Here are some Demo-and-Spy-centric fics I wrote for Demoman December. The prompts are taken from a "25 Days of Christmas" fic meme and are exceptionally corny and Hallmark-y and were written in like 45 minutes or less, but I thought some people here may be interested in either Demoman or December and might like to read these. Some NSFW, all combinations of Spy/Demo included, not related in anyway whatsoever to Mostly Apples. ------ Day 1 - Mistletoe The Scout had looked hopeful upon finding the sprigs of mistletoe tucked into the crate of Christmas decorations that had been sent to base, but then he remembered that no woman besides Miss Pauling ever visited the base, (and even then, not often enough), and his face took on a grim cast. “I ain’t that desperate to kiss any of you chumps,†he muttered to himself sulkily. “Do not worry, I will take care of this,†the Spy said, plucking the mistletoe sprigs from the crate’s contents. “Oh sure, just flaunt it in front of the rest of us, why don’t you?!†the Scout cried out, in that mixture of envy and disgust he always displayed when confronted with the fact that their Spy was still having an affair with BLU Scout’s mother. “Who says I am decorating?†the Spy retorted, walking off to the mess hall with his collection. After about fifteen minutes, the Medic set down the stockings he was hanging up, frowning. “Herr Spy?†he called out, hurrying to the kitchens. “You do know mistletoe is poisonous, don’t you?†The trap was set. The mistletoe hung, barely noticeable, in the ceiling rafters, the unopened bottle of Scrumpy pilfered from the kitchen cellar set in the middle of the hallway in an appealing angle of fluorescent light. Not even a sober Demoman would be able to resist such compelling bait. Well, especially a sober Demoman. The Spy waited behind the corner, every muscle in his body tensed to pounce once his prey approached his hiding place. Soon enough, he heard a cheery whistle coming down the hallway, followed by the scent of eye-watering alcohol he had come to love. The moment the Demoman came into view, obviously intrigued by the sight of unattended Scrumpy, the Spy lunged for him, caught him in his arms and kissed him deeply. About one minute into the kiss, he pulled back to murmur “Joyeux Noel†to those luscious lips, when a flash of blue caught his eye and made him pause. It was a large flash of blue, in fact. “Mon dieu!†He had kissed the BLU Demoman, not the ravishing RED Demoman who was the object of his affections, or one of them, anyway. “How did you even get in?!†The BLU Demoman grinned and gave a full-throated belch in response. “What’s going on here?!†The RED Demoman stared at the scene, looking utterly aghast. His Spy, embraced by the other team’s Demoman, clearly interrupted in a full frontal snog. “It’s not what you think!†the RED Spy exclaimed. “Ye bloody imposter, how dare ye!†The RED Demoman grabbed the BLU Demoman’s collar, reared back and punched him right in the jaw. The BLU Demoman grunted and fell flat on his back, knocked unconscious by the blow. “Oh, Demo!†“And I’ll be taking back what’s mine!†With a triumphant laugh, the Demoman plucked the bottle of Scrumpy from the ground and opened it with his teeth, before taking a deep swig of the liquor. “Ahem… Demo…†“Och, that’s right. You’re mine, too!†The Demoman swept the Spy off his feet and kissed him, kissed him for so long, the BLU Demoman actually woke up and helped himself to the rest of the Scrumpy before they finished, and the BLU Spy, cloaked and hiding in the air vents, had obtained a whole roll of film of the RED Spy making out with the RED Demoman he would rather not waste the chemicals to develop.
Day 2 - Hot Chocolate The Pyro had managed to drag the Spy out of his usual supply closet hiding place for this week’s extremely manly team-bonding session. Only twenty minutes later, it wished it had not bothered. Things started out amicably enough, with everyone meeting in the mess hall at eight p.m., rested from the work day, amenable to discussion of battle tactics or pop culture or the likelihood of the enemy Spy being caught on film with their Scout’s mother again. A chill in the night air prompted the Engineer to suggest hot chocolate for everyone, and all in the room agreed heartily. While he and the Pyro attended to the pots of heating water, the Spy slunk in the background, frowning in confusion. Confusion soon gave way to disgust and horror, as the Engineer tore open nine foil packets and dumped the grainy brown contents into the assorted mugs the Pyro had set out, before pouring the hot water into each. “All right, boys, chocolate’s done!†The teammates gathered around the counter, each man grabbing a mug and a spoon, the Scout reaching for a bag of marshmallows as well, until only the Spy was left, staring at the lumpy mess of powder and water in the cup that was presumably his. He continued eyeing the sole mug left on the counter, while the rest of the team sat down to sip contentedly at their cocoa in the mess hall beyond. “Laborer?†the Spy asked quietly, standing by the doorway. “I believe there must be some mistake. I thought you were making hot chocolate?†“Well, that’s it.†Getting up, the Engineer reached to grab one of the packets and helpfully pointed to the print on the back. “See, cocoa powder and milk powder, reconstitutes in six ounces of hot but not boiling water, becomes hot chocolate.†“Mon dieu. How far have you fallen.†The Spy pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “That, sir, is not hot chocolate, that is not even… edible!†“You mean to say there is a different kind of hot chocolate?†the Engineer asked, looking skeptical. “I can’t believe what I am hearing. Real hot chocolate is not a bag of mealy powders full of artificial fillers and flavors, it is enjoyment of chocolate in its purest form, it is both an art and pleasure to prepare and consume…†At the Engineer’s lack of response, the Spy turned to his last-resort allies, but the Soldier and the Scout just stared back with similar looks of incomprehension. “Medic, help me.†But the Spy recalled that their team doctor would often leave untouched coffee mugs ignored for days on end to the point of culturing new life forms in the residue, and could not be counted on in matters of culinary discernment. He glared at the Heavy, who just shrugged, and with increasing desperation, the Spy tried to find support from the Sniper and the Demoman, both of whom at least had a fighting chance of growing up in the tradition. “Just coffee for me, mate,†the Sniper said with a smug grin, and the Demoman was not even looking at his direction, the bottle of Scrumpy he was guzzling in the way. “Useless, all of you,†the Spy muttered darkly. Lighting a cigarette, he stalked off into the night and the Pyro made a sighing noise. So close. After the rest of the team had gone to bed, the last light in the Engineer’s workshop turned off for the night, the Spy rose from his perch on the roof and made his way back inside. He had just approached the entrance of the base when he was stopped by the Demoman, who held a steaming cup and saucer in his hands. “Noticed you did not get any hot chocolate tonight, so I made ye a cup.†Catching the Spy’s wary expression, he chuckled. “It’s the way you like it, ye daft peacock.†“How would you know?†the Spy sneered. “Just because I don’t have your fancy tastes doesn’t mean I’m ignorant of culture.†The Demoman pressed the cup and saucer into the Spy’s hands. “Try it. You’ll like it, I promise.†“Swear it?†“Aye, and here, you can have this as collateral.†The Demoman leaned forward to kiss him on the lips, lightly. He watched as the Spy cleared his throat and delicately breathed in the aroma, before lifting the cup to his lips with a barely trembling hand. Silently, the Spy sipped the decadent liquid chocolate, felt its silken weight on his tongue, the dark intensity of its taste untainted by too much sugar or milk. It was nowhere near the quality of the chocolates of the cafes in Limoges, but at least it did not come premixed out of a bag. “Could be worse,†the Spy said at last. “Though I am curious as to how you made it, with such a lack of resources.†“Och, well, rigging a coffee pot and whisk was easy enough, but the ingredients I had to get from the pantry and the Heavy’s stash.†“You risked that for me? ...Thank you, Demo.†“So are you going to drink the rest of it, or do I have to kiss ye again?†Before the Spy could say yes, the Demoman put his whole tongue into his second kiss, and the Spy sipped the rest of his cup with a tang of Scrumpy at the back of his throat flavoring each swallow of hot chocolate. Not that he minded, not too much.
