egg laying and mpreg
In everyone's mind, Pyro was pretty much an amorphous blob of indeterminate origin, so nobody noticed it acting stranger than usual or starting to grow extraneous lumps in and around its belly region until a stray rocket exploded in just the right way and the rest of the team found themselves standing in a shower of white spherical objects. The Medic was the first to try picking one up, and found them soft to the touch but with a surprising amount of resistance. He was about to cut it open to see what was inside when he heard the Pyro storming its way back to the front, clanging its axe against the walls as it raised its warning cry to all who would listen:

"HRNDS HFF MRHH BHHBHHS!"

or spanking?
The Soldier had laughed it off when the Heavy when the larger man called him a "weak babyman" and tried to talk him out of changing their routine. He was anything but weak; his continued dominance of the enemy, as well as the scoreboard, was proof of that.

"Don't you dare hold back on me, you hear?" He bellowed as he positioned himself over the Heavy' knee. "If I can take you pounding me up the ass, I can take your giant ham hands hitting my all-American behind!"

"Can take your head off if I wanted." The tone was as amicable as always, but there was an unmistakable note of threat behind this simple statement of fact.

The Soldier thought this over a moment. "Didn't think you were into corpse-fucking, but if that's what you want to do after you've slapped me good and hard, we can do that! It'd only be fair!"

Middle-of-the-hallway sex.

Shenanigans on base rooftops leading to a tragically short but hilarious death of a team member.

choking

Awkward first-time sex

Perhaps some biting and scratching?

Middle-of-the-hallway sex.
The firefight was, as always, focused on contending over the train yard between the two bases; even the Sniper, though he made a beeline to the second floor instead of venturing outside, focused his attention on dueling his counterpart. Unless the Engineer sounded the alarm, they all charged forward into battle without a second glance.

But despite his knowledge that nobody was going to come barelling up the ramp to the catwalk so long as he stayed good and quiet, the very thought that he'd never been this close to the rest of the team while the enemy Spy sucked him off made every little noise either one of them made sound at least three times louder than when services were rendered in the safe silence of the Intel chamber.

The Spy must have felt the same way, because when he paused in his ministrations to admire the view and heard the muffled whine, he smirked.

"Such a naughty laborer," he murmured against the erection as the Engineer dug his back into the wall to keep himself from thrusting against the Spy's mask.

Shenanigans on base rooftops leading to a tragically short but hilarious death of a team member.
It was supposed to be a fun little game, just dangerous enough of to be thrilling, and the worst someone might get was some scuffed knees and elbows if something went wrong.

Except what the Scout failed to realize was that the roof was not made to bear such repeated stress. He was at the right weight--or, rather, lack thereof--to cheat death, but the Pyro wasn't, and it was just a matter of time before one misstep on an errant tile sent the Pyro plummetting straight into the Rube Goldberge-esque trap that the Soldier had set up to see if he could catch the enemy Spy in action.

As Scout watched the diabolical device set off, he knew for sure he wouldn't be able to fast talk his way out of this one.

choking
It was a natural physiological reaction, the Medic said; any male would have done the same in that situation, or so he claimed. But the Sniper couldn't help feeling like a disgusting pervert for popping a boner whenever the enemy Spy would attempt to squeeze the life out of his throat.

So when the Medic offered to try some therapy techniques, the Sniper jumped at the opportunity. If they worked, he could go back to feeling normal. If they didn't, well, at least Medic got to play mad doctor with a willing subject.

Awkward first-time sex
The leadup to the two of them getting naked wasn't a problem, both of them being just sloshed enough to think that a sloppy makeout between friends was the most logical course of action. But once Jane got to staring at just what Tavish was keeping under his bomb jacket, he found himself freezing up over what to do next.

Not that he didn't know about the birds and the bees, of course. The Medic's first order of business when he arrived was to give a mandatory course on sex education, believing that the entire base was already going at it like horny teenagers. Thanks to that crazy German perfectionist, Jane had put condoms on so many cucumbers that he was starting to feel awkward around salads.

The real thing was very different from old archival video, diagrams, or practice dummies. Jane could not for the life of him figure out how having a dick go where poop came out feel as good as the Spy claimed it would be, so he wasn't keen to try it, not even on his best friend, and he wasn't about to ask Tavish for such a favor either.

Speaking of Tavish, the man himself was wearing such an alluring bedroom face that Jane was tempted to forge ahead, metaphorical or literal torpedos be damned. "Why'd you stop, laddie? Don't tell me you were getting gun-shy."

Jane's reaction was instant. "Of course not! Cowardice is for alien Communist Nazis! I was just--" And here he bit his lip, trying to find the right words, before giving up and being blunt. "--I was just hoping you'd take over," he muttered, feeling self conscious now that he'd said it out loud, certain that Tavish would mock his inexperience.

Tavish, however, didn't do so, but blinked at him instead. "Me? What makes ye think I have any idea what to do next?"

Jane was flabbergasted for the briefest of moments, but grinned once he had a plan of action. "Then it's obvious, Tavish--you and I are gonna mess around until we figure something out!"

Perhaps some biting and scratching?
"Fuking FUCK!" The Scout swatted at his counterpart, trying to pull away. "What'd I say about teeth and nails, asswipe? Cut that shit out before I toss you out on your naked ass!"

The other Scout looked up and smirked before easing the erection from his mouth to answer. "Go ahead, I dare ya, since you hate it so much and you soitainly don't pick at dose marks once dey've scabbed over so you have somethin' ta remember me by."

Much growling and muttering ensued before the first Scout stopped making a scene. "Fine, bite and scratch all you want, just not where it shows."

Didn't want to clutter up someone else's thread over a debate about a story I wrote, so I'm gonna put my response to Milla over here.

Dot, no offence since I love 90% of your fics and think you are a very skilled writer, but while I fully agree with the general sentiment, you did write an extremely creepy Spy/Scout's mom/Sniper fic where they beat Sniper down, tie and gag him, and have sex with him even while he begs them to stop, and even though it's obviously rape it's presented as "Sniper is pretending he doesn't want it but he really loves it and it's wonderful!" That was pretty damn disturbing.
We are told via Spy that Sniper enjoys it, but why take Spy at his word? Scout's mother doesn't question this assertion because she's more interested in her own enjoyment, but that doesn't mean the reader should also believe it. Yes, the narrative claims that Sniper supposedly starts to like it, but remember that the whole story is written in first person from the point of view of Scout's Mother, so once again the reader is free to make their own judgement on what's "really" going on. The point of the story was that Scout's mother obviously only cared about her own enjoyment, and she was turned on by watching, and being a party to, forced arousal and orgasm. "Sniper is pretending he doesn't want it but he really loves it and it's wonderful" might be something she believes, but nothing more.

Fair enough. Thanks for replying to my criticism.

Is it okay if I ask for consensual hypnosis used in a consensual sexual setting (e.g. so the partner has consented to both of their own free will)? If not that, may I just have some orgasm denial please?

Hmm... Omega-verse?

Oh no! Forgot to sage! Dontkillme!

Rule 4 means I will try to fill a request even if I don't like the kink. (Rule 5 is there to cover my ass in case it's not a good fill.)

Is it okay if I ask for consensual hypnosis used in a consensual sexual setting (e.g. so the partner has consented to both of their own free will)?
"What's with the fob watch, Demo?" With that, the Scout leaped onto the Demoman's back and tried to make a grab for the object. "You trying ta' mesmerize somebody into doin' a strip show for ya?"

"That's not how it works, laddie." The Demoman snapped up the watch to stop the Scout from pawing at it.

"Uh-huh, sure it ain't. And I ain't standin' here darin' ya ta try it on me."

The Demoman was just sober enough to parse the backhanded come on. "I'm tellin' ye, it wouldn't work."

"Well, 'a course it wouldn't, not on me, not in a million years." At the Scout puffed up his chest for a moment. "But you can still practice on me. And if you do end up doing some sorta kinky vodoo sex magic, well, I don't mind."

This time, the Demoman caught the innuendo faster, but he remained skeptical. For all of the so-called "messing around" Scout did with the Demoman, things never got past half-naked fumbling about. "What part of 'it wouldn't work' do you not understand, boyo? Not even hypnotism kin make anybody do anything they don't want."

The Scout made a noise of exasperation. "Do I always hafta spell out everything for ya? I'm saying I can take whatevah you throw at me!" He turned around and imitated the Demoman's Scottish Resistance taunt, giving that oh-so-tempting behind a light smack. "Don't tell me you don't want any 'a dis, 'cuz I gotta hicky heyah dat totally sez uddahwise."

Hmm... Omega-verse?
(This is what I understand of the "Omega-verse" via Google: imagine that there are four 'genders', alpha males, alpha females, omega males, and omega female. The alphas tend towards hyper-aggression, the omegas the other direction. And every so often the omegas go "into heat" and get super horny, and the alphas can smell this.

You've been warned. Proceed at your own risk.)

