Demoman dithered in front of the door for several minutes. It felt like the time he was at the principal's office after he blew up the girl's bathrooms in high school – no, three times as worse. “Be a man,” he muttered to himself. He knocked. An eye appeared at the peephole immediately, as if Soldier had been waiting on the other side the whole time.

“Oh,” Soldier said. “It's you.”

“Would you please let me in?” said the Demo contritely.

There was the sound of a rocket being loaded into a muzzle.

“We agreed to meet and have a talk.”

“All right then,” he snarled. “All right.” He jerked the door open so hard Demo could hear a hinge pop.

Demo walked in. Tiptoed, actually, because it was hard to walk normally with a man glaring at you from underneath his helmet and one meaty hand gripping a rocket launcher. Soldier didn't offer him a seat, so Demo invited himself to a chair. He was surprised at how much this place still felt like home. He'd passed many hours at Soldier's pad, once. Sure, it didn't have the comforts of a mansion, and there was only one working light, and the whole place permanently smelt like minestrone that had expired in the 19th century, but it was a good quiet place for talking, and drinking, and looking at magazines, and watching movies.

He missed it.

Soldier kept standing. “What do you want?” he said, near unintelligible between clenched teeth.

“Look, I've been facing this for weeks now and I can't handle it anymore. It's eating me up. It's messing up my work, my life. I can't sleep at night. I -”

“What is your point!”

“The point is I just wanted to know if we could be civil with each other again. I want to know if we could... start over. With a clean slate.”

“That is a big fat negatori. There.; you have your answer so get the hell out.”

“You must miss being friends too,” said Demo. “Or otherwise you wouldn't have let me come in.”

“You kept sending me so many damned letters I couldn't burn them all and eventually had to open one. That doesn't mean I have agreed to an armistice. This is just a political negotiation, which you will surely lose, because I never lose fights! Or arguments!”

“Why can't we go back to how things were?” said the Demo desperately. “Look at you. You're all gaunt and lost weight!”

“That was before you called me a civilian. It's impossible to go back.”

“I explained it to you in the letters. That filthy old bag tricked us. It was all a cunning manipulation to get us to do what she wanted.”

“Then why did you keep killing me! You had my head off just a week ago with your goddamn overcompensating sword!”

“I was angry at you...” said the Demo slowly, and the Soldier started to say something but he was cut off. “Listen to me! I was angry at you at first. So were you. But now I've been wondering what the point of all this is. As for -” The Soldier could barely contain his interjections but the Demo blithely talked over him. “- As for last week, that was an accident, mate, I swear on my mother's grave. Didn't stop you from firing rockets at my face three days ago.”

“It. is. Because. I. Hate. You,” said Soldier. “Get that through your thick womanly skull!”

Demo wanted nothing more than to spew vitriol back at the man. But he contained himself. “I don't hate you. I thought you'd like to know.” He stood up and headed towards the door. A lump caught in his throat. “You know you can always call me if you wanna change your mind.”

“Tavish,” said Soldier suddenly after his retreating back. “You... you aren't drinking.”

“I wanted to come to you sober,” said Demo. “I meant what I said.”

“Well...” said Soldier, hesitating, one hand scratching his helmet because he forgot he had it on. He dropped his rocket launcher, walked over to a box and pulled out a dusty bottle of whiskey. “Have a drink. One drink.” He poured it into two smudged glasses without ice.

Demo sat back down and gladly accepted his glass. Soldier knocked his back in one, and, disregarding his own statement, immediately refilled it. He cradled his rocket launcher again like a security blanket.

Demo sniffed the drink, the familiar pungent aroma sending his mouth salivating. “Cheers,” he said. He took a sip and fireworks filled his mouth and sizzled down his throat, causing warmth to blossom in his belly. He was starting to feel comfortable until he looked at Soldier and saw that his eyes were still cold.

“Look mate, what’s your problem?” said Demo, getting tired of being the one to apologise. “If it’s still that civilian thing, I told you -”

“You ditched me because of weapons too. I like my DH,” he said, stroking it with one hand like a supervillain. “But I would never become a filthy traitor for it.” His face reminded Demo somewhat of the time he’d had gibbed off Soldier’s leg with a few grenades during the War. “You betrayed me,” he insisted, swallowing a third drink. Demo realized that he’d never seen Soldier with anyone else on the base. In professional circumstances, certainly. But Soldier never mentioned having any friends on his team. In fact, he never talked about any relationships he had inside or outside of work. He never mentioned his parents either. No wonder Soldier felt this way. He must dearly treasure the few friends he had. He started to see a mental image of Soldier sitting in this dark room for days on end, hunched over a soup can, poring over his battle plans and maps, all alone – and this was accompanied by a feeling of guilt because he knew Soldier would strangle him by the neck if he knew what was running through his mind.

“I’m sorry,” said Demo.

Soldier said nothing.

“And… if I mean anything to you, I wish you’d say sorry too.” Demo was feeling the familiar old buzz settling in his body from the whiskey and the words were coming out easily.

“Why should I say sorry, you’re th-the reason -” said Soldier, beginning to stumble over his words because he was getting tipsy as well.

“Why? Because you’re an insensitive clod who flies into tantrums every ten minutes, always punches first ask questions later, has less emotional intelligence than your shovel, and because you played just a big part in this as I did, don't you deny it…”

Soldier’s face was growing redder, and hands were tightening into fists.

“But you’re still my best mate so I will stick with you forever, and I’m not being wimpy or girly or soft either. And when mates hurt each other they apologise.”

Soldier slumped in his chair. “Sorry,” he grunted reluctantly. “I just -” and Demo knew he was struggling for words but that emotional things were well beyond his grasp. He understood. “I like you too,” he finished lamely.