Day 3 - Snow Moving operations to Coldfront during the middle of the winter has its shares of ups and downs. The chilly air brings out aches and stiffness that had been masked by the desert air at previous locales, the increased humidity has a tendency to jam up delicate firing mechanisms, and both Spies find it difficult to walk undetected through the patches of snow, to each Pyro’s delight. Neither BLU nor RED see fit to keep the bases’ thermostats in tip-top condition, either, and the Engineers spends a good portion of their day fiddling with the controls. But there are a host of activities to occupy the team’s time after the workday ends, activities that could even be called fun. Laughing at each other’s ugly sweaters and cardigans and scarves sent from home, starting up snowball fights that become increasingly dangerous, going ice skating over the frozen pond despite Demo’s warning that there is a beast lurking in the black waters underneath, being forced to chop wood or shovel snow out of the walkways, and then, after all that, kicking back in the living quarters with cups of hot coffee or chocolate to just bask in the warmth of a roaring fire. Demo counts himself as one of the luckier ones, to have his own bed-warmer for these cold nights. One that likes to cuddle as much as he does, among other things. He begins contemplating one of these other things, when Spy, snuggled close under the covers, catches his thoughtful gaze and chuckles under his breath. “Are you not sleepy yet?†“Getting there. Just have something on my mind,†Demo replies. “Let me guess,†Spy teases, his gloved hand stealing down to cup the growing bulge in the other man’s boxers. “Is it something I can help with?†“Maybe, if you ask nicely.†“I’m asking very nicely.†Spy breathes this last word into his ear, in a manner that suggest much more naughtily than nicely, and Demo grins in anticipation. He feels lips brush against his mouth, parts his own lips to welcome the tongue that slides in between his teeth, to revel in its smoky, inexplicable taste. The kiss is luxuriantly slow, indulgent, with just a hint of their earlier passion at its edges. Spy draws away from him at last with a shuddering sigh, and the adoring look in his blue eyes absolutely entrances Demo. He almost fears to bear the brunt of such tenderness; he, who had never experienced much of it in his life, he considers this kind of affection akin to madness, a sickness of the mind. But what a marvelous sort of madness, to be loved and worshipped without limits or conditions, just because. He doesn’t know if what they share is real or not, doesn’t even care right now. Wonderingly, Demo reaches up to cradle Spy’s face in his hands, and watches with bated breath as Spy nuzzles his palm, his fingers, before ducking down to plant kisses down his throat, over his collarbones. Groaning in appreciation, he feels lust flare deep in his belly, spreading through his nerves wherever Spy touches him with his too-skilled lips or tongue or hands. “I am not going too fast, am I?†Spy murmurs into his chest, while his fingers dance over the waistband of Demo’s boxers, playing, never quite tugging the elastic down over the needy erection trapped under layers of thin, damp cotton. “You’re good,†Demo grunts. More like too slow, Demo thinks to himself, but he is sober enough to hold himself back from fucking Spy into the mattress. He just brings one hand up to guide Spy’s head down a little more to where he needs him the most. Spy laughs again, that infuriating, patronizing titter that used to annoy him so much, but afterwards, he obliges and begins kissing Demo through his underwear, until he bucks into that hot, wet mouth with a frustrated growl. Using his teeth to snag the waistband, Spy works the thoroughly dampened boxers down over the fully erect cock, then makes a strained eager little noise in the back of his throat as he presses his mouth to the stiff length presented before him. For a moment, he just slowly slides his lips up the length, dragging his tongue over the hot skin, focused on savoring the taste and scent that marked Demo. Not soon enough for Demo, Spy finally closes his mouth over the dripping head of his cock and begins sucking at him in earnest, still humming and moaning throatily in contentment. He easily takes the whole length into his throat, swallowing hard around the cock in his grasp before drawing his head back slowly, so slowly, so that Demo could feel the saliva practically evaporate over each millimeter of exposed skin. It takes all of Demo’s self-control to not thrust right back into his mouth, but he does restrain himself, knowing the payback will be worth the patience. He tries to concentrate on what he sees before him, the imprint of Spy’s lashes dark against the paleness of his cheekbone, the bliss curving his lips even with a thick cock between them, the way the frosty moonlight washes over the planes of his face, his shoulders. Tries to, and then loses it all once Spy starts moving, the clever fingers situated at the base of his cock jerking slightly up and down in a rapidly quickening pace. A multitude of curse words in Gaelic spill from Demo’s mouth, and groaning loudly, he comes hard, spilling into Spy’s throat. Spy swallows of course, never too fastidious to not, and he licks his lips in obvious delight as he moves down to finish lapping away any cum he might have missed. (Which he didn’t, but he pretends he did, anyway, just for an excuse to continue worshipping that glorious cock.) “Sleepy now?†Spy asks cheekily, after he finishes his clean up. “Almost,†Demo replies, and he grabs Spy by the shoulders and wrestles him onto his back. “I can’t rest until everything’s taken care of, though.†“Please, don’t let me stop you from your work.†He is not nearly as meticulous or gentle as Spy is, his kisses almost bites that leave blossoming bruises over Spy’s skin. No one would see, at least no one in the near future, but he likes to leave those marks anyway, and Spy certainly loves getting them. Demo does take his time with the blowjob, wanting to give as much as he had gotten, yet also liking the weight and feel of a cock against his tongue, in his mouth, the way Spy trembles under his ministrations, how his moans and gasps seem vibrate though his entire body to transmit his pleasure. They get back into bed after Spy kicks the soiled sheet to the floor, and embrace under the comfort of covers and quilts and blankets, wrapped in a cocoon of sated desires. Outside the window, snow begins to fall again, covering the world in white and muffling all sound. Eventually, Demo feels his eyelid lowering, and fights back a yawn, wanting to watch Spy drowse off beside him. Spy, noticing this, kisses his chin. “Go to sleep, mon cher.†“But the snow may be gone tomorrow. Ought to enjoy it while I can.†“I’ll be here,†Spy assures him, “even if the snow is not. You can enjoy me tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, all you want.†“Hmm... can’t say no to that.†“Of course not.†Still, they stay up to watch the snow together, and fall asleep with arms and legs entwined, content.
It is delicious, Anon, and I highly approve. It's always lovely to see Demo getting a bit more attention.
I hope you enjoyed those three fics, because I've got plenty more! They get a little disturbing by the end of this set, but I assure you it'll be back to more normal with the next set. Probably. Day 4 - Candy Canes “Oh these,†Spy said, with a sneer in his voice. He picked out a candy cane from where it hung innocently from a festive wreath and twirled it around one finger deftly. “If it were me, I would peel off the wrapper and start at the long end, like this.†After unwrapping the cane, Spy popped the straightened end of the candy in his mouth, closing his lips around it and then pulling it slowly out. “Then I’d suck it, just so...†Another demonstration, as Spy twisted the cane back and forth gently between his fingers, all the while sucking at the candy with barely concealed enthusiasm, his tongue every now and then peeking from between his teeth as he gradually worked away at the smooth slick shaft of sugar. Everyone else in the room paused what they were doing by now, eyeballs practically popping out of their skulls. “And voila,†Spy exclaimed at last, after taking the candy cane from his mouth and brandishing its sharpened razor point to his audience, “I have weaponized yet another seemingly harmless object!†There were groans from the peanut gallery. “You always do that, give it a break, Spook.†“How droll, coming from a man who collects his own piss as ammunition!†“Hey, lemme try!†Scout interrupted, grabbing a candy cane and setting to with just as much gusto and a bit more slobber. He formed a fairly decent shiv within thirty seconds, and the two of them start up an impromptu dagger fight, until the points of the candy broke off. “Careful now, could put your eyes out with those things,†Engineer warned, after it became clear Medic wasn’t going to. In the meantime, Demo had gotten up to excuse himself for the night. Not that anyone gave any notice, they rarely did, more often assuming he was just going to vomit in the toilet or pass out somewhere near his bed. The truth was, Spy’s little demonstration had bothered him, to the point that his conveniently placed body armor was not going to be enough to hide his growing problem. Stepping outside of the building that served as living quarters, Demo paced around in the cold night air, hoping that would relieve his discomfort. And it would have, if his mind didn’t keep replaying the scene, didn’t keep replacing the candy between Spy’s lips with something else a lot… heftier. With a strangled noise, Demo jogged guiltily to his room and shut the door. He reached for a bottle of Scrumpy among the many bottles stashed around his bunk and took a large gulp, all the while wondering how desperate he must be, to fantasize about his teammate during what was supposed to be a wholesome time bonding with the rest of the mercenaries. There was no help for it, Demo thought, as he sat on his bed, shrugged off his vest and loosened his belt, reaching into his boxers. He was so far along, he didn’t need to touch himself that much more; simply imagining Spy kneeling between his legs, lips parted, got him fully aroused. In his dirty secret fantasy, Spy would tease him, both with sly insinuations and with feathery caresses, but Demo would silence him effectively with the entire length of his cock pushed into his mouth. He would make the first few thrusts, then after, Spy would get the picture and take care of him with every last little trick he must have learned. “C’mon, Spy, don’t be shy now, plenty more where that came from…†he muttered, pumping his cock faster, feeling himself on the brink of orgasm. Then, to his shame and horror, he heard the telltale sound of decloaking, and he screamed. Well, yelled. “Spy! H-how the hell did ye get in here?!†Demo growled and tried to pull a sheet over himself, but it was too late, Spy must have seen and heard everything. “Well, I certainly hope you don’t want me to weaponize that.†“Get out!†“I mean, that seems to be more Sniper’s area. Or maybe Engineer’s? I am sure Medic would love to have a say, too.†Spy chuckled to himself, obviously impressed by his own sense of humor. “For the love of- just leave me alone!†Demo cried out. “Now I know you do not mean that.†Demo looked up from where he was trying to tuck himself back in straight into Spy’s knowing gaze. “Candy canes are very nice,†Spy told him with a wicked little smirk, “but I am looking for… a real treat. Something more to my taste, if you will.†“Ye mean… ye want my penis?†Demo asked breathlessly. “I’ve got a penis right here.†Spy rolled his eyes. “Just take off your pants.â€
