retreat north, stopping to settle in one of the many abandoned farmhouses for the night. The team had gathered in the main room of the house, pushing aside old decrepit furniture to lay down their bedrolls. As the others huddled together loosely for heat, the Engineer set to work setting up a dispenser to help warm the room. After a few moments the machine sputtered to life, warm healing beams settling on each of the team members. Quiet thank you's were uttered as everyone huddled around the makeshift heater, Engineer included. She sat down next to the Spy, her mittened hand wrapping itself around the leather gloved one. Spy looked up at her and smiled, pulling Engineer's hand into her lap and rubbed it with both hands, hoping to make heat from friction. Rations were passed out along with idle chatter, although there wasn't much to talk about. They did their best to keep their mind off of the battles they had lost in the past month. "Hey, isn't... isn't tomorrow Christmas?" one of the two scouts broke the silence that had settled after they had ran out of things to talk about. Engineer reached up and scratched at her forehead; the wool hat she had knitted constantly bothered her, but hey, it was warm. "Well damn, if I haven't lost track of the days..." She muttered. "He's right," said Sniper, waving a thin book at them. "Been keepin' a calender... tha 25th is tomorrow." "Well that's nice," Demoman grumbled, getting into his sleeping bag and rolling over. "Ye all should probably get ta sleep, we gotta git movin' at daybreak." The others, mumbling in agreement, slipped into their sleeping bags. Engineer was in the process of getting into her own when she noticed Spy had gotten up and left the room. With a worried look, the Texan stood up and silently followed her. Spy had made her way into what seemed to be a dining room, though it was hard to tell exactly what it was; the only furniture left in the room was a chair left askew and an old china cabinet in the corner. She found the room's one window, and after a bit of effort managed to pry it open, leaning on the frame and breathing in the freezing air. It had stopped snowing and the winds had died down to a soft whisper, but Spy doubted this would last. The team's radio had warned them about another storm moving this way, so they'd probably see it in the morning. With a sigh, Spy took out her cigarette case. "Spy?" Spy turned around as she lit up a cigarette, nodding to the Engineer. "Laborer." The Texan smiled and shook her head, walking over to her. "That's a right nasty habit, Spy." The Spy smirked and puffed a smoke ring in her direction. "Aw, come here, you look cold." The Engineer unwrapped her long scarf, rewrapping it around the Spy and herself. She put her arms around the woman's waist from the side, leaning her head on Spy's shoulder. They stood like this for a few minutes, the Spy silently puffing away on her cigarette, a hand around the Engineer's waist. "You miss back home?" Engineer broke the silence. Spy flicked ashes out the window, raising the cigarette to her lips to take another drag. "Of course I do." "What was Christmas like for you back home?" Spy seemed to ponder this for a moment. "Not much different from yours, I suppose." She took another drag before slowly blowing it out the window. "Joyful occasions, with family. Though when I was young we were poor, and my père could barely afford to get us gifts. But still, they are fond memories. I do not celebrate so much anymore." "Oh." There was silence again. "You?" Spy stamped out her cigarette, her now free hand wrapping around the Texan. She leaned her head on Engineer's. "Well, same, I guess. I have a big family and they would meet every year on Christmas Eve at my Granpap's house. We'd sing and give each other gifts... a lot of them were home made things seein' as no body had the money to buy anythin'. My Momma would knit me and my sis' sweaters and scarves, and my Uncle was a wood carver and would make us playthings." She smiled at the memory, but it quickly faded. "After my Granpap died my family didn't git together as much, and I haven't seen them much after being hired by RED." Engineer sighed. "I miss them." Spy kissed the Texan on the top of her head. "As do I." Silence again. Snow had began to fall and the wind was beginning to pick up. Spy shivered, causing the Engineer to hug her tightly. "Oh. I uh, I have something for ya." "Oh?" "Yeah, wait here a moment." Engineer went back to the main room, quickly retrieving something from her bag and returning to the room where Spy waited. "Here. I was waiting for Christmas but seein' as you're shiverin' like one'a them little dogs I can give ya it now." Engineer smiled, handing Spy a pair of knitted red mittens and beret. Spy took them, immediately putting them on. "I... thank you," she said with a wide smile, she kissed Engineer gently. "How did you even find time to make these?" "I'm an Engineer. We get free time every once in a while, waiting for our guns to do the killin'. And it's just somethin' I like doin'." Spy embraced her again, nuzzling into her scarf. "Merci, Laborer. I uh, I have no gift for you, though." Engineer chuckled. "Don't worry about it, darlin'. I love ya enough as it is." Silence. A content silence. They hugged for a moment more before the howling wind reminded them of how cold they were. "I guess we best get ta sleep then," Engineer said, letting go of spy. Spy nodded, kissing the Texan one last time before they returned, together, back to the warmth of the dispenser.
medic shenanigans, preferably with heavy, or something involving soldier (team color dont matter) ------------------------------------------------ “Ja? Come in.†Medic replied to the light knocking on his infirmary door. He looked up from his paperwork to watch the team’s Heavy duck through the door. The man laid his pencil down politely and swept a stray lock of hair back with the rest. “Und vhy ah jou heah?†He asked, his thickened accent betraying his weariness. “Am curious. Vould like to talk with Medic.†Heavy replied, resting his large hand on the small wooden chair in front of Medic’s desk. Against his better judgment, Medic motioned to the chair as he usually did when a teammate came in to “talk†to him. The large man’s comparably small hips almost fit in the chair, while his impossibly large torso hunched over, emphasizing his more bear-like characteristics. “Now, zhen…†Medic sounded almost bored as he reached in his desk for a pair of gloves. “Does it itch or burn? Vhere is zhe affected area…?†He asked, circling around his desk even as Heavy shook his head with a chuckle. “Is not for medical problem.†He told the other, looking bemused and oddly intelligent compared to his usual slow and almost Neanderthalactic demeanor. “I am worried about you.†He told Medic when the older man raised a curious brow. No one ever came to him just to chat. All they wanted was a shot of penicillin or a few painkillers. “Vhy?†Medic asked, unsure why Heavy would be concerned about him. He hadn’t acted abnormally through the past few days, had he? “You are…†Heavy paused to search for the word with a small frown, “unhappy.†He finally decided on, though what he was trying to convey was much more complicated, it was the closest he could get with the limited about of English vocabulary he cared to retain. “Of course I am not happy, I have to nanny eight ozher men, most of whom are vizhin a few years of my own age.†Medic told him, allowing the unused gloves to flop onto his desk before leaning back on it with a sigh. “Who vould be happy vizh zhat?†“Is not team.†Heavy told him, giving him a look as if he were not at all surprised Medic was blaming it on the team. “Vell, zhen, jou know my problems bettah zhan I do.†Medic sneered and crossed his arms. “Tell me, vhy do I have zhe urge to disect zhe enemy Scout? Is it for my own morbid curiosity or do I just like zhe vay his blood looks on my gloves?†Heavy sighed and reached a hand up to rub his head. “Am trying to help, but Medic is defensive. Should not be so, friend.†He muttered softly. Medic’s mouth closed on his next retort. “Jou can not help vhen zhere is no problem. Ja, I am unhappy. Ja, I am in a bad mood zhese past few days. No, jou can not help, now please leave my infirmary so zhat I can-†Medic’s order was cut off by Heavy’s huge hand reaching past him to slap his desk. The crack of his hand on the hard wood echoed through the room and left Medic wondering where the closest syringe of sedative was. It couldn’t be more than two yards away. “Is regular,†Heavy told him with a firm frown. “Every year, Medic is unhappy around these times.†Medic’s lips pursed into a fine line and he crossed his arms again, defensive once again. “Vhy is my business any of jours?†He asked with narrowed eyes. “Medic is friend.†Heavy told him simply before smiling. “I love Medic and do not want you to be unhappy.†Medic grunted noncommittally. “Jou knowing vhy I am not happy will not change anyzhing.†He assured Heavy grudgingly, all the while mentally kicking himself when the giant’s eyes gained a gleam of hope. “It vas around zhis time zhat I joined ‘Zhe Party.’ †Medic explained, still begrudging the information. “I just get into a temper when I realize how young und foolish I vas.†He muttered. “It is zhe only reason vhy I am heah.†“To escape past?†Heavy asked, catching the other man off guard. The large Russian smiled and told him, “is what all of team does.†He started ticking off names on his fingers, including himself until he had eight digits wagging in Medic’s face. They both knew that Spy’s reasons for entering into BLU’s services would remain a mystery. “Is what brings all together.†He explained, meshing his fingers before lowering his now folded hands to his lap. “Mostly from law, some are hide from relative or,†he motioned to Medic, “old mistake that cannot change now. Now what matters is how to deal with it.†He told Medic, standing and patting his shoulder as the man stared at him in disbelief. He thought that Medic didn’t know this already? It wasn’t like the man was an idiot. He knew why most of his teammates were on, Demo, Soldier, Scout and Pyro needed an outlet that didn’t include a civilian’s life, and Engineer and Sniper wanted a working environment where their respective families wouldn’t become a complication. Medic was there instead of running a prison sentence, and Heavy… “Vhy are jou heah, zhen?†Medic asked softly, raising a brow. “To let Medi-†“No, I mean heah!†He waved his hand around in an all encompassing gesture. “Jou ah a skilled mercenary, so vhy stay heah und fight vizh us? Vhat ah jou running from?†Heavy’s expression cleared until it was almost blank, something that Medic had come to recognize as the face he used when he was trying to think without showing it. “Past mistake.†Heavy finally settled on with a soft sigh. “Vas girl back home, but I didn’t stay and farm. I went to training for army, but she married before I came back. I became mercenary to keep busy and Sasha became my girl. She is always there for me to return to, is why I love her so much- she will never fail me.†“So zhat is vhy jou kill people for a living, but vhy BLU?†Heavy blinked before slowly shrugging and giving the Medic a rueful smile. “I needed change of… pace? Da. I like to kill, but before BLU, vas little vork. Now I kill every day, is good time.†“Hm…†Medic nodded before straightening from his desk. “Do not vorry about me, Heavy.†He told the large man, patting his shoulder with a smile before circling back around to return to his paper work. “As Medic vants.†Heavy muttered, standing from the small chair and turning to leave. “Heavy…†the man stopped and looked back at his Medic. “Danke.†Medic told him, smiling a little. Heavy nodded before leaving without another word and leaving Medic to his work. Medic wasn’t used to people caring about his mental wellbeing. It was nice, he decided. On a moderate basis, of course.
I would like to see some mildly insane Medic tearing into someone (any class) with his bonesaw. I would like to be able to see his face. Try and stay as close to the general appearance/personality of Medic. ------------------------------------------------ Title: Intimacy Prompt: "I would like to see some mildly insane Medic tearing into someone (any class) with his bonesaw." Rating: R Warnings: Blood, guts, and mildly insane Medics. Or, same old, same old for TF2chan. Word count: 3,392 Note to the giftee: I apologize, but I am not a drawfag. However, I have attempted to recreate your prompt with fic, and hope this does meet with your approval. I hope the season has been good to you, and that the following year is, too. Also, wow, I really hadn't expected to write boderline guro for this or to have so much fun doing it (I ended up getting so involved, I burned a batch of cookies). You learn something new everyday. His colleagues would admonish Medic if he so much as looked as if he was reaching for his bone saw. "Doctor should not be Battle Medic. They are not credit to team. Just stay behind us and keep us strong in battle." Heavy would give him a comradely slap to his shoulder, nearly knocking him over, and then go back to boasting of literally killing the enemy with only two of his fingers. The others would agree with Heavy's counsel, and Medic would fume. In this alone was Medic's authority challenged. He presented the possibilities of Spy-checking, or if his Heavy died, and even then- "Why would you even be on your own? If you can't find Heavy, just get to Soldier or Demo. They'll see to you, Doc." Sniper, cleaning his rifle, would unhelpfully remind him. "Not to mention, I can just cover you until you find them." He favored Medic with what he clearly thought was a winning smile, but only tested Medic's resolve to maintain a dignified mien. It was a frustrating situation. Medic was not proposing he run to the front of the fray and slash everything in sight. He was no fool, he would knew he would not last long against an enemy Pryo's flames or their Soldier's rockets. But there was so much exposed and inviting flesh, all belonging to enemy combatants that had no rights under the Geneva Convention. It was one of the main reasons for entering the war, the chance to satisfy those urges without risking a lawsuit or a having his medical license revoked. And yet here too, he was denied his right to indulge in the carnage as the others did. Every battle, they would run off to maim, and brutalize, while he was told to stay and play nursemaid to the others, even when the battle concluded and the enemy was weakened and he could finish one off in reasonable safety. But still, he was a Medic, and whining like a Scout who had their Bonk fix revoked was beneath him. He would do his job, and find some way to satisfy his blood lust "Dummkopfs. All of you." Medic grumbled under his breath, and went back to eating his plate of fried mushrooms, as the others touted their battle prowess. And now, on another lovely day at Teufort, after yet another battle in which he, yes, supported the others in their endeavor to make the enemy into so much chunks, and only supported. "My talent is wasted on this team." "What's that, Doktor?" Heavy turned to him. They were Medic, never bothering with secrets when it came to Heavy, was going to tell him exactly what he said when Scout shouted into his ear piece, "Hey, hey, come look at this, come look at this. C'mon, I promise it's awesome!" What new foolishness had their Scout come up with now? "Hahaha, teeny Scout is being playful again. Come Doktor, we must encourage this!" Medic sighed. "Ach, we are already spending precious hours trying to teach him a basic education, do we really need to act like we're his parents, too?" "Come!" With a grip on Medic's forearm, Heavy pulled him into a room just off the base entrance, where the rest where gathered. They had forme a semi-circle around their Scout and Pyro, who seemed to be making exciting grunting noises and pointing at the nozzle at the other end of his flamethrower. "We have arrived, little Scout. Now show us what you have done." Heay pulled Medic in front of him. "Hey, come have a look, Doc. It's not half bad." Sniper motioned for the Medic to stand beside him, and because Heavy was right behind him, he had no choice but to do so and actually pay attention to the over-hyper boy child. Sometimes, Medic wondered if he was actually in charge of this team, or just a glorified baby sitter. "Me and Mumbles-" Heavy made a low 'tut-tut' sound. Scout frowned for a second, and then, as previous lessons seemed to have made some impact, continued. "I meant, Mumbles and I were playing catch, an he was going to set them on fire and then I was going to try and hit him, but he pulled the trigger without the igniter and-" Pyro put a ball in his hand, and then stepped back several feet. Scout smiled. "Yeah, we'll just show you!" "P'll!" Scout threw the baseball up and as it fell, hit it with his bat, sending it straight at Pyro's head. But instead of moving out of the way, Pyro raised the nozzle pf the flamethrower and a blast of air sent the ball in the opposite direction! This seemed to impress the others, some of them clapping. Demo was raising a bottle of scrumpy, and Engineer waved his helmet in the air. It did not impress Medic. "Yes, I'm sure this will be quite effective in the next battle." Sarcasm was lost on this team. The fact that his lips were all for smiling and he was not did not help matters. Scout took this for encouragement. "Hell yeah, it will! Mumbles, show them how high you can get that thing." Scout hit the ball harder, causing it to almost hit the ceiling, but for Pyro using the air blast to re-direct the trajection. This was accompanied by more joyful hollering. Well, at least it entertained the team. Medic spoke low. "I think I've been the supportive leader for the day. You can stay here and play the adoring papa to the boy, Heavy. I need to finish the paperwork." Heavy smiled at him. "Very well, Doktor. Remember not to push self so hard, and come to dinner." He leaned down. "Was good to see you smile." "I don't know what you're talking about." Sniper nodded at him, and Medic nodded back, as he took his leave. As Medic left, he could hear Soldier and Demo trying to convince Pyro to try his new trick with things like bottles, sticky bombs, and of all things, rockets. Well, this would seem to call for going to his infirmary and prepping it for incoming wounded. The paperwork would just have to be left for tomorrow. Medic wondered when he had become so soft, and blamed Heavy and Sniper. They seemed bound and determined to get him involved with the team's goings on. For Heavy, this made sense, as the man was affable and enjoyed people enjoying themselves, but Sniper, who was no one to talk of spending more time with the others, had joined forces with Heavy on the matter as of late. Of course, Engineer claimed that an effective leader had to be a 'father to his men', which caused Soldier to scream for an hour about various military leaders who- There was a RED Spy turning his back to him, emerging from nowhere and heading towards the basement. For a second, Medic was not sure he was seeing this. But the distinctive red business suit was hard to mistake for anything else. Heedless of the dangers posed by the intruder to himself, Medic followed after him. His boots were heavy, not made for sneaking about, but Medic managed as best he could. What was RED SPY doing watching them after hours? Turning around down the ramp, he realized where the Spy must have been heading: the sewer. He rarely ventured down there, preferring to leave it to Engineer and Pyro to protect. As he understood it, there were a connection of tunnels that lead across to the enemy base. Clearly, this Spy thought to- A raspy voice from behind. "Good evening, Doctor." Medic started and whirled around, and found himself looking into cold blue eys. The Red Spy's hand twirled, and from the ether, a cigarette was betwixt his fingers, which he lit. "Ah, so someone noticed my presence. I had though it was your team's Spy, but it appears that he is just another disgrace to the profession." Smoke wafted from the cigarette, and Medic frowned. He had forbid members of his own team to smoke, citing battle effectiveness, and had Heavy go from room to room, collecting the foul thing and flushing them down the toilet. Now, if only he could do the same with Demo's scrumpy... Waving the smoke away from him, Medic said, "It is cease-fire, Herr Spy. You should be in your own base." "You know it's standard procedures for Spies to get the lay of the land, gather information on the defenses on the enemy base. Your own Spy no doubt has infiltrated our base, and done the same on your behalf." Pointing back and up where his team was, Medic said, "And you were just, what? Going to leave after only examining the one room where my team is?" The Spy nodded, conceding the point. "I assure you, Doctor, I was not here to start anything untoward during cease fire. I am a man of my word, and I trust that this will be enough for you." He should call Heavy and Pyro, and all the others here. They were forbidden from interrogation in their contract, but they could hold the errant Spy in the infirmary until inquiries could be made to BLU about him. Oh yes, if their Civilian played things right, it could be grounds for violation of the battle terms, and RED would be forced to give up Teufort. Cold eyes narrowed- This Spy had blue eyes. The current RED team's Spy had brown eyes, and was suppose to be Italian, not French. "You're not the residing RED team's Spy. According to our contracts, there can only be one team representing the other side's interest at one time. You could have your own contract revoked, hunted after by both companies. What were you hoping to accomplish?" He should call Heavy and Pyro, and all the others here. They were forbidden from interrogation in their contract, but they could hold the errant Spy in the infirmary until inquiries could be made to BLU about him. Oh yes, if their Civilian played things right, it could be grounds for violation of the battle terms, and RED would be forced to give up Teufort. On the other hand, no one from RED knew the Spy was here, and he will never dare speak of this... Medic reached for his syringe gun just as the intrusive RED Spy reached for his own gun. He made sure to aim slightly higher than the Spy's head, and squeezed the trigger. With a rapid machine sound, a volley of syringes traveling at sixty-seven kilometers an hour, found their target in the Spy's face, neck, and shoulders. Blood splattered and chunks of flesh fell to the ground. The Spy only let out a shriek as he "Another successful procedure, I suppose." He had so looked forward to this: the cut and thrust of battle! Yet, here it had ended in less than a few seconds. But, a victory was a victory, and there was still the- A soft scrape against the ground... Medic hit the floor, and this was the only reason he was not shot through the head. Two loud gun shots fired above him. This time, he didn't bother with his syringe gun. No, this one deserved something more