|
>>
|
No. 5958
A million thanks to Lüke for the beta and major schooling in French and accents. <3
And sorry about the belated update. I am a filthy liar and a breaker of promises. I’ve been working on and off it for a long period of time, so it turned out FUCKING MASSIVE for a pwp but, as requested, a follow-up. Thanks for reading!
------
Spy grips the ladder, clunking down the steps one at a time. It isn’t hard, not with his ankle mostly healed. The only reason why he keeps the cast is to mess with Sniper—not that he’ll be talking with that disgusting rifle-fucker any time soon. Spy had gone down to town with him, and what does that son of a bitch do? He comes from a headshot, a fucking headshot. Before he can fume any further, Spy decides it’s best to not dwell on it. It’s humiliating enough for the both of them.
The ladder is twenty steps high; a long climb with the cast getting in the way, but Spy is too busy thinking of all the little witty things he’s going to say out loud if Sniper is ever in the same room as him. How’s many REDs did you shoot today? Did you have as many orgasms as you did killshots? Oh, my. Make sure the safety’s off before you start fucking your rifle… Spy comes up with a good dozen more before his cast gets caught on the fourth to last rung.
“—Ack, merde!” He slips, flipping backwards with a noisy clatter and lands on his ass, giving new meaning to the word butthurt. Spy groans, gingerly feeling both his legs to see if he has somehow broken any of them. There’s no new pain aside from the slight ache of his already twisted ankle and, more recently, his ego. The ankle doesn’t hurt worse than it did before, so that’s good news, and there isn’t much Spy can do about his ego, except maybe stab a few REDs.
The hatch door opens from above and Sniper is poking his head down. He doesn’t say anything for a while, but Spy’s glare prompts him into speaking.
“You all roight?” he asks, sounding a little sheepish.
“I am fine,” Spy quips, “though I do not zink I can say zee same for you. You should see Medic and check if eet eez safe to be putting all zat gun lube up your—“
Sniper goes down the ladder faster than Spy gives him credit for. He should have used one of the shorter taunts he came up with, but Sniper is suddenly grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and none too gently. “You’d better shut yer mouth, spook,” he grunts, hauling Spy to his feet, “Up you go.”
Spy grits his teeth, standing up so he doesn’t suffocate. He gets up all right, but not in the way he wants to. His erection from hearing Sniper moan while giving head earlier has been wearing off… up until now when Sniper decides to get rough, calloused hands on the back of Spy’s neck and around his arm in a tight grip. It’s enough make Spy’s cock remind him that he has some unfinished business.
Oh, he knows what he wants, and he hates himself for it.
Thankfully, Sniper doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort. Shifting away, Spy is about to make his escape, but Sniper snatches the closest part of Spy—his flapping tie. It probably wasn’t intentional, the way Spy had tried to run away—it jerks him back, makes him turn to face Sniper, a little breathless. Much to his embarrassment, Spy gives a tiny, thin whine.
They stare at each other. Sniper falls silent, like he’s trying to figure out why Spy’s face must be turning bright red with mortification.
“Ah,” he says with a slow grin. “You wanted me to win the bet, didn’t ya?”
Pretending that Sniper’s predatory leer is doing nothing to him, Spy laughs, “You keep telling yourself zat, mon cher.”
“Well, there’s no harm in checkin’ then,” Sniper replies easily, wrenching Spy forward by the tie into his arms. One of his hands comes down to grab Spy’s ass, squeezing tight. Spy bites back a yelp, even as Sniper’s leg comes up to rub between his thighs. Unable to help himself, he moans into Sniper’s shirt, hips jerking in small, involuntary thrusts. Not even knowing that he had a leg hooked around the other’s waist, Spy feels Sniper try to pry him away all too soon. He immediately lets go, stumbling back and nearly hissing like an affronted cat.
“Lookin’ a little hot and bothered there, Spy,” Sniper comments, ignoring Spy’s death glare. He steps closer until he has the Frenchman’s back pressed against the ladder, leans forward and whispers in a low growl, “No shame in wanting somethin’ different every now and then, mate. All y’had to do was ask. I would’ve ‘ad you screaming and beggin’ in no time.”