Day 7 - Pie He was not aware that there existed anyone on either base who could cook, much less bake, but the aroma of perfectly prepared pastry wafting across the patch of no man’s land and into their living quarters smelled divine even to his cultured nostrils. Spy almost sighed in want as he pictured the dessert resting unattended on a windowsill somewhere, just waiting to be snatched. The very idea of sneaking into enemy territory simply to steal halfway edible food seemed outrageously foolish, yet absolutely logical, even necessary. Desperate times, as they say, and God knows he had lived through those before. With a deaths-head grin curving across his lips, Spy set down the rock-like biscuit he had been gnawing at and dusted the gravelly crumbs off of his suit. Why should he have to settle for these prison rations when he could be dining on something much more delectable? More than that, he would be remiss to pass up a perfect chance to perform some extra reconnaissance, and if he should happen across a delicious homemade pie set out to cool, well, no one could blame him for doing what came naturally to spies. Selecting a cigarette from his disguise kit, Spy cloaked and snuck out of his room, down the hall and out into the open, following the scent of the mystery pie that still lingered in the cool evening air. He would have it, he vowed, and if he could not, he would make sure no one else would enjoy it… Spy had not been too fond of pies, or at least the American version of them that Soldier was always trying to push on the more international members of the team. Tarts, Spy could appreciate, and a good quiche to die, or kill, for, but they produced nothing like those in this forsaken outpost, and what was sent in with their food shipments were reheatable, mass-produced and utterly unappealing to any of the senses. But these pies, he could tell, were culinary masterpieces. They had to be, seeing as it apparently took the combined efforts of all nine mercenaries to bake them. From his vantage point outside the kitchen windows, Spy watched as the BLU Pyro pulled out the last pie from the oven and set it on the counter with the other pies. Congratulatory high fives were then shared among the BLU team, while in the trash bin could be seen the burnt and undercooked and runny remnants of previous attempts. A longing look in his eyes, Spy waited as the men retreated to the mess hall to partake of the apple pie, the one he had smelled, the one he had wanted the most. It would be suicide to try to steal a slice from under their noses, but he could pull off absconding with a whole pie, left alone on a kitchen counter. He’d done it before. Spy chose a custard-like pie for his purposes, one closest to his window, and which looked more like something he would eat than the seasonal pumpkin pie or the sweet potato pie. It was perhaps for the best he had not indulged in too many “pies†before now, he thought as he squeezed in through the opening with just a little difficulty and reached for the custard pie. But before he could close his hands around the plate, the BLU Demo strolled into the kitchen to get a beer from the refrigerator. Spy froze where he was, unable to do anything as the BLU Demo caught sight of the custard pie and walked over to it, then put his finger into the filling for a taste. He almost made an indignant noise before he remembered where he was and what he was doing, and bit it down until Demo left the kitchen and he could steal the now-tainted pie in peace. Well, he would have to eat around it, he was salivating too much to turn this pie down now. Spy had just gotten back to his feet with his prize when he heard someone else enter the kitchen, and he ducked out of sight, listening with increasing satisfaction as Soldier discovered the missing pie and began making wild and unfounded accusations as to the pie thief’s identity. The entire team was in an uproar, and it quickly became clear to them that Demo must have stolen the pie, despite the fact that he had nowhere to stash it before returning to the mess hall. There was a bit of custard filling on his upper lip, after all. Chuckling to himself, Spy fled to an abandoned shed on RED territory and sat down on a crate to enjoy his ill-gotten dessert. The adrenaline of the theft had subsided by now, to be replaced by a fleeting memory of his childhood, of the times he had stolen pastries out of fun, and later, much needed food out of necessity. With a dreamy smile, Spy sliced into the pie with his knife, slid out a wobbly piece to sample, savoring the creaminess of the filling, the sugary crust that crackled under his teeth. He would have eaten the rest of the pie, or at least saved some for later consumption, but he thought of a much better idea, and got up to implement it. The plan was to place the rest of the pie into Demo’s room, with a trail of pie crust crumbs sprinkled along the hallway where anyone could easily spot it. He might have even gotten away with it, if he was not up against the king of traps himself, the Demo. Spy had only a split second to decide between dropping the pie and running for his life (and risk being discovered by the rest of the team) or keeping hold of the pie to face BLU Demo alone. Fortunately for it, the pie was too good to ruin; Spy surrendered, his free hand raised up in the air. “Set the pie down, that’s a good lad,†Demo growled, his claymore pointed at RED Spy’s throat. When the pie was safe on his nightstand, he jerked his head to the lone wooden chair in the room. “Have a seat, we can talk easier that way.†Reluctantly, Spy sat down, unmoving as Demo slid off his belt to bind his wrists behind the back. It was not as if he couldn’t get out of simple knots given a few seconds, but it would be slightly more difficult to escape unscathed with his watch removed and tucked into Demo’s pouch, his cigarette case set on the bed out of reach. He stilled once he noticed Demo reaching for his throat, and held his breath as his tie was unknotted and retied around his ankles. “So… ye like pie?†Demo asked, as he picked up the pie and dug a fork into it, eating the piece thoughtfully. “Sure ye do,†he said after swallowing. “T’is a good pie, this one, I don’t blame ye.†Spy said nothing, only glared at his captor. “What? Did ye want some? Och, here, I’d be a terrible host to not offer a guest some pie.†Demo pressed another forkful of pie against Spy’s lips, then jabbed the point of his sword into his stomach when Spy refused to open his mouth. Grudgingly, Spy opened his mouth, accepted the forkful, and another. He glanced at the third bite and shook his head. “Non. I am full.†“Now, go on, indulge yourself. I won’t tell anyone.†“Thank you, but I don’t want any more.†“Well, I can’t eat this all by myself. Help me out, have another bite, Spy. Just one more.†The sword dug deeper into his rubs, slashing through his coat and vest, to the point of drawing blood. Holding back a whimper, Spy swallowed the lump of pie, no longer able to find any pleasure eating it with Demo breathing heavily down his neck. Grinning, Demo reached over and wiped at a spot of custard on Spy’s lip with his thumb. “Aw, ye looked like ye enjoyed it so much. Want some more?†“No, please, no more. You, you should save it for later.†Demo did not seem to like this perfectly reasonable suggestion. “Ye shouldn’t have stolen it, then, or tried to frame me!†All of a sudden, he smiled, a winsome smile any mum would have adored, and leaned forward to whisper into Spy’s ear. “But if you’re tired of custard, we could fill ye up with something else.†“Well, a glass of water would be nice.†Demo laughed outright at that. “What I’ve got is much better,†he said, unbuckling his own belt. Somehow, Spy got a feeling Demo was not intending to share any of his Scrumpy. ------------------- It was sometime later when Spy finished wiping himself down with a dampened handkerchief. He had gotten most of the pie filling off of him from where it had been spread all over his skin in their fit of dessert-induced passion, but there were still crumbs and blobs of custard, among other things, splattered all over every surface of Demo’s room. Including the ceiling. Demo was lounging naked on his bed, puffing away at a post-coital cigarette, his face bearing that inscrutable expression of a man who feels he had been deceived somehow and is trying to figure out why he enjoyed it. He watched Spy in silence, eye roving over the slim, bare body, and decided that he was not quite done with his captive. “Don’t put yer clothes back on just yet, Spy,†Demo said, reaching over to pull Spy to the bed. “I know I missed a few spots.†“Oh but we’re out of custard,†Spy murmured, as he regarded the other man’s fully erect cock with an almost hungry look. “We can make do with what I have on hand.†Demo patted his lap, and waited as Spy straddled him before running his hands up those lean thighs. Before now, Demo had never understood Jane’s obsession with cream fillings, had passed it off as some regional dessert peculiarity, but he thought he might change his mind about it before the night was out. Or maybe, maybe he could use a little more convincing. Only if the enemy Spy was up to it, anyway.