personal. Yes, his beloved bone saw should suffice. This Spy was not going to pull the same trick thrice. He bought up the bone saw up as he stood, aiming for the right arm, the arm Spy held the revolver in. It missed by centimeters, the Spy moving back and trying to aim- "Get away from me, you demented scalpel jockey!" Medic swung the bone saw up again, and this time, he did not miss. This one perfect moment. Teeth sliding down skin, leaving behind torn cloth, blood, open meat, and more blood. And more blood. "Fils de pute!" Another swing, and oh! The screaming, the high, ululating shriek that came when with nerves on fire, the sympathetic nervous system receiving signals to the brain of hurt and get away and trying desperately to do just that. If only there was some way to record all this as it was happening, everything from body temperature to heart rate. Perhaps something could be arranged the next time. Blood, wet and hot, splashed on Spy's well-tailored suit, the ground, his gloves. More than should have been in the human body. Medic had always suspected it was a side effect of over-healing with the medigun. The RED Spy dropped to the ground, and Medic followed him down. He bought the bone saw up and bought it down at across the shoulder. Another scream. Medic positioned himself so that his knees trapped Spy's knees next to his body. Leaning down, Medic murmured into his ear, "Now, Herr Spy, if we are going to be so intimate, you should really just relax. It will make this examination so much more easier on you, and enjoyable for me." A lie. He liked the struggle, and the words were designed to put the fear of further pain in his victim. What good would it be for the enemy just to lie back and take it? A gloved hand scrabbled near his right pant leg, a weak attempt to work it out from under him and- Sharp and intense, a line of pain up the back his thigh. "Scheiße", Medic groaned low and rocked back on to the balls of his feet. When the thin blade came up to meet his belly, he realized that this was a mistake. Before he realized he was moving, Medic's hand had parried the butterfly knife almost of it's own accord. He bought his other hand, squeezing the the tendon, forcing the Spy to let go of the knife and Medic took it in hand. Ruefully, he threw the butterfly knife over his shoulder. Well, he had received his wish: a bit more fight from the patient. He rifled through the Spy's jacket and along his arms, removing several devices resembling watches and one rather large gun with a detailed etching of... his team's Scout's mother? Medic recognized her from the many times their Scout would place pictures of his family on their refrigerator, though never in such risque attire. Something to look into later. Purely for research purposes, of course. This time, when the Spy's other hand reached up, it contained no weapon, and Medic did not bother to parry this. The finger tips hardly scratched his skin, just a slow slide down the side of his face until it met his chin, and then fell to the ground with a plop. "I'm going... to remember your face, Doctor." Eyes partly closed, the Spy died. "You do that." Medic had heard similar sentiments before. But now was not the time for reflecting on past patients. There was the one before him to consider. He moved to the side of the now perfectly relaxed body and began. With the ease of long experience, Medic started with a Y-incision, cutting a line across flesh from both shoulders to meet at the clavicle, merging to create a single line down to the groin. He traced the lines with the blade over until they deepened enough to lift a flap of skin and cut away at the subcutaneous fat underneath the top part of the 'Y'. He lifted up as he cut away the fat, exposing more muscle tissue, the color of raw beef. He left it hanging over the chin. Medic performed the same procedure for the flaps along side the diaphragm, carefully peeling back skin, while deepening the incision along the abdominal cavity, to reveal the intestines. The first time Medic had attended his first hands-on anatomy class, he had been surprised at how much they looked like sausage, but realized he shouldn't have. After all, they were, when one got down to it, the same thing on the outside. What he saw would be hardly indistinguishable from a rack of beef lying atop a mass of wurst. There were a few in his class who could not eat meat for weeks afterwards. He found it was much the same to him; humans were animals, and also made of meat. Why should he be squeamish about something perfectly natural? The bone saw helped in cutting away the rib cage, slicing the diagphram and exposing the chest cavity. So open and vulnerable, with only a few pounds of meat and bone to protect important organs like the lungs and heart, the liver and gall bladder. Incredible. To Medic, it was a testiment to human evolution, that it had developed sufficient intelligence and stamina to have become the the world's top predator despite such flimsy defenses. Breathing deeply, Medic wished he could remove his gloves. He wanted no barriers between them, nothing to dull the sensations of flesh sliding against each other. But there were the intestinal juices to consider, and certainly not something he wanted to get on to himself. Laying the bone saw down beside him, he let his hands follow the line of entrail, the slickness of the intestinal juices, covering his gloves in a thin, water-y, yellow liquid, and so warm! So different from the already cooled bodies in school, and the fluids already drained. Hands moved up to meet the the larger organs, the liver, before cupping first the left and then right lung, and the pushing them aside. And finally, a finger tracing the outer edges of the heart, as it continued to beat. Yes, the human body truly was exquisite. A work of natural art. The organs did not die at the same time, and so several systems would still be performing as if the person was still amongst the living. He wrapped his hand around the heart and used the other to cut across the connecting tissue. Placing the bonesaw aside, he used both hands to lift the muscle out of the chest cavity. Truly, this was breath taking. A formerly living human being, now displayed like a text book anatomical drawing. A still beating human heart in his hands. Blood everywhere. Medic smiled, wide and sincere. He carefully arranged the organs back into their original places, or as close to it as he could. He replaced the rib cage, and positioned the flaps of skin to almost meet the ends together, closing up the body again. It was not quite the same as life. The intrusive RED Spy did not not look at peace or as if he was sleeping. He was too still, too quiet, body broadcasting nothing. A feat impossible even for the most talented of actors. Behind him, the scratching of boots against stone. Surely, the Dead Ringer couldn not- "Doktor?" Oh. Yes, he had been gone for a while, hadn't he? Medic realized this had taken close to an hour. Naturally, his collegues would have come looking for him. They all but required him to hold their hands throughout the day. Medic turned and smiled over his shoulder at his dear, dear Heavy. He was such a good friend, always lending him books and critiquing his violin pieces, bringing dinner to the infirmary when the paper work overwhelmed him. Yes, he gave far more than what he demanded from Medic, including abstaining from joining in the pleasures of battle. If only Heavy wasn't happily married, Medic would show him such appreciation for his support. "Doktor, what are you doing here? Were you fighting? They are gone now." And so he was. RED's respawn had finally picked up the corpse and his weapons, leaving only stains on the ground to give evidence that he had been there. He wondered which battle ground the Spy had come from. Medic rose and straightened his tie, before replacing his bone saw on his belt. He would have to get a fresh uniform on. No need for the others to ask questions, especially if Heavy would keep his silence on this. Striding towards his friend, Medic wrapped a companionable arm around Heavy, determined to replace the troubled look with a smile. "Come, mein Freund. I believe Pyro is making something he calls 'menudo' for dinner, and it sounds just appetizing." It had been a good day.
It was difficult to choose but I'd love some Sniper getting chummy with Engie on the Coldfront just being bros together. Doesnt have to be adult, either. Maybe a hint of it? ------------------------------------------------ Sniper groaned, pulling his coat tighter around him as a particularly cold blast of air whipped up around the camper. “Wot do ya mean ya can’t fix it!?†The Australian growled at the shorter man, currently half way inside a compartment on the side of the camper. Of all the places for his heater to decide to bust, it just had to be Coldfront. The Engineer backed out of his hole, wiping some grease off on a rag. “Just that, Slim. These components aren’t exactly easy to get around these parts. You’re gonna have to wait until we can get a shipment partner.†The Engineer shook his head. It was way too cold for the man to sleep out in his camper without heat, even with a pile of blankets. “Listen, you’re gonna freeze to death out here without a heater. There aren’t any spare rooms, so why don’t ya get your stuff and ya can stay in my workshop.†He grinned, closing the hatch to the heater compartment. “Thanks Truckie, but Oi’m sure Oi can manage t’ foind somethin’.†Sniper scratched at the scar on his cheek idly, cursing whoever had decided to send them to the middle of this frigid wasteland. He was not used to cold weather, especially with large amounts of snow like Coldfront. Still, he didn’t feel like impeding on the Texan’s workshop just because of a busted heater. “It’s either that or ya get stuck in the infirmary with Heavy and Medic. I ain’t got no problem with what they do, hell I’m glad they got each other, but that is not somethin’ I wanna be seein’.†Engineer shook his head, pushing his goggles down around his neck. He knew the lanky Australian didn’t have much of a choice. Sniper groaned, kicking at a pile of snow. “Oi guess ya got a point. Lemme get some stuff an’ Oi’ll be roight in. Ya go ahead Truckie.†He clambered into the camper, grabbing the few things he’d need if he was going to stay in Engineer’s workshop. He headed inside, thankful to be out of the wind. At least the base was warmer than outside, even if not by much. After the bit of a walk to the workshop, Sniper knocked on the door. He pushed it open when he heard the Texan call from within. “C’mon in. I was just cleanin’ a few things up.†Engineer had schlepped off his heavy, wet coat, opting for a red flannel shirt. He grumbled to himself as he made his way around the workshop, tossing spare parts and blue prints out of the way. “Ah, ya don’t hafta do that mate. Oi’m the one impedin’ on yer space.†Sniper felt bad about making the shorter man run around cleaning up. Engineer waved a hand, dismissing the notion. The Aussie was his guest, it was the least he could do. Sniper shrugged, picking up a part that was on the floor. “Ya need this, Truckie?†Engineer looked up, grabbing the part out of the marksman’s hand. “Heck yeah. Need it for my sentries. I don’t mind ya stayin’, just don’t be touchin’ anything, ya hear me?†Engineer wagged his finger at the taller man, setting the part on a shelf. That was the only bad thing about having people in his workshop. They always wanted to touch things. The team’s Scout knew better than to bother the Texan in his workshop after quite a few good wrenchings. Engineer stretched, his back cracking loudly. “Guess ya best be headin’ to bed, Slim. I’ll catch up soon.†Sniper nodded, grabbing his bed roll and placing it on the floor. He’d much have preferred his own bed to sleeping on the floor, but he wasn’t going to turn down Texan’s offer. Especially when it was so cold outside with no heat in his camper. “G’noight Truckie. Thanks again mate.†The Australian set his hat and aviators with the rest of his stuff, stripping down to his undershirt and boxers, opting to leave his socks on as well. He climbed into the sleeping back, rolling over to try and get some well needed rest. Engineer chuckled, sitting down at his desk to scribble some notes on a blueprint. Sniper woke up shivering, the cold floor seeming to have seeped through his sleeping bag. He cursed silently, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, noticing the small lamp still on at Engineer’s work bench. He plodded over, looking at the other man. The Engineer had passed out on his blueprint, pencil still in hand. Sniper couldn’t help but chuckle quietly, taking the pencil from the shorter mercenary’s hand. The Texan shivered in his sleep, the chill night air creeping into the workshop. Sniper hummed to himself, walking back over to grab one of the blankets he’d brought from his camper, laying it over the Engineer. His team mate mumbled something in his sleep, shifting slightly before letting out a soft snore. “Yer welcome mate. G’noight.†Sniper chuckled, wandering back over, deciding to crawl into Engineer’s unused bed. He sighed, curling up under the covers as sleep washed over him again.
something disturbing/gorey with engineer/scout. barring that, some gunslinger guro ------------------------------------------------ The silence was the worst of it all. Scout bolted down the weaving basement hallways, his only company his own shallow breath, his own hurried clapping of footsteps on the ground. Blood soaked through his shirt in spots of darker red, curling down his arms to taint the edges of his hand wraps. His right arm dangled limp beside him, dragging his aluminum bat in quick hiccups across the paved floor. This place. This stupid place, pretending to be as routine as any of the other of the locations they’ve battled. This crazy, fucked-up, twisted place with its changing halls and shifting paths and neverending fucking hallways. One health pack. One hidden dispenser. His kingdom to find a damn ham sandwich on the ground, or to have the giant meat-head weapons specialist around to drop it for him. Scout skidded around a corner to come face-to-face with an archway he’d sworn he’d passed by a thousand times before, in absolute spite of the fact he’d done nothing but run straight ahead. A noise he hadn’t caused reached his ears, and he picked up speed. Scout hated it when respawn fucked up like this, refusing to reset until all but one of them had been killed. It wasn’t that he was afraid to be alone, of course, and it certainly wasn’t the fact he couldn’t take this last guy out single-handed if he wanted, but taking on everything at once just made it all that much harder to deal with. Heart racing in his ears, Scout slowed to a stop and pushed his back against the wall, keeping silent until a few paranoid head turns assured him there was nothing hiding in the dark. He’s not sure how long he spends in that spot, one end of the hallway as enticing in its fog-ridden shadows as the other. There’s another hallway bend a few feet to his left. It takes him a moment to shut his eyes tight and run around the corner. Beep beep. - The power of the resulting gunfire had shoved him back around the corner, out of the sentry’s range. Scout’s single useable weapon had been cast aside, clattering thickly on the concrete a few feet away, yet every inch may as well have been a mile. Blood slipped from every newly-punctured orifice in the boy’s body as he made his way towards his bat, making his stance weak and his brace against the wall grow slippery. It was quite the sight. A low, rumbling chuckle escaped from Engineer’s throat as the older man emerged from the shadows, the encapsulating hallways only amplifying the sound of the older man’s amusement. “What’s your hurry there, string bean? I just want to talk.†Scout stumbled on a small pool of his own blood, crashing against the wall for support. “Fuck off an’ die, you metal-humpin’ shit face.†Surrendering his resolve, Scout let himself collapse to the floor, edging closer and closer to his fallen weapon. Quickly, he flung out his uninjured arm just enough to reach for it, just enough to have his fingertips brush against the handle-- All he felt next was the sharp pain of his head being yanked backwards by his hair. “Now,†Engineer said calmly, “is that there really any way to treat your host?†He retreated and shoved his boot into the small of Scout’s back, unraveling the extension cord wrapped at his own waist while keeping Scout to the floor. Engineer wasted no time tying Scout’s arms behind him with an unsettling efficiency, twisting tight enough to limit circulation and tying knots that dug painfully into Scout’s back and sides. A flurry of curses spilled from Scout’s mouth as Engineer dragged him by the rope taut around Scout’s front to stand. Engineer slammed the boy’s back against the wall to reclaim his attention; the force hit a nerve and sent a discomforting tremble up Scout’s spine, as Scout felt the wet, sickening squelch of his ensanguined shirt trapped between his skin and the slickening wall behind him. “That all y’got, hardhat?†Shutting an eye wincing, Scout forced a laugh. There were traces of blood at the corners of his lips, and the sound of his feet trying hard to keep balance from below. “You forgettin’ who the hell y’dealin’ with? All the—all the different fuckin’ hits I’ve taken, all the times I died? Stop pretendin’ like y’got any fuckin’ control, you ain’t got shit on pain.†Engineer had Scout pinned to the wall with an iron grip on the front of his collar, metal fingers twisting around RED fabric; the older man’s opposite hand traced Scout’s chest over his shirt, feeling Scout’s sudden change of breathing once fingers feathered over one of several gunshot wounds. “Difference is I know your kind, boy,†said Engineer, voice intent. “And I know you like it when it hurts.†Engineer shoved a thumb against the wound beneath his fingers. Scout choked on his breath and doubled over as much as his current position would allow; sharp, tight pressure shot from an isolated spot near the center of Scout’s chest through his nerves, making his vision shake and his stomach clench in a sickening sort of way. Engineer pushed his single finger harder atop, against, into the spot until his thumb had torn its way through the wound to bury itself in to the knuckle; leaks of blood began spurting and gushing from the open injury. His fingernail scratched at the bottom of the stuck bullet and shoved it further inside. Scout threw his head back and spat out more obscenities, more vulgarities, any insult he could wrap his mind around whether or not it made sense aloud. Engineer’s bloodied hand reached down for Scout’s crotch; the only noise of confusion Scout could manage came out strangled. “Jesus—creepy goddamn fuckin’ fag, what the fuck are you doing—†Engineer swiftly redirected his Gunslinger from Scout’s shirt to wrap the steel digits around his victim’s neck. The adjustment brought a newfound fear in the younger man’s eyes, an anxiousness recognized at once as the familiar anticipation of death. (Engineer wondered just how long he could drag that out of him.) “I ain’t blind, son,†Engineer said, squeezing Scout’s neck that little bit tighter to enunciate. “Here I am, mindin’ my own business while tryin’ to get the odd building or two up around the map, and who else but you would be sittin’ in a forgotten corner playin’ with yourself all bloodied up?†A growl rumbled in Scout’s throat—he wasn’t certain what was more humiliating, being called out on the shit he’s pulled or already being hard to the touch. Scout tried moving his feet, only to end up feeling them swinging freely: Engineer’s grip had lifted him just barely off the floor. Engineer began moving his opposite hand, folding Scout over his goddamn pants. “I’ll be honest with you,†he started, his voice and expressions completely nonchalant. “I didn’t pin you to be some kind a’ masochist—I’d take that as more the doc’s territory, if y’all ask me—but each man’s their own, I suppose.†Scout tried for another scathing curse, but the hold around his neck didn’t make speaking very practical. Engineer drew down Scout’s zipper and worked the RED out of his pants; Scout shifted his hips as he became exposed to the air, the tip of his cock already slick with clear fluid. Engineer made a small, mocking noise of endearment; Scout managed a fully-voiced ‘fuck you’. But there was no denying how huge Engineer’s hand felt against him, thick fingers and calloused skin moving steadily across hardness, coaxing Scout to rise to full extent. Shallow breaths mingled with forcefully repressed moans--this was so fucking messed--and every shift Scout’s body made felt exaggerated in respect to the stillness of everything else. The rest of Scout was still in a state of excruciating agony which far outweighed any pleasure he was capable of extracting from this; blood was still spilling from his wounds, glazing the majority of his skin like sweat, and the pure pain electrifying every nerve in his body was making him tremble and twitch beyond his control. The majority of the rope knots embedding his back pressed against an open wound of one kind or another, making the desperate shifting of his hips in time with Engineer’s rough strokes all the more unbearable. Engineer kept the rhythm and his calm alike, wearing an expression of smugness that would put Scout to shame (if he was in any state to appreciate it). Scout’s breathing was growing voiced enough for Engineer to feel the vibrations from Scout’s throat trembling down the length of his own arm. The older man would give a harmless chuckle every time Scout’s reactions would take a step backwards into something more primal--Scout’s loss of intelligible words, his instinctive half-thrusts into Engineer’s hand, him forcing his own eyes shut to delve into a more desirable fantasy that didn’t involve any of this. Scout gritted his teeth together as he felt a familiar sensation rising in the base of his spine; obscenities fell from his mouth, stifled and near-voiceless as he staggered towards the most confused climax of his natural life. Engineer grinned wider, his grip around Scout’s neck tightening, and the fear in the boy’s eyes was more blatant than ever. With a final growl, Scout came, splashing his release across the front of Engineer’s overalls in several sporadic gushes; at the exact same time, Engineer revved the motor in his Gunslinger, his modified hand spinning and effortlessly crushing Scout’s neck in his grasp. Blood splattered across Engineer's face and goggles; the boy’s seizing became fevered, unnatural, and then he lay still--or at least, whatever was left of him did. Clothes soiled with a mixture of bodily fluids that weren’t his own, Engineer dropped what remained of the RED to the ground, sighing as he took out a handkerchief from his back pocket and began wiping his fingers off with it. The Announcer was quick to end the match, her voice echoing from unseen speakers as she called the victory, followed by an expressive noise of disgust. Some days she didn’t pay herself enough.
