This thread is for the gifts from the Secret Santa participants who chose to write a story! The stories are divided into SFW first and NSFW after the post so marked (‘NSFW’ is in this case defined as ‘explicit sexual content, guro, and things I wouldn’t want to explain to my mother’). Everyone has worked very hard this year to fill their giftee’s prompt to the best of their abilities despite school finals, computer problems, illnesses, and family emergencies, so I hope you’ll all appreciate the effort gone into your gifts! Please don’t offer critique unless your Secret Santa asks for it, and do let them (and the other authors) know how awesome they are – ‘tis the season to be jolly, after all! Please don’t reply to this thread until all the fics have been posted. It might take some time – I’ll let you know when I’m done.
The Smallest Heart Tiny, delicate instruments were lined up in pristine order across the tray. They had been crafted by the thick, calloused hand of an expert, hunched in the midnight lamplight with a loupe wedged in his eye socket. When they were finished in the wee hours of the morning, he couldn’t help but admire his own handiwork—he had done quite a splendid job at replicating their original, human-sized predecessors. For a fleeting moment, he imagined himself in a different field, a simpler, bloodless one, spending his days crafting detailed miniatures for elaborate dollhouses. It wasn’t the first time he had fantasized about toy-making, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t even want children. The things he built were children enough to him, in a strange and complicated sort of way. And he supposed that the doctor must have felt the same way about his bird, or else he wouldn’t have requested this in the first place. That day, when the Medic approached him, was the first time he felt a kinship with someone on the team. Sure, he was polite to his other teammates, and certainly would not say no to going out to the pub with them on a Friday night. But despite the warm genteel demeanor he had perfected, he often felt detached from others, preferring the sound of beeping and whirring to voices. And although the doctor was a man of science too, he hadn’t felt an ounce of likeness to him until he came to the Engineer, weary and battered. Little Archimedes was perched on his shoulder, bound in the tiniest of neck braces but still looking as chipper and curious as ever. The Medic came to him when he had been packing away his tools, the tired dampness of the day’s sweat still yet to dry from his back. The ones who hadn’t chosen to remain in the war room to painfully submit themselves to the Soldier’s rambling went off to a bar in town. The Engineer had opted out of it that evening, feeling too exhausted. Medic never went out with the other men. The two of them were alone. For all the times the Engineer had interacted with the Medic, he had always been subject to either one of two emotions—disgruntled with his teammates in a typical Germanic grumpiness, or uncomfortably giddy with sadistic glee. Never before had he seen him as he was then: vulnerable. His hovering had been unnerving. “Something I can help you with, Doc?†“Ja, erm—†He coughed into his fist and shifted uncomfortably. “As you may have noticed, I’ve been having trouble keeping Archimedes off the battlefield. My birds are, for the most part, obedient, but he has proven to be a handful.†As he spoke, the bird began to nuzzle his ear affectionately. “In any other circumstance, I would consider any resulting injury to be a lesson learned, but—†His voiced faltered, and he cast his eyes away from the Engineer. “I am very attached to my animals.†He paused to lick his lips and push his glasses up his nose, as if waiting for the Engineer to say something. When the other man simply nodded for him to continue, he went on. “For the reason I plan on installing an überheart in Archimedes just as I had the rest of the team, but unfortunately I lack the tools small enough to carry out this job. I was hoping you could assist me in this.†The Engineer had at first been hesitant to agree, but then the Medic added in soft, pleading voice, “Please,†and he immediately felt a strange, smothering heaviness in his chest. He agreed to make the tools, because he knew that feeling well—putting so much value in something that others would consider inconsequential or incapable of love, and the resulting desperation in trying to cling to that thing because it’s all you have. It was all he had. The Engineer realized that as he sat at his desk, blueprints sprawled before him, sprinkled with bolts and pencil shavings. It had always been that way, from when he was eleven years old and home alone in a huge house, locked in the basement as he built a train set from scratch. He wondered if the Medic had been like that too; a lonely boy, nudging his pigeons off of his anatomy textbooks as he listened to the other children laughing outside in the sunlight. He wondered if he would ever hear that story. They both arrived at the base early that morning. The doctor said the surgery would take about two hours. When the Engineer handed him the scaled-down tools, he observed them with a grin, holding each one up to the light and admiring them with not only an eagerness glinting behind his spectacles, but an undeniable appreciation as well. “You truly are a master, my friend.†The Engineer was a humble man. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and flushed bashfully. “Aw, it was nothin’.†“Do you think you could, perhaps, assist me in the surgery? It’s a bit riskier than usual procedures, and as a fellow man of science, I think you’ll understand.†The Engineer understood. Archimedes shivered under the hot lamplight, his wings pinned down as the Medic made a tiny, precise slit in his chest. Gone was the reckless bloodlust he objected his teammates to—instead, he worked with a solemn gentleness. He paused a moment, placing the little scalpel aside to give the bird an affectionate scratch on his neck. Archimedes nipped his knuckle with a guttural coo, and he smiled softly. The doctor didn’t ask for the Engineer’s help. He didn’t even speak to him. But they were both aware that the Medic needed him nonetheless. He needed the reassurance that someone else could understand the value in something that needed you just as much as you needed them. The procedure was quicker than the doctor had anticipated. In a short hour, the gap in Archimedes’ chest had been healed over, encasing the glowing little überheart within, and he was flitting about the room, flapping out the energy that had bent up when he was pinned to the operating table. “You’re a good man, Doc,†the Engineer said, slapping a hand on the Medic’s back. The Medic turned to him and raised his eyebrows with slightly pursed lips. He said nothing, but his smirk soon melted into a soft grin. They sat together in the infirmary for the rest of the morning, sharing the pleasant, satisfied silence in harmony. That evening, the Engineer asked the Medic if he’d like to hit the bar—just the two of them. The Medic said yes. ----- Prompt: Engie\Medic, any fluff times.
Improvements Whenever the Engineer told somebody about his interest in the science of the human body, the common reaction was one of amazement. What with eleven PhDs already – and all of them in good, hard science – most people couldn't imagine how he ever found the time, yet it made perfect sense to the Texan. If you thought about it, the human body was nothing more than an especially complex bit of machinery, and there were always happy intersections to be found between the sciences. Take the Gunslinger, for instance. Sure Grandpa Conagher had the mechanical know-how to build a thing like that, but he also had to copy the way living things moved, and it could be seen in the neatly segmented fingers and the agile joint in the wrist. It was almost like a real human hand, and some people just didn't understand that in robotics, the point was to be almost human. You couldn't just up and abandon the archetype. You improved on it, and no matter what they said about the BLU Engineer nowadays, he always practised what he preached. When it came time to improve the Engineer's faithful mechanical hand – always new frontiers, remember – it was time for some live research. First choices would be the Medic or the Spy. Both men had the dexterous hands that could sew a man's insides back up, or flip a fancy knife through the air without looking. However, the two of them enjoyed, and rigorously enforced, their privacy. No one ever saw the Spy after mealtimes, and Engineer might have regretted the extra work put into those watches, if he were not proud of his own craftsmanship. Medic treated his infirmary like a fortress into which patients were begrudgingly admitted then expelled as soon as possible, and what sort of attitude was that for a doctor, even in these strange days. Heavy was the only one who was welcomed to come and go as he pleased, and more often than not he was there, standing in between the Engineer and the Medic's graceful hands. It wasn't the time to be picky though, and there were things that could be learnt from any volunteer. At Bigrock, the new offensive line made it too busy to be thinking of research, but a day after the last robot had been broken down into scrap, the Engineer was sitting across from Scout. Scout was the youngest and the fastest on BLU team, and the kid was almost constantly in motion. Even now, his feet were being scuffed against the floor, his hands opening and closing around an imaginary baseball bat. Across his shirt was a smudged streak of oil, and a thin cut was a dirty red line across his forehead. “You hurt anywhere else, son?†said Engineer, as he entered his workshop, “I can get you looked at if you're hurting.†Scout looked as though he could've leapt ten feet straight up in the air. As it was he scrambled backwards, nearly tipping his chair onto the floor. “Jesus!†“I ain't that ugly now, Scout. No need for that.†“No, man! No!†Scout shook his head, pointing a shaking finger (something the Gunslinger never did). “We thought you were dead! Like real dead-dead!†*************************** Dell always liked the kid. Scout was brash and arrogant, but he was prone to screw ups: respawning more than any other team member, putting his foot in his mouth, and talking to women – especially with women and somehow you couldn't help liking him. Back when the team first got together, Dell thought maybe under all that brashness and street-talk there might be a scared kid in a warzone trying to get out. He was quickly proved wrong. Give the kid a wave of killer robots out for his blood, and he'll end the day prying cash out of robotic cadavers. "You after some extra cash, Truckie? 'Cause I cleared those one out already." Dell looked up from comparing two heads, battered metal replicas of the Heavy Weapons Guy and the same young man that stood across from him, "Work's not done yet, Scout." Dell noticed a round hole in the back of the metal Heavy's cranium, and discarded it, cradling the Scout head in the crook of his left arm, "Might be able to learn something from these fellas." "Like turning them into weapons or something?" "Might do. Might turn them against each other, or figure out a weakness. Depends on what I find out." On the Gunslinger, the index finger split open like a flower, revealing a screwdriver. "That's cool," Scout watched in fascination as Dell began working away at a panel neatly-hidden in the side of the robot's ear piece. "Hey, careful with that. Best-looking robot in the place." "You ain't seen any Engineers out there yet," Dell tucked the screws carefully into the front pocket of his overalls, "We'll see what happens come tomorrow. One day we could have our own robots. All different kinds." "Like... robot chicks or something?" said Scout, far too casually. "Now, Scout," said Dell, pulling the panel away, "These things probably got all kinds of delicate programming in here. And with your luck with the ladyfolk-" "Hey, fuck you, Truckie!" A bundle of wires bounced off the Dell's side. He barely noticed. With the panel gone, he had a clear view of the innards of the metal skull. It looked fragile, but if his initial glance was correct, this was the robotic version of the old grey matter, all gleaming circuits and dainty vacuum tubes. It might seem strange to keep it up in the head when there was more space in the torso, but Dell supposed that a smaller target would mean a smaller chance of a shut-down via the means of bullet or explosive. "Yo! Hardhat!" Scout's bandaged fist punched him in the bicep, dodging the Engineer's absent swipe. "Huh?" Though he was reluctant to do so, Dell slid the panel back into place, hiding all that beautiful circuitry. "Man, you're such a geek," Scout loped a short way away to treat another robot corpse like a cash-filled piñata. Dell had to wince at the loud, hollow booms he made, and what could be happening to the beautifully-arranged machinery inside. "Scout," he said hurridly, "You want to give me a hand?" "Doing what?" "I just need a couple more pieces like this." He gestured to the head staring out at its fleshy counterpart. "With no bullet holes. I'll let you keep the cash." At Scout's 'go on' gesture, Dell gave a huge mock-sigh, "And the six-pack at the bottom of the fridge." "Now you're talking!" It was an odd combination, the Engineer and the young Scout, but that search across Coaltown, and the subsequent searching of the sixpack, was still a fond memory, even after the pursuit of knowledge took the Engineer down a different path. *************************** "It weren't right to leave like I did. That's a fair point." The Engineer scratched at the back of his neck, the whir of servos comforting. It helped with the itching back there, but, with Scout's help, Engineer hoped that even that would be solved. "And they did all that shit to you?!" Scout pushed himself away back into his chair, his skinny butt leaving the seat briefly before he was gently pushed back into contact with the plastic. "Mary, Mother a' God." "Mind the language, son. It'zzzz-" The Engineer smacked his Gunslinger against his jaw with a clang of metal on metal. "Sorry. Got a bug or two to work out. It's fine." He smiled, one eye crinkling in the corners, the other solid and unmoveable. "Jesus, Engie." Scout moved forward, and was again pushed back into his seat. This time, the Engineer nodded to the two silent guards, and the implacable steel hands remained curled around the kid's shoulders. "I always liked you best, kid." The Engineer scratched at the wiring in the back of his neck. The sockets could be vastly improved still. "Engie. Don't turn me into one of those things. Please." "Now when did you become such a wimp?" Engineer fine-tuned the magnification in his right eye, the cold blue light in the centre briefly flashing on-and-off. In Scout's eyes and in the polished surface of the Heavy-bots, Engineer could see his new patches of metal skin, and the solid steel jaw replacing the one that had begun to sag with age. "It's just a lil' improving." ----- Prompt: Engineer/Scout, just gen is fine, maybe something with Engineer spoiling the Scout in any way is fine (not necessarily sexual, could just be him favoring the Scout/noticeably treating him better than everyone else).
Magically Made for Each Other By IBrotato ----- “Good evening Ma’am, do you have a reservation?†“Yes.†“The name, please?†“Merasmus.†The Scout drummed his fingers on the table as he watched Merasmus and Soldier from a distant table. He took a gulp of his cola as he listened to Merasmus talk animatedly about potions. Scout smiled to himself as he stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth, he was such a kind and generous soul to help out a guy in need. Screw those chuckleheads who thought he was self absorbed! He was the best damn thing there was. Of course that wasn’t his only motivation. Hopefully if Merasmus and Soldier got together they’d fight less. That meant Merasmus would try and kill them less often. He’d gotten a cool hat out of it, but not everything was about hats. Scout chuckled, alright who was he kidding. Hats were the shit. There was a puff of static in the Scout’s earpiece as Merasmus chuckled. “Hey that’s good, hold his hand.†Scout said into his earpiece. Merasmus was wearing a matching wire that the Soldier somehow had not noticed yet. Merasmus looked over the Soldier’s shoulder to look at Scout then grabbed the Soldier’s hand. Scout gave a thumbs up and mentally patted himself on the back again. Suddenly, there was a poof of green smoke and an ancient book appeared on the Scout’s lap. “Hey buddy! Pssst, mister over here.†The Bominomicon whispered to Scout. “Aww hell no!†The Scout picked up the book and dropped in on the table, shooting a glance at the wizard. “Merasmus, get control over your freaky-ass book.†“Don’t be like that, you should look at me. I’m pretty interesting, lots of cool stuff to read.†The book’s eyes glowed red as its mouth clacked open and shut. Merasmus nervously looked at the Scout and the book. “Hey, what are you looking at?†The Soldier moved to look over his shoulder. “No!†Merasmus grabbed the Soldier’s shoulder and turned him back around. “I mean, er, hello. Hello Soldier.†Soldier blinked then smiled, “Hello Merasmus! How are you? Say this is a nice American restaurant.†Merasmus frowned, “It’s French.†“Ha, you big joker. You’re just like the rest of the team. This food is American, the French just borrowed it.†Merasmus laughed nervously as he watched the Soldier chuckle and the Scout panic. “Nice try!†The Scout frowned at the talking book on the table. “You ain’t taking these eyes. Besides, reading’s for dorks.†“Yeah because it’s not like reading makes you smart or anything. Your mother must be very proud of you.†The book rolled its eyes. Its strange glowing red eyes. “Don’t talk crap about my ma!†“Well I’m a bomb book, what do you expect? I make things go boom, it’s a pretty good living. Except when punks like you start showing no respect. Then it’s not cool.†The Scout poked the book on the cover binding, “Listen you freaky piece of crap. You better shut it or I’ll f-†“Bomb head for you.†The book laughed as the Scout’s head transformed into a large bomb. “How’s that feel buddy?†The response was screaming, “Argh my head! It’s a bomb, help me. Medic!†Merasmus’s eyes widened and he quickly let go of Soldier’s hand as he watched Scout’s head turn into a comically oversized bomb. “Bombinomicon you fool! †Merasmus pushed out his chair and grabbed his staff leaning against table. The Soldier looked over his shoulder, “What’s the matter no- look out, he has a bomb head!†Soldier leapt to his feet and grabbed a knife from the table. He threw it at the Scout’s bomb head, but it bounced off, falling harmlessly to the floor with a clink. “From the ancient eldritch horrors I summon thee, spirits aid me. Magicus!†Green mist poured from the rod, surrounding the Scout. It slammed Scout against the ground, keeping him still. “Soldier, we have to evacuate. I cannot contain the bomb for long!†“Everybody run, he has a book! Civilians evacuate the area.†Soldier opened the door and started forcibly pushing people outside. Plates and cutlery were spilt to the floor in haste as everyone ran towards the exit. A loud ticking noise filled the air and the Bomb on Scout’s head began to swell larger and larger, “You have to get out of here, it’s gonna blow!†“Soldier, hurry!†Merasmus strained as he tried to contain the expanding bomb. The Bombinomicon started counting down. “I’m gonna give you till five. Ready? Five!†The Soldier grunted as he slammed the door shut after the last person left. “Hold on Scout, I’ll help you!†The Soldier tackled the Scout and started grabbing at the bomb attached to the Scout’s neck. “Three. Ooh this is going to be good†“Soldier move, or you will certainly die! †Merasmus shouted angrily. “I will not leave a man behind, no matter how annoying he is!†“One. BOOM!†Merasmus took cover behind a fallen table as the bodies of the Soldier and the Scout were both blown backwards and obscured in green and black smoke. Meramus was knocked to the floor, coughing and choking on the acrid smog. “Soldier!†Merasmus choked, “Soldier are you okay?†The smoke cleared to reveal the Scout and the Soldier lying still on the floor. “Holy crap. Never again.†Scout sat up and put a hand on his head. Merasmus knelt down and shook Soldier’s shoulder gently. “Soldier. Soldier are you okay?†The Soldier groaned then pushed himself up with his arms. “Well what do you have to say for yourself private? That was pathetic!†“Excuse me †Merasmus frowned then stood up. “I was not the one who charged in like an empty headed fool.†“My head is not empty. It is full of one hundred percent all American brains! You clearly have no experience in the face of battle. You just have to dive in head first!†Soldier swinging his arm for emphasis, then swayed dangerously on his feet. “Woah.†Merasmus put an arm around Soldier to support him. “I have self- preservation skills. You could have died.†“I could not have died. I haven’t been taking your heart medication for nothing†The Soldier grinned pushed up his helmet. “My heart medication...†Merasmus trailed off, then started laughing. “You are the worst roommate, stealing my stuff. But right now I couldn’t be more glad.†“Thanks! You’re pretty good yourself. That magic stuff is,†The Soldier reddened, “Quite impressive. Yes sir, you are quite impressive.†Merasmus surveyed the restaurant. There was a large hole in the roof, the tables were on fire, and the fourth wall was completely blown away. “So I assume the date is over.†“Nonsense! I will escort you to our home then kiss you outside your room. I will not do things by halves. †Soldier held out his hand, Merasmus took it. “And on the next date,†The Soldier continued, “We will go see a movie, or go to a fair.†“You two are on your own. You guys are just the slightest bit insane,†The Scout wheezed as he picked himself off the floor. Merasmus turned to Scout, “Thank you for your help boy. And I do apologize for the,†he waved his hand around searching the for the right word, “Bomb incident.†“Hey, I ain’t sorry!†The Bombinomicon hissed and clacked its pointed teeth “Yes you are.†Merasmus stooped to pick the book, dusting off the leather binding before tucking it under his arm. “I am in your debt.†The Soldier turned to Merasmus, handing him a charred looking flower, more ash than petal. “Shall we?†“Of courseâ€, Merasmus stooped down and planted a quick kiss to the top of Soldier’s helmet. Soldier blushed, “Come here cupcake†He squeezed Merasmus’s hand. Soldier stood on his toes, reaching up to plant a kiss on the wizard’s lips. ----- Prompt: I request a hilarious scenario in which Merasmus harbours a secret unrequited crush on Soldier. Soldier, of course, is hopelessly oblivious. Seeking some advice, Merasmus somehow find himself admitting everything to Scout. Scout assures him that he's the master of pickup lines and insists he isn't 'gay or nothin' but he'll help out a guy in need. Merasmus is naive enough to trust Scout's guidance, so they manage to set up a 'date' with solider in a restaurant setting. Scout prompts Merasmus through his headset with things to say to Soldier and hilarity ensues. You can decide how this ends. Will it be heartbreak or a happy end? Only time will tell.
