Alrightttt, after 89, there are only 4 more request spots open.

Thanks to everyone who's been enjoying these so far! Your support means a lot.

>>11
Heavy/Scout
10 of Diamonds—Sexy Clothes:
Here’s a game that is not only fun but will help you clean out your closets and use up that t-shirt collection that you can’t wear out. Make your own sexy clothes by taking old stuff and cutting out peek holes in all the good places. Crotchless old jeans and shirts with nipple holes are a good start. Color them with magic markers or draw directions on just where your lover should start and go. When you start love making you don’t even have to worry about spills and lotions. Just smear everything around and throw them out at the end of your session. Don’t put them in the Good Will or Salvation Army collection box.

Heavy just stared at the Scout lounging before him. He had never seen the boy so… well, for lack of a better word, cocky. They had kissed and wrestled and dry humped before, but had never really quite taken that last step into a full-fledged sexual relationship.

He supposed that this was Scout’s way of doing just that.

The young man was lounging on Heavy’s bed, all the extra pillows arranged around him so that he was reclining instead of lying flat. His shirt was off, but that wasn’t anything new. If Scout didn’t have to look presentable, he sure as hell wasn’t going to. Heavy had learned that early on.

The strange thing wasn’t that he was shirtless, lounging on a plethora of pillows and wiggling his eye brows suggestively. It wasn’t the nervous sweat on his lip, or the way his toes curled when Heavy’s eyes followed his long, lean body. It was the pants he was wearing. They were a pair of jeans that Heavy had seen many times before. There was a stain from where Scout had started making out with him before he could finish cleaning Sasha right there on the knee. However, the crotch was missing—messily cut out and it looked like a permanent marker had been taken to them, drawing arrows up from his mid-thigh toward his crotch.

Mouth goes here.

Heavy swallowed the lump forming in his throat and carefully swung Sasha up onto his work table. He would need to clean her before he went to sleep, but this anomaly needed investigating first.

As he approached the bed, Scout grinned cheekily and stroked himself a few times.

“Alright, big guy… I know I gotta spell everything out for you, so here it goes.” Scout took a deep breath and shifted so that he was on his knees, putting his weight back toward his hips so that he was able to balance. It also pushed his mostly-hard cock further into the air. “This is my cock. You are my hump-buddy, and we’re gonna be fuck-buddies now. Ya dig?”

Heavy considered Scout’s words, understanding most of what he had said despite his atrocious accent and the speed at which he spoke. “Hmmm…” a rumble settled in Heavy’s chest as he eyed Scout. The youth didn’t look like he was about to back down from this stance, though most others wouldn’t even attempt to order around four hundred pounds of raw power.

“C’moooooon, you see how hard this thing is?” Scout was whining now, his hand still gently stroking himself. “Okay, okay, if you don’t like that one, you’ll fucking love this.” He tottered from side to side until his back was facing Heavy. “Alright, okay, so…”

At first, it looked like nothing was wrong with the back, but as soon as Scout bend over, Heavy saw the rent in the back seam split open and more words written up the back of his legs. He tilted his head slightly to read the messily scribbled print.

Dick goes here was written along the back of one leg.

Finger goes here was along the other, arrows pointing toward the pert hole that was also displayed.

He let out a soft chuckle and quietly made his way closer when Scout started babbling again.

“Or like… anything. Finger, dick, bullet, Sasha, Natascha, your tongue… oh, man, especially your tongue…” His elbow started moving, and Heavy heard the soft sound of skin slapping skin as Scout began to jack himself off harder.

“Little Scout should not come before I have a chance to play.” Heavy rumbled disapprovingly, hooking his hand into the waistband of Scout’s ruined jeans and tugging him around so that he was laying on his back, his hand still jerking around his cock. The younger man’s hand slowed to a stop and his breathing visibly quickened at the implications.

“Fuck yeah, okay, that’s cool… I can like… you know, come multiple times. Just give me a short make out breather and I’ll be—“ Heavy cut him off with a kiss, his hand taking over for Scout’s and wrenching a moan from the youth.

“Scout needs to talk less.” He murmured against the searching lips before he began suckling his way down the bobbing throat, fluttering chest and heaving stomach. Scout’s breathing sounded like he had just run a marathon, and Heavy felt the damp tip of the young man’s cock with his thumb before dragging his hand down the denim fabric to hook Scout’s leg over his shoulder.

“Oh, God, man…” Heavy wasn’t even touching Scout’s cock with his lips yet, just ghosting his warm, moist breath across his leaking head. He gasped and cursed a few more times before Heavy gave up his playfulness and wrapped his lips around his little lover.

Scout came quickly from the blowjob and lay gasping on the bed, grinning up at Heavy like he was the happiest Scout in the world—and he probably was at that particular moment. Heavy got up from the bed and walked over to begin cleaning Sasha.

He figured that the Scout would fall asleep, and leave him to tend his gun in peace; he looked tired enough for it.

As soon as Heavy finished disassembling Sasha, he felt lazy arms drape over his shoulders. “Alright, let’s go.” Hips pushed against his back and withdrew before pressing forward again. “C’monnnn…”

“Scout, I am working—“ lips pressed against his neck and snuck up to part for an inquisitive tongue right beneath his ear.

“What’d I tell ya?” He asked, reaching around to take one of Heavy’s thick wrists in his hand and bringing it around to press against his rear. “Fingers and dicks go here. A’ight?”

Heavy sighed and put his cleaning rag down. When he turned to look at Scout, it was with a strange fondness that he usually reserved for his guns. He picked up the smaller man and set him on his lap, his hand squeezing between the tight cheeks and pulling a gasp from Scout.

“Right.”

Oh man, I loved this last one. Your characterization of both of them is great, but especially Heavy. Scout has come? Okay, Sasha is now clearly higher priority. Awesome.

Checking this thread has become a daily ritual for me and it always pays off.

As for request, how about Demoman/Engineer?

Spy/Pauling.

Because it's a pretty backed-up ship.

Spy/Soldier please?

I second Spy/Soldier. But, if possible, I'd much prefer it with Soldier topping, please.

Alright, that's it for requests, then.

Heavy/Scout is the best! My day has been made, man.

Thirding Spy Soldier.

I like the idea of spy/soldier, but you could you do soldier/scout also? I never see that pairing.

Forget that last post I didn't see the one about no more requesting, Sorry.

I love this thread
and i know no more requests but... i looooove engie in these

>>12
Engineer /Pyro
Lover—Joker/Wild Card:
Whatever the fuck Scrunchy feels like writing.

Which happens to be a continuation of sorts from the previous Engineer/Pyro fic.
:::::

It was always so hot. Just touching the Pyro always set the Texan’s skin ablaze. Engineer still wasn’t sure of Pyro’s gender, but that only threw him off a little bit.

All he knew was that he couldn’t stop coming back for more of that mouth. The quick and quirky tongue, always warm and, sometimes a little parched, but that didn't take away from them enjoying each other. Pyro's hands, too, were a reason that the Texan couldn't stay away. The smooth and ridged palms that rubbed down his back with searing heat and the clever digits that explored and teased and made him go weak with desperation.

Pyro never removed its suit past its hips, and its chest was just a scarred mass. Breasts might have once adorned the smooth skin, but now it was just a smooth expanse of tissue. Pyro’s arms and back were muscled from supporting its flamethrower, but its stomach was soft. Engineer often spent nights laying with Pyro, soaking up the heat and pillowing his head on its soft stomach. Scorching fingers traced patterns across his scalp, and trailed across the light fuzz on his head.