Demoman/Pyro. I don't care if it's porn or fluff, male Pyro or femPyro, etc. Just ANYTHING Demoman/Pyro. ------------------------------------------------ The BLU team at Dustbowl had had a successful day, having capped a point they’d been stalled at for a week and a half. Everyone was tired but happy, though Soldier and Scout weren’t feeling their best after respawning more than a dozen times apiece. After dinner, the team gradually drifted off to bed until only Demoman and Pyro were left, sitting across from each other at the table. Demoman took a swig of something (he honestly couldn’t remember what, but it was definitely booze of some sort) from a dark glass bottle. After a contemplative moment, he tipped the bottle’s mouth towards Pyro. “Y’wannae swig?†Pyro paused, then shrugged, and Demoman caught the fain impression of a smile. “Whtt thh hll. Whh dd wll tdyy. Shrr.†Demoman smiled and slid the bottle across the table. Pyro caught it with one hand. whilst unscrewing the filter on the expressionless black gas mask that Demoman had come to think of as more of a face than anything else. This revealed a circular patch of skin framing a frustratingly androgynous pair of lips, the only part of Pyro’s face Demoman had ever seen. Pyro took a swig of the mystery liquor and smiled as well. Half an hour later, the two were trading dares, punctuated by frequent gulps of Demoman’s second bottle of...whatever. “All right, all right, I got one for ya,†Pyro said through the empty filter hole. “Take off your eyepatch.†“Ye sure? ‘Tisnae a sight for a weak stomach.†“I can take it. Bring it on.†“If ye say so... don’ say I didn’t warn ye.†Demoman flipped up his wywpatch and Pyro gasped, the tail end of the gasp turning into awed laughter. Demoman flipped it back down and the two had another drink. “Well, if I’m tae be takin’ off me eyepatch, ye should take off yer mask.†Pyro chuckled and reached up to undo the mask. “Wait... yer really gonna do it?†“ ‘Course. I can’t turn ya down, now can I?†Pyro’s fumbling fingers finally undid the ties and pulled the mask off. Demoman couldn’t believe his eye. He glared down at the bottle in his hand, rubbed his eye, and looked again. The face that Pyro had revealed was pale, burn-scarred, and undoubtably feminine. “I am really drunk,†she giggled. “I could drink tae tha’,†Demoman said, grinning and holding his bottle out for a toast. “I could too,†Pyro said, and clinked her glass against Demoman’s. They each took a big gulp and started up the dares again. Demoman rolled over so that his head wasn’t being smushed against the table and cautiously opened one eye. He immediately regretted it, as the early morning sunlight felt as if it was stabbing into his eye. He’d become accustomed to waking up with a hangover, but it was still painful. Best to get this over with. He looked around until his eye adjusted, noticing that Pyro, hair completely covering her face, was beginning to stir. “Damn I drank a lot last night,†she muttered. “Mornin’, Py,†Demoman said. “Hn?†Pyro looked up, recognized Demoman, and flopped her head back down again. “Oh, yeah.†The two were silent for a while longer. Then Pyro sat up, stretched, and began pulling her mask on again. “Oh, um... thanks for not flipping out or anything last night,†she said before screwing in the filter. “ ‘Twasnae a problem,†Demoman said. “Yhh, wll Slly rr Mddk rr smm vv thh rsst wlld hvv. Sww thnnks.†Now Demoman had a very strong impression that she was smiling under that mask.
“Comrades.“ The BLU Medic greeted his teammates as he stepped into the room. Immediately all heads had turned to him as he sat in the seat at the end of the table-- Soldier’s usual spot. Taking no notice, he opened up the leather suitcase he had brought with him and began setting its contents neatly onto the table. “Now, as I’m sure you are all curious about, the Sold-†“DOKTOR! Where is tiny Soldier?†“…Zhank you, Heavy. Yes, the Soldier vill not be joining us today, as he is not well. I have been instructed by him to act as spokesperson during today’s battle overview.†Spy snorted. “Oh, please. Somehow I am having a hard time believing zhat ze Soldier would give up his chair zhat easily,†He waved his ever-so-common cigarette in Medic’s direction. “To you of all people. A psychopathic Nazi- Yes, I do believe zhat is what he calls you, non?†Medic glared at the man down the bridge of his glasses. He always had to be a smart ass about everything, finding a way to severely tick off Medic. “Herr Spy, I kindly have to ask you to put out that cancer stick.†“But of course.†Spy took one last drag and snubbed it out on the doctor’s briefcase, leaving a small black hole in the leather. “Danke. Now, on today’s agenda, we vill be going over last veek’s plan on how to avoid the RED Engineer’s newest sentries as well as reviewing Formation #76. Any objections?†Silence. “Good. Now let us begin.†Medic sprawled the map of 2Fort across the table. “Well that’s new.†Commented Sniper. He grabbed an edge of the paper and assisted in flattening. Sniper growled as his edge curled up again. In turn, he decided to place his coffee mug on it. So what if it covered up a vital part of the BLU base? It kept the damned thing held down… While Sniper had been worrying about the map, Medic had begun talking again. From the sound of it and the way Medic was poking at the map, Sniper assumed it had something to do with sentry locations. He had to hand it to the Soldier; Sure, he was batshit insane, but at least he kept things interesting, unlike this bloke. The way Medic talked was just so monotone and straight to the point. When Soldier talked, you paid attention, whether it be from the incredibly loud tone of his voice or from him jumping up on the table and threatening to beat you upside the head with that damned shovel of his. Sniper smirked at the memory as he reached to get a drink of coffee. The map furled on his side again. Frustrated, he slammed it back down onto the paper, sending a wave of the hot liquid spilling over the edge. Sniper gazed in horror at the new brown stain on the map. “Herr Sniper, are you paying attention?†Sniper quickly shifted his mug to cover up the stain. “Yeah.†The older man impatiently rapped his fingers on the table. “Then what did I just say?†“Battle plans.†Sniper grinned and leaned back in his chair, daring the medic to challenge him. “Ach, I do not see how the Soldier puts up with the lot of you. I had asked you to please move your coffee cup so zhat the rest of us may see the left BLU entrance.†“No can do, mate. The map will curl up again!†Medic‘s voice dropped to a threatening growl. “Herr Sniper, I have been vaiting a long time to be head chair, and I vill not tolerate your behavior just to have you mess it up. So I vill ask you again- Sniper, please remove your coffee cup.†An awkward silence filled the small room as the rest of the team turned to look at Sniper. Sniper could feel his face grow hot. “Uhh… I think I’m gonna go check up on Solly in the sick bay. Ya know, to make sure he‘s okay ‘n all.†Sniper jumped up from his chair, snagged his mug, and dashed out the door. The map furled again. “Ugh, dummkopf.†Medic rolled his eyes and resumed his lecture. Engineer, who had been sitting across from Sniper at the rectangular table, politely leaned over to whisper to the pyro. “Since when did that boy ever care about Soldier? For that matter, I didn’t even know anyone cared about him ‘n general. Heh, general. That‘s a good one.†The Texan chuckled to himself as he turned back to Medic. Pyro shook his head solemnly. “If Engineer agrees to it, I zhink it would be best if he were to remain h-hidden-†Medic had obviously caught sight of the smudged brown stain on his map. “I-In zhe left entrance as to catch any intruders off guard. For example.†He unsnapped the tabs to his briefcase, causing the lid to pop open. Carefully, he removed a lumpy handkerchief and set it onto the table, making sure to re-close the suitcase. The handkerchief unfurled to reveal seventeen peanut-sized figures: Nine red and eight blue. “The hell is this crap?†Scout jumped up from his seat and ran to pick up one of the small red figures. He eyed it suspiciously, rolling it between his fingers. The figure had a tiny eye patch and its legs were plastered down onto a red base. “Dolls? C’mon doc, you can’t be serious here. Aren’t dolls for, ya know, girls? Not grown mercenaries?†“Actually,†Medic began as he snatched the figure from Scout’s hands, “these are not ‘dolls’, herr Scout. Zhey are tactical figures meant for demonstration purposes when reviewing battle plans. For grown mercenaries.†“…Whatever that means.†Scout rolled his eyes and casually skimmed over the assembly of figures. “So where’s mine?†Medic adjusted the bridge of his glasses with his middle finger, as he had done so many times before. He sighed. “I had ordered a shipment of eighteen, one for each of the classes. As such, each of zhem were personalized in our likenesses- like the Demoman you vere just about to crush with your schnitzel fingers. However, vhile being shipped over here, zhere vas a bit of a… mishap with yours so I had it thrown out.†“…So what are you tryin’ to say.†“Until we can order you a replacement,†Medic picked up a small fat piece from the group and held it up for all to see. “You are this carrot.†Spy snickered. “…Oh. Well t-that’s cool, ya know. Didn’t want one of your stupid girl dolls anyway. Carrots can be cool. Yeah.†Scout soberly walked back to his seat and slumped down, trying to hide his disappointment. Of all things, why carrots? He couldn’t stand carrots! The least Medic could have done was make it something more awesome, like cauliflower. Or a dragon. A dragon would be fuckin’ sweet. Spy gingerly picked up a figure between two gloved fingers, inspecting each side. “Ugh, Doctor, how much money did you put into zhese?†He didn’t give Medic enough time to answer. “Apparently not enough. The manufacturers didn’t get my nose right, nor did they capture any of my charm and- MMPH!†Heavy clamped a meaty hand over Spy’s mouth. It smelled vile: a mixture of sweat, metal, and the distinct aroma of sandwich. The latter of which didn’t surprise Spy at all. “Shh! Doktor is speaking! Do you want to be credit to team or not?†The bear of a man slowly removed his grip from Spy’s mouth, being sure to keep an eye on the Frenchman. “…Yes, zhank you Heavy.†Medic snatched the piece back from Spy and placed it on the upper floor of the RED base. He continued this pattern in silence for the remaining pieces, pausing occasionally to admire his work. The money he had spent on all of the setup had been well worth it in his opinion. True, it was different than what Soldier usually did, but Medic felt that it would help to improve the learning experience; Anything had to help better than that monster of a man yelling drills at them from across the room. Where was the planning in that? The cleverness? Indeed, his new methods would surely help lead his team to victory. He had been waiting for this day for so long… Suddenly, the loud clump of footsteps echoed throughout the room from outside. Demoman clumsily half-opened, half-bashed in the door, bottle of scrumpy in hand. He tottered for a few steps then quickly stood up straight, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He cautiously eyed up the room with his one good eye, pausing when he got to Medic. “Aye. Wot’s going on ‘n here?†“We were having a meeting to discuss battle plans. Please have a seat, Demoman.†The Scotsman held his ground. “Wot’s the big idea not invitin’ me? I love these things. Gives me a chance t’,†He paused to take a drink of his scrumpy. “Aye, wot’s the word I’m lookin’ for… discuss… with me boyos. Don’t get ta,†Another drink. “Do that very often anymore.†Engineer cleared his throat and calmly turned to address the drunkard. He had to be careful of what he said here, least he end up with a bottle up his ass. “Demoman, last time you came to one of these here meetings, you kinda… punched Spy in the face and ended up passed out on top of the table. You’re a bit of a distraction, so we all kind of decided to reach a mutual agreement of not informin‘ ya. Sorry little buddy†Spy’s eyes narrowed at Demoman at the memory. He had had a bruise there for weeks. It had turned just about every color in the rainbow before it finally went away. The bruise had been a reminder of why the Frenchman hated that drunken cyclops so much. More than his other teammates, anyway. Oh, but he would return the favor someday. This epiphany seemed to sober Demoman up a bit. Had they really thought of him as a distraction? The genuine hurt showed in his voice. “Ah… well it’s ok now, because I got here anyway. Kinda a foony story, I had ran across Solly in tha’ hallway not too far from here, and he toold, well more like yelled, that there was’a meetin -†Medic’s eyes widened in horror. “Herr Demoman, did you say you saw Soldier in the hallway?†“Aye. Why?†“H-How far away? He is supposed to be in the infirmary! He is not vell!†Medic was shouting by this point and had begun pacing around the room, panicked. How had he escaped? He had been sure to double-knot the robes and had given him at least enough anesthesia to put down a horse… It was improbable! No living being would be able to wake up from that for at least 24 hours! “MEDIC!†Mein gott… Soldier was standing in the frame of the already open door, poised to kill. Medic wouldn’t have been as threatened if he wouldn’t have been holding that damned shovel over his head. He looked as if he could tear Medic to shreds right then and there: Seething, nostrils flared, growling uncontrollably. In Medic’s opinion, he resembled a giant gorilla. The thought lightened the mood for him, if only a little bit. Reluctantly, he turned to face Soldier directly and saluted. “Herr Soldier! Vhat are you doing here… S-sir?†Soldier smiled- The batshit crazy one that he reserved only for the battlefield. “The hippie helped me.†Medic made a mental note to not give Sniper any anesthetics next time he came in to see him. “I’m glad to see zhat you are doing vell then, Soldier. I vas merely watching over the meeting as we avaited your return.†He murmured the mandatory “sir†under his breath. “YOU STRAPPED ME TO A GOD-DAMNED BED IN YOUR NAZI INFIRMARY! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BAD THOSE THINGS CHAVE?! FURTHERMORE, I DO NOT RECALL EVER GIVING YOU PERMISSION TO TAKE MY POSITION AS APPOINTED LEADER OF SAID MEETING. I WAS RIGHTFULLY APPOINTED, AS WELL AS VOTED IN, TO BE LEADER! NOT A COMMUNIST, GAY NAZI SUCH AS YOURSELF.†Scout muttered something about them never voting him in anyway. He promptly stopped when Soldier turned his attention to him. “YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO GOD, A DISGRACE TO THIS MISSION, AND A DISGRACE TO THIS TEAM, YOU MAGGOT.†Medic backed up, trying to put as much space between him and the shovel-wielding monstrosity as possible. “Zhere is no reason to be so harsh about this, Herr Soldier. Let us sit down and discuss this like reasonable gentlem-†“SCREW YOU, COMMIE.†“…I’m sensing that you may be a little upset with me.†The last thing Medic remembered before blacking out was a shovel to the face.
"The Bull" Short One-shot by: Valiax_Gryphon The Old Geezer Bar saw its fair share of strangers and regulars past through, whether it was a couple of civilians having a good time, or in this case a few good RED employed mercenaries taking a warm Saturday night off away from work. Maybe it was a good thing to break away from the war out near Dustbowl and those mine shafts. If only one of them didn't drag the war mindset with him where ever they went. "..Then he takes a swig of that nasty scumwater, only for a good old-fashion American rocket comes soaring through the air like an enraged screaming eagle and Ka-blewy! The Scot's going home in a doggy bag tonight! Shovel can vouch for a glorious victory! Didn't we Shovel?" The distraught man under a metal helmet proceded to blabber on while shaking a trench shovel in his right hand, treating it like it was a person. Engineer sat next to him at the bar shaking his head before letting out a small laugh. "I believe ya Solly. No need fer goin' all out on yerself. We did come 'ere for drinks and a good time." He explained before placing the brown glass bottle of Red Streak beer to his lips. "And who's idea was it!? Mine of course! We're the only real Americans worthy enough to go out and enjoy the pleasures REAL American men can gain in the victory of battle!" Soldier shouted, puffing his chest out proudly. The site made the laborer almost choke on a swallow of brew, a smile working its way on his shaven face. "Easy Sarge, no need to go show off yer stuff. Beer's gettin' warm." He pointed out with his gloved hand. Soldier groaned slightly showing some disappointment in not being able to announce his pride and bravery over the week long battles back in Dustbowl. The man fumbled with his own beer, taking a hearty swig down his throat. Ah the cool liquid was a relief, a real pleasure for one who's life was on the line and loved every second of it. The Texan slouched slightly in his high chair, idly listening as a jukebox in a corner played some good old fashioned country. It reminded him of home and that alone made the Laborer smile across his slightly unshaven face. "What are you smilin' at Private?" Soldier questioned as his teammate's smug look. "Oh nothin' Solly, just enjoyin' the music and drinks." He takes the cold bottle, pressing the mouth to his chapped lips and tilting his head back for a long intake of the brew. "Maybe later we can hit a Barbeque joint and hook us up some brisket and ribs." Engineer added after swallowing. Soldier's grin grew wide, showing off those pearly whites in a very eager stance. "Ho ho! Rodger that Engie! Nothin' beats beatin' yer enemies to tiny bits than a steaming plate of all American ribs with sauce!" A deep laugh escaped Hardhat's chest while shaking his shoulders up and down in wheezing laughter. "Solly, you should listen to yerself. Not even on battle duty and yer still as wound up as a pissed off rattlesnake ready to strike." Soldier puffed his chest up, lower lip stuck out as if in some sort of pout. Course being Soldier it could of been anger or fustration. It was sometimes hard to read the man when his helmet consumed half his head like a metal jellyfish. Engie was half expecting the man to rage over him spouting something about 'Sun Tzu did this' or 'The war is never over like civilian work' but instead the harden man merely groaned in dissaproval before planting his rump back in the seat. Engie sighed in relief, the country music in the background returning his mind back to a time where he didn't have to worry about getting shot or spies sapping his creations. Glorious slow days in warm summer months outside the front porch playing his guitar and sipping lemonade. Hoedowns every Friday and campfires on Saturdays. There wasn't much he missed back home, but the bar sure brought back some memories. Until the Bull broke his concentration. Or more really the idiotic young guy whooping and hollering as he was swung back and forth, up and down with one drunk arm in the air. Both men turned to watch the scene in the back of the bar at the sight before Engineer grinned in that sly way of grin of his when something was up on his mind. "Well I'll be damned. He's flailing more than a Scout on fire." He observed with a smirk and proceded to laugh when the string bean of a man fell off the strange mechanical beast. "What in God's lovin' country is that thing!?" Soldier demanded, a tad bit of color around his cheeks as the alcholol started to work its magic in the man's mind. "Oh that old thing? It's a mechanical bull. Mimics bull ridin' without gettin' killed or gored. Sort of ah.. party thang, if you get what I mean on wild weekends." The Texan explained. Soldier watched for a few more minutes while the wannabe cowboy was being tossed about like salad before falling off onto the matted floor below giggling like the drunk idiot he was. "So riding a real bull isn't man enough eh? Have to ride some fake metal bucket going as crazy as one of yer sapped sentries!" Engineer rolled his eyes, that is if one could tell behind those goggles of his. "It's just harmless fun Solly. What, yer afriad to go for a spin boy?" That question caused Soldier to snear. Oh like this draft dodger was going to have the last laugh on him tonight! He'll show him! "What! Afriad? Son I ride maggots off into oblivion faster than that wrench of yours can smack the teeth out of a Spy's mouth! I was born to fight and riding some fake cow isn't going to persuade me off otherwise! Lemme at 'em!" The proud man shouted, taking one quick chug of his beer down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He then stomped over towards the luring machine, eyeing it down as if to have a final showdown with the metal beast with its fake cattle head attached. Engineer watched as Soldier paid the small fee to ride as long as he wanted seeing there wasn't a line for it and climbed up onto a welded saddle. "So how does this thing start? Do ya have to kick it to go or do ya have to-AHHH!" Soldier grumbled before letting out a shocked surprised as the machine jerked foreward, nearly sending him flying over the head and onto his ass. A string of curses soon followed as he quickly seated back on the bull. "Ain't going to do the same mistake twice! No Sir!" He shouted while his grip on the saddle horn was almost a death grip. The machine rocked to the side, heaving a small gasp from Soldier before being violently shaken about like a piece of stubborn tape on someone's hand. It bucked forward and he rocked with it, flemsy in his balance nearly costing him a fall to do. Yet his grip was solid keeping him on while the machine