Day 9 - Ice Skating No one could remember who first suggested ice skating while they were stationed at the mountain bases. It just seemed like a good idea at the time, after the snow had stopped falling, once the sun broke through the clouds and they had a day off to enjoy themselves. As soon as conditions were deemed perfect, the entire team bundled themselves up and made their way out of the shadows of the abandoned barns and sheds that had been their battleground. In a secluded valley, far enough away from enemy territory, Scout had discovered a large frozen pond perfect for ice skating, and he led the way to it, babbling excitedly the entire time. That was understandable though, he had been cooped up for almost a week due to blizzard-like conditions after hours, and the rest of the team had quickly contracted his cabin fever. Before the last of the team members even reached the pond, Scout had already tied on his skates and was gliding over the glassy surface as fast as he could in the bracing winter air. The other mercenaries eventually joined him, Heavy finally following suit after Engineer’s reassurances that the pond had plenty of time to become solid. To everyone’s surprise, Heavy was surprisingly graceful on the ice, skating sedately along in lazy loops around the lake with Medic at his side. Less graceful were Sniper and Engineer, clinging to each other and shuffling along with grimaces of equal parts determination and terror, Soldier behind them, shouting out advice in the least helpful manner possible. If Pyro had any trouble skating, no one could tell, as it spent most of its time on the ice being dragged along by Scout by one end of a scarf before retiring to the warmth of the dispenser set up by the shore. Demo had not planned on skating, not with his current blood alcohol level, but Spy would not give up wheedling him until they were both on the ice, and then conveniently used Demo’s state to lend him a steadying arm that he actually did not need. “Everyone is looking,†Demo muttered under his breath, feeling too aware of the warmth pressed by his side. “I rather doubt that,†Spy replied tartly, as Sniper crashed to the ice for the third time and Medic skated over to check on him. “And what if they are? You worry too much about what people think.†On the other hand, he thought Spy cared too little. “Sure, that’s easy for ye to say, but what about the rest of us who don’t live on lies?†At this point, Spy stopped trying to hold his hand and let his arms fall to the side. “I thought you would be a little happier seeing the truth for once, but apparently I assumed wrong.†Spy’s expression was cold, as cold as the gap of air growing between them, and Demo suddenly regretted his earlier statement. “You know what I mean, Spy.†“You’re a grown man, Demo,†Spy said with just a touch of impatience in his tone. “A dangerous man. If anyone dares question your competency, your masculinity, you could slay them just as quickly as I could, should you desire to. We are immortal, or nearly so, at the Administrator’s say. We answer to no one else.†“Mum would disagree,†Demo grumbled defiantly. They parted briefly as Scout raced between them in a flurry of motion, then moved together just close enough to converse. But Spy’s glare struck at Demo’s heart like a shard of ice, and he could not meet the other man’s eyes. “Please, don’t bring that harridan up again.†“She’s nae harridan, she’s my mum!†he retorted, bristling in his unhappiness. “She loves me, and I owe her for everything she’s given me when I had nothing.†“So, I am not someone you could take home to your mother. Very well. But would it hurt so much to… just enjoy what we have?†Unable to think of anything to say that would not make things worse, Demo just nodded miserably. “I love you, you know…†Spy said quietly, so quietly. Then he sighed, and they skated together in silence, lost in their own melancholy thoughts. Engineer waved everyone over to enjoy cookies and hot cocoa from the dispenser, and bask in its healing warmth, and it was then that they noticed Spy had not been seen for a while. As this was a common occurrence, they thought nothing of his disappearance until half an hour later, as the team got ready for the trek back to base. Heavy and Demo called out for him several times, but no footprints appeared in the snow, no wisp of cigarette smoke wafted through the air. “He’ll catch up with us later, you know how he is.†“No, I should go find him,†Demo told them, and the team had no choice but to follow him back to the pond. They searched around the shore, the pond, among the trees growing nearby, but the only thing they could find was a lone cigarette butt on the southern end of lake. “Wait, what’s that over there?†A few faint prints led from the shore further into the woods, to a smaller pond, its frozen surface gleaming black-red in the late afternoon light. The tracks disappeared at that point, though they did not need Sniper’s hunting abilities to piece together what happened. A hole had been made in the ice, its edges cracked and already freezing over; Spy must have fallen in. There was no way of knowing how much time had passed since they lost track of Spy, but Heavy’s look said everything. Medic and Engineer raced back to the Respawn room, while Scout continued shouting for Spy, in the slim chance he avoided falling in. Carefully, carefully, Pyro shone a light into the water, before Demo and Soldier agreed that breaking up the ice might be the best solution. “He can’t have fallen in, he’ll be all right, Respawn will catch him, he’ll be all right.†Demo thought this, over and over, as the ice broke apart, slowly, reluctant to give up its victim. But nothing stirred in the depths below, no sign of life in the murky blackness. “Come. He may be waiting at Respawn,†Heavy rumbled. They trudged back to base, Demo lingering by the treacherous ice for a moment, wracked with guilt. “He has not shown up yet,†Medic told them, as soon as everyone gathered in the Respawn room. Engineer had checked the computer databases but found nothing where Spy’s information was supposed to be, just a sudden lack of data, just blankness. Long after everyone left to eat and rest, Demo remained by the door to the Respawn room, keeping his lonely vigil for Spy. Engineer stopped by once with a tray of food for him, promising he’d keep an eye out on the database if Spy showed back on the maps. The sun had set, still nothing. It was at midnight when Medic and Demo heard a soft whispering noise coming from the Respawn room. To their horror, water began to flow from under the door, cold and ink-black. A white eyeless fish flopped about in the water, gasping weakly before finally dying. But a dozen fish corpses would have been preferable to the blood that soon pooled about their boots. Unable to help himself, Medic slowly opened the door to the room. There was no trace of Spy in the room, not even his severed arm. Only water, and blood, too much blood. ------------------------ “What on earth are you doing?†Spy asked, as Demo crouched by the water’s edge. “There’s something in the water,†Demo muttered, wondering not for the first time why Spy persisted in annoying him. “And I aim to find it, one day.†“A scary lake monster, I presume?†Spy teased. “Och, now don’t make jokes about what ye don’t know.†Demo put his hand to the water, and for a second, he thought he could see a gloved hand reach out for him below the rippling surface. But it was probably only the shadow of his own hand that he saw. And though he could not remember exactly his reason why, still he leaned forward to whisper to the water. “I love you, too.†---------------- [p.s. because i was lazy, i mean, in a hurry, I didn't have time to make it clear that this spy in the last bit is a replacement; the rest of the team don't remember how the first spy died, only demo is closest to knowing.]
These are wonderful and you are wonderful. (My personal favorite was probably the last, oh boy.) I can't wait to read more!
I really liked these fics, especially "Pie" (I love crossfaction) and "Candy canes" (the idea of Spy sharpening a candy with his tongue until it can be used to kill is so perfectly TF2-esque!), but this last line doesn't convince me at all. the rest of the team don't remember how the first spy died, only demo is closest to knowing The story is already a tragedy, the story of two lovers who were torn apart by a horrible death. That little extra "oh, and the dead guy was <i>also</i> forgotten by his lover and friends!" sounds like overkill to me. It's like telling the story of the Littlest Cancer Patient and adding "also, his baby sister died in a plane accident." Besides, how would they even forget about him? Even if they didn't care about him at all (and we know that Demo <i>loved</i> him), it's too unbelievable that they just forgot. Did the Administrator brainwash them when she introduced the new Spy? That seems so unnecessary. Tl;dr: I really like the idea of Demo being in love with a previous Spy who died in terrible circumstances and got replaced, but I think that the memory loss overdoes it.
...and there's more? This December keeps getting better and better! I am very much enjoying how you go into the snootiness of Spy; all raised with that silver spoon high up his ass, being very strict and selective about his foods and such; it feels very much like him! Also much kudos for having Scrumpy relative to Demo but still not portraying him as a constant uncontrollable drunken mess as is the common trend with fics focusing on him. Thousand points to Gryffindor for writing this rare-pair so skillfully and providing it for us! Do keep doing your wonderful thing! >>9 Much as I might have felt the same about the line, anon did mention these were written in a small hurry? Guess those details would've also been described if there was the time.
