This isn't finished because I can't quite figure out how to continue, but I figured I may as well post it anyway because I've more or less slaved over this thing. Enjoy!

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Spy enjoys his time alone. His cigarettes and Frank Sinatra LPs are enough to keep him company. In fact, the scratching of the needle against the record and the familiar smell of smoke are more than enough to convince him he’s not alone, and the rare occasions he gets his hands on some sort of cocktail are…

Well, he figures he might as well consider it a full-blown party.

Of course, the one night he managed to get his hands on something that wasn’t scrumpy, his record was unavailable. Heavy had asked to borrow it for the night. Though there were plenty of other suitable records hidden somewhere in the base, Frank Sinatra was Spy’s favorite, and he was absolutely unwilling to miss a chance to get hammered to the tune of “New York, New York”.

He tried, though, smoking and drinking in solitude for a good half hour before he decided he was very, very bored. So he sauntered over to Heavy’s bunk, a martini glass in his hand and a toothpick with the olive still on it between his teeth, and knocked on the door. Heavy’s muffled reply of “come in” came not soon after, and as Spy opened the door he was rather surprised that Heavy seemed to have the same idea of a party as he did.

Heavy was reclining in his chair, sipping at what looked like the same alcohol Spy used for his martini, and smoking a cigarette that probably belonged to Sniper. Spy smiled and raised his glass in appreciation before downing the rest of the drink, using his tongue to flip the olive side of the toothpick into his mouth.

“Cheers,” he said, flicking the toothpick into the trash once he was finished. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Sinatra.”

Heavy shrugged, blowing a crooked smoke ring into the middle of the room before smiling in an equally crooked way.

“I am classy man.”

“You’re drunk,” Spy replied, setting his empty glass on a table before wobbling over to the chair, where he sat on the armrest and noted briefly that he was perhaps a little drunk, as well.

Heavy didn’t reply, staring at the record player with a certain fascination as he tried to gather the foggy thoughts in his head.

“When I am sloshed, I think about many things,” he said finally as he gestured broadly with his glass and spilled some liquor onto the other arm of the chair, proud that he was using the new words that Scout taught him the other day. “I think about teeny French man sometimes.”

He paused, throwing a tipsy glance up at Spy, who was looking flattered.

“Even when fucking Medic I think about how you are so…” Heavy paused again, rubbing his forehead with his free hand, thoughts interrupted by a small hiccup. “…French.”

“Flattering indeed, mon frere,” Spy said, as he pulled a cigarette out and put it to his lips, leaning over and lighting it using Heavy’s. He took a drag and exhaled softly, leaning back and putting his arm around the top of the chair. Heavy finished his drink and tossed the glass behind him haphazardly; both men jumped slightly when it shattered against the wall. They looked at each other, mirroring the same silly grin, and exchanged a few awkward moments of chuckling.

It was then Heavy leaned over and pressed his lips against Spy’s. Spy was shocked at how gentle it was, at how much thought the Russian was putting into it. Even as he pulled away he could see Heavy’s brow furrowing slightly as he tried to work things out in his head, perhaps concocting another tactic to steal a kiss, perhaps something else. Spy brought a gloved hand to his lips and ran his finger around them, eyeing Heavy quizzically, waiting for further explanation.

None was offered, however. Heavy rose from his chair with a soft grunt, pacing to the other side of the room with his hands behind his back. As he lifted up the needle of the record player gingerly, Spy slid smoothly into the chair, removing his jacket and loosening his tie. He splayed himself across the piece of furniture, legs resting on one of the armrests at a slight angle, so he could still make use of the backrest. Heavy, needle still in hand, gave Spy perhaps the slyest look he had ever managed, and set the record to play “New York, New York”.

Spy smiled and shifted the cigarette to the other side of his mouth, bristling with a new appreciation for this man.
“Ah, so you know what I enjoy,” He said, loosening his tie just a bit more.
“Leetle man plays record very loud,” replied Heavy. “Whole team can hear.”

Spy frowned a little and put out his cigarette on the fabric of the chair, a small ‘tch’ escaping his lips. As Heavy began to make his way back to the chair, Spy took a moment to consider what sort of man he was dealing with. Sure, Heavy was loud, had disgusting eating habits, and was perhaps a bit slow, but those were tolerable faults. Spy had seen some clever moments in battle where Heavy proved he actually /did/ have a brain, and his knack for planning strategies was certainly nothing to be sniffed at, even though more often than not he couldn’t find the right words in English to explain his ideas. Again, this was something Spy could work with. Maybe he’d be able to call up the Russian he’d learned many years prior.

But as Heavy advanced toward him, and as Sinatra made his stance on the city of New York extremely clear, Spy realized exactly how enormous Heavy really was. There was, of course, the chance of being crushed entirely, or perhaps suffocated, or something equally as ridiculous, and he certainly couldn’t bear the thought of his parents receiving news of his death that included words like “giant Russian man” and “squished”.

Heavy placed a hand on the armrest, though it was actually Spy’s calves, and leaned over to place another soft kiss on his lips. And Spy, a sucker for romancing that involved records, liquor and cigarettes, decided that he just didn’t care what sort of guy Heavy was. He mumbled something in Russian, so lowly that Spy didn’t exactly hear him at first, only the way his voice got so much thicker when he was speaking his own language, so much more confident. Spy decided he liked this and wrapped his arms around Heavy, bumping his nose against the Russian’s lightly as he pulled him closer, another short kiss between the two of them.

Neither of them were shocked that they were being so cautious about this. They were both dangerous men in their own rights, and just as Heavy wasn’t sure if Spy would attempt to stab him any which way, Spy wasn’t sure if Heavy would just out and strangle him. Heavy removed his hand from Spy’s legs and put it against the headrest of the chair, leaning into the kiss a bit deeper, his tongue probing Spy’s lips softly, asking for entry. Spy allowed him in as he adjusted his position in his chair, sitting in what was almost a proper way, his heels resting on the floor between Heavy’s legs. Heavy, seeing this as an opportunity, leaned his knees against the cushion and grabbed the tail of Spy’s tie, pulling it out of its knot swiftly and letting it drop from his strong fingers before starting on the Frenchman’s shirt.

Spy, not one to be outdone, worked on removing Heavy’s vest. He was more cooperative than expected, removing his hands from the chair as Spy slid the fabric around his massive arms. Heavy broke away from the kiss for a moment and smiled, his fingers going to work at unbuttoning each of the buttons on Spy’s shirt. Spy waited patiently as Heavy began to fumble with it, recognizing what a sophisticated man he was dealing with. Spy refrained from making any nasty comments about Heavy’s dexterity, the feeling of his rough lips still fresh and pleasing in his mind and the alcohol affecting him a little more than it had been at the beginning of the encounter.

As Heavy came to the last button he hiccupped nervously, tracing a line along the middle of Spy’s chest. The contact made him shiver.

“You have gentle hands for such a hulking maniac,” Spy said, pulling his shirt away from his body and off of himself, feeling the room was becoming a bit too hot for his tastes.
“Thank you,” Heavy replied, as though he had missed the second part of Spy’s comment. He, however, responded in kind with a quiet “And you seem so frail”.