bucked about. Heck this wasn't so bad afterall! After a few circles, Soldier laughed in that crazed laugh of his. "Engie, look! Who's man now!?" He called back. The laborer shook his head, laughing a few good chuckles. "Yer on easy mode Soldier." He said back in a amused manner. Soldier's expression went from excitement of defeating the mechanical beast to enraged fury. "What! Easy mode!? Do I look like some flower-prancin' Hippie to you private! I'm a proud warrior! Give me the hardest ya got sissy boy!" The man shouted, adjusting his helmet as the bull's switches were flipped. "Dang nabbit Solly! Don't be stu-" Engie called out, only to be a hair short too late. The metal beast lunged up and spun, moving around more sporatically than before with Soldier clinging on. The fake bull bucked and jumped, twisting and turning so fast the man was having trouble keeping his helmet on much less holding for dear life. Squeezing his hips in a futile attempt to stay on, Soldier wasn't going to give up and allow himself to be thrown off by something that wasn't real. Engie watched from the bar, a frown having worked itself on the Laborer's face was he watched his teammate being shooked about. Should he stop the mechanical bull or should he wait and let Soldier ride it out like he said he would? He debated on the idea and thought prehaps it was best the man ride the damn thing like he said he would. "Stubborn as the bull he's ridin'." The man mutters. All it took was one scream to change his mind. The Texan shot up, watching poor Soldier slipping off the saddle. "HELP! Don't just stand there! Stop this thing now!" Just as Engineer launched himself off the seat, the poor chap trying to turn the mechanical bull pressed too many buttons, fritzing the remote. "Dag nabbit boy!" Engie shouted, running into the ring. "Hold on Solly! I gotcha!" While Soldier was holding on for dear life, Engineer braced himself, timing for when the bull would make a downward swoop. The moment it did, the laborer did probably the most bravest thing he could think of or the most stupidest hatched plan. The man leapt onto the bull behind Soldier reaching around the man to hold him in place as the machine continued to buck. "Solly, hold onto the horns!" Engie called out which the other man did reluctantly while the Engineer reached for the saddle horn to keep the other from being flung off. The pair continued to be tossed about with Soldier baring down teeth and just holding on for dear life. Engineer on the other hand, lost his wave of worry and fear, replaced with old memories filling him with excitement. Just like back home. "YEEEHAW!" Hardhat shouted, letting one hand off to stick it in the air, a almost psychotic grin on his face. With each turn, each bound the Texan was finding it hard not wanting to stop. Was it the beer or concern for his comrade, but the ride just seemed to be more exciting than watching his enemies get blown up with sentry kills. Now if only he had a nice ten gallon hat then he'd certainly be the 'Texas Ranger' of the bar. In the man's excitement, poor Soldier seemed enough was enough. "Damn it Engie! This ain't a party, stop this thing right now!" He screamed, white knuckles clutching the rubber horns. The world was spinning out of control, the bar and it's lights were nothing but a blur. In some small way it reminded the man when his rocket jumps might spin out of control, flying the man in circles before coming to a crash. That was it, they were going to crash unless something was done. "Hardhat ya better do somethin' other than whooping like a idiot!" He called out. Engineer managed to snap out of his little cowboy moment to gaze down at the tiring Soldier. "Idiot? Boy, I'm an Engineer! That means I solve problems!" With a grin, the man reached into a back pocket with his free hand, pulling out a small receiver device: the Wrangler. "Just give me a few seconds and we'll be scotch free." He grinned, tweaking the wires inside it while the two were still being tossed about. How Engie was able to do so while on the bull was beyond Soldier, but he swore if he didn't get this thing stopped there would be some hell to pay later. "Got it! Now let's see how this littl' doggy works." Engineer grinned, wrapping his hand around the handle. "And... now!" He shouted, pushing the handle forward. Without warning, the bull buzzed in defiance before the spinning and bucking stopped, falling forward with Soldier being tossed over the front, landing on the matted floor below. "D'OH!" He moaned out. As for Engineer, the frontal toss forced him to lean over the fake bull's head with a huffed groan escaping his chest. "Sorry man." The Texan mumbled as he tried to regain his equalibrium. Slowly he slid off the saddle, seeing Soldier on his stomach. "Hey Solly, you alright? Didn't pass out did ja?" He asked his teammate, knealing down to turn him over. A gloved hand reached down, grasping Soldier's shoulder when he noticed the body was trembling. Upon turning the man on his back, Engie was taken back not by a look of rage and anger but of a man smiling into a giggling fit that soon exploded into laughter. "Ha ha ha ha! That was the best damn thing I've ever had the pleasure of defeating!" Soldier laughed, holding his sides as more hard laughter erupted from his chest, sending his sides pain from laughing so hard. Engineer sighed out in relief, seeing the pink blush over Soldier's face. Yeah, the alcholol was helping, at least it didn't make the men barf. "Alright, I'd say we'd had our fun tonight, how bout we jump back in the ole' pick up and head back to base?" The laborer suggested. "A-ff-firmative!" Soldier tried to said, pointing a finger in the air before laxing his hand with a flop. With a heart-filled chuckle, Engie picked up his comrade and slung a arm around his shoulder. "I'll be back to fix it, Shouldn't be too much trouble." He called towards the bartender, tipping his hard hat before he and Soldier slipped out to his truck. - - - - Once on the road in the dark, Engie smiled to himself as all he heard was the hum of the engie. He glanced to his right, seeing Solly slumped to the side. Possibly sleeping, so no need to strike up a conversation. "Engie." Well, that surprised Engineer as he glanced over again. "Yeah?" Soldier remained quiet for a while before a long smile trailed up the side of his face visable to the Texan. "Thanks fer the ride. I can see why you like doin' it on yer lv. two sentry now and then." The warrior spoke. "Aw shucks, weren't nothin. Heck if I was launched in the air, you'd come to save me with yer rocket jumps, right?" Engineer replied. Soldier only continued to smirk, letting out a small chuckle. "Sure boy. Why not. I'll take ya for a 'spin' sometimes." Engineer grinned back. "Much ablidged... partner." He returned, focusing back on the dark road, headlights guilding away. Sure, he was looking forward to such events, if anything the thrills were all worth it. Soldier slumped to his left, helmeted head resting on Engie's shoulder as the man finally dozed off. The other didn't seemed to mind, letting his teammate have his rest as he well deserved it as he continued to return to Dustbowl, a bigger smile plastered on his face. For tomorrow, these two 'American Cowboys' were in for a heck of a time involving a level two sentry, a wrangler, and a whole lot of free time. After all, he was an Engineer, and that meant he could solve just about any sort of problem, no matter how big or small.
Title: Method to the Madness The Spy knew he wasn’t a picky man when it came to the matters of amour. Or, more precisely, sex. He typically preferred the company of women, but he had been 16 when a fellow schoolmate had shown him that there were certain perks to allowing for some leeway. Spy simply didn’t see the point in restricting yourself to one kind of lover when you could have so many other opportunities at your fingertips. Women had that natural air of elegance that could bring even the most composed men to stop and stare as they entered a room. They were so soft, yet dangerous. A woman had the ability to lure some poor sap in with nothing more than a quick glance and fleeting smile. They could drive themselves deep inside a man’s thoughts until the only thing he could process was faint smell of perfume that would linger after she left and the fact that his wallet was missing. (Not that Spy was going off of any personal experiences, surely not.) Conversely, men were significantly coarser. Nothing about them was subtle or subdued, as a woman’s actions could be. Certainly, a man like Spy could be comparatively quieter and more gentlemanly than a drunken, boisterous boor such as the Demoman; however, that wasn’t exactly the same thing as the subtlety he was thinking of. Women’s subtlety came in the form of shyness, coyness, etcetera. Men were usually none of these things. They were gritty, unabashed, raw; almost animalistic in what they did. They were indeed a different breed compared to their fairer counterparts, but often Spy found it to be an intriguing change of pace from the normal standard. Now, with all that being said, Spy liked to think that he had some amount of standards when intending to court either sex. He had his likes and his dislikes about body types, hair color, and facial structure. It wasn’t his intent to bed anything that had a pulse. Spy crossed his arms, tapping his fingers anxiously. Surely, a man as well-bred as himself had standards. Surely, he was refined enough to be quickly put off by the group of unkempt idiots that had been instated on the RED team with him. Surely, he would not become aroused from watching the Soldier shower. Spy questioned his priorities as he stood in the corner of the shower room, using the astounding technological advances of his cloaking device to keep himself hidden as he watched men shower. Watched the Soldier shower, no less. This was the man whom Spy could only describe as a highly evolved ape when he had first met him. The man was certifiably insane. He hit himself in the head with a shovel semi-daily, enjoyed telling war stories of a war he was in 5 years after it ended, and slept in his helmet. Yet here Spy was, standing stiffly in the corner with Soldier 10 feet away under the spray of one of the showerheads. It hadn’t started out like that. At first Spy had just taken his secret trips to the shower for business purposes. Honestly. A surprising amount of information could be gained from unseen scars, birth marks, and the like. Spy liked to think of himself as a professional; he hadn’t wanted to make a bloody hobby out of it. It started out as just an occasional visit to scope out his new teammates, or to make sure no one else was in there when he wanted wash up. However, it started to change as soon as Spy caught Soldier for the first time. At this point, which was a little more than a week into the job, Spy had already grown to detest the man on the field. Soldier was similar to the Scout in the way that they both would tend to charge into battle with little to no forethought involved in the act. There was no cunning or poise involved in what they did. Their only thoughts were of racking up the highest body count they could before they died and respawned. Not only did this often cause trouble for Spy later during the battle, but in general he found it an incredibly uncouth way to fight. It only took a short time for Spy to grow disdainful towards the both of them. When Spy first realized that it was Soldier coming into the showers, he had almost left in disgust. He had no interest in getting that personal with the man. However, he realized that it was necessary to gather as much information as he could on his new teammates, especially with as shady a lot as they were. But Spy could have never prepared himself for the horrible truth of that man; the truth that would send him to bed early that night so that he could rethink a few basic principles of his life. Oh, merde, the bastard was fucking beautiful. The Soldier’s normal attire of a blood-splattered uniform and oversized, dented helmet clearly did the man no justice. What the Spy saw before him was an almost flawless specimen; save for the scars from old “war†wounds, everything was just… perfect. The muscle tone, the jaw line, the pale blue eyes, the- Merde. Now that was a gift from God if he had ever seen any. Spy could only stand there dumbfounded until Soldier had finished with his washing up and left. After he was gone, Spy shook himself out of his stupor with a cold shower. Ever since that night, Spy couldn’t help but see his teammate in a new light. It only became worse as time went on. The bastard seemed to become more and more chiseled every day Spy worked alongside him, and he always found himself wandering towards the showers every time he thought he saw the Soldier heading that way. He wondered if being attracted to an insane man meant that your own sanity should be questioned. Soldier turned off the spray from the showerhead, snapping Spy from his daze back to the present. As he then watched the Soldier grab a towel, he suddenly realized how intensely creepy he was being. He silently cursed himself and left the room, uncloaking after he had about 50 feet between him and the showers. Voyeurism was the most detestable, uncouth practice that the Spy could think of. And yet here he was, watching Soldier shower in secret like an over-excited teenage boy. Spy greatly disliked the approach that he had somehow ended up using. He was usually more forward than that. Truth be told, if it had been anyone else but Soldier he probably would have at least tried to make a move by now. But although Spy was admittedly awestruck by the man, he wasn’t a complete idiot. That certainly wouldn’t go over well. Spy didn’t fancy the idea of being beaten over the head with a shovel multiple times. The Spy sighed as he reached his room, and proceeded to flop down backwards onto his bed. All the Goddamn sexual tension was killing him. He needed to go out and find himself a woman on his next day off. Or a man. Whatever, as long as he could fuck it. He just needed a little loosening up. He closed his eyes and groaned. It was looking to be another long week. -0000- Spy awoke in the respawn room with the slight nausea which was typical of being respawned. He immediately groaned in exasperation, remembering the failure which had brought him back here. The BLU Demoman had found him out while he was disguised as the BLU Pyro and hit him over the head with his bottle of scrumpy. A pitiful way to go out; struck by a one-eyed drunkard using the very poison which was slowly eating away at his liver. While Spy wasn’t ready to admit that he was off of his game today, he did recognize that the approach he was using was not working. He had been found out and killed for the umpteenth time already. Before heading back out to the field, he took a cigarette out of his disguise kit and quickly weighed his options. The only route he hadn’t tried yet was through the sewers. He shuddered at trudging through the murky water in his rather expensive suit, but he grudgingly supposed it was just part of the job. He cloaked and made his way to the sewers, grimacing as he took a step into the filthy water. He attempted not to think about exactly what he was swimming in as he cautiously made his way to BLU’s base. By the time he reached the BLU side’s tunnel, he hadn’t seen anyone else in the lower part of the bases. However, as he slowly peeked into the BLU’s basement, he couldn’t help jerking his head back in panic despite the fact that he was still cloaked. The BLU Engineer had set up a sentry nest. Not surprising, but what was even more troubling was the BLU Pyro who was standing right next to him. Spy could have taken on one or the other (at least on a good day), but he wasn’t sure he would be as successful with the both of them. Especially since the Pyro was feeling spy-check happy today; he had taken down Spy four times already. Spy swore to himself quietly. Maybe RED should just call it quits for today. Spy certainly wasn’t having any luck, and he was fairly certain that his teammates weren’t doing much better. He hadn’t even seen the BLU’s intel yet that day, and anyway- “EXCUSE ME, MADMOISELLE; I WASN’T AWARE IT WAS TEATIME JUST YET. I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE MEN WERE AT WAR.†Spy jumped at the booming voice that snarled right in his fucking ear and whipped his head towards the source, although he knew quite well who it was before he even looked. “Quiet, you buffoon!†Spy hissed quickly, and grabbed the Soldier’s jacket to shove him to the wall. He then held his breath for a few moments, hoping that by some miracle the two BLU team members didn’t hear that from the other side of the tunnel, or wouldn’t bother to check it out. After quite a few beats of silence, he turned back towards the Soldier who was now scowling beside him. “What ze fuck do you think you’re doing?†Spy spat, making sure to keep his voice low so perhaps his teammate would follow suit. Now that there was less of a fear of being caught, he pretended that he couldn’t notice how broad the Soldier’s shoulders were, nor the fact that they were slightly touching his. “I think,†Soldier snapped back in a mocking tone (and, thank God, a bit quieter), “that I am trying to lead our team to a victory! Unlike you, you cowardly frog.†“I’m trying to get the briefcase,†Spy replied shortly, looking away from his teammate. “But if you even bothered to look, you’ll see zat it would be difficult to pass-†“NO EXCUSES, MAGGOT,†Soldier interrupted, his voice rising in volume yet again. Mon Dieu, Spy was going to die again. “A REAL MAN WOULD STOP AT NOTHING TO DEFEND HIS HONOR. BUT I’M NOT SURPRISED; YOU FRENCH DANDIES MAKE ME SICK. YOU’RE ALL GUTLESS COWARDS. YOU THINK YOU’RE SO FANCY-PANTS, WITH YOUR CHEESES AND WINES AND FRUITY HATS. BUT IF IT WASN’T FOR THE GOOD OL’ U.S.A., YOU FROGS WOULD BE ON YOUR GODDAMN KNEES SPEAKING GERMAN.†Ah. And there it was. These were the moments that almost made Soldier unattractive again. But unfortunately, it was just “almost.†“I said shut up!†Spy hissed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What ze hell do you expect me to do, zen? Rush in without any forethought, so zat I may allow their Pyro to flambé me?†The Soldier let out a wry laugh. “You make me sick, Frenchie,†he repeated again, and started to load his rocket launcher. “Sneaking around behind the lines. Avoiding confrontation. Taking all the credit for victories and none of the heat for defeat. Despicable. A real man doesn’t hide behind that invisibleness-making doohickey you’ve got and just watch the show. A real man takes action and kicks those fucking pansy-ass BLUs right in their keisters.†Hmph. Well, this was certainly ironic. The Soldier was giving Spy advice which was… surprisingly lucid and pertinent. A little too pertinent. The part about “watching the show†made Spy cough slightly and look off to the side. But when he looked back to his teammate, he was surprised to see an almost thoughtful look on the Soldier’s face. Thoughtful. That was new for Soldier. Spy found this to be extremely intriguing. He swallowed and raised an eyebrow at Soldier, his heartbeat picking up a little bit of speed. But he kept his voice level as he asked, “Then what do you propose, Soldier?†The Soldier turned to Spy and grinned menacingly. Spy thought his heart stopped. “Follow my lead, maggot.†The Spy was awestruck for a moment. Mon Dieu. What was he seeing here, in this man’s eyes? A method to the madness? Had Spy been wrong about him? Was he really- “ATAAAAACK!†Spy’s thoughts were interrupted by the Soldier’s war cry, and he could only watch in dismay as his teammate pushed passed him and simply ran straight into the enemy’s line of fire. Merde. This certainly didn’t seem like a method to the madness. However, what happened next Spy could only describe as the most idiotic miracle he had ever witnessed. As soon as the Soldier was in the BLU sentry’s sights, it quickly began firing all it had at him. Soldier was quick to react, and fired a shot in the nest’s direction. The teleporter was quickly taken out as well as the dispenser. The sentry whirred painfully as one of its supports was blown off. It stopped firing for a moment as it lurched sideways, which the Soldier took as an opportunity to fire another shot. This shot hit the Engineer who was quickly trying to fix his machine. Finally, Soldier got one more rocket into the fray, which disposed of the Pyro, before being finished off by the sentry gun. Spy was almost too awestruck to remember to make his move, but in a matter of time he had moved in and sapped the sentry’s remaining life. He disguised himself as the Pyro and successfully reached the BLU’s intelligence room. He brought the briefcase to RED base through the sewers without a hitch. It was the only win RED team scored all day. -0000- Later that night, in his room, Spy flopped down on his bed once again and sighed. After the Soldier had gotten out of the respawn room and found the Spy, he had giving him a sturdy pat on the back and congratulated him on a job well done. The force of the “pat†was enough to nearly send Spy straight into the moat, but regardless it made Spy kind of… happy. It was unbelievably annoying. But even more annoying was the memory of Soldier with that “thoughtful†look on his face, which now seemed to be burnt into Spy’s brain. Of course, the word “thoughtful†had proved to be spoken to soon. But still, the idea of Soldier being… not quite Soldier; the idea that he wasn’t just batshit insane. That he actually planned things and knew exactly what he was doing out there. Why was the thought so Goddamn arousing? Spy once again questioned his own sanity as he began to masturbate furiously.
