Based upon the original RP: http://www.tf2chan.net/log/res/637.html
Additional Ficlets: http://www.tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/3745.html

Little bit of an explanation. Me and Zuul started off roleplaying as Sniper and Spy respectively.
Then, while Zuul was bored at work, I wrote some short stories to keep her entertained.
And today, I wrote this for her. Enjoy!

Oh, and the title comes from a song Zuul told me about. "A Fine Evening For A Rogue" by Lydia - it's really pretty, and it does suit these two.

-------

Sniper was up in his perch, laying on the makeshift bed and inhaling the dusty air. It was night-time and all was quiet except for his breathing. Deep, even breaths. In and out. Steady rhythm. It was all peaceful, so peaceful. Just as it had been by the lake with Spy - a sort of blissful calm that took him far away from this place, to some alternate dimension where everything was tranquil and beautiful. Sniper looked up at the roof dreamily, a hand trailing over his bare skin. This atmosphere reminded him of that night: the way Spy had touched him, had looked at him with such a serene expression. Spy must've felt the same soothing atmosphere that Sniper had...or had he created it somehow?

*

Spy was in his room, laying on the comfortable bed and breathing. Just breathing. There was silence all around him, the type that gently breathes into your ear as you listen to it. It would have been annoying but the wind outside would break up the silence with little whispers, pressing against the base like a cat purring around its owner's legs. Spy could hear the wind dancing on the water, making it sway. He felt relaxed. Very, very relaxed. He allowed his mind to drift...and it settled on the image of Sniper, naked and wet, standing in front of him and illuminated by moonlight. Spy exhaled - he didn't murmur! But what a pretty image it was.

*

Sniper let his hands drift over his body. He usually slept naked as no-one ever disturbed him in the morning. Slowly, he dragged his fingertips over the crocodile bite on his chest. This had been the bastard’s lower jaw - the upper had snapped into his back. He shuddered, from both the memory of how he got the wounds and how Spy had looked at them; as if he had been mesmerized by the scars. He tried to copy the way Spy had touched him, his hand following the bite down to his stomach. But he couldn't mimic it. His fingertips were coarser, rougher than Spy’s - Spy's had felt so soft, probably because of the gloves he always wore.

*

Spy turned his head and eyed the cigarette case he had left on the side. He only had to consider it for a moment before reaching out and opening it. He had to find out if it would work without his suit on. A hiss of smoke as he chose to hide his features with Snipers and yes - looking down he found his bare torso replaced with Sniper's, the bite wound painted over his chest. Spy touched it tenderly, as one would hold a locket given to them by their lover. He traced it with equal care, lightly brushing down his skin and up again, slowly spreading to touch more. He tried to remember how Sniper reacted to certain strokes, which areas he had liked the most.

*

Sniper let his hands run down his figure, one hand resting on the marks on his thigh. His breath wasn't so even anymore as he circled the scars, still trying to copy Spy as best as he could. His other hand ran up his chest, resting over where Spy had kissed him. He had only noticed the next morning that the first kiss had left a mark, thanks to the way Spy had sucked at the skin. Sniper arched his chest up slowly, as if he was stretching, groaning slightly. His hands traced the route Spy had mapped with his lips, tongue and teeth, only Sniper didn't feel them - he felt Spy, gently biting and licking at his body.

*

Spy relished in exploring Sniper's body but something felt wrong. Not morally wrong, just off. But he knew what the problem was - he wasn't Sniper. He couldn't find out exactly what Sniper liked unless he was touching the man himself. Spy sighed, still allowing his fingers to roam over Sniper's form. It all came together, all of Sniper's features, making him carry the essence of a hunter, a man who battled the elements and came out rougher and stronger for it - and Spy loved that, found it beautiful (even though thoughts like this made Spy think that the night-time air was getting to his head). But the wounds, the trophies of Sniper's struggles, were positively carnal.

*

Sniper's hands hovered for a moment, fingers lazily curling in the air above his skin. He had to continue by using his imagination. At first there was a mental flash, soft and vivid - Spy kneeling down, still pressing against him. Sniper could hardly imitate that. Instead he settled for wrapping one hand around himself, already hard and wanting from the sensory memories. He started softly, stroking himself slowly. Although the little kicks of pleasure were his own, Sniper tried to imagine that he was doing this to Spy.