As a Civilian, the Spy could wear a dress, drown himself in perfume, and tuck a sock in his pants, passing himself as an Alpha Female, able to walk the streets without fear, but the assumed default at work was Alpha Male and that was a much more difficult illusion to maintain. The more generous the shoulderpads in his suit jacket and the larger the guns he toted, the smaller his hands looked in comparison, and if he wore gloves that were too thick he wouldn't be able to handle any of his weapons. And though he smoked like a chimney and wore the cheap dime-store musk that always made the Scout complain, as the days ticked closer to that time of the month, he began wondering if maybe he should instead stop washing his Jarate-drenched suits instead.

He realized too late that he had been making the wrong sorts of precautions. He had the enemy team convinced that he was a sex-starved demon who was liklier to "backstab" them in a dark corner than the other way around, but when it came to his own team he styled himself to be much more approachable in the foolish hopes that this time around, things would be different.

They weren't. The Engineer--his own team's Engineer--whose amicable demeanor made the occasional off-color joke bearable, now had one hand clamped around the Spy's too-thin throat and had the other reaching forward to unveil what must have been the worst kept secret in the whole base. The Sniper's arrival on the scene a moment later stopped things from geting beyond that, but the damage had been done. The Engineer tried to insuinate that the Spy shouldn't make a scene, but he would have none of it; he'd been burned by too many broken promises to let the Engineer blackmail him. He tried to stay rational and polite, appealing to the Engineer's family man sensibilities, but it wasn't long before the Engineer's profane accusations reduced the Spy to tears and screaming hysterics. The rest of the team's attempts to mediate the argument just spread it to the rest of them, their conflicting feelings and opinions muddying the debate. A vote was called, but the Engineer and the Spy weren't allowed to participate, since they had an obvious stake in the matter; then the Sniper was excluded for being from backwards Ozland where Australium made it impossible to distinguish Alphas from Omegas, male or female, and thus his opinion didn't matter; then the Pyro because nobody knew what the Pyro was or dared to find out for fear of taking an axe to the crotch; and so on and so fourth until everyone was disqualified to make any sort of decision.

The impasse seemed like it was going to go on forever until the Engineer shoved pass the teammates between himself and the Spy and got just enough of a handful on the Spy's pants to yank it down, revealing the Spy's soaked undergarments. As the Engineer gloated and the rest of the team alternated between trying not to look and being unable to tear their eyes away, the Spy's feelings made its full circle back to pure, unadulterated hatred. He picked the knife that had been punched out of his hands when the Engineer jumped him, pulled up his pants, and stood before the chortling Engineer, jaw set and eyes blazing.

The Engineer stopped laughing when the Spy slapped him. "You rutting little omega. How dare you--"

This time, the Spy slashed him across the face with the blade before anyone could react. "Non. How dare you," the Spy hissed. "I am not a hole for you to put your dick een. I am here to do my job, something which I have managed to do without letting anything else get een zee way, and yet you, Mr. Great and Glorious Alpha, have failed to do."

"You bitch! You think you can get saucy with me just because these fellahs are here?" the Engineer screamed, rushing at the Spy. This time, however, the human wall held. "And you idiots! Can't you see Spah's just using you to play Knight in Shinin' Armor? He ain't got no honor to protect, none 'a it!"

"He's got more 'a it dan you," the Scout muttered, his expression full of digust at the Engineer.

The Engineer purpled with rage as he reiterated his previous litany of the Spy's supposed sex life, but this time, his words rang hollow. Whatever the others' opinions had been before, their verdict was now unanimous: the Engineer had crossed a line, and he needed to be removed from the scene at once.

The Engineer was still screaming epithets as the Heavy picked him up and slung him over the shoulder fireman-style. "Enough," the Heavy rumbled, clamping a hand over the Engineer's mouth. "Little man is full of--what is the word--"

"Fookin' shite," the Demoman prompted.

"What he said. Need to stop talking before Heavy break his tiny neck."

One party removed from the scene, attention went back to the Spy, whose knife had to be pried out of his hands before he could stab himself in the throat.

"Stop, no, please! Kill me and do what you wish to my corpse, but let me at least have this much dignity!" The tears that he had managed to put a stop to flowed unbidden once again. "Kill me! Kill me! [i]Kill me[i]!"

"Get yourself together!" the Soldier bellowed, grabbing the Spy by the shoulders and shaking him. "This is no way to act on the battlefield!"

With one last scream, the Spy sank to the ground, spent. Nothing mattered any more. The Administrator must have seen the whole thing, and now he would be fired, and then blacklisted, and then finding a job that didn't have him selling his body was going to be next to impossible.

any chance I could get a second half to that last one?

sorry I meant part.

The omega-verse was way more interesting than I anticipated, though I have to say I was confused about what actually happened. Like, what were they calling a vote on? Just a bit confusing. Super interesting though, I wouldn't mind reading more...

Also I loved the first one. Demo/Scout is a weakness of mine.

...I think I just gained a new kink.

none of these make any sense tbh

none of these make any sense tbh
Okay, but why not? Where do I need to have more details? Should I have more buildup in how something happened? Should I explain why any two particular characters are in a relationship? Should there be more naked funtimes?

Please try to do what Anon #39 did and be more specific, because I can't read your mind.

i just can't even tell what's going on in 90% of these. you give no detail, the dialogue is vague, and there's no setup.

also most of these don't have any kind of plot, and i don't mean in the porn without plot way. i just mean, nothing happens in them, nothing is resolved, why do they even exist? you're ostensibly writing to fill prompts, but three sentences does not mean a prompt is filled. they read more like prompts themselves than actual fics.

Rewrite/clarification, continuation maybe. Suggestions for a title would be appreciated.
----------------------------------------------------
As a Civilian, the Spy could wear a dress, drown himself in perfume, and tuck a sock in his pants, passing himself as an Alpha Female, able to walk the streets without fear, but the assumed default at work was Alpha Male and that was a much more difficult illusion to maintain. The more generous the shoulderpads in his suit jacket and the larger the guns he toted, the smaller his hands looked in comparison, and if he wore gloves that were too thick he wouldn't be able to handle any of his weapons. And though he smoked like a chimney and wore the cheap dime-store musk that always made the Scout complain, as the days ticked closer to that time of the month, he began wondering if maybe he should instead stop washing his Jarate-drenched suits instead.

He realized too late that he had been making the wrong sorts of precautions. He had the enemy team convinced that he was a sex-starved demon who was liklier to "backstab" them in a dark corner than the other way around, but when it came to his own team he styled himself to be much more approachable in the foolish hopes that this time around, things would be different.

They weren't. The Engineer--his own team's Engineer--whose amicable demeanor made the occasional off-color joke bearable, now had one hand clamped around the Spy's too-thin throat and had the other reaching forward to unveil what must have been the worst kept secret in the whole base. The Sniper's arrival on the scene a moment later stopped things from geting beyond that, but the damage had been done. The Engineer tried to insuinate that the Spy shouldn't make a scene, but he would have none of it; he'd been burned by too many broken promises to let the Engineer blackmail him in front of anyone else, much less the rest of the team once they congregated as the discussion got more and more heated. He tried to stay rational and polite, appealing to the Engineer's family man sensibilities, but it wasn't long before the Engineer's profane accusations reduced the Spy to tears and screaming hysterics. Everyone else's attempts to mediate the argument just spread it to the rest of them, their conflicting feelings and opinions muddying the debate. A vote was called to see what the consensus was on who was in the right, but the Engineer and the Spy weren't allowed to participate said vote since they had an obvious stake in the matter; then the Sniper was excluded for being from backwards Ozland where Australium made it impossible to distinguish Alphas from Omegas, male or female, and thus his opinion didn't matter; then the Pyro because nobody knew what the Pyro was or dared to find out for fear of taking an axe to the crotch; and so on and so fourth until everyone was disqualified to make any sort of decision.

The impasse seemed like it was going to go on forever until the Engineer shoved pass the teammates between himself and the Spy and got just enough of a handful on the Spy's pants to yank it down, revealing the Spy's soaked undergarments. As the Engineer gloated and the rest of the team alternated between trying not to look and being unable to tear their eyes away, the Spy's mind was a swirl of different emotions. The more he thought back to how things could have gotten to this point, the more he realized in retrospect that he'd missed countless warning signs, and the angrier he got until it coalesced into pure, unadulterated hatred, and what was left of his control shattered. He picked the knife that had been punched out of his hands when the Engineer jumped him, pulled up his pants, and stood before the chortling Engineer, jaw set and eyes blazing.

The Engineer stopped laughing when the Spy slapped him. "You ruttin' little omega. How dare you--"

This time, the Spy slashed him across the face with the blade before anyone could react. "Non. How dare you," the Spy hissed. "I am not a hole for you to put your dick een. I am here to do my job, something which I have managed to do without letting anything else get een zee way, and yet you, Mr. Great and Glorious Alpha, have failed to do."

"You bitch! You think you can get saucy with me just because these fellahs are here?" the Engineer screamed, rushing at the Spy. This time, however, the human wall held. "And you idiots! Can't you see Spah's just using you to play Knight in Shinin' Armor? He ain't got no honor to protect, none 'a it!"