“Herr Pyro. Vould you come here, bitte?†Medic huffed slightly, rubbing at his temples. Really. This was beginning to get seriously out of hand. It was understood that the firestarter could be something of an overgrown child at times (causing his behavior to range from the adorable to the downright disturbing, depending on the setting, though Medic found it strangely endearing when he would giggle at enflamed Spies or use his fire ax to play ‘go for distance’ with the BLU’s heads) but… really. Presently, the masked individual came trotting up to the infirmary door, dripping with an air of playfulness. â€Hrrlrr, Mrrdrrc!†“Guten Tag.†Sigh. “Listen. I am coming to ze realization zat it is getting close to Christmas. Und I know you ah disappointed at not getting stationed at Coldfront zis yeah. But you ah going to extremes to make up for it, und it simply vill not do.†Pyro shuffled a bit. Normally he didn’t mind where RED Team got stationed, but this time of year, there was no place like Coldfront. All the beautiful sparkly snow looked just like one of those cookie tins with the little buttery cookies inside, like the starshaped ones, or the flaky ones… oooh, or the ones that looked like little pretzels only covered with sugar and not salt… where were we again? Oh yeah. He tilted his head to the side. â€Rrrt wrrnt?†â€Nein. It von’t. For vun thing, zere is ze matter of Herr Demo’s stickybombs. Ve need all ze ammunition ve have for battle. Und besides, using hot glue to make live explosives into ornaments is probably not ze safest idea, jungen.†Pyro gave a sigh. He’d found a bent-up fake tree in 2Fort’s basement, along with a lot of dust, boxes of documents labled TOP SECRET, a few warheads, stacks of old newspapers, moth-eaten old uniforms, and what looked to be an old, rusting space pod. Typical basement stuff. No ornaments, though, so he’d simply had to make do with what he could find laying around. The usual, you know… popcorn strings, paper chains, your teammate’s shiny red round bombs… like you do. â€Und zen ve have ze issue of ze Yule Log. Vun in ze fireplace vould be acceptable. Zere does not need to be vun in every room of ze fort.†Shrug. If one pretty burning log was nice, wasn’t a whole bunch of them even better? I mean, maybe there really didn’t NEED to be one in the corner of the showers, but it DID make it awful nice and toasty in there… â€Zen, zere ah… zese.†Medic holds up a large platter of somewhat singed cookies, covered in plastic wrap and marked with a tag reading ‘TO BLU TEAM’. â€It should go vithout saying zat, as good intentioned as your motives may have been, zis sort of thing could get you in a lot of trouble, Pyro. Even if you didn’t get yourself killed trying to bring zem across ze bridge, zis sort of gesture could count as treason. Do you know vhat zat is, jungen? Ve cannot give aid und comfort to ze enemy. Zat is rudimentary.†Pyro hangs his head a little, his mumble soft and a little guilty. â€Rrr jrrst wrrntrrd rrt trr brr nrrce. Nrrbrrdr’s grrng hrrrm, yrr knrr.†The German sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. â€I know, jungen, I know. But zat is ze sad state of ze virld, ja? Var does not get called off for holidays. Var does not care if it is Christmas. Or summer vacation. Or anyzing like zat. Und since ve ah at var, ve must be practical.†â€Mrrdrrc. Crrstmrrs drrsrnt crr rrf thrrs a wrr rrn.†His hands clenched into stubborn fists, Pyro looked at Medic straight on, eyes behind smoked glass flashing. â€Crrnt yrr rrvrr lrrk rrn thrr brrt srrd? Drr yrr rrlwrrs hrrv trr brr srr srrrs? Rrr knrr wrr rrt wrr. Brrt thrrt drrsrrnt mrrn rrm nrrvrr grrnrr brr hrrprr. Yrr mrr thrrnk rrm wrrstrrng trrm, Mrrdrrc, brrt thrrs… thrrs rrs RRMPRRTRRNT trr mrr. Rrrnd rr brrt rrt mrrks thrr rrthrrs hrrprr, trr. Srrr… srr rrf yrr drrnt lrrk rrt, thrrn jrrst srrk rrt rrp frr rr frr drrs, yrr… yrr… SCRRRRGE!†Breaths huffted in and out of the mask. He wasn’t used to outright ranting like that, and it was probably the most he’d said at one stretch in a long time, if not ever. But he believed every single word of it. He didn’t need to be reminded there was a war on- it looked them squarely in the face everyday. What everyone- every one of them, even the Team in the fort on the other side of the moat- REALLY needed was a reminder that there was something in this world that WASN’T war. Something that was still precious, and happy, and peaceful. Medic sighed, shaking his head, and cracked a small grin in spite of himself. “…alright, Pyro. Alright. If you feel zat strongly about it, ve vill come to a compromise. Keep your tree. Have Herr Demo disarm ze… ornaments for you. You may have VUN yule log. Any ozzer decorations you vant, use sparingly. Und as for zis… token of goodvill of yours… ach, you ah going to make me regret zis, jungen… if you must leave it over zere, go in through ze tunnels und don’t be caught. Santa Claus is nevah seen leaving gifts, is he?†â€Nrr! Brrt… wrrt rrbrrt thrr…†Medic rolled his eyes. â€Jungen, aren’t you a bit old to believe stories about tentaspies? If such a creature existed, I vould have caught him und studied him by now.†Pyro chuckled a little, brightening like a little flame unto himself. â€Yrr rrrly mrrn rr crrn…†â€Ja. Deliver your cookies if it vill make you happy. Have your Christmas. You ah right… perhaps it vould be good for team morale if nuzzing else. A squeal of delight echoed through the halls, and Pyro grabbed Medic by the hand, running down the hall with him, stopping under a certain doorway. â€Und vhat ah you doing now?†Giggling, the firestarter lifted his mask ever slightly. â€Thank you, Mr. Grinch.†And leaning forward, he planted a big smooch on the German’s cheek before running off, laughing giddily. Sighing, Medic glanced upward. Just as he’d suspected. He started to reach up, but then shook his head, striding back to the infirmary. Might as well let him have his mistletoe, too.
Prompt – anything with Heavy and Medic after the war The year before, Medic had given him a framed photograph. One to place on shelves and mantels with his half dozen others. The exact same thing he’d been giving Heavy for Christmas every year since the divorce papers went through and they’d bought the house together. The photographs were all something of the same, nine men standing lined up or sitting around a battered wooden table. A few of them had only eight men in it as their Spy always opted out of the photo to be behind the camera. But then one year Engie had invented a machine that took pictures using a timer, and Spy started appearing in more group shots. Though this may have seemed like something of a repetitive gift, his former team meant everything to Heavy. He missed those days of noise and blood and everything great and invigorating. Everything he could get jailed for if anyone else outside of the companies knew about it. Even more than he missed the battlefield and the rest of his team, he missed his Medic the most. He came back to visit during Christmas and whenever he got days off. They went on dates and spent as much time together as possible. But their brief reunions were always bittersweet, as Medic always had to go back to 2fort at the end of it all. Heavy missed those two wonderful years after their contract had ended that they’d spent living together. They’d slept together and made love without fear of being caught by their team. That was probably the best of all, the not having to hide themselves or their love. Heavy had even almost convinced Medic to go to the local orphanage and adopt a child. A plan that was two years in the making, ruined by a couple of curt knocks on their door and a few silkily spoken words. The day that Spy had come for Medic had been the same as any other day. Dreary and dull, the red of the Frenchman’s suit stood in stark contrast to the watercolour gray clouds in the sky. Heavy had been the one to answer the door as Medic had gone off to town to get groceries. With an oily smile, the Spy had outstretched his hand and held it daintily for Heavy to shake. Heavy did not. He only stared at the man in dislike. There was no need for introductions or false pleasantries here. They had met once before, when this RED Spy had been the one to replace their old one, the one who had deciphered the code in the intelligence and had intended to end the war with it. RED had taken care of him and had shipped in this imposter almost sooner than the body hit the floor. He was a slimy man, even less likable than the average Spy. Heavy had asked what he wanted, and he’d withdrawn his hand with a frown and said that he needed to speak with Medic. Heavy had said that he was out, and the Spy had slid past him to explore their home entirely uninvited. When Heavy had asked him to leave, he had said that he would just wait until Medic returned. But Heavy knew better; the Spy wanted to look around and see if there were any illegal going-ons in their house. His first target was probably to find Sasha or the medigun. Unfortunately for him, Medic had turned his medigun over to RED when their contract had expired and Sasha was out in the shed, disassembled and dormant. They had nothing to hide. When Medic returned, Heavy took the groceries from him and directed him to the room where Spy lurked, deeply engrossed in the team photographs scattered around the room. He left Medic to it, and went to the kitchen to put away the groceries. As he was finishing, Medic and Spy emerged from the den, Spy looking smug and Medic indifferent. Spy let them then so that they could discuss things in private, but he need not have even done that. Medic talked as if he was presenting a lecture, emotionless and flat. By the end of the conversation, Heavy was in tears. RED was short a doctor and wanted Medic back, and he had agreed to return. Medic began telling him where the base was and how long the contract was, as if it was any consolation. It didn’t matter where Medic was station or how long, for any distance was like a thousand light-years and any amount of time was like a thousand eternities when he didn’t have Medic by his side. Heavy had cried, begged him to reconsider, but he said he could not. He’d signed Spy’s contract and he was leaving in a week. Heavy asked him what Spy had done, how Spy had coaxed him out of retirement when he was so content living off the battlefield. Medic said Spy didn’t do anything, that he was needed and that he had already made his decision. Heavy knew that was a lie, of course. Medic couldn’t be bribed, but he could definitely be threatened. On the day that Medic had to leave, Heavy had accompanied him to the train station and stood like a sad little puppy as he watched the train roll out. He knew Medic was not a fan of public displays of affection, but he had hoped to himself that he’d be spared a kiss or even an embrace to keep him company for the lonely days ahead. All he received every month was a short letter. He didn’t understand all of the words because it had been written in German, but he understood enough. Work was fine, the new team was just like the old team, the battles were the same as they always were. He missed the days when they were in their first war and they’d go home for a month for Christmas and every week Heavy would receive a poetic, romantic letter, artfully written in his mother tongue and perfect in every way. When Medic took that second job, though, his letters were terse and lacklustre and seemed almost as if they were an inconvenience to write. Heavy had high hopes for a phone call, but Medic always used his monthly one on his ex-wife and daughters, making sure they were safe. Their lives had clearly been the chips that Spy had used to bargain with Medic. Then it all came out. One letter lead to another, and finally Medic admitted to the more-than- platonic relationship he had with that slimy Spy. The man asked for no commitments from him, only sex, something Heavy had never been able to give him. He wrote that while he and Heavy had been in love, he was not a foolish teenager anymore and he had other things to be concerned with besides a Russian man waiting for him like some kind of wife and wanting to raise children with him. That had been the reason he’d left his wife and the reason he could not be with Heavy any more. Heavy had written back dozens of desperate pleas for Medic to reconsider, that they didn’t have to adopt the kid or act like a married couple. He promised the he could be mature about their relationship and not force any commitment on to Medic. But every time, he would receive his letter back, a red ‘return to sender’ stamped onto it. Then one day, six or seven years after he stopped sending the letters to Medic, he heard two very familiar curt knocks on his door. Getting to the door took more time than it used to, as he was a fair few years older than he’d been when he bought the house. When he opened the door, he froze. Just as he had been those years ago, on his doorstep stood that greasy RED Spy, looking a forced impression of forlorn and somewhat bored. His suit was black as the clouds in the sky behind him. He cast dull gray eyes up to meet Heavy’s blue ones, and began. He said that he was regretfully informing him that at 0700 that past Thursday morning, the enemy team’s Sniper had dragged Medic out beyond the boundaries of respawn and had executed him. He said Medic’s body was being sent home to his ex-wife and daughters and that since Heavy had been on his first team, he saw fit to let him know. Just as the Spy had turned to head off down the steps, Heavy let out a loud cry and lashed out. His hands hit Spy hard on the side of the neck. Heavy heard a loud crack and Spy fell to the snowy pavement in a heap. Heavy fell to his knees beside the body and buried his face in his hands. He stared down at the body between his fingers and trembled. It was something he saw often on the battlefield. A Spy with a broken neck wasn’t even a little bit unusual. That was war, and he loved it. So too had Medic. Figures that war, the one thing that had brought them together, would be what tore them apart.
Prompt: Sniper/Medic; cum marking, biting, scratching, blood kink with an animalistic feel to it. (Thanks go out to my prompter, who gave me so many options! Sorry it takes a while to get to the smut, I kinda got lost in the exposition... Also... Geez, I kinda spooked myself writing this. Some serious PG-13 stuff going on down below, kiddies, you've been warned.) ----- The wind was howling like a man shot in the arm, Sniper mused. The pitch was just above that of getting smacked in the chest with a blunt instrument, and just below getting an ear cut off. Which was disconcerting – not because it reminded him of the violence that he was a part of just about every other day – but because he couldn't place just what it was that was making the wind howl like that. It didn't make sense that a seasoned outdoorsman like him couldn't pinpoint the source, but he couldn't. The few trees that were around weren't being so much as touched by this wind, and neither was Sniper. Why in the world was there this wind that sounded like it was blowing right into his ear that he couldn't feel? “Bah.†His voice was all but swallowed up by the screaming air. The Australian ducked his head through the shattered window that separated the roof he had been standing on from the dilapidated farmhouse that would have to serve as his roost in tomorrow's battle. The sound was probably coming from something that he couldn't see back behind enemy lines. Or maybe the mysterious employers, for whatever reason, were playing the noise through some of the speakers they had put all over the place (Trying to distract them? Drive them crazier then they already were?). Or maybe he was just losing his touch. When was the last time he had been outside, living off the land, learning from it, having only the wind and dirt and vermin around to keep him company? Too long. The stairs that led back down to the ground creaked dangerously. Boards that seemed rotted through had nails sticking out at angles that didn't seem possible. Had the carpenter squatted inside the staircase, slowly enclosing himself in a prison? How else could he have made sure all the points of the nails protruded outwards like this? Sniper chuckled darkly to himself as he imagined a skeleton below him with a hammer in one bony hand. The Announcer's codename for this assignment had been “Harvest.†In Sniper's opinion, this worthless place hadn't produced anything worth Harvesting in quite some time. Stepping outside of the musty building and into crunchy dying grass made his mood brighten a bit. Between the noise the unkempt lawn made underfoot and the creaking floorboards back inside, this farmhouse just might give him an edge over a certain sneaking spook. His stomach rumbled suddenly, and with surprising volume. “Damn...†he said, placing one large hand gingerly over the gurgling, “Forgot ta eat again...†It had been just a little over twelve hours, now that he thought about it. With the food being the way it was here, eating had become a chore similar to doing his laundry. As a consequence, he had now started to avoid eating until he absolutely had to. At the moment, he felt that he was getting close to that point. Reluctantly, he started moving back towards the run-down work shed in the distance that hid the RED base. The actual barracks were underground, of course, which would have been a clever way to hide everything if it weren't for the fact that it was obvious as all hell. The outside was well-weathered wood and sheet metal, but if you cared to look through the window you could see freshly painted walls, sophisticated-looking colored lights blinking on and off, and a big keypad sitting next to a rather suspicious metal hatch in the floor. It didn't make any sense how the wankers in charge could be so stupid and yet so powerful. All this technology, all of these objectives – when he had first joined up it had seemed so much bigger than him, and now he felt so much bigger than it. As he entered the RED shed and crouched down to punch in the entrance code into the keypad, he let out a sigh. The meaninglessness of all this was enough to give him a headache. A bad headache, actually. “Aw, piss...†Sniper's hunger pains were momentarily forgotten and he moved his hand to his forehead. It had begun to throb gently and it also felt a bit warm. “That's jus' great.†Now that he was thinking about it, the telltale tingling started to dance down his spine and into his limbs; as he entered '1112' into the keypad, his fingers seemed to feel their impact with the buttons more acutely than they normally would. But was he getting sick? Or was it just a touch of weakness from not eating? It could all be in his head – as a practitioner of the Jarate 'arts,' Sniper knew just how weak the mind could make the body. It was just this damn assignment, he decided, climbing down the ladder in the now open passage towards his cool bedsheets and dehydrated high-calorie rations. He wanted to be back home, in Australia, where he knew why the wind was howling. His feet touched the floor all but silently, but the metal hatch's automated re-sealing was noisy enough to alert the base to his return anyway. Not that any of them cared in particular, he knew. “You see anythin' interesting out there?†Scout's voice. It bounced off the metallic walls down here with the same obnoxious energy that the boy himself possessed. Sniper's headache seemed to get worse after it was done jumping around inside his skull. “Nah.†“What? What are ya? Shy? Speak up, ya freakin' wuss!†“He's a mite more considerate than you're bein' right now, son. Kindly lower your volume a few hundred decibels.†Engineer. Both he and the boy sounded like they were in what passed for the kitchen. That meant that today's meal would have to come from the small stash he kept in his bottom dresser drawer. He didn't feel like talking to either of them. Sniper didn't even waste time repeating his response to Scout's question before heading in the opposite direction towards his room. With each step, his knees spread ripples of not-quite-pain up through his legs. If this was psychosomatic, he was in trouble. Not being able to tell the difference between fantasy and reality would get him killed permanently, or worse, it would have him end up like Solider. When the door to his dim bedroom was finally closed (mercifully drowning out the sound of Scout's continuing babble), Sniper pulled the cord of the lonely little lightbulb that hung from the ceiling and lit the room all by itself. Once it clicked on, he moved towards the small mirror he had leaned up against the wall on top of his dresser and studied his face. Those lines were getting deeper every day, it seemed. Sniper's face had always been somewhat thin, but it seemed to him that it looked especially so right now. Without his trademark aviators on, the dark circles under his eyes were immediately noticeable. Still, when he took a step back and gave his reflection a wolfish grin, he reaffirmed that he was still a handsome devil. Sniper had always believed that looking good was a part of being a professional. Therefore, it was rare that he let his stubble grow in or his sideburns get unruly. His head pounded suddenly, urgently. With a hiss, Sniper massaged his temples until it subsided a bit. This pain was certainly real, as was the small bubble of nausea that was beginning to grow inside him. The food that he had so wanted not five minutes ago again seemed like what it was – the most disgusting thing on the face of this planet. Moving in close to the mirror again, Sniper stuck his tongue out and inspected the back of his throat, not really seeing anything, and not really knowing what he was looking for, either. On his solo excursions in the wilderness he had been sick a few times, but thanks to his hearty constitution, things had usually taken care of themselves rather quickly. He would throw up or have the runs, make sure to keep his next meal over the fire until it was more cooked through, and that would be that. It was different here. He had a match tomorrow, and he hated getting killed. It hurt, and respawn hurt, and the blow to his pride hurt. Feeling like this would definitely get him killed. Sniper knew he would probably have to see the Medic, but he dreaded that as well. The man was... off. Definitely sadistic, but that was something all his teammates (including himself, if he was being honest) had in common. The German had something more than that dancing in his seemingly disinterested eyes. Sniper tried to avoid being under their scrutiny whenever possible. “Maybe I'll feel better after some shuteye...