[Author's note: This is a continuation of the characterisations in my Examination and Maniac storylines, though I think it can stand alone. I hope it meets the Kink Meme's stated need for moar Demo love.]
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The Pyro and the Demoman sat out behind the RED base, lighting things on fire. It had started out as a systematic test of new armaments and tactics, but now, at the end of the day, it had become a game. The Demoman laid criss-crossing trails of black powder, gasoline, kerosene, and whatever else he could find, then the Pyro used a controlled burst from his flamethrower to set off a distant end of one trail. The flames raced along the set paths like deadly dominoes. To stave off the night's gathering chill, the Pyro had made a large pile of scrap wood. The Demoman set a long, winding trail of black powder leading away from it. When they were done, the Scot lit the end of the trail with his Zippo. The powder fizzed and sparked until it caught the dry timber, where the spark blazed into a fine fire.

A column of blue flames erupted from the centre of the heap- one of the Pyro's little surprises. They sat on empty crates, watching the blaze in companionable silence, until a ring of intense red flame roared up around the blue, creating a vaccuum that put it out like a candle-snuffer.

"Ha! Good one, laddie!" the Demoman roared. The Pyro nodded, but went back to watching the blaze. One hand was on his thigh, sliding toward his groin, as he watched the fire. His expression may have been hidden behind his mask, but his whole posture conveyed concentration, desperation.

The Demoman looked sidelong at his teammate. He longed to be the focus of such intensity. He flicked his lighter absentmindedly, over and over, but the Pyro paid him no mind. He'd rather watch the bonfire. The Scot toasted his rival with his bottle of whisky, and spilt some on the hand with the lighter. It caught fire with a "whoomph" sound, blue flame blossoming in the deepening darkness. The Demoman shouted and dropped his bottle to slap at the flames.

The fire was out as soon as it had started, no harm done, but it had certainly gotten the Pyro's attention. His black glass eyes were now firmly fixed on the Demoman, his body pushed forward in a predatory crouch.

"Y'like that, do ye?" The Scot smild. He removed his hat and retrieved the whisky bottle. It had been half-empty to start, but at least that meant he hadn't spilt much. Using his hat as a makeshift sop, he swiped a thin sheen of whisky onto his bare arm. "Then watch this, boyo." Carefully setting both hat and bottle aside, he used the lighter to ignite the alcohol on his skin. For a moment, his whole arm was gloved in blue fire, and he smiled at the Pyro. "Ye want a go?"

The Pyro stood up and walked carefully toward his teammate, as though the Demoman might bolt. "See, what ye do, ye get just the thinnest slick of alcohol on the skin. Different to yer usual line, where ye burn the skin clean off." The Scot offered the liquor and the sop to the Pyro. "One condition, though." The firestarter paused warily. "Ye got to do me chest. Me arm's aboot wore oot." Still smiling, the Demoman stripped off his flak jacket and undershirt.

Stretching out one gloved hand, the Pyro ran a thumb carefully over the dark expanse of his teammate's chest. He traced lines between the myriad tiny, pale burn scars, mapping out constellations. The Demoman breathed in, pushing his shoulders back, making his chest more accessible to the Pyro's exploration.

"Goo on, then, it's awright." The Pyro took the Demoman's hat and lighter from him, and swiped a trail of alcohol over his teammate's chest. He touched it off, but the Demoman only had time for a surprised gasp before the flame was gone. Even through the mask, he could tell that the Pyro was panting. "Ye want more?"

In answer, the Pyro shoved him back onto the crate and splashed him with the alcohol. He touched it off again, and this time the Demoman really felt it. First degree burn, in his experienced opinion. He moaned, and the Pyro scrabbled at his belt. The Demoman bucked his hips to help his partner pull his pants down- and then he remembered what he was wearing underneath.

"No-" he gasped. He was wearing women's underwear. Blue women's underwear. The Pyro surely expected something out of him, something rough and masculine, and the Demoman was afraid of what would happen when he wasn't that thing. "No, stop!" But the Pyro only pressed against his thigh and yanked at his trousers again, breathing heavily behind the mask. The Demoman's pants slid down around his knees, and the Pyro paused.

When the groping stopped, the Demoman's guts froze. He closed his lone eye and bit his lip. He didn't know what to expect- a blow to the face, abandonment, mockery- but he wasn't expecting the gentle finger along the silky waistband of his underwear. He felt a flurry of motion by his face, and opened his eye just in time to have it covered by his eyepatch. The Pyro had blindfolded him, but why? He got his answer when he felt soft lips on his cheek, heard a clear whisper: "Oh, you dirty girl."

Unable to contain himself, the Demoman sobbed with relief and lust, kissing the Pyro's naked face. One cheek was peachy-soft, the other slick with scar tissue. The Pyro kissed him deeply while fondling his silk-covered ass.

"What do you want, dirty girl?" the Pyro rasped. "Do you want me to touch you... here?" Rubber-gloved fingers stretched the silk over his cock. "Do you want to get fucked like the BLU whore that you are?"

"Yes, anything you want," the Demoman managed, bucking into the Pyro's hand.

"Dangerous offer," the firestarter purred. He forced two fingers into the Demoman's mouth. The Scot sucked them, tasting liquor, ash and rubber. The Pyro moaned at how eagerly his teammate sucked. With his other hand, he yanked down the Demoman's panties and pushed open his muscular thighs.

There was a sudden wash of chill over the Demoman's body, then a thumping noise as the whisky caught fire. The Demoman registered the smell of burning hair before he felt the heat- his entire growth of admittedly sparse body hair had been burnt away. He imagined a corona of blue fire around his erection, holding the Pyro's fascinated gaze. Though the pain had all but passed, he screamed.

Without further foreplay, the Pyro jammed his slick fingers into the Demoman's ass. It hurt so badly that the Scot couldn't breathe, then became a wonderful type of pain as his teammate stroked his cock. The Pyro was gasping and swearing under his breath- apparently, the Demoman wasn't the only one having a good time.

"Spread your legs wider, girl," the Pyro ordered. The Demoman obeyed, and felt the rubber of the Pyro's suit between his thighs. The firestarter's hand left his cock momentarily, fingers sliding into the Demoman's mouth a second time. He sucked them gratefully, tasting the rubber again and the salt of his own sweat, before the Pyro moved to fondle him again.

The Demoman's body shook with the force of the Pyro's thrusts. From what he could tell, his teammate was still finger-fucking him, his hips slamming against the heel of his hand to jam the digits in. He hadn't even unzipped his chemsuit. That didn't seem to be interfering with his pleasure at all as he thrust deep into the Demoman's body. "Come for me, girl," he rasped.

The Demoman screamed and came, heels locked behind the Pyro's back. When he finally let his teammate slide his fingers out, the Pyro leaned down to lick the semen off the Demoman's stomach and freshly hairless groin.

"Dirty girl, you clean up real nice," the Pyro purred, kissing the Demoman with the taste of his own semen on his lips.

The Scot waited until he heard rubbery sounds and filtered breathing that suggested the Pyro's mask was back in place. "Can I see again, please?" he asked. Wordlessly, the Pyro switched his partner's eyepatch back, revealing the same enigmatic exterior he always showed.