The True Prince It was the first warm day in a long while. There had been rain and fog, mist that clung to skin like wet velvet. Mud hung off of every man’s boots, pulling them into sinking paths. Silent birds now sang. Their voices echoed in the forest, bouncing from leaf to leaf. The ground crumpled beneath an oncoming vehicle. Its driver was a serviceman. His destination was of little concern to him. It was just another paycheck to him. To his employers? This was destined to be a day of great joy. The gentleman and lady in the back could feel in their bones. “Is this the place?†the first of the two in the back asked. His driver responded, “Aye, sir.†The gentleman in the backseat took a sharp whiff. The scent of old wood flooded his nostrils. There was a hint of smoke and fire. A foul taste coated his tongue. Brimstone. Had to be. And just slightest touch of potassium chlorate. The gentlemen grinned. This was promising. “Think we’ve got one, Mum,†the gentleman beamed. He nudged the other occupant in the car with his elbow. The woman sitting with him was not so enthusiastic. She crossed her arms. “That’s what you said ‘bout the last three places, Dad. Just a bunch of hooligans there. Why should I get my hopes up?†“Trust me. This smells right,†the gentleman said. “Smells like me childhood.†Mum couldn’t afford to be optimistic. She had been too eager to accept the first lad. When he had turned out to be little more than a miniature terrorist, destined to be nothing greater than a Glasgow thumper, she had been crushed. The second and third took her less time to deduce then the first. Their faces were just a little off, hair not so tightly curled, temper ill fitting for one of their family’s rank. Scared of fire. Too eager to strike a match. Either constantly picked fights or hiding behind his friends. Best just to leave all of them be. She was looking for a lost lion, not wolves and chickens. There was a sudden burst of high-pitched squeals. A rusted gate fell back, allowing the car passage. More squeaks followed. It was the sound of children playing. They darted out of the car’s path, growing silent as it went by. The car made a turn to the left. It slowed as it reached its destination, stopping with an awkward lurch. The driver assisted both Mum and Dad out of the vehicle. As their heritage and trade went, so did their eyeballs. It wasn’t anything that bothered either of them. Mum had a sharp, lithe cane for navigation, so she was typically the one to scout the landscape out. The gentleman carried a broadsword, and he damn well was going to use it. Perhaps using it as a guide was unorthodox, but it was effective at scaring off ruffians. He didn’t need to see them to make short work of his foes. He just needed to listen, to smell, and to swing very hard. “Wait here,†Dad told his driver. “We won’t be long.†The couple marched together to the front door. Pop threw it aside, then held it open. Mum passed through, smiling at her husband’s thoughtfulness. Their appearance startled the staff clustered in the foyer. Half a dozen women were standing around, clucking about the incoming guests. They gasped in surprise at the duo. It wasn’t anything new. One woman clacked her way over to them. They could feel from the vibrations in the floor that she was heavy set, scuffing about on her heels as she walked. She slipped a large palm into each of their free hands. “Sister Ann Catherine Margaret. Welcome to the Crypt Grammar School for Orphans, Mister and Misses DeGroot.†“Glad ta be here,†Dad started. “We’re hopin’ this is the one.†Sister Ann went off on a tangent. “Oh, he has to be. I can tell. You three would make the perfect match. Once you meet him, I’m sure you’ll think the same. Why, he even looks like he could be your son!†Mum screwed up her face. Sister Ann pulled back for a moment, realizing her misspeak. Before she could correct herself, Mum nodded. “Right. We’ll ‘see’ about that, then.†The nun didn’t want to put her foot in her mouth again. She patted Dad on the shoulder. “Sorry. There’s a hall to your left. We’ll be heading that way.†Tiled floors gave way to polished wood. Dad could feel the tip of his sword sinking into the floorboards as he walked. Mum walked beside him, her arm wrapped around his. He gave it a squeeze. She laughed, then swatted at his thigh with her walking stick. They could hear Sister Ann’s breath catch as they horsed around. Neither of the two could figure out what she was so flustered about. “Your driver—does he live on your premises?†Sister Ann asked. Dad nodded. “Aye. He, and a maid. Bit of a charity case for both of them, really. Our neighbors—the Trotter clan, just the next mansion over—whole building went up in flames. An entire lineage destroyed in one night. The only reason either ‘a their servants survived was ‘cause they were drunk in our cabbage garden.†“How tragic,†Sister Ann fawned. “Just goes to show ya. Never put yer eggs in one basket. Least, that’s the philosophy ‘a my clan,†Dad grinned. Mum sighed. “They just make more work for us, really. The maid never can dust right. I can smell it all over the house. And don’t get me started on her sloppy cleanin’!†Dad laughed, his chuckles phlegmy. “Driver’s terrible, too. Always so slow! Boy needs to livin’ it up a bit. Thinks he’s drivin’ eggs to market, that’s what.†“I’m sure he’s just trying to take care of you,†Sister Ann replied. Dad grunted, but didn’t give a verbal reply. That was the way people were with him and Mum. Everyone was always so worried about them. Perhaps his royal lineage had something to do with it. Maybe it was his disability. But, more likely than not, it was because nobody in Scotland had balls under their kilts quite like the DeGroots. It was one thing to do battle with all senses and extremities attached. It was another to excel without them. There was another tap on his shoulder. “He’s in the playroom over here. I must warn you, though. He has a nasty habit of—†Sister Ann’s presentation was interrupted by a rolling battle cry. Half a dozen voices roared at once as a small pack of children bum rushed he visitors. Suction-cup tipped arrows peppered the doorframe. Sister Ann squawked in fright. A few must have stuck to her. Wooden sticks and cardboard swords swung at the visitors’ heels. Mum dropped her cane, then scooped two of the rascals off the ground. They squealed with fright, then laughter. Dad growled back, sending the rest of the kids scampering back with one stomp of his foot. The child infantry’s final attack whistled past all three adults’ ears. There was a sparkling heat on their cheeks as fire propelled a round ball past their heads. It landed with a sharp thunk in the wall behind them. A tiny beep preceded an explosion of splinters. The adults ducked, avoiding most of the shrapnel. A moldy old tapestry landed on their heads. Dad grumbled, then threw it aside. “I should have smelled a trap two kilometers away!†Dad yelled. “Show yerself, MacDougal!†His clan’s nemesis was nowhere on the site. Rather, a small man answered his cry with another. “What, ye wee princesses can’t handle a couple ‘a giants? How’re we supposed ta take on dragons if ya can’t fight a bunch of old geezers?†Sister Ann’s voice went sharp. “Tavish! What in the name of God do you think you’re doin’?†She stomped over to where the boy was holed up behind his friends. “This is your last chance to leave here, you hear me?†“You said that the last three times, ‘n I drove them all off!†Tavish stomped his foot, throwing sass back at his caregiver. “And I’ll keep doin’ it! I won’t have any more bastards—†There was a slap that made both Mum and Dad wince. A cold silence flooded the room. It was followed by a wave of searing heat from Sister Ann. “You listen, and you listen good ‘n proper. You are lucky anyone wants your foul little mouth. You straighten up now, or I will send for Constable Stewart this instant! See how far your little pranks will get you in public orphanages! God will have no patience for you there.†Mum’s hand shot out to find Dad’s arm. It was tight, trembling. Dad grunted in turn. The boy deserved to be punished, certainly, but this was taking it too far. If she was this unrestrained in front of guests, she could only be worse in privacy. It wasn’t anything new to either of them. Every other orphanage had some bat like her in their ranks. Someone had to be the reprimander, and they were all too willing to do so. Especially if they had some authority to back up their behavior. “Could we have a few minutes with the boy?†Dad interrupted. Sister Ann replied nervously. “Of course.†She whistled for the rest of the children. “Follow me. There’s some gardening we can attend to.†Mum and Dad walked past the doorframe as kids scurried past them. Sister Ann followed in turn, shoes clicking quickly together. There was a creak behind them as the door close. A sniffle came from the center of the room. The boy hesitated, not wanting to approach the strangers. Any sudden movement might have jarred another despicable tantrum or crying fit from him. “Are there any chairs for us to sit in?†Mum asked Tavish. The boy responded with a cracked voice. “C-course. To yer right.†He paused, hesitant to add, “Need me to lead ya?†“It’s alright. Thank ya, though,†Mum said. Mum forged the way to the chairs in question. She swept her cane slowly across the playroom floor in gentle arcs. She brushed aside discarded toys as she walked—plush animals, soft dolls, wooden blocks and the like. As she stepped forward, her husband followed the soft squeaks from the floorboards. The young man didn’t move until the older two sat down. He hesitated, then joined them in turn. “Suppose I’d outta apologize fer the bomb,†Tavish started. “Wouldn’t ‘a hurt ya or nothin’. Can’t make anythin’ killer here.†Dad smiled. “Actually—that was what we came ta talk to ya about.†Tavish whistled. He scrunched down. “Oh. Then, I guess ya’ve already heard about me.†“Somewhat, yes,†Mum said. She patted her hand on the table, searching for Tavish’s. He slipped his hand under hers. As soon as she felt it, she smiled and clutched it. “Would ya mind tellin’ us what happened?†The little boy’s body tensed. There was a shuffle in his seat as he fidgeted. “I suppose Sister Ann’s blabbed all about it already. No matter what she says, I didn’t mean ta do it. I mean, I did mean ta kill that blasted potato-stealin’ Nessie, but I didn’t mean ta off me parents.†“We just want ta know the story, lad,†Dad cut Tavish’s ramblings short. It took a moment for the young boy to screw up his courage. “It was in May. Just, ah—well, just had a new set ‘a bombs made up. Got one from a stranger, too. I’d been experimentin’ with potassium chlorate, and I thought that would’ve done ol’ Nessie in. So, I waited in the mornin’ for him to show up. Always shows up in the fog, ya know. Then…†Tavish paused. His fingers tightened around Mum’s hand. She squeezed back. “Go on, then.†“Right. So. There I was, and there he was. I’d had charges laid out on the beach and in nets.†Tavish sat upright, forcing his spine to align in a column. “Well, I set the bombs to a remote detonator. I’d done it a couple ‘a times before, and I figured that’d be the best way ta do ‘im in. So, I hit the switch on the detonator. But—well, you know those first bombs that I set to the switch? Forgot that they were still hooked up.†“Where were they?†Dad asked. “In the basement,†Tavish replied. He took a deep breath, then sighed. “Sent the whole house flyin’ twenty meters in the air. Landed right on top ‘a Nessie. Weathercock first, too. ‘N there were my parents in the front room, readin’ the paper and fightin’. Well, they were, at the time. Really wasn’t much left of them after the blast. Or of the front room, really. Paper survived, though.†Mum and Dad sat quietly for a moment, analyzing the story. It certainly wasn’t the most gruesome tale in the DeGroot lineage of slaughter. Granted, landing a house point-first on a mythological creature was a good point in Tavish’s favor. That was the kind of strategic strike that a world-class explosives export would do well to have. It seemed like the kid had some talent to him, even if he was hesitant to share his mistakes. “What did ye learn from this?†Dad questioned. Tavish fidgeted. It was a hard question for young children to answer, especially when they had to admit their mistakes. “Make sure ya know where yer bombs are before ya set them off. Also, that there are multiple Nessies. Saw another one before I had ta leave town. Pissed me right off.†Mum clicked her tongue. “You’ve certainly got quite the mouth on you.†Tavish squirmed under her grasp. “Sorry. Guess I’m not a good kid.†Both Mum and Dad sat up when he said those words. True, the lad was mouthy and seemed like he got into a lot of trouble. To hear him degrade himself at such a young age was sad. He was angry and bossy and guilty. That was a lot of pain for a child to carry around. Mum patted her lap. “Come here. I want to see you.†“What?†Tavish was flabbergasted. “But, aren’t you blind?†Mum laughed. “There are ways people like Dad ‘n Me can see, even if we don’t have our eyes.†There was a screech as Tavish stood up. He trod softly towards the two adults. Mum put her hands out first. He backed away when they headed towards his face. Both of them paused, trying to read into the other’s actions. The boy found his strength, then pressed towards the woman again. Her fingers landed on his cheeks. They pressed softly against his skin, starting from the top of his head. They massaged through his scalp, then descended down the front of his face. “They shaved you,†Mum said. “One ‘a the sisters caught me smugglin’ sulfur pouches ‘n gunpowder in it. So, they chopped it off,†Tavish admitted. “First, they took me pockets, ‘n then they took me hair. They can’t check take me knickers, though.†“Atta boy,†Dad laughed. “Used to hide powder in me shirts. Rolled up the sleeves with pouches in ‘em. Headmasters never figured it out.†Tavish cocked his head to the side, Mum’s fingers going crooked across it. “You too?†“’Course! ‘Til me parents found me, anyway,†Dad replied. He tapped the table, “Alright, Mum. Let me see him.†She sighed, but patted the boy towards Dad’s direction. He followed suit. Tavish smirked as the man’s fingers rubbed behind his ears. His fingertips were rougher than Mum’s, and they smelt of a scent he was familiar with. “Ya stink like a Chinese firework factory!†“Oy! Don’t get mouthy about it,†Dad chuckled. He sighed, then laughed. “Ah, Mum. He’s got yer nose!†Mum chuckled back, “Pretty sure he’s got your chin!†Tavish swatted Dad’s hands away from his face. He stumbled backwards, then fell on his rear. Dad and Mum stood up, trying to find their frightened boy. Mum came across him first. She sat him upright, then dusted off his back. His shoulders were shaking. “What in the hell d’ya mean by that?†Tavish demanded. “Are you my parents?†Dad answered him, “Yes, son.†A tide of emotions came over Tavish all at once. He spewed them out as his head tried to process this information. “Don’t—don’t be lyin’! You…with those awful bastards? Why would you…you…I—I can’t believe it, but you—Holy cripes! I do look like you two!†Dad pushed down on Tavish’s shoulders. He knelt down next to his son, placing his sword to his left side. He tried his best to talk face-to-face with the scared young boy. Even then, his son had to turn his head. “Thank ya. Son, listen to me. Your proper birth name is Tavish DeGroot. You come from a long, long line ‘a DeGroots.†Tavish bobbed his head, bumping it against his dad’s hand. “I know ‘a them. Ye go a way back. Bombers, all ‘a ya. Just like—†“That’s right. Just like you.†Dad continued explaining the situation. “We aim ta be the best ‘a the best. All naturals, all the way. But there’s a test all DeGroots must go through before they can be part ‘a the clan. They have ta show natural ability. No parental influence, no hocus pocus. Just pure wit. ‘N see, that’s why we had ta give you up. We were waitin’ fer ye ta sprout.†Tavish sat down, his voice pained. “I—I suppose that makes sense.†Mum crouched next to him. She found his shoulders, then enveloped him in a hug. “We’re sorry. I know this must hurt. Trust me, I know. This Degroot clan is serious business. Ye don’t wanna know what I had to go through just to marry your bloody father!†That brought a laugh from Tavish. It took a few moments for him to collect his thoughts. He sank in Mum’s arms, his brain trying to come up with the right emotions. Dad waited patiently for him to come around. He was a man, not a mother. He had his dignities to keep. Still, the silence gnawed at his decision to put his son through this. The boy was intellectually tempered for the family business. Perhaps not emotionally stable enough yet, but his temper could be checked. If he was going to be a proper father, the least he could do was try to help him grow. “I wish you would have found me sooner,†Tavish finally said. “Sorry, lad. There’s a lot of right shitheads out there. Takes a while to find the proper one,†Dad cussed. Both the father and the son weren’t one for doting on their emotional lows for long. As soon as Dad had apologized, Tavish had already bounced onto his feet. He bolted around the playroom, then headed towards the door. “Alright, Mum and Dad! I’m sick ‘a this place. Let’s get the hell outta here!†Mum snickered at her boy’s enthusiasm. “Don’t ye want to pack, first?†“No! Well, maybe. Still got some potatoes fer plantin’.†Tavish was full of energy. “Ye do have a garden, right?†Mum smiled. “Of course. Just has cabbages in it, but—†Tavish laughed. “Cabbages! Oh, brother! Clearly, ya needed me just ta take care ‘a yer bloody garden!†“Fair enough. But yer not gettin’ ‘round the fertilizer ‘till I can teach ya how ta handle it,†Dad replied. Tavish scoffed. “Please. Like I need some old guy how ta make stinky poo bombs.†“Old guy?†Dad roared with laughter. “Maybe we should just leave ‘im here, Mum!†Of course, they didn’t. ----- Prompt: Demoman, something with his adoptive parents and his birth ones - his memories of one set or another, the potential guilt or happiness, how he feels about having lost two fathers or how he felt when he was taken into his clan from the orphanage.
Think First Personally, the RED Medic was of the opinion that their team's Scout possessed all the mental sophistication of a particularly impulsive chipmunk – and yet, for all of the simplicity that description implied, Medic was also certain that he would never fully understand the young man. Chipmunks at least had self-preservation instincts. From what he'd seen, Scout did not. No one who wanted to live to see another day would challenge a man carrying a minigun when they themselves were holding nothing but a bat. Sane people did not charge rocket launcher-wielding soldiers. (And it didn't matter that Medic himself wasn't an authority on sanity: some acts were clear lunacy.) Beyond the habits that baffled Medic, the Scout had also acquired a few that personally irritated him. He always found the time to shout for a medic when he was hurt and yet he only rarely found the time to stick around for the healing he'd requested. Perhaps the shouting was simply instinctual, like a struck dog yelping. In any case, Medic had quickly learned that it was never worth chasing him down: by the time he caught up to the Scout he had invariably found another means of patching himself up, and by the time Medic made it back to where he'd left the bulk of the RED team they had usually met with an unfortunate and explosive fate. On the rare occasions he did bother to stick around, Scout routinely attempted to circle in front of him at precisely the moment Medic was turning around to lock on with the medi gun. The usual result was an inefficient, two-person impression of a dog chasing its own tail. To say that the Scout was a waste of his time was an entirely accurate summary of the situation, as far as Medic was concerned. Even these shortcomings, however, could have been forgiven if only Scout hadn't begun to find ways to annoy him during his off hours as well. Medic did not appreciate being the butt of anyone's jokes, and the icy glare he now directed at the young man standing before him would have made Heavy nostalgic for the winters of his homeland. “What is this?†he asked, eyeing the green and brown bundle that Scout was trying to offload on him. “They're flowers, doc. For your office. Figured it could use a little colour,†Scout said. Scout held out his “bouquet.†It was a collection of thin and scraggly-looking little pink-tipped branches covered in multiple tiny leaves. Realistically, they looked more like something one would offer to a horse than gift to a friend. Once again, Medic refused to take them, keeping his hands tucked safely away behind his back. “Those are weeds, Scout. They grow all over the base.†No matter how often Pyro sets them ablaze in the course of his 'gardening', Medic thought to himself. Undeterred by his negativity, Scout shrugged off the correction. “So they're wildflowers. Weeds ain't got little pink petals on the end. You got a vase or something around here?†The Scout started to look around his office and for an instant Medic regretted not carrying his bonesaw at all times. He had spent the day being shot at, burned, backstabbed at least twice, and to top it all off he felt a headache coming on. Having his carefully-organized office rifled through was not his idea of a good way to end the day, and he would cheerfully lop off one of the Scout's arms before he'd let him ransack the place. So, as loathe as he was to encourage him, he opted to distract Scout. “No – but there is a beaker on my desk. Put them there.†For the first time that month Scout obeyed without comment. As soon as the man pulled back his hand, Medic put out his own and swept both the beaker and its contents into the trash he kept by the desk. Disappointingly, the action wasn't followed by the sound of glass shattering, but at least the weeds were where they belonged. He looked back at the Scout with an expression of utter disinterest and hoped that would be enough to send him on his way. “Was that all?†Medic asked. “Uh. Yeah, that's all.†Scout glanced between Medic and the garbage can, for a moment looking as though he were going to reach in and put the contents back on the edge of his desk, but Medic's expression did its job. He turned and left without another word, and Medic finally sank into his chair. He wasn't sure what had prompted that confusing bout of generosity, but at least it was over. --- As it turned out, it was not over. The next day Medic found the beaker and a new collection of weeds on his desk, with the addition of a little water to sustain them. It also looked as though Scout had made a considerable effort to pick the more presentable wildflowers this time. Wasted effort, in Medic's estimation: it only meant he had to walk to the sink and pour out the liquid contents of the beaker before tossing both it and the newest batch of flowery twigs into the garbage. This time, he made sure that the beaker broke. When Scout noticed the makeshift vase had disappeared from his desk yet again, instead of taking the hint as it was intended – that Medic was nobody's punchline and wanted no part of this nonsense – Scout seemed to interpret Medic's actions to mean it would take something more than flowers to lull him into complacency. Every few days, Medic began to find little gifts tucked away with his personal items. A “#1 Medic†mug appeared on his desk. It, too, found a home in the garbage – primarily because he didn't trust Scout not to have spit in it first or done something equally childish with it that would have had him snickering whenever Medic took a sip, but also because he was confident in his superiority over BLU's doctor and didn't need a mug to announce it for him. Who, after all, had first mastered and deployed the ubercharge? One day he found a box of chocolates tucked away with his things in the locker room. These he also disposed of, because he made it a personal policy not to eat anything that had come in contact with the blood-spattered equipment that he stashed in the locker. The meals that began appearing on his desk when he worked late into the night ended up in the trash as well. As much as he doubted that Scout knew enough about sedatives to use them properly, Medic had used that trick on others too often to trust unattended food. As he filled out a requisition for a larger garbage bin, it occurred to Medic that Scout might actually be so hardheaded that he'd never give up without a good reason. He would perhaps have to speak with him – or simply kill him and bury him out back, which was rapidly becoming the more appealing option. --- The opportunity came sooner than he expected. At the end of the month, while he was working on some inane report about the deleterious effects of repeated reanimation on the human body – a report that RED administration had requested, but which would surely be stamped and fed to RED's bank of shredders before being read – Scout popped into his office. Without knocking, as was his custom, of course. “Yo, doc. You got a minute?†“If you are dying, I suppose I could spare one,†Medic said without looking up. Scout seemed to consider this an invitation to slouch into the chair set across from his desk. Medic held in a sigh. Apparently he planned to stay for more than a minute. “So I was listening to the guys earlier – and this is just what they're sayin', just so we're clear – anyway, is it true you and Heavy are-†At that point, Medic stopped listening. His pen slipped, an ugly black mark scarring the page he was working on. Oh, that rumor again. He wasn't sure who had started it. Sometimes he suspected its origins lay in the Demoman's drunken ramblings, and at others he wondered if it wasn't simply Spy being the bastard he was known for. However it had started, he wasn't deaf to the whisperings of his teammates. He set down his pen with a deliberate click against the top of his desk. “Scout, do you know how many bones are in the human hand?†Medic interrupted him with such a degree of mock cheer that it really should have set off at least a few warning bells in Scout's head, but Scout merely blinked. It was just about the last question he'd expected to hear. Medic was, well, the medic. What was Scout supposed to know about skeletons? “- uh. Five?†he said, glancing at his hand. Scout had five fingers, so he knew there had to be at least one bone in each of those. Did they attach to something inside his palm? “No, wait. Six.†From the expression on Medic's face when Scout looked back up, he got the impression that neither of those were the right answer. “If you don't leave my office immediately, I will cut your hand open and pull them out one by one so you can count them. Get out.†“But I-†Remembering all the times he'd wished he'd had his trusty bonesaw within easy reach, Medic had done one better and had begun stashing his syringe gun in his lower desk drawer. He reached for it. As soon as Scout saw the gun cresting over the edge of the desk, he was on his feet and headed for the door. By the time Medic was able to get a proper grip on it Scout had made his getaway. The young man was at least clever enough to recognize the deadly look that meant Medic had reached and surpassed the limits of his patience for the day. He'd give him credit for that much. Instead of putting the syringe gun away, Medic settled it on top of his desk, just in case Scout was not smart enough to stay away. --- Medic thought that, finally, that would be the end of it. Surely direct threats of bodily harm were enough to ruin whatever joke Scout had planned? He was wrong. Perhaps facing repeated, gruesome deaths on a daily basis had dulled Scout's self-preservation instincts to the point of non-existence. After all, what did it matter if your doctor killed you and cut you up into little pieces if you'd be whole and alive again within the hour? With increasing frequency, unwanted gifts continued to appear in his office, his locker, his sleeping quarters – anywhere that Medic frequented, he was sure to find a special little something from Scout that he neither needed nor wanted. Sometimes there was even a bow and a colourful little card. Medic wasn't entirely sure if this was a further attempt to win his favour or simply a desperate bid to apologize, but either way the new, extra large garbage can was coming in handy. He was considering whether or not it would be wise to request Pyro's assistance with disposal one evening when someone knocked on his door. “What now?†he called out. If he had to put up with any more idiocy in the immediate future... The door to his office opened about a foot, and Heavy poked his head inside. “It is only me, doctor,†he said. Heavy slid a hand into the room and waved a chessboard at him. “If you are busy, I come back another time.†Medic relaxed immediately. Apart from the repellant effect the two of them had on the rest of the RED team when they were engaged in a game of chess, Heavy was an intelligent and pleasant companion; one who understood him well. Their friendship had grown from working as a close team in the field. It was easy to trust those who had saved your life, and whose life you had saved in turn. When Medic wanted peace and quiet or someone who would simply nod and listen to his irritable ranting, he sought out the Heavy. “I am not sure if I have enough focus for a game today, my friend, but please – come in,†Medic said, waving him towards a chair. Instead of sitting down, Heavy walked over and stood in front of Medic, peering at something over his shoulder. Medic turned and followed his gaze to the overstuffed garbage can by his desk. “Ah. That. I seem to have a very insistent benefactor.†“Is Scout? I see him put hands in your locker sometimes when he thinks no one is looking, and I wonder what he is doing.†“Yes. So far, it is nothing worse than poor choice in gifts. I believe he is trying to apologize for offending me,†Medic said, frustrated. The easiest way to apologize would be to leave him alone. “More than usual?†Medic couldn't quite muster a laugh in response. “He tried to ask me if you and I were sleeping together,†Medic clarified. He expected to see Heavy angry and frowning when he turned back to face him, but instead his friend looked confused. Thoughtful, even. “Scout also asked Heavy this question today.†The response surprised Medic. He hadn't thought Scout would be foolish enough to involve Heavy in his little prank, as well. If it was dangerous to anger one of his teammates it was downright suicidal to anger two of them at once. “Oh? And what did you tell him?†“First, I tell him it is secret, so he must come closer,†Heavy said. He leaned in, and Medic followed along with the reenactment, leaning forward. “Scout comes closer. And then – POW!†Heavy uppercut the air next to him, and as quickly as Medic had leaned in he took a step back. He had no fear that the man would ever intentionally punch him but fists the size of Heavy's deserved their own bubble of personal space. Heavy laughed. “Just like that, he is on floor, sleeping like baby. When he wakes up I tell him we are just friends. You are not too disappointed, I hope.†Heavy said, and settled a large hand on his friend's shoulder. “I admit, Medic is handsome man. Maybe, if you were redhead... maybe, maybe.†This time Medic managed a real laugh. He swatted Heavy's hand away. “Enough, enough, before someone overhears.†Seeing his friend cheered up seemed to satisfy Heavy, and he half-turned to go. Then he turned back. The thoughtful expression was back on his face. “Doctor?†“Yes?†“I know it is not my business, but we are good friends, so I hope you will not mind. I think Scout has crush on you.†Medic shot him a look over the rim of his glasses, one that said if you keep saying such things, of course everyone will think of you as a great big dunce. The Russian couldn't possibly be falling for the act. “You mean Scout is playing a prank on me,†he said. “Also possible. But Scout is not so good at keeping jokes secret: usually he says 'watch this,' or makes ugly snort-laugh like very skinny pig. He does not do these things. He leaves you gifts; he asks you if there is other man in your life. I think, maybe, he likes you.†“I doubt it, but I appreciate your perspective, Heavy. Goodnight,†Medic said. It wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss in depth at this hour – if ever – and he trusted Heavy to recognize that fact. Heavy nodded at him. “Goodnight, doctor.†As Heavy left, shutting the door behind himself, Medic heard the fluttering of wings from above. It sounded as though his dove had grown tired of his spot on top of the ceiling light and wanted to keep his master company. He held up a hand, and as he'd expected, Archimedes flew down and accepted the new perch. Medic laid his free hand on the bird and stroked it, gently straightening out a few unruly and bloodstained feathers on his favourite dove. “What do you think, Archimedes?†The dove rocked back, making himself tall and puffing up his neck, then bobbed his head as he let out an emphatic coo. “Oh, there there, boy. You'll always be the most handsome man in my life.†He shifted his hand to rub gently at the bird's neck, but Archimedes ignored the gesture in favour of continuing his display. Medic's smile faltered as he was reminded of the other obstinate suitor in his life. Scout shared Archimedes' dimwitted look at times but didn't manage to be quite as endearing when he wore it as the dove did. For that matter, Medic wasn't certain that “suitor†described Scout in the first place. Scout wasn't a romantic. He was loud, convinced of his own superiority in every way, and loved baseball more than he loved any single human being with the possible exception of his mother. He did seem earnest when they spoke, but one could say the same thing about Spy. Scout wasn't as clever or as treacherous as Spy was, but this was one area of his life that Medic didn't like leaving to chance. Medic sighed. He might not have to discuss it with anyone else, but he realized then that he would at least have to think about it. An intelligent mind could never be satisfied with the answer “I don't know.