†Not wanting to sleep in his somewhat dusty uniform, Sniper threw his vest onto a nearby chair, grimacing at the sound of a few bullets falling out of the chest pocket and onto the floor. Ignoring them for the time being, he unbuttoned his long red over shirt and marveled at how strange the material felt sliding off of his arms. He could feel every hair that was caught by the rough fabric, every small tug of resistance it created. Goosebumps rose all over his body, and the man felt very cold when he was left in just his pants and small white undershirt. The buckle of his belt was so frigid he could hardly believe it. It hadn't even been balmy outside! Not good, not good at all. The belt was slung over his vest on the chair, and his pants soon joined them. Sniper absently scratched himself along the line where the elastic of his underwear met his flesh as he kicked off his shoes, but he stopped everything when he felt a strange, nerveless protrusion on his left hip. Round, and now that he was scratching, it felt very itchy. Not really thinking things through, he scratched at it a bit harder as he lifted his undershirt to examine it. With a soft squelching sound, the bump had been burst just before he had registered what it was. The dim light had made it difficult to tell initially, but the engorged parasite buried head-first in his flesh had been a tick. Sniper wiped the blood on his finger off onto his shirt and wondered where he had picked the little bugger up. He had gotten his fair share of ticks on him in the outback, but was unfamiliar with where they liked to hang out here. Wherever 'here' was. Judging by the amount of blood now on his shirt, the little bastard must have been on him for quite some time, although he knew they could work quick. Maybe it jumped on him from the grass just as soon as he had gone outside? After carefully inspecting his body for further parasites, Sniper gingerly laid himself down on his bed and pulled his blanket up around him. He knew he was running a fever now, and he suddenly felt very hungry again, but he didn't have the energy to face the ordeal that chewing that boot-leather meal would be. Within minutes he was asleep. -------------- When Sniper woke covered in sweat, he found he couldn't comfortably move at all. His joints ached, his head was an overripe gourd starting to rot, and his eyes and nose felt like they were leaking Tabasco sauce. “Damn it...†For the first time, it seemed like this might be serious. A quick look at his clock told him that it was three in the morning. He was somewhat glad he had forgotten to turn his light back off before going to sleep – it would have been unpleasant reaching for the lightbulb's string in the dark like this. “...I wish Mum was here...†Sniper had a good chuckle imagining the insults that his team would hurl at him had they heard that, but he meant it. In these situations, having someone there to get you bland meals and dab your forehead with a damp cloth was better than any doctor. “Ugh... Doctor...†Sniper knew he had two options: either limp his way to the infirmary and hope the Doc was awake, or blow his brains out with his own rifle right now. Neither option was looking great – both the Medic and respawn were unpleasant to deal with, but two things turned the tide against suicide: Sniper didn't really want to wake the base up with a gunshot, and he didn't really know if he could get one end of his huge rifle in his mouth and still reach the trigger. The long shuffle to the Doc's office hurt, it hurt so bad. The waves of not-quite-pain that his knees had made just hours ago and grown and mutated and now he felt like his bones were barbed and his skin was a carpet of thorns and every move he made tore at his flesh from every angle. It hurt so bad that many times the man entertained the idea of sitting down on the floor and giving up, but if somebody saw him... Better to break himself into a thousand pieces than shame himself – this was the first lesson he had learned about being immortal. Medic's door was locked , but there was a strip of light coming from beneath – he was there. Or somebody was, at least. Anybody with a pistol would be fine, really, and he knew that he wouldn't have to ask half of the team twice to shoot him. His knocking was so weak that even he couldn't hear it, however. When had his hands turned into hyper-sensitive lumps of useless nerves? Touching anything with them was agony. But, better to break them than to sit out here like a bleedin' nancy. Clumsily, and with a strange sort of desperation, Sniper took a few steps back and half-ran, half-limped at the door in a hope that his tackle would make an adequate noise. It didn't, unfortunately. Somewhere along the line, his body had become a feather pillow. In a stroke of good luck, however, he stumbled once he hit the door, and hit the doorknob with his forehead with enough velocity to make a good THUNKing noise. It was also fortunate that this, combined with the collision with the floor, was enough to render him unconscious. ----------------- “Sniiiiiiiii-per...†The first thing he heard when he woke up was the strange sing-song voice that Medic sometimes used when in a good mood. He was usually in a good mood when something particularly horrible was happening, Sniper had found. Why, just last week, when the BLU Demoman had gotten split in half by that giant sawblade... “Oog...†Just the thought of it made Sniper feel sick. But... wasn't he just feeling much sicker? Wasn't he... what had he been doing just now? How had he... Why was Medic... “Ah! You are avake! Good, good...Tell me... how do you feel?†As the harsh bright light of Medic's equipment started cutting through Sniper's grogginess, he slowly became aware of many new sensations that made him ponder the question he had just been given. “I...I...†He... felt warm. So, so warm. When had he ever felt so warm? “You vere very sick. I vonder vhat you did to get infected like zat...†The Medic was speaking to him as if he were a misbehaving child whose antics had amused him. “Probably you vere rolling around in a mudhole like ze filthy zhing you are...†A bright orange light was building up inside his chest and it was leaking into the rest of the world. It soaked into everything. The German who was hovering above him looked like he was shimmering in a sea of sunlight. Why did he feel so warm? “You've... you've drugged me...†Sniper was having trouble speaking. His tongue kept getting in the way. He briefly considered biting it to make it stop squirming around his mouth. “Ja wohl!†It was said delightedly, condescendingly. “I had to treat ze illness. Of course, after running zome tests, I found zat your condition vould require too much time und too many drugs to be practical, but zat doesn't mean I can't make the last few moments before I kill you a bit less...†he searched for the right word for a moment before settling on, “excruciating. Vhile I vas at it, I decided zhat zis vas a perfect opportunity to see how ze human body vould react to certain...†Another pause. “combinations.†Under normal circumstances, Sniper would be concerned, but he felt like he couldn't quite grasp why there was anything wrong with the situation. In a base sort of way, he knew; but at the same time, trying to get a grip on the slippery reasons just made them retreat further into his thick, warm, honey scented thoughts. His nose itched, and he scratched it. As he did, a part of him wondered why he wasn't restrained. Another part of him wondered why the ceiling was slowly spinning around his head. That combined with the huge, growing grin that didn't seem to completely fit on Medic's jaw was distracting Sniper so much that he didn't notice the syringe being filled right in front of his face. “Now just try und relax...†The man giggled – giggled – as he said it, and continued to giggle as the needle plunged into Sniper's arm. It was so strange. The feeling of the Needle, it reminded him of the teeth of... of the hot leather seats in... of the soft flesh of the... Medic was holding the bottle he had filled his syringe with up to his light and squinting, as if seeing it for the first time. “Voops. Zat vas not medicine...†He laughed heartily and disappeared from sight. Sniper didn't really care to turn his neck and continue looking at the man. He was far more interested in the way his inner warmth was getting hotter. He was dimly aware of the fact that he had an erection. It seemed like it had been there for awhile. When he closed his eyes, he saw black spotted with brown and orange and yellow and red and RED and when he opened them he was looking through his gun's scope into his own head and he was just about to shoot when Medic started talking again. “I am vONDering if one of the ZIXTY-three(Forty-seven)OneHUNdredundSeventy-Seven ChemicALs I have h-h-h- any efffffffffect on your meMMmmm...Mmmory..†That annoying voice was slowly turning into a pleasant humming that absolutely terrified Sniper. Where in the world was it coming from? He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, feel it in his chest, in his gut, in his... “Do you remember?†Sniper did a double take. “...Wot?†“I asked ya if you remembered your first time, knucklehead. I know yer a dinosaur, but you ain't a virgin, are ya?†He was back home, sitting on his parents' sofa, in their living room. Sniper couldn't be sure, but he had a suspicion that he was eighteen years old again. Scout, the little piker, was holdin' his hand. “Well?†“Well wot?†A deep, disappointed sigh. “I won't ask again, you heard me.†It was his Engineer this time. The grip on his hands got tighter. “If you forgot, you forgot. Just...†Another sigh. “Be a man and own up to it.†Suddenly Sniper was crying, He couldn't stop it. Yes! Yes he had forgotten! Why couldn't he remember? “Oh GOOd, you REEmmember nozzing? I beLIVE(live?) that You ARE BEYOND zzze POINT OF LYING to me, RED, yourself, your blood, your HEART... Open your eyes... Open your eyes... Please...†Sniper opened his eyes and it was like taking a breath after being a second from drowning. His eyes gasped and tried to anchor his gaze on the shiny metal rod attached to a cabinet. Don't think about anything else, don't look or see or taste anything else. Don't blink. Don't disappear... The Medic moved in front of the cabinet. Sniper looked up at his face, scared. So scared... But the Doctor was smiling, gently smiling. He walked forward and cradled Sniper's head in his arms and whispered sweet nothings to him. “Zhere, zhere. It's okay, you vorthless little speck. I am here, you pathetic nozing. I will protect you from yourself...†As one hand gently ran its fingers through Sniper's hair, the other began fiddling with the buttons of the Doctor's immaculate white coat. Sniper leaned more deeply into the crook of Medic's neck, and closed his eyes, willing himself to be as far away as possible from this freak. Sniper felt like he was dreaming a dream that he could sort of control. It was exhilarating, in a way. The RED base. With no one in it. Just Sniper, getting to relax, getting to run around, getting to scream anything he wanted! The feeling made his head swim, and his skin tingle, and his cock throb. “Unh...†Sniper couldn't count how many times he had come without passion into a kleenex in his room, or a drain in the bathroom, or a girl in a bar. In his dream base, Sniper re-entered just like he had earlier today. Or had it been earlier this year? It had happened, right? “You see anythin' interesting out there?†Scout's voice. It bounced off the metallic walls down here with the same wonderful, warped, strangely innocent energy that the boy himself possessed. Sniper's heartache seemed to get worse after it was done jumping around inside his ears. “Yes. I saw you, when you thought you were alone, apologizing to yer mum for what you were doing. I saw those tears run down yer face. Afterward, I stared at yer ass, feeling like shit fer doing it.†“What? What are ya? Shy? Speak up, ya freakin' wuss!†“He's a mite more considerate than you're bein' right now, son. Kindly lower your volume a few hundred decibels.†Engineer. Both he and the boy were good people at heart. Or he'd like to think so. It made Sniper feel cold every time they killed somebody and laughed about it. How much of that was bravado, though? Had the Engineer ever broken down, cried, and apologized to his mother, or wife, or girlfriend, or daughter? Or maybe he was lying? Maybe he didn't have any of that and was as lonely as... Today's meal would have to come from the small stash he kept in his bottom dresser drawer. He couldn't possibly talk to either one of them right now. Not with his breath caught in his throat, his blood boiling, every inch of his skin more sensitive than it had ever been. He couldn't possibly handle the urge to bend the boy's lithe body over the counter and ram into it while the boy cried out sweetly for him to die-die-DIE you faggot monster poncy wuss! He opened his eyes when he felt his shoulder get bitten into. Only once before had he ever been bitten as rough, and that had been a Dingo when he had gotten in between it and her pups. He didn't scream, he didn't even really hurt. But he could still feel the flesh tear, the skin rip, his blood flow onto the eager tongue that lapped it up as quickly as it came. “MmmMmmMMmm... Mein little toy, now I am as corrupt as you. You are poison right now, did you know zhat? I will now have to die with you. Have you ever heard of zomezing so ROMANTIC?†With a horrible laugh, the man slowly licked across Snipers chest, leaving a faint red trail wherever he went. Sniper dimly noted that they were both completely naked, that Medic's skin was quite pale, and that the bloody red lips that were curled into a sneer looked absolutely delicious. Without his thick rubber gloves on, Medic's fingers were surprisingly dexterous, roughly tweaking here and there, skittering down to slowly massage Sniper's balls, giving the engorged head of his cock the tiniest of squeezes. Everything felt... more... than it had ever felt before. The tingling of his sickness turned into a tingling of pleasure, taking every ministration from the source to the brain with more gusto than ever before – and the entire time every cell in the man's body was screaming, “Look at me everyone! This is a bloke straddling my lap! Isn't it fuckin' wrong and awful and GREAT? The world swam as Medic's cock bobbed back and forth in his hand. When had he grabbed it? It was so hot and firm... Sniper thought he could feel himself drooling a bit. Or was he just remembering that one lad he had met while fueling up his camper at that rest stop on the highway? That boy had drooled... Why oh why oh why had he zipped up and punched him out? Why? Minutes passed. The phone rang. Sniper kept pumping the glistening cock in one hand (somewhere along the line it had been shoved roughly into his mouth repeatedly, it now shined with his saliva) but reached out with the other one to answer it. “...†“Dad...†“...†“N-Dad, I'm-a...†“...!†“I don't wanta be a bloody woman Dad, I'm just a poofta!†“...?†“Well the difference bein' one's an orientation, and the other's gettin' carved up!†Medic's eyes gleamed. “Just vhat is going on in that head of yours? You seem to be getting fairly angry... Das ist good! Get angry! I vant you to be angry vith me! Do you know vhat I am doing to you? Vhat I have already done? I am destroying your mind und body beyond repair, Sniper! Oh yes, look at vhat I am doing to you, Sniper! Look at zhis!†The scalpel was back in his hand. Or it had never left, Sniper was unsure. Now that his attention had been called to it, though, he couldn't turn his eyes away as it just barely cut into the skin of his chest and carved another delicate, swirling pattern onto the already marked and bloody canvas that was his torso. It felt like his skin had been meant to be separated that way, like Medic was just unzipping his skin along already preset lines, it was so easy. The feeling of warmth and wetness that followed was only intensified by Medic's greedy mouth falling onto the fresh wound. What a strange sensation, getting the life sucked out of you, Sniper thought. An even stranger sensation, but also much more pleasurable, was the feeling of Medic's mouth moving down towards the thus-far mostly neglected cock. As the Doctor slid his stained red tongue up the twitching side of Sniper's member and around in circles underneath the head, Sniper closed his eyes again. He was mad. Furious even. In a moment of clarity, he realized that he hated the man lavishing attention on his better half almost as much as he enjoyed having him do it. Who was he to do this? Who was he to make him want it so bad when it was so wrong? This bastard was as horrible as sweet, young Scout and comforting, gentle Engineer... perhaps even more cruel than that. He let his rage at all three of them grow. Sweet, slick, sensation made him feel sick with pleasure. The doctor was suckling his balls and roughly stroking him up and down, up and down, spewing nonsense that what thankfully undecipherable. Never had Sniper felt so horrified and fully himself. He closed his eyes and begged for Engineer to talk him down, to stop him before he fell into the depths forever. “I don't know what you want from me...†The apparition declared, and then promptly vanished. “What?! What in the hell did you just say?! Come back!†Sniper roared, sitting up in his seat, “Come back, or so help me, this is all your fault!†No answer came, and with venom in his voice he called out for Scout. When the boy arrived in the darkness, he was wearing nothing but his socks, his eyes were full of tears, his supple body was twisted and curled in an attempt to hide as much of itself as it could from Sniper's hungry eyes. “C'mon man, don't do this, man...†Scout begged, snot just starting to mingle with the tears. “I'm sorry, mate,†Sniper said, sincere but resolute, as he approached and flipped the startled boy over on his stomach. “No way, man! Please! Anything but this, Sniper, I thought you were my friend, Sniper, why are you doing this to me, why are you hurting me – JA! YESSSSSSSSSSS... TEAR me apart! Rip me to shreds! YesSSSssss! Oh, OH!†It was Medic, Medic. No, not him, not him... “Why... I.... OwowowAHHHhhh...Wh-hy-hy-hy...? ARH! HARDER, DAMN YOU! Do not slow down, dummkopf! You are barely even HURTING me anymore...†“You want me ta hurt ya?†Sniper's voice sounded alien to his own ears. So... distant. So... unhappy. It made him want to stop thinking about anything. And so he did. Sniper stopped caring if it was Scout or Medic. He just fucked. He fucked like it was the most natural thing in the world (which it was supposed to be, he guessed). He dug his thick, uncut nails into the pale broad back of medic and the tight, tanned waist of Scout until they cried out in unison. He forced his slick cock into snug warmth, over and over again, trying not to think about what it was that was keeping it slick. He felt raw, and he felt pain all over, and he felt so... gooood... For a good long while, the only sound anywhere, in his imagination or otherwise, was the sound of grunting and slapping, percussive and constantly growing in strength. When it was time to come, he did. Sniper felt no need to prolong the experience. When he came, he came on Scout's back and Medic's face. In both instances, he roughly rubbed his seed into their skin. Medic giggled and bit into the fingers that ventured too close to the mouth. Scout's sobs quieted until they couldn't be heard anymore – only felt in the shuddering of his body. When he was done, Sniper laid down, closed his eyes, apologized even though he knew it did no good, and waited to die. Medic did not make him wait long.