He shivered every time the fingers trailed along his jaw and neck. The ghosts of searing touches trailed along his dick, thighs, chest and stomach at the sensation. At times like this, he was left silently contemplating whether he was happier staying where he was, near dozing and pillowed on Pyro’s stomach, or if he wanted to shift up and steal a kiss from the lopsided mouth. Did he want to trail his tongue along the ridge of scarring that curled up from the twisted lips, around Pyro’s left eye, following the ridge of the bone around and across its forehead to hide in its hair? Did he want to trace his fingers across the newer injuries lacing Pyro’s older torso burns? He didn’t know where any of them came from—deeming it a touchy subject—but he knew enough to know which ones were less than two years old. These, he traced with a ginger reverence, wondering what had happened on Pyro’s vacation, or perhaps it had just never gone to Medic about them.

“You enjoy touching me.” Pyro commented, watching Engineer’s hand entwine their fingers against the mattress. Two of them were melted together, so their hands didn’t fit together perfectly, but Engineer thought that it felt just right all the same.

“Yessir.” Engineer replied, always referring to Pyro as a man even though its gender was really a curiosity to him. Pyro never seemed to mind—if being identified as a certain gender was something that the other cared about, Engineer was fairly certain that he would know by now.

“Why is that?”

Engineer shifted so that he was laying on his side, his ear pressed against Pyro’s stomach and listening to the inner workings of its digestive tract for the briefest of moments before sliding up to rest his ear against Pyro’s chest. He could hear the other’s heartbeat, a tattoo with a soft undertone of asthmatic lungs crackling.

“ ‘Cause I know that no one else has gotten to.” He raised his eyes to meet Pyro’s. “Not in a long, long time, anyway.” A smile formed on his lips and he kissed the scarred tissue where a peck or breast might have once rested.

“What does that have to—“

Engineer’s hands reached up to twine in the short, practical hair, and he saw Pyro flinch at the still-strange contact.

“You still flinch… I want that flinch to turn into a lean…” He stroked his thumbs along the asymmetrical cheeks, his eyes still locked on the flicking brown eyes. Whether they were looking for an escape, or taking in the details of his face, he could only guess, but when his lips met Pyro’s, its eyes closed and a soft sigh was exchanged between them.

“Then let us work on it more often…” Pyro rarely chuckled, but when it did, the noise rattled in its throat.

“Gladly, darlin’. Gladly.”

:::::

Oh, yeah, and then they fucked. I wanted some fluff, sue me for not including porn.

65 here, thought I'd drop in to say that I really enjoyed the new, fluffy piece of Engineer and Pyro. I'm pleased as punch that you decided to add onto it. A minor criticism for you using 'smooth' twice in the same sentence. It made for clunky reading. Felt like a record that had slipped a little. Also, describing these two different aspects with the same adjective can be interpreted as encouragement to associate the two, which I don't think is your intention.

>>104

Reading through to find that showed me another one of those sentences, derp. You're right, I wasn't intending association at all, and I see what you mean. Thank you for pointing that out-- I often have that issue.

Glad that you liked the new piece!

theyre cute... love your interpretation of pyro. However I got a bit lost when Eng was describing his face - the bit around the "lopsided mouth".
Thanks for updating, Scrunchy!

>>106
Sorry about that, it's just that half of his mouth is burned, which partially paralyzed some of the muscles, so his mouth isn't symmetrical at all, which causes it to look a little lopsided.


Not too happy with this one...

>>13
Pyro /Medic
7 of Hearts—Your Invitation to Imagination:
The best game of all is just the ability to use your imagination to think up hundreds of your own games. These games can be anything from shaving each other to covering your beloved with fresh fruit or gourmet chocolate and M&Ms and then eating it off. You can dress in each other’s clothes and reverse your usual sex roles or go to a bar separately and pick each other up. Great sex is yours for the taking if you’re not lazy.
:::::
As a bartender, I see a lot of things.

“Mmph, mmphrphm.”

Like a man in a gas mask and… suit of some sort…

“What is that, some sort of pickup line?”

… and a well-dressed German man.

“Nrr…”

They arrive separately, but leave together. Every Saturday for the past two months, one comes in and sits down. Not too soon after, the other enters. The one in the suit never orders a drink, but the German has a taste for Scotch. He pays cash every time, and doesn’t bother running up a tab.

“I’m not interested…”

The most I’ve seen him drink is just one. Somewhere between halfway through his tumbler and draining the last drop, the one in the suit will usually approach him. Sometimes it’s the other way around, though. He’ll have given the suited person a few glances, or have turned away from the bar and just out right stared at the other. As if he were scoping them out before taking the courage to go over and proceed.

“Srrrr, whrrs yr nrrrm?”

If the one being hit on gets annoyed, he will usually go to the back room and hide in the smoky pool tables to get some privacy. The other is always quick to follow, and I lose sight of them after that.

“Go away.”

The one in the mask says something that I can’t really understand. It’s just a series of muffles.

“I said go away.”

It looks like the German is going to stomp away early tonight. I glance at my coworkers and give them a thumbs up. I’m going to follow them and see what happens in the back.

“Nrr.”

The German drains the last of his scotch and stands abruptly. His shoulder hits the person in the suit, and they stumble into the bar. I’m not sure if they’re chuckling or muttering something under their breath.

They stay, watching the man walk away, and I wonder if there’s a deliberate sway in the German’s walk, or if I’m just seeing things. It’s probably deliberate. It doesn’t take long before the masked suitor follows. I slip away, quietly following them. My coworkers will cover my shift until I’m back.

They know that my curiosity must be sated. I have to know what happens back there to cause them to walk out, arm in arm. There’s nothing back here except for pool tables and a juke box. I look around for them and see the door leading to the bathrooms swing shut.

I should go back, but my feet carry me forward and I carefully open the door so that it doesn’t creak. I can already hear shuffling, and the German lets out a short, barking laugh before I head a long, loud zipper. Edging in the remainder of the way, I look in the mirror and see them.

The one in the suit is pressed up against one of the stall doors, a wicked bite mark already red on his shoulder. I can tell that it’s a man now from his build, and the German’s hand reaching inside the suit to stroke him. The mask is still on, and I wonder if it’s hard for him to breathe as the German grinds against his exposed ass. The zipper I had head extends down his suit from the base of his neck, where the mask ends, and down to his lower back.

The German is working the suit down his shoulders and when he shifts, I see burn marks lancing across the masked man’s back.

The suit slips down below the masked man’s buttocks, and the German chuckles in approval, still grinding, even as he reaches for his belt. I can hear the masked man wheezing against the inside of his mask, but his hips shove back against the other man’s crotch. A muffled whimper can be heard through the filter.

He’s speaking German now. I don’t understand any of it, but the way he says it is clear enough that I feel a jerk in my own stomach as his belt comes down in a harsh slap against the masked man’s ass. He masked man doesn’t act like it hurt at all, even though the very sound of it made me flinch. The German keeps smacking him, acting as if it’s a pastime while he undoes his pants and inches closer once again. He kneels to kiss the red streaks going horizontally along the masked man’s ass before his fingers begin to touch places that really weren’t meant to be touched.

I slip back and press my back to the door. They’re really just going to do it right here? I know that we’ve had people fuck in the bathrooms in the past, but… never two men at the same time. I take a deep breath and let it out softly before holding it all together when I hear the masked man say something.