Welp, I'm behind, but have 2 sequels to "Day 2 - Hot Chocolate." --------------- Day 11 - Eggnog The Pyro skipped into the kitchen, whistling to itself, although what really came out of the gasmask filter was more of a series of whuffling noises. It stopped short once it saw the Spy in standing at the counter, an apron tied over his dress shirt and a mixing bowl tucked in the crook of one arm as he peered at a recipe in their sole cook book. “Oh, it’s you,†the Spy, barely glancing at the Pyro’s direction. “Go ahead, I’ll be done in a minute.†The Pyro nodded and shuffled over to the oven, setting it to preheat while it pulled out various ingredients for some holiday cookies. Flour it found, sticks of butter, plenty of sugar, but conspicuously absent in the base refrigerator were eggs. Confused, the Pyro began to ask the Spy if he had used the eggs, then it took a closer look at the Spy’s side of the kitchen. There were eggshells filling up the trashbin, set in mixing bowls, even a few fragments strewn over the counters. Even if the Pyro had planned to make cookies without eggs, there wouldn’t be any milk to enjoy them with, judging by the dozen of empty cartons piled up on the floor by the Spy’s feet. But perhaps the most disturbing thing about the scene were the half-used bottles of rum and whiskey and scotch and bourbon everywhere, and the accompanying aroma of hard liquor wafting from the Spy himself. Slowly, the Pyro backed out of the kitchen. Any open flame would most likely set the entire room on fire, not to mention the Spy, so it would have to let the fumes clear out before it attempted to cook anything. “Are you leaving already?†the Spy asked, sounding disappointed. “Well, I would really appreciate a taste-tester.†The Pyro laughed nervously and shook its head no. “Please, tell me if this tastes all right.†The tone was mild, almost cool, but the wild, haunted glitter in the Spy’s eyes as he advanced towards his teammate, with tasting spoon in one hand, caused the Pyro to promptly flee the kitchen in terror, terror so profound, the likes of which it had never felt before. But what the Pyro took for murderous madness was in actuality, love. Maybe a murderous and slightly mad sort of love, but love, nonetheless. Watching the Pyro scamper off, the Spy sighed and sipped at the eggnog in his spoon. It was sweet and creamy and rich and spicy, with a hint of caramel undertone, nearly as flawless as himself, yet he still could not feel confident offering the Demo any of his creation. Unfortunately, he had run out of time, and so he set a large jug of the final version of eggnog into the refrigerator to cool. The Spy made a half-hearted attempt to clean, then decided it would be a better use of his time to take a shower and pick out a nice outfit for tonight. Something tasteful and classic, he thought, and something sexy and naughty underneath, just in case he got lucky. Never mind that he was almost always lucky, if he set his mind to it. ----------- “And what did I do to deserve this?†the Demo asked, grinning broadly as the Spy settled onto the couch next to him. “Why, you have been an extra nice Demoman this year,†the Spy said with a laugh, as he picked up one of the glasses of eggnog and pushed it into the Demo’s hands. “That is reason enough, I think.†“Mighty fine of you.†He brought the drink to his mouth while Spy cuddled up to him, and suddenly he began blinking fiercely from the reek of alcohol. This was strong, even for him, with his liver made entirely of cirrhotic scar tissue, but a quick taste of the eggnog revealed it to have the expected concentrations of alcohol. Then the smell must be coming from… “Spy? Ye said ye made this yourself?†The Spy hummed in assent. “Do you like it? I have spent all day making it just right.†And no doubt he would have tasted his creation several times, to make sure it was up to his exacting standards. “T’is the best nog I’ve had,†the Demo declared, though now he noticed the dreamy glassiness in the Spy’s eyes, the loose-limbed heaviness of the body leaning against his side. As much as he had hoped to get some time alone with his teammate, he could not live with himself if he attempted anything with the Spy in such an obviously intoxicated state, too drunk to remember what happened. Sure, the Demo was pretty much half-drunk based on blood alcohol content nearly every day, but he had grown used to functioning like this, and the Spy clearly was not, at least not by the way he was snorting and giggling like a school girl into his shoulder. “Och, looks like ye’ve had a long day. Time for bed.†“Oh, oui,†the Spy replied happily. “Carry me?†he asked, holding his arms out. The Demo resorted to supporting his teammate as best as he could as they stumbled to the Spy’s room. As soon as the two of them entered the threshold, the Spy grabbed hold of the Demo and began kissing him passionately, tongue and all. By the time he disentangled himself from the Spy, it was too late, the damage had been done. He was now horny, extremely so, and the Spy knew it. “Come to bed with me,†he whispered in a low voice. “I should… get going.†But the Spy had laced their fingers together, was leading him inexorably towards the enticing bed, and he could not think straight from the lust pulsing in his loins. Mentally slapping himself, the Demo stopped in his tracks, refusing to go any further. “Look, Spy, yer drunk, too drunk for anything but sleep.†“I’m not drunk! I’ll have you know I’ve been drinking wine with dinner since I was a child, so I would know if I were drunk, and I’m not.†“Be that as it may, I also know a little something about being drunk, and I know a man’s performance in bed goes down exponentially with each drink.†The prospect of ruining his reputation as an expert in the arts of sexual pleasure seemed to break through the Spy’s alcoholic haze temporarily, at least once he managed to figure out what “exponentially†meant, and the Demo took advantage of his moment of lucidity to dash out and find a glass of water and some aspirin. When he returned, the Spy was already struggling out of his clothes. Well, he probably slept naked, so maybe it was a good sign… “Here, have a drink first, before ye go to bed,†the Demo said, and would not take non for an answer until the Spy finally relented and gulped down some water. “I’m fine, really, Demo,†he grumbled, but his clumsy fingers would not unbutton the last few buttons, and he just stared dazedly at his shirt for a few seconds. Finally, the Demo reached over to undo the buttons and help him out of his shirt. “Ye can take off your own pants.†That turned out to be a mistake, the Demo thought and he stared, open-mouthed, as Spy leaned back onto the mattress and began wriggling out of his skin-tight trousers, hips jerking quite suggestively. God, even the underwear he had donned, a bit of red silk clinging to every curve of his pelvis, could have been enough to set him off. But the Demo mastered himself eventually, and was able to calmly draw a blanket over the Spy, who was still protesting his sleepiness in the middle of increasingly powerful yawns. “I’ll check up on ye later,†the Demo promised him, before kissing the dozing Spy on his cheek. “We’ll continue this tomorrow.†“We better,†Spy mumbled. “Good night, Spy,†the Demo said softly, smiling to himself. “And thanks.†----------- And continue they did. Hard and strong and all day long. In the showers, in the Demo’s room, in a random supply closet somewhere, out in the Sniper’s nest, even in the Engineer’s workshop, making a mess all over his mechanical creations. By the time they finished, they were so full of eggnog, they gained ten pounds apiece, and the Medic had them running laps with the Soldier every morning for two weeks to slim down.
Day 12 – Cider The Demo added another splash of brandy to the simmering apple cider, feeling proud to have finally been allowed in the kitchen to cook with only minimal supervision. This was his area of expertise after all, as a Scotsman and an appreciator of fine Scrumpy. Once the spices had fully married, the allspice, nutmeg, cardamom, when the bite of the brandy and the tang of the orange had mellowed out, he deemed the mulled cider finished, and quickly ladled out nine portions for the team in mismatched mugs. A garnish of cinnamon sticks all around, then he carried the tray of mugs out to the common room, a broad grin plastered on his face. The home-cooked holiday dinner had drawn to its close, and everyone looked forward to sipping hot cider and relaxing, maybe letting their belts out a few notches from the abundance of turkey and potatoes and casserole and pie and cookies. The Demo settled into his seat and brought out a hip flask to splash some Scrumpy into his own mug. It was too bad the Spy was all the way on the other end of the table, ensconced between Scout and Soldier, but he caught the other man’s eye every now and then, giving him a look laced with as much seduction he could muster. His bedroom eye wasn’t perfect, could use a little finesse, but it was definitely concentrated, and the Spy’s answering smile predicted a very enjoyable night for them both. ----------------- “That was perfect. Your cider, I mean, simply… magnifique,†Spy told him later, after the team went their separate ways, and the two of them ended up in the Demo’s room for some quality time alone. “Of course it was magnifickeh!†the Demo answered, puffing his chest out. “Engie and I built a still back when we were stationed at Harvest, we made a couple batches then, just in time for Christmas.†“Aren’t I lucky, to have a man so good with his hands?†the Spy cooed. The Demo was about to reply that they were all good with their hands, that was how they got hired by BLU, after all, but then he felt the Spy’s arms slide around his waist, bringing their bodies closer, and he chuckled. “Aye, you are a lucky lad, indeed.†There was just enough of a buzz from the cider to make every sensation softened at the edges, their kisses slow and wet and unrestrained, and the Spy would certainly appreciate neither one passing out or feeling the urge to upchuck their dinner during the middle of their lovemaking. He wasn’t even sure how they managed to strip so promptly, or how he ended up sprawled over his bed, with the Spy only in his mask and sock garters and those naughty red silk knickers, sitting in his lap. But he really did not have any time to question things, not with the Spy kissing him so deeply, so greedily, and his own arousal aching for attention. The Spy offered him some, his hips rocking against the Demo’s own in a sort of impromptu lapdance, so that the Demo’s dripping cock left wet trails of precum against the silk. Every now and then he tried to thrust harder, seeking more friction, but the Spy only laughed and move with him, teasing him with the slide of his underwear up against his length. “Spy, please, you’re killing me!†the Demo groaned. “That’s what you get for trying to flirt with me over dinner,†the Spy replied, as he pressed against his partner, so that the Demo’s arousal was trapped between his own belly and the curve of the Spy’s barely existent ass. Unable to form any coherent words, the Demo let loose a growl of frustration, then reached around to yank down the underwear, to give him some access to what he craved. Large hands kneaded at the Spy’s ass, fingers slipping down to brush over the awaiting passage, while the Spy moaned and trembled under his ministrations, bucking even more wildly into his crotch with each pass of his hands. That pretty much did it for the Demo. He came suddenly, cum splashing over his own stomach before he got his cock anywhere near where it wanted to go. Embarrassed by this display, he covered his eye with one hand, while the Spy sighed in disappointment. “I would say I am flattered…†he murmured, eyeing the Demo with a fond disapproval. “But we have got to work on that.†“I only had a wee bit of Scrumpy, Spy, I promise!†“I’m sure you did.†The Spy was already leaning down to lick away the mess, tongue lapping at the semen until the Demo was as clean as could be. At least he enjoyed the taste, the Demo thought guiltily, or at least didn’t make a fuss swallowing. “Here, let me make it up to ye,†he pleaded, putting on his most winsome smile. “Oh, very well.†The Spy made a show of relenting, but looked smug as the Demo guided him onto his back and began sliding his underwear off. “Ye said I was good with my hands? So I’ll prove it.†As impossibly high-maintenance the Spy was, the Demo loved the act of pampering his teammate, loved seeing him bask in the attention like a particularly spoiled cat. He started off with a massage, oiled hands working over the Spy’s feet, giving the ball of his foot, the arch, the heels extra rubs, before kissing his big toe and bringing out a snicker from the Spy. Then he spent some time massaging those skinny calves before finally parting the Spy’s legs and settling between them. It was tempting to just suck him off, but the Demo did have something to prove, and so he wrapped one hand over the Spy’s length, gently moving up and down with long, firm strokes. Once the Demo had his cock fully erect again, he began caressing his thighs, bringing the Spy back down before daring to delve under his testicles, to the dip between his buttocks. He teased at the opening first, lightly circling it with the roughened pad of his finger, then slid in through, with the other hand still loosely curled over the Spy’s straining cock. Glancing up, the Demo reveled in the blissful expression of the Spy’s face, lips wet and parted in needy little gasps and moans. “Ye want more?†he asked, a little unnecessarily, as the Spy nodded eagerly. Of course he always wanted more. Three fingers in knuckle-deep, his other hand stroking away in a rough, fast rhythm, but the Spy was only starting to muffle his screams into the pillow, and the awed Demo began wondering just how much endurance he would have to build up before he could fully satisfy the Spy. Well, if their training sessions were going to look like this every time, he wouldn’t mind putting in the time and effort. ------------------- They still had some cider left over for the next day’s meal, and the Engineer was glad to see it used up. But he could have lived without seeing the Demo slurp at his cider as if he were giving oral sex to a woman, and he could definitely been better off without the Spy turning red and loosening his tie. And the noises he heard across the hall next night. Nope. Could have done without that, too.