"He's got more 'a it dan you," the Scout muttered, his expression full of digust at the Engineer.

The Engineer purpled with rage as he reiterated his previous litany, listing in lurid detail about the Spy's supposed sex life, but this time, his words rang hollow. Whatever the others' opinions had been before, their verdict was now unanimous: the Engineer had crossed a line, and he needed to be removed from the scene at once.

The Engineer was still screaming epithets as the Heavy picked him up and slung him over the shoulder fireman-style. "Enough," the Heavy rumbled, clamping a hand over the Engineer's mouth. "Little man is full of--what is the word--"

"Fookin' shite," the Demoman prompted.

"What Demoman said. Need to stop talking before Heavy break his tiny neck."

One party removed from the scene, attention went back to the Spy, whose knife had to be pried out of his hands before he could stab himself in the throat.

"Stop, no, please! Kill me and do what you wish to my corpse, but let me at least have this much dignity!" The tears that he had managed to control flowed unbidden once again. "Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!"

"Get yourself together!" the Soldier bellowed, grabbing the Spy by the shoulders and shaking him. "This is no way to act on the battlefield! You have every right to be angry--hell, we're all pissed off--but don't let him get to you!"

The Spy tore himself from the Soldier's grip. "That's easy for you to say! You haven't been told all your life that your very existence eez wrong, zat your natural cycles are 'filthy', zat you deserve to be accosted by strange men because you 'had eet coming'!" He took a deep, shuddering breath, biting back the bile that was rising in his stomach. "Now, zen, eef you will excuse me, I am going to my room, cleaning myself up, packing my things, and leaving on zee first train out of here." He held up a hand when this brought forth new protests. "Non. Do not suggest to me zat I should 'put up wiz' zee Engineer." A clearing of the throat opened a path in the cirle of people to let him through, and he made a beeline for his room.

He'd gotten about halfway done packing when he heard a tentative knock on the door. "Go away," he called, reaching for his knife on instinct.

"Vait." It was the Medic. "Here me out first, bitte."

It didn't take a genius to figure out what the Medic might have wanted to say. "If you're here to propose that zee Engineer should be zee one to leave instead, zee sentiment eez appreciated, but even wiz him gone I could not abide staying here."

"Why not? You've never been anyzing but exemplary, and we would nevah--"

"I had believed zat of zee Engineer, as well, despite zee things he had said een zee past." Behind the safety of the locked door, the Spy dared to put voice to a thought he kept silent earlier. "Call me overreacting, but I cannot read minds and I would go insane wiz zee way all of you speak of certain kinds of people een a way zat you would not tolerate a stranger speaking about your own loved ones."

"You cannot possible be serious!" The Medic exclaimed. "Where on Earth could you go where zere eez not such talk?"

"I do not know, but I would razzer spend zee rest of my life looking for such a place zan remain somewhere zat I would be miserable."
----------------------------------------------------
(Stopping here because I'm undecided on what to do next.)

Anonymous #41 (#43) does not have a point- these are not written like short drabbles and one-shots, not intended to be full fanfics and what's further - On TF2chan, it is at the very least assumed you are familiar already with the TF2 Universe, its characters as seen in the Meet The (Team Member) Videos and Supplementary Comics and its general workings (as a cartoony alternate history to Earth). Each writer pens the characters and settings just a bit differently and there are oft off-field settings, but most importantly, we as the readers are already assumed to know them. Unless they are completely new OCs instead of different personality quirks associated with the same Team Members, we don't need a lot of details.
As for format, they are again drabbles and one-shots, little tiny stories.
They're very easy to follow if read correctly.
I'm not sure what your reading level is, but beside the occasional grammatical error or missing word, dotchan writes rather well. It's not overly complicated and there's always the element of 'however you feel about writing out accents' but it's always enjoyable.

Anon #45 - I have made an error in the first line- These *are* written like oneshots and drabbles

Aww, thank you for your kind words, Anon #45! But I do think the crit about my narrative style is still valid--looking back, I can see the parts where I got lazy and made you readers do the work of filling in details that I as an author could have thrown in (for example, the "middle of the hallway sex" fill assumes that the reader can recognize that the scene takes place in Well). Like I said, I've had a long-standing problem of assuming that everybody is on my wavelength and leave (potentially too much) unwritten.

I probably won't rewrite or add to any of my current fills unless I get super-inspired, but I'll definitely try to keep everyone's feedback in mind as I make new ones.

#45, i thought it over and i think my number one problem with the writing style is i've always been told to show, not tell. show through dialogue, or show through action. each of these stories are straight out "tell". there's very little dialogue and very little action direction-so spy sticks things up his butt, and people found out. how? who? what happened? what did they say? how did they react?

i would argue that just because they're established characters doesn't mean we don't need characterization. i think some of the best characterized fic on the chan comes from anne the cat detective, for example, and her spy and sniper and supporting characters are very different people even from story to story, yet they're still IC from what canon tells us.

From the annals of history, an old Soldier/Spy fill for the kink meme.
----------------------------------------------------------------
No one knew about war as much as the BLU Soldier did--except, of course, Sun Tzu, but he'd been dead for centuries and the prospects of an all-Sun-Tzu clone army were all but impossible, or so the Soldier was told every time he put in a requisition for one. So until the day his dream came true, he'd have to put up with the sorry sacks of maggots he was stuck with and try to whip them into shape as best he could.

Number one on the Soldier's shit list was the Spy. He was French, so that meant an automatic negative eleventy billion points right there. And like all men of his occupation, he was a shifty, backstabbing coward who couldn't tell the truth to save his life. The Soldier had been tempted to murder the cheese-eating surrender monkey in his sleep with Shovel at first, but the Spy soon proved to be at least somewhat useful in being a complete pain in the ass to the other side to the same degree that he irritated his own team, if not more so.

The Soldier was not in the policy of regretting a decision--second guessing was, after all, for pussies and losers--but he had to admit to himself, at least, that he'd cocked things up when the RED Spy had infiltrated their ranks. Every time he replayed the scene in his head, he discovered more details that he should have caught the first time around, and it galled him that he couldn't stop even one RED--a Spy, no less, one even more French than his BLU counterpart--from waltzing past their defenses like he owned the place and sauntering away with the Intelligence. What made things worse was that the BLU Spy refused to place any blame on anyone other than himself, as if he was expected to carrying the entire team on his shoulders alone. The Soldier didn't think that it had been a mistake to shoot at his own teammate on suspicion of being the enemy, but he was accustomed to the others--the Scout in particular--being quite vocal in their opinions of his leadership or decision-making abilities. It was unnerving to hear no such complaints from the Spy, not even so much as a single peep of discontentment directed at him to his face or behind his back--and he spent quite a few hours eavesdropping on the Spy's conversations just to be sure.

The longer this matter went unaddressed, the more the Soldier felt he owed the Spy something. The Soldier wracked his brain long and hard for what he could offer the Spy before he gave up and went for the default solution of an apology blowjob. After all, it had yet to fail him. It took a few days of following the Spy around to ascertain his schedule to find the best time and place to approach him so they could have privacy, but the Soldier was persistent and sneakier than anyone gave him credit for. Even the Spy, who prided himself on surprising people, was too taken off guard to do anything except gape in open-mouthed surprise as the Soldier knelt down and got to work. The Spy was still trying to think of something to say when the Soldier finished the job, swallowing what he could before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and trying to ignore the awkward stirring in his own pants.

"There. That'd better make us even," the Soldier growled. "Now, I need a goddamn drink."

More old stuff. Only one is actually porn, but I'm lazy and I don't feel like breaking these up.
-------------------------------------------------------------
(Wounds)
The Pyro always ends up with the worst injuries. In addition to a suicidal enthusiasm for running towards the enemy, the Medic discovers in the post-battle examinations that the Pyro is even more reckless than the Scout, as his torso and limbs are always covered with incidental bruises and cuts.

The Medic always tuts and chides the Pyro for being foolhardy, but the Pyro never listens. Instead, he peruses through the after battle statistics to see how everyone else has fared.

The rest of the team spends their time waiting for the Medic either bragging about their exploits or complaining about their terrible luck, but not the Pyro. Whenever he attempts to speak, it's to compliment someone, or at least that's what the Medic can make out from his enthusiastic ramblings.

On the battlefield, the Medic finds himself drawn to healing the Pyro whenever he is not hovering behind the Heavy. As useful as his favorite meat shield is for most situations, the Medic grows was to enjoy the havoc he can cause with an Ubered Pyro--and unlike the Heavy, the Pyro is quite cognizant of when the rush of invulnerability wears off and is quick to protect the Medic, sometimes even at the cost of his own life. Once, the Medic and the Pyro find themselves trapped in enemy territory at the end of a losing round, and the Pyro manages to take out an overenthusiastic enemy Scout by blasting the kid right in the face with a well-timed fireball.