“Oh, ja?” The German snickered a little to himself and I finally let out my breath. Then I heard a soft noise of pain muffled by a mask. Gasping groans and the slick slap of skin against the stall door followed shortly after. It’s the one that’s loose a little, so it makes a creak as the pressure of their bodies lets off of it, and then a bang when the German slams the masked man against it once again. I stand there, legs shaking and ears listening. My eyes are closed and sweat gathers above my top lip.

It takes forever for them to finish, or, for the German to. I’m not sure if the masked man did or not, but all goes quiet save for our harsh breathing. I suck in a breath and quickly leave, not caring about the creaking door as I find my way through the pool tables and back to the bar. I wanted to glance in the mirror again, but I’m not brave enough.

My coworkers ask me how it went, but I don’t reply. I just start mixing drinks and keep my eyes down.

I’m not sure if I should have liked what I saw.

Didnt even read the post yet, just pissed off at the card. Isn't the same fucking thing as a wild card? What lazy bastards.
Anyway, gonna read it, sure you made the most of it haha

Captcha: presante though
Lol

108 here.
Were they screwing outside a stall? That's a stupid question i know, just struck me as odd.

Also, in my head, the bartender was scout ... voyeur scout is the best

>>108
I know, right? I was like: … So… basically you had 51 and you were like: hm… OH, HEY, THEY CAN DO OUR JOBS FOR US!

>>109
Yes, they were. There was probably someone in it, or Medic was like: this will be less germy, lock it first. Take your pick.

He/she sounded like Scout a lot in my mind, so it might be a Scout working a seedy bartender job before he gets picked up by TF Industries. Yupyup.

:::::


>>14
Spy/Scout
5 of Spades—Vibrators:
Vibrators are the ultimate sex game tool and they have become absolutely mainstream. The truly fun use of vibrators comes with using them on imaginative parts of your lover’s body. Anyone can stick a vibrator between someone’s legs and pop an orgasm but think how much more exciting it is to start on the soles of their feet and to take 20 minutes just to reach their thighs. Putting the vibrator near but not quite on the erogenous zone can drive a person wild. Try connecting the vibrations to the zone using your tongue or fingers as the conductor. The vibration won’t be as strong but the effect is electrifying. Try it. Be imaginative.

:::::

So, Spy gave me this vibrator, right?

It’s fucking amazing.

I mean, I really was sad I wouldn’t be getting any nookie when he left for his vacation. Shit, man, if this is the kind of thing that he gives me to stop whining, then he should leave the base more often.

While he’s away, I sleep in his room. It’s not because I like the smell of his sheets, or wearing one of his shirts while I masturbate, or because his pillows are more expensive and comfortable than mine—that’s faggy stuff. I do it because I know he’d disapprove of me messing up his bed and not making it the next morning before battle. I know that he hates it when I leave my toothbrush in his private bathroom, and that I never clean my sneakers before I come in.

There’s plates resting on every flat surface, and an empty box of tissues in the corner. Used ones are all over the damn place, a testimony to my awesomeness at using this beautiful little contraption.

I still have a few days to clean it up before he gets back.

:::::

I’m laying face down on Spy’s bed, groaning into his pillow as my fingers probe and stretch my ass. I’m still not as good as Spy is, and it twinges when I tense to get a better angle. My fingers are slick with Vaseline, and I pull them out to reapply once I realize that I hadn’t used enough the first time. My breathing comes in heavy pants, a soft whine slipping out when the tip of one of my fingers nears my prostate, but falls just short.

“Augh… shit…” I pull my fingers out and quickly dip my fingers in the Vaseline once again. Spy’s present is already on when I coat it in the stuff, and I watch the gloop slide down from the shuddering, rounded tip like it’s the best thing in the world.

Because it totally fucking is.

I gently push the rounded end into myself, groaning and gripping the sheets at the sensation. The pressure is nothing new, but the way that it shakes my insides is like crack to me. I pull myself up so that I’m kneeling on the bed and my breath catches in my throat just as the base meets the bed. I had intended to sit on it, shove it deep inside and just twitch around while jerking my dick until I couldn’t take it anymore.

That was before I saw Spy with his duffel bag in his hand, staring at me like he wanted to murder me and fuck me at the same time. You can’t tell it on his face, of course, but his eyes don’t lie. They’ve got that look like I’m in trouble, because his room is such a fucking mess, and I’m wrinkling one of his fucking shirts. At the same time, though, they have that predatory glint he gets when he’s really horny and expects resistance on my part.

The only time I ever resist is when I want something, though.

“Continue…” he tells me as he sets his bag down and closes the door. The lock snaps into place with a firm click, and he starts removing his jacket like nothing’s wrong.

I don’t start moving again until he sits in the chair at his desk, smoking a cigarette and watching me with hungry eyes. I guess I’ll get chewed out for the room later, because right now those tight slacks of his look like they’re about to bust a zipper.

“Was I not clear enough, Scout?” His eyes narrow, and I take it as a sign that I better get back on it, or he’ll come over and do it for me—roughly.

I slide down on the vibrator, gasping as the sensation gets closer to my stomach. I pause when the stretch starts to feel uncomfortable, and I carefully grasp the end against the bed before sliding off and slamming myself back on.

“Fuck…” I hiss, leaning forward and stroking myself as the pleasure jolts through my system.

“Again…” he orders, and I push myself up to repeat the motion. I keep doing it until the vibrator finds what I’m looking for.

Everything kind of goes fuzzy, and I’m only vaguely aware that I’m falling onto my side. The overstimulation feels like it’s going to fucking kill me, but I don’t want it to ever stop. My hand is still flying over my dick, milking it for all it’s worth, and my tongue darts out to wet my parched lips.

“Aw… yeah…” I sigh softly, my eyes clenched and jaw slack.

I don’t notice that he’s stood until the vibrator is pulled out of my ass. I roll onto my back, whining softly at the removal of my present, but when I see him cleaning it with that look—the one he gets when he’s trying to figure out what to do to me—I shut the fuck up and just lay there.

As I wait for his verdict, I calm down. My eyes begin drooping and the tingles that were rocketing through my system just kind of lag into nothingness.

When he starts touching me, I sit up a bit, eager to see what’s in store, but he just shoves me back down again and tells me to close my eyes. I sigh and do as I’m told, knowing that whatever he’s going to do, it’ll be awesome.

The vibrator tickles my foot when he first holds it against it. I smile a little, trying not to jerk my foot away, or kick him in the face. Fuck, he might kill me for something like that. It takes him forever to go over my whole sole, and then he starts moving up to the top. Once he’s done being a dumb faggot there, he goes around my ankle, then follows the chiseled lines of my leg up my calf to the back of my knee. Around to the front, and then he starts moving back down again, painfully slow.

It’d be almost relaxing if I wasn’t so fucking confused.

Forever and a decade fucking later, he makes it to my hip. My cock starts to wake up again, knowing that the vibrator is the best thing that’s ever happened to us. When Spy traces a loopity-loop around my package and starts down the other fucking leg, I lose it and wrap my legs around his torso.

“Scout! I am—“

“Going too fucking slow, man.” I wrestle him so that he’s under me and reach for the vibrator, but he’s not giving it up. It’s still slick from the Vaseline, so I can’t get a good grip. “Fine, I don’t need that thing to get off. I’ve got you back now.” I grin at him and rip his shirt open so that I can lay nips and kisses down it on my way to his cock. It’s so fucking hard I can feel the heat against my leg through his pants.

“Christ… Do you want to hurt these nice slacks, man?” I ask, biting a mouthful of flabby old-man-Spy stomach as my fingers unbutton and unzip him before he can seriously bust anything. When I take him in my hand, he’s hot as hell. There’s a hint of relief in his sigh, but I know there’s annoyance there too.