Still technically Demoman December, so here is my attempt at femslash Demo/Spy. This is my last post to this thread, so you may all breathe a sigh of relief! I doubt I'll be in the fandom next December, but that's the plan, to finish the meme next year. Enjoy, for a given value of joy, and I'll see you all in 2013. -------------- Day 10 - Frost The Demo quickly scrambled to cover while the BLU Pyro gave chase, their feet pounding up the dirt path. She turned the corner, ducking behind the doorway, breath curling out of her mouth in white wisps as she jammed the button on her detonator. The sticky bombs she had planted went off in a spectacular explosion, but no screams greeted her anxious ears, no pitter patter of raining body parts signaled that her trap had succeeded. Growling in frustration, the Demo peered out from her hiding place, discovering that the enemy Pyro somehow realized they were being tricked, and had instead run back the other way to support the rest of BLU team in their mad race to recapture the point. “How did they know?!†she thought, reloading her grenade launcher desperately, and the answer hit her like a dagger to the back. She respawned in a fury, and followed the trail of the BLU Spy’s destruction, her sole eye aglow with the light of vengeance. A round of overpriced bullets from their Heavy’s gun revealed the location of the Spy, and it didn’t take the Demo long to dispatch her with a grenade to the stomach. The agonized screech was like music to her ears. That should have been the end of that; the Demo was low on the Spy’s list of priority targets, but it became clear that the Spy was not one to forget a slight. As the final round of the day drew to a close, the Demo found herself facing off with her blue-shrouded opponent. The med kit lay unnoticed in the corner of the barn as the two mercenaries charged at each other. While the Demo had the longer reach, being taller, wielding a much larger sword, the Spy managed to weave and dodge each slash, her balisong flicking out and nicking into the Demo’s flesh, but too light to cause any real damage. The Spy lunged forward once more, knife aiming for the heart, and the Demo took a calculated risk, dropping her claymore to grab wildly at her wrist, throwing the Spy to the ground and knocking the breath out of her. The balisong spun out of her weakened grasp, but she could not move to retrieve it, as the Demo was currently strangling her. Choking for breath, the Spy reached up to grab at the other mercenary’s hair, yanking it as hard as she could. The Demo yelped in pain, and her grip loosened just enough for the Spy to headbutt her, skull crashing into her nose. The Spy took the opportunity to slither to her feet, but she did not make it far before a heavy body tackled her to the ground, and her face got smashed into the earth. She screamed in indignation, or at least tried to around a mouth full of dirt and gravel and slushy snow. “Ye broke my nose, ye bitch!†the Demo hissed, as blood dripped down her split lip. “Take that, and put it in your hat!†“I’m not wearing a hat!†the Spy howled in confusion. Their struggle did not last for much longer, once the voice of the Administrator overhead announced that the match was over. The Demo sat clumsily on a patch of mostly dry dirt, scowling bitterly that she did not contribute more to the RED team’s victory. She then watched with increasing amusement as the Spy got to her knees, glanced down at her damaged suit jacket and started bemoaning the blood staining her lapels. “Your blood, on my suit!†she wailed, trying to scrub at the fabric. “Do you realize how much this costs?! It’s Chanel!†“Oh fer crying out loud,†the Demo grumbled after a minute or two of this. She scooped up a handful of snow, grabbed the Spy by her shoulder and started working the snow into the blood stain. “What are you doing? This is dry-clean only, you’re ruining it!†“The stain will set otherwise, if ye don’t do something now.†“Just, just kill me, and let me respawn intact.†The Demo stared at her coldly, obviously wanting nothing more than to oblige her. “Well, the match is over, can’t do that now, your highness.†The Spy sniffed, but she eventually took off her jacket and set it on her lap, rubbing worriedly at the stain with gloved hands. Wearing only a waistcoat with a thin blouse underneath, she began to shiver, yet tried to maintain a dignified demeanor, until the Demo sighed and shrugged off her own vest and threw it over the Spy’s shoulders. The Spy looked up, moving to return the vest, to refuse the kindness, but something else caught her eye. “Your nose is still bleeding!†“Aye, it’ll dry up… eventually.†“Here, let me help,†the Spy offered, crawling over to gather up another patch of snow by the doorway. She dropped half of the snow onto the Demo’s chest, where blood was threatening to dry onto the woolen sweater, grinning as the Demo screeched from the cold. “Now some for your nose, to help the swelling… oh but wait, your nose is naturally that big!†The Demo snorted and flicked the Spy on the tip of her own nose. “Have ye looked in the mirror lately, lassie? You could chop wood with that beak of yers!†“H-how dare you!†There was a reason she kept the scarf wrapped around the bottom half of her face, but to be reminded of it by such a crass and unladylike creature! The ensuing tussle lasted for an even briefer moment, as exhausted and cold as they were, and they could only stare at the other balefully at the end, the Spy lying on her back, chest heaving, highlighting the fact that top buttons of her blouse had come undone and thus exposed the edge of her lacy brassiere, the Demo similarly out of breath, the soaked material of her sweater now clinging to the curves of her impressive bosom that would have normally been concealed by her vest. They continued staring at each other for a much longer time than would have been deemed necessary by any outside observer. “Well…†“Well.†“We… should continue this some other time.†The Demo nodded, and moved reluctantly from her straddling position over the Spy. “Tomorrow?†she asked, eye fixed on the Spy as she adjusted her garter, sliding the torn stocking to its proper place on her thigh. “Yes, of course,†the Spy murmured, pretending to be absorbed in adjusting her clothing, though her gaze still strayed to the Demo’s figure, to the strip of belly peeking under the mussed sweater, the hint of a nipple showing through the wet wool. Each mercenary showed up to their respective team dinner a little late, but nothing was made of it. The Demo was a lush after all, could hardly be counted to walk straight, much less attend meals on time, and the Spy, well, who knew what schemes she was up to? It was sometime later when the RED Sniper went out to the garage to retrieve something from her camper that she noticed something strange about the Engineer’s vehicle. Something had melted the frost building up on the hood of the homely truck, and the shape of the cleared patch looked rather… suggestive. The Sniper blushed thinking of what it suggested, and tried to shrug it off as a weird natural coincidence. But then the truck lurched on its wheels, and the startled Sniper stepped closer to the passenger side door to investigate, kukri out and ready to cut down any one of the Soldier’s stray raccoons. The windows may have fogged up from whatever lurked within the truck’s interior, but even through the shimmer of frost, she could see the impressions of handprints against the glass. With another rock of the vehicle, a dark hand slammed against the glass, a moan of pleasure sounding through the silent air. The Sniper ducked her head and darted to her own camper, cheeks reddening as she wondered what she should tell the Engineer. But maybe she shouldn’t bother her. After all, she was only concerned with practical problems, and this was not one. Still debating, the Sniper lingered by her camper, until finally the door to the Engineer’s truck opened and the Demo stepped out, still wearing her sweater from earlier in the day, although significantly more rumpled, and only panties elsewhere. The Demo lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, and from the way her hair was tousled, her skin flushed, from the satisfied grin on her face, there could be no doubt about what she had been up to. Yet no one else emerged from the truck, and the Sniper had to wonder why her teammate would be pleasuring herself out here in the cold when she could be carrying on her affair with the Medic’s husband. And since when did she get her hands on such fancy cigarettes…
Ugh, I'm really sorry for reviving an old thread with something not exactly part of the theme, but I didn't want to make a new thread for just one short fic, so I'm considering this a filled prompt and here it goes. (I will continue with Demo/Spy December this December, if anyone was still interested to know, all two or three of you.) The request is that Demo remains collected after a few drinks but Spy does not, if you know what I mean, wink wink nudge nudge. -------------- Demo asks jokingly if Spy thought he could handle it, and quickly realizes that might not have been the best way to approach the topic. Haughtily, Spy assures him that in his particular line of work, self-control and self-knowledge were key to survival, and furthermore, he knew a little something about alcohol. Being French, after all. “All right, if you insist. But I warned ya!†He gets himself a healthy serving of his newly opened special reserve whiskey, purported to be strong enough to put hair on anyone’s chest and possibly some on their chin and upper lip as well, then pours just a millimeter less for Spy. “Slà inte mhor,†Demo declares, lifting his glass to clink it gently against Spy’s. “Sante,†Spy replies with a satisfied little smile. Out of habit, Demo gulps his first taste down swiftly, to better bypass the fierce, burning sensation, while Spy takes his time, savoring the aroma and color of the whiskey before taking a sip. His eyes do not water from the sting, he does not choke back a cough swallowing, and even retains enough composure to express his opinion of the drink in eloquent, poetic terms. Demo has to admit, he is thoroughly impressed by Spy’s fortitude; despite his slighter build, he seems to taking his alcohol just as well as Medic and Heavy. The second round Demo pours with less trepidation, and he toasts heartily to the team’s health, to future victories, and to the ultimate destruction of their opponents, earning a chuckle from his drinking partner. “Not so fast, mon ami, for we would be out of a job if that happens.