1 . Name: Combat Baby @ 2009-08-07 14:08

Note: wat's beta readr? How get?


The Demoman bit lightly at the Spy's collar. His tie, jacket, vest and shirt had been neatly folded and placed on the locker room bench beside them. The Spy moaned slightly through his teeth as the black man pushed him down on the bench and lapped roughly at his nipple. One hand curled it's fingers through the Demo's thigh hair, the other limply hung over the edge of the bench, knuckles touching the tiling on the floor.

Demo reached his hands to undo the Frenchman's belt. He fumbles slightly with the buckle but won out. The Spy arched his back eagerly as the Demo's hands slide the offending garments away. His rough and calloused hands gripped the spy, causing him to gasp. The Demo pumped him slowly, rolling him thumb over the head with every stroke. Spy bit his lip trying to stay quiet so they would not get caught. The sound of foot steps on the other side of the bank of lockers had set him on edge. The Demo seemed unaffected by the sound and tightened his grip on the shaking Spy.

The footstep echoed and died away as who ever it had been left the locker room through the far door. The Demo slide up The Spy's body, pressing down on his weeping member that lay between them. He kissed his Spy roughly, mingling the taste of cheap booze with that of expensive cigarettes. The demo lapped at the hem to Spy's mask, his fingers finding the edge and rolling it up ever so slowly.

What did the man look like? He wondered. They'd done all this before but the Demo has still never seen his counterpart's face. The skin under the mask was soft and fair. His gingers grazed over it as gently as he could with his burned and abused hands.

There was the Spy's chin, soft and round and tucked under his thin lips. His wide and down turned nose appeared next. It too was soft from the protection of the hood. The mask lay just under the Spy's eyes now and the Demo folded the fabric up above them, careful not to muss up the Spy's perfectly combed eye brows.

The Demo leaned back and took in his lovers face. He tilted his head to one side and then the other. He rolled the mask down quickly and stood up. The mole had been shaped like Margret Thatcher with a single hair coming out of it's rather large mass.

The Spy watched as the Demoman left him splayed over the bench. All he could think of was how his mole had stopped him from getting to the Demo's hot mocha manhole.