“Shake on it,” said Demo, and they bumped fists, and he sensed that the relationship wasn't completely mended but it was a start.

“You're still a slimy little one-eyed bastard," muttered Soldier.

The whiskey flowed freely now, their differences quickly forgotten, and they eventually reached the point of inebriation where they were dropping “Remember the time when...” stories.

“Remember the time when you fell onto a roulette table and it collapsed, the ball had hit your number but they wouldn't let you collect your money?” said Soldier, swaying slightly in his chair.

“You're the one who did that!” Demo slammed his empty glass on the table and poured himself a hearty measure of drink.

“Not in my memory, maggot!”

“You drunk twelve of those little cocktails with the umbrellas in them that night. And you tried to pretend they were for your girlfriend. Which you only got because you were pretending to be have a limp from an old war wound and she felt sorry for you. Oh, and remember the time when we went to the eye museum and saw this massive inflatable eyeball dangling from the ceiling in the lobby, so you climbed up there, and you pulled down your pants and -”

“Stop, stop,” said Soldier, splitting his sides with laughter. He took a breath. “Hey... w-what about the time when I tried on your mother’s dresses and one of them ripped in half?”

“You gotta apologise to her one day. She still thinks it was me."

"She has very attractive lingerie for a woman like her".

"Aye, you go ahead and laugh. At least I have photos of it all to compensate.”

“You what?” he replied, his mouth agape, and Demo laughed maniacally. It led to a drunken sparring match and Demo didn’t know how it had happened but they both somehow ended up on the floor, and Soldier was on top of Demo, and he’d kissed him. The walls spun around them slowly. His lips tingled from the alcohol and Soldier’s chin was stubbly and rough and so unlike the smooth face of a woman. He was a sloppy kisser at first, as if he hadn’t had much practice, but Demo kissed back with all he had and Soldier seemed to gain confidence and skill. When they’d finished, Demo stared at him, and he looked equally surprised.

“You’re really drunk, you know,” said Demo.

“Yeah, I am,” Soldier mumbled.

“It felt bloody good, though,” he replied, pulling Soldier down for another, longer kiss. Soldier’s erection pressed into Demo’s leg as started clumsily undressing the other man.

“I goddamn love you, Tavish,” he slurred.

Soldier undressed himself with difficulty because Demo was licking at his ears and his neck and soon Soldier was gently kissing Demo all over his arms and torso and nipples and abdomen. Demo was very much aware of the presence of his own erection now. Demo explored his friend's warm body, seeing it in a new way for the first time. He'd seen his friend nude a few times, but not like this... He stroked the strong muscled calves that could endure rocket jump explosions, the thighs that carried him so quickly across the battlefield, the tight abdomen that supported his body, the broad shoulders and arms that hefted heavy weapons all day. He sucked on every finger, the fingers that were so clever and lethal with firearms of all kinds.

He traced some faint scars on Soldier's leg. “I did to this you, didn't I?” he said, tears coming to his eyes He got emotional when he was drunk, and he was so drunk now that the walls was juddering all around him.

“Yeah...” said Soldier. “And... I did this...” and he applied scratchy kisses to a collection of fading scars on Demo's chest.

Demo was so desperate and horny right now, but he was unsure how to proceed. Just put your thingy in the hole, aye? Same principle as with the lasses, he thought, as he clambered awkwardly on top of Soldier. He barked a protest.

“Hey, who said you could be on top. I’m not a woman!”

“Ooh yeah, Jane? I'm not letting you inside me.”

Soldier blushed. “I… I don’t know how to be a faggot.” They suddenly felt ridiculous and embarrassed, sitting there in the nude fumbling for an idea of what to do, like they were teenaged virgins all over again.

“Wait, I’ve got an idea. Stand up,” said Demo.

“What?” said Soldier, but he obediently complied. They were facing each other.

“Put your hand on your dick. Like this.” He demonstrated by giving his a few tugs. Soldier giggled and followed suit.

“I’m way bigger than you.”

“That’s because you’re seeing double, you drunken pussy,” Demo countered. “Hold my elbow with your left hand.” Demo gripped Soldier’s elbow.

They started moving their partner's arm back and forth, working their cocks, unevenly at first. They managed to get the slick sound into a steady rhythm. Demo was thinking how clichéd it was, gazing into each others eyes directly like lovers in some romance paperback; then he noticed that Soldier's tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration, and he had an expression that looked like he was constipated. He dissolved into a fit of drunken snorts. His hand slipped off Soldier's elbow and Soldier looked hurt.

“Was I doing it wrong?”

“Ha ha no, it was just -” He gasped for breath, then calmed himself down. “Let's try again.”

He clutched Soldier's elbow again and they picked up where they left off. Demo could almost sense Soldier timing the strokes in his head because the man was obsessed with the “Left, Right, Left, Right” type marching drill, but he suppressed his laughter this time. Their concentration and pleasure reached a tangible peak, the two men unconsciously competing against each other for the longest wank. Soldier came first, spilling into his hand, followed a few seconds later by Demo

Soldier seized Demo’s cum-covered hand with his own. “Now we’re cum brothers. Like blood brothers, but with cum,” said Soldier, reminding Demo why he loved his friend so much – the fact that this serious man gained a silly streak and a sense of humor while he was around him.

Demo licked his hand. “Yours takes like weakling,” he teased. “I think you need more meat in your diet. Too much soup.” Soldier punched him in the arm hard, and Demo started shamelessly wrestling him again, wondering how they could transition from mutual masturbation to sparring again so quickly. He realised it was probably a sign that they were the best of mates.