Spy begins to panic. Not outwardly, no. But there’s a crazy fluttering in his stomach and he starts to want nothing more than Sniper on top of him, making him writhe and struggle and, oh god, he wants it loud and hard.
“How ‘bout we go easy for now? Start by saying ‘please’,” Sniper says innocently, so close that Spy is only centimeters away from biting off that smirk of his.
Spy’s jaw clenches and Sniper looks disappointed; he doesn’t quite pout, but the effect is still there in the form of a furrowed brow.
“You can say it in French if y’want,” Sniper suggests. “How does it go again?” His eyes flicker upward, as if trying to remember something. When they focus back on Spy, Sniper continues huskily, “…je veux que tu me dise‘s'il vous plaît’.” I want you to say ‘please’.
Spy stares at Sniper. The words are stilted and unnatural, accent all wrong, but there’s a faint, tasteful tone of coarseness overlaying the gentler language, and the sound of it goes straight to Spy’s crotch. He feels his mouth go dry, wrestling with his dwindling resolve. How Sniper learned that much French, Spy doesn’t know, but there’s something about Sniper murmuring lowly in his native tongue that triggers his shoulders to tense and breath to hitch.
“Dis-le,” Sniper growls softly into his ear, and then Spy stops breathing all together. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Oh, yer liking the sound of that, aren’t ya?”
Seeing a triumphant gleam in Sniper’s eyes, it takes Spy only another moment to suck in air, swallow his pride, and hiss out, “S'il te plait.” It’s not begging. Not technically, not yet.
Sniper rewards him with a long, dirty kiss that sends them both moaning into each other’s mouths. It only lasts for a moment before Sniper pulls away, panting slightly.
“Not here,” he says, a little nervously. The change in his tone causes Spy’s self-dignity to reappear and he’s tempted to push Sniper away, but Sniper reaches for his tie again and, like a leash, he gives it a yank. Choking, Spy can do nothing but follow him down the hallway and into the resupply closet. A little part of his mind admits that he wasn’t resisting as much as he should have been, especially when Sniper shoves him in and closes the closet door, locking it from the inside.
“It was a good start,” Sniper admits, leaning against the door, “Now say it louder, darlin’.”
Spy coughs, taking off his tie and throwing it on the ground. Recovering quickly, he glances around the closet. There are medicine bottles on shelves, numerous first-aid kits, boxes, and a singly lonely light bulb dangling above him. They’d been in here before, done plenty of unmentionable acts, and the familiarity of it makes Spy start to unbutton his shirt slowly, smiling when Sniper’s eyes don’t leave his body.
“You are wasting your time,” Spy says, shrugging it off, “We can simply get on with eet now.”
Scowling, Sniper gets down on his knees and his hands make their way to Spy’s belt. Surprised, but nowhere near discouraging it, Spy leans back and places his palms on a low shelf, allowing the Australian to snake his pants down to the floor. It takes a while to tug over the cast, even kind of ridiculous enough for Spy to briefly regret keeping it on longer than necessary.
He rocks slightly back and forth as Sniper takes him into his mouth. Feeling Sniper’s tongue play around the shaft, he moans and tightens his grip on the shelf. Now that he is more self-aware, Spy tries to be quieter than usual, keeping his groans to a minimum, though he can’t help jerking into Sniper’s hot mouth. It’s quiet, save for the sound of lapping and the occasional murmur of approval from Spy. Really now, Sniper is pretty good at blowjobs, but if he wants Spy to beg, well, Sniper isn’t that good.
Though his hands tremble, Spy smirks and sighs in a quivery voice, “Nice try, mon cher—“
He suddenly splutters out the rest of his words incomprehensibly as Sniper pulls off and grabs the base of his cock, jamming two—or three, fuck, Spy can’t tell—fingers into him at the same time. Sniper doesn’t rub or slide them in and out; they curl in. Feeling like a tightly coiled wire, Spy begins to shake uncontrollably.
“Just a bit of encouragement,” Sniper explains, laughing when Spy makes a wholly embarrassing noise.