†Maybe the whole affair would seem simpler in the morning. --- A full night's rest had not brought Medic the clarity he'd hoped it would. The curiosity was at the back of his mind as he went through his morning ritual, as he suited up for battle, and even as he followed Heavy to the front lines. It was a terrible distraction, and he found himself observing the Scout more often than his job required him to. The first thing he noticed when he truly paid attention to the other man was that Scout was not as stupid as he'd thought he was. He wasn't a college graduate and he probably never would be, but he had practical knowledge in abundance. Those point blank charges Medic had always seen as suicidal were carefully calculated risks: Scout only approached enemies who were looking the other way, and he was never foolish enough to get within range of the BLU Pyro's flamethrower. He knew how to time his jumps to clear obstacles, and how fast he needed to run to make it across any given gap in the terrain. The second thing he noticed was that Scout was not as self-obsessed as he'd thought he was, either. Scout protected him. Medic preferred to believe that this was a recent development, because he had difficulty believing that he wouldn't have noticed it earlier otherwise. He certainly noticed when the men he used as human shields did it, but of course, as their source of near-instant healing and occasional invulnerability it was in their best interest to keep him alive. Scout received fewer direct, tangible benefits from Medic's continued survival, but he made the same effort to look out for him. More than once, he turned at the sound of a scattergun blast and was met with the sight of the BLU Spy's dead body at his heels. Sometimes, Scout intercepted rockets the opposing team's Soldier had aimed at Medic. He'd always assumed the Scout-flavoured gore showers were a matter of inattention or clumsiness. If they were strategic... By the end of the week, he'd begun to severely doubt his initial assessment of Scout's intentions. There could be no distraction on the battlefield without the inevitable consequences, however. Apart from the internal conflict it sparked, his inattention towards his heal target was deadly. Late in the week, he turned away from observing Scout only to watch Heavy explode into a fine mist in front of him. Blinking behind blood-spattered glasses, Medic realized he was now face to face with the BLU Soldier and about a second away from a messy death that mirrored the Heavy's. There was a railing on his immediate left. The drop to the courtyard below wasn't enough to be lethal, but it was too far to be safe. Given the choice between a pointless death and serious bodily injury, however, Medic chose the latter. He dashed to the left, used a short crate as a stepping stone, and hopped the railing. The impact was excruciating. He landed in a crouch, something in his right ankle crunching in a way he refused to think about because he knew the human body entirely too well to be comfortable with any part of his anatomy making that sound. Medic pushed himself back to his feet. Standing was more of a balancing act than usual when his right side refused to bear any significant weight, but he managed it. Gingerly, he began hobbling towards the nearest cover. Behind him, someone grunted. Medic glanced back: it was the enemy Soldier again. He cursed himself. Of course, anyone who considered rockets aimed at his feet a legitimate form of transportation wouldn't shy away from a little fall. He should have counted on the BLU Soldier being as much of a pain-tolerant maniac as their own. He dropped his medi gun and drew his second-to-last line of defence, the syringe gun. It proved to be unnecessary, however. The RED Scout had decided to follow their example, bat at the ready, and managed to land directly on top of the enemy. The BLU Soldier let out an undignified huff as he went down. Then Scout swung his bat, and the only noise Medic heard was a crunch much louder than the one his ankle had made. He swung a few more times, until the bat acquired a slick red sheen, and then he hopped clear of the dead Soldier. Scout jogged over to him, apparently uninjured. Medic made a mental note to aim for the nearest body the next time he had to take a long fall. “C'mon, doc, don't just stand there – get in the shack. Nobody ever looks in there,†Scout said. He snagged a handful of one of Medic's sleeves and tried to drag him in the right direction. Medic resisted. “Gently. We are not all as young and as accustomed to jumping from high places as you are, Scout,†Medic ground out. “Huh?†Medic rolled his eyes, then pointed at his foot before taking another pitiful hop-step towards the shack. Scout seemed to understand, then. He expected an irritated comment about fragile old bones from the younger man, but without another word Scout slipped under one of Medic's arms and helped him get out of sight before any other BLUs noticed them and decided to follow. Once inside the little beaten-up wood shack, Medic leaned his back against the far wall and slid to the ground. His foot protested even that small motion and he winced. It would heal at an abnormally fast rate, thanks to the equipment he carried, but it would still take time. He didn't expect that Scout would be keen to babysit him until he could walk at a reasonable pace again. Indeed, Scout was already looking between Medic's foot and the medi gun still attached to his backpack, his expression growing increasingly puzzled. “And you're not just using that to heal yourself because...?†he finally said, pointing at the medi gun. “Because I cannot. It is a shortcoming of the design: I can heal others, and I myself will heal slowly, but I cannot turn the medi gun on myself.†“Okay, then how about you pass it over and I heal you?†“Firstly, I do not trust you not to break it. Secondly, I do not trust our employer not to have installed some kind of kill switch if anyone other than myself attempts to use it. I'm sure you've noticed RED sets very particular standards.†“Oh,†Scout said, and Medic hummed. Exactly. With another person nearby to watch the door, Medic allowed himself to close his eyes. He got approximately twenty seconds of peace before the Scout interrupted his thoughts again. “You ever thought about asking Engie to take a look at it? He's a smart guy. Maybe he could fix it so you could heal yourself, too.†“I – ah...†Medic closed his mouth and blinked. It had never occurred to him to do so, but it was an excellent suggestion. If his mind alone could conceive of a way of making a man temporarily immortal, what could both his mind and the Engineer's together create? “Perhaps I will. I did not realize you held the Engineer in such high regard.†Scout shrugged. “Like I said, he's a smart guy. You, too. Ma never had the money to send me or my brothers to college, but I don't think I'd be real good with books anyway. Unless you wanted me to beat a guy to death with one. Got any idea how long it'll be before you can walk again?†Medic dared to flex his foot. The sharp pain had receded to a dull ache, but he could tell it would be worse if he tried to put weight on it. “Three minutes, perhaps. Five if you expect me to run.†“That ain't so bad. I'm gonna make sure nobody's waiting outside to nail us with a shotgun or something; I'll be right back.†Medic settled his syringe gun on his lap and nodded, but Scout was out the door before waiting for an answer. He didn't mind waiting. It was how he spent most of his day, anyway, and at least at the moment he wasn't also being shot at. The other man was true to his word. A minute and a half later Scout was back, panting and looking a little wild-eyed even as he dropped back onto the ground next to him. Although Scout had made it back in time and intact, Medic was not reassured. Scout was young but he wasn't unfamiliar with violence and he wasn't one to show fear without good reason. “We got a little problem. While we were waitin' for your leg to heal up, BLU was making a push,†he said. “And?†Medic asked, although he had a sinking feeling in his gut that he knew exactly what was waiting for them. “And now there's a sentry and nine BLUs between us and the rest of the team.†Medic cursed. The RED Engineer was smart, and so was his BLU counterpart: he knew how to pick a choke point. Chances were that there would be no alternate path that would let them avoid the BLU team. Mumbling another curse under his breath, Medic dragged himself to his feet. “Well, I suppose we may as well get this over with then,†he said. Before he could take so much as a single step, Scout shot a hand out and dragged him back down by the edge of his lab coat. “Whoa, whoa! Ain't we gonna come up with some kinda strategy first?†“What do you know about strategy?†Medic snapped at him, less because he thought Scout wouldn't know the meaning of the word and more because being dragged onto his ass had hurt. “Enough to know you're better at it than Soldier,†Scout said. Medic could only snort: flattery was more effective when one set the bar a little higher than “smarter than Soldier.†A houseplant was probably smarter than Soldier. “I don't think we can take out the entire BLU team alone, Scout, no matter what strategy we employ.†“Okay, well, how about - how far along is that uber of yours?†Automatically, Medic glanced down at the gauge. “Ninety-five percent.†“There we go. Ten seconds here to top 'er off, another thirty to get behind BLU, and bam – problem solved.“ Medic hummed, considering the suggestion. In the category of Plans Scout Came Up With, it wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had. No one had come to hunt them down yet. That meant that BLU didn't know where they were, and probably wouldn't be expecting them to come from behind. The element of surprise might be enough to let them rejoin the rest of RED team. “I suppose... if we can get close enough, it might last long enough for us to run past them,†he said. As soon as he finished talking, Scout punched him in the shoulder. Medic responded to the gesture with a curse and a frown but Scout was already frowning back at him. “What, did you wake up on the pussy side of the bed this morning or something? You hit the uber, I take out the sentry, the rest of the team moves in and wipes up the leftovers. If I leave 'em any, I mean.†“Scout.†“Yeah?†“You have never been ubercharged. Do you even know what to do?†“Well – I mean,†he said, and there was that pause that Medic had come to recognize meant that Scout didn't know the answer to the question and was scrambling to assemble one from the errant thoughts in his head, “I head for the sentry and-†“No. You let me go first.†Medic's tone was harsh: his best get on the table voice. Despite this, Scout seemed flabbergasted by the idea and opened up his mouth to argue with him. “Why the crap would-†“So that the sentry will target me instead of you. It is easier to aim when you are not being shot at, yes? Of course, if you cannot do it before the charge wears off, I will be killed instantly.†He hoped the look he gave Scout successfully conveyed an unspoken and then your next physical will be particularly humiliating. Either it hadn't, or Scout didn't want to look like a coward. He straightened up and puffed out his chest ever so slightly; Medic silently noted how the posture reminded him of Archimedes. “I can do it,†Scout said. “You will only have eight seconds,†Medic reminded him. “Doc, I can do it.†Medic sighed. When Scout got an idea in his head, he was difficult to dissuade. He doubted he would be able to convince him to try something else any more than he had been able to convince him to stop leaving him presents – and anyway, if they could pull it off, RED would have an exceptional chance to decimate the BLU team. Medic lifted the medi gun and locked on to Scout. Ninety-five, ninety-six... “Very well. Let us review precisely what you are to do. Remember, eight seconds is not a lot of time: do not waste it reloading. If you run out of ammunition, hit it with your bat...†--- The rest of the battle was something of a blur to Medic. His role was to support the first-line combatants, and more often than not he found himself crouching behind large rocks and other sturdy obstacles for the majority of the day. He wasn't used to being in the thick of things without the protection of an ubercharge, and even then his role was usually just to follow someone else while they mowed down the opposition. Today, though – today he'd gotten a rare opportunity to really get his hands dirty. He was covered head to toe in blood, organ chunks that not even he could identify without a microscope, and little bits of blue fabric. His boots squelched every time he took a step forward and this lab coat would probably never be clean again. It felt wonderful. They'd won, and spectacularly so. Looking just as messy and just as pleased with himself, Scout bounced along beside him as RED headed back to base for the evening. Medic glanced over and smiled. So that's why Spy calls him bunny, he thought. Scout caught the look and smiled back, misinterpreting its meaning. “Doc, man, I have never seen the BLU Engie look more confused. That was frickin' beautiful.†“You mean when I severed a major artery with the ubersaw? I assure you – it was more fun than it looked like,†Medic said, and his smile became a ferocious grin. Days like this were the reason he'd gone into medicine in the first place. “You did an excellent job on the sentry. I admit, I didn't think you would manage it.†“Told you I could do it.†“Yes, yes, I remember. Regardless. Don't expect this will be a regular occurrence from now on. We still need someone to beat Soldiers over the head.†“You can count on me, doc. I got your back.†“Apparently so,†Medic agreed. The comment earned Medic a grin that was halfway between proud and downright goofy. If it hadn't been coming from Scout, he might even have called it a little bit shy. “Hey, listen,†Scout said. “Whenever you're done getting cleaned up, you mind if I stop by your office? There was, uh, something I've been meaning to ask you.†“I don't see why not.†“Great. See you later.†With that said, Scout bounded off ahead of the group. For a moment, Medic wondered what exactly he'd just agreed to. --- Sitting at his desk later that night, Medic regretted agreeing to meet with Scout instead of going straight to bed. The extra running he'd done had taken its toll on his back and his neck was just as bad. Had someone filled his backpack with lead today? He was certain it hadn't always felt so heavy. Scout's off hours timing was as terrible as usual. He managed to walk into the room right as Medic made a particularly pained and unattractive expression. “Uh, you okay? Foot giving you trouble again?†Scout said, and came over to his desk. Medic waved him off. “No, it is long since healed. My neck is sore. The medi gun and backpack are heavier than your little messenger bag, you know.†“You want a massage? All the ladies love it,†Scout said with a grin, and wiggled his fingers in the air. Medic rolled his eyes. He doubted the authenticity of these supposed rave reviews, and anyway he was not terribly interested in what the ladies thought. “And what do the men say?†Medic asked. “Er. 'No' so far, but I'm hoping he'll say 'yes' eventually.†Indeed, Scout looked hopeful, like an animal begging for a treat – or perhaps a teammate begging for an ubercharge. Medic shook his head, but he was smiling. He loosened his tie, pulled it off, and then pulled his collar back just enough to give the other man better access to his neck. “Just this once then. And we will hope that you are as good as you claim to be, yes?†Scout didn't answer, which was a surprise in and of itself. Then there were a few seconds of hesitation before he circled around behind Medic's desk. Once there, he hesitated again, longer this time. Long enough that Medic was just about to tell him to get on with it or get out when thin fingers and bare palms came to rest along each side of his neck. Medic shivered. He was surprised that Scout had had the forethought to remove the wrappings from his hands. So that was what had taken him so long. Perhaps he'd thought to heat them up a bit as well, because Scout's fingers were pleasantly warm against his skin. He obviously lacked any formal training or real knowledge of the underlying musculature, but his hands were strong and moved with confidence once he'd gotten over the initial jitters. Beyond those qualities, Medic had to admit that he had quite simply begun to enjoy the attention. “So, doc, I was thinking-†“No you weren't,†Medic interrupted, but his tone was light and teasing. It was difficult to be cranky when he was being spoiled. Scout lifted a hand and flicked one of his ears. “Yeah, yeah, you're a real comedian. Don't quit your day job. You wanna do dinner some time?†It was Medic's turn to hesitate. Dinner meant food prepared by Scout. It also meant at least a half hour of conversation with Scout. Despite knowing he should logically consider these points downsides, Medic found that they didn't put him off as they once would have. Instead he was intrigued. Scout's hands had gone still by the time he answered. He could feel the tension in his fingers. “I think I would,†Medic finally said. “Sweet.†Scout relaxed. “Though, uh, if we're doing dinner...†Ah, and there it was: the horny teenager rearing its head, despite Scout's twenty-something years of age. Medic had expected this at some point, but he was not so deprived that he gave it out that easily. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Scout. I believe it's traditional to wait until the third date.†“I was gonna ask if you preferred chicken or beef, but I like that you're thinking ahead, doc.†Oh. Perhaps Scout was not the only one who didn't always think things through before he spoke. Medic glanced over his shoulder, and was of course greeted by Scout's best shit-eating grin. He reached back and made a half-hearted effort to smack him. Scout dodged it with ease, and ducked forward to plant a quick kiss on Medic's temple. Medic couldn't find it in himself to try and smack him for that. “So how many dates before I can get a real kiss?†Scout asked. “Bring red wine and you have a deal.†------ Prompt: Scout tries to be romantic, Medic has no idea what’s going on. If art: I’d like to see Scout try one of the classics (bouquet of flowers/candlelit dinner/ballroom dancing, etc.) and fail at it because he’s only ever seen it done in movies. If writing: Bonus points if Medic eventually realises that Scout isn’t playing some stupid prank on him and lets himself be seduced.
Author's Note: Okay, okay, so. I know the prompt asked for "Miss Pauling around the office", but I honestly couldn't think of a scenario strictly along those lines that didn't get boring really quick. Maybe I'm missing something here. Um. This also turned into a bit more of a general team fic, though I kind of glossed over a few of the characters due to time constraints. I dunno how well that worked, sorry. Actually, I dunno how well deciding to write for the prompt at all worked. This probably would have been better in comic form. Oops. Concrit's fine; if it's painfully apparent that I needed to properly research something, then by all means, point me where I need to go and I will amend things. Also, as fun as reading things in different accents can be, I've tried to keep the actual writing of them to a minimum. I'd probably overdo it if I tried putting them in. So I hope that doesn't make things confusing. How do I wrote fick lol -- She couldn't say it was going to be an unusual day at work, but it was definitely going to be a long one. Inspections were fairly regular, something they did every few months at every base just to make sure everything was running smoothly (and had not been blown apart in a fit of idiocy). Still, the size of the bases and the requirements for inspection were such that she could expect to be there all day. That, combined with the kinds of people who were stationed at them, could make the whole business quite exhausting. But, Miss Pauling thought to herself as she prepared for the day, it was at least a change of pace from mostly shuffling paperwork around. And with these people, things were hardly ever dull. She looked through her clipboard as she sat in the car. Today's inspection was at RED base in Yukon. It would be a while before she'd arrive; best to head out already. She put her vehicle into gear and got moving. -- Demoman always took care to keep sober while he was working in the chemistry lab. He knew the consequences of doing otherwise - careless mixtures, toxic gases and corroded floors, chemical fires and huge explosions. He'd dealt with them all, and he was wise enough from experience to not tempt fate in repeating such mistakes again. Unfortunately, sobriety couldn't prevent a surprise missle from sailing right through the window and crashing into a rack of volatile ingredients. At that point, the best thing Demoman could do was bolt straight for the door. He didn't quite make it. Thankfully, the explosions weren't so massive that they leveled the lab, and they weren't quite deadly enough to send him through Respawn, but it took a minute for him to recover. He opened the door to let the smoke clear out, coughing and hacking to get it out of his lungs. Once most of it had dissipated, he was able to assess the damage. It could have been a lot worse - there were a couple of small fires that he put out immediately, but there was otherwise nothing immediately life-threatening to himself or the team. The really dangerous stuff had been previously tucked away and was thus still intact. However, the whole place was a huge mess. Glass was everywhere, liquid and powder covered the floor, there were smoke stains on the walls, and the fumes were getting quite noxious. This was going to take ages to clean up, and until it was done, he couldn't safely make explosives in here... and like hell was he going to be allowed to do his work elsewhere in the base. This left Demoman in quite the sour mood. He got even angrier when he approached the initial crash and found that the missle was an old baseball. Scout could not have picked a worse time to pop his head in. "Yo, Demo, you seen my lucky ball aro-urk..." "And what," Demoman growled, his fingers tight around the skinny neck, "were you doing playing baseball outside MY lab?" "I-- did-didn't mean nothing by it," Scout managed to wheeze. "C'mon, man, I was just fucking around, I wasn't doing nothing wrong-" "You just wrecked my lab, you little runt!" Demoman roared as he shoved the kid against a wall. "You know how long this is going to take to clean? Where am I going to make my bombs now?!" Scout flailed, but he was spared further wrath by a call down by the main building. "INSPECTION, GENTLEMEN! GET YOUR ASSES IN GEAR! ADMINISTRATION WILL BE HERE ANY MINUTE NOW!" Demoman's eye went wide and his grip slack as he processed the information he'd just heard. "Bloody... with my whole lab to clean?" He scowled and turned back to Scout. "Alright, lad, you made this mess, you're helping me clean it up, you ke-" He blinked. He'd just been talking to the wall. Scout was already gone. "Fucking- SCOUT! YOU WEE BASTARD, GET BACK HERE!" -- Miss Pauling stepped out of the car and took a moment to stretch, admiring the view. It was kind of nice that there were bases like this outside the Badlands. Desert got very boring to look at after a while, she was sure. She took about ten steps before she was greeted by the Soldier. "Good morning, Miss Pauling! I assume you'll be the one conducting our inspection today?" Miss Pauling was taken aback. "These visits aren't ever announced, Mister Doe. How did you hear about this?" He wagged a knowing finger at her. "Miss Pauling, do you forget that we have the finest espionage agent ever produced on American soil? Our Spy, of course!" In retrospect, she should have guessed. She glanced around for any sign of him. "And... where is the Spy now?" "Why-" Soldier looked confused for a moment, but then he beamed. "He said he would be leaving on a top-secret mission today, one of utmost importance! Uncovering Space-Commie plots, no doubt!" He took his helmet off of his head, holding it against his chest as he looked heavenward in a show of respect. "Godspeed, private." Miss Pauling fought the urge to groan. She could think of several places to where the Spy could have disappeared, but Space-Commie hideouts were not among them. This would be going on the man's record. "I see." She adjusted her belongings and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "In that case, I suppose we should continue without him, then. I'll start by checking the communal facilities." She headed toward the front door of the base and noted the Soldier marching beside her. "Excuse me, Mister Doe?" "Yes, Miss Pauling!" "May I ask what you're doing?" Without missing a beat, Soldier replied, "I have assigned myself as your personal bodyguard for today. We can't have one of our privates whisking you away from your duty!" By that, Miss Pauling took him to mean Scout. She supposed this wasn't a bad thing. -- The public areas checked out with no real incident, though Miss Pauling could definitely smell something less-than-pleasant in those areas of the base close the Demoman's lab. She could see the man himself inside his building as well, rushing back and forth as if possessed. There must have been an incident in there recently that he was trying to cover up. She decided she'd see what it was when she got to it. She stepped into the Engineer's workshop and found it in good shape, but saw no sign of the man. She found the Pyro instead, working on some kind of improvement to its flamethrower. She took a brief look around while the Soldier kept a wary eye on the rubber suit; then, satisfied, she asked where the Engineer had gone. "Hhs hhn rrh rhhsphhn rhhm." "Pardon?" "He's in the Respawn room," Soldier translated. He stole a glance into the hall. "Looks like it's clear; you're free to go." He turned back to the Pyro. "I'll keep an eye on Smokey here." "Hh dhhnt nhhd yrrh thh whhch mhh!" "Oh, yes, you do! You are in here without clearance, son!" "Thhs hhs mhh whhkshhp thh!" "Hardly! I don't trust you with these machines anymore than I trust you with your damn fire!" "Hh mhh ghh..." Miss Pauling left them to their argument. She headed down the hallway towards the door to Respawn ("NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL", read the sign on its face) and punched in the combination on the door lock. She heard rapid shuffling as she opened the door to step inside. The Engineer appeared busy at the console, monitoring the system readouts. A few feet away, a panel on the machine sat open, a nest of wires poking out. As she approached, he turned and smiled at her in greeting. "Howdy, ma'am," he tipped his hat in her direction. "How's your morning so far?" "Going alright," she replied. She looked over at the machine. "Making sure everything's in order for the inspection, then?" Engineer looked a little sheepish, as though he'd been caught. "Ah, yeah... last major checkup was just last week, but figured it wouldn't hurt to make sure it was still running proper this morning." "Never a bad idea," Miss Pauling granted. The Engineer grinned and turned back to the screen. "So it still checks out?" "Yes, ma'am. Everything's in good order from what I can see." He hit a few buttons on the panel to bring up new data as he spoke. "Well, alright, then. I'll mark that off." She made her notes and turned to leave, catching sight of a familiar leather hat as she did so. Now she knew what the shuffling was about. "It's a good thing there aren't any cameras in here, isn't it? But you know, there are other forms of surveillance installed, gentlemen." There was faint cursing and more rustling towards the back of the room as the Sniper realized he'd been found out. The Engineer, for his part, kept his gaze fixed on the screen, but his ears had gone slighty pink. Miss Pauling just smiled and closed the door behind her. It was probably time to retrieve the Soldier now, judging from the escalating voices back in the direction of the workshop. -- The first thing the Medic wanted to do when Miss Pauling came to check the medical wing was to show her the latest experiments he'd been working on, including a hands-on demonstration of his current pet project. This might have been more agreeable if he hadn't insisted she be the one to get on the operating table. Miss Pauling completed the inspection with all due haste, relying on the assistance of Soldier and even the Heavy to keep the excited doctor busy. She heard Medic shout something along the lines of "Schweinehunde" as she finally scurried back into the hallway. She glanced at the notes she'd scribbled down once the door had closed and could only pinch the bridge of her nose. The Administrator would surely want her to look in on these new projects later. The Soldier emerged shortly thereafter, leaving just Heavy behind to placate the Medic. He flashed her a grin like nothing that they'd just seen was out of the ordinary. Well, perhaps for him, it wasn't. They continued on. -- A short while later, Scout peeked into the workshop looking for a place to hide. He found the Pyro, still standing at the bench, still working. He stared at it for a moment - obviously, this was not the person he had hoped to see - but eventually decided that the gas mask was a friendlier option to deal with right now than a furious Demoman running in and out of the building. "Heyyy, Mumbles," he said as casually as he could, slipping inside. "Hhh." "So, uh... whatcha working on, there? New toy? Some kinda robot thing for Engie? What's it supposed to do?" he leaned in a little, trying to get a better look. "Hhm jhhst rhhphhrhng mhh flhhmthrrur," was the grumpy reply back. The Pyro turned its shoulder toward the kid. It really wasn't in the mood for another annoying person right now. "Right, right. Okay." Scout got the hint and straightened up, like he hadn't actually cared. He looked around the room, his foot tapping restlessly. "So, there's some kinda inspection today? Who've we got this time?" "Mhhs Phhlhnng." Scout's gaze snapped back to the suit. "What? Are you kidding me? Miss Pauling's been here since this morning and no one's said anything about it? Why didn't you guys tell me?!" A loud rattling escaped from Pyro's mask, presumably a sigh. The Scout huffed at it indignantly. "Well, fuck you too, Mumbles. Have fun with... whatever you're doing, then. I've got a date to catch!" He dashed out the room and disappeared. Pyro really didn't care. At least he hadn't been in there long. It whistled to itself as it went back to work. -- "Alright, then. Respawn maintenance is up to par, machine workshop's well-kept, the medbay's... in about as much order as the medbay can be... " Miss Pauling flipped through the papers on her clipboard, checking to see what was left. There really wasn't much. She remembered what was next just as she saw someone pass by in her peripheral vision. "Ah, yes. Mister DeGroot, I'll need to inspect the chemistry lab now." Demoman locked up from right behind her. He was afraid of this. The last several hours had given him little chance to do anything except organize the chaos that was currently his working space, and the woman had unfortunately caught him during a run to get more cleaning supplies. He needed more time. He turned on his heel, trying to think of a way to stall her. "Eh... have you checked the other facilities yet? Mess hall, communications room, resupply, showers... " "Those were all given a look-through this morning, Mister DeGroot," she responded simply. "They're all in good condition. The chemistry lab's the last major facility we need to look at. You have been keeping it in order, right?" Demoman tried very hard to keep from stammering. Soldier scowled at him curiously. Miss Pauling continued walking, ignoring Demoman's pleas to double-check for anything she might have missed. A few things aside, this visit was going rather well so far, she mused. Everything was actually looking good, there'd been nothing particularly abnormal to report (all things considered), and she had yet to be bothered by the- "Yo, Miss Pauling!" Nevermind. The Scout's timing was always impeccable, it seemed. He sidled right up next to her and instantly attempted to lay on the charm. "It's been a while, Babycakes; how're you doing? Have you been watching my performance on the field lately? It has been awesome. I've been awesome. You know how many times I've saved the day just in the past week? I'll tell you how many times; it's been every time. It's real impressive, I know." "Oh, no, you don't," Soldier sneered. "The only thing that's been impressive this week is how high you've managed to scream." He yanked the kid back in-line with Demoman, who gave him a savage look. Scout shrunk away from him, but he wasn't quite ready to leave yet. "What're you trying to say, man? You saying I don't got balls or something? 'Cause I'm telling you, man, I got pl-" "Gentlemen, I'm sure this is a fine topic to discuss later, but for now there's still business to tend to." Demoman's face blanched slightly as they drew closer to the door leading outside. He could already see the telltale smoke stains crawling from the cracks in the lab door, every time they passed a window. It must have been obvious to her, too. This was not good; oh, oh, this was not good. Scout would have snickered at him if he weren't afraid of getting strangled again. "Lass, are you sure you have to look at it today... ?" There was a ring at the hallway phone before they could pass it by. Soldier strode up and swept it sharply off its hook. "THIS IS THE RED BASE; SOLDIER SPEAKING. IF YOU HIPPIES ARE CALLING ABOUT RABIES VERMINATIONS AGAIN, I WILL PERSONALLY COME OVER AND SHOVE THOSE GODDAMN NEEDLES UP YOUR--" He suddenly went quiet as the person on the other end hissed at him. He turned to Miss Pauling, his expression more meek than it was a minute ago. He held the receiver out to her. "It's for you," he mumbled, scooting back a few feet as she took the phone. "Hello." "Miss Pauling," a gravelly voice on the other end greeted her. "Yes, Ma'am?" "I need you to get back here," the Administrator said. "There's a mob outside our public headquarters. Another protest against our operations, as it were. Their leader is demanding an audience." "What would you like me to do about it?" Pauling asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer. "I want you to 'meet' with him. We can shoo these hooligans away while he's being taken care of." Miss Pauling held in a sigh. She was going to have to spend her evening cleaning her fingernails of dirt and quicklime again. But, that was just how things went with this job. "And the base inspection?" "Finish it tomorrow." She nodded, a gesture unseen by the aggravated woman on the other end of the line. "I'll be right on it." "Good," was the curt reply, and then there was a click as the line went dead. She put the phone on its hook and turned back to the men. "Well, gentlemen, it looks like I'll have to leave early today." Scout sagged visibly. "Since I'm not done going through the base, though, I'll be back tomorrow." Scout perked up. "Aw, that's great, Miss Pauling! Hey, maybe we can work out some plans for us tomorrow night. I know all the great spots in town; they all love me th-" Demoman smacked him over the head. "OW! What?!" Miss Pauling shook her head as she re-arranged the papers on her clipboard. "Until tomorrow, then, gentlemen," she said, turning briskly and heading for the door. "Until tomorrow, lass," Demoman responded, sighing in relief as she left. Thank goodness. He shot a look to Scout, who glared at him, still rubbing the back of his skull. "Y'know, if you want to impress the lady, I know of one thing you can do..." "Fuck off, Cyclops. I know what you're talking about." "Oh, you do, don't you? Well, I'll be sure to let her know how much of a help you were when she comes back tomorrow." "... Really?" "No." He grabbed Scout by the back of his shirt and started dragging him to the lab, ignoring the kid's angry whines. "You owe me, boyo. Now let's get to it." "C'mon, man, no! Oh, God, Soldier, get him offa me! LET GO, damnit!" Soldier didn't understand what was going on, but whatever it was, he figured Scout must have deserved it. He just snickered before heading out to hold his drills. ----- Prompt: It would be interesting to follow Miss Pauling around the office for a day. Just like to see some levity. No romance needed/required/wanted/whatever, but ball's in the author's court on that.