Veterans of War By: Lady Cardboard Beta: Eximplode and Dr. Rev Special thanks go to Exi and Rev for betaing and taking so much of their time to help me work on my first fic for the chan. The Veterans Hospital of Iowa was in a chaotic rush as families and gifts poured in from all over the country to the humble eight storey tall multiplex. Maurice Johnson sat in one of the lobby chairs as he watched the crowds flow in and out of the revolving doorway. It was a madhouse in the lobby as the assistants at the counter pointed people to rooms and made calls to security to help with the escorting. Several of the veterans took to the lobby, traversing the stairwells against their doctor’s orders to avoid the always filled grand elevator. Veterans from different walks of life, different branches of military and decoration chatted together in groups by the benches, laughing and reminiscing about their families and exploits during their respective wars. Johnson pulled his Green Beret low over his eyebrows, the elastic band strained over his skull as he attempted to cover his eyes. The light was ungodly bright with the chandelier and 10 foot Christmas tree taking up space in the lobby. He rested his chin on the cane, provided to him by the nursing staff to aid his arthritic kneecaps, as he refused treatment by the ‘coo coo’ broads. “Well, well, look who came out of his barracks!†a World War II Vet rolled his walker across the carpeted floor to Johnson. “How you doing, Unknown?†Johnson gritted his teeth and looked back at the lobby doors as another wave of people flowed in. He watched as a lone gentleman came in from the cold and walked over to the lobby desk. “You should pay attention when people are giving you the time of day you, shut-in fake!†“I am NOT a fake you sonnava bitch! I fought in a war just like the rest of you soggy pieces of shit!†He gripped the Vet’s shirt collar as a crowd began to form around the two. “Dad! Stop! No violence!†His son dashed up to the Vets as he pushed his way through the crowd. “The kids are watching!†The children sat on the bench with their attention focused on their handheld TV boys. “I’m so sorry, Sir, he should know better.†He smiled sincerely at Johnson as he took his father’s hand to usher him away from trouble. The vet slapped his son’s hand and slammed his walker into the tile floor. “’Know better’? He is a damn disgrace who fought no damn war!†“I DID fight in a goddamn war, you pile of horseshit!†“You are a goddamn liar!†The Vet threw his walker to the side and tackled Johnson to the ground. The Veterans in the lobby and balcony gathered to cheer on the fighting servicemen, as the two rolled on the ground throwing punches at the other’s face. “Dad! Stop it!†The son grabbed the Vet and dragged the enraged senior off Johnson, as the nurses rushed to the two wounded Vets. Johnson had blood running from a cut on his upper lip and the walker Vet dislocated his shoulder from landing on his arm. The nurses pulled out a stretcher, and the security staff broke up the crowds from the fight scene. The gentleman walked up beside Johnson and removed a handkerchief from his pocket to press it against his bleeding lip. Johnson glared at the man and struggled to lift himself off the ground. “Scram, dirtbag!†“Get over it, Schweinhund.†The gentleman bent over and lifted Johnson up, supported the man on his shoulders as the Vet’s knees crackled as he leaned against him. “Mein Gott, how can you valk like this?†“I don’t need your pity party, Nazi. Put me down!†The German sighed in frustration as he slipped his arm away from Johnson, dropping the man back to the floor. Johnson’s face turned cherry red in rage as the German folded his arms. “Are you wrong in the head, sour kraut!?†“You can keep embarrassing yourself in front of your comrades or you can tell me vhere your room is so I can take you there.†Johnson glared up at the German as he held out a hand to the Vet. Security approached the two of them as Johnson quickly pushed off the ground and leaned against the German’s shoulder. “Eighth floor, room number 3 on the right†The German nodded and the two headed to the main elevator. The two pushed towards the front of the crowd as the floor blinked “L†sliding the door open as they pushed through the wave of people coming out of the elevator. Johnson pulled a key from his pocket and pressed it into the keyhole besides the fire departments’. The doors slid shut as the few people had gotten on board piled into the back and the elevator bolted to express mode to the eighth floor. The panel blinked “8â€, as the door slid open for them into a bare white hallway. “There are hardly any rooms up here.†“Special accommodations, it’s the Isolation Ward.†“Vhat?†The German felt the warmth from his shoulder leave as Johnson gripped the handrail and walked down the hallway. The Gentleman glanced at his watched then caught up to the staggering Vet. Johnson fumbled with his keys as the two stood outside room 803, the chaotic sounds of dogs barking could be heard on the other side of the door. The Vet turned to look at the German with disgust. “Hit the road, Pal. I don’t need your help anymore.†“I’m not here just to help you.†“If you’re pushing for a sale, then get lost.†“I’m not a solicitor, if you vould hear me ou-“ Johnson slammed the door in the German’s face as he proceeded to chain lock the other side. The visitor ran a palm through his hair in frustration and then pounded on the entrance. “Open ze door!†“Leave or I call security up here!†“Soldat, you vill open zis door or I vill strangle you vith my bare hands vhen I get in!†No reply came to the outburst as the dogs continued to make a racket. The barking quieted down as the door was unlatched from the other side. Now wearing a pair of glasses, Johnson looked the man over from head to toe. Removing the spectacles, he apprehensively placed them in his breast pocket. “Do I know you?†The German relaxed himself as he put on a genuine smile. “Ja†“You can come in, but any funny business gets you a size 10 out the door.†The German entered the rather spacious apartment, removing his boots as Johnson tapped on the thermostat on the entrance wall. The Vet grunted as he rolled the temperature up, pulling a worn out knit scarf around his neck. The guest removed his coat as he moved into the living room and sat on the couch on the far wall. Johnson pulled out a fold up chair from the closet and sat it down in front of his guest. “Vell, it’s not as bad accommodations as you made it seem.†“This is the place they stick you when you have too much cash and cause nothing but trouble.†“I honestly assumed you vould have mellowed out over ze years, Soldat.†“Don’t talk like you know me.†“I vas your doctor, there was much I knew about you.†“You look nothing like him.†“People age over ze years, Soldat.†“That isn’t what I meant!†Johnson stomped his foot as the German sighed in frustration. The visitor readjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose as Johnson got up from his chair and walked into the connecting kitchen. He opened the cabinet and removed a bent up photo from a small shoebox. Johnson handed the paper over to the visitor as he took his seat back on the folding chair. The German’s face lit up as he looked at the picture from the War. “I remember this, it was when we first met, ja?†“You look nothing like the Doc did.†“Soldat, vhat about me really changed? Certainly, I aged, but I’m still ze comrade that vas by your side all those years ago.†“Doc was shorter then you, how do you explain that, Mr. know-it-all?†The German’s smile turned to a frown as ran his finger over the image. “It’s classified information, Soldat.†“’Classified’ my ass! Unless you cut your feet off during the War there is no possible way you were Medic!†“Vhy are you letting your eyes guide you into this nonsense, Soldat?†“There is a difference between 5’ 6†and 5’ 9â€, you idiot!†“I’m honestly surprised zat you picked up on my ‘height’, Soldat.†“What are you hinting at, Stranger?†“Vether or not that you can pick up a thing like subtlety is not my issue, Soldat.†“Stop it with the German speak!†“So sorry zat I vas born in Deutchland, dummkopf.†“Take your Nazi tongue back to Argentina, and out of my house!†Johnson snatched the photo from the German’s hand and pointed towards the door. “Zis is how you treat your friend after you reunite after 30 years!? I can see vhy you are stuck up here vith no-one but your dogs!†“Get out!†“I vasted four years of my life searching for you and zis is how it ends?†“Four years?†“Ja, four years looking for an ungrateful old slob who vishes to spend ze rest of his lonely life locked avay on ze eighth floor.†“Don’t insult my dogs, Fritz, they’re better company then most of the other rotting flesh in this funeral home!†“’Kettle calling the pot black’, ja?†“My kettle is stainless steel!†“I’m saying zat you are no better ze the people you look down upon, Soldat!†“They don’t believe that our war was fought!†“I doubt anyone but the president and his cabinet knew of our struggle! Ve vere mercenaries!†Johnson opened his mouth to retaliate, but backed off as he unfolded the picture of his team. The German moved to his side as he patted his friend on the back. “Zey are as oblivious as everyone else is, Soldat, don’t hold it against zem.†“Don’t touch me, Kraut.†He shrugged of the German’s arm as he placed the photo back in the box and tucked it back into the cabinet. “Do you want me to stay or leave?†“Only if you explain why you’re suddenly taller now, Doc.†Medic lit up at the sound of his older class being spoken. “It is a very complex and delicate situation, Herr Soldat.†Medic sat back down on the couch and motioned for Soldier to sit next to him. “Best not to throw out your knees, as this is a long story.†Johnson grumbled and took a seat on the couch as the German laid his coat on the arm rest. “Vell, ‘Respawn’ vas created in order to bring ze dead back to life in our matches, ja?†“Yeah, I don’t see how the machines are so secretive if everyone knows about ‘em.†“Vhat if I told you zat our machines are just expensive replicas?†“That makes no sense.†“It makes perfect sense vhen you are ze one handling medical records for nine people vith filing cabinets that require ladders to scale.†“Do you jot down every single nick we take out on the field?†“Zat would be impossible to manage vith one Medic per team.“ “Then why all the cabinets?†“’Respawn’ doesn’t exist, Soldat, ze Medics on ze teams must put drop of a liquid hallucinogenic into ze combatants’ eyes once a month in order to trick zem into seeing a “template†of their comrades.†Johnson starred at Medic with disbelief as he tried to get a grip on what this man was saying. “I’ve seen hippies smoking pot make up more understandable shit then you!†“I told you it vas a complex thing to discuss!†“Maybe you should spend less time huffin’ the Kritz and come up with a more convincing lie!†“I’m not lying, Soldat! Vhat vould I gain from lying to you now?†“Well if every person I knew on RED was indoctrinated, how do I know that you’re truly the Medic that I was friends with back then?†“I have no proof.†“See! What did I tell yo-“ “I honestly thought, like a fool, zat you could see past the illusion and could tell it vas me.†The Doctor's words were like a blow to Johnson's stomach, worse than any punch the assholes at the hospital could throw during lunch time. Soldier pulled his beret off and fiddled with the cap in his hands as he tried to avoid eye contact with the German. “Doc… I-“ “You don’t have to say anything; I’ve said all I needed to.†He got up from his spot on the couch and head over to the kitchen to pull a glass out of the cabinet. Johnson’s eyes fell to the floor as he heard the glass fill with water from the sink. “Doc, I’ve dishonored the memory of our squad and of you. Punish me as you see fit.†“Soldat, I neither have ze time or ze patience to treat you like a child.†He took a swing of the water and set the glass on the counter. Medic then zipped up his coat and pulled his gloves on as he started towards the door. Johnson felt a desperate need pull at him as he watched his old ways of life walk out the door. The Hospital was tearing him apart as the isolation and loneliness slowly drove him insane with anger. His dogs were there; they didn’t speak and always tried to provide him with unconditional love, but as he watched Medic turned the doorknob to leave the room, he pushed aside his pride to have one last shot at living. “Doc!†“Vhat do you vhant now?†“I want to apologize for doubting you.†Medic smiled at soldier as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “Zat vould be a first, Soldat.†“If all you’re gonna do is laugh at me then get out!†“Nein, my friend, I’m more happy to see you finally come around.†“This place is a madhouse, Doc, It’s not helping me get better!†“Soldat, I understand zat ze facilities are not vhat your condition requires.†“Really, Doc?†“Ja, Engineer recommended zat ve old timers move into a retirement home as a group.†A smile curved up Soldier’s face as he felt the weight of 30 years of loneliness melt away by the Medic’s words. He rubbed his shirt sleeve into his face and turned away from his friend. “I’ll be down in ze lobby waiting for you vhen you are packed and ready to leave.†Medic walked out the door and shut it firmly in place. He removed his cellphone from his pocket as he made his way down the hall, dialing Engineer’s number. “Evenin’ Doc, any good news for us?†“Ja, Soldier agreed to come vith us. His current mental state is declining.†“Was it worse than last week’s visit?†“Ja, He didn’t recognize me until I repeated our history together.†“We’ll its good we’re finally getting Solly out of that place. Heavy and Demo just moved in today at the complex.†“Zat is great to hear, Herr Engineer. I look forward to seeing zem again.†“I’m just glad to hear the man is finally gonna see some light in his darkening tunnel.†“Soldier is doing ze best he can, all we can do for him now is support him.†“Kinda like old times, eh Doc?†“Ja, together as a team.â€
It wasn’t his fault he preferred animals over humans. It wasn’t his fault he’d found the cardboard box on the side of the road and it definately wasn't his fault that the pathetic mewling coming from inside tugged at heartstring he didn't think he had any more. And that was how Sniper ended up taking a box full of kittens back to the base. He tried to keep them a secret, a battlefield wasn't a safe place for a box of kittens, but his frequent midnight trips to the kitchen weren't going unnoticed. His third trip to secure a saucer of milk and half the team's tuna (they'd given him a weird look when he'd put it down on the shopping list, he'd never asked for any sort of fish before) had landed him face to face with their Spy, sitting at the counter, smoking, with a hot cup of coffee in his hands. They'd stared at each other for a second before Sniper muttered his excuses about not being able to sleep and turned the kettle on for his own cup. They settled into an awkward silence, only occasionally punctuated by a cough from Spy or Sniper. "You know," Spy turned towards him, stubbing out his cigarette in one of the little metal ashtrays Engineer had made for him. "Cow's milk isn't good for cats." Sniper didn't say anything, instead just stared into the dregs of his coffee until Spy left, leaving behind the smell of stale smoke in the air. --- The next day, after the battle ended in yet another stalemate between the teams, Sniper found a bottle of 'cat milk' on the landing outside his room. He frowned before taking it inside, if it meant the cats grew up healthy, then he'd even take advice from Spy. Sniper couldn't help but smile when he got in, the box of kittens always had a calming effect on him. Kneeling down by the box, he unscrewed the cap on the milk and poured some into the bowl that'd already been in the box. It was a large bowl, probably a dogs, and as such the smallest kitten would always wind up falling into it. Sniper crossed his legs and plucked the little black and white fluff ball out of the box. He set it down in his lap and dipped the tip of his finger in the milk bottle before offering the drop collected on the tip to the kitten. It happily licked the drop away, nibbling on the end of his calloused finger before he took it away, despite the mewling protests, only to bring it back with more for the runt. This carried on for a few more days, Sniper smuggling tuna chunks into his room and Spy leaving a bottle of cat milk every so often (god only knew where he was getting it from) outside his door or even once feeding it to the kittens himself. But, as all good things must come to an end, the kittens began to grow up; the single tabby had a fascination with sock drawers (particularly Medics, he had shredded socks by the end of the week and had to order more), the purely black one decided the kitchen cupboard was it's new house and the rest had begun to take up mousing, leaving little packages of sucked mouse on Sniper's bed when all he wanted to do was collapse onto it after a long day and not to land in a pile of dead mouse. --- Then came the day when the rest of the team discovered their existence. It had started when the little ginger one took a nap on Scout's hat and refused to move, despite the boy's protests. Heavy had found another one with its paw up one of Sasha's barrels and yet couldn't bring himself to shout at it, like he would've to anyone else. Eventually everyone had found a kitten (now large enough to be called cats) somewhere around the base and everyone had seen Sniper stealing tuna at least once now, so they drew the logical conclusion and made Medic ask where he'd gotten them from. Sniper stood awkwardly in the middle of his room with a cat nestled soundly on his head- halfway underneath his hat, Medic noted- and answered the question as truthfully as he could. "I found 'em in a box outside respawn boundries, mate." He scratched at the back of his head nervously. "Couldn't just leave 'em." Medic frowned and crossed his arms. "Zhe battlefield iz no place for cats-" "Doktor!" The door banged open loudly, revealing Heavy behind it, with yet another cat on his own head. Medic didn't want to know how it stayed there. "Can I keep?" --- Through various protests (mainly from Scout) and puppy dog eyes (from Heavy), the team members that had first objected to keeping the cats on the base were forced to give in and allow them to stay. Medic rationalised that it would help get rid of stress among team members. Sniper thought it was just because he liked the cat that had taken up residence on his desk.
We Wish You a Mercenary Christmas and a Bloody New Year! “Doktor hold me safe and warm, babies prance through boolet storm. And a song someone sings, once upon a December!†Heavy sang to himself as he cleans Sasha. Oh, Christmas time at 2FORT. The fort now covered in a blanket of pure white snow, pilled almost as high as Engineer’s Sentry! Heavy did not mind, these winters were nothing compared to Russian winters. In his country, Ded Moroz would be coming soon. He believed in English, he was called Santa Claus. Dah, that was right he believed. Soldier had been going on and on about Santa Claus being an American tradition. Medic had the unfortunate time to tell him, Santa Claus is more of a German tradition. Soldier then proceeded to beat Medic with his shovel. Heavy frowned as he looked down to his gun. “Sasha… things have been very tight dis year. Your Christmas gift is coming! However, Doktor has special priority dis year. Do not worry Sasha; I make special boolets for you next year! HAH! You get it Sasha! I say next year, cus it week or so away!†Heavy chuckled to himself. Oh, that slapped him on the knee. The door to the medical bay opened as a very angry Medic stepped inside. He was mumbling in German about Soldier being a wild animal that needed to be caged. Heavy only frowned, “Doktor, why you look so sad?†“Heavy! Mien gott… Don’t scare me like zat! I… vell.. It’s not your fault. Soldier ist just getting on mien nerves. Nozing to concern you vith, ja?†He sighed, as he went over to sit down at his desk. Heavy just scratched his head. “Doktor, I know just the thing to get you happy again!†It works for him, especially around the holiday season. “Und vhas is that?†Medic leaned back into his chair, giving Heavy a sad smile. “We decorate!†Medic only blinked, “Heavy.. I never vould have guessed you vere… religious…†Heavy stared at Medic, raising an eyebrow, “Uh… I am not… but it is the thought that counts, dah? We should decorate!†Medic only gave a hard frown. Heavy knew Medic was such a stickler when it came to work before play. It was the holiday season, however, and Heavy wanted Medic to relax for a bit. See him happy at least for a little while. Heavy even tried to give Medic puppy eyes. They work sometimes; other times it just makes him look creepy. Medic’s eyes went wide, “ H-heavy!? Nien! None of zat!†“Please Doktor… Don’t make Heavy beg.†“ Nien! Mien gott, Heavy! Stop it! You know I can’t say no to zat!†“Is exactly why Heavy using it!†Heavy faltered for a second to give a grin to Medic. It was then Medic took his chance to look away, “Nien! I am sorry Heavy… but I have vork to do, ja? Und, vould you please clean up your mess after you clean Sasha! I do not vant to clean it up again. However, maybe you could decorate… I’ll come out later.†“But Doktor! You always say later and then have work!†“Heavy.. I am sorry, but I going to be very busy soon. I must give everyone their monthly physical soon und vrite a yearly medical report up for everyone to give to Administration. You know how zey like to keep us in perfect shape… I am sorry mien lieb… I am very busy…†Heavy only sighed as he went over to clean up Sasha and his mess, “Dah, Doktor… I understand.†Medic gave one glance back at Heavy as he gave a soft sigh, beginning to start on his work. After Heavy cleaned up his mess, it occurred to him… how in the hell was he going to decorate? It wasn’t as if he had anything to decorate with. All he had was his own weapons. Wait… that was it… weapons! He would use his weapons to make decorations! He laughed as he ran into the medical bay, grabbing his weapons. He would make this Christmas… Heavy Weapons Man style! He grinned as he headed outside, placing his weapons on the ground. “Is Christmas time, comrades! Demoman! I need sticky bombs! Stickies everywhere! Scout! I need baseballs! Pyro! We need dis Yule log Soldier has been talking about! Think it good job for you!†Heavy roared to the base. He would get everyone in the spirit. Whether they liked it or not. The rest of the team, save Medic, came out of the BLU base, confused. “Heavy? Mate, wha’ are ya goin’ on about?†Sniper said, shivering slightly as a gust of wind came. “Oh do not worry, comrade! We celebrate! We celebrate Christmas!†Scout mumbled, “I’m fuckin’ Jewish.†Everyone turned to him and blinked. Spy just grinned, “Zat explains your nose.†Scout growled and went to go hit Spy, “Shut up ya frog eyed creep! Yer nose is as big as the damn Eiffel Tower! It‘s sticks out as much in Paris as it dose your face!†“Mon dieu! You know where zee Eiffel Tower is! Eet is a much better improvement from you thinking The Louvre was in Rome.†Scout grumbled as Demoman and Soldier held him back from attacking Spy. Engineer just frown, “Heavy, we really don’t have decorations… what do you plan on us doing?†“With weapons! We are mercenaries, no? We use weapons to decorate!†He just grinned happily. Everyone glanced to each other… with Pyro finally nodding. It said something unintelligible, but everyone understood it fine. They were going to decorate 2FORT. Demoman was going to put his stickies everywhere, Sniper was going to go hunting for mistletoe for Heavy and Soldier went to make “American†snowflakes out of paper with his Equalizer. Scout went to go find and his baseballs and make ornaments for them, Pryo went to find a tree, Spy was going to use his ties to make garland and some of his cigarettes for a makeshift menorah for Scout, and Engineer was going to put mini-sentries everywhere with a music box in them to play songs. Engineer was even talking about making the mini-sentries shoot out snowballs. Heavy, had a very important task. He was busy covering the base in ammo belts, making them like garland. Oh, how was he going to surprise Medic! Maybe Pyro could even cook a Christmas ham or something. Heavy was so happy, he was going to make Medic happy. A happy Medic means a Happy Heavy and, more often then not, happy fun time later on for both of them. A couple of trips back to the re-supply cabinet, made for a bullet and sticky decorated base. Sniper and Pryo came back an hour later, Pryo looking quiet upset. Heavy noticed this and went over to him, currently stringing a chain of bullets in the courtyard. “What is wrong, Pryo?†he asked concerned. “ Mh chudda brr uh herhrm hrrr. Hss er hur hsst hur hud drr.†Heavy frowned and looked to Sniper to translate. “He said ‘e couldn’t find a Christmas tree. This is th’ best ‘e could do.†Pryo then showed Heavy a baby Christmas tree. It probably wouldn’t be able to hold one baseball on it without falling over! “Dis is very bad…. However, good job Pyro. You did best!