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No. 7769
Hey guys. It’s been awhile. Sorry for the lateness. Here’s part two. Thanks go to PAPAYADRANK for being my wonderful beta! This is the last of this fic btw.
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“D’don’ fool aroun’, mate.” Sniper choked. He turned his head to the left and gave a shoulder-shaking cough, spitting mouthfuls of blood onto that oh-so-clean white floor. He collapsed there, his struggles weakening every second. The tendons in his neck were popping, straining under Medic’s powerful hand.
Once Sniper had settled down, Medic released his hold on the Australian’s throat. The man’s breathing automatically quickened, heaved breaths loud in the sterile environment of the medical ward. He guzzled down precious oxygen frantically, gasping out mixed curses and thank yous.
Before Sniper could ask ‘wot th’fuck wassat about?’ Medic grabbed him by his narrow hips and flipped him over face-down. Sniper let out a hoarse shout of protest and tried to push himself up and off the desk. Medic promptly took him by the back of the head, fingers gripping at his coarse dark hair. Sniper’s skull smacked off the table with a sickening crack, and he choked on a sob. Tears diluted the blood that now stained the papers and folders on Medic’s desk.
“You are making a mess.” Medic stated, gazing down at the Australian and the desk with a look of distaste. “I vill not be zhe one cleaning zhis up, Herr Sniper.”
Sniper offered no reply, instead lying on the desk motionlessly. Medic’s hands came down to Sniper’s hips. He gripped the marksman’s trousers and yanked them down. Being not very fond of doing laundry or taking showers, Sniper had gotten into the habit of wearing no underwear. It’s what he had done while working his last job back in Australia, and he saw no reason to change his habits. Suddenly, though, he regretted it. Underwear could have been one more crucial layer to hinder the Medic’s progress.
Sniper began to speak again, unintelligible through his sobs and bloody nose. As he made the slurred noises, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Medic gripped him hard by a booted ankle and pulled Sniper’s leg back. The man went crashing down onto the desk once again now that his knee was no longer supporting him. He growled out a slew of muffled curses and he froze when he felt Medic’s hands on his bare hips, pulling up.
A light elastic slapping noise was heard as Medic tugged down his standard issue red boxer briefs. This noise shocked Sniper back into action. He began to thrash frantically, limbs flailing and hands scrabbling desperately for purchase on the edge of the table. Finally, his fingers found the edge of the desk, using it as leverage to try and push himself up. His shouts and curses are slurred and incomprehensible. They are also loud. They sound suspiciously like an attention-drawer in Medic’s opinion. Anyone who heard that screaming would get curious and come looking. Medic couldn’t have anyone barging in and interrupting this.
A crack to the side of the head with Medic’s fist silenced the Australian, and another smack of his face against the desk leaves him choking on his own blood as he tries to cry. His body jerks forward and he lets out a little yelp as Medic’s hand comes down hard on his ass, leaving an angry red mark. His hips are then gripped, bruisingly so, by the doctor’s strong hands. A scream tears forth as the German pulls him back hard by the hips, impaling the Sniper on his erection. Medic’s cock is thick and full and Sniper screams and writhes as if every little twitch of it inside him was tearing him apart.
He kicks his legs frantically, trying with all his might to do something, anything in retaliation. All that his struggles earned him was his torso and face shoved hard against the desk as Medic pumps his hips to push in deeply.
Sniper feels as if he’s about to be ripped in half. The howls of agony are riddled with curses and sobs and pleas for someone to help him. It is a wonder that none of their team members are hearing him. His voice breaks frequently, and hope seems lost as his protests turn hoarse as a result of his tortured vocal chords.
Medic knows that he cannot continue this for much longer. Sniper’s screams will ultimately attract someone’s attention. He does not want to have to face the wrath of his mutinous team. He does not want to face the heartbroken Heavy, who would not understand why doctor would do such thing, for doctor is good. Spy would’ve been absolutely murderous upon seeing his lover beaten and broken and violated in such a way. The rest of the team would act concerned, but really they’re be thankful that it hadn’t been them.
Yes, time for this little encounter was steadily running out of its metaphorical hourglass. The movement of Medic’s hips paused and everything was silent for a moment. Even Sniper’s cries died down with how overworked his throat was. The only noise that followed was a gurgling, dwindling whine.
The swift slice that Medic had delivered to the man’s throat caused him to give another body-twitch. Tendons and chords in his neck severed, and everything that he had spilled forth from him and flooded the desk. It overflowed onto the white tile floor.
Though his desk was a mess and he was dick-deep in a still-warm corpse, Medic let out a half-moan half-hiss. Until this point, his face had been blank. Like an emotionless statue, he remained stoic and indifferent. Slowly, as he began to thrust his hips again, his face ripped open in a grin. Ear-to-ear his widened and he continued to moan and gasp through that gritted grin.
His hips keep pumping and his noises steadily increase in volume. By time he lets himself go in Sniper’s rapidly-cooling body, he is clawing desperately at the dead Aussie’s hips and howling out his pleasure. When he pulls out, cum and blood leak down Sniper’s thighs, soaking into the material of his pants.
Medic wipes himself off on Sniper’s shirt, staining the red material lighter with pink cum-blood residue. Once he is clean, he tucks himself back into boxer-briefs and fixes his pants. Sniper’s body is the then picked up by respawn. It fades from existence, leaving only the blood around the desk, the bushman’s hat, and his shattered sunglasses as a reminder to the silence of the room of what had just happened.
Moments later, the door to the ward opened swiftly, slamming against the adjacent wall. Looking positively spooked and holding his kukri at his side in a tense hand, Sniper prowled into the room. His posture and movements were guarded, as if he expected the Medic to jump out from one of the shadowless corners of the room and rape and kill him again.
The lack of the German in the room only unnerves him more. He is unfazed by the blood pooled on and around the desk, and he only gives a small growl of disappointment when he finds his glasses shattered on the floor.
He freezes when he registers a scent lingering on the air. The room should smell like blood and sex and medicine, but it is overpowered by this other scent. One that means worse things than that his lover had just raped and killed him.
“Fuckin’ Spois... He mumbled, his nose crinkling at the cigarette smoke. He went to the corner of the room behind Medic’s trashed desk and bent to retrieve his hat from where it had fallen. He only had one of these at a time, after all, and it didn’t reappear if he wasn’t wearing it when he respawned. He straightened up and placed the hat back on his head. Taking a glance at the sorry pile of piss-yellow glass on the floor, he made a mental note to place an order for a new pair of sunglasses next time he had the chance. Couldn’t snipe very well with the merciless desert sun glaring him in the face all hours of the day.
First, though, he had a Spy to hunt down and slice open. He smirked, gripping his kukuri a bit tighter, knuckles going white. Fucking frog’s guts’ll look real pretty cut out of 'im and spread all over the place like party streamers.
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THIS IS THE END.
Huzzah. I actually finished something! Excellence! A rare occurrence indeed, fellow faggets. Finishing a story is always an achievement for me.
Any critique is always nice and well I hope you enjoyed this.
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