Christ, he’s supposed to be coming; Spy feels it. But he wasn’t. He squirms desperately around Sniper’s hand, but is kept in place between the other man’s grasp and the shelves. Another awkward squeak escapes his throat and there’s an uncomfortable icy spike that seems to hit is spine, making him gasp loudly. Oh god, oh god—he’s not coming—it’s trapped, somewhere in the middle of his dick and not going anywhere, and Sniper’s grinning like a smug idiot. Spy whimpers, “I can’t… eet’s not—” and cries out when Sniper’s squeezes tighter. It fucking hurts now, but there’s no denying the burning lances of pleasure every time the rough fingers in him shift.
“S'il te plait!” he wheezes, “Please, just let—“
Even through his writhing and gasping, Spy sees that Sniper is unimpressed. Sniper starts saying something, but Spy’s stopped listening long ago, and everything just snaps when Sniper gently licks the head of his throbbing cock and hums around the head. Spy arches back, knocking over bottles of medicine, and screams while grabbing hard on the back of Sniper’s head, “Fils de pute! Fuck—ah—fuck! S'il te plait, I’ll do anything—oh god, please!”
He feels like he’s been babbling for hours before Sniper seems satisfied, rubbing his fingers once more before pulling them out and sucking hard on Spy’s cock. Spy chokes, not sure whether to howl or sob when he comes, and comes, and comes. The room spins and, for a moment, he doesn’t even care, yelling every obscenity that he can think of. It’s almost deliciously painful, having Sniper draw everything out, taking the last spurt and then spitting it all on the tiled floor.
“That wasn’t so hard, roight?” Sniper finally says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Spy is so dazed and angry, he can’t figure out anything to say. He clings on to the shelf and tries to gather his thoughts. Oh, fuck, he thinks he likes it—the screaming and pleading, no holding back anything. Spy slumps onto the ground, silent except for his recovering breath. Meanwhile, Sniper is sitting back, smirking, and probably believes he’s gotten Spy down and out.
Spy stares at Sniper, thinking furiously. He wants revenge, and he wants it now. Revenge, of course, is one of his strong points. It doesn’t take him long to figure out what to do next, but there is a tiny thought in the back of his mind that worries if it is less of revenge or more of just wanting it again.
Spy crawls over to Sniper and almost wilts immediately at his touch. The thing about begging, Spy realizes, is that he can’t act as if he knows what he’s doing—and he needs to be desperate. The thought makes him wince internally. Spy can be seductive, but not that.
And it didn’t count, him screaming at Sniper a few moments ago. Spy refuses to admit that it did. There’s a difference, he thinks, between being forced to beg and just begging for the sake of driving your partner absolutely mad.
Sniper is busy searching for medical lube, rummaging through one of the boxes and completely ignoring Spy save for a hand that absently rests against Spy’s cheek, thumb idly tracing the edge of the balaclava above his right eye. Spy can see the Australian is hard and aching, but aside from the bulge in his trousers and flushed face, Sniper is fairing pretty well. This is, after all, the man Spy challenged to make a headshot while being given a blowjob. Sniper does have an admirable amount of patience and endurance.
And, at this moment, Spy wants nothing more than to break it.
“Fuck me,” he says, climbing into Sniper’s lap with lazy ease, sitting comfortably between his legs.
The words do almost nothing, too damn seductive and demanding.
“Been plannin’ on it,” Sniper answers, still smirking. He holds up the medical lube with a raised brow—a taunt.
Determined to correct his mistake, Spy gives a soft, disappointed whine that makes the hand on his cheek still. With a small turn of his head, Sniper’s fingers are at his lips. Spy licks the tips once, grasping Sniper’s wrist delicately.
“Ahh—will you take me on my back?” he moans quietly, running his teeth lightly over Sniper’s palm. “Or on my knees? Or per’aps against zee wall? Please, let eet be against zee wall…”
There’s no answer, but Spy can see that Sniper’s eyes widen and mouth part in disbelief. The Australian’s deepening blush gives away his intense arousal, and when Spy tries to paw off his shirt, the other man’s expression becomes slightly wild.
One by one, the buttons snap off to expose Sniper’s chest. Remembering all the times where he had simply pushed him down without a second thought, Spy slips off his gloves and tentatively places a hand over the other man’s chest, feeling the slick skin, raised hairs, and quickening heartbeat beneath his palm. So this is what it’s like to go slow. He has to hold back a grin—Sniper just looks so dumbfounded, ready to break or attack, Spy can’t guess, but he wants to find out.