After that round, the Medic gives top priority to pulling bullets out of the Pyro's back; after all, it's one thing to see a large overweight man take bullets for you on a regular basis, but it's another when the team's second smallest member attempt to use his own tiny frame as a shield.
-------------------------------------------------------------
(Trust)
Trying to negotiate the subtleties of the Spy's many boundaries felt like being stuck in a minefield with no metal detector. Some days the Engineer was convinced that the Spy was nothing more than a collection of identities, turtles-all-the-way-down style. But he was also determined to make their burgeoning relationship work one way or another despite the seeming impossibility of it. By and by, the Engineer began to realize that the Spy was not all that much different from a finicky car engine--he just had to know where to poke and prod to get the right reaction.

As time passed, the Spy grew bolder in his overtures. He would leave little trophies for the Engineer to find or plant ghost kisses on the back of his neck while cloaked no matter how many times the Engineer wished the Spy wouldn't do either of those things. But it didn't take long for the Engineer to realize that this was the Spy's way of being romantic--or at least affectionate--so he grew to appreciate the gestures.

The Engineer wasn't so sentimental as to call what they did after hours "making love". Under the cover of darkness they fucked, sometimes hard and fast, other times slow and sensual, but always intense with need that both were too proud to admit out loud. But he was also becoming aware that they were developing genuine Capital F Feelings for each other. The Spy would even remove his mask at times, and though he would be sure to blindfold the Engineer first, that little detail never bothered the Engineer. They, against all odds, trusted each other, a seeming impossibility given the supposed slippery nature of Spies and the just as paranoid one of Engineers.
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(Mask)
As a physician, it was the Medic's job to observe people to see if they were showing symptoms of any illnesses they were not willing to discuss with him in person, so it didn't take long for him to notice certain things.

The Sniper, for example, never seemed to present his genuine self to anyone. His interaction with the team members were based on their initial impression of him, and he remained at a superficial level of acquaintance with all of them.

It wasn't a surprise that a hired gunman would keep an arm's length from everyone. With the fluid nature of the battles and the high turnover rate between both teams, many often found themselves being transferred to the other side of the battlefield. Everyone took to being forced to shoot at their former teammates in a different manner, and the Sniper in particular seemed determined to avoid forming attachments.

The Medic didn't care about the Sniper's various facades. If he wanted to pretend that he had no feelings for anyone, and alienate himself from the rest of the team, great. That made it all the easier for the Medic to work his way through the Sniper's defenses.

Another oldie; I've changed a few things about it, but I still couldn't come up with anything past the original ending.
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The Sniper is a Sneaky Bastard, News at Eleven
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Even now, his head still ringing and arms and legs bound in a way that made escape impossible, the Spy refused to believe that he had been bested by a Sniper. Snipers couldn't be smarter than him; Snipers were filthy creatures, cowards that laid in wait far away from the fighting and put their pee in jars who couldn't bother to check their surroundings if their lives depended on it. Snipers did not set ambushes for Spies that snuck up to his nest while cloaked, or turn and grab the knife moments before it could sink into his open, unprotected back. Above all, Snipers were not capable of knocking a Spy off his feet or punching his lights out.

"YOU FAILED!" The Announcer seethed in the Spy's earpiece, and the Spy couldn't fight the sense of apprehension that overcame him. He might have had a chance for a rather undignifed rescue by his team's Pyro--who wouldn't be able to blackmail him about his most embarrassing bout of bad luck--but now any teammates who were still alive were without a doubt fleeing with their tails between their legs.

His captor, still perched by the window, didn't stop watching out of his scope for a long time. Then he picked it up--the Spy swore the Sniper was cradling it between his arms--and put it away piece by piece in a fancy-looking case, taking his sweet time to disassemble the whole thing. Then he removed his aviators, folding them and tucking them into his vest before removing it, hanging it--and his hat--on a coat rack that the Spy couldn't believe he never noticed before.

Then the Sniper's gaze swung onto the Spy, and he didn't look away. "So you've managed to capture me," the Spy hissed, venom lacing his voice. "Congratulations. Now put and end to this nonsense so we can go back to killing each other like civilized people."

The Sniper didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the Spy's jacket, took out the disguise kit, and picked a mask, being careful to hide which one it was before he put it on the Spy. Confused, the Spy didn't react until the Sniper pulled out a cigarette and shoved it in his mouth, igniting it with his own lighter.

"What the hell?" The Spy asked, getting no reply. Instead, the Sniper reached up to caress his face, crinkling the paper mask but not destroying the illusion. The confusion just kept increasing as the Sniper leaned in and all but assaulted the Spy in the mouth, tongue action so intense that the Spy didn't know whether to bite down, turn away, or go along with it.

"I've missed you so much," the Sniper breathed as he pulled away from the kiss, pulling the Spy's tie free from his neck in the meantime.

"Bwuh?" was all the Spy could manage before the Sniper gagged him.

Quick as lightning, the Sniper loosened the layers of Spy's clothing, extricating him from them just far enough to free his family jewels. "Do you know," the Sniper asked between kisses down the Spy's exposed torso, "how long it's been?" He waited a moment for an answer, as if the Spy was in any state to give one, before he dipped his head down and ran the length of his tongue along the Spy's penis.

The Spy hissed, trying to pull away, but the Sniper was relentless. He didn't know whether to feel violated or frightened. Was he being tortured, or was he being used as a substitute sex object? There were no protocols in the company handbook for this sort of encounter with the enemy.

The Sniper smirked when he saw the Spy's body respond to his attentions. "Glad to see I haven't lost my touch." He licked his lips, pressing his teeth against the Spy's hardened tip before opening his mouth and taking the entire length in his throat. The Spy tried to extricate himself a second time, but his legs found no purchase against the floor. In response, the Sniper leaned even more weight on the Spy and increased his pace as well. The Spy stared up at the ceiling, trying to think of anything except what was going on. Just as the Spy was feeling pressure building up behind his balls, the Sniper stopped and sat up, still cupping the Spy in his hands. "I've got a better idea," he said when the Spy shot him a bewildered look. He unzipped his pants, revealing the bulge there. "Let's make a nice, big mess together."

As if the Spy was in any position to respond either way. He closed his eyes and turned his head away as the Sniper closed the distance between them again and pressed their erections together, rubbing the both of them with one hand while the other reached up to caress his nipples. In a last, desperate attempt to take his mind off of his unwanted contact, the Spy took to cursing in French, culminating in a muffled and your mother sucks cocks in hell! just before the orgasm hit and left him an incoherent blob on the floor.

There was the sound of running water, and then Sniper could be heard wiping himself clean with a wet rag--the loft had a faucet just outside the window, the Spy realized--and, after dressing with military precision, undid the Spy's bindings. "You've got two choices, spook: either you walk out of here on your own two feet or I give you a hand and pitch you out the window. So which will it be?"

The Spy forced himself to stand, keeping as much of his weight pressed against the back wall as he could, making no effort to disguise the fact that he was shaking like a leaf. "I think I prefer the first option."

"Good. Now don't let me catch you up here again."

I'm now on *umblr, http://dot-chan.*umblr.com/ (replace the asterisk with a t)

Going to dump a mass of old 'fic ideas, drabbles, and random stuff, and then new things as I finish them.

Follow me and give me epeen if you feel like it.

>>49

OMG DOT, THAT WAS YOU???

That Soldier/Spy fic was one of the first fics I read when I first got into Fandom. I really liked it a lot, and bookmarked it. Back then I didn't know that threads on the Chan are eventually deleted, and when I went to re-read it a couple of months later the thread wasn't there anymore. I tried googling for the fic, hoping that it had been posted somewhere else, but I never found it, and since I couldn't remember who the author was I couldn't send them a message either.

And now, two years later, it pops out of the blue! Is this a belated smissmas miracle?

>>51

There is a detail that confuses me.

he reached into the Spy's jacket, took out the disguise kit, and picked a mask, being careful to hide which one it was before he put it on the Spy. Confused, the Spy didn't react until the Sniper pulled out a cigarette and shoved it in his mouth, igniting it with his own lighter.

Are you saying that cigarettes are the trigger that make the disguise kit work?

When I first read that part I assumed that the mask Sniper had picked was his own Team's Spy's, because, since Spies are always smoking, Sniper had the enemy Spy smoke a cigarette to complete the illusion.

But on second thought, it seems like you meant to keep the identity of the mask a mystery, so it seems a little weird that you'd give it away so easily.

Are you saying that cigarettes are the trigger that make the disguise kit work?
Yeah. Originally, I couldn't figure out a way to spell it out without Spy repeating to himself information that he should already know, but a little brainstorming later, try this on for size:
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Confused, the Spy didn't react until the Sniper pulled out a cigarette and shoved it in his mouth, igniting it with his own lighter, and his blood ran cold. The Sniper knew exactly how his disguise kit worked, and now he aimed to throw salt on the wound by having him wear another man's face by doing whatever it was planning.
--------------------

Does that make things clearer? (I may also have to change Spy's dialogue in the next line so his words still make sense, but one thing at a time, right?)