Cyan’s note: This fic also comes with an illustration. Please see the Secret Santa Art Gifts thread! ----- Title: 'Merry Christmas, Mister Sniper' Rating: General, can be seen as pre-slash or just as friendship. The clock is counting down on the last of the round, when the Sniper comes out of spawn after a nasty run-in with the BLU Scout. He’s not sure if the team’s at the fourth point or the fifth, but he knows they’re not fighting over the third anymore as he passes by the decrepit half-cabin. He stops short at a flash of blue and abandons his jog towards the next point, dropping back to investigate and finding the Spy huddled on the ground by the wood stove, cursing under his breath and… soaking wet? Well, he knows he’s not to blame—he’d stopped carrying Jarate when the teams were cycled out to Coldfront because of how uncomfortable it was to refill on the run out in the snow. The Scout, he remembers, the Scout had been laughing with a couple of the others about weaponizing water balloons out in the cold, though where he got them the Sniper doesn’t know. Apparently they did the trick, the Spy is drenched right down to the bone and struggling with his lighter and the pitiful scraps of tinder he’s managed to get into the stove. The round is called as a tie, and as the last one of the day, they’ve got nothing to do but get to their respective bases under their own power, but the Spy doesn’t look like he can. He can barely hold his lighter in his trembling, gloved hands, and his frustrated curses sound pitiful through the shivering. “Oi, Spook.†The Sniper steps forward, and he doesn’t mean to alarm the other man, but the Spy has missed the end of the round being called in his desperation, and at the Sniper’s voice, he drops his lighter and falls into a miserable cower. “J-just get it—get it ov-ver with…†The Sniper shakes his head and grabs the other man’s arm, hauling him up. “C’mon, Spook. Call it a Christmas miracle.†There’s no way he’s getting onto the BLU base, even with the round over and professional animosities supposedly set aside, and no way he’s carrying the Spy back to the RED base and letting his teammates think he’s gone soft, but he can drag him back to the little bit of warmth and shelter that his van provides against the cold. Once there, he gets rid of the dripping wet suit and towels the Spy off roughly before putting him in a thick wool sweater and a pair of flannel pyjama pants. The Spy is poleaxed throughout, though there’s not much he can do by way of protest. Finally, when he is shoved into a seat at the Sniper’s little breakfast table, wrapped in a blanket, and presented with a mug of hot coffee, he recovers himself enough to speak. “A Christmas miracle?†“That’s right.†The Sniper settles into his own seat, with his favourite mug, having changed out of his uniform shirt and vest and into another cozy sweater. “Fight’s over for the day, and tomorrow everyone’s going home for their holidays. Not gonna leave you to freeze, I figure. That might put me on the naughty list.†The Spy laughs, though it’s not a wholly-convinced sound. “I see.†“Do you… d’you have plans?†The Spy shakes his head. “No one to make plans with. A good spy’s life is a solitary one. There is no time to do anything with myself over the break BLU gives, but I have had some creature comforts delivered to the base, and I will have the place to myself. I can watch the snow from indoors, instead of being out in it, and catch up on my reading. There will probably still be leftovers when the team gets back. Why, what will you be doing? Camping? I only ask—That’s what our Sniper is doing. Down south of here, where it’s less frozen.†“Dunno. Hadn’t made plans myself. Our Spy’s flying out to see his sweetheart. Scout’s going home, Truckie’s taking Soldier and Pyro with him for a ‘down home Christmas’, he asked if I wanted to and I… I said no. Demo’ll be with his mum, Heavy’s got a place near here, think he’s taking the Doc along… Maybe I am camping, then.†The Spy nods. Eventually, his trousers have dripped dry enough that he would rather put them back on than cross the field in the Sniper’s pyjamas, but he carries the rest of his suit when he’s allowed to wear the sweater home. The next morning, the Sniper sees his team off as they head to their holiday destinations. There’s a certain amount of melancholy to seeing them all go. He’d thought he wanted to be alone, when he’d refused the Engineer’s offer. Now he’s not so sure. It’ll be too late to call home, though if he does drive off for a camping trip, he won’t get the chance. He settles on staying on-base, waiting around until it’s Christmas eve back home before calling. The next morning, Christmas eve for him, he goes out for a walk. The snow seems so alien. An honest white Christmas. A cough startles him, and he sees the Spy standing out in the snow, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a good coat. “Your team is gone? Mine is. Your sweater is hanging up to dry, inside…†He nods back towards the BLU base. “I—I have a Christmas dinner planned out, and… Well, if you are not going anywhere, I wouldn’t really mind the company.†He nods, a small smile beginning. “What time do you want me?†“Any time that you like. It’s warm inside.†The Spy shrugs. “I can open up a bottle of wine while the bird thaws.†Warmth. That sounds like an invitation the Sniper can’t pass up. He falls in line with the Spy, trudging through the snow in the other man’s footprints, the enemy base ahead of him. There are parts he’s seen, though he doesn’t see them often—he rarely needs to. The Spy leads him beyond that, down to a surprisingly warm kitchen. The layout is like his own base’s, but the surfaces are all concrete floors and walls, and everything in the kitchen gleaming steel. The Spy finds a bottle and a couple of glasses, shooting the Sniper a smile. “We’ll just keep this little visit a secret, I think. The teams do not really need to know, do they, if we have a little more of our Christmas miracle?†“Sounds just about right.†He nods. The Spy leads him back down another corridor, and into a small room. There are a couple of cushions strewn across the floor between bed and armoire, and his sweater is hanging over the radiator. As much as the room and its furnishings deviate little from the company standard, there are little touches that make it clear that it’s the Spy who lives there. “Take off your hat and coat and stay a while?†The Spy offers, tossing his own coat on the bed and slipping out of his shoes, and smiling just a little wider when the Sniper follows suit. The Spy takes one of the cushions, setting the glasses on the floor and opening the bottle, and the Sniper drops down to sit comfortably on the floor, accepting the glass the Spy fills and passes to him with a grin. “This is nice. Who’da thunk, yeah? Me and you, I mean. All friendly-like.†He shakes his head, chuckling. “Funny old world?†The Spy lifts his glass in a toast. It is strangely comfortable, unwinding in the warm little room, with the Spy doing the same. He’s not sure how much is the wine helping, and how much is just the quiet assurance that his good deed is going unpunished. The Sniper digs out a cigarette, and the Spy leans over with his lighter. “Getting warm?†“Nice and toasty, thanks.†He nods. “Well. It is not quite repaying the favour, but then, it’s for the best you never had to start out wet.†“Hey, you’re having me over for dinner, makes us more than even in my book. Have to have you ‘round for drinks come new year’s, just to keep things square between us.†The Spy glances down at his wine glass and back up to the Sniper. “I might like that.†“Well then I’ll have to be sure and invite you.†He raises his glass and returns the Spy’s smile. He’s not sure he should, it is a small secret thing and he doesn’t understand everything that lurks in the upturned corners of the man’s lips, but he wants to match it all the same. The Spy checks his clock every so often, and when he rises, the Sniper follows him back down to the kitchen. “You want a hand?†“Only if you are handy.†The Spy flashes him another grin, stretching a pair of rubber gloves over the leather pair he wears and lifting the goose out of the sink. “Do you enjoy cooking?†“I like to be useful. Always been able to feed myself all right. Besides, might pick up a few tricks.†The Spy chuckles and passes over a boning knife. They both freeze, for just a half a moment, at the immense strangeness of it, the trust inherent. Christmas miracle, indeed. “You want to take the ends of the wings off, and the neck and tail.†The Spy directs, grabbing a pan and holding it out to catch them. “Just break his wrists and cut the skin and the tendons, don’t try sawing through the bone.†The Sniper doesn’t think it would be so hard to hack through bone, but he does as the Spy says anyway. Disassembling the bird is easy enough, he’s taken apart tougher animals before. “Giblets?†The Spy asks, and he digs those out as well. “Well, I don’t know if you are a chef, mon ami, but you make an efficient butcher.†They switch places, and the Spy digs out excess fat, his face falling into a beatific smile. “I… will be cooking everything with this.†“Yeah?†He saunters back to the sink, giving his hands a quick wash. “You’ve never cooked with goose fat? Well, stick around, we will remedy that!†“You do this every year for just yourself?†“No… Goose is actually not a big part of Christmas to me—desserts, those, well, you’ll see. But, this year when I tried to arrange a good chicken, I was, euh, upgraded.†He shrugs. “Goose is more Alsatian. Not my corner of France.†The Sniper nods, watching the Spy putting holes in the skin of the bird. “So, chicken usually?†“Or duck. A small one, either way, when I am cooking only for myself. I hardly ever bother with apertifs, on my own. The team comes home to enough dessert leftover to go around, and if they don’t take too long a holiday, they might even come home to some wine. What about you? What do you do?†“On my own, nothing. If I can get home, there’s turkey or ham—or both. Mince pies. Plum pudding.†“Ah, had I but known, I might have tried for one of those and not the goose. But we can put a mince pie together—tomorrow, chop up some leftover dark meat and mix it with whatever is ground up in the freezer, and a good crust?†“Sounds good. What’s dessert?†“Desserts. Getting everything sent in was murder, I didn’t think they would… I spent all yesterday preparing the gingerbread, the rest—Well. Pass the salt?†The Sniper looks around, finding a blue and white carton and passing it over, watching the Spy season the bird. “Early for getting this baby cooked, isn’t it?†“Not at all. Granted, there is no mass at Coldfront, and even if there was, I am not exactly the type to attend, but the feast is something I will not budge on. Christmas eve. La Reveillon. How are you with gravy?†“Don’t do gravy much. I haven’t done much fancy kitchen cooking.†He grins. “What do you want me to do?†“Chop down the giblets for me? And then just brown everything there.†That seems easy enough, and while the Spy makes sure the goose is well seasoned and gets it into the oven, the Sniper babysits the pan as the wingtips, neck, and giblets all brown up. He can hear the Spy’s rubber gloves come off, and the snap of a fresh pair, and the sting of a fresh onion being chopped joins the smell of the browning giblets. The little Christmas truce grows ever more comfortable, as the gravy comes together with the Spy hovering about and making additions. The onion, a handful of flour now and then, and a generous amount of a newly-opened bottle of wine… “It is a little early,†The Spy admits. “But, with no mass and no other guests to account for, there’s no reason not to eat early… Once it’s ready, it’s ready.†They drag a couple of folding chairs into the kitchen, and sit around letting the aroma of the cooking goose fill the air, the Spy pouring out another couple glasses of wine. The first bottle he’d opened had been a white, but this one is a deep, rich cabernet sauvignon. The notes of blackcurrant and oak and tobacco all hit him straight off, but he can find chocolate and berry if he looks for them, rolling his first sip around in his mouth. “Tell me about this impressive dessert—these impressive desserts!—of yours.†The Sniper slouches into his seat, swirling his wine glass to watch the bold clear red catch the light. Not the right order to do things in at all, but then, he’s not exactly a formal man. It is an elegant wine, though, full-bodied and fruity. “Les Treize Desserts. It’s not quite as daunting as it sounds—mostly fruits and nuts, and a couple of candies, but there are two cakes… and the gingerbread… Well, as I said, there is usually quite a bit left over when the team gets back. Thirteen desserts will do that…†The Sniper lets out a low whistle. “Thirteen.†“Mostly fruits and nuts.†The Spy repeats. “Yeah, well, you weren’t kidding about doing it up with the desserts.†“Tell me how Australian Christmases go.†The Spy leaned into the counter, resting his chin on his hand. “After the ham and the turkey? Or before it?†“Might go out and play cricket. Or swim, if you’re near the coast, but we weren’t. Laze around with the electric fans going. Get a few carols sung. Prezzies. Mine’ll be in when mail starts up again, Mum was sorry it didn’t arrive faster, but they got what I sent.†“That’s good.†“That’s what’s important to me.†He shrugs. “There’s nothing I need, y’know, I mean… probably it’s a new sweater.†“I haven’t had anyone to give gifts to in years…†The Spy sighs. “But, this year, I cook for someone—and with someone. So that is something.†“Yeah.†He leans forward, to clink his glass gently against the Spy’s. “That’s something. Happy Christmas, Spook.†“Merry Christmas, Mister Sniper.†----- Prompt(s): Sniper gallantly and/or grudgingly sharing clothes with a 'friend' in a cold climate & Spy and Sniper share a Cabernet Sauvignon over talk.
Give And Take I. Scout trudges into the kitchen, searching vaguely for a leftover muffin or some pancakes or whatever. There aren't any on the counter or on the stove. Only after he checks the oven does he take a glance at the kitchen table. There's Pyro, sitting at the table, quietly hiding behind a magazine that he's only pretending to read. When Scout coughs loudly, the masked man looks up. "Hey, are there any muffins left?" Pyro shakes his head with a surprisingly strong expression of guilt for somebody wearing a gas mask. He shrugs his shoulders and points at a plate filled only with crumbs. Demoman comes trotting in the door and says, "Sorry, lad." Soldier follows closely behind. The apology doesn't offset the annoyance Scout feels from seeing that both of the new arrivals have a half-eaten muffin in hand. "You guys ate all the fuckin' muffins!" he yells, stomping his foot. The sudden and irrational outrage makes both Pyro and Demoman jump; Pyro drops his magazine in fright and it lists to the floor slowly. Soldier, who's no stranger to irrational outrage, doesn't flinch, but he gives Scout the evil eye. "We didn't eat ALL of them," says Soldier, picking up the magazine and setting it back in Pyro's hands. "I'm having one, Demo's having one, and Pyro and Engie shared one. SO we only actually ate two point five muffins in total--" "What, so you all had one except me? You guys are some fuckin' great friends, you know?" huffs Scout. Pyro makes a small whimpering sound that Scout recognizes as an apology, but he chooses to ignore it. "There's not even any food left in this place, what am I supposed to eat this whole winter?" "Hey, lad, Scout," says Demoman in a calming tone. "When the heli comes, and it ought to be here in a wee bit, I'm sure it'll be filled with muffins and all the other stuff you could ever need. So no need to take it so seriously, am I right?" To his credit, Scout sits down at the table and doesn't say anything angry in return. "CORRECT!" says Soldier. "And since we'll be gone and it'll just be you and Engie, there'll be plenty of food for the both of you! So DON'T WORRY and maybe nobody will even die! BECAUSE WE ARE STILL FRIENDS and I'm not even mad at you for calling me a civilian, so I hope you are NOT dead when we return--" Soldier doesn't notice, but both Demoman and Pyro can see that Soldier's latest announcement was not the right thing to say. Scout's face is changing colors rapidly, first paling, then reddening, and then paling again. Finally, he says, so quietly that it's eerie, "Did you just say, me and Engie?" "Right!" "He's not leaving? He's staying here the whole vacation?" "That's right," interjects Demoman. "But you like him, don't you? I mean, it's not like it's Medic or Spy or one of those weirdos, Engineer's nice. You'll have a whole ton of fun together!" "NO, I WON'T! Why didn't anybody tell me!?" Scout stomps out of the room as his friends stare after him in astonishment. The silence is broken by a whirring sound that gets louder and louder as the helicopter gets closer and closer to the base. A moment later, they hear the pilot calling for them over the loudspeaker. "I wonder what's up between those two?" says Demoman, a hand on his chin. "Whatever it is, I hope they work it out before we come back. Scout's gotten kind of scary lately, huh?" "Mmm-hmm," says Pyro sadly, and then they head out to the helicopter. IIa. The day after the first helicopter came and left, Engineer made a few final tweaks to his pet project, clapped in excitement, switched on the radio and... nothing. He pulled out the batteries, which had come by air mail a while ago and which he'd been using for weeks. The voltmeter said they were dead. Damn. "Hey, Engie! What're you doing outta your cave?" "Looking for some batteries, but there ain't a single one in this whole damn place." The kid grinned at him, and then went running off. He returned in a few minutes and tossed an object at Engineer. Engineer barely caught it-- it was the remote control for the TV in the rec room. "Are you sure?" he asked, while opening the battery panel. "Isn't the power button on the TV broken? How are you guys supposed to watch that thing now?" "The whole TV's kinda messed up. The glass got broken... somehow. I didn't do it!" said Scout. Then he brightened up. "But anyways, maybe we should ask the Administrator for a new one! Like, as a Christmas present!" "I'd advise you not to try that, boy. No, I'll take a look at it tonight, put some new glass on it, be good as new. Maybe even fix that power button while I'm at it." "Really!? Thanks, pal!" "No problem. Thanks for the batteries," said Engineer, turning to leave. What a lucky break. He'd forgotten that there was a TV in the base in the first place, given that all they had to watch were training videos. "Uh, hey Engie?" "What?" "Can I come?" Normally he'd say no, as he generally found Scout annoying, but the holiday spirit must've been getting to him because Engineer said, "Sure, why not?" After all, the kid'd found him the batteries and seemed genuinely interested. "What 'bout your little gang, though? Don't you want to hang out with them?" Scout put a hand up to his face. "Honestly, pal, we don't even know what we should do anymore, it's so boring when we're not fightin'. We've already done all the fun and dangerous shit we could think of, I gotta get away from them for a while and think of some more stuff we can do!" "I'm guessing the TV got broken during one of these 'fun and dangerous' thingamajigs? Nah, don't even answer that, just don't mess with any of my stuff, okay?" Engineer unlocked the door to his workshop and let Scout into the room. "It looks kinda like a dispenser," said Scout. "Well, it is a dispenser. I mean, it's a lotta dispensers, and the insides of a few teleporters. We don't got much to work with, here." "Wait a second. Are you telling me that this HUGE machine is just a radio!? That's boring, we already have those, except little." Engineer finally finished unscrewing the battery panel and dropped the last screw on the desk somewhere. "This is a special radio," he pointed out. "The other radios we got, they only let us talk to each other. This one is the kind you use to listen to the news." Scout looked like he was about to complain about the news being boring too, but he didn't. Isolated in the middle of nowhere, the mercs' only news came from the Administrator and wild rumors. Contact with the outside world was implicitly forbidden. Both Engineer and Scout leaned in as Engineer plugged in the four batteries, one by one. KRZZT-KRACK! They jumped back as the makeshift radio buzzed and sparked, and then words started pouring out of the radio along with some blackish-gray smoke. "... is once again, coming to a standstill as both sides report that conditions on the battlefield are growing far too dangerous to continue. The United Nations are planning to intervene during this ceasefire and hopefully..." "It works!" Engineer threw down his screwdriver and jumped up. "It's working!" "Woo-hoo!" shouted Scout, who hardly needed an excuse to get excited. "Let's go get drunk, ya know, to celebrate!" Engineer nodded his agreement. "Just let me test out the volume controls, and then we'll go." The radio continued to speak, the volume obediently increasing and decreasing as Engineer turned the knob. "... in other news, a story worthy of a movie, the reading of a will that contains a message to the deceased's long-lost son, missing-in-action in the war. The young man, one S---- D-- --, left home the year the war began..." "Hmm, it's working pretty good. I gotta do a little adjustment, keep it from getting static when the volume's changed, but other than that--" "Wait!" Scout interrupted, clearly not listening at all. "That's me they're talking about!" "You're kidding me," said Engineer, but Scout looked completely serious. The boy's mouth hung open. "Well, shoot. If that's true, that's some kind of crazy coincidence." "Why do they think I'm dead?" "Didn't you know that? That's what the REDs tell everyone, you know, or people'd be wondering why nobody ever comes back from the front lines. They do send back some of the money we earn, as 'insurance', at least." Scout stood up, looking pale. "Hey, sorry, but this is crazy, man! Are you shitting me right now?" "They told us, first night we were here. It's not really news to anyone." Engineer looked at the boy searchingly. "Are you okay? Don't think too much about that thing on the radio, that's probably just somebody else with your same name, and even if it really is you, well, there's nothing you can do about it." "I-I have to go," said Scout, racing out of the room. "To the bathroom!" Engineer switched the radio off and gave it a little pat. "First time I turn you on, and you just have to go and cause a ruckus." IIb. Nobody saw Scout until the next night, the night after the whole radio business. Normally, not seeing a team member for a day or two was perfectly normal. But this time of year, almost everybody was gone, the base was almost empty, there wasn't any fighting, and so not seeing Scout for a day and a half was a little odder than usual. Truthfully, everyone was supposed to be gone by now, but the higher-ups were cheap and had only hired two helicopters to come out to the base. They didn't even hire them for the same day, but almost a week apart. The team had drawn straws, five short four long. The way it worked out, Heavy, Medic, Sniper, and Spy had gone on the first flight. Not home, of course. Nobody ever in the history of RED would never allow that. Just back to the main base, but even that was a lot better than being out in the frigid northlands. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to do. Soldier, Pyro, Scout, and Demoman ended up spending most of the days before the second helicopter came drinking and lounging around the rec room. On this particular day, Scout was, as mentioned, not around and the three others engaged in a paperwork fight while they waited for him. Eventually they got sick of throwing paper at one another and flopped down on various pieces of furniture. "Where is he?" remarked Soldier. "Scout always has the BEST IDEAS!" "Don't you mean, most dangerous?" "Those two words mean the SAME THING, Cyclops!" "Aye, that be true," admitted Demoman, as Pyro nodded in agreement. In the middle of their fascinating conversation, something actually interesting finally happened. When the Administrator called on the videophone, it took them a good while to drag themselves to the TV. She rolled her eyes when she saw the three unruly mercs. "I called you four times yesterday. Why didn't you pick up?" "The TV was broken," said Demoman. "Guess Engineer fixed it or something...." "Hello!" said Soldier, giving the Administrator a crooked grin and a lame salute. Demoman gave an equally lame wave, and Pyro greeted her enthusiastically but unclearly. "Where's Miss Pauling?" "On vacation," she said. Her mouth twists. "Ugh, so Engineer is still there, isn't he? Go get him, I can't deal with you three right now." "No need," said Demoman, not getting up from the tattered couch where he lay. "We're in charge now! We'll keep this base up and running." "SHIP-SHAPE!" yelled Soldier. He started to repeat the phrase over and over until Pyro kicked him sharply in the ankle. "I doubt it." The Administrator eyed the wreckage-- bottles and cups and other junk littering the room, chunks torn out of the furniture, odd stains on the wall and floor. She shook her head. "I'd make you pay for this, but it's not like we're ever going to use this base again, so I'll let it slide." Pyro clapped his hands as Soldier and Demoman thanked her. "Wait a second," said the Demoman, with a sudden confusion. "What do ya mean, we're never going to use this base again?" "We're moving your team to a new base when the war's on again." The Administrator disappeared from the video screen and a map of the new base takes her place. "I'd say 'well done', except that's not really true this time, so--" She was interrupted by the Pyro jumping up onto the sofa and almost stepping on the Demoman. The masked maniac waved his arms around and screeched in a most inhuman manner. His two companions stared at him for a moment before Demoman yelled, "UNICORNS!" He then put a hand to his chin and hastily added, "Anyway, that's what Pyro says we should decorate the base with. But the rest of the team probably won't want that." Soldier crossed his arms. "Unicorns are for SISSIES," he shouted with such force that saliva sprays out of his mouth. "BUT we can put some in the other team's base if you want." The Administrator wisely decided to disconnect at that time, but left the map up on the screen. Demoman said, "We should put a unicorn in that vent next to their locker room. That way, they'll be distracted when they're crawling through. Superglue and they'll never get it off." "AMAZING IDEA! They'll never know what hit them! Except they will, because it'll be US! You know what I mean!" Pyro punched Soldier in the shoulder all of a sudden, muttering angrily. Demoman pulled his friend away and whispered, "We'll put some of your unicorns in Soldier's room too. That'll teach him." While the trio was happily discussing their plans for the new base, Scout came into the room. He seemed to stop in mid-stride when he saw the TV screen, but then shrugged. It was obvious to everybody in the room (except maybe Soldier) that the boy was in a bit of a bad mood, but they were glad to see him anyhow. "Hey, lad, there you are!" said Demoman, a bit too cheerfully. "Did you hear the news? We're moving to a new base after everyone's back!" "I know," said Scout. He plopped down on the sofa, crossed his arms, and stared at the TV for way longer than anyone could possibly be interested. Pyro shook his head and pointed at the TV. Scout sighed. "I know it's not an actual show! Geezus, why'd you guys put this map on if you didn't want people to look at it!" "WE didn't put in on!" said Soldier. "The Administrator lady did that!" "You left it on, though. Boring. Where's the remote?" "Here, but t'ain't no batteries. Dunno where they went." Scout suddenly remembered. "Oh yeah, I took them out yesterday. I forgot to go find more." "You stole the batteries, Scout?" The look on Soldier's face could only be described as incredulous. "That's not right! Stealing is extremely unpatriotic!" "I didn't steal them!" shouted Scout, crossing his arms. "I--" "You just admitted it in a court of LAW, because this room is a courthouse and I'm almost a judge!" Nobody understood what Soldier was saying, but to Scout, it sounded infuriatingly accusatory. "Hey, stop interrupting me! Like I was trying to say, Engineer wanted them for his stupid radio, so go ask him for them!" As if he had been summoned, Engineer appeared in the doorway. "Guys, are you fighting? There's no need for that. Here's the batteries." Engineer tossed the batteries to Soldier, who sat down and started plugging them into the remote." "Eh, we're not really fighting--" Demoman began to say, but he was shouted down by both Soldier and Scout declaring that they were totally fighting. "No, come on, we're leaving tomorrow, don't start fighting. We're not going to have any fun over the holiday if you're all mad." "Demo's right," said Engineer. "No, we're not going to have any fun, because I'm not going! The Administrator said I could stay here if I want, and I'll have more fun than the rest of you combined!" Pyro, who everybody had completely forgotten about, had wandered over and was now tugging at Scout's arm. "Mmmph mmph-mmph?" he asked. "What, Pyro?" said Scout, slowly pulling his arm away. "No, I'm not coming, I'm staying here. I just said that, right? No, I don't hate you! I just wanna stay here, okay?" "YOU'RE ABANDONING US!" yelled Soldier, reaching a climax. Everybody had to cover their ears and yell back at him to lower his voice. "OH, SORRY. I was just so surprised that my good friend Scout turned out to be a TOTAL TRAITOR." "SHUT UP, you're so annoying!" Scout threw his hands into the air, trying to think of a good comeback and failing. It was hard to argue with somebody so unreasonable. "Nobody likes you! I'm not abandoning you, you're just a big fat liar who lies about everything! You're not even a real soldier!" "YES I AM!" "Yeah, we know you are, mate," said Demoman. He gave his other friends a little wink, a wink that meant 'Don't get him started', but Scout was having none of it. "Why are you siding with him? I'm your friend too!" "I'm the best friend ever, in the history of ever!" Soldier jumped in. "I WOULD NEVER ACCUSE MY FRIEND OF BEING A CIVILIAN! That's how good I am at friendship! I will prove it to you, with an account of my amazing victories in every location in the world!" Demoman groaned. He looked to Engineer for help. "Soldier, we sure do know that you're a real good fighter, so you don't even have to tell us about it again," tried Engineer, shaking his head. "And Scout, you know Soldier's just being Soldier, just let it go." "It's none of your business, Engie! It's your fault, you and your stupid radio." "Hey, boy, don't blame me," said Engineer, somewhat taken aback. "You're the one who wanted to come see my radio, nobody forced you." "But, but--whatever!" Scout looked around, flustered, and ended up leaving the room in the same bad mood as he had entered it with. Some of the people remaining in the room thought about going after him, but then Soldier started recounting his tales of war and glory, and they all knew that the base would probably explode from pure rage if anyone dared to leave while Soldier was talking. So they listened awkwardly to Soldier, Scout went to his room and stayed there, the three of them who were leaving left the next morning, and then it was just the two of them still at the base, Scout and Engineer. III. Scout gets so tired of Engineer knocking at his door that he finally flings it open and lets him in. He doesn't want to admit it, but he's starting to get so lonely and bored sitting in his room all day that he's hardly even angry anymore. "That knocking is driving me insane," he says. "Just tell me what you want, 'kay?" They sit down on the bed. Scout expects Engineer to yell at him and he's prepared to yell back, but the man sits down and folds his hands in his lap. "Look, Scout. I just want to talk to you. You've been real angry at me, and I understand it, but you've been real cold with Soldier and them lately too. They were mighty quiet getting on that helicopter; I