I messed up his game, but mine’s better—it takes less time and patience too.

As soon as I’m sure that he’s not going to roll us over, or something else to regain control, I slip down to kneel between his legs and shove his pants and underwear down those long, skinny-ass legs until they’re hanging off his ankles. He’s already leaking, and I probe the tip with my tongue. He lets out a pretty fucking happy sound, and it makes me want to just go to town on his cock.

So I fucking do.

He’s so fucking hot in my mouth that I’m afraid he’ll blow before I can get any enjoyment out of this. I tease him with my tongue, trying to make him make as much noise as possible before beginning to bob my head, taking a little more in each time. Once he touches the back of my throat, I groan against the tip, knowing it’ll drive him crazy. His heels hook behind my thighs, and tug me closer as I start bobbing again.

The next time he touches the back of my throat, I just fucking chuckle. I know that the noises he’s making he won’t make for anyone else. They’re too needy, too embarrassing. The thought causes one of my hands to travel down to my stiffening cock.

He can trust me, though. I won’t tell anyone he forgets how to speak English when he gets close, or that he makes sounds any girl would be ashamed of because they’re just so fucking pansy. It doesn’t take long before I’m splattering on the floor, a groan vibrating around his cock in my mouth. That’s really the last straw that sets him off.

When he comes, I swallow.

He glares at me like he always does, and I lick my lips in silent defiance before I’m on top of him and snuggling into his arms.

After a few minutes, he gives me a reluctant sigh and wraps his arms around me firmly. “I missed you, ma puce…”

“Yeah, yeah, figures you would, you wimp…”

“You will be cleaning my room before I allow you to fall asleep tonight. You know this, oui?”

“Mhmm…” I yawn and snuggle closer before drifting off to sleep.

My otp with my favorite tool of the trade.

I am a woman with simple pleasures, and you have exceeded all of them.

(seriously, this whole thread is hitting kinks i forgot i wanted hit. like, all of them.)

>>110
Hnnngghh! My dick!

Fifthing spy/soldier.

I love you
I love scout
I love the part, "Once he's done being a dumb faggot"

I love how youtry to play along with that card and kind of give up partway through

Came buckets

>>111
It's hitting kinks I never knew I had either. Christ, I don't know how to feel about myself anymore.

>>114
It took me ten minutes to scan through and find that sentence because I totally did not remember putting it in there. I'm glad I did, though. I need to practice my Scout more often for the fanfic I have coming up in Sept.
Lol, yeah, I saw the prompt and I looked a the pairing. I was like: ... yeah, Scout's going to take 20 minutes to get up Spy's leg to his dick... or he's totally going to let Spy take 20 minutes to get to his dick.
Noway.

:::::

Game mechanics, what are those?

>>15
Soldier/Demo / Spy/Soldier—this one’s kind of a two-fer.
10 of Clubs—Quickies:
Quickies are usually thought of as inept sex but if you create the right mood and fantasy they can be fun. Besides, lots of the games in this book were geared towards women and here is at least one that the guys will like. Pretend a large closet in your house is an elevator. Go into it with a kitchen timer set for 5 minutes. See if you can get undressed enough to have sex and put yourself back into more or less presentable form before the “door” opens with the timer ring. If you get good enough maybe you can try it in a real elevator.

:::::

It was one of those ideas that came to them in between the “just one more” shot of tequila and “holy crap, when did we get shit-faced?” bottle of whiskey. Doe and DeGroot thought it was one of the most inspirational things that they could have come up with in their current state.

In their wild night of drinking, they never thought that timing themselves to see how quickly they could jerk off would lead to this.

Their eyes were locked in a heated staring match, thinking of the raunchiest things they could as a kind of head start for what they were about to embark on. Doe glanced down at DeGroot’s impressive bulge and wondered if the other man was farther along than he was.

“You’re cheating, DeGroot.”

“Ach, ‘n’ you aren’t, Doe-boy?” Degroot reached over to give Doe a playful grab, but he grabbed DeGroot’s wrist and gave him a glare. They traded a rancid, alcohol infused breath as their foreheads smacked together with the force of their masculinity, testosterone pulling them closer as they struggled to intimidate one another.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped into the empty space as one.

As soon as the door closed, their time began. DeGroot shoved Doe against the wall, already unzipping his pants and pulling at the American’s belt. Doe fought back, of course, but his hands were clumsy while the Scot’s only seemed to become more dexterous with drink. It wasn’t long until DeGroot was shoving the back of Doe’s pants down and pushing at the tight ring of muscle attempting to keep him out.

“Goddammit, Tavish, I thought I was going to—“

“We both know I’m quicker with my hands, Jane.” That made the American loosen up a little, but not much. Tavish didn’t seem to really mind, and he thrust his hips up, forcing his way in and wrenching a manly grunt of pain from Doe. “Relax, boyo, ‘m not gonnae take long…” his hand reached around Doe to paw at his pants, attempting to find his zipper while he continued to thrust up into the other man.

The siding of the elevator, a dim gold metal plate, began to fog beneath Jane’s pained gasps. Within his pants, his erection was wilting, even as Tavish pulled him out of the confines.

Somewhere between his insides being pummeled by DeGroot’s cock, and the coarse hand stroking him, he felt a shock of pleasure. He bucked back against it, grunting and pushing off of the elevator’s side with a renewed vigor as the spark jolted within him again.

He was too late to catch up to Tavish. The Scot was already increasing his tempo, striving for the rush of release. Just as Doe was starting to get his flag up again, he felt a warmth spill into him, and DeGroot’s harsh breath against his neck.

“Dammit, DeGroot…” He snarled when he heard a loud snore and shoved back against the heavy black man. Tavish fell back like a sack of potatoes, and Doe glanced up at the numbers in the elevator.

He still had time…

His hand strayed back to his cock and his eyes drifted shut. He could do this.

A gloved hand slipped beneath his, and when he glanced down, he saw a blue silhouette in the shape of a hand encircling his cock. He growled at it, and clutched at the invisible sleeve, trying to drag the Spy’s hand away.

“Do you want my help or not? We do not have long…” At the surprising sincerity in the whispered words, Doe’s hand stopped scrambling at the Frenchman’s sleeve. He still gripped it, his knuckles white as the BLU Spy’s skillful hand brought him off quickly and efficiently.

“Dear Statue of Liberty, Spy… how the fuck did you learn to do that?” Soldier growled, quickly tucking himself away once the Frenchman let go. Even he couldn't bring himself off as quickly as Spy just had. He pulled the back of his pants up and recinched his belt just as they reached the bottom floor. When the doors opened, no one was there, and the two men stepped out, looking as if nothing had happened.

“Should we really be leaving Monsieur DeGroot there?”

“Eh… he’s woken up in worse situations.” Jane replied, watching from a safe distance with Spy as the doors closed and the elevator began to ascend again.

>>115
im the one who requested demo/soldier and spy/soldier
and oh man i didn't think you would use both requests but aaaaah
this is so good thank you bless your soul scrunchy

Silly demo

HHHNGH.

>>116
I'm glad that you liked it! I was intending to use just Soldier/Demo at first, but then I got the "Quickie" card, and I was like: ... well, this is going to be short as shit...
So I tossed Spy in to get a little longer.

:::::

Did I do dubcon right?