Personally, I think you should just scratch that entirely. The original version is confusing, and the suggested change unnecessarily complicates things.

Ultimately the disguise kit having a speficic trigger rather than just activating when the paper mask is put on, and Sniper knowing what that trigger is, doesn't add anything to the story. <i>At best</i>, it could work as a hint to the identity of the Mystery Man (that is to say, if Sniper knows exactly how a disguise kit works, it's likely that he was in a relationship with his team's Spy), but it's really not that important a plot point.

I suggest you just write it like this:

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The Sniper didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the Spy's jacket, took out the disguise kit, and picked a mask, being careful to hide which one it was before he put it on the Spy.

"What the hell?" The Spy asked, getting no reply. Instead, the Sniper reached up to caress his face, crinkling the paper mask but not destroying the illusion. Spy's confusion just kept increasing as the Sniper leaned in and all but assaulted him in the mouth, tongue action so intense that the Spy didn't know whether to bite down, turn away, or go along with it.

-------------

Simple and to the point.

Btw, it should be "Now put an end to this nonsense."

Anyway, thinking about it, having Sniper "throw salt on the wound by having Spy wear another man's face while assaulting him" is excellent drama fodder. But it's not something that would occur to Spy before Sniper even begins to kiss him. Heck, Spy would probably be too freaked out to think about it even during or right after the assault, I imagine that sort of Fridge Horror would only materialize after Spy has had the time to escape and calm down.

You could probably make a good multi-chapter fic out of that story, instead of leaving it as a one-shot.

Aaaaaaand, third message in a row! (I wish we could just edit messages on the Chan)

Given the criticism I've given you, you may have got the impression that I didn't like the fic. Nope, I liked it a lot :)

You could probably make a good multi-chapter fic out of that story, instead of leaving it as a one-shot.
Except I can't decide for the life of me what is going on. Was Sniper just fucking with Spy's head? Or did he have some sort of relationship with an as yet unspecified class that ended in ~tragedy~? Is Spy going to get his revenge or decide that more kinky disguised roleplay sexytimes is in order?

I'd also love to see this as a multi-chapter fic; as for what Sniper is doing; that's up to you! What I got from the story was that he had a previous relationship with someone else from his team that indeed came to a ~tragic~ end, but you could go the other way and make it work as well. Whatever you decide happens next, I'd love to read.

Sorry, I honestly can't tell if those questions are the reasons you don't want to continue the story, and are therefore meant to remain unanswered, or if you are actually asking your readers for suggestions.

Would you continue it if you got convincing answers, or do you prefer to leave it as a one-shot?

Right now I don't have plans to continue it, but if you have suggestions I'm all ears.

Thank you.

About the first questions you asked, to be honest I don't really have a preference, both sound good to me. I guess I'm leaning a little towards "Sniper was fucking with Spy's head," mostly because it's such an unusual characterization for Sniper (which is kind of baffling... his motto is "have a plan to kill everybody you meet" but for some reason he is usually characterized as "simple nice(er than the other mercenaries) guy" instead of cunning), but having him using Spy as some kind of replacement for a lost love works too.

However, if you can figure out which one you'd rather write about, but you can't decide how to continue the story, you could write an alternate version of the first chapter from Sniper's pov instead of a second chapter.

I've seen it done before several times: the very same fic has two or more versions, one presents the events from Character A's pov and the other presents those very same events from Character B's pov. I think it could really work well here. You could re-write the first chapter from the moment Sniper grabbed Spy's knife (adding in a nice fight scene too) to his escape. That way you could supplement the story even if you don't know how to continue it.

As for the last question, please please don't have Spy decide that the best reaction to getting assaulted is jumping in bed with the rapist. Really, please don't do it, it would ruin the story to me.

THAT SAID.

On the one hand, the mercenaries seem to care deeply about revenge. Besides the fact that they are characterized as very proud, there is a whole in-game system that keeps track of the players who kill you too many times and strongly encourages you to specifically seek them out to get revenge.

I'd definitely expect Spy to want revenge. And not the typical "he raped me so I'm going to rape him" revenge of pornland, but actual "I'm going to break every bone in his body, starting from his fingertips" revenge.

On the other hand, the mercenaries seem to follow an extremely laid-back "as long as I got revenge, I can let bygones be bygones" policy.

I mean, Pyro murders Spy slowly and painfully several times a day, and yet in the MvM comic RED Spy and BLU Pyro were casually sitting side by side as if they had been in perfectly friendly terms. Heck, Spy looked more upset by Soldier picking his nose than by sitting next to the people he had been trading excruciating pain with for years.

It kind of makes sense. We are talking about mercenaries who murders people for a living (and not just people who have Respawn either), mercenaries who have become used to see maiming and death as mere inconvenience, mercenaries who saw nothing wrong with teaching a tiny child to stab a man in the neck. They are completely used to things that would drive normal people mad with PTSD.

So. I think Spy should definitely take a bloody gruesome revenge. Bonus point if you have him point out to Sniper that they have extremely few chances for sexual encounters in the desert, so even if Spy didn't like Sniper he would have probably agreed to sleep with him anyway if Sniper had approached him for consensual sex. Thus, the assault was both motive for extremely painful revenge and completely unnecessary.

HOWEVER, after getting his revenge, Spy might decide that they are even now, and eventually decide that he'd rather get laid with a person he hates than dealing with dry spell. Again, he is not a normal sane person, he is a guy who in MvM casually hangs around a mumbling abomination that killed him with fire for years.

Tl;dr: you don't have to pick only one, you could write about revenge and more kinky sexytimes.

Something I'd like to see more when BDSM is involved--it's actually the submissive who holds all the cards and lets the dominant play God.

Speaking of which...
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Playing God
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The Medic heard the Sniper pad into his office--scuffing his shoes against the tiled floor on purpose--and lock the door behind him, but he pretended to keep his focus on his work, his heart rate increasing as he wondered what sort of scenario the Sniper would have planned for him this time.

He all but jumped in his chair when the Sniper's arms circled around him. "You look stressed, Doc," this observation rumbled next to his ear while slow circles kneaded into his hands.

"You are not helping," Medic growled, trying to sound irritated, but what genuine lack of interest disappeared as his hand was guided towards Sniper's neck, where a collar lay snug against the other man's throat.

"Aww, you sure? And here I was, all trussed up with nowhere to go." He gave the ring holding the collar together a light tug. "Don't you think this would look lovely with that leash you've got in your drawer?"

The Medic couldn't get said drawer open fast enough. His hands trembled with excitement as he stood and turned to face the Sniper. "I zink--" he drew in a breath to steady himself as he secured the leash. "Eet would be even bettah eef you got on your knees."

The Sniper smirked and wagged his finger. "Ah-ah-ah. You should know 'ow this works boi now, Doc. You've got t' say it roight."

It felt as if all of the heat in the Medic's face went straight to his groin. He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and said in German with the most authoritative-sounding tone he could manage: "Kneel down."

The Sniper complied, clasping his hands behind his back without being prompted to as was his habit. He nuzzled against the buldge in the Medic's pants, drawing his tongue against his canines. "Already this 'ard, Doc? At this rate, I won't get any fun at all."

"Silence." Medic discarded his gloves to the floor and grabbed the Sniper by his hair with one hand while reaching in to grab his erection with the other. "Get--" it took him a while to switch back to English, and when he did he made a note that he would have to teach the Sniper a new command. "Get to vork."

"Since you asked so noice." The smirk was now a full fledged shit-eating grin. "Come and get it."

Sex against a window.
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The Scout was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that fooling around with a dude in places where he could get caught, even if it was just to ease a dry spell or two, could get him hung or worse, and he wasn't about to gamble that his teammates would turn a blind eye to it, not when he was what his brothers referred to as "prison pretty".

And so for these reasons (among others), when he felt the urge to do the nasty, he'd make insinuations about going into town at the Soldier, with just enough eyebrow wriggle to suggest that they weren't about to blow money on any titty bars or streetwalkers, and the Soldier would nod back and drive the two of them out to the abandoned base on Hydro.

The place was a complete wreck now, overgrown with weeds on the outside and leaking all sorts of weird-colored fluids on the inside, but there were a couple of places that Scout and Soldier kept somewhat presentable. The second floor of the RED Dam, for example, had once been a prime Sniper nest, but they boarded up the windows that were missing glass, swept the dust into the corners, and hauled up an old mattress that nobody would care if it went missing.

It was this mattress that saw the most action on their visits, but today the Scout had a different sort of mischief in mind. He checked a few windowsills before finding one that he felt safe fucking around on and gave it a pat when the Soldier shot him a questioning look. "Yo. Over heyah."

The Soldier remained where he was, confusion written all over his face. "Thought you wanted to fuck."

"Well, duh. Just not dere," he jerked a thumb towards the bed and made a face, "dat shit's gettin' nasty. An' besides, I always kinda wanted ta try doin' it where people could see."

The Soldier's confusion increased even further. "But there's no-one around for miles! And I thought the whole point of us coming out here was so that we wouldn't have anyone spying on us!"