think they're feeling bad about that argument y'all had last night. "I get it, though, that you're having a hard time. I'm sorry." "No," he says, shaking his head. Engineer looks surprised. "No, I'm sorry, 'lright? I've been thinking about how I've been treating you guys like crap, and I shouldn't because—I mean--" He breaks off and looks away. Engineer smiles kindly. "That's real nice of you to apologize. Those people on the radio, they said you inherited some building. That means somebody died. So as for me, I'm sorry about that, and I'm sorry I ever built that radio, since you had to find out about something like that from some news program." "My dad. He died, and he left his entire factory to me, even if he thought I was dead! Why the fuck did he leave a factory to somebody he thought was dead!?" Apparently Engineer has no idea how to answer this question. "So your dad's death is what's been upsetting you. It's understandable, boy. We see a lotta death on the battlefield, but none of that helps when it's somebody you cared for." Scout nods slowly. "But I think there's something else, isn't there?" Scout bites his lip. "I don't know if I can say this, man." "Can I take a guess? Okay? Well, you're still here, and everyone else is gone--" "You're still here too," Scout interrupts to point out. "I'm here to do an overhaul of the base machinery, before the next team moves in here. If I do this, the Administrator says she won't have me murdered in my sleep for attempting to contact the outside world. Which brings me to the next point: the Administrator somehow found out about the radio, and I sure didn't tell her about it." Some of the color comes back into Scout's face, but he still looks pale. "I-- I-- look, I thought they were going to kill you for sure." He swallows. "You know, when I said sorry before, it was kind of because of that too." "It's okay, Scout. Could've been bad, but turned out alright, so it's no big deal. But I know you told her about it for a reason. She let you call them, didn't she?" Another nod. "And once all your squabbling brothers found out you were alive, they realized that you've got the right to that factory, and you took it and sold it to the Administrator. And that new base we're moving to, it's that factory." "HOW did you know that?" asks Scout in such awe that Engineer has to hide a smile. "How the fuck did you figure that out? Man, you're a fuckin' genius!" "Just a mite of logical thinking. Well, nothing's really too horrible, right? You didn't get either of us murdered, you got to talk to your brothers and let them know you're not dead, and you made a ton of money selling the factory to the Administrator. " "But everything's still horrible! What about my dad?" Scout practically wails. "I never meant to leave forever, I just wanted to go make my own life for awhile, you know? How was I supposed to know I'd get stuck here forever? I bet my mom and all my brothers thought I hated them since I never went back. I bet he still thought I hated him when he died and he probably hated me too!" "That's nonsense. He loved you enough to leave you an entire factory, even though he thought you were dead. He wouldn't have done that if he hated you. Or if he thought you hated him." "He probably just forgot to take me out of the will." "That's not what they said on the radio. They said that the date on the will was after your date of 'death', remember?" Scout didn't remember, or more like, he hadn't thought about it at the time. He starts to feel a little better, a little reassured. But then he remembers the other horrible thing. He blurts it out: "Yeah, and then there's the part where I'm leaving, and I'll never see you guys again! That's pretty horrible too." "Huh?" Engineer's eyebrows shoot up. "What the hell are you talking about?" "Oh, you didn't figure that part out, I guess. The factory. I didn't make a ton of money from the factory. But I gave it to the Administrator, because she really wanted it, it's in a 'strategic position' or something, somewhere in some country in Europe. She said if I would give it to her, she-- she would let me go home, if I swore not to tell anyone at home anything about the war." "W-wow. That's... I've never heard of anything like that happening, not in all the years I've worked here. So that's why you're still here, huh? Planning to leave while everyone's on vacation?" "Yeah, I'm leaving tomorrow morning," he mumbles. "They're out of helicopters, I'm taking one of those weird trains to the airport. The Administrator said she that was the best they could do, 'under such circumstances', I guess." "Well, that's... nice." "They're going to be so mad when they come back and I'm gone. I didn't even say goodbye to Pyro. But I just figure out what to say. They're going to be so freaking mad, I just know it!" He breaks off, and when he starts speaking again, his voice is a near-whisper. "I'm deserting you guys, just like I deserted my family...." Engineer sighs and considers tackling that one, but he needs time to come up with something to say, so he stalls. "Hmm, don't think anyone'll be too mad, maybe just at first. We'll all miss you, of course. Honestly, if anything, they're going to be mighty jealous." "You mean they'll be mad and jealous?" asks Scout, his mouth drooping. Engineer wants to tell him, no, that's not what he meant, but Scout continues before he has time to speak. "You guys are my best friends, and you'll be all mad at me, and then my mom and my brothers, they're going to be mad at me for running away, and--why are you smiling like that? It's not funny!" "I know it's not, I know," he says. He's smiling because he's come up with something. "But hear me out. Let me tell you a story, Scout." IV. "I felt terrible when my father went away, you know, even more terrible than people usually do. When I was a kid, they thought I was a smart one, and my parents sent me to fancy-schmancy schools. I always felt like it was my fault he had to go to war, just to pay for my educating. When he 'died', I felt even worse. I hid away at school for years, learning and learning so much stuff that I didn't have room in my mind to think about it anymore. "Years passed in a flash, the war was still on, I finally graduated from college with my pile of degrees. Jobs were as scarce as they are now, so after a while, I went off to war to pay off my college debts. That must've been a good twenty years ago. A few months later, that's when I learned we'd been lied to, that my father was alive that whole time up until I was in high school, around the time the 'insurance' checks stopped coming. Learned at the same time that once you're working for RED, you're in for good. "I even met somebody who'd worked with my father. Heavy, yes, our Heavy, he told me that my father was a real good worker. Heavy's got a couple of kids too, you know, and he and my dad used to chat all the time. And I'll tell you what Heavy told me; he told me that my father always talked about how happy he was that the job paid so well, how RED was sending money back to his family even though he couldn't see them. "And that's when I figured it out! Well, what do you think?" Engineer concludes triumphantly. "What the hell was that!? What did you figure out?" says Scout, throwing his hands up with a WTF look on his face. "That was the shittiest ending, dude!" Engineer laughs. "Ah, I was only kidding, boy. Anyway, what I figured out was that my father was happy to be working for RED all along! Not because of the working part and the war part, nobody likes that, but he felt like he was doing his best for us and that made him happy. He wasn't mad at us, or even at RED." Scout leans forwards, hands on his knees. "It makes sense he wasn't mad at you, it wasn't your fault. But RED, they didn't tell him that they were going to make it so he could never go back to his family, he had to be mad about that! He died in the war and never saw you guys again! They took his fuckin' life away!" "I can't say for sure, 'course, I mean, maybe that's how he thought. I won't say I don't feel like that myself, sometimes. But what I think is that after some time, he started to feel like rather than his life being taken away from him, he was giving it away. And not to them REDs, either, but to us, his family. And that's the real ending." Scout chews on this thought. He's not sure he understands. "But are you saying I shouldn't leave, then? Isn't that the whole point of your story?" The older man sighs, taking off his goggles and laying them in his lap. "I'm just saying, you start letting them take things away from you, you're going to be miserable; if you let yourself think you want to be here, you're happy. Maybe it's some fake happiness we're all generating here to keep ourselves from going crazy. Or maybe we're crazy to even think that way, I hope not, I'll never know. But you've got the chance to leave, then I'd say, leave and maybe you can find out." Engineer's mouth twists downwards. He looks sadder than Scout has ever seen him. He understands. Engineer understands. Maybe they all understand, Pyro and Demoman and even Soldier and the others too. It's strange. In all this time, Scout's looked at his teammates' crazed killing and gleeful celebrations and never imagined they could feel the same hopelessness and homesickness he does. "I wish you could all come too, then," says Scout. But by that time, Engineer is carefully smiling again, goggles back in place so Scout can't see his eyes, and he shakes his head. "Hey, you got us this nice new base, what's the point if there's nobody left here to use it? Now, have a nice trip, you hear, and don't worry about the rest of the team. I'll let them know about you when they get back here." "Thanks, Engie." "No problem." Engineer stands up and stretches. "We oughta go have that drink we were gonna have, before we found out 'bout all this business. Might be the last chance we got." END Author's note: Thanks for the great prompt! Challenging, but fun! ----- Prompt: Scout's recently lost someone he was close to back at home. Whomever this person is, he/she has to have been a major pillar in his life. Despite his increasingly cocksure attitude and insistence that there's "nothin' fuckin' wrong", he's starting to come apart, bit by bit. Heavy, or Engineer, or even both (this is also up to the gifter) finally takes Scout aside to talk about it, possibly relating one of his own experiences with losing family or friends. Basically, hurt/comfort. (Extra love if there's a brief snippet where Demo, Soldier, and/or Pyro tries to cheer him up, even if he/they just fall flat on his/their face/s.)
Cyan's Note: Your Secret Santa has also submitted a drawing to go with their story. Please see the Secret Santa Art Gift thread. Author's Note: i am so sorry to whoever requested this, omfg, i feel REALLY bad because it's 99% not what you wanted, 0.9% embarrassment on my behalf and 0.1% stuff that you were probably looking for thanks to joly for encouraging me to write this and laughing when she read it. thanks to legs for some really great and hilarious ideas, i hope i did them justice. also thanks to liz for being understanding and agreeing to throw me into the sun once i finished note: corn chips are actually flammable. sniper is a Survivor and knows how to do Survival Things which include setting chips on fire. i am sorry note x2 combo: sniper's anecdote is a reference to http://youtu.be/pvFzyvCLG90 (0:38), and spy's is a reference to my life ----------------------------------------- Potato Chips, Chipped Cups and Chips Off The Old Block * (* And Other Chip Puns) It's already been twenty minutes since BLU Sniper got stuck in his nest. Picture the scene: wintertime in Dustbowl. Frighteningly cold - a surprising change, considering the blistering heat that is Dustbowl in summer. Lots of snow. BLU and RED are fighting. Picture that the two teams are still waging war over the first point, despite there being only four minutes to go. Sniper's in his little nest, ground-level, beside the side entrance to BLU's temporary base. He's got his sights on RED Soldier, but the soldier knows he's there. Picture Soldier sending a few rockets Sniper's way. Sniper ducks, uselessly: the rockets go way overhead, to the top of the cliff the nest is hugging. There is, if it hadn't been made clear enough, a lot of snow. The cliff is covered with snow. Also picture the cliff being covered in, under the snow, a lot of large, loose boulders. Picture these rockets upsetting the aforementioned snow and boulders. Picture the sniper nest then being buried in a small-scale avalanche, courtesy of RED. (BLU's a little flattered and a lot flustered. It's a magnificent gift.) If it weren't for the boulders, Sniper'd be out by now. The boulders are piled up at both entrances to the small building. They're not massive but they're certainly too big to push away, especially if you remember to picture the lots and lots of snow packed all around them. All he'd managed was a small opening at the top of one door, enough for light to get through. Sniper had tried calling for help when the round ended - the nest is right next to the side entrance, someone had to notice - but it was futile. He'd be stuck in here until someone noticed he wasn't around, it seemed. Sniper had, more or less, resigned to his fate. Nothing much happens for those long twenty minutes. After Sniper gave up trying to dig his way out, he sat down and took detailed interest in a wall. He's used to not doing much, so boredom isn't a big issue. Nevertheless, he hopes someone notices soon. Surely his team will be confused when they don't see him skulk into the mess in the middle of dinner and then skulk off with his hands full of food, like he always does. He pretends to forget that it's only 5 PM and dinner starts at 7. His evaluation of the wall is rudely interrupted by a crinkling noise, alarmingly close. Sniper almost jumps out of his skin, instinctively snatching at his kukri and snapping up to his feet, swinging around to see the cause of the noise. It's - and he gapes a little bit - a packet of chips. A packet of chips just appeared, and also happened to crinkle at him. Okay... "You bloody spook," Sniper says, sweeping his eyes around the room. The nest's a small place: Sniper could very easily stick his arm out and swing it around and he'd find the spy, if he wanted to. (He doesn't want to.) He backs into a corner, kukri at the ready. "You were here that whole time?" He hears the uncloak and the hair on the back of his neck's standing on end. Sniper has to go against his every instinct to keep still: he's not used to hesitating when a spy's around. RED Spy's now sitting by the packet of chips, casually leaning against the wall. He looks completely unconcerned by Sniper's kukri and, instead of commenting, opens the packet and takes out a chip. "Oui," Spy says. He offers the packet to sniper. Sniper's on edge, fingers tight around the kukri's handle. "What are you doing here?" Raising an eyebrow eloquently, Spy retracts his offer of chips and pops the one in his mouth. He has to chew before answering, which ruins the moment. "I was going to stab you," Spy said, at last. "But you had a razorback, so I thought to wait." He takes out another chip and offers that - at Sniper's stormy look, he shrugs and eats it. "Then the foolish Soldier blocked off the exits. I thought your team was going to save you, so I would wait more. It... ah, didn't happen?" Sniper ignores Spy's questioning tone. "So you decided to eat chips," he says flatly. "Oui," Spy says, unmoved. "I always have a pack on hand. They are delicious. Please put down your crude weapon, I am not going to bite unless you are another chip, in disguise. We're off-duty." Yes, they were, Sniper realised. Killing - as well as any weapon usage - outside of battle was against The Rules. Sniper hesitates a long moment but eventually leans down and puts the kukri on the ground, very deliberately. "If one of us is going to break The Rules," Sniper says, "it's not going to be me." "Oh, please." Spy snorts a laugh. "My team will not think to look here for me. Yours will look here for you. If you die, you respawn back in your base. You're safe and warm; I'm still here. S'il vous plaît, I hope you will forgive my desire to get out of this situation without dying for any reason." It makes sense, but Sniper'll never feel completely comfortable trusting a spy. "Fine," he says. "I'll - rubbish, I never thought I'd say this. When they come, I'll make sure they don't do anything to you, you two-faced mongrel. As long as you don't do anything to me or them." "I wouldn't dream of it, mate," Spy says, and then he eats another chip. That's the end of the conversation. As the day draws on the temperature goes down. Sniper remembers being told that igloos work because the air inside makes it into an insulator and keeps everything cosy and warm. He doesn't know why the same idea doesn't apply here: maybe snow doesn't completely cover the nest, or it doesn't apply to snow that hasn't been packed tight like an igloo's. It's getting really cold. Sniper doesn't know much about snow, but he knows more than a few survival techniques. It's around ten minutes later when Sniper says, "Here, give me that," and takes the pack of chips from Spy. "I can't believe you bring a packet of chips around, you're a bloody spook. Crinkly packets aren't something you should-- You know what, never mind. Where's your lighter?" Sniper takes that, too. "What are you doing, you filthy jar man?" Spy says as Sniper pours the chips onto the floor. "Excusez-moi, those are for consumption--" "They're good kindling," Sniper interrupts. "Chips are flammable and they'll keep on cindering for a while. We need some heat." Spy fails to keep his displeasure off his face. "Monsieur, we do not need to waste chips. This is normal wintertime in France; not all of us lived in the fiery wasteland that is Australia. I would rather be eating those." He firmly stays in his spot instead of moving closer to the fire. "Suit yourself," Sniper says. They stop talking again. Sniper still has Spy's lighter but he took too long and the time's passed: he can't give it back without awkwardly starting a new conversation. They sit there in silence for many long minutes, Spy now huddled up and Sniper with his hands to the little fire. Sniper keeps his eyes on the fire for as long as he can but, eventually, he can't help it. Sniper looks up at Spy. Spy's shivering. "Turncoat, get your Frenchie ass over here." Sniper shifts closer and reaches out to grab Spy, to pull him towards the fire. Spy doesn't expect it. He flinches and there's a flash as his butterfly knife comes out. Sniper reacts just as quickly, snatching his hand back and grabbing for his kukri, but Spy's realised what he's done. "Ah-- no--" Spy drops the knife and holds out his empty hands in front of him. "S'il vous plaît. Please." Sniper stops short of the kukri's handle and sighs through his teeth. "Okay, yeah, mate" he says. "I've got me instincts, you've got yours. No worries." He pulls back and moves to his original seat by the flaming chips. "Now come over here. I'm not going to believe if you say you're not bloody freezing because I can see you are, Spooky, don't think I can't." Spy says, "There is nothing I want to be more than close to you and your smell of piss," but he comes closer anyway, scooting up next to Sniper. "Did you use them all? Really? That was going to last a few days more. Honestly, you could have at least left some to eat." "Well," Sniper says, "we could also not be in this situation. It's a bit too late to complain, ain't it?" Spy looks like he's going to reply but he's interrupted by a shiver. He peels off his gloves and tucks them into a pocket before putting his hands to the fire. Seems he's decided otherwise on a witty retort. Seems he's also still cold. Sniper's about to pull off his vest before thinking that's a bloody awful idea: vests aren't known for their warmth. "Spook, come closer-- here, I'll come closer," and Sniper slings an arm around Spy's shoulder, sharing what warmth he has. Spy tenses up in surprise. "This is highly unprofessional conduct," he says. "And you're a bloody awful spy, you know that? One time I saw you run up to Demoman whilst in disguise, completely fail to backstab him and then get shot down by Engie's sentry. We have better things to talk about. Right, mate? I'm just trying to keep us both warm because--" "That was also gross and unprofessional conduct, both on my part for not being flawless and on your part for being a bushman who pisses in jars--" "--Shut the bloody hell up, Spook, I never asked you. Keeping us warm because, if I'm honest, this fire is helping only if helping is defined by not helping, which it isn't, otherwise why would it be called helping--" "--Oui, and you wasted all of my chips to make this fire, non? Once I watched Scout run up to you and smack you a few times with his bat. You didn't even lower your rifle--" "--I," Sniper says, "am going to gut you. Whether it will be like a Cornish game hen is to be determined. Spook, once this is over it will be over, so just deal with it while we have to." Spy doesn't reply, so Sniper's got the last word this time. He keeps his arm around Spy and silence prevails when Spy leans on him. They stay like that awhile, warmed by each other's body heat, before Spy shifts away again and coughs. "I feel sufficiently warm," Spy says. "I'm going to try and make a bigger hole in the snow." He shrugs off Sniper's arm, takes his coffee cup (old, chipped and battered; on it reads "No.4 Son": a birthday gift from Sniper's parents) and gets up to shuffle over to one of the doors. Spy starts scooping out the snow with the cup. Sniper wants to say that he's already tried, but Spy probably watched him for the entire time that he did and that's creepy enough without it being confirmed, so he doesn't. He sits there and rubs his arms for the heat and thinks it's weird that Spy's warm when Sniper's not. Spy meets the boulders in the snow but is undeterred, digging into a gap between them. He makes a hole to the outside. It's nowhere near big enough for any of their needs. All he'd be able to fit through it is a jar. That gives Sniper an idea. "Hey, Spook," Sniper says, grabbing some Jarate, "move over." Spy does so, crinkling his nose at the jar as Sniper comes to him. He unscrews the jar's lid and sticks it through the new hole, pouring it out outside. "What," Spy says, disgusted, "is that supposed to accomplish?" "If someone comes past, they'll see it and think something's shonky," Sniper says. He doesn't miss that Spy's shivering again. "Damn it, Spook, you bloody liar, you're still freezing." Sniper screws the jar closed again, puts it aside and pulls Spy back to where they were sitting by the useless fire. "We need to keep each other warm. I'm not just doing this for you - I'm freezing my ass off, too." Sniper pulls Spy into an awkward side-embrace and they both have to shift a bit to get comfortable. It's a while, again, before anything else happens: these long periods of inactivity are going to keep happening, Sniper thinks. It's disrupted this time by some sound coming from outside. "Are those footsteps?" Spy says, a tad hopefully. "Mate, if there's one sound I can recognise, it's footsteps," Sniper says, "and those are some wicked steps of the foot." Sniper's the one to break apart from Spy. He goes to the door with Spy's hole and calls out, to whoever's out there: "Mate! We're in here--" Spy looks around for something and finds it as Sniper's rifle. He grabs the weapon and, upon seeing the two together, Sniper begins to protest. Spy waves him away and sticks the rifle's muzzle out the window. "I will shoot out. To get their attention, non?" Spy's clumsy with the large weapon and he fumbles as he pulls the trigger. He was pointing it up to the sky, so as not to accidentally hurt whoever was out there, but as he shoots he angles it wrong. There is a resounding oof from outside. Then there's silence, both outside and in. More snow tumbles off the nest's roof, covering the holes. "Well," Spy says, after a pause, as they sit in the dark - the chips don't give up much light. "That sounded like Medic's oof," Sniper says, dryly. Spy carefully removes the snowy rifle from the hole and places it on the floor. "I have doomed us," he says, "forever. Our inevitable death will be soon. It will be just and deserving." Sniper can't bring himself to be mad. The cold's drained out all the heat of his anger, too. It's been a long day. He resorts to resuming their cuddling. It's not much longer before there's more scuffling coming from outside. It sounds like multiple sets of feet. Someone outside says, "Private, our colour is not red! Explain yourself." The same someone then says, "Wait, that's blood." "Soldier!" Sniper says. "It's Soldier. My team came out. Long live the queen, we're saved." He gets up and shouts to the men outside - banging on the walls, too. Spy soon joins him. It causes a reaction that would be, if described in numbers, a big, fat zero. No one notices. "How can they not hear us? We can hear them." Spy has stopped his attempt to get the team's attention. Sniper stops, too. "I'll be stuffed," Sniper says. "Piece of piss." All they can do is listen. This is what they hear: BLU Heavy: "Someone kill Medic out of fight? I will crush their eety-beety skull." BLU Soldier: "Yes! The perpetrators must be punished. This is against The Rules! I think I know who did it." BLU Scout: "RED, obviously. Man, I can't believe they broke The Rules! I'm going to town with my girlfriend, if town is their heads and my girlfriend is my bat. The fricking rats." BLU Soldier: "No, we don't know that yet. There are no footsteps! Interesting. I know what happened that led up to the scene of this crime. We must replicate it to make sure!" BLU Engineer: "Gosh darn it - is that pee?" BLU Spy: "How, exactly, are you going to replicate what happened, Soldier?" BLU Soldier: "We need a pee-- a person! To act as Medic in our re-enactment." BLU Pyro: "Mmph mm mmmf mmff." BLU Soldier: "I will not! Medic would kill me! We should--" RED Demoman: "[drunken singing]" BLU Soldier: "I have found a willing volunteer! Give me a moment, you fine Americans." [a moment is given] BLU Soldier: "This is Medic. We can do our re-enactment now." BLU Heavy: "Is looking forward to crushing baby skulls. Da, show." BLU Soldier: "The re-enactment is taking place... now! No more out of character speech, this is important. Medic has just been annoyed by Scout, because Scout has kidnapped one of his doves--" BLU Scout: "What? I didn't do it--" BLU Soldier: "--Medic looked near and Medic looked far! He couldn't find the dove. He met up with Heavy, who asked what was happening, so Medic explained. Heavy said, 'Scout let dove outside'--" BLU Heavy: "Did no such thing, baby Soldier--" BLU Soldier: "--So Medic went out to find the dove--" RED Demoman: "I'm the grass man, punk, yeah, you having heathen--" BLU Soldier: "--That is what he said. He was singing very loudly and stomping, because he was annoyed, so he didn't notice a massive robot made by RED come up to him--" BLU Spy: "There are no other footsteps. You acknowledged there were no other footsteps--" BLU Soldier: "--He saw the flying robot and peed himself in fear--" BLU Engineer: "Ah, partner, he's nowhere near it, and he doesn't seem to have wet himself--" BLU Soldier: "--and then the robot laughed and punched Medic's head off!" [loud clang, as if from Soldier's shovel] [noise of RED Demoman collapsing] [noise of no one believing this re-enactment] BLU Soldier: "We need to storm RED's base! This is a terrible crime." Sniper looks at Spy and says, "I thought they'd save us. I don't know why I thought that." Spy presses his fingers to his temples. "I cannot blame you," he says, "because the RED Soldier is just as much of a simpleton. So are, unfortunately, the rest of my teammates." Spy sighs and turns, feeling his way back to the little fire. As if on queue, there's the sound of RED Soldier's shout and there's more stomps outside as RED team arrives - they heard the talking and they especially heard the shovel. The two teams begin arguing about killing during their downtime. There is no fighting, because that is against The Rules. No one bothers to check if RED's Demo is even still alive. BLU Demo is nowhere to be seen - probably drunk, but safely in BLU base. Sniper blows into his hands, wishing he were in the base or at least awkwardly cuddling with Spy again. The arguing outside is likely to go on forever, considering the participants. They'll never be saved. Spy says, "What is this? Is this-- Gunpowder, non?" Looking over, Sniper sees Spy holding a small jar. "Yeah, mate. I forgot I had that lying around." He slumps back over to the fire. It's a wonder that it's still burning. "Give me my lighter," Spy says. Sniper'd forgotten that he still had it. He passed it over. "Move away, this will explode," Spy says. He proceeds to give Sniper no time to move away. It exploded. Outside: BLU Soldier: "Did you just fire a weapon?" RED Soldier: "They just shot at us! Charge!" The arguing turns into fighting. No one has anything other than the occasional melee weapon. Sniper and Spy look at each other and then Spy puts his face in his hands. "Doomed," he says again. "We are doomed to be surrounded by idiots and also to die." The fighting outside consists mostly of shoving members of the other team and screaming. BLU Soldier is clanging away with his shovel and it's one particularly loud clang that's Sniper and Spy's saving grace. BLU Soldier whacks RED Heavy with the shovel, sending him reeling back. He smacks straight into the snow blocking one of the nest's doorways and the boulder pile collapses. The two are free and neither team ever registered that either was gone. They don't say anything to each other: they scramble out of the nest, completely relieved and somewhat, for once, happy about their teams being filled with morons. Sniper says: "Stop fighting, you lot of wankers! No worries here, it's all good, Medic's got to have respawned already and Demoman's probably not dead. Thank God you saved me from spending more time with the bloody spook--" Spy says: "Cease this nonsense. I have everything under control. Medic died from a completely natural cause, otherwise called a bullet: no one was killed here. Thank you, Heavy, too - I didn't need to spend one more minute surrounded by a man and his piss collection--" They both stop talking. The rest of their teams stop talking. Everyone's looking at Spy and Sniper. "You didn't eat dinner," says BLU Soldier. He sounds hurt. "You always come in in the middle of dinner and get some food. I waited at the dinner table for you. I waited for an hour, after everyone left. You didn't get dinner. I waited for you." "Yes," Sniper says, "I don't know why that wasn't the reaction that I was expecting for my disappearance." BLU Soldier has a deep frown. "You disappeared?" "Oh," Sniper says. "Yes, that sounds about right." RED Soldier's still bristling, so Spy touches him on the shoulder. "There is no problem. We should go now." Spy then looks back to Sniper and, though he doesn't smile, his features at least soften. "You are filthy," Spy says, "and you piss in jars. Here." He takes Sniper's hand and presses his lighter into it. "You can have this." "I see why they call you a ladykiller," Sniper says, but Spy's already turned away to herd his team back to their base. He comes back after the rest of RED's gone and he picks their demoman up, throwing him over a shoulder. "Happy holidays," Spy says, repositioning Demoman on his shoulder. "Enjoy your Smissmas." Then he's off. Sniper frowns after him and then looks to his own team. "Well, we'd better get inside. I'd kill for a cup of hot coffee and a warm shower." "Of course you would. You're a fucking assassin, chucklenuts," Scout says, grinning at him. "You," Sniper says, "I'd kill for a night without you. That was a shitty joke. You should feel ashamed." Scout just laughs and follows the rest of the team back into the base. Sniper's the last one standing outside. He looks back to RED base, then the lighter, and he closes his hand. He smiles. It's already been twenty minutes since BLU Sniper got out of his nest. ----- Prompt: Sniper/Spy, warming each other up in the cold weather, adult and/or adorable.