“Are you going to make me scream? Cover my mouth? Gag me?” he continues, slowly trailing his hand down to Sniper’s pants. No teeth this time, he’s going to need his mouth to keep talking, “Corner me? Make me beg?” There. He’s said it, and it’s all so easy, it’s disgraceful.
The button comes off cleanly and he pulls at the zipper. He can hear Sniper exhale sharply, hands bracing the ground as he lifts his hips so that Spy can tug the pants off his ass. They bunch up around Sniper’s thighs, but both of them are beyond caring, especially when Spy leans forward for the last time, whispering into Sniper’s ear.
“Sniper,” he murmurs—and he tells himself he planned for his voice to crack like he’s been broken over—because to hell with it if it doesn’t make Sniper any more turned on, “Please… fuck me ‘ard.”
He sees all the patience leave Sniper’s eyes, even before the man lurches forward, pining Spy roughly to the ground. Spy shivers, the cold tiled floor a sharp contrast to the heated body above him. With a snarl, Sniper starts covering his neck with bruising kisses that Spy doesn’t recognize. He hasn’t realized how restrained Sniper had been until now. It’s marvelous. A bite at his collar bone wipes the next few thoughts from Spy’s head and he moans, grabbing a hold of Sniper’s bare shoulders. He tries to hook his leg over Sniper’s waist, but Sniper pushes it away, holding it down firmly.
“I’m going to make you come apart,” the Australian promises, teeth bared in a feral grin.
Distantly, Spy knows that he has already done the same to Sniper, but that wickedly impatient expression on other man is making Spy forget how to speak, so he is barely able to whimper, “God, y-yes. Make me.”
Licking the corner of his mouth, Sniper moves aside. “Stand up. Back against the wall.”
It doesn’t escape Spy’s notice that Sniper’s voice is clipped and harsh. He discards the idea of taking his time just to drive Sniper over the edge, figuring that he’s been pushed far enough. Spy hurries over to press against the corner of the closet, knocking down mops and brooms that clatter nosily to the ground. Deep down, Spy knows that he is just as impatient as the other man. He eyes Sniper with a hungry need to just be taken, just watching Sniper irritably kick away his pants from his ankles, clumsily slicking himself with lube—it pushes out the trickling sense of doubt and humiliation of begging.
“Je te veux,” Spy mutters, almost involuntarily, and half-hopes Sniper can hear and understand, but he is given a blank, annoyed look. Spy loses it a bit, clarifies in simple, angry English: “Can you ‘urry? I fucking want you—”
Even before he finishes the sentence, Sniper is knocking the wind from his lungs, hands resting flat against the wall at either side of Spy’s head. Chest to chest, the Australian drags his teeth over Spy’s mouth and down to his neck. A simple touch at Spy’s hip prompts him to shift his legs, spreading them. He has to prop himself on the shelf with one hand while the other tightly grips Sniper’s shoulder. There’s no pause, no silent exchange of glances—the way Sniper would normally do it. Now, without even checking to see if Spy is ready, Sniper ruthlessly presses in his cock, fast and rough, but so precise that the Frenchman immediately rolls his head back, hitting it on the wall with a dizzying smack.
“Ah, don’t stop,” Spy mumbles incoherently, closing his eyes. It was just as well he did not bother repeating himself since Sniper was too busy pushing a part of the balaclava up and working over the hollow of his throat.
“Tell me want you want,” Sniper chuckles, low and dangerous, his breath hot on Spy’s neck. He shifts with a soft moan, but it causes Spy to wince. “Keep, ngh—keep talking. Beg.”
“I don’t—just, anything,“ Spy croaks, trying to stifle his cries of both frustration and pleasure. God, he doesn’t even know how to say it without asserting himself, rolling his hips forward, making Sniper thrust back in reaction. “Damn eet, just fuck me through zee walls!”
To his surprise, Sniper obliges. Maybe he got tired of fooling around or something; he crushes Spy into the wall without hesitation, thrusting over and over. Spy thinks he might have screamed a little, the waves of pleasure hitting him hard and fast. At first, he can’t even get his thoughts in order but over time he soon realizes that Sniper becomes more forceful, more rhythmic every time Spy cries out, the louder the better. He quiets for a moment, biting his lip. Is that how it’s going to work? Fine. He can play too.