†“Aye, true,†Demo says agreeably, flopping back onto the couch with a contented sigh. “Still would be nice, to beat those bastards once and for all, and retire… Get away from the Badlands, travel the world. You and me - that is, if you want.†“Mmm…†He opens his eye when he feels the cushions shift under him and realizes Spy has scooted over from the far side of the couch to where he is sitting. Their knees almost touch, their shoulders definitely, and Spy is leaning against his arm that had been thrown over the back of the furniture. This close, Demo could feel the heat radiating from Spy’s body with almost nuclear intensity, and that stirs in him a similar warmth. In the silence, Demo clears his throat awkwardly, uncertain as to what to do with nearly a lapful of teammate, but Spy decides for him. The other mercenary takes out a cigarette from his disguise kit and lights it in smooth, practiced motions, though the way he takes it into his mouth, tongue peeking out slightly before lips close sensually down on the stick, seems a bit different from the usual to Demo. “Did you want it?†Spy asks softly. Caught off guard, Demo has to think very hard about the question before he could nod and confirm that yes, he did want a smoke. Spy leans forward to place the cigarette in between his lips. He does not move away after. “Isn’t this your last cigarette?†Demo asks, as he blows out a smoke ring into the air. “We can share.†After a few more puffs, Spy plucks the cigarette back, smoking the last of it in between sips of whiskey, until Demo asks if he’d like another glass, and Spy responds in the affirmative before he finishes the question. Shrugging, Demo pours out two more glasses. They were having a good time, why not? As the tension eases, the teasing and joking back and forth becomes increasingly silly, making them both laugh out loud, Spy occasionally catching himself snorting mid-laugh, which only makes Demo laugh harder. True, Spy keeps coming up with the absolute worst puns he had ever heard, but he looks so proud of his wit, and his laughter so infectious, Demo cannot help but chuckle along with him. Spy then challenges him to a tongue-twister game, apparently a popular pastime in his homeland, and Demo gladly accepts the duel. But Spy soon is losing spectacularly, stumbling over the tricky words over and over, and finally he bursts out in a particularly snorty laugh and throws his hands up in defeat. “You win, Demo. This time.†“Och, ye dinnae do half so bad yerself, Spy,†Demo tells him grandly. “So, what do I get for winning, eh, a kiss?†“Of course.†The kiss is a quick little peck right on the corner of his mouth, but more than enough to cause Demo to shudder, to part his lips, and then welcome the second kiss with equal ardor. “Don’t think I won that time,†he murmurs, once they finally pull away, flushed and breathless. “Of course,†Spy repeats, this time smugly. Somehow, he manages to close the last few gaps between their bodies, and he trails one hand over Demo’s chest, down, down, down. “If yer wanting a rematch, I’ll have ye know I was a champion wordsmith in my younger days,†Demo says, or at least tries to say, as Spy is sliding one hand up his thigh with less than honorable intent. “You British are like that, all that Shakespeare,†Spy agrees airily. “But are you any good at riddles?†“The very best!†Demo boasts, a remarkable feat as he is also biting down a high-pitched whine being drawn out of him by Spy’s wandering fingers. “Then answer me this… What is dark, and hard, and long, and tastes both salty and sweet?†“Uhh….†“A large piece of sea-salt caramel I bought one time at a chocolatier in Paris.†“How the hell was I supposed to know that?!†“Your turn.†This goes on for quite a while, until Demo reluctantly concludes that Spy is bollocks at composing riddles or jokes or puns, even taking in the language difference, and that he should stick to working as a killer for hire. At least he is sweet like this, so genuinely wanting to impress, so warm and eager and friendly (maybe a little too friendly at times, not that he minds), that it strikes Demo to core of his bitter heart, and he wishes, more than once, that the night would never end. It is well past midnight when they finish the bottle, and Demo has Spy ensconced on his lap, a sleepy, dreamy look on his handsome face as the two of them enjoy the pleasant warm numbness of a quality brew stealing through their limbs like treacle. He nuzzles at the cheek beside his, and smiles when Spy kisses him with a delighted purr. At least Spy has the grace to utter a warning whimper so that Demo could haul him off the couch before he throws up all over himself. Then he passes out, and Demo is left with an unconscious and sticky and sour-smelling Spy in his arms. ----------- Demo knocks on Spy’s door a little before noon the next day, which is fortunately a Saturday, and lets himself in at the answering groan. “I did warn ye, didn’t I?†“Do shut up.†Spy sighs and closes his eyes again, turning in his bed to face away from the sunlight. “I don’t want to see you ever again.†“Too bad, we’re teammates.†“Very well, I don’t want to see your alcohol ever again.†“Och, time to get up now, I brought some water and aspirin for ye.†“And that? What’s that?†“An egg, it’s good for a hangover.†“Please take that away,†Spy orders in a strangled voice. It took a little convincing, but he manages to coax the water into Spy, who recovers a little, just enough to thank him anyway. He pauses, frowning in concentration before asking Demo, “I hope I did not do anything… regrettable last night?†“Oh no, no, nothing like that.†“Because I seem to recall…†here Spy winces in just more than pain, “jokes… of a crude and tasteless nature?†“They weren’t tasteless, they were just awful and made no sense.†“Merde.†Spy rubs at his eyes in mortification. “You are not going to tell anyone, are you? I am so embarrassed.†“You were having so much fun! And I liked your jokes - well, I liked hearing you tell them,†Demo confesses. Well, he did. “Really?†“But you could work on polishing up a few if you plan on telling them to someone else.†Spy throws a pillow at him, though not very hard. “I am not drinking with you again.†“Fine, we don’t have to drink… But we could still do other things, right?†At this, Spy begins to smile. “Other things? You may have to remind me.†“Of course.â€
I don't know if anyone is still around or interested in Demo/Spy December, but here are some fills I wrote for this pairing for the promptfest. --------- Artifice: Demo/Spy - explosive Too late they saw the red stickybombs adorning the wooden doorframe, and then heaven and earth suddenly switched places in a thunderous roar. There followed a stomach-churning spatter of guts and limbs upon the ground and surrounding buildings, and each man was then treated to a fantastic replay of their bloody demise at the hand of the gloating enemy Demo. None was as bitter as the BLU Spy. He should have seen this coming, and yet he ran obliviously into the trap alongside the rest. He hadn’t even been cloaked or disguised, there was no reason for him to make that last mad rush into enemy territory, and certainly not on the frontlines with the Heavy, Soldier or Scout. But against all logic, he did, and now could only dwell on that last glimpse he had while being blown sky high, of the cackling one-eyed freak far below, saluting them with his Scrumpy bottle in hand. The Spy played it cautiously during the rest of the round, respawning and taking a more surreptitious role on the team, as he should have done from the beginning. Yet he could not resist driving his knife into the back of the RED Demo when the first opportunity presented itself. He could not resist the second or third time, for that matter. The enemy’s shout of dismay at being backstabbed the fourth time that afternoon sounded angelic to his ears. That was the last of that, the Spy thought, foolishly, as it turned out. The next day, he could not seem to step one foot into enemy territory without getting caught by an errant grenade or running afoul of a sticky-bomb trap. Only once did he manage to reach his intended target, and every other time, something inevitably went awry, sending him to respawn fast enough to make him dizzy. Fuming, he swore vengeance and tore through the opposition as quickly as he could. Since his team rarely needed his help with pushing the cart, the Spy barged ahead to take down the sentries and the Engineer behind them. He managed to sap one sentry, but was soon turning tail and running for his life as the Demo popped out from around the corner of a barn, waving his sword about and screaming bloody murder. The surviving members of each team paused in their deadly work to watch the RED Demo chase the BLU Spy further and further away from the goal, until they were lost to sight. But not to sound, as evidenced by the sound of a terrified scream within the next few seconds, and then an ear-splitting explosion. Someone clapped, it might have been a Pyro. Days passed in a tug of war of dominance between the Demo and the Spy which quickly spread throughout both teams. Each man soon had at least three enemies targeted, and the single-minded determination to carry out every last death threat as quickly as possible. The reckless frenzied slaughter eventually stopped when both Engineers managed to kill everyone on the battlefield within one minute of setting up their sentry nests, including each other. A temporary ceasefire of sorts was called, approved upon given notice that they were to be moving arenas as well, and while both sets of Demos and Snipers grumped about the lack of steady cash flow for the next week, the rest of the mercenaries could not be more eager to set down their guns and wind down from the constant adrenaline rush of trying to kill three men without being killed by three men. So delirious and brain-damaged from the constant headshots and backstabs and being set on fire and pummeled by fists and fish and syringe needles, there was even talk among the mercenaries of going camping in the mountains behind Lumberyard. That was promptly struck down once the RED Spy discovered a gang of feral raccoons had taken over his cabin. Without any other recourse, the teams scattered to find their own entertainment among what the nearest town had to offer. Movies and music, dancing and drinking, or in the Spy’s case, chasing out raccoons from his bed linens before the Scout’s mother arrived. None