Cyan’s Note: This is a double gift that includes a story and a song that follows after it, made available by your Secret Santa here: https://soundcloud.com/rhythmbastard/ride-on ----- RIDE ON “Well, where are you off to, Stretch?†Those were the last words the Sniper wanted to hear. “Shit,†he muttered under his breath. He turned around to see the team’s Engineer, wiping the rust and blood off of his favorite wrench, trademark welder’s goggles still on. The Sniper put his backpack down, “Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you…†he stammered as he tried to look casual. “Shoot, no trouble at all! Just getting’ everything all ready for tomorrow.†Engineer took off his goggles and wiped them down. His gaze traveled to the sack. “What’s that for?†“Nothing, just dropping it off to the van†“Quite a lot you got there. Need any help?†Sniper let out a short grunt. He knew where this was going, and there was little sense in trying to hide it. After all, it was the Engineer’s nature to ask questions. Not that he was nosy or anything, just that his natural curiosity didn’t know where to stop.. “I was hoping the Admin would tell ya this, but-“ He stopped short as he caught the sight of Engineer’s goggles. As affable as he was, on some days, when the sun is beating down on the battlefield, and the BLU team had been pushing hard on the point, one could catch a glimpse of the Engineer’s eyes behind the goggles and see the fear as he tried to keep his machines running. That very moment, the Sniper was able to see those same eyes in the dim lantern’s light of the outskirts of the RED base. Still, he soldiered through. “-but my contract’s been… altered…†The words echoed off the wooden walls of the Granary base, and hit the ears of the befallen Texan. Engineer took his goggles off and dropped his wrench, trying to make it look like a simple fumble, as he picked it up off the floor. “Wha- What do you mean?†“I’ve been hired by BLU.†Before the Engineer could spit out another “What?†the Sniper continued, “Listen, it’s really good money, and they said I’d be stationed at 5Gorge, miles away from here, so I wouldn’t have to shoot ya.†He tried to laugh, but it came out forced and robotic. “Oh… You tell anyone else?†Sniper looked at the floor, and kicked and kicked a stray rock underneath a cabinet. “No, I was hoping to leave before anybody noticed. You know, goodbyes and all that…†“Yeah, I can see. So you’re really leavin’?†“That’s about the size of it.†Engineer wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked down at his wrench. After a long deep breath, he closed his eyes hard, like a child would at the scary part of the movie. “Was it an easy decision?†Sniper remained silent, trying to avoid eye contact, occasionally looking out to the van, waiting patiently in the moonlight. “I just figured after a couple years, you’d at least had the nerve t’ let us know about things like this.†Engineer swallowed hard, but coughed to cover up the sound. “I know Demo and Scout are gonna take it hard-“ “So I guess it’s not about what I want, is it?†said the Sniper as he picked up his sack and started toward the van. He knew that he had a family in the RED team, but he was after all, a mercenary, and had to go where the money was. It took all he could to give one last nostalgic look back at his home for the past two years, but he kept forward, not wanting to show any weakness. “Listen, I’m sorry,†the Engineer yelled, as he ran as fast as his little legs could toward the van. The keys were already in the ignition when he caught up to the camper van. “Hell, it’s just we’re going to miss you- I mean, miss having you out there in the thick o’ things, you know?†He fumbled around his overalls, and pulled out a small mining light that he sometimes wore on his hard hat. “It’s not much, but I figured it could be of some use to you?†Sniper looked down, and a tiny smile crept across his long, narrow face. “Thanks, Truckie†“Don’t mention it, partner.†He sniffed and extended a gloved hand. “Good luck out there.†Sniper stepped out of the van. “Same to you, mate,†he said in kind. The two men embraced, holding on for one last time. The rest of the world could wait, as the entire universe stood still for this one final moment. Engineer watched as the van drove off into the desert night, and kept looking out toward the horizon for another good hour. When he walked back to his room, he went through the old routine: got the guitar from under the bed, sat on the edge, looked out the window, and started playing. ----- Prompt: Sniper/Engineer. Surprise me. I'm a sucker for sad, tragic stuff, but fluff is fine too!
Author’s Note: I tried to make this into a little story more than just a scene, and I hope I managed to do it. The other thing I really hope to have done, is please my giftee! Please enjoy and a Happy Smissmas to everyone! Special thanks to Cyan, for organizing this year's wonderful Secret Santa! ----- Decorationing Heavy looked inside of the stuffy storage of the RED base and turned to the Spy. “You sure things for Smissmas tree will be in here? Looks like many junk, but not pretty things for Smissmas celebrating...†The dark room was filled to the brim with old boxes, and none of them looked like they contained anything Smissmas related. The Spy hummed, and lit a new cigarette. “Zhey were here last year as far as I can remember.†Heavy sighed and flicked the light switch, bathing the dusty room and its countless boxes in a dim light. Of course, none of the boxes were marked, and had to be opened one by one. Heavy immediately got to work, grabbing the nearest three boxes and pulling them open. “At least we can make zhe tree better zhan last year. I had to work with Scout, and it was a complete disaster!†“Old weapons, bad weapons, hats-†“I practically had to save zhe poor plant from its cruel bindings, such a sad sight- Did you find anything yet? We need to start soon if we want to make a presentable tree out of zhe log of wood zhe soldier will be dragging in.†Heavy turned to the Spy, finding him casually fingering the flap of a box and smoking his cigarette, almost making a point out of not moving a finger to help. A frown crept onto Heavy's face and he pushed the box with baubles in Spy's hands. “Bring this to hall, then come back to carry rest of boxes.†Spy opened his mouth to protest, but the Heavy beat him to it. “You not want to search for decorations, you carry boxes to the hall!†Spy pursed his lips, but he grudgingly repositioned the large box in his arms and walked out, muttering under his breath. “I volunteer for decorating the base and tree, and get saddled with the amazing job of lugging boxes!†After the Spy had left it didn't take a long time for the Russian's mood to get better again. As much as he liked his job, a day off, even if he needed to spend it on base, was always welcome. Smissmas was a nice holiday as well. It was a good half hour later when Heavy had opened the last box, and positioned the few with decorative items near the door, but the Spy had still not returned. The base was large, sure, but it wasn't a thirty minute walk to the mess hall, not even if you crawled. “SPY!†With an annoyed growl Heavy picked up three of the boxes and started for the mess hall. Spy'd probably slacked off, or taken yet another cigarette break. Well, he'd at least have carried that one box over there- He rounded a corner, and stepped right into the very box he'd been thinking about, dozens of baubles breaking under his boot and two of the boxes in his arms tumbling to the ground with even more crashing. Oh, Spy was going to pay for this! Fuming, the Heavy dropped the last box on the ground and angrily stomped towards the kitchen. The scent of fresh cookies and burnt food wafted through the door, and the sugar covered-floor crunched under the Heavy's boot. Both the Pyro and the Scout were staring intently at a battered book, a smoking cake-tray on the stove and a whole lot of cake batter scattered around the kitchen. “Okay, so we got the batter, did we add the sugar?... I don't think it counts when it's all on the floor, do we have another bag? Maybe we shouda asked Snipes and Demo to buy more-? Oh, hey Heavy, what are you doin' here? Comin' to decorate the kitchen?†Heavy shook his head and started checking the room for the Spy, his gaze lingering on a smoking apron lying in one of the corners. “Ah. No, am looking for Spy. Little french man still needs to help Heavy decorate base for Smissmas celebration, but he left. You have seen Spy?†The Pyro mumbled something and gestured vaguely, still engrossed in deciphering the recipe. “I ain't seen Spy ever since me 'n Pyro got to bakin' stuff here. I swear, makin' cakes 's harder than it looks! Py said that settin' it on fire would be faster than usin' the oven, and 'e was right, but it was a bit too fast ya know? Hey, wanna try one of the cookies? Delicious, I swear.†Scout grabbed a plate from a high shelf and held it right in front of Heavy's face. Heavy shook his head, and pushes the platter away from his nose. The corners were Spy-free, and so were all of the cupboards. “No, I do not want cookies, but if you see Spy, tell him to come help me now, or I make sure he have a very bad Smissmas!†He pulled the kitchen door closed behind him, and sighed. If Spy didn't want to be found, it was impossible to find him without setting the base on fire, and that would not at all help the Smissmas spirit. Heavy eyed the four boxes on the ground with resignation. If he went looking for Spy, nobody would be decorating the base. With a sigh he picked up the boxes, and continued on his way to the mess hall, leaving a trail of glittering glass bits behind. He'd get that snake later, when they would start the celebrations, and in the meantime he'd just keep an eye out for him. Maybe it was for the best that the baubles were broken, now they could get better ones. He idly hoped that the Sniper would have remembered to buy decorations on the shopping spree he'd been forced to go on with Demo, just in case. And maybe he could turn Demo's empty bottles and eggnog cartons into makeshift baubles... He'd definitely need someone's help if that turned out to be necessary! The mess hall was as bland as ever, and Heavy put the boxes on the nearest table, opening the lids to assess the damage done to the brittle Smissmas decorations. Nothing more than a pile of bright dust looked back at him from inside the box. Well, he could use it for glitter. Or sprinkle it into the Spy's wardrobe and give him hell during the coming Smissmas matches. Heavy chuckled to himself at the idea of a sparkling spy running over the battlefield with a face twisted in agony, but he closed the box and mentally marked it for the trash. The next two boxes didn't fare much better, and Heavy ended up with only ten baubles and about three feet of a battered garland. At least there were still a few boxes back in the storage, but the tree would be a lot less cheerful if Sniper didn't happen to bring back baubles! If he'd had Spy's help they would probably have the mess hall decorated by now, and to think he had seemed almost enthusiastic about decorating! If anything the man was great at his job, but sometimes Heavy preferred a nice personality over brilliance in deception and murder. Heavy jogged back to the storage and lifted all the four remaining boxes in his arms, set on getting the job done as quickly as possible. At least he cleared out the boxes in the hall, so there'd be nothing to trip over. He'd thought too soon. Not even halfway through the hall, the boxes started to lose their balance, and Heavy quickly stepped aside to correct the balance, promptly bumping into someone and sending all the boxes to the ground. For a moment he just stared at the Smissmas carnage, and then he turned his gaze upon the one that bumped him. A garland hung suspended in the air, over the invisible form of the Spy. “YOU!†Heavy dropped the last box to the ground and dove at the Frenchman, who just barely managed to prevent a trip through respawn with a narrow dodge. If it hadn't been for the frilly garland hanging from the man's shoulder he might have gotten away too, but the Heavy grabbed the invisible man by the arm and the moment of opportunity had passed. The cloak shimmered, and the Spy finally appeared, an almost noticeably anxiety hidden behind his innocent expression. He cleared his throat, almost embarrassed, and put on a rather convincing smile.“Well, hah, hello monsieur Heavy. What is it?†“Is not respectable thing to hide from duties, Spy. I ask you to bring boxes to hall, and you leave it in hall! I come to take you to decorate!†“Do I really need to help? I have important things to do.†“Bah, I do not like your little jokes Spy. You are helping with decorating, or I set you with Pyro to bake Smissmas food for whole day! I know there is not a thing you should be leaving for now.†Heavy did not miss the way the Spy paled behind his mask, and he knew he had won this battle. The Spy quickly cleared his throat and waved a bit of dust off his jacket. “You don't have to zhreaten me comrade, I will most certainly help if zhis holiday means so much to you.†The Spy tried to subtly pull his hand loose, but the Heavy would not relent. “You will help, but first you will give me little baby watch.†For a moment, Spy looked as if he'd rather get liquidated than part with his cloak, but then he coldly requested his hand back from the Heavy and undid his watch. With great reluctance he dropped the item in the Heavy's outstreched palm, and watched it dissapear in the man's pocket. “Are you happy now?†The Heavy nodded and pulled the garland from Spy's shoulder, putting it back in one of the boxes before giving it to the Spy. “Yes. Now, you take those boxes, I take these ones, and we go to the hall.†The short walk to the hall was awkward, and the Heavy almost regretted finding the Spy. Decorating alone would at least have been a bit more fun than having an annoyed Spy at his back, but he was helping, and that was the more important part. It took over an hour, and then the boxes were depleted, leaving a half decorated mess hall and an overly satisfied Spy. “I say zhat's good enough. A job well done! I will have my watch back now yes?†The Heavy shook his head. The hall was not looking half as good as he had initially hoped, but there wasn't much to be done without ornaments, garlands or Smissmas trinkets. “We have to go buy decorations.†The Spy's satisfied expression dropped from his face in a second. “What.†The Heavy gestured to the mess hall. “Does this make Smissmas spirit better? It just make everything glittery! Is not good enough.†“I honestly zhought zhat zhat was zhe only use decorating had. All Smissmas decorations are glittery!†“Glitter is not what makes Smissmas good! Is care and love in world, and we show that with decorating!†The Spy looked about ready to have a friendly fire accident, but he pulled his face into a more gentle expression - one of pure annoyance-, and followed the Heavy to the 'parking lot' of their base. – That Smissmass dinner was good, considering all that'd happened, and Heavy dared to think it was so nice just because the Spy decided not to show his face at the dinnertable. He'd made quite some trouble during the day. Almost seemed intentional at one point. Maybe he prevented the Frenchman from visiting his lady, or broke up a good deal of some sorts, and this was the man's way of revenge? He did seem like one for petty revenge schemes. During the shopping spree, the Spy had almost gotten them kicked out of a store, but they'd managed to come back with a box full of decorations. The Spy had also found it necessary to point out that each and every one of the decorations was glittery, until the Heavy told him to shut up or face his fist. When they'd gotten back a good part of the day was already wasted, and the rest of the team was almost done with their preparations. There was still a box with decorations sitting somewhere in a corner. The Engineer and the Medic had taken to preparing the music with the few instruments that were on base, resulting in a strange mix between a campfire song and a german 'schlager', that was surprisingly enjoyable when they were drunk enough. The original plan had involved a guitar and a violin, but after an unfortunate accident with the Spy trying to carry too many decorations, it became just the violin and a strange contraption the Engineer had made at he last moment. The food was also pretty well done, - for Pyro standards- mostly overcooked and bit singed, but better than the usual grub by far. The turkey had been scrapped though, since the Pyro had forgotten to get it out of the oven after the previously mentioned musical incident. A batch of cookies had also been sacrificed to the oven, but that was all. The Soldier had not been too enthusiastic about the decoration, having tripped over one of the garlands when carrying a tree inside the base, but at the end of the day everyone was having a good time. The food was all gone, and everyone had already drained a fair share of alcohol from their drinks. Scout was lying with his head on the table, the Sniper's feet were more visible than his head and they were all preparing for a leisurely lapse into drunken sleep. That was, until the alarm went off. “THE ENEMY HAS TAKEN OUR INTELLIGENCE!†It was after that announcement that the Heavy started to think the Spy's behaviour hadn't only been chagrin. The Soldier was the first one to move, immediately charging over the table with a fork clutched in his left hand and a spoon in the right. “Those filthy maggots!!†It was outright chaos, and a moment later everyone was on the move towards the intelroom. Of course it was empty when they got there. No briefcase, no enemy, nothing. “This is unacceptable!! Those BLU Maggots have no respect for the true American Smissmas! I declare WAR on them right NOW! We're taking back that intel! CHARGE!!!†There went the Smissmass spirit, gone with the stolen briefcase. Nobody was happy with the turn of events, but the Soldier refused to let anyone rest until they reclaimed the briefcase, and so the RED team reluctantly geared up for battle. The Spy was still absent, and the Heavy had a good idea of why that was. The Soldier rung the alarm and the team left their base, mostly drunk and about ready to drop, the other team appearing a likely state on the other side. The battle itself was a complete joke, as nobody but the two Soldiers were ready to put in any effort and even the Demoman were too drunk to get a decent shot. The Heavy decided it was not worth his time, and after waiting for the Soldier to be distracted, he inched back to the base, followed by the Medic. “I assume you are going to bed as well Herr Heavy?†The Heavy shook his head. “No, I am thinking that BLU Spy has hidden real Spy somewhere. Am going to try find him.†The Medic yawned and shook his head. “I think zhe chances of our Spy just acting like a jerk are just as big as zhe chances zhat zhe enemy Spy took his place, but if you really want to look for him, feel free to do so. “I am going to bed. Don't stay up all night, I don't want to be healing zhe Soldier because you are too tired ja? Good night, und Merry Smissmas.†He turned and walked towards his room, the nozzle of the medigun dragging over the ground. Heavy yawned, and opened the nearest door for a quick look. No Spy. Next room, same thing. Next room, next room, next room.... The Scout staggered past him at one moment, lifting a hand as a way of greeting. Ah, his own bedroom... The Heavy took a look over his shoulder to the rest of the hall. So many more doors to look behind. He lumbered into his own bedroom and sat down on his bed. He would have flopped down, but the last time he had done that the bed had creaked so ominously that he didn't dare to do it again. He pulled off his boots and lied down on the bed, eliciting a startled yell from an unseen lump in his bed. The Heavy jumped up and sent an uncoordinated punch at the source of the alarming sound, cutting it short with a painful crunch and a thud. A short moan followed soon after, this time from the ground besides the bed. “....Spy?†The Heavy flicked on the light on his bedstand, and there was the RED Spy, looking groggy and tied up with about four times the amount of rope needed to hold a man. - The walk to Spy's room was mostly silent, but the Spy didn't seem bothered by the Heavy's company. “I wasted my one free day on trying to get out of ropes, Heavy.†The Heavy carefully patted the Spy on his back. The Spy took a long drag of his cigarette and sighed. “Well... At least I didn't have to eat Pyro's cooking.†The Heavy hesitated a little. “Was actually not burnt this time, Scout made sure food was edible. Dead stuffed bird was burnt when intruder destroyed Engineer's guitar, but there was good food. Many cookies, and there was cake.†The Spy shot him a look. “Well, zhe very first time Pyro made edible food and I missed it. Two years of eating coal for Smissmas, and zhen..... Well, zhat's what I get for staying to help with Smissmas preparations I guess.†The Spy's room came into vision, and the Heavy grabbed his teammate by the shoulder. “We could still decorate tree together? I know is not good substitute for Smissmas celebration, but maybe it helps?†The Spy flicked his cigarette away and lit another one, not looking too sure about joining his teammate in decorating, but he relented to the Heavy's smile. “I don't see why not.†They both walked down the hall until they reached the Messhall, where the remaining bits of china and food were still scattered around from Soldier's dash towards the intel. The tree was lying in the exact same place the Soldier left it after falling over, and the Heavy pulled it upright. “Soldier trip over garland, forgot about tree. Could you get box? Smissmass tree stand is in there with pretty things for tree.†The Spy snorted. “Hah, I missed carrying heavy boxes around.†He carried the box over and started pulling out its glittery intestines. “I was zhinking we should keep to red colourings, more in the Smissmas spirit, and less chance of zhe Soldier attacking zhe tree.†He tossed a red garland at the Heavy, and dug up a horribly cheesy Smissmas bulb with a smiling reindeer on it. “Did you buy this?†His face carried a carefully crafted neutral expression, but the corners of his mouth trembled slightly in withheld amusement. The Heavy laughed. “Is ugly, yes, but a glass ball does not survive here for long. Last year I see Scout use them for weapons, never saw BLU Medic so bright and bleeding before! Was actually hoping Scout would use in battle, is good for Smissmas spirit.†“Oh, to get hit with a Smissmas bauble is bad enough, imagine getting bested by zhis zhing!†The Spy put it back in to the box, and instead grabbed more generic baubles, and the peak for on top of the tree. The Heavy slowly wrapped the tree in a poofy red garland –the same one Soldier had tripped over-, and the Spy hung small ornaments on the branches in a distinguishable pattern. An angel after a bauble and a bauble after an angel, and when they ran out of angels and baubles, they started to hang the festive weapons on the tree. It started to look more like a supply closet and less like a tree with every item they added but it barely mattered. Every item got a spot in the tree until the poor thing was creaking with its own weight. “Zhis is zhe most horrid, yet most enjoyable decoration job I have done in my life. Zhank you.†“Da, was fun. Next year I make sure there is no enemy Spy in team! Is worse for Smissmass spirit then I thought.†----- Prompt: Spy/Heavy decorating the tree for Christmas.