†Pryo only shrugged, but gave a small thumbs up. Pryo then went to place it in the middle of the courtyard, Scout soon coming. “Wait… I’m decorating THA’ tiny thing?!†He said as he placed the baseballs on the floor, Wha’ th’ fuck is this!?†Spy only sighed as he hung up his ties on loose nails. “Just shut up and do zee damn tree, you cretin.†Scout quickly chucked a baseball at Spy. Spy dodging it with ease, “Would you stop throwing the ornaments at moi and do zee tree! “ “PRAISE THE LORD AN’ PASS THE AMMUNITON!†Demoman sang as he gave a small belch and placed some sticky bomb. “Shut up, Maggot! I’m makin’ American Snowflakes!†Soldier yelled to Demoman, as he was coloring an ‘American Snowflake’ red, white, and blue. Sniper frowned as he started to place some mistletoe around, “Mate… snowflakes are white…†Soldier seemed to growl at Sniper, “These are AMERICAN Snowflakes! You damn English men in dresses have never SEEN American snowflakes because you live in godless heathen countries!†“I…. no… mate you ain’t worth it.†Sniper seemed to sigh as he continued his job. “Whoowee! Would’ja look at that! I did it boys!†Engineer cheered in glee as he ran over and placed a mini-sentry down by the tree. He waved his hand in front of it as it started to play ‘Jingle Bells’. Everyone seemed to turn to the mini-sentry and gave a cheer. Things were starting to look like Christmas. Well, a Mercenary Christmas. Heavy was so excited things were coming together, he had to show Medic. He practically ran up and into his medical bay. “MEEEEDIIIIIIIC!†“VHAAA!?†Medic fell out of his chair and blinked his glasses lopsided. Heavy just covered his mouth, maybe that was a bit too loud. He walked over and bent down to Medic’s level. Medic only turned and gave a glare to heavy. “Jawohl, mien lieb?†he muttered as he fixed his glasses. “Doktor, I have big surprise for you! Come see!†Heavy grinned as he nudged Medic’s shoulder. Medic only sighed, “Heavy… I have a lot of vork to do…. Must I come?†“Dah! Come Docktor! It will make Docktor happy!†Medic seemed to blink… and then gave a soft frown. Was Heavy doing this for him? It sure as hell seemed that way. He could not say no… Heavy was terrible at trying to make Medic smile. He would keep trying and trying until he did. He just gave a sigh and looked up to him. “Alright… Alright… So mich, ja?†Heavy grin got brighter as he stood up and held out his hand to Medic. Medic giving a soft chuckle and taking it. In a matter of seconds, Medic was on his feet and almost being dragged out of the medical bay. “Heavy, mien gott, slow down leiblings! I am coming!†He seemed to chuckle as Heavy did this. Only his heavy could make him smile. Heavy dragged him out, and showed him the courtyard. Demoman and Scout were balancing and decorating the tree with stickies and baseballs, Spy was putting his tie garland on it, and Sniper was making his arrows keep the tree straight and make a star for the tree. Engineer was placing some more mini-sentries around, Soldier was putting up his ‘American Snowflakes’, and Pryo was making a makeshift menorah with Spy’s spare cigarettes. Heavy grinned and held his hand out for Medic to see this. “Well, what dose good Doktor think?†Medic blinked then smiled to Heavy, “ Es ist wunderschön.†Heavy just blinked at Medic. “Oh… It is… uh… Beautiful, mien lieb.†He smiled to Heavy. Sometimes he forgets that heavy does not know much German. Heavy grinned as all of a sudden… Scout started to giggle. “Heavy! Look who ya snagged under the mistletoe!†Medic and Heavy both blinked at each other… and turned to look up. Indeed, they were under mistletoe. Everyone seemed to snicker and giggle, except Soldier. He just mumbled something along the lines of “Faggots…†as he put up his American Snowflakes. Medic blushed and turned the other way. Heavy just grinned, “Doktor… Kees me.†“Vait… Vhat!?†Medic turned back to heavy, horrified. “Kees me.†“Uh… Nien… not… not in front of everyone Heavy!†Heavy just frowned, “Doktor under mistletoe… He must kiss Heavy!†“Nien! Oh, please Heavy… Not in front of everyone…†Heavy just rolled his eyes and he went down and kissed Medic. Medic, who was taken aback, tried to shove Heavy off but to no avail. After a few seconds though, Medic arms seemed to find themselves around Heavy. Scout was busy screaming about his eyes while Demo, Pyro, Spy, Sniper and Engineer just laughed. As Heavy pulled away he smiled gently to Medic, “Happy Christmas Doktor.†Medic only blushed even more, “ Ja, mien lieb… Merry Christmas.â€
AN: Hooooo. This was tougher than nails to accomplish. I knew jack all about Inception, so it took a lot of research. I hope I've got it right. Rating: PG-13 I guess? There's no nudity. The dream had unnerved Spy. He'd heard the creek of a door, opening. He saw clearly the face of the team Scout in the spilled light fro the doorway and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I am not in ze mood for your pathetic attempts at night time pranks, Petit. Go away and let me sleep. You should have known I would not subsume to anyzhing so juveni..." His words dissolved away and Spy reacted quickly. Nothing wrong with his nerves. His left hand reached under his pillow for the Ambassador, his right finding his cigarette case on the nightstand. Full of cigarettes, just like always, 9 - one for each member of the team. The Scout was changing into the enemy Spy. No, not the enemy Spy. A handsome man he did not know with short dark hair, a little beard and a smirk to mirror his own. "Bonjour, darling." Spy woke up with a start in his own bed, not his barracks at 2Fort. The war had been over for five years, he was in France, his cigarette case was displayed in a curio cabinet in his sitting room. "Spah? You awake?" There was the minor detail of having an Engineer in his kitchen but right now that was all very normal. Engineer was the only one of them who couldn't bring himself to leave RED and he worked now far away from the battlefield, designing new sentries, better dispensers, far away from sappers and backstabs. When one of his jobs had lead him to France, he'd looked Spy up. Well, that was normal too. He was a charming houseguest. Spy climbed out of bed, set his hair into something resembling order and put on his dressing gown, arriving in the kitchen to see Engineer piling some sort of heavy, American food onto plates. "Sleep well?" Spy shrugged by way of response. Secrets were valuable; a Spy's most precious commodity. Without good reason, Spy wouldn't admit that he breathed, ate or slept. He glanced at the plate Engineer gave him, feeling his arteries constrict in anticipation. "Same ol' Spah. Listen I'll be out of your hair soon. Another couple of days in the offices here and then it's right back to America. "Awful nice of you to put me up. 'Fraid none of them PhD's was in a language." "Your command of such a delicate tongue as French is laughable Labourer." Spy sighed, his insults lacking their usual bite. He envied Engie his job security, but RED would be stupid to keep men like him after their contracts. "Well I'm off. If you'd like to get caught up, I'll go have a coffee for lunch. That place you pointed out, it's the only one I know. You can tell me all about ways you'll sap my new sentries." The Texan chuckled, gave him a wave and hurried off. True to his word, Engineer showed up at the specified meeting spot. He waved him across. "Howdy Pardner." The man then turned to the waiter and said, in perfect flawless French without a hint of an American accent at all: "Un cafe si-vous plait." He turned back to Spy and gave an amused, dry little smirk that did not fit Engineer at all. "Surprise." Spy stood in a second, banging his knees on the table, but he didn't have a gun or a disguise kit. Nor was the man he'd thought was Engineer making a move to get up or harm him. "BLU Spy?" It wasn't though. "Pockets...Spy." Spy, increasingly frustrated at being made to feel so foolish, put his hand into his pocket. His leather wallet and a familiar metal object. His cigarette case. "What is this?" The man looked up at him behind Engineer's goggles but even with the helmet and eye shield, there was no mistaking the man from his dreams. "A dream, perhaps." "An illusion. You work or RED or BLU, I suppose. I know that technology. I used to use it myself. You may have got ze better of me, it does happen but I am not stupid." "Well." the man laced his hands on the table top. "You are correct in one thing, I work for RED. My name is Eames. As to what is happening now, you have to dream just a little bigger." "You keep telling me this is a dream." "I am not lying. Tell me, when we last saw each other. How did you know you were dreaming?" "I was at 2Fort." Spy said, but held up a finger. "Zhat is ze obvious answer." "Do go on." Spy's eyes alighted on the cigarette case. He opened it. 9 cigarettes. One for each member of the team. "My case at home has only one. I kept..." "One as a memento, you kicked the habit years ago, yes love, we're all very proud of you." Eames tapped the case. "This is what's known as a totem. You open that case and see 9 cigarettes? That is how you will always know when you are in a dream." Spy settled back in his chair. "Very well, but what are you telling me zhis for. Obviously RED has hired you to do ze job." "Only in a manner of speaking. I am just here to tell you what your job is and how to do it. As to actually planting an idea into Blutarch Mann's mind, giving control to RED once and for all, that is up to you." "The war is over. The Administrator owns both companies, the bases were destroyed, the equipment taken back in secrecy." Spy pointed out. "I know. I investigated before I settled. Erased all traces of my involvement." "You can not erase your dreams." Eames told him. "They are open to me. For a man who so enjoys the secrets of others, I thought this is something you would jump at the chance to learn." Spy looked over at him. "Show me." he said. "I admit you are a worthy opponent to trick me not merely once but twice now. Commendable, but I wish to play too, monsieur Eames." The street around them changed, the people glassy eyed and blank, trapped in poses like statues. "It requires imagination. Not merely how another person performs, but what would be normal for their subconscious to register. Your friend the Engineer for example, he'd look you up if he visited your country on a job? Even if your job description makes you his worst enemy?" "You could have researched him first." Spy put in. "It's what I would have done." "More to it than that." Eames continued. "Look around you. You showed no surprise when I did this. It's what you would have expected perhaps if I wanted to tell you something in private and have it dream-like and unbelievable." Spy flashed a smile. "Non. If I had wanted to tell you something in private and have it be dreamlike and unbelievable I would have picked ze bedroom." Judging by the look on Eames' face Spy had finally got one over on him since this mess began. He recovered nicely however. "Very well. The bedroom." And the location shifted again, a hotel bedroom Spy could remember frequenting on several occasions, often with a pretty girl on his arm. Sometimes the BLU Scout's mother, others at other times. Outside, a bell chimed to signal mid day at a nearby church. "If I was interested in making you tell me about this 'inception' on your own terms, I would charm it out of you." Spy moved closer, his lips about a centimetre away from Eames. He could feel the beard on the other man's skin. It was a nice play on Eames' part to close the distance for the kiss, and he was an excellent makeout artist. He responded by sliding open his lips when Spy pressed against them and Spy probed the interior of Eames' mouth with interest. He tasted of tea rather than coffee. How interesting. A detail Spy took to note as a crack in Eames' illusions. Eames however pushed him back onto the bed, but Spy fell with him, not minding the imitative at all and tugged the other man's meticulous shirt tails out of his pants s he could slide his hands up there. The other man's chest was smooth but cold, and Spy's gloved hands were warm. They moaned a little in unison, especially when Eames' hand drifted down to rub Spy's crotch through his pants, making Spy arch a little. His mouth drifted from Eames' lips, avoiding the facial hair to the more sensitive and soft ears and throat. Eames did likewise. rolling up the edge of Spy's mask--his mask. He cursed himself for letting his own concentration slip. but went with it, tilting his head up as Eames sucked on a bit of his neck, hard enough to leave a bruise. Spy grasped the other man's hips, pulling him into him closer and there was a bell...a bell and Eames bucked, his foot catching hard against Spy's leg. "Ow..." Spy gasped and the bell became more insistant. "Jesus, get up Spyfag!" Scout complained. Spy's eyes fluttered open. He was back at 2Fort, in a chair at the table. "The hell, did you not sleep or something?" "NEXT MISSION BEGINS IN SIXTY SECONDS!" The Administrator bawled over the loud speaker. "Oh hey, by the way you should totally go out there with your mask all fucked up." Scout nodded. "BLUFag's Ma give you a nice hickey. That's awesome. He'll totally fuck his shit up." Spy whipped out his cigarette case, but he was back at 2Fort. There were 9. One for each teammate. He took one out and lit it.
A faint, recurring beeping slapped the air. At times, it seemed to him much like a heartbeat. It was enough to keep one from feeling lonely, especially out here. Engineer curled up tighter, letting a “brrrrr†out into his scarf, wrapped around a good lower half of his face. Looking up at the mostly-empty landscape before him, he considered the other team was probably suffering the bitter cold as well; nobody really wanted to fight right now, leading to this odd, defensive stalemate. Sure, it would only be a matter of time before the round ended, but the constant biting wind made the second hand on Engineer’s watch grow lethargic. Staring at it only worsened the effect, but thankfully, the monotony was suddenly broken by a voice, straining to reach through the wind. “Truckie! Izzat you?†Engineer heard the crunch of the approaching footsteps over the thick carpet of snow before he turned to face his teammate. “Bleedin’ hell, what are you doing out here alone? You’ll get ambushed quicker than a croc’s bite!†Engineer let out a wheeze, originally intended as a laugh, though turned sour from the cold air clinging to his lungs. “Yeah? What’re you doin’ out here, then? Decided to jus’ quit shootin’ things?†“Hah, wha’ things?†The sentry beeped a few times: his only answer. “If I wanted to shoot at the ground, I’d grab meself a few rockets and join the ranks of our good helmet-toting friend.†Engineer smiled, staring into the very ground his colleague spoke of. When caught in such a powerful tedium as this, he often drifted back into his memories, cycling through them. The good, the bad—anything to relieve his vision of the unchanging landscape. More often than not, he thought of home, now more of an alien place than ever in comparison to what was around him. “…Snow’s an awful simple thing, ain’t it?†He commented aloud, mostly to himself. “Hmmn?†“But it’s all kindsa…odd, when ya take a chance ta step back, look at things subjectively.†Engineer took off a glove, sacrificing a rare heat source to reach down and feel the snow right against his fingers. What an odd sensation—soft as it constantly changed state against the warmth of his skin, sending water droplets trickling down his extended digits. “Though, it’s possible I got an extra-strong subjective view—we never had any kindsa snow in Texas, y’see.†Sniper was watching Engineer mess with the snow. “That right?’ He sat down on the frozen-over log next to him, dead bark on the surface cracking from the weight, getting a better view of his curious yet deliberate motions. “Didn’ even really know what it was for a long while. It simply never came about, an’ we got way to ever encounter it otherwise, seein’ we never traveled much…†“…No snow in Australia, either.†Engineer looked up at Sniper, his damp hands pausing their motions. “No snow, anywhere. Too warm.†Sniper crossed his arms over his chest, grabbing one with the other. “…I hate the cold. I hate the snow, and I hate this bloody awful cold.†“Snow’s awful fascinatin’, but I can’t say I’m fond’a this weather, either.†Engineer offered a sympathetic smile, leading Sniper to quickly glance away, unsure how to react. The Texan’s smile faded as he returned to the snow, realizing his hand was quickly becoming numb. He retracted his hand from the ground, clutching it close, trying to quickly regain some circulation before putting it back in the glove. Sniper ventured a glance back over to his teammate. He watched him for a couple moments before taking off both of his own gloves, stuffing them in a pocket, then holding out a hand. “C’mere.†Engineer looked up at Sniper’s adamantly expressionless face as the Australian’s hand gestured towards the other’s. He looked at his own hand, still desperately bundled between an arm and layers of clothing, before removing it, placing it in Sniper’s. The marksman carefully covered the still-exposed portion of Engineer’s hand with his other, wrapping his fingers around the cold skin. He closed his eyes, appearing deeply meditative. Engineer watched Sniper for a few moments, almost fascinated by the sudden kind gesture, but it wasn’t long before he, too, closed his eyes. He found himself not opting to flipping through his various memories in the midst of the calm, rather, he let himself feel his presence within the stream of time itself, passing slowly, steadily, gracefully. Constantly adding more memories to the library he was so fond of referring to. As he felt himself almost reaching this meditative state his associate seemingly so easily achieved, a few bullets whizzed by—a couple piercing Sniper through the arm, more still burying themselves in the log. The men briskly separated, stumbling in the snow. Engineer hurriedly pulled his glove back on, immediately alert, searching for the possible location of the shooter. Sniper reached for his rifle, pained and bleeding from the fresh wounds, deciding the gloves could wait until the matter was taken care of. “Dammit, dammit, dammit…!â€
It was about half-past noon when the diminutive fishing boat was pushed out to water, its two passengers having to row their way out to the lake’s center, partly due to lack of money to afford a motor, and partly because of the Soldier’s distaste for technology not immediately related to killing. Once the ship was out in the midst of the water, the Sniper began the slow, steady unpacking of their supplies: two long wooden fishing poles, lashed together with bits of twine that were quickly unknotted, two buckets of bait, packed with ice, and a pile of lures, handcrafted by the Sniper himself in all sorts of combinations of colors and shapes. “I don’t need any of your sissy lures, bushman.†The Soldier grumbled, snatching his pole and beginning to hook a worm onto his basic hook, large hands fumbling with the smaller tools. “Fine enough for me. They’re here if ya’ need’m.†The Sniper replied, selecting a lure and deftly readying it. The Soldier was not nearly as fast, having failed twice already and reaching for his third worm before the Sniper took over. Grabbing the hook from the other’s paws and a worm from the bucked, he impaled it on the hook and wrapped it around a little. The deed was done in moments. Relaxing back with a smug grin, the Soldier was left flustered and a mite embarrassed from being showed up. The next few minutes were spent in silence as the men both waited for a bite. The sniper appeared calm, but he was tense and ready to act, his twitchy muscles prepared for a bite at any moment. The soldier, on the other hand, fidgeted, nowhere near used to the motionless waiting that fishing entailed. Finally, he could take no more. “When will these maggot fish take the hint and bite!†He exclaimed, his gruff voice echoing out over the surrounding area. “Never, if you keep that up.†The sniper mumbled under his breath. Jerking towards the sound of his voice, the Soldier pointed an accusatory finger at the Sniper. “Keep quiet, Civvie, or I’ll be fishing with you on the end of my hook instead!†It was all the Sniper could do to hold back a laugh when the soldier realized that, while he had been yelling, a fish had bitten the hook and broke the line. The first catch of the day was made, not surprisingly, by the Sniper, a large fish being hauled aboard and the lure removed. It flopped and flipped and generally fought off any attempt to get a good hold on it. Soldier, spying a chance to assert his place as the better of the two, reached forward and took hold of the fish in a mighty grasp. With a small snap, he broke the fish’s neck and just about ripped off its head. However, upon releasing the fish there was naught but a salmon-colored paste left, and more then a few bones prodding into the Soldier’s palm. Moments later, he was reluctantly having his perforated hand bandaged up by the Sniper. “Cut it out, hippie, I don’t need any of your damn bushman crap here!†“You know what, mate?†The Sniper asked, pausing from wrapping the Soldier’s palm in gauze and glaring to his face. “It isn’t damn easy bein’ your friend, and I’m this close from jumping ship and leaving you to your own devices. So quit your whining and let me patch you up.†The Soldier was stunned, and was unable to come up with a response for the remainder of the bandaging. By the end of the fishing excursion, Sniper had caught five more fish, and the soldier one more, albeit once more pulped by his viselike grip. Neither had spoken to each other since the first catch, and neither was feeling that happy to be stuck with each other. Rowing the boat back to the dock and carrying their catches and supplies back to the Sniper’s van, the silence continued until they began cleaning their fishes. “Hey, can I borrow your knife?†The Soldier asked, thoroughly surprising the Sniper. Seeing what little success he was having with his oversized combat knife, the Sniper shrugged and handed it over. “I don’t think we’re on the best terms, Bushman.†The soldier continued, taking the Sniper’s knife and beginning to clean his fish. “That’s putting it lightly, yes. Yer point?†Sniper asked with a sidelong glance to the Soldier. “I…You’re alright, Civilian.†Soldier finally let out, his gruff voice taking on a softer tone. “Damn, well…it ain’t easy being yer friend, but it’s well worth the trouble.†The Sniper conceded. The fish was later finished, cooked, and eaten by the two men, Sharing stories of their homes, sweethearts back home, and even bragging about their best kills. When the time came for them to part and go back to their lives of killing and fury, neither man needed to say a thing.
>>17 Wow. You didn't just give me smut, you gave me a story! Sniper feels so lost without losing sight of his character or over dramatic; he struggles against dual taboos: his sexuality and his profession. In some ways, Medic is what he fears he will become and all its glories and horrors, embracing exactly who he is. Medic was brilliant here, an opportunistic, manipulative predator, with that bit of socially awkward monster they all have, the ability to laugh amiably about their daily kills while being a tight-knit team. But the thing is, was it all Sniper just wishing he could let go and proposition the others like he wants while under, or if it did happen, how much was it real? The tripy sex, the bonus Scout and Engineer, and raw pleasure-pain. Exquisite. And you got all the kinks! I'm sorry it took me so long to give my thanks. By time the posting ended, I had to get to bed since I worked in the morning. I only got home three hours ago. But yes, this was brilliant. This wasn't just porn, it had character and conflict and so much going on beneath the surface. Reveal yourself to me, Santa, and know my eternal gratitude and love! ♥ Also, random aside, but does is it just me, or does Sniper seem to have been the most requested Christmas gift?
Glad you enjoyed it, Miss(?) Morphine. It was sort of new territory for me - I've never written a homo-erotic anything, much less outright smut, but I felt like attacking one of your edgier prompt choices. Sniper does seem to be just about everybody's favorite, though, I agree. I myself really enjoy the combination of his being a loner combined with his gregariousness and humor as seen in his "Meet the..." video. I might not have quite captured that sense of humor; in fact I wondered after I had sent it in if I had gone in too weird a direction - but now that I know you liked it, I'm relieved. All in all, between your positive response and my gift, this has been a great Christmas.
>>5 this is the best fucking thing ever to come back home to. If i can describe how i felt while reading this, it was something like if you put your hand in my BRAIN and pulled out everything that makes me love this pairing and wrote it down in the most adorable story i've EVER READ. So fluffy... And awkward... And sexy... For short, thank you SO much. If you excuse me, i'll go flail some more.
>>26 I'm so glad you liked it. I'm happy I could deliver for you!