of that appealed to the BLU Spy however, who in another time, might have killed for a chance to eat non canned food or work his European charm upon any creature deserving of it. Instead, the prospect of cease-fire somehow depressed him. Without the constant thrilling terror of wondering how he was going to be slaughtered today coursing through his body, he felt drained and useless, empty inside. The Spy paced the halls, puffing nervously away at a cigarette, until the Medic finally noticed and shoved him outside into the glaring sun, insisting that he get some fresh air. He watched sourly as the good doctor left in the company of the Heavy. At least they had each other. It seemed he was left the sole occupant of the base for that day. Bored, he walked a slow circuit of their side, still smoking. Then he espied their personal quarters, which inspired him to shimmy up a pipe and into his bedroom window, emerging from the building with his prize in hand. Unlike the RED Spy, he was an indifferent student of music and theater, preferring the quieter visual arts. Photography, that had been his first love as a boy, and wrapped up in blissful memories before the war, he wandered the base with his beloved camera, snapping pictures here and there. Nothing beautiful here in the badlands, yet the Spy still found inspiration in the barren and the battered, and recorded such details on film. So intent on the world he saw through the viewfinder, he did not realize how far he had strayed into enemy territory until the RED Demo stumbled upon him. Flushed with shame at his own carelessness, the Spy tried to recover some dignity by glaring haughtily at the Demo. “You are getting in the way of my light.†“It’s not yer light,†the Demo replied suspiciously. “What the hell are ye doing sneaking around here, anyway?†“Making art,†the Spy retorted. “What are you doing here?†“This is my workshop, where I work.†The Demo was now looking at the Spy as if he were a lost and possibly deranged child. “Ah… well… my apologies. I was… I will be going back now.†He turned quickly, shutting his eyes and trying to will the blood to his head down, only to feel large hands at his shoulders, halting his retreat. “You’re going the wrong way, laddie. Here, I’ll walk ye back.†But the Demo’s grin was gentle and comforting, as he led the errant Spy back to his side of the base. “I was not lost,†the Spy insisted. “You were just wandering, I know.†“Exactly. Nothing questionable at all.†“Then you won’t mind me taking this.†He bit back a gasp as the camera was snatched out of his hands. “Give that back, you cretin!†“I’ll be damned if I let ye take any more incriminating photos of my team!†“I haven’t been- not lately - your own team incriminates itself!†This was entirely true, but the Demo did not lower his arm. “I’m still keeping this!†Suddenly worried for the precious object, the Spy tried once more. “Please, give it back, Demo.†“Och well… all right.†The Demo relented, and he reached for the camera just as it went off with a loud click. The Spy made a sound of annoyance at having been captured on film, but at least the camera was returned. Now the only problem left was the enemy Demo dogging his every step. “Do you mind? You are in BLU territory now.†“Aye, but not for much longer, we’re shipping out tomorrow.†“I am certainly not inviting you in.†“You don’t have to. But you are going to develop this film in front of me, and you are going to destroy the photos I tell you to, understand?†With one hand clutching his wrist in a vice-like grip, the Spy had no choice but to nod and lead the way to the basement where he had set up his darkroom. “And what of you? How can I be sure you won’t reveal the secrets of our base to your comrades?†“We won’t be fighting here again. And… enough Scrumpy will make me forget.†It turned out they passed only a supply closet and the intel room on the way, which the enemy would have known about anyway, but the Spy hesitated briefly before he unlocked the darkroom. He had never let anyone else on BLU into this private space, yet here he was, with the RED Demo at his side. Working quickly, muttering under his breath all the while, the Spy set about developing the film in a swish of liquid and flutter of paper. It began to get stuffy, and he had to remind the Demo more than once to not consume the contents of the chemical bottles he was sniffing at. At last the paper hung up to dry revealed the images he had previously captured, and the Demo inspected each one carefully in the dim light. “These are… nice,†he said, trying hard to not sound impressed. The Spy had to smile, even as sweaty as he was. “I told you the truth, did I not?†“Fer once.†Grinning, the Demo took the last photo off the line and tucked it into his vest. “I’ll take this one, if ye don’t mind.†It was the last photo on the roll of film, when Spy had been reaching for his camera just as it went off, in one unguarded moment. “That one, I can’t…†“I’ll keep it secret.†“You are terrible at keeping secrets, last I heard.†“Oh? As if you are any better at not blabbing every last thing!†the Demo shot back, offended. “I didn’t have to give your camera back, so I’m taking this photo and that is that.†“Ugh, fine, just leave.†He was going to steal it back that night anyway. At least that was the plan, he thought, clinging to a windowsill on RED base some time after midnight. It had been hard to remain silent over corrugated tin and old timber, but he managed to sneak undetected to the sole lit window in enemy territory, only to find the Demo sitting on bed, holding that same photo for some reason. The Spy had to duck down when the Demo sighed wistfully, so he did not catch the other man pressing his lips gently to the paper. He only saw him slip it under his pillow before lying down and eventually dozing off. For a moment, he forgot himself, entranced by the striking tableau before him, the sinewy darkness of the Demo’s bare torso, so stark against the white sheets. His fingers ached for the camera, for paint and charcoal would not do to translate such ephemeral nobility to paper. He resolved to steal the photo some other time, perhaps during the move when so many things could get lost. For the rest of the night, the Spy ruminated over that scene, until sleepless, he got up and retrieved a bit of charcoal saved from the Pyro’s frequent ritual burnings, sketching feverishly on a receipt that vision of a warrior in repose, the sorrowful determination on his brow, the scarred pride present in his powerful form. He looked at his work, wondered vaguely why he drew the Demo nude, realized the other man was indeed going to bed naked, then slowly tore up the receipt and tossed the drawing into the wastebasket. It would not do to revisit those thoughts. Those desires he had strove to keep tamped down. He would not be weak again. The move kept everyone busy the next day, as they packed their belongings to be shipped away by train to their next destination. In the chaos of departure, the Spy never got around to taking his photo back, and had to put that off until they arrived at Yukon. To his dismay, the RED Demo was still on base when he snuck out that night, and distracted, he returned to his room empty-handed. Since there were three more days until the ceasefire ended, he had assumed the Demo would be out, visiting his mother or passed out in a ditch somewhere. It did not occur to him the RED Demo would linger, and the surprise of it affected him strongly. The next afternoon, he found the Demo up and about and called to him across the bridge that spanned their bases. The Demo laughed sheepishly. “I’ve been banned from going to town, if ye must know.†“A menace to society, I presume?†“Aye, may be, may be. And are ye still working on your art?†“Of course.†Thinking about it, at any rate. They were now standing at opposite sides of the little gully that divided the fort so there was no real need to shout. “Well, if we are the only two here, I thought perhaps we could take advantage of the ceasefire and take a meal together?†The Demo’s remaining eye widened. “Together? You and me? But we’re on opposite teams! We can’t do that!†“But we aren’t fighting each other… not yet, anyway. So… shall we meet back here at six?†The Demo nodded slowly at the same moment his stomach growled. “That’s all right then. I’ll bring the drinks!†The Spy, who was about to tell him to not worry about the drinks, just sighed as the enemy bounded out of sight. It gave him something to do, cooking a meal for two with semi-fresh rations brought back by thoughtful teammates, placing a sheet over a supply crate in the middle of the bridge for an impromptu table, setting up battered tin plates and mugs as if they were fine china and crystal. The Demo insisted on serving, ladling the pasta neatly onto the plates, pouring the toxic cider as reverently as he would champagne. They pretended to have a civil conversation, the Demo going on about mythology and literature, the Spy flaunting his knowledge of art history, absolutely nothing about the war in their dialogue. And after the last cake crumbs were wiped off their lips and no suited man wearing a television set on his chest appeared to order them to kill each other, they cleaned up and went on their own separate ways. That should have been enough, should have taken the edge off of his forbidden yearnings, but the night found him at the Demo’s bedroom window again, this time in plain view as he watched the man stroking himself with the photo in one hand. Dreamlike, he said nothing as the Demo noticed him, stood up and pulled him down out of the window, as the other mercenary began to undress him, his own arousal hard and needing, though not nearly as much as the Demo’s. Breathing greedily into each kiss, he surrendered to the coarse hands mapping his body, letting himself fall back onto the tiny bed without complaint. There was not enough time to study the subject of his admiration, not to his content, but he tried, with his eyes and lips and fingers, with every part of his body that made contact with the other man’s. “Are you real?†the Demo whispered once in a broken voice as they moved together in throes of lust. “Because I never have such sweet dreams.â€
Utmost definitely still reading and liking every bit of it! Way to keep your quality this steadily fine even after all these long pauses between updates. This newest chapter in particular was so romantic, cute and hot that I just don't know what to do with myself! Except patiently and eagerly wait for more, most likely.