Author’s Note: I apologize for sucking at accents. But I hope it’s close to what you had in mind! I tried to combine several things from your prompts. Merry Christmas! ----- A Very Hoovy Smissmas There were many things that the RED team’s Heavy Weapons Guy was good at. First and foremost, the man was especially good at fighting; he could take down the entire opposing team in a matter of seconds. The man was a gun buff; he could tell you the entire history of his arsenal of weapons, particularly his mini-gun Sasha- from every modification to the exact cost of firing the weapon for twelve seconds. The man was, surprisingly, well educated. He took joy in surprising his fellow teammates, who often viewed him as a brainless lump of meat, with his PhD and his vast knowledge of Russian literature. However, there was one thing that the man was not: a chef. This idea was apparent to everyone else except the Heavy himself. In his mind, he was a great at cooking; he could make a sandwich like nobody’s business! On more than one occasion had the meaty delicacies spared his life in the midst of battle, filling his body with newfound energy. His teammates didn’t seem to mind them either as they often rushed towards Heavy’s graciously dropped sandwich when their health was low. This apparently made him more than qualified to cook anything for anyone. Everyone else, however, didn’t exactly see this the way Heavy did, especially Medic. The German was often the subject to Heavy’s cooking attempts- from making him breakfast to even his ideas for new “recipesâ€. Medic, however, would just smile and accept whatever Heavy offered him, no matter how much he distrusted the man’s cooking. After all, it would not be to his benefit to hurt his comrade’s feelings. There was no one more knowledgeable of Heavy’s cooking failures than Medic. With this, the German was more surprised- and worried- than anyone when Heavy brought it up during a conversation. “So Doktor, what are your plans for holidays?†“Zhey vill probably be zhe same as zhey are every year.†“You will not be visiting family for Smissmas?†Medic looked up over his glasses at Heavy, pausing from his current task of stitching up a rather nasty cut on the Russian’s leg. “You know zhat we are not allowed to take personal time off, Heavy. Zhe same rules apply for everyone, unfortunately.†Heavy scratched his head, nonchalant. “I vas not sure if the rules vere same for everyone. This saddens me.†Medic looked up at the larger man sitting on the steel operating table. “And vhy is zhat?†“Isn’t it obvious?†Heavy questioned, “This vill be my first year away from family. I vork hard to support my family back in Russia- it is the reason I took this job. Vhile I do like the fact that I am vorking for family to have good Smissmas, it saddens me that I vill not get to see them on holiday. I vill not get to see look of surprise on Nikolai’s face when he vakes up to see all of the presents that Ded Moroz gave him. Do you feel the same, Doktor?†Medic shrugged, returning back to the stitch he was working on. “Bah. I do not have overly much to return to for zhe holidays. I could care less about a holiday vacation.†“Doktor deserves holiday anyway- you vork hard for team.†An awkward span of silence followed. Heavy sighed, hoping that he had not bored Medic with his rant about Smissmas. He looked down at the doctor, who was still working on the suture, brow furrowed in concentration. “I really do not mind spending my holidays vith you guys, anyvay. It alvays proves to be interesting,†Medic stated. With that, Heavy’s expression immediately brightened! “Da! Ve vill spend Smissmas with RED team! It vill be just like mini family celebration!†Heavy laughed, a deep rumbling noise. “Vhat should I get for team? So many decisions!†Medic pulled at the final stitch to the suture, pulling it tight against the skin. He tied a knot at the end before cutting the excess thread, throwing it into a nearby wastebasket. “You mean you have not picked out gifts yet?†“Nyet. But I am not vorried- I vill decide something soon.†“You have better hurry zhen, seeing as how you only have one day left.†The last part of the sentence caught Heavy’s attention. Surely he must be joking with him. “One day? Vhat do you mean by that, Doktor?†“Smissmas. It is tomorrow, Heavy.†The Russian was silent. Then, he burst into a fit of laughter, slapping his hand against the metal table. A nearby pair of scissor fell to the floor. “Doktor! How you tease me! Today is the twenty-fourth, is it not?†“Ja.†“Then I have at least thirteen days to prepare for RED Smissmas! It is simple math, Medic,†he laughed. “Thirteen days?†“Yes! Smissmas is on seventh of January, is it not? This gives me thirteen days.†Medic fell quiet. He placed a red glove on Heavy’s knee. “Mein Heavy, zhis is America, not Russia. Smissmas is on zhe twenty-fifth of December here.†“…Are you sure?†“Yes.†Heavy slammed both meaty hands against the steel medical table in a rage of fury, sending even more instruments clattering to the ground. “Vhy does nobody tell me these things? Are ve celebrating tomorrow as vell?†“I vould assume so- ve do every year. Besides, both Soldiers declared a temporary armistice ‘in zhe honor of America’ for Smissmas. So yes, ve are technically celebrating it tomorrow.†“But I have no presents to give out yet,†Heavy muttered. His shoulders slumped. What kind of Smissmas would it be without presents? What would the others think of him now? Surely they would think he was selfish. Medic waved a dismissive hand. “Do not vorry about it, Heavy. I do not plan on giving out presents tomorrow. Also, I know for a fact zhat zhe spy, sniper, and demoman will most certainly not be giving out presents either; they don’t seemed to worried about it, so vhy should you?†Medic’s knee gave a loud pop as he stood from his kneeling position. He dusted off the knees of his brown pants before jumping up to sit next to the Russian on the medical table.†“Because Smissmas only comes vonce a year, Doktor! It is time of celebration, to unite together as team! Vhat better way to celebrate this idea than by presents!†Medic sighed. The Russian was a full-grown bear of an adult. .Yet Medic was beginning to think that the man had a larger obsession with presents and gift-giving than most children did. It was beginning to get on his nerves, the childishness of it all. Never would anyone see him complain about not having to spend money on other people, especially ones he didn’t like. “Instead of vorrying about materialistic things, vhy don’t you try to find another way to show your appreciation to the team? You could try cleaning, or doing a favor for someone, or--†“Or make Smissmas dinner for whole team?†“…or making a paper card for someone, or--†“Is brilliant idea, Doktor!†Heavy reached around and pulled the doctor into a bear hug. Medic gasped for breath beneath the embrace, swearing that he could’ve heard ribs being broken. Finally, after what seemed like several painful hours to Medic, Heavy loosened his iron grip from around his shoulders. However, he didn’t, Medic noticed, fully remove his arm from around him; Medic really didn’t mind. “I vill make traditional Smissmas dinner for entire team! That is how I vill help,†Heavy stated proudly. “But, ah, Heavy, isn’t cooking meals usually left to Pyro? Pyro seems to really enjoy zhe job- you vouldn’t want to intrude, vould you?†In truth, Medic had no idea if Pyro enjoyed cooking (he had no idea about a lot of things Pyro did). He could assume it, though, through the fact that Pyro cooked dinner for them every night; the arsonist was by no means a bad chef, either. Out of the two, Medic would have much rather have Pyro just cook something on his own rather than have Heavy “help†the team with his own cooking. “Nonsense,†Heavy declared, “Pyro is nice person. I do not see vhy Pyro would mind if I offered to help in the cooking tonight.†“Do you think you are ready to try to cook such a large meal?’ Medic was scrambling for anything by this point. Anything that might dissuade the weapons guy from attempting to cook. From possibly burning 2Fort down. “I mean, you DO remember vhat happened last time with zhe tacos you tried to cook.†“Heavy waved his hand dismissively in contempt yet again. “Bah. That vas slight error on my part. Will not happen again.†If by slight error you mean completely forgetting to cook the hamburger and giving both Scout and Soldier food poisoning, thought Medic. The Heavy Weapon Guy’s grip tightened on Medic’s arm. He gave him a look of confusion, “You are not saying these things to try and stop me from the cooking, are you Doktor? You trust me, da?†Medic swallowed. If he were to answer no, he didn’t trust his cooking, he could probably stop the idea from going through. However, it would also most certainly crush the Russian and possibly ruin any friendship the two might have had- Medic didn’t want that. Lying under his breath, Medic replied with false enthusiasm, “Nein! Of course not mein Heavy! You are, ah, wunderbar! Do vhatever you vish!†In that moment, he had probably just given his team a death sentence. Heavy grinned from ear to ear, “Do you really think so, Doktor? Then I shall do it!†He slapped Medic on the back. “Vhat do you think I should make?†Before the doctor even had a chance to respond, Heavy slapped him on the back again. “I know!†he answered, “I vill make everybody Russian holodets! Is great holiday dish!†“Vhat is, um… holodets?†The German was almost afraid to know the answer. Many of the foods that Russians were historically known for, in his opinion, were just vile sounding. Medic recalled the many stories that Heavy had told him of his childhood, remembering his recounts of the beef tongue and- worst of all- cod milt that he had enjoyed as an adolescent. The foods he had described were contrastingly different from the German foods that he had eaten growing up. However, Medic would not have been surprised if many of the others would have found his own culture’s foods weird. “Holodets,†Heavy began, “is traditional Russian meal for many celebrations. Did I ever tell you about eating it as child?†“No.†“Oh. Vell, holodets is kind of like the… the uh…†he snapped his fingers frantically, “the uh… jiggly, fruity, American food that is often in pantry…†“Jell-O?†Medic offered. “Da! Is like Jell-O, but vithout the fruity. Instead of fruit, there are many cuts of different meats and vegetables; Mama used to put boiled egg in it sometimes. Is very tasty though!†“I see…†To be honest, Medic thought that this “Jell-O†sounded absolutely repulsive. But who was he to argue with Russian cuisine? “Yes, I think I vill make holodets,†Heavy confirmed, “It vill be best RED Smissmas ever!†With that, the large man hopped down from the steel table. He bent over to roll his pant leg back down to cover up his newly-sutured wound, knocking down several more medical tools in the process; that whole pile would have to be s anitized, Medic mused darkly to himself. Heavy stood back up. “Thank you for your services, Doktor. You have been great help!†-------- Heavy attempted to wander into the RED kitchen as inconspicuous as possible- not an easy task when you’re an oversized mammoth of a man. Spy and Engineer were already seated at the wooden kitchen table- Spy reading some sort of magazine and Engineer tinkering with some sort of metal contraption that he had been working on. “Good afternoon, Heavy,†Engineer greeted, tipping his yellow hard hat towards the Russian. “You get that wound of yours treated alright?†“Da. Medic fixed it,†Heavy replied distractedly. He enjoyed talking to the engineer, but he was too worried about other things, primarily finding Pyro. Instead he walked past the duo towards the actual cooking end of the kitchen. Spy’s magazine raised and lowered as he passed, the Frenchman keeping a suspicious eye on the man. Finally, Heavy found the firebug kneeling beside a wooden floor cabinet, obviously looking for something. The pyro whistled some obscure song beneath his mask as he dug through the cabinets. Various pots, pans, and cups were pulled out onto the floor until Pyro finally settled on a metal bowl. The pyromaniac pulled it out and inspected all sides of it. Finally, Pyro placed the bowl on one of 2Fort’s many counters and began putting away the other pulled out wares back into the cabinet. Heavy waited patiently behind Pyro as pots and pans were slowly, individually put back one by one, each pan being treated with the utmost care. After all of the wares were put back, Pyro stood back up and looked at Heavy expectantly. “Hrro.†Heavy couldn’t help but noticed that the firebug was wearing a basic white apron over the usual fire suit- the fire suit that was never removed, to his knowledge. “Pyro!†Heavy began, “It is good to see you! Merry Smissmas Eve!’ Heavy spread his arms out in a dramatic flourish. “It is good time to be in RED team family, no?†“Mrr Smrmmr!†Pyro mimicked, excitement apparent in his muffled voice. He clapped his gloved hands together, making a loud smacking sound. “Vhat are you doing over here? You should be spending time with team!†Heavy tried to keep his voice sounding as optimistic as possible in hopes of warming up to the pyromaniac. Pyro gave a cheerful noise before reaching over the counter to slide an opened book over. It was a hefty recipe book, as made apparent by the many large pictures of various foods on its pages. The book was currently opened to a page showcasing what looked to be like a large, juicy turkey. A recipe was underneath the picture. Pyro tapped at it repeatedly and made yet another noise of excitement. “Huddah!†“Oh, so you are making the turkey! Is this for Smissmas Eve dinner?†Heavy inquired. Pyro shook his head rapidly in confirmation. Again, he reached across the counter to retrieve a small paper and placed it in front of Heavy. Heavy had difficulty reading it; the handwriting on it was a tight, loopy scrawl, much similar to that of a child’s. From what he could get out of it though, he assumed it to be a list of things that Pyro was planning to make for the meal. Heavy took this time to look around at what Pyro had already started in the kitchen. Several bowls were scattered about, some of them filled with different batters and ingredients. “Where is turkey?†he asked. The firebug pointed to the oven. “Frr hurr,†Pyro declared, holding up four gloved fingers to further reiterate his point. Heavy had to choose his next words carefully. “You seem busy, Pyro. Might I… be able to help with the cooking? I vould like to help you and team!†“Wait, what?†Spy piped up from the kitchen table. He set the magazine he had been reading down. “Heavy, if I recall correctly, you are terrible at cooking. I would rather not die from some stange foodborne illness zhis Smissmas, zhank you.†“Oh hush,†said Engineer, “if Heavy wants to help Pyro out with the cooking, I say let ‘em! It is part of the Smissmass spirit, after all.†“Vomiting for ten days is also not part of zhe ‘Smissmass spirit’.†Spy retorted sharply. “I ‘ave a ‘ard enough time letting zhe pyro cook for me, much less the heavy. I’d almost rather make my own food.†“I don’t know whose cooking would be worse, Heavy’s or your frilly French cookin’.†Engineer grinned at his own joke as Spy shot him a look of pure hatred. “Anyway, Spah’s just a nasty ol’ Scrooge- don’t listen to him, Heavy.†Spy slammed a hand down on the table. “I am most certainly not a Scrooge, Engineer.†Spy spat vehemently. “I do not ‘ave to stand for zhis… outrage!†“Then it’s a good thing yer already sittin’.†The Frenchman rolled his eyes before picking up his magazine again, ignoring the world. Heavy shrugged. Like he cared what Spy thought of him; Spy didn’t think to much of anyone anyway. Besides, Medic thought he was a good cook. Therefore, Spy’s logic was invalid. He turned to direct his attention back at Pyro. “So vould you be okay vith this? Me helping you cook?†“Shrrr!†Pyro chimed. “This is exciting news!†Heavy laughed. “I vill help Pyro, and vill be best Smissmas ever!†Suspiciously, Heavy glanced about the room, looking for anyone who might be eavesdropping on their conversation. Nobody was there except for Engineer and Spy: Engineer wasn’t the nosy type of person, and Spy… who cared about Spy. He gestured for Pyro to come close. “I had idea for Smissmas. I vas thinking about making holodets for everyone- as special treat. Good idea, no?†Heavy whispered in Pyro‘s direction. He pulled back to get a better judge of his expression- it was blank, as usual. Pyro made some indistinct noise before pulling away and returning to the bowl he had been working with earlier. The Russian took the gesture as a yes. With that, he began excitedly mulling over the recipe of his childhood in his head. To be honest, he had never actually made the jelly-like food before. He had watched his mother prepare it a few times but he himself had never actually attempted to help with it. How hard could it be, though? The food was primarily made out of pork gelatin, with different meats and vegetables and spices thrown in for taste. The best way to start of, he figured, would be to prepare the gelatin. Gelatin he could make! He had once helped Engineer make Lime Jell-O gelatin out of a box once; that had been an exciting day! Engineer had followed the directions on the box: it was simply the gelatin mix and hot water set into a bowl, if he remembered correctly. He could do that! With a newfound surge of energy, Heavy trotted over to the team's central pantry. He opened the doors, revealing the fairly empty shelves. Heavy scanned the pantry, looking for anything thar might resemble gelatin mix. There were several cans of stuff lining the shelves: beans, canned vegetables, canned meats. Those, however, were not gelatin mix. He pushed them off to the side, continuing to dig in the pantry. Bags of potatoes, boxes of noodles, and jars of peanut butter were all either pushed away or thrown to the ground in Heavy's search. "Pyro," Heavy questioned, poking his head from around the pantry door, "where is gelatin kept?" "Grrtin?" Pyro parroted. He set the bowl down that he had been working with and turned to address Heavy. The arsonist scratched his rubber- masked head in confusion. "I don't think we have any gelatin, Heavy." Engineer offered again from the table without looking away from his mechanical contraption. "I know we had some a couple of months ago, but I think it's long gone now." "No gelatin?" Heavy cried, "Oh, zees is bad! We do not have any? Not even the Jell-O jiggler gelatin?" "Nope. Not to mah knowledge. I would say you could try making your own out of pig fat like my mama used to do, but I don't even think we have any pigs to make it out of. Not all th'way out here, anyway." "Of course your family would make Jell-O out of pig lard..." Spy muttered to himself, flipping a page in his magazine. What was Heavy supposed to do without gelatin? He could not make holodets without gelatin- it would defeat the purpose of the jiggly delicacy! This just threw a metaphorical wrench into his plans for surprising his teammates for Smissmas! Now they wouldn't be able to experience the greatness of Russian cuisine. Heavy sighed, a look of defeat plastered onto his face. He wouldn't let this stop him from serving his team, though- there was always other things he could make, he supposed. “Pyro,†Heavy started, looking at the masked man, “I cannot make holodets. Is there something else I could help you make?†Pyro paused in the middle of stirring the contents of his bowl. TIlting his head in consideration, he inched over to the counter to examine his list from earlier. The arsonist trailed a gloved finger down the list, eventually stopping at one of the bulleted points. “Strrfng!†Pyro exclaimed. With a nod, Pyro went to his cookbook. After flipping through several pages, he finally settled on a page appropriately titled “Smissmas Stuffingâ€. He picked up the book and pushed it in Heavy’s direction. “Stuffing?†Heavy read over the ingredients carefully. The ingredients consisted of fairly simplistic things, the Russian thought. Pyro was obviously underestimating his cooking prowess by assigning him such a simple dish. But if people enjoyed this dish, and it would help out his comrade, he would do it, no matter how boring or simplistic it was! It would be the best stuffing ever! ------ The RED Heavy Weapons Guy waited impatiently in his seat at the end of the table. He had just finished the stuffing Pyro’s recipe had instructed him to make, and was now waiting for everybody to get their food. The dining room was already filled with chatter (primarily the scout’s) as the team began working their way towards their seats. Dodging most of the current conversation, Medic took a seat to the right of Heavy. He leaned over the table to whisper to the Russian, “How did your, uh, hollandaise-†“Holodets, Doktor.†Heavy interrupted. “...holodets turn out?†Heavy smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I did not make holodets like original idea- no gelatin.†Thank God, Medic thought to himself. Meat Jell-O just didn’t tickle his fancy. At all. “Instead, Pyro showed me how to make new dish! It vas called stuffing! It is made out of bread and meat and spices! Have you heard of it, Doktor?†Surely he was kidding. “Ja, Heavy, I have heard of stuffing.†Medic replied. “Ah. Vell I made some! I think you vill like it, Doktor. I have not tried it yet, but I believe it turned out very vell.†Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the booming voice of the Soldier. “ALRIGHT, MAGGOTS! LISTEN UP!†Soldier shouted. He was wearing his normal uniform, except for a pair of what was supposed to look like “festive†antlers strapped to his usual army helmet. Heavy couldn’t help but wonder how heavy those were, much less where he got a pair of antlers in the first place. They looked stupid, in his opinion. “It’s Smissmas Eve, and you all know what that means!†Soldier jumped up onto the table with a loud thud, his Mantreads leaving imprints on the table. Spy looked on in horror as Soldier began pacing down the table, leaving dirty imprints wherever he went. “It means we are going to celebrate this holiday like AMERICANS! We are going to celebrate, and we are going to be festive, and we are going to be merry- or so help me I will shove my holly jolly boot right up your asses! Am I clear?†There was a general murmur of agreement- most of the mercenaries were too busy focusing on the trail of imprints that Soldier continued to leave up and down the rectangular table. “Get off the table and let us eat, ya queer!†Scout shouted from his seat next to Medic. Soldier whirled around to stare at the Bostonian, anger flaring in his eyes. Instead of retaliating, though, he reluctantly sat back down, giving the scout a death glare all the while. With the end of Soldier’s attempted speech, Pyro took this as a cue to start bringing out the food he and Heavy had prepared. With a hum of approval, Pyro brought the turkey over first, laying it down in the center of the table for all to view. There was a wave of excitement as the mercenaries waited to dig into the bird. A bowl of mashed potatoes, rolls, and other dishes soon followed as Pyro brought them out one by one, placing them around the table. Last but not least, was Heavy’s stuffing. Pyro settled in his own seat whilst the Russian bounced in his seat at the sight of his very own dish being brought out. “SINCE I DID NOT HAVE PRESENTS I MADE STUFFING FOR YOU ALL! MERRY SMISSMAS!†Heavy boomed, a hint of pride in his baritone voice. The table fell silent at Heavy’s sudden declaration; it was made apparent that nobody truly trusted Heavy’s cooking. Even Sniper, who made it a habit to eat any animal that he could kill while hunting raw, looked at the stuffing with suspicion behind his yellow aviators. “Eat, everybody! Is Smissmas Eve!†With that, Heavy reached across the table to tear an entire leg off of the turkey. It landed on his plate with a greasy smack. “Charming...†Spy muttered as he watched, again in horror, the other mercenaries assault the cooked bird. “I don’t care- I love stoofin’.†Demoman drunkenly announced to no one in particular. He grabbed the bowl and slopped a large spoonful of the bread dressing onto his plate. Heavy watched in anticipation as the Scotsman, and soon others, shoveled a spoonful of his stuffing into their mouths. ------ “Heavy,†Medic called down the hallway, “come over here!†Hearing his name called, Heavy turned around and trotted towards the medicine man. “Vhat is it, Doktor?†He was holding something behind his back, the Russian noticed. “I got you somezhing!†Medic stated proudly. Heavy raised an eyebrow in suspicion at the man. “I thought you said you did not buy presents for people on Smissmas. Besides, it is not even Smissmas in America yet!†“Vell, no.†Medic adjusted his glasses awkwardly with one red-gloved hand. “I did not technically buy zhis present- rather, I found it. Vell, I actually tripped on it because I swear it popped out of novhere randomly, but I thought that you vould like it anyway.†The German thrust a blue-wrapped package in Heavy’s direction. “Here.†“Doktor, you did not have to give me anything- I did not even give you anything!†Heavy took the medium-sized, awkwardly wrapped package from Medic. “But thank you!†With that, Heavy tore into the blue wrapping paper, sending shreds of it crumpling to the floor. Heavy chuckled; Medic had given him a white chef’s hat. He was about to place the hat onto his bald head when Soldier suddenly dashed down the hallway, a hand covering his mouth. The American ran into a nearby bathroom and slammed the door behind him. A flourish of retching sounds soon followed. Heavy had forgotten to thoroughly cook the meat in the stuffing.
Author's Note: Hope this'll do! Only a suggestion of Sniper/Spy, but it does have a Madagascan Hissing Cockroach. ----- “Augh, what is that?†The Sniper glanced up, and followed the Spy’s horrified line of sight to the terrarium. “That’s Jenny. Beaut, ain’t she?†“She? She! That thing is an abomination. What is it doing here?†With a sigh, the Sniper closed his book and swung his legs off the crate. It was clear the Spy wouldn’t be settling down til he’d got an answer, and an unsettled Spy’s good for nobody. “She’s harmless, mate. Just a baby. Look.†He pulled the lid aside and dipped his hand in. The terrarium’s inhabitant approached, paused, then agreeably settled down onto the Sniper’s extended palm. He lifted Jenny out and held her up, carefully. “See? Harmless. Want to hold ‘er?†“No, I do not!†The Spy’s eyes were locked on the Sniper’s hand, lip curled in something that might have been revulsion, might have been fear. “I want it dead!†“No call for that kind of talk.†The Sniper petted Jenny, dropping her back into her tank. “She don’t bite, she ain’t poisonous. Makes a lovely pet, she does.†“It has too many legs to make a ‘lovely pet’.†“Aw, come on. Give her a chance.†“Shan’t.†The Spy glared at the tank from a safe distance. “Look, it’s even climbing the walls! It can scale sheer glass! It is horrible, get rid of it.†“She’s only a cockroach.†“It is half the size of your hand!†The Spy retreated back toward the trapdoor. “I knew you had your oddities, bushman, and tolerated them for the most part, but this is - is vile!†“She’s only three inches long, mate, an’ she’s a right sweetheart.†“Ugh. I had my suspicions that you were up to something strange up here.†The Spy’s curled lip was definitely revulsion, rather than fear. “I had hoped you’d merely developed some strange new sexual predilection. Not cockroaches!†“Cockroach. One. Only one cockroach, an’ she’s real nice when you get to know ‘er.†The Sniper adjusted the terrarium lid slightly, since Jenny had made the odd dash for freedom before, and folded his arms defiantly. “She came all the way from Madagascar just to be here.†“She can go all the way back there!†“See, this is why I don’t share with people. No appreciation for animals.†The Sniper half-turned toward the glass the cockroach was halfway up, cooing at it. “She’s a pretty girl, she is.†“She is not pretty, she is not a girl, and she should not be kept as a pet!†The Spy was positively spitting. He glared darkly “Get rid of it.†“Or what?†“It’s me or the cockroach.†The Spy matched the Sniper’s pose, folding his arms stubbornly. “You’d go celibate just over little old her?†the Sniper was incredulous. “I mean it. Get rid of the overgrown insect.†The Sniper threw his arms up with a heaving sigh. “Fine, fine! Poor little Jenny, all on ‘er own.†He rested a sad hand on the terrarium’s lid. “I’ll get rid of ‘er by tomorrow.†“See that you do.†The Spy flipped open the trapdoor and let himself out. “By tomorrow, bushman, or you’ll find your bed very, very empty.†“I said all right, didn’t I?†The Sniper sniffed. --- The next day, the terrarium was absent from the Sniper’s perch as promised. It hadn’t been hidden away in the dark recesses of the man’s camper-van, either. It was a few days before the Spy discovered that, under cover of darkness, the Sniper had given Jenny to the Scout as a pet. He discovered this only when the Scout dropped Jenny down the back of his shirt at dinner. ----- Prompt: Sniper has been keeping certain pets (can be anything from kittens to crazy Australian animals) in his perch as friends and has been trying to keep them away from the team in fear that they would get rid of them. Spy thinks something is up and investigates.
Both sides were tied for the win when the administrator yelled "Sudden Death!†Within minutes RED had lost most of the team. Soldier was panting. He had to get away from the BLUs fast before the match ended. Soldier had watched Scout die brutally from a sentry; he could still hear the kid’s scream. He shook his head and looked behind him, only to trip. He slammed hard into a puddle of mud. A shadow loomed over him. Quickly looking up, a friendly hand stretched out to him. “Glad you’re still alive, thought for sure Spy got ye,†Demo grunted. Soldier was a bit relied having a friend by his side now. He asked, "Any KIA to report?†Demoman started to count from his fingers, “Spy, ’eavy, Pyro an’ Oi tink Sniper." Soldier shook his head. “The kid, Doc, hell, even Hardhat.†A man yelled “Help!†They both ran toward the call for help. A group of BLUs had circled Medic. They hadn't harmed him, but were toying with him. Demoman whispered, “Oi thought Doc was dead?†Soldier shrugged. “Maybe he got out, all I heard was screaming and yelling.†Something wasn't right. The Scot couldn't put his finger on it. Why would the Doc run out in the open like that? He knew Medic could handle himself one-on-one, but against two men? And yelling would only attract more of them. Demoman noticed that Soldier was halfway across the open field with his shovel, yelling. It dawned on Demoman that it was a trap. The RED Heavy turned around in time to stop Soldier by grabbing his throat, and all of them chuckled darkly. Even their Medic stood up and dusted himself. The man yelled, “I know you're out zere, drunk, come out and we’ll go easy on you.†Demoman had barely a round left of stickies. He put up his hands and walked toward them. None of them had their weapons pointed at him. Either they were hiding them or were out of ammo. He hoped for the last thought. The enemy Scout ran toward him with his bat ready to swing at his head. “Surrender?†Demoman pulled his launcher out, yelled, “Hell no, lad!â€, and fired a couple of stickies at the kid. Scout panicked and ran back to his teammates. Soldier took his chance to kick Heavy in the stomach. He let the American go and held his stomach, groaning, “I’ll kill baby man.†Spy yelled at Scout, “You idiot, go zat way!â€, pointing away from him. Demoman smirked. Soon Scout was blown to bits everywhere. Heavy's eyes widened. Soldier stood over the Russian. “Good night BABY.†He swung at Heavy, and repeatedly beat him over the head. “Guess they got ta’ ’ave too glue you back together in hell!" Demoman taunted. He looked around, Spy gone into hiding. “Keep watch, the bloody Spook is hiding.†Soldier nodded and wiped his face of Heavy’s blood. Soldier heard the familiar click. He turned to Demoman. “Behind you!†The Scot wasn't fast enough, the enemy Spy had slashed at him. He fell onto the muddy ground. Spy stood over him. “If I go, you go too.†Soldier shoved Spy on the ground. “Forget about me?!†Soldier stood over Spy pointing his rocket launcher directly at the man, who begged, “p-please, I will surrender, ju-just don't hurt me." Soldier smiled. The Frenchman panicked. “You don't have any left!†Soldier laughed. “I never said I was out.†“Mon dieu!†Soldier fired, causing him to rocket jump. Demoman shielded himself from chunks falling on top of him. They did good, better than any would have thought. The Scot stood up and yelled, “Bloody crazy!†Soldier hit the ground. “Shut your mouth, you're just jealous you didn't do it!†Demoman wouldn't admit it but he was. He winced in pain. Spy had gotten him good. Soldier held onto him. “I got you.†Both men limped together back to base to greet their newly-respawned teammates. - Everyone congratulated Soldier and Demoman for winning the match. As promised, they were able to spend Christmas with their loved ones. The halls were busy, everyone getting ready. Soldier sighed. He had nothing to go to, and headed to his room. He sat on his bed polishing his shoes, scrubbing blood and mud off them. There was a knock on his door. He grunted, “Come in.†Demoman’s head popped in. “Ah, you're still ’ere." Soldier set aside his shoes and wiped his hands. “Yes, and probably the week you are all gone.†Demoman chuckled. “Ye always did ’ave aye sense of humor!†Soldier didn't laugh and tossed the rag to the side. Demoman realized he wasn't joking. He regretted mentioning it, but then an idea crossed his mind. His face lit up. Leaning against the door, he said, “Ye know, mama did always want to meet you.†Soldier understood what the Scot meant. He nodded. “Thank you.†----- Prompt: Medic/Soldier/Demoman or any combo in between getting each other's backs in battle, eating together, patching up one another... Basically, being good pockets/team mates despite their differences.