The Scout sighed; the Soldier could be so goddamn thick sometimes. "It's da whole idea of it, okay? Like, playing pretend and shit."

The Soldier thought about it. "But who'd want to see us going at it?"

The Scout threw his hands into the air. "I dunno. Just...go with it, okay?" He ran to the Soldier and grabbed his hands. "C'mon, please? Pretty please?"

"It doesn't look too safe," the Soldier equivocated, though he looked more inclined to agree, perhaps just to shut the Scout up and get on with having sex if nothing us.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud--" The Scout yanked the Soldier towards the window and gave it a firm knock. "See? Nice and solid! You think I'd wanna fuck where I could get somethin' up my ass dat's not yer dick? Look, man, I'm even willing ta let you top foist, dat's how sure I am." He flipped the Soldier's helmet off his head and stood on tiptoe so he was nose to nose with the other man. "Or are ya chickening out on me?"

The Soldier grabbed the Scout by the shirt. "Who are you calling chicken, kid?"

"Not a kid," the Scout snapped back before going on the attack with fierce kiss.

The Soldier pulled the Scout in closer, fighting for dominance. After trading kisses, bites, and even punches, he succeeded at last, being careful to aim the Scout's back against the wall instead as he relieved the Scout of his shirt.

The Scout reached into the Soldier's jacket for the lube before he could throw that off as well. "Woah, slow down, Captain America underpants! My ass ain't self-wetting, ya gotta lemme prepare first."

The Soldier flushed, helping Scout out of his shoes before kick off his own boots. "Dammit, Scout, I don't even have those underpants anymore! Stop bringing it up already!"

"Captain! America! Underpants!" the Scout teased in sing song while he shimmied out of his pants and then his briefs. He slathered some lube out onto his hand before passing it to the Soldier, then prepared himself in front of the window. "And I'll bet you've totally jacked off in 'dose, too! Came all over da stars and stripes, didn'tcha?"

This time, the Soldier slammed the Scout face into the glass. "That tears it! I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll only be able to scream my name!"

The Scout reached down and began to stretch himself open. "Let's see you try, jackass."

Riled up as he was, the Soldier was rougher than he might otherwise have been, but the Scout didn't mind, he liked things a bit rough even if he ended up sore afterwards. And once the Soldier got to pounding into him in earnest, the feeling of the window against his erection was just as awesome as he thought it might be, all the more so when he imagined that he had an audience.

(He was sure that his teammates--if they were into that sort of thing--would watch him and the Scout fuck. Why wouldn't they? The Scout was an awesome lay, and he'd put on a show for them. He'd moan and writhe and rub himself all over that glass, maybe even try to draw something as he smeared it. And then the next time, he could do it at Turbine, where they could see not just the Scout in all of his naked glory, but Soldier's all-American manhood thrusting into him over and over again...)

The Scout was jolted out of this daydream as the Soldier let out an ear-piercing war-cry; this warning gave him just enough time to extract himself so the Soldier came on his ass instead of in it--the Scout had some standards, after all, and that shit took forever to clean--and he gave the Soldier a look that was somewhere between a pout and a glare. "Really?" He gestured at his own cock, which was close but not quite there yet. "You couldn't wait for me?"

"Save your bitching and get to work!" Now it was the Soldier who assumed the position before the window. "C'mon, I don't have all day!"

The Scout found himself smiling until his cheeks hurt. "Well, if ya put it dat way..."

I have daydreams about that too, Scout.


Great job, I loooove Soldier/Scout, and the idea of them switching is great. (You hardly ever see it when one tops and finishes and then the other top so they can finish).

Warning: Contains a Tits Medic. Don't read if you're not into that kind of thing.

And I seem to be on a Scout rush lately. I guess when it comes to Terrible Ideas, I can always count on the Scout to roll with them. Didn't quite end up in porn territory this time, though. Here's hoping I get more inspiration to write in this particular "universe".

Went with a more stream of consciousness-ish style narrative time, please let me know if it's too confusing and I'll try to make it less so.
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Every time the Scout gets dared to do something after he's just drunk enough to not think things through (and he so does, shut up and stop reminding him of the stupid shit he does while sober, it made perfect sense at the time, okay?), he swears to himself that he'll never, ever, ever let his teammates goad him into stuff that even he'd consider nigh suicide, he still guzzles too much beer for his skinny self, still runs his mouth about things he should keep quiet about, and still gets riled up by the tiniest of insinuations.

This time, he almost chickens out on going up to the office of one Tits Medic (she'd laughed it off when she heard the less than flattering moniker, answering that by this logic this made her opposite number "Dicks Everywhere") at least a million times. No way he was scared of anybody, least of all the lone , but Tits Medic was even more fucking batshit than any of the dude docs. Even if she was anything close to hot, the Scout does not have any plans to tap that, because he knows better than put his dick in crazy. And rumor has it that on her very first day on the job, Tits Medic had announced to the team that unless any of them possessed stamina surpassing her collection of "wonderful toys" (her words, not the Scout's, he doesn't want to know what kind of kinky shit she keeps hidden away in her desk drawers), they could keep their penises to themselves, though if any of them did want to have their horizons expanded, she was more than happy to fuck any one of them with her strap-on.

The Scout is very much not interested in having his horizons (or anything else) expanded, but he'd gotten plastered again, and he'd gone yapping again, and he's thinking again that maybe this time he'll just take the penalty for blowing off the dare because there's no way some truth or dare punishment game can be worse than what the Tits Medic might do to him, it's not like he could ever live it down either way.

But before he knows it he's at her door and knocking on it, light and dainty with his knuckles because Tits Medic had fuckingamputated the last idiot who'd thought it was a good idea to pound on said door like he was the police or something, his digits making the rhythm of "shave and a haircut", oh shit am I really doing this this is the worst idea in forever!

She cracks the door open just far enough to see him--and the rest of the team doing a piss poor job of both hiding and keeping quiet--but doesn't remove the chain, arching one side of her furry-ass as shit uni-brow at him. "All right, so who vint on a drunken bender and broke all zeir bones zis time?"

The Scout's mouth kicked into action before his brain could catch up. "Nah, it ain't dat late at night yet, but I was thinking, so I hoid dat you were offerin' a little action, and I was thinking, well, maybe I could get inta summa dat, but dere has to be some give an' take, tit fer tat, ya know? I figure, it can't be all dat faggy ta take it up da ass from a chick, even if it's you--no offense, lady, but if we met in a bar somewhere I'd put a bag ovah yer head before we got it on--so I guess I could try it once just ta see what all da big deal is, but I think I should get somethin' in retoin, ya know, fer bein' a good sport and all, it don't have ta be nuthin' too serious, just a blowjob would be pretty cool."

Tits Medic waits for the Scout to pause for breath, then raises a single, gloved finger, and after the Scout complies with her unspoken request, asks: "How many?"

The Scout blinks. "Bwuh?"

Tits Medic lets out a light sigh as she massages her temples. "How many hef you had to drink? You reek of ze piss ze Americans try to pass for bier, and ze peanut gallery ovah zere--" she tilts her head at their mutual audience, "sounds like zere hef been, how do you say, shenanigans."

The Scout swears the room gets colder at the word "shenanigans", but he manages to stand his ground, sorta, though he's starting to break out in a nervous sweat. "Look, lady, just gimme a 'yes' or a 'no' heyah, it ain't like I'm askin' ta marry ya er nuthin."

Tits Medic slaps him.

"What da hell was dat for?" he demands, holding his stinging cheek.

"I'd give you ze full list, but zen I'd be hir all nacht. But for now, consider zis a blow struck for science; zey say zat it accelarates ze sobriety process." She telegraphs the impending blow by raising her hand and glares when the Scout flinches. "Don't be such a baby."

"I ain't bein' a baby! I'm just not, y'know, inta pain like some sick freak!" This time, the Scout reacts in time for the slap to land on his ear instead of his cheek, but it still burns like when he crosses his ma and she lays into him and threatens to bring out the belt because he's still not too old to not get a thorough spanking, and he's starting to think maybe he should smack Tits Medic back one, consequences be damned. "C'mon, I ain't dat drunk!"

"Prove it." She's shining her freaking penlight in his eyes now, looking him over like she wants him on her operating table and not in her bed. "Recite ze alphabet, bitte," and when the Scout's about to do that, easy peasy, she adds with a smirk: "backwards."

"Aw, geez, can't we just get ta tha part where we're having hot, steamy sex? Man, I'm like, practically throwing myself atcha and yer still actin' like a frigid bitch!"