*

Spy ran his hands over the ingrained wounds, imagining how Sniper got them. Had he wrestled with a crocodile? Half dressed, thrashing in the water with the ugly beast? Catching a noise that tried to escape from his throat, Spy reached down and grabbed his cock. His mind was focusing on Sniper, how the man would twist his figure, the way his upper body would flex as he pried the animal's jaws from his torso. He moaned lowly. Who cared how Sniper got the scars? They were alluring and attracted Spy like a moth to a flame.

*

Sniper teased himself at first. What would Spy like? Something gentle and slow? He tried it on himself, running his fingers one after the other down and up. Down and up. His thumb pressed against the join of the head and shaft, rubbing slowly. That felt nice. Sniper's body flexed at the motions. But it wouldn't carry a man far. Maybe Spy would want something rougher? Roughness came far easier than softness when it came to Sniper's movements, as he suddenly squeezed and tugged at himself, pulling a long, lusty sound from the back of Sniper's throat.

*

Spy gave himself a long, firm pull, letting his hand slip up to the head. He let his head fall back and murmured again. He didn't have to be reserved and spy-like here. He was in his locked room, in the dead of night, naked except for his boxers and jerking off at the thought of his co-worker fighting with animals (but such a crude description didn't do Sniper justice - or maybe it did). Spy saw something move and turned immediately to stare at it directly. A pair of green eyes looked back.

*

Sniper closed his eyes and focused on the picture of Spy. He mentally began to strip the masked man, peeling off the layers of clothing. But he stopped when Spy was left wearing his white shirt, red pinstripe trousers, boots and, of course, the mask. Oh, how badly he wanted to take that mask away. The only revealing part of Spy he could ever see was the man's eyes - drops of stormy blue grey, always hiding what lay beyond them, inside Spy's head. Sniper screwed up his eyes a little, pulling and pressing his dick harder.

*

Spy blinked. Sniper blinked. Then Spy laughed, causing his reflection to echo him. He had forgotten about his mirror. This was too perfect. He'd have to remember about that mirror some other time - it could lead to some interesting scenarios. Right now, he wanted to concentrate on his imagination, which was making Sniper move in such fascinating ways. Spy's body tightened as his hand moved faster, eyes closing in case he accidently caught sight of the mirror again.

*

Sniper was writhing slowly on his bed, the powerful strokes and rubbing he was using on his cock seemingly draining his body of using such energy. Heady pants, groans, murmurs and moans came from Sniper. He thought about Spy in so many different ways. In his perch, at breakfast, at work, in the rumpus room, outside, opposite him, next to him, against him, as his co-worker, as a pain in the arse, as a friend, as a--! Sniper gave a choked howl spasming suddenly, as if electricity was firing through his body.

*

Spy lay flat on his bed, hips rocking upwards. His other hand curled around his balls, still thrusting into his rapidly moving fist. His toes curled as he kept his thoughts centred on Sniper. Spy tried to isolate what it was about Sniper that irked his interests and ended up muttering little curses, all his movements quickening. Sniper's smiles, his beady green eyes, the scars - he really was a pretty bird and it didn't help answer Spy's question. His thoughts about Sniper's personality were interrupted by a fiery orgasm, striking him out of the blue when he had the flashback of Sniper pushing him over the billiards table.

*

Sniper's hips settled slowly, sticky come over his hand and flecks of it on his belly. His breathing slowed from breathless, horny pants to calmer intakes of air. Deep, even breaths. In and out. Steady rhythm. The peace of the night was coming again but now the atmosphere felt slightly empty. Like it was missing something. Sniper sighed and reached out from the bed, grabbing a cloth to clean up with.

*

Spy twitched as he rode out the afterwaves of pleasure. Now his gasps for oxygen joined the melody of the wind, replacing all the silence briefly. He took a tissue and cleaned his hands - there was some on his thighs and stomach too but that could wait just a moment. Spy ran a clean hand through his hair, knocking off the mask. Looking in the mirror, Spy wasn't sure how he felt to see his own reflection looking back.

**

Both men lay in their respective beds, thinking of the other. And both men felt complete annoyance towards the other. They were professionals - Spies shouldn't grow attached to anyone and Snipers aren't meant to feel lonely. Sniper gave a groan and rolled over, throwing his covers over himself. Spy finished cleaning himself up and buried his cheek in his pillow, drawing the blankets around himself. They both muttered lowly before falling into blissful, uncomprehending sleep.

"Bloody sexy spook."
"Filthy pretty bird."