>>16
Spy/Sniper
Ace of Diamonds—Spanking:
Light spanking turns on many people a little warming of the behind with a hand or hairbrush or leather paddle can be an exciting kind of foreplay. Have the guts to ask your partner if this is one of their fantasies and if it is you’ll find it easy to incorporate into your play. You can also combine it with other games such as ice or tie up or oil. Oiling a spanked behind is lots of fun for both players. (Pft. Light spanking…)

:::::

Sniper had been feeling playful, giddy even, to be dominating a goddamned Spy. When the sly bugger came at him again, he didn’t even bother killing him, just grabbed his sleeve and hauled him over so that he was across his lap. The Spy struck at him with his knife, but Sniper didn’t really pay it any mind—it was a simple matter to pull it from the other man’s hand.

Once he was disarmed, Spy was scrambling to get up, but he froze when Sniper’s blade fell across his rump. He turned his head, eyes narrowed in a manner reminiscent of a soaking wet cat.

Sniper listened to the spook babble French at him, but he didn’t know a lick of it. He brought the flat of his blade down again and watched as the suited enigma’s rant cut off with a breathy yelp. He began to struggle more forcefully and Sniper just swatted him harder. Again and again, Sniper’s blade fell. He snickered while the Frenchman just squirmed and gave out sharp yelps with each fall of the blade. His feet were pressed against the battlements’ wall, causing his ass to stick up a bit, and make Sniper’s strokes more brutal.

He didn’t stop spanking until the Frenchman went limp across his lap.

When he finally sheathed his Kukri, Spy didn’t even twitch. He was humiliated; Sniper could tell by the red peeking through the holes in his mask.

“Well, Spook, think you’ve learned your lesson?” He asked, slapping a rough hand down on Spy’s tender ass.

“Oui,” the Spy finally turned his head to look at Sniper again, but this time it was with a predatory glint in his eye. He pushed his hips forward against Sniper’s leg as he shifted to roll over, and the Aussie realized that he’d miscalculated.

Spy had been pressing his feet against the wall so that the Australian wouldn’t notice his growing erection, rather than trying to get away.

Hidden by the small outcropping of wood that provided shelter between the battlements and the area just beyond their secondary respawn door, Sniper and Spy had their first fuck.

Sniper didn’t know what he was doing, but Spy had more than enough experience for the both of them. Pounding into his tender ass had been like a dream. He was tighter than a woman, but still moaned like one, regardless of whether Sniper hit his prostate or not. When he finally did, it seemed like the only time that Spy had been silent throughout the whole act.

The sounds of war came back to them once Sniper finally came, pulling out and giving himself a single, firm stroke. His come jetted along the Spy’s red ass, and he grinned, reaching forward to smack it one last time before allowing the other to pull up his pants.

It was a victory root. That was what he’d told himself as he watched the Spy slinking off with cum all over and in his pants. He wasn’t sure if, at the time, he’d known better.

He did now, though.

Spy came back, as he always did, but this time it was to Sniper’s trailer. He told the Aussie he’d come for payback. They wrestled, and Sniper learned that the Spy had a wiry strength and the determination to latch and hold of a spider-monkey.

Once Spy had gotten him fairly subdued on the floor of his small camper, he heard the click of a belt buckle and wondered if he’d fucked the man too hard. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize like a gentleman, or tell him that he deserved it like an enemy.

When he felt a suited ass settle upon his lower back, he wondered what the bloody hell was going on. Then, the strap of leather fell, and he hissed out a curse.

It ended in much the same way as it had in the battlements, however, their roles were very reversed. Sniper continued to fight the Frenchman. However, his erection pressing uncomfortably into the cheap carpet beneath him told him to shut the fuck up and roll over so that he could jerk himself into next Tuesday.

He didn’t want to like this. He didn’t want to be as demented as the man unzipping his pants and smearing something cold across Sniper’s ass that only made the sting more pronounced. When the Spy’s finger entered, Sniper struggled, and it hurt even more.

Eventually, he ran out of the strength to struggle, and was left panting on the floor, feeling fingers twist and flex deep inside him. It didn’t hurt as much anymore, and he wished he had stopped struggling sooner.

It didn’t hurt, per se, when Spy added a third finger. The stretch was more of a welcome ache now that Sniper was used to it. He felt the fingers twist, and curl, and then stars blossomed before his vision.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t ask what the Spy had just done to him, but he had a feeling that it was the same thing that had caused Spy to moan like a whore up in the battlements. All he could manage was a choked out, “again.”

Spy chuckled through the buzzing in his ears, and replaced his fingers with his cock.

Sniper woke up alone the next morning, the smell of cologne still lingering on the pillow next to him. His throat was raw, and his ass felt like a dingo had just bit it, but he didn’t care.

Spy would be waiting for him in the battlements today.

Well, suspicions that I had a secret spanking kink: confirmed. God damn it.

I can't wait for the next one. These are so fun, and it's entertaining to see new and interesting sexy things explored that I never see around. Spanking is one I definitely don't see often (let alone with my favorite pairing).

I hope the next one is a really uncommon or off the wall pairing, I love those.

>>119
Nnnggghh, bottom Sniper and spanking? You're just here to spoil me, hot damn.

Oh fuck, oh fuck Sniper and Spy are my favourites and spanking is my kink. I'm always hoping for tf2 spankfix and I'm usually disappointed, but not today. Today I am very, very happy.

>>120
I'm glad that you're enjoying them! I agree, spanking isn't used quite enough... I never knew that I enjoyed it before I wrote that fic, haha!
Unfortunately, no... it's just Heavy and Scout :(
19, 22 and 29 are the next "uncommon" ones. up.

>>121
I'm glad that I seem to have succeeded in my spoiling!

:::::

You want some fluff? Here's some fucking fluff!

>>17
Scout/Heavy
King of Clubs—Hot and Cold Lips:
Oral sex is always a fun game and you can vary the sensation by making your mouth hot and cold. Try it with some cold yogurt in your mouth and then some hot tea. Alernate some shaved icecubes and hot pasta and see how your partner goes a little bit crazy even as you mess up the sheets and rugs something fierce. Different foods give different sensations and blindfolding makes it even more interesting as does tie ups.

:::::

“Dude, seriously, how can you be eating ice cream? It’s like… in the negatives out there!” Scout was curled up with a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate on the mattress set aside for Sasha in Heavy’s room.

“Ice cream is delicious! I do not mind the cold.” Heavy told him, already in his boxers and on his own bed, the cold bowl perched on his bare knee.

“Freak…” Scout mumbled, wishing the Russian would come over and share the blanket with him. The larger man gave off a lot of heat, but he didn’t want to be anywhere near a bowl of fucking ice cream when it was as frigid as his high school sweetheart out there.

The silence was punctuated by Heavy humming as he licked ice cream from his spoon. A few bites later and Scout was huddling over toward the weapons expert’s bed and depositing himself in his lap.

A chuckle rumbled against Scout’s back, and cold lips pressed to his cheek before moving down to his neck.

“Little Scout is still cold?” He asked, his spoon clutched, bevel away, between his fingers so that he could wrap his arm around Scout in a half-hug.

“F-f-f-fuck! Yeah, and your goddamned lips aren’t making it any better, goddamn!” Scout’s arms flailed and his free hand pushed away at Heavy’s face desperately.

“Oops…” Heavy’s apology was as insincere as they come, and Scout grumbled and cursed as he settled back down to nurse his hot chocolate.

Heavy shifted behind him, putting his ice cream to the side and wrapping his arms firmly around Scout. The little runner leaned back into Heavy, smiling a little at the way the bear of a man clutched him so gently.