This time, the slap is harder, and the sting moves from the mere threat of something worse to start praying, because you're in deep shit now. "Stop. Stop talking like you are somehow 'doing me a favor' by propositioning me." She stabs a finger into the Scout's chest, enunciating her words with deliberate slowness as if speaking to a very dull-witted child, each syllable so crisp that the accent that earned her the other nickname of 'Countess Draculina' had all but vanished. "We are peers. If we are to fuck--and that is a very big if right now--it will be on equal terms. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," the Scout squeaks, and the needle on his internal decision meter dips back towards screw this, I'm out of here, because as humiliating as it was to stand on the roof naked and bellow "I'm a little teapot" at two in the morning, his little proposition with Tits Medic had moved way beyond trying to fulfill a drunken dare and into uncharted territory. The Scout had fooled around--and scored--with of girls before, but Tits Medic wasn't some blushing cheerleader that the Scout could bumble through with sloppy kisses on her face, blind gropes at her boobs and vague thrusts between her legs and call it a day. Even if she ever does let him put his dick into her instead of the other way around (hell might freeze over first, but he could dream), he has a feeling that she'd still want to call all the shots.

Tits Medic snaps her fingers in front of his face. "Alphabet, backwards, vile ze night iz still young, ja?"

He complies, or at least tries to. What efforts he's made to sober up seems to have gone down the shitter as he struggles and stutters through what should be a simple task, and the others don't make it any easier by snickering or mocking him. He makes it as far as somewhere around halfway before he whirls on his unwanted audience and all but roars "CUT IT OUT!"

"You Neandertals still here?" Tits Medics eyes narrow. "Don't you have somezing bettah to do?"

The mob sways, but they linger, holding onto that last bit of alcohol-fueled bravado. The Scout tries to pretend they're not there and tries the 'kicked puppy' approach this time. "Look, can I--can I at least come in and not hafta put on a show for dose assholes?"

She doesn't seem swayed in the least. "Ahrn't you here to do just zat, put on a show? Tell me, if you vere not drunk and under ze impression zat your teammates vould somehow zink less uv you if you didn't act like a dummkopf, vould you still be asking me to hef sex vit you?"

"I dunno, it's not like I ever think about having something up my ass, I don't swing dat way, but I guess if I was gonna go for dat kinda thing, it might as well be with you, please don't hit me again?"

Tits Medic sighs a second time and lets the Scout stand there like a lemon for what feels like forever before moving aside. "Very well. Enter."

The Scout jabs a triumphant middle finger in the direction of the others before stepping into Tits Medics's office, then realizes that isn't maybe the best move right now and mutters a sheepish apology to her. She gives him a slight nod in response, then turns her attention to the crowd as well, scattering them with a single but sharp "Ahem".

Am I really gonna do this? the Scout wonders as he follows behind Tits Medic, the nerves he has been fighting all night up to this point returning in full force. His imagination runs wild with all sorts of nightmare scenarios, most of them involving him finding out that he was into all sorts of sick shit that would send any girl running should he admit to liking them.

In the meantime, Tits Medic has disappeared behind a partition. "Don't throw your zings in a heap on ze floor after you've removed zem, bitte," she calls from there.

"I dunno, man, it's cold as balls in heyah. I kinda wanna keep my shoit on." It's a pitiful excuse, but it's the first thing that springs to mind. Anything to delay what he hopes isn't inevitable.

"Suit yourself." There's more of that familiar shuffling of clothes on skin, and when Tits Medic emerges back into view holding what must be her Box of Goodies, the Scout feels his jaw drop. From the neck down, she's fucking gorgeous: her small but pert breasts lay snug in a team-colored lacy bra, and though her panties cover everything below her belly button they're so goddamn fancy that the Scout can't even begin to imagine them off. The silk robe that she is wearing on top is just thin and sheer enough to hint at the curves hidden by her usual outfit.

"Holy fuck," the Scout breathes, and before he can stop himself, asks: "Are dose for real?"

Tits Medic doesn't even bother to roll her eyes. "Nein. And before you ask, I'd razzer zat you not touch zem."

"Aww, c'mon, not even once?" Then the Scout processes Tits Medic's words. "Wait, what?"

She all but slams the box on her desk. "You ahr stalling. Ezzah get on wiz it or get out."

He sticks out his tongue. "Well, excuuuuse me for not bein' all gung ho about havin' a dick up my ass without so much as a kiss!"

"You vant foreplay, do it yourself." She opens the box and starts laying out what she has in there, some of which the Scout's seen or heard about, but the rest all he can do is guess what they might be for, and he starts feeling light-headed as a result.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," he mutters.

She's not the slightest bit ruffled by this. "Vomit in ze sink, not on ze floor." Then she picks out a floppy rubber fake penis that's like the length of a fucking loaf of bread and then some as well as two bottles of lube, one of which she tosses underhand at the Scout before going back into the other side of the partition again.

He manages to make the catch without bobbling it. He tries to keep quiet, but he holds out for all of two minutes, tops. "So, uh. About your boobs."

"None ov your business." She sounds just testy enough that the smart side of his brain thinks he should stop asking and the dumb side thinks he should press on.

Neither side manages a decisive victory, so what the Scout says next is a combination of retarded and brilliant: "I ain't askin' fer yer life story or nuthin', I just wanna know ahead 'a time if dere's somethin' I should watch out fer, you know I have diarrhea 'a da mouth an' all."

Her answer is almost immediate, as if she's thought of this possibility already: "Or I could just gag you."

Her annoyance level doesn't seems to have changed, to he tests the metaphorical waters a bit more. "Hey, man, one weird thing at a time."

She sighs a third time. "You ahr such a child."

He can't help himself; she's walked right into an ice-burn comeback. "So what does dat make you, a cradle robber?"

This time, she chuckles. "Vell, if you must know, I am old enough to be your muzzer."

He makes a face. "Aw, c'mon, lady! I don't need to think about sum'in' like dat while we're havin' sex!"

"What vould you prefer to think about, zen?"

A million fantasies flit through his head. "I dunno. Boobs, I guess, all big and round and bouncy. Or doin' it with, like, three ladies at once would be pretty awesome."

She scoffs at this. "You realize zat even one voman can hef multiple orgasms, right? I doubt even you could hef zat sort ov stamina."

"That sounds like some kinda old wives' tale."

"Nein, zere hef been studies confirming zis."

He thinks back to the encounters that he's had and all of of sudden some of the reactions he got after he was finished made a whole lot more sense. "Dat don't sound fair, though."

"Considering zat females ahr ze ones who can become pregnant, it vould make sense for zem to be ze ones who ahr capable of enjoying what comes before zat, ja?"

"I guess." Just as the Scout is starting to wonder maybe if Tits Medic is the one who's stalling, she re-emerges into view, and his eyes just about bug out of his head: the dildo is now peeking out of her underwear like she's some kind of male impersonator.

She gives him a once-over, and seeing that all he's doing is standing there gaping at her, she makes what sounds like an annoyed noise and comes closer.

"Uh--" He manages, keeping his gaze fixed on her face instead of anywhere else, his words failing him mas a result.

She doesn't stop until she's way too close to him--the dildo doesn't touch, not quite yet, but all she would have to do is lean forward. She reaches up to caress his face, but changes her mind when she sees him flinch. "Yes or no."

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, so he settles for a half-nod, half-headshake before shrugging and hoping she gets how helpless he feels. It's the first time he's ever felt out of his element with a lady, and it's as scary as it is thrilling.

"I told you. Eizzer get naked or get out." One side of the uni-brow twitches when he doesn't move. "Shnell, or I vill hef you strapped to my table."

This motivates him to backpedal, one-two-three quick little steps, before he turns on his heel and doesn't quite run, he still has enough pride to not want to feel like he's making a break for it, but his steps are hard and fast. He pauses at the door to glance back--she's still there, in the silken robe and the lacy underwear and the fake penis sticking out--and tries to think of something to say, but he can't, so he just pulls the door shut behind him and makes a beeline for his room.

He gets a few teasing questions and jabs about his adventure in Tits Medic's room, but he shrugs it off and spouts off some shit that the others dismiss as his usual tall tales. For her part, Tits Medic just sits in her usual seat at the table and eats in silence, her expression as grumpy as always.

Tits Medic is my new hero.

Damn, I soooo wanted to see Scout get his "horizons expanded"! In any case, great story, Dot!

So I was channel surfing and while I was passing through Project Runway: Teams, that particular episode happened to feature an Australian male stripper group called The Thunder from Down Under.

Cue the plot bunnies.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The driving bass does little to drown out the throngs of screaming women that you are surrounded by and you find yourself wondering yet again why the first thing the Sniper had done upon visiting him after he'd been moved to a different base was to give you a VIP backstage pass to a performance of "The Thunder Down Under" or why you had taken him up on this invitation. It is obvious from the name what sort of show to expect, and you don't mind getting an eyeful of handsome men stripping down to their birthday suits, but you don't quite see the point in watching complete strangers who do this sort of thing for a living.

Except for a brief once-over to evaluate each performer as they saunter onto the stage--not too bad, you suppose, but there's a point at which you can't help but feel that all those bulging muscles stop looking attractive--you pretty much tune out most of the show.

"And now, sheilahs, 'ave we got something special for you tonoight!" The emcee does a fancy twirling maneuver with his hands before pointing off-stage. "Out of retirement just for this show, please give it up for Jackaroo Wankah!"