The moment Sniper slows down, Spy whispers sweetly, “you bastard,” and wraps his legs tight around the Australian’s waist, damn it, and the cast—it’s almost awkward. Almost. Using his ass and the wall to shove off—to hell with being passive—Spy’s arms come to Sniper’s head, his shoulder, anything that can be held on to. Sniper staggers back, cursing and moaning, trying to carry all of Spy’s weight. He veers off to the side, slamming Spy back against the door.
The handle digs deep into Spy’s side, making him cry out. He’s vaguely aware of a loud click before registering what was happening.
“No, wait—!” he gasps over the pain, but Sniper shuts him up with a jerk of his hips. Spy feels the door swing open, the outside air cool and sharp, and sure enough, the both of them come tumbling out of the resupply closet. Spy decides that it was very lucky of him to have kept his hold on Sniper while the Australian stumbles to his knees and hands, making Spy’s landing less of a crushing topple.
And, even more fortunate, Sniper was still fucking in him.
“Oh, Christ,” Sniper mutters shakily, “I don’t care, let’s just finish—ah!”
They were in the middle of the hallway where anyone could see, anyone could hear, and any sound made would echo all over the base. Sniper would usually worry about the former, and Spy the latter (himself being loud, specifically), but if Sniper was going to disregard all that then Spy knew that he would have to match up.
“Yes, keep… a-ah! More, keep going,” he moans with enough helplessness to make the hesitant look on Sniper’s face disappear. Completely wild-eyed, Sniper jerks his hips. Spy writhes and whines, making every shameful noise just to keep him moving in and out. It’s like he can’t shut up now, he’s still gibbering, shameless and needy each time Sniper hits that intoxicating spot inside him. “Ah! Faster, god, more…”
When Sniper grabs his cock, the words stop forming in Spy’s mouth and he’s reduced to whimpering, so close, so close. With a choked back groan, Sniper suddenly shudders, releasing into Spy, and makes the sexiest goddamn expression Spy has ever seen. Unwilling to take that observation any further, he closes his eyes, but doesn’t even try to stifle back his yell this time around as he reaches his orgasm.
“Merde,” he murmurs afterwards, letting go of Sniper and becoming acutely aware of his immediate surroundings—the cold floor, the dirt on his sweating back, Sniper hovering above him, panting and wonderfully flushed.
Oh, and then the rest of their team staring at them. Every single one.
Sniper’s eyes widen and he stiffens like a rabbit. Spy would have done the same, but since Sniper did it first, he settles for throwing them all a bored, disdainful look. The silence stretches on for about a minute before Scout breaks the silence, but not in the way Spy expects.
“I fuckin’ called that shit,” Scout crows, “I told ya dey’d fucked right outta da closet with Sniper owning Frenchie’s ass.”
“The one time I put some faith in you,” Soldier sneers at Spy, slapping some American dollars into Scout’s outstretched palm, “You let me down, maggot.”
Medic also makes a grunt of disappointment, handing over his ration of instant coffee to Demoman, “I did not know Sniper was capable of such stamina.”
“Does not make sense, with tiny frame and sitting around all day,” Heavy agrees, eyeing Sniper’s naked body critically.
Spy has never been uncomfortable with his own body, but he secretly admits that he’s glad Sniper is on top of him, blocking most of the view from the rest of the team.
“Well, if you gentlemen are through,” Spy drawls, feigning ease when, in fact, he is embarrassed out of his right mind.
Engineer, bless him, has the decency to start herding the gambling group out of sight, though it doesn’t stop him from adding with a snicker, “I wager my wristwatch that they’ll start cuddlin’ sometime later.”
“Fuck you, Engie,” both Sniper and Spy snap at the same time.
It takes a moment to make sure that they’re alone, the rest of the team’s footsteps fading fast.
“We’ll never bet again,” Sniper mutters back in the resupply closet, buttoning up his shirt angrily. He looks up to catch Spy smirking at him and holding out his hand.
“Zen it is a deal, mon cher,” Spy says with a challenging gleam in his eyes.
Sniper smirks, and they grip hands. “Yer on.”
---
End.
|