It wasn’t until Heavy was lifting the hot chocolate from his hands that Scout opened his eyes again and was snapped out of the brief peace he had found.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’re you—?” Heavy’s other hand clamped on his mouth while he dissected the mug from Scout’s grasping paws.

“Shut up and I will show you.” Heavy demanded, his voice patient despite his words. Scout stopped squirming when he felt Heavy’s limp cock press against his ass through his pants. He’d previously thought that it was way too cold to fuck.

It still was.

He heard the sound of Heavy sipping, and was about to tell him to get his own damned hot chocolate when hot, wet lips pressed against the back of his neck and robbed him of speech.

He must have let out a moan, because he felt the dick pressed against his ass shift and harden as Heavy’s mouth opened and his tongue lapped at the little hairs at the back of Scout’s neck. Before he knew it, he was laying beneath Heavy on the bed, the massive Russian on top of him and sipping once again from the hot drink. Scout yelped when Heavy’s lips trailed warmth from his lips, down his cheek and jaw all the way around to the hollow of his throat.

“Fuck…” Scout moaned, feeling a massive hand slip up his stomach and strip away his shirt. Heavy’s lips were gone for only an instant before they took up their trail down his chest. He shivered as the cool air touched the dampness that Heavy’s lips left behind, but the Russian soon chased that away with a large, warm hand pawing at the front of his pants.

“Scout said that it was too cold for fucking…” his lips had run out of the heat from the hot chocolate, but Scout still felt a rush of warmth from Heavy’s mouth sucking along his happy trail.

“Ah…” Scout’s eyes were clenched shut; he was trying to think straight. Why was it too cold for fucking?

Since when was it too anything for fucking?

Heavy was slipping his pants down, and Scout heard him take a sip of hot chocolate again.

When Heavy’s lips slipped around him, Scout’s mind went blank. The heat from the chocolate—coupled with Heavy’s suckling attempts to keep all of the liquid in his mouth whilst he bobbed his head along Scout’s dick—caused his hips to buck up, and he let out a soft groan of satisfaction. Warmth was flooding him from the base of his spine, and it tingled through him from the tips of his fingers, to his curling toes.

He didn’t open his eyes when Heavy’s hand took over for his mouth—he just assumed that the other was getting more hot chocolate.

When Heavy’s mouth returned to his cock, however, a jolt of cold sensation rocketed through him and he quickly tried to pull away, cursing and spitting like a drenched cat. Heavy laughed, his hands pulling Scout back under him and he nuzzled the young man’s stomach, pressing apologetic kisses along the curls of brown hair, all the way to nip at his hip and then wrap his now-warmer mouth back around Scout’s dick.

Scout shivered, realizing the coolness of the air. “It’s too cold, man…” he muttered, bucking his hips anyway, because it was a fucking blowjob and he wasn’t going to waste it.

Heavy pulled back again and Scout watched him carefully as he took a sip of the hot chocolate before he began sucking Scout’s cock again. Scout was sent right back into that place, his toes curling with bliss and his fingers gripping at Heavy’s shoulders as he bucked up into the warmth of Heavy’s mouth, just desperate for release and then cuddling up under the covers.

Heavy pulled away again. Scout bit his lip, fucking Heavy’s palm with a vengeance as he waited for that hot mouth to come back and finish him off. He wanted Heavy to milk him dry and swallow him down with the taste of cho—

“Holy shit fuck, goddamnit, I will fucking— ” Scout’s rant was cut short when Heavy took him deep, the ice cream melting against him. Heavy’s throat spasmed around his tip in a swallow, and Scout’s hips flicked up. Heavy was just frustrating him.

He was going to kill him.

After he came—of course.

Heavy’s hand took over once more and Scout was bound and determined to come this time. When that hot chocolate hit his dick, he was going to unload in Heavy’s mouth as quickly as he could. God, he just wanted to come so bad.

When Heavy returned with ice cream again, Scout thought he might go insane.

“Fuck, Heavy, just… fucking give me the hot chocolate already.” A chuckle accompanied the swallow against his tip, and he felt his balls hitching despite his belief that he wouldn’t be able to come after an ice cream blow job.

Heavy’s hand took over, and soon Scout felt relief rush through him when the heat of the hot chocolate hit him. He bucked his hips, his hands latching onto the back of Heavy’s skull so that he could fuck that chocolate flavored mouth however he pleased. Heavy’s nasal breathing against his stomach was warm and rapid. His hands were nowhere to be seen—probably jacking himself off while Scout took care of any mouth-fucking pacing.

It took longer than Scout wanted, but he finally got results. Heavy’s lips and tongue worked him until he was finished, prolonging his orgasm far past when his arm would have already given out. He swallowed every drop, licked Scout clean just to be certain, and then shifted up to lie down.

He hadn’t noticed when Heavy had come, but he looked relaxed and happy as he pulled the heavier covers over them and tugged Scout into his arms.

“I fuckin’ hate you…” Scout grumbled, pressing his face into Heavy’s bare chest.

“I love Scout, too.”

I just saw the words 'Sniper', 'Spy', and 'spanking' in the comments and had to read.

Bless you. It was beautiful.

I love this thread.

Your Sniper/Spy spanking story is truly a thing of beauty. One of the best stories with that pairing I've ever read, I loved it so much!

>>124
Oh, wow, thanks, Anne! I love your stories, so it's an honor that you enjoyed my Sniper/Spy fic!

>>125
I'm glad.

>>126
Thanks, I'm glad that you enjoyed it!


On another note, I won't be able to write more of these for about a week as I focus on a different fic, but updates will recommence as soon as I can get a buffer of chapters built up for that story.

Nngh, Heavy and Scout together? Oh, yes please. That was delicious.

what fic, scrunchy? je suis interested

>>129
It's a prologue/epilogue of a Spy/Scout fic I wrote a while ago an finished in July. It's on my ff.net account, but the lasy half needs to be edited a bit to be chan caliber. Too much cute fluff for this place, lol. (and OCs... Derp.)

the spanking one reminded me of this: http://youtu.be/ebw6G6sIeHw

I get back from vacation and find all this porn? Woohoo! I prefer seeing Scout on top at least some of the time, but I can't complain about any of this. Especially the stuff with Sniper.

>>131
I love that vid, haha!

>>132
Scout will top eventually. Top!Scout is the raunchiest and best Scout.

I hope the sage works, kinda new around here. Anyway will you ever come back OP? I would kill to see more of these.

>>18
Sniper/Spy
3 of Clubs—Body Painting:
Body Painting is a great way to show off your creative talents as well as getting to know each other’s bodies intimately and by touch. Do it slowly and use your fingers whenever possible and try creating some original patterns by rubbing yourself together when you are finished. Use body paints that are easily washed off but you may want to put down some towels to keep the mess off the sheets. For added fun try painting your partner while they are blindfolded and have them try to guess what designs you are creating.
:::::

“Cat whiskers… really, mate?” Sniper scoffs at Spy and opens his eyes a sliver. A punishing glove slaps him in the face and he closes his eyes again.

“I told you that I would remove my mask on the condition th-“ Sniper leans forward blindly and, after pressing his lips to Spy’s chin, nose, eye, finally finds his lips—just to get him to shut up. “I did not want to taste your nose, mon amor. Now keep your eyes closed and be quiet.”

“Whatever… should’ve known you’d do something poncey like that…”

“This was your idea.”