You're too busy rolling your eyes at the ridiculous moniker to notice this "Wankah" at first, but when he takes center stage you all but dislocate your jaw when you realize that he is none other than the Sniper. He is even wearing an outfit similar to his old work uniform--though, of course, that one didn't have pull-away assless chaps.

The Sniper gyrates his hips to the rhythm of the music, basking in the attention of the audience, now worked up to a frothing frenzy. He aims a wink at you (or so you hope) as he twirls and peels off his shirt, running his tongue over the snaggletooth that you always tease him about. You stare, transfixed, as he continues to dance his clothes off piece by piece until all he is wearing is an Australia flag-patterned g-string.

"What do you think, darls? Should 'e go all the way starkers?" At this, the crowd roars its approval. "Well, you 'eard 'em, Wankah! Take it off! Take it off!"

The Sniper grins a mile wide as the chant gets taken up by everyone present, yourself included. Taking his sweet time, he runs his fingers down the length of his torso before taking up the drawstrings holding the bikini bottom together and, bit by agonizing bit, pulls them apart.

The noise is so deafening now that you swear the building has begun to shake, all the more so when the Sniper starts swinging the bit of cloth in his hand, as if he's going to let it fly into the mass of shrieking, wolf-whistling, waving, jumping, fainting people.

You are almost trampled as the mob chases after the souvenier the Sniper lets loose, but you manage to stand your ground. In the meantime, the Sniper continues to undulate to the music, pacing back and forth along the length of the stage. Behind you, you hear the g-string being claimed by a triumphant fan, and then all eyes are once again back on the stage, where both the music and hypnotic movements are building up to a climax. You find yourself holding your breath as Sniper, glistening with sweat, breaks into a magnificent run and manages a full sommersault before making a near-perfect landing and then raising a single fist in a triumphant pose.

"And there you have it, everyone! Let's give it up one more time for Jackaroo Wankah!"

The appreciative crowd showers the stage with flowers and bills as the Sniper grandstands some more before shuffling off the stage. Moments later, the emcee announces for the VIPs to come forward, and you join a handful of other excited fans for the tour. As the others clamor around the stars of the show for autographs and answers to their questions, you hang back and enjoy the view.

The Sniper, of course, garners the biggest reaction. While you slip unnoticed into a corner of the room, he endures being felt up by a gaggle of giggling women (and what you think might be one drag queen). After what feels like forever, the others are escorted out of the room by the security staff; one of them spots you, but when the Sniper clears his throat, he just gives you a slight nod and moves on out of the room.

You wait for the voices to fade out of hearing before speaking up. "You couldn't come up with a better stage name than 'Jackaroo Wanker'?"

The Sniper shrugged. "It's not loike it matters wot they call me when I go up there." He then leaned back and gestured to himself. "So wot did you think?"

"Don't quit your day job." When he pretends to be hurt at this assessment, you add with a smirk: "Because I intend to keep you all to myself."

"Do you now?" His grin is as wide as yours. "I've got t' warn you, though, I don't come cheap."

"I'd imagine you wouldn't." You make your way over to him and settle into his lap. "So at what point did you decided that you wanted to be a stripper?"

"Moi stoipend from th' ADF was running low and I wasn't bagging a lot 'f bounties back then. Tried a bit 'f everything, really, before I soined up with these blokes. Turned out other than 'eadshots, this was something I was good at, so."

You still can't quite believe that the Sniper is so nonchalant about all of this. "I don't suppose your parents know about this."

He shrugs. "Didn't see any point in keeping it from them. They'd foind something t' whinge about even if I were th' bloody king 'f Oz."

You kiss him on the nose. "There goes my plan to buy an island, make it a micro-nation, and name you dictator for life."

"I'll put in on moi list 'f things t' troi when I get sick 'f th' Snoiping business," he deadpans back.

You slip your hands through the opening in his shirt. "Is having sex with me as often as possible one of those items?"

"Course not." He leans forward to nibble at your chin. "Already doing that, aren't I?"

YESSS.

(I may have spent the whole of that ProjWay episode thinking about TF2, not gonna lie)

Can't stop squealing, someone help me.

And 'Jackaroo Wankah' make me lol hard. Thanks dotchan.

Possibly the beginning of a thing. No on-screen sex (yet), but it's here for goatse.
---------
The Sniper hadn't planned to meet the so-called "nice, young thing" his mother arranged as a blind date for him--as a matter of fact he had zero interest in settling down or giving her the grandchildren she was always haranguing him about in some fashion or another--and was in fact fishing for the appropriate excuse talk her out of it when the Spy made it known that he was eavesdropping and did not approve of any threat to the Sniper's confirmed bachelorhood. That, of course, had the opposite intended effect, all the more so when he and the Spy got into a shouting match that was witnessed by the entire base and the rest of the team making bets on who would fold first in the ensuing cold war of non-speaking terms and not sleeping in each others' beds (the Scout also earning some well-deserved cuffs on the head for calling dibs on sex, regardless of whether that be from one of the two feuding lovers on the rebound or trying to make the other man jealous). One thing led to another and he found himself sitting across a woman about his age in a coffee shop while wearing something that he hoped didn't make him look too much like a hobo and trying not to feel too self-conscious about it.

She was the one who broke the silence first. "To be honest, I didn't really want to be here today. I'm fine with being single, I've got a nice job and friends I hang out with, but you know--" and here she rolled her eyes, "parents."

"Say no more, me mum's th' same way." He gave her another once over, hoping he wasn't giving off pervert vibes. "I mean, no offense, you're not bad looking or anything, but--"

"Neither are you. But you're not looking, and I'm not looking, blah blah etcetera." She refilled her own cup first, and then gestured with the decanter. "More coffee?"

"Later, maybe. So 'ow many 'dates' does your folks insist on before they give up on 'making it work out'?"

"Usually a couple, but maybe I can head them off at the pass with a few of my 'deal breakers'. You the church-going type?"

"Not really. Not big on religion much at all."

"That's fine, different strokes for different folks and all--" she drifted off, looking past him with eyebrow raised. "This may sound like a weird question, but am I about to get horribly murdered by one of your jealous friends-with-benefits?"

The Sniper turned his head to follow her gaze and found himself facepalming as he saw the Spy marching over with a glare that could kill. "Oh, bloody oath," he muttered.

"Is this her?" the Spy hissed, jabbing an accusatory finger at the woman.

"This isn't what it looks like?" the woman offered in response, trying to smile.

"Don't be a ponce, Spook. I'm just 'ere t' 'ave a noice, quiet afternoon--" the Sniper turned so the Spy wouldn't plop into his lap, but the other man just draped himself across his back instead. "Stop it, you're overreacting."

"I am, am I? And I suppose you'll tell me I'm talking out of my 'arse' next?" the Spy sniffed. "Well, I'll show you talking out of my ass--"

Before the Sniper could say anything else, the Spy moved off and dropped his trousers and his pants in one motion, bending over to give him, the woman, and pretty much everyone else in the cafe a view of his pale scrawny bottom. "Hello, mademoiselle," he intoned, stretching and squashing his arse-hole to imitate that of a mouth speaking. "Are you sure you want to date someone whose penis has been in here?"

Her response was instant and deadpan. "That depends. Did he wear protection?"

The Sniper tapped the Spy on his exposed flesh with the butterknife, biting back a laugh when he recoiled as if stabbed, screeching in histrionics. "'f course I used a rubber. I'm not an idiot. And I thought we were just having a shag, no strings attached."

"Oh! Oh! I've been wounded!" the Spy wailed as he writhed on the floor before he shoved his cheeks up again, this time towards the Sniper. "Eet hurts! Eet hurts so much!"

The woman, too, looked like she was trying not to giggle at the scene. "Should I let you two work this out among yourselves, or--?"

The Sniper, in the meantime, grabbed the Spy by his suit jacket and shoved him away. "Please don't. I'd 'ate t' 'ave t' explain woi I 'ad t' cut short an otherwoise perfectly good meet with a shielah t' moi folk."

The Spy wasn't about to be deterred. He went right side up and threw his arms around the Sniper without bothering to make himself decent, and if the Sniper hadn't reacted with a quick redirect he would've gotten a face full of both the Spy's donger and royal jewels. "So you're still going to pretend zat I don't exist? After all zat we've been through?"

"It's fine. Just tell them that I'm not your type. That's what I was going to do anyway, eventually. Our parents might bitch about us blowing each other off after the first date, but I think you have bigger problems to worry about right now." The woman pulled her checkbook out of the purse. "And don't worry about paying for the whole bill, I've got my own bill covered."

"Sorry about this," the Sniper got out between wrangling the Spy.

"Are you kidding? In a couple of years, you'll be telling this story to strangers at a bar as an ice-breaker. Everyone will think it was hilarious." After setting down her money, she got up and pretended to blow him a kiss. "Thanks for a wonderful time. It's too bad things couldn't work out."

I don't remember seeing this posted but I feel like I have to comment just to say thank you for writing it as it made me giggle like an idiot. I'd love to read any more of it that you write.