“Because I thought it would be interestin’… you’re always talking about how great it was paintin’ in France.” The Australian had thought that it would be a great idea to get Spy out of his funk. Lately it’d been, “France” this and “France” that. He couldn’t just bloody well hand the man a canvas and some paint, though. That might indicate that he cared somewhat. No. Their relationship was purely sexual, and he couldn’t enjoy giving or getting anything with the Spook if every other word was depressed and about somewhere they weren’t.

“Yes, but there was scenery in France… or people. There were textures and colors and such beauty…” He feels more than sees Spy sit back from his half-clothed body. “Such heart.”

Sniper lays there for a moment before sitting up and reaching his hand out. He finally finds Spy’s shoulder and marks where it is in his mind before pulling his undershirt over his head and wiping the paint off of his face with it. He needs Spy to—not feel better, he doesn’t care how the Spy feels—stop moping about. He needs Spy to do something, anything other than sigh and smoke and murmur things in French that he doesn’t understand nor want to.

His hand grabs Spy’s and directs it toward the paints again. “I’m gonna open my eyes—But I’m not gonna look at you.” He amends it quickly, before Spy can squirm and protest. Keeping his eyes straight forward, focused on the jars of paint, he allows them to open and directs Spy’s fingers into the green and then a dab of yellow, a hint of red to make a little orange for the highlights. He works silently, drawing on years of observation rather than practice. Soon, half of his stomach is a field of grass—shoddily done with an unpracticed hand using unmoving fingers as a brush. He closes his eyes and settles back again. “Don’t you tell me I don’t have texture.” His hands move to his pants, and he sheds them quickly. He grabs Spy’s hand again, and knows where his own tan lines—however faint—are. He traces the Spook’s cool, paint-slicked fingertips along the change from the light brown of his tan to his natural skin-tone across his thighs. “Or color,” his hand directs Spy’s in an arc up his stomach to his chest. “I got a heart, too. I don’t know about beauty or scenery… ‘n’ I’m just one person.” He feels Spy’s hand take a life of its own, and the light tap of paint being added to their makeshift pallet tells him that he might finally be getting somewhere.

Sniper lies there for what feels like an age before he feels fingers on him again. There wasn’t a place on him that they hadn’t yet explored, but he’d never felt the tenderness that they touched him with now. It tickled slightly, but Sniper was sure to keep himself still. Spy’s fingers worked at his skin for ages, to the point that he was sure Spy was trying to put him to sleep so that he could slip away and mope elsewhere.

“There.” Spy’s weight shifted next to him, and he heard the pop of his back, a soft groan of discomfort and a curse in French. “You may look.” He adds, when he sees that Sniper’s eyes are still shut.

Sniper opens his eyes to Spy’s mask back on his face, and an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips. He begins to sit up, but Spy’s hand smacks his face, and he obediently stays down.

“I did not say for you to sit up and ruin it.” He hisses and reaches over for Sniper’s shaving mirror. He carefully positions it over Sniper and tilts it so that the other man can see the art upon his stomach and chest. Spy had used the greens and yellows of Sniper’s field and drawn them into a background of sorts for the portrait staring back at him with Spy’s steely blue eyes. High cheekbones and a surly expression accented the familiar eyes. Thin, unamused lips fairly pouted at him, and he could just see Spy making the expression as he painted himself upon Sniper’s stomach. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. The nose was off, but he could still tell that the familiar beaked shape was there. The tan lines that he imagined on Spy’s face were also absent, and the face itself was a little short—giving it a slightly squashed appearance. Dark brows were drawn down unhappily, and a wild shock of hair a few shades lighter than the eyebrows topped it all—there might have been a hint of red mixed in, but Sniper couldn’t be sure if it was just an artistic flair.

“Handsome bloke. When do I get to meet ‘im?” Sniper asks, lowering his eyes to meet Spy’s own. Something had been rekindled in the other, the tenseness that he had sensed before and was present in the portrait had faded. As if to prove that he is enjoying himself more than before, he leans forward to kiss Sniper’s lips.

Spy’s hands start working on his own clothing—what was left, in any case. His tie, shirt and briefs fall away to the mess on the floor, and Sniper chuckles when the other man lowers himself to smear the paint between them. It’s still slick, and more than strange to feel it drying between them as they rock against each other, each with a hand cupping the other’s cock to direct it into the best kind of friction. Sniper’s hand curls around Spy to give him a squeeze and a lazy tug, pulling a noise from the back of the Frenchman’s throat, and causing his hips to buck at a faster tempo.

Spy’s unlit cigarette lays forgotten upon Sniper’s pillow, and he finds the time to watch it when Spy slips down to mark his neck. The stick of nicotine trembles slightly with the movement of his mattress as their hips grind and pulse until he finally feels his stomach jerk and his eyes roll back at the flood of euphoria rushing through his body. Spy’s still grinding against him, and the Frenchman bites down on his neck hard when he finally releases, latching on until his hips still and his breath evens from long pants to a slower, regular rhythm. There’s a new slickness between their torsos, and he’s certain that Spy will slip off to shower soon, leaving him to bask in his success.

When Spy withdraws and picks his cigarette back up, he’s trembling slightly as he lights it.

“Feel better now?” Sniper asks, closing his eyes and resting his arms behind his head. The cigarette edges its way between his lips, and he takes a drag before releasing it back to its owner.

“Oui, thank you for thinking of me.” Spy’s fingers trail along the drying mess across his stomach, and Sniper opens his eyes to peek down at what had become of the masterpiece.

He supposes it could pass for abstract art, more smears than shapes. Streaks have been pushed and pulled down his stomach and colors mixed until their original intent is entirely lost. Curly black hairs peek through the swathe of paint, and he reaches up to scrape at bits of the ruined artwork that had ended up smeared across the curling trail that leads from his navel to cock.

“Will you need assistance cleaning yourself up?” Spy asks after several moments of silently watching Sniper contemplate himself.

“Nah, wouldn’t wanna keep ya. Besides, no locks on our shower doors, remember?”

“All I remember is a close call caused by you.” He chuckles dryly as he gathers his clothing. A t-shirt is stolen from the Aussie’s dresser to protect his dress shirt against the staining paint, but there aren’t more words to be said. He knows that Sniper won’t mind the missing shirt, and doesn’t have to tell the other man that it will appear, washed and folded neatly into a bag outside the door to his van within a few days.

It isn’t until he has checked his pockets for his affects and retied his tie that Sniper speaks up, “see you Friday after work?” He asks, staring at the ceiling.

“Yes. Friday sounds good.” Spy replies, hesitating at the door. He crosses back to Sniper’s side and presses one last kiss to his lips. “Something sentimental for the meantime.” He smirks at the brief frown that flits across Sniper’s lips, and laughs as he leaves the camper.

“Spooks…” Sniper relaxes back again and closes his eyes. “Sentimental my arse… probably doesn’t even know what the bloody word means, just gonna stab me in the back again tomorrow anyway…” Though Sniper told himself he didn’t care about what Spy did or said, he had quite a lot more to mumble about.

Wow. Yes. Thank you.

Mmm, paint-covered Sniper...

Wonderful story.

I really love the idea of Spy showing Sniper a painting of his face when they trust each other enough to be lovers but not yet enough to take the mask off. It's a great compromise for a growing relationship.

Combining requests. 23 is still going to get its individual card, though.
Also, I have no idea why they talk about bubble baths at the first of this one. I’ll have to look at the other cards to figure out if they were trying to take things in order when it’s a fucking deck of cards. That people will shuffle.
:::::

>>19
>>23
Sub Medic, top from bottom /Demo
6 of Diamonds—Eating Each Other Up:
Bubble baths are fun but you can’t eat the bubbles off your partner. Honey and chocolate and strawberry jam are different. Dribble these over your lover’s body making sure to cover all the erogenous places and take your time licking them off. This is a game that’s easy for two to play and if you are really worried about messing up the sheets, put down towels or plastic to control the mess. Don’t worry about calories. If you’re doing it right you’ll find plenty of ways to burn them off once the licking is done.

:::::

“That is cold—warm it in your hands first.” Medic doesn’t say please, just lies there and waits for the other man to obey. There is no space in the bedroom for pleasantries; it is not what he is here for.

“Ach… just a peach tonight ain’t ya, Doc.” Demoman scoffs at the rudeness, and rubs his hands together, spreading the room-temperature honey across his palms and waiting for it to warm up prior to letting it slowly drip off his fingers and hands onto the waiting German’s back. After a few more handfuls tries the Scot’s patience, he takes the jar and begins to pour it on cold.

“Schweinhund, I said—“ Demoman’s mouth latches onto the back of Medic’s neck, and effectively cuts his angry chatter into a pleased hiss.

“Shut up, Doc.” The Scot grumbles before beginning his work again. A coat of cold honey soon coats most of the German’s back. “Now what?” He asks, eager to trail his tongue through the sweet confectionary, but knowing that Medic will punish him if he does.

“Now the chocolate.” The German instructs, over his outrage about his orders being disobeyed.

The hot dribble of fondue-melted chocolate brings a gasp from the man, and he squirms uncomfortably against the heat.

“You could not let it cool down first?” He hisses, kicking one of his legs up to hit the Scot sitting on the backs of his thighs. Though he complains, he enjoys the wide differences between the temperatures. He is also going to enjoy how long it will take the Demoman to suck the hardened chocolate from his skin.

Once he feels that there is enough chocolate to last them the night, he clears his throat. “That is enough.”

Demoman performs one more swirl of melted chocolate before obediently putting the ladle back in the pot. “Now the Scotch?” He asks, picking up the bottle and unscrewing the lid.

“Ja, now the Scotch.” Medic chuckles softly, the eagerness in Demoman’s voice not going unnoticed. When he’d suggested that the other turn him into a living Honigkuchen, Demoman had been unsure of what the other had wanted. Having the doctor show up at his door with a fondue kit, jar of honey and—this is what really got his attention—a bottle of Scotch had really left no reason for him not to see what the German was up to.

He’d been eyeing the Scotch all night. Medic made dinner, not allowing him to approach the goodies that he had brought with him, and forced the African Scotsman to drink water throughout.

“It will be worth it,” he had promised.

Demoman was beginning to see that it would.

Medic arched his back, cracking a few lines of chocolate, and forming a slight dip with his lower back. It was obvious that he intended for Demoman to pour in a shallow amount, but the Scot wasn’t much for playing follow the leader any longer. He was already half-hard from grinding lightly against the German’s ass as he worked, and the anticipation of getting to lick and suck the sweet dribblings off of all that pale skin. He upturned the bottle, coating Medic’s shoulder in Scotch before diving in to begin his work. He coated the doctor an area at a time, unwilling to waste any of the good alcohol as he made his way slowly down the man’s back.

He’d never quite understand what it was about his back that Medic got off on, then again, it wasn’t a place he particularly enjoyed being touched himself. There was a section of chocolate that was being stubborn, and when he scraped at it with his teeth, it drug such a lovely noise from Medic that he decided to use his teeth even if the chocolate was coming off just fine. By the time that Medic’s lower back was the only thing left, the good doctor was panting from how vocal the Scot had made him. The brush of beard hair had tickled slightly, and the constant brush of moustache over clean, tongue and teeth scraped skin had made him more vocal than he’d anticipated.

“Pour…” he ordered, lifting his hips against Demoman’s straining pants and making a bowl out of his back once again.

Demoman poured the alcohol into the shallow dip and leaned down to suck it out slowly, enjoying the mix of honey with the liquor, and licking the remnants from Medic’s skin along with the dribbles of chocolate and the last traces of honey. He gave the German’s back another shot, though the man’s legs were trembling at the exertion of holding his hips up while being assaulted with keen pleasure. Demoman reached around to give Medic’s cock a lax tug, and the German’s hips fell, unwilling to support him any longer. Scotch spilled off his back and onto the sheets, and when he sat up, it rolled back across his ass as well.

Demoman’s hand pushed against his shoulders to force him back down again, and instead of sitting on Medic’s hips any longer, he knelt between them. With the German’s legs spread on either side of him, Demoman could see where his scotch had gone, glistening in the dim light of the room between Medic’s cheeks. It didn’t take long for Medic to realize what the Scot intended, and he took a deep breath, knowing that this would surely undo him. He loved it when Demoman did filthy things to him.

“Pour.” He groaned, feeling large hands pull his ass up by his hips, and the brush of facial hair against the cleft of his ass. The dribble of alcohol was cold against such a tender place, and there was a minute burning sensation, but it was soon all wiped away by Demoman’s invading tongue. He was blissfully hard, and hanging between them unattended as the Scot poured and licked, poured more and sucked, stretched his ass with his tongue and fingers and poured more to slurp up from his Medic-shotglass.

“There is a point…” Medic gritted out as Demoman’s tongue delved deeper and his hands attempted to spread Medic’s cheeks wider. “… at which the games have to end, Tavish.” He panted into the pillow, desperately trying not to come until he had the black man inside him.

One last long lick from his sack to his lower back, and Demoman pulled away, smirking at the mess he’d created out of the German.

“Oh, aye?” his hands made quick work of his coveralls, and his underwear soon after. Medic felt the cotton of his t-shirt against his back, and shivered when those thick, clever fingers began pushing and pulling and stretching him more than the man’s tongue could. “What game shall we play next?” He asked, kissing Medic’s shoulder and roughly thrusting a second finger in to join the second.

Medic’s gasping filled the room for a moment, as he failed to speak. “Oh, just fuck me already.” He finally gritted out when Demoman started chuckling at him.

His hands fisted in the sheets, and Demoman slipped his own around his wrists. “As ye like.” The Scot breathed against Medic’s neck, mouthing the lobe of his ear as his cock finally pressed into the German’s ass.

“Ach… stop being so gentle. I am not a fragile woman.” Medic growls, lurching his hips back.

The growl soon turns into a needy gasping when Demoman finally roughens the roll of his hips and grips the Medic’s thighs hard in place. Once he is still, he gives the German the hard, unrelenting thrusts that he craved. It is rough going with merely residual spit and alcohol to ease the way, but Medic has always had a certain affinity for pain (whether it be his own, or someone else’s), and after having the Scot pay so many other attentions to him, he is grateful that it might help him last longer.

They don’t peak together. Medic’s harsh German filling Demoman’s room until the rush of pleasure and satisfaction suddenly silences him. Demo doesn’t wait for Medic’s permission, and the German huffs as if he isn’t happy, but the way that he stretches out with a groan afterward proves otherwise. He shares the rest of the bottle of Scotch with Demoman, once he gets up the energy to turn over, and smirks when he sees the drips of honey and chocolate on the sheets, or perhaps it was the liquor and semen smeared between the candied mess.

Either way, the doctor was satisfied.

Scout. I love him now. You have made me like Scout. Mainly because dickspenser. ... DICKSPENSER YOU ARE AN UNSUNG GENIUS. Anyway, is this done now? Or is it abandoned? Please don't be abandoned...