Author’s note: Warning for character death. (Not very Christmassy, but I felt like trying something a little more profound than my usual stuff. I’m not sure I managed, though. Sorry!) ----- Scout knew on the second day that the Spy didn’t. There were worse ways to die than a knife to the heart and Scout knew all of them, had tried almost all of them—getting in the way of the train at Well or caught by the big blades at Sawmill or pushed off the bridge at Double Cross or crushed by a van on Washington Street—but dying to that mocking laugh, dying slowly enough for the Spy to savour his kill, was maybe the second-worst way, because of how the Spy’s laugh stopped when their eyes met. Scout could tell the Spy didn’t know. He wondered, in the eternal moment before respawn, what the Spy saw in his eyes that made him stop laughing. On the fourth day, when the letter from the archdiocese came in the mail, he put it under his pillow so he could slip his hand under to touch it when he woke up in the morning, so he’d know it hadn’t been a bad dream. It took five days for Scout to realise he’d have to be the one to tell the Spy, and when he did, the Spy was waiting for him. In his dark red suit, against the dirty red wall, the RED Spy was almost invisible in the evening shadows without the glowing cherry of his cigarette to give him away, materialising through the Dustbowl downpour like a stain of blood on asphalt. He stood just inside the entrance of the main Cornwell building where the jutting overhang kept the worst of the rain and the red glow of a ‘resupply’ sign off him, unmoving and unmoved, but Scout could tell the Spy was watching his progress across the empty combat zone. The chilling rain was soaking Scout’s shirt, but he didn’t feel it. He felt like there was nothing left to feel at all. He was close enough to hear the soft sound the Spy made when their eyes met again. Not an off-cut laugh this time. A sigh? A sob? The sound of the rain masked it, and when the Spy spoke, his voice was as steady as Scout had ever heard it on the battlefield, a smoker’s-husky baritone, the accent velour over steel. “Come,†the Spy said, turning away. Scout followed him inside, out of the rain but still cold, never not cold anymore. He had never walked into RED Base. Run, feet pounding poured concrete, blood-churned mud, wormy, creaky floorboards, but never walked. It was quiet. That was maybe the freakiest part, how quiet it was, how not-loud, not-yelling, not-exploding, quiet enough to hear the damned rain outside. RED Base smelled differently when there wasn’t a war being fought in it, of smoky old wood, of dusty-sweet mouldy hay, of ancient socks and locker-room sweat and canned food cooking, food-stamp soup and goldfish crackers for dumping into it. Scout jumped when something touched his shoulder. It was the Spy’s hand, cool and gloved, and it was all that kept him from turning back at the memory of Campbell’s stews, of jostling at the dinner table, all eight of them and her. The Spy led him down a dark hall, past the ominously rumbling machines in the sacristy of RED respawn that made his teeth buzz, through a door with an electronic lock, 2-2-2-2, to another door, another lock. Scout could hear faint voices further in, someone laughing five rooms over. The Spy ignored them. He slipped something from inside his jacket, a key, Scout thought, but the lock on this door, marked ‘management’, didn’t fit a key. The Spy chose two wire-thin picklocks from the collection in the small pocket-sized etui instead and undid the door with casual ease, then stood aside to let Scout through first. Courtesy or caution, Scout didn’t know. He told himself it didn’t matter. The room had once been a small office, no bigger than the one Scout had claimed for himself on BLU’s side of the compound. A couple of red suits dangled on coathangers from a peg behind the door, matching trousers folded up neatly under them. There was a scuffed old desk and a chair and a pinboard, faded squares of paint on the wall where filing cabinets had been removed, a bed that was just a collapsible iron frame fitting a thin mattress. A single small photo was pinned to the board, two people hand in hand on a warm summer’s day. In the dwindling grey light from the room’s tiny window, it seemed impossibly bright. Scout winced and looked away. The Spy closed the door behind them. He didn’t turn around. “Tell me,†he said. For a moment, Scout didn’t think he could. Then he couldn’t believe he did. His own voice sounded alien to him, speaking nonsense. He told the Spy, hating the words that left his mouth, hating himself and hoping the Spy would slap him, would punch him hard enough to shut him up and call him a liar, wouldn’t stop hitting him until he was broken and bleeding, looking like he’d run through traffic and met 2.7 tons of navy-blue Chevy on bald BF Goodriches coming the other way. The Spy didn’t hit him. He just reached into his jacket for his cigarette case and shook one out, calm as ever. Scout could hear the soft click of the slim silver Zippo when he lit it. The lighter’s flame didn’t flicker. The Spy still didn’t turn around. “It was rainin’,†Scout said, watching the Spy’s back, wondering if the Spy hadn’t heard him. Scout’d had to ask the BMC nurse to repeat herself twice. Even then, it made no sense what she said until she’d handed the phone over to his brothers and he’d heard the truth in their voices. “The road was wet. There was an accident. It wasn’t no one’s fault.†The Spy took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. A stream of smoke licked the door and plumed towards the ceiling. The Spy watched it dissipate indifferently. “I see,†he said at last. “Thank you.†“’Thank you’?†Scout wasn’t sure he’d heard that right, couldn’t believe the Spy’s nonchalance. The Spy made a noncommittal gesture with the hand cradling the cigarette. “I called on the weekend, “ he said, as if that explained everything. “A stranger answered her phone.†“One ‘a my brothers. They’re stayin’ at her place until we get everythin’ sorted.†Scout frowned at the Spy’s back. He hadn’t expected anything like this. Disbelief, maybe, or anger, or sadness. But the Spy just stood there and smoked his cigarette and said nothing, as if there was nothing to say after what Scout had told him, just ‘thank you’ like Scout had done him some small favour not really worth mentioning. Like he didn’t care, except the only things in this room, the Spy’s room, belonging to him were two suits behind the door and a photo pinned to the wall. Spies meant masks, Scout knew, and maybe the masks in the Spy’s arsenal weren’t all the papery kind. “I thought they’d all laugh at me, y’know?†he tried. “My team, I mean. Like I’m some kinda homesick kid, not a real merc, ‘cause it ain’t like people don’t kick it every day out here. But Sniper, our Sniper, BLU’s, he was waiting for me to finish on the phone, he calls his folks every week and he’s always gettin’ into arguments with his dad and all but he’s still callin’ them, and he just looked at me, right, and I dunno how but he just knew. And I guess I didn’t expect him to care or even say somethin’, he’s not really the talkin’ type, but he was right outta that chair and puttin’ his arm round me. And the others, they didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout it either.†None of his teammates had. They’d all looked at him and said nothing, and the Spy wasn’t saying anything either, wasn’t even looking at him. Scout reached out to pat the Spy’s back like Sniper had awkwardly patted his, then changed his mind. “What I mean to say is,†he mumbled instead, “it’s okay to cry.†The Spy met this revelation with silence too. Scout sighed. “Fucks ya right up, dunnit? Spend enough time out here, ya start thinkin’ everybody’s immortal. Then it turns out they ain’t.†Maybe nobody was, not even the way she’d told him. Every Sunday she’d gone, on her own since he was old enough to make up excuses not to, with a small candle, slender and white and cheaper than the ones they sold after Mass, carefully wrapped in her purse. She’d died there, on the steps of the cathedral, her death hurling out of the rain on screaming tires. Maybe she’d screamed too. The letter, neatly typeset like the letters from BLU, offered the archbishop’s condolences in stilted clichés, and only because it’d happened right on his doorstep. The line copied out of Matthew gave Scout no comfort. If it was true, if there was somebody up there blessing the mourning, why hadn’t He saved her? If Medic’d been there, or Engineer with his machines, or even himself, radium-quick on soda pops, she’d be fine, but they hadn’t. He hadn’t. Not in the rain, not in the hospital after, where the doctors that weren’t Medic couldn’t do what Medic did and the machines that weren’t Engineer’s couldn’t bring her back. He looked at the photo on the board. The corners were creased and dotted with pinholes. Two people holding hands, walking away. “I didn’t get to say goodbye,†he whispered. “There are many things I did not get to say,†the Spy replied softly, though Scout hadn’t really meant for him to hear it. “I think ‘goodbye’ is really the least of them.†â€I never told her. That I knew about the two of you bein’ together, I mean. Didn’t wanna end up like Sniper and his dad.†The Spy turned and looked at him then, his expression undecipherable. “She talked about you, often,†he said. “Of course, for some time I did not know it was you she talked about. You were... an unexpected complication.†“Ain’t the first time.†Scout gave half a laugh, bitterness underlying it. “My dad left, y’know. Before I was born.†“Your father was an idiot.†“Yeah, I ain’t gonna argue ‘bout it, he was.†Scout shrugged, a wordless whatcha-gonna-do? becoming something else, arms wrapped around himself. “Still missed him, when I was little. Used to make up all these stories ‘bout him, pretendin’ he wasn’t just some deadbeat jerk who knocked up my ma and took off when she told ‘im. Kinda stupid, I guess. I had this box I borrowed outta ma’s purse that you could open and there was a tiny mirror inside, and I spent hours starin’ into it, tryin’ to see the part a’ me that was him. Made me feel like he was still there, y’know, like he never really left. I thought maybe if I did it right, he’d come back.†He looked at the photo of her, hand in hand with the Spy, walking away, and something clenched painfully in his chest. “She always said I looked like him.†A gloved hand brushed his chin. He didn’t resist its grip, nonplussed, letting himself be guided. It turned his head gently into the dying light, and in the dirty, rain-flecked windowpanes he saw a hint of his reflection, a silhouette of his face, her face, staring into her eyes, his own. “You look like her,†the Spy murmured behind him. Scout knocked the Spy’s hand away hard enough to unbalance them both. “She’s gone!†It was half a whisper, half a scream, and hearing himself say it, it was suddenly true. He could never take it back. The reality of it stabbed his heart more cruelly than any Milano stiletto. “She’s fuckin’ gone and she ain’t comin’ back either! My ma’s dead!†The window smashed under his fist, shards and blood on his gauze-wrapped hands, on the desk and floor, and then the Spy’s arms were around him. He struggled, hitting the Spy again and again, each punch depleting his strength until all he could do was fist his fingers around handfuls of rumbled silk and muffle himself against the Spy’s shoulder. The smell of the Spy under the smell of the rain and the coppery tang of blood was achingly familiar. Scout buried his face against the angle of the Spy’s neck, breathed in the ghost of her with each heaving sob. Probably the Spy had made a note of her favourite perfume and chosen a cologne he knew she would like, but all Scout could think was of her standing like this, with the Spy’s arms around her like they were around him, the scent of her rubbing off on him and clinging to silk and cotton and skin. He held on to the Spy like he was dying, drowning, choking on grief, and the Spy whispered a helpless, “shh, shh, petitâ€, stroking Scout’s hair like he was consoling a child, pressing tiny kisses to Scout’s ear, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, each gentle peck awkward because they were both the same height. She had done this for him when he was younger, before he learned to pretend it didn’t hurt when it did, kissed his tears away and wiped his face, and maybe Spy had done the same for her, the way he held Scout, not like a child but like someone loved. It was the easiest thing for Scout to turn his head the half-inch it took for their lips to meet, the Spy’s mouth tasting of salt from his tears, warm and soft and parting with a painful, desperate slowness. Scout could feel the Spy’s heart where they were pressed against each other, could feel the Spy’s chest rise and fall as they breathed together, no longer sobbing but still crying. It was only one kiss and a chaste one at that, the Spy whispering against his mouth, “cherie, je t’aime, je t’aime, laisse-moi t'aimerâ€, choked sotto voce ‘I love you’s, for what felt like forever until they drew apart and everything was different. For a while neither spoke. Scout rested his forehead against the Spy’s shoulder, arms looped loosely around him, feeling the cool smoothness of the silk woven into the suit, the slide of the fabric when the Spy moved, the way his own soaked t-shirt stuck wetly to his skin and made the hairs on his arm prickle. He felt the cold, the tears drying in his eyelashes, the Spy’s hands, one at the small of his back, the other at the base of his neck, thumbs rubbing soothing circles. He felt a bone-deep exhaustion. He felt. The crushing numbness of the shock was gone. The grief was still there, burning behind his eyes and threatening to spill more tears, but it was a sorrow shared. Remembering the Spy’s choked voice, knowing his ma had known that love, it was bearable. The Spy exhaled slowly. “I am sorry,†he said, sounding as weary as Scout felt. “It’s okay.†Scout pulled back from their embrace so he could see the Spy’s face, so the Spy could see the sincerity in his. “I ain’t mad or nothin’. I know it wasn’t... wasn’t really me.†“That is what I am sorry for. You are not—I don’t—“ The Spy floundered, apology and explanation tangled in an ineloquent mess until Scout took pity on him. “Look, there was somethin’ you needed to say. I get it.†He offered the Spy a small half-smile, surprised at how easy it came. “Maybe there was somethin’ I needed to hear.†The Spy fell silent, and it was fine. It was a different kind of silence, like the calm after a storm, when everything had been said that needed to. Even the rain had stopped tapping at the window, leaving the air wafting through the broken glass smelling fresh and new. There was only one more thing the Spy needed to be told. “The funeral’s on Saturday,†Scout said. “You gonna be there?†The Spy frowned, hesitant. “I don’t know if—“ “I wouldn’t mind if you were.†Scout look at the photo again, bright in the dark. Two people, hand in hand. “I never liked you. Still don’t. You’re a RED and a back-stabbin’ fuckin’ bastard and I never got what she saw in you. But, just so you know, I think you made her happy. After she met you, she was always smilin’. You could even hear it on the phone, y’know, you could just tell she was. She never said why, but I think it was ‘cause she was thinkin’ of you.†“Thank you,†the Spy said, and this time Scout could believe it. He’d never seen the Spy smile before, genuinely smile, and it was the same kind of smile he’d seen light up her face when she wouldn’t say why. It was a tiny smile, and brief, but he found himself returning it. He knew, the Spy knew, and he knew they’d both be okay. ----- Prompt: BLU Scout and RED Spy: Scout's ma dies, trying to cope.
Shchi da kasha, pisha nasha Writer: ZiGraves Comment: if you’d like to try any of the Heavy’s comfort food, this is a really good resource - http://kitchen.galanter.net/ - Russian food is really very good, and easy to make at home. --- The situation was alien, unthinkable. They were without a Medic, struck down by a sudden stomach flu that rendered him incapable of going out onto the field. After a day’s vicious losses and horrible respawns only to be killed almost instantly again, the REDs realised there was nothing for it. They would have to forfeit and get the Medic back to full health soon, or risk losing their base entirely. The Scout found himself volunteered first for the task of nursemaid. Coming from such a big family, it was reasoned, he’d surely be able to take care of one sick man. There was a clanging noise very shortly after the infirmary doors closed. It sounded similar to a hollow metal object bouncing off a human skull. The doors opened, the Scout stalked out splashed with thin, bilious vomit and a rising lump on his head. “I ain’t doin’ it. None’a my brudders ever threw th’ fuckin’ basin at my fuckin’ head.†He wiped some of the gunk off, splashing the Soldier. “You do it, chucklehead, you’re the one says he needs a friggin’ nurse.†“I will! As a good, hearty American, it is my duty to my team to ensure they are at peak physical condition! Aaaand unlike cowardly little maggots like you, private, I can not be scared off by a mere basin of unknown fluids!†The Soldier marched through the doors, chest puffed out. Muffled screaming could be heard for a few minutes. He marched back out, holding his arm loosely in place where it had nearly been severed and muttering something about UnAmerican Behaviour and Court Martials. He snarled at the Engineer for a Dispenser as he stomped off, and the Texan followed to try and head off the building explosion. The remaining members of RED backed away from the infirmary door, warily. “I can slip drugs into his food and water, but I am not going near the man. My dry-cleaning bill, you understand.†“Mff ff’nt h hyh-hffd fft.†The Demoman and Sniper simply exchanged glances and walked off, rather than protest reasons for not wanting to be trapped in a sickroom with a bonesaw wielding madman and his stomach bug. In the end, it fell to the Heavy to put up with the Medic’s fevered rantings. Only his exceptional resistance to damage and unnatural patience seemed suited to the task of caring for their increasingly cranky doctor. --- When he stepped into the infirmary, he bolted the door shut behind before turning to the Medic, who glared with sullen suspicion from a tangle of sweat-stained sheets. “Doktor will behave. No throwing things. Clear?†“I can look after myself perfectly well! I do not need you in here.†“Does not matter. Doktor will be looked after.†The Heavy ducked his head in a fierce stare and approached the sickbed. There was a very brief scuffle as the Medic attempted to evade his new nurse, which finished with a cunningly concealed bonesaw being bent in half and shoved into a hazardous waste container. “Doktor will be looked after.†This prompted an increase in the both the sullenness and the suspicion that the Medic treated him to, but no further attempts at resistance. The Heavy was methodical - check temperature, check breathing, check pulse. Fetch water, rinse basin, forcibly remove sullen Medic from bed in order to change sheets, replace sullen Medic in fresh bedlinens. Everything was simple and... not precise, at least, the sheets certainly weren’t folded into hospital corners, but it was neatly done. The Medic found it reminiscent of the steady rounds that he’d had to make in his early days at medical school, when he was still treated as little more than glorified janitorial staff until he’d proven his knowledge and skill were worth respect. The Heavy only turned back to him when everything else was finished, including two antipyretic pills sitting on their little white saucer beside the freshly poured glass of water. “Is not so bad, hm?†The Russian pulled up the rickety chair reserved for visitors and perched carefully on it. “Why does Doktor protest?†“Of course, I protest! The- ah,†The Medic groped for the dented tin basin, his stomach interrupting the conversation. “The people on this base are -†“ - are really not fit to -†“ - to be left in charge of a terminally ill dachshund, nevermind a -†“ - a grown man who can fetch his own pills.†The effort of keeping his nausea down enough to talk, and the force with which his stomach fought back only to bring up thin, watery acid, left him shuddering and weak by the end of the sentence. He fell back into his pillows and pawed for the glass of water to rinse the taste from his mouth. The Heavy picked up the glass for him, and pushed the saucer with its pills upon him as well. They would serve to reduce the fever somewhat, if not fully settle his stomach. Reluctantly, the doctor accepted them. It took several tries to swallow, even with water, for his throat was still in a state of rebellion. He settled back more easily into his pillows this time, fetching a book from underneath one of them. It wasn’t long before his attention started to wander, the drowsy effect of the medication not quite enough to send him to sleep, but strong enough to make even reading seem like too much effort and attention. The Medic set the book down after trying to read a single paragraph for the fifth time. Even with the paracetemol and everything else, he felt overheated and achey. His stomach still rolled threateningly, not content to keep even the glass of water down. The Heavy stroked his back as retching wracked his body again. “Poor Doktor. What else can Heavy do to help?†“Ach. Nothing. The Medigun does nothing, the pills barely alleviate the symptoms... you can find whoever carried this into the base so that I may eviscerate them.†Even the venom that tinged his voice seemed washed out. It was oddly touching to see the Medic so vulnerable, when the man was usually swinging wildly between extremes of cackling scientific glee or impatience-fuelled snarling. “Rest. Heavy will fix.†Huge hands pressed the doctor into the pillows and patted his shoulder, and somehow even protesting that little bit of familiarity seemed to be effort beyond reason for the Medic. The Heavy let himself out, and locked the door as he left. No noisy teammates would get in to bother the sick Medic, even if they hadn’t been put off by the initial show of independence that had exhausted him so thoroughly. --- He had a few secret recipes against ill-health, taken with him everywhere he’d been in Asia, Europe, and now into the Americas. They were well known to Russians, but somehow no other people had ever discovered this triad of essential sustenance. The kvass first. He had his own supply, brewed cautiously and hidden away from other teammates who might mistake it for a still and fail to get themselves drunk on bread and water. A doctor he’d met during his very brief time in a gulag said it was full of vitamins, very healthy. Then the kasha, sweetened with milk and honey to make it easier for sick men. Mild, thin porridge. Even the worst fever couldn’t rebel against such an innocuous and life-sustaining dish. Last of all, when the Medic was a little better, shchi. The shchi was the real trick, made with nettles and sorrel picked fresh from nearby, much healthier than the tinned and dried Mann Co rations that only a Soldier could love. The Heavy smiled to himself as he drew a jug of kvass off from his hidden tank. Far better for washing down chalky pills than the base’s flat tapwater that always tasted a bit of chlorine. He hummed cheerfully as he cooked up two bowls of kasha, one for himself to allay the Medic’s paranoia about eating anything unfamiliar. This had always seen his family through sickness and poverty, and seen him through penniless days studying literature at Novosibirsk. A man grew strong on kasha, recovered quickly. When he got back to the infirmary, balancing the tray in one hand while he unlocked the door with the other, his culinary efforts nearly went to waste. The Medic had wrapped himself in his sheets and climbed out of bed, and was even at that moment clawing ineffectually at the catch on the medicine cabinet doors. “Nyet! Bad Doktor! Get back in bed!†The tray rattled as the Heavy set it hastily down to go scoop up the sweating Medic. Despite the pills the fever was worse rather than better, and the Medic groped helplessly after the cabinet as he was carried back to his sickbed. He was complaining in German, a language the Heavy spoke little of. That was perhaps a blessing, allowing the Russian to remain quite unaware of whatever epithets the furious and sickness-addled Medic was piling onto him. He ignored the ravings and just tucked the sheets firmly down, letting the starchy fabric pin the weakened doctor into the bed long enough to go and retrieve the tray. “Come now, Doktor. Keep still, have drink.†The brownish kvass splashed the sheets as the Medic pushed the offered glass away. The Heavy sighed, patience starting to thin. “Look, is good. Settle stomach, make better.†He gulped down the whole glass, and poured another. “See? Now you try.†The Medic snarled some further insult, but accepted the glass with shaking hands. The sweet-sour, beery flavour was strange, but palatable, and his stomach didn’t reject it immediately the way it had rejected the chemical flavoured tapwater. He took slow, wavering sips, wary of another bout of vomiting, abdomen still sore from the constant heaving earlier. He finished half the glass, clutching it carefully in both hands. His temper was much improved just with a little hydration and refreshment. “... thank you.†It was a quiet, reluctant acknowledgement, but by itself was enough to restore the Heavy’s good humour. “Have kasha as well, if Doktor can eat,†he offered in return. “Kasha?†“Is very good! Shchi di kasha, pischa nasha,†the Heavy quoted proudly. “Is grandfather recipe, hundreds of years old. Honey and milk. Good for sick men.†The Medic considered it for a moment, but shook his head. “Too rich. I do not think I could keep it down.†The Heavy shrugged, and fetched his own bowl. It was still hot, kept warm under the tray’s cover, and even though the Medic could not eat his nurse still needed fuel. With the milk and honey it was richer than he’d been able to afford in his student days, subsisting on thin kasha gruel and even thinner shchi, filling and warm. The Medic sipped his way through the rest of the glass of kvass with painstakingly slow care, wincing at the wobbling clink when he set it down. His hands couldn’t seem to keep steady. The Heavy noticed, but decided not to risk offending the doctor’s pride by commenting. The afternoon passed slowly, with a few more desperate grabs for the dented tin basin and another change of sheets when it wasn’t grabbed quite in time, and the Medic drifted off into exhausted sleep by the time everyone else would have been heading to dinner. The Heavy finished the second bowl of kasha rather than leave. The porridge was barely lukewarm, but it was still edible, and still most likely better than whatever unidentified mess the Soldier would be proclaiming to be a ‘nourishing stew’ at that very moment. --- The Heavy had drifted off on his rickety little bedside seat, and was woken late at night by soft whimpers from the sickbed. The Medic was sleeping fitfully, curled up around the basin like a child with a teddybear, hands twitching in the throes of a dream. The Heavy did not want to wake him at first, determined to let the doctor have whatever rest he could get. The doctor seemed to be pleading with something, his voice thin and miserable in the few fragments of words loud enough to be heard. His cries grew more plaintive, until the Heavy could not resist resting a comforting hand on the man’s quaking shoulder. That little touch was enough to jolt the Medic upright, out of sleep, clutching instinctively for comfort and managing to tangle his hands into the Heavy’s shirt as he came up from the depths of whatever nightmare had been haunting him. The situation sank in as his brain caught up with his waking body, and he shoved the Heavy away to throw up noisily into the basin instead. His sweat-soaked shoulders bristled when the Heavy tried to pat his back, his entire demeanour aggressively overcompensating for whatever moment of weakness might have slipped out. The Heavy left him to it, and poured the last two glasses of kvass from the jug. He set one beside the Medic and sipped from his own, waiting until the violent retching had stopped contorting the doctor’s body. The doctor silently accepted the glass after a few minutes, and they sat in silence, staring at the floor or the bed sheets. “What was dream?†the Heavy asked, when the doctor’s shivers had subsided. “Nothing.†“Doktor, Heavy has been to gulag. Has looked after people as they die. Seen many terrible things.†He looked to the Medic, and tried again to offer a comforting hand to the Medic’s shoulder. It wasn’t shrugged off, this time. “Please. Tell Heavy.†“It is nothing, it is- ach, I hate being sick.†The Medic scrubbed tiredly at his face with the heel of his hand, still clutching the kvass with the other. “I cannot even stop myself from vomiting. I have no, no control. I hate having that taken from me.†The sheer loathing in his voice seemed directed at himself as much as at the stomach bug. “Doktor will be better soon. Tomorrow, maybe.†“Not soon enough! I want this done with!†He sipped at the kvass, as much for something to do with his hands - shaking again - as for the sake of thirst. “I cannot rely on you like this.†The Heavy stroked the doctor’s back until he stopped tensing up at every passing touch. “Doktor keeps us all alive, every day. Heavy is happy to return favour, for a few days.†The Medic did not reply, but when he finished his drink and lay back down he seemed a little more comfortable, a little less knotted-up. --- The fever had broken by morning, leaving only occasional spasms of the Medic’s stomach to deal with, and those milder than the previous day’s. He was able to eat the kasha that the Heavy brought him, this time, and keep most of it down. The rest of the team was still warded away from the sickroom, sternly cautioned by a fiercely glaring Heavy that any intrusion would see something far worse than happened to the Soldier. And from the Medic’s perspective that was true, the revelation of his genuine weakness being something he found abhorrent, but no one else needed to know that. No one was quite brave enough to risk crossing both the Heavy and the Medic. By the evening he was recovered enough for the shchi as well, the seemingly thin vegetable soup proving surprisingly filling and warming. The rye bread the Heavy served with it was heavy and dark, and the Medic didn’t ask how he’d managed to hide the necessary baking supplies from the rest of the team. “Heavy.†The Russian looked up from a book of Severyanin’s poetry. The Medic regarded him calmly, and formed his next words carefully. “You have been... very patient with me. And I appreciate it. But if you breathe a word of last night to anyone...†he trailed off with as much threat as a dishevelled man in rumpled bedsheets could manage. The Heavy burst out laughing. “Secret is safe with me! No man shall ever know that Doktor is human like everyone else,†he promised, hand over his heart. “Yes. Well. Thank you.†--- He was still a little pale the next morning, a little wobbly on his feet, but his expression defied anyone to be stupid enough to mention it. No one was quite that brave, and all was quickly forgotten when they went into battle and the Medic took his fury at enforced convalescence out on the hapless opposing BLUs. The Medic returned to his proud, if often manic, bearing. It wasn’t clear exactly what sustained him, now that he routinely refused the greyish rationlump stew the Soldier insisted on serving, and he never answered the question in English. “Shchi di kasha, pischa nasha.†Few on the team spoke enough of any language to notice he replied with a phrase of Russian, rather than German. ----- Prompt: Hurt/comfort about a sick Medic, the pukier the better. He could be suffering morphine withdrawal or food poisoning, or maybe he's just had far too much to drink.
By Cat Bountry. The field in front of Mannworks was littered with the spent husks of automatons, their bloodless corpses shining dully under the light of the moon. Many of the robots’ heads had been removed as war trophies, crudely made helmets or makeshift ashtrays. Closer towards the main building, the RED and BLU teams were gathered together around a bonfire. Cold beers were passed around between them, and the sounds of laughter could be heard over the crackling of the flames. The Scouts were competing with each other to see who can drink more, the Soldiers compared war stories, and the Pyros stared into the flames and murmured to each other. The Demomen laughed and drank and sung, the Heavies sat beside their respective Medics, the Snipers were reserved but otherwise seemed to be enjoying themselves and the Spies stood back and gossiped between each other. But there was only one Engineer, the RED Engineer, who was strumming his guitar idly. BLU Engineer had defected to work for Gray Mann, helping in the construction of the robots they’d fought so tirelessly against. This fact made the BLU team a bit wary of him when they initially teamed up against the robots, looking over him with suspicion. But he’d fought beside them loyally, putting blood and sweat into the construction of his own machines to push the waves of robots back. Now they were seemingly all gone, and there was a sense of relief shared by both teams. Engineer knew that this relief would not last, as he could already feel a sense of uncertainty creeping over him. Where would they go from here? Did they not even notice just how eerily similar they all looked and acted and sounded? Or were they just ignoring it? Out in the distance, past the wooden fences wedged between rocky cliffs, he saw something glint. He blinked, suspecting that it was most likely just moonlight reflecting off of the metal remains of some fallen robot. But the light flickered and moved, and he set down his guitar and stood up. “Oi, Engie!†the RED Demoman called. “Wot’s got inta ye?†“What?†Engineer turned and looked towards the two Demomen. “Oh, uh, s’nothin’. Just wanted t’ get up an’ stretch my legs, is all.†He made his way towards the cliffs, and a few of his teammates watched him leave. “Don’t hurt yerself out there, laddie!†BLU Demoman called out, and the two demolition experts erupted in drunken laughter. Engineer paid them no heed as he made his way towards the light, stepping gingerly over scraps of metal. He stubbed his toe on a Heavybot head, and suppressed a pained yelp as he swore under his breath with minced oaths. He kicked the hunk of metal out of his way, and it clattered against the rest of the debris. When he finally got to the alley between the cliffs, he stopped and scanned the area where he’d thought he’d seen that light. It was dark, and the moon was barely a sliver in the sky. He reached to his face to lift his goggles onto his forehead, but grabbed nothing, realizing they’d already been lifted. As he stumbled around in the dark, one hand against the cliff wall, he looked around for the light he thought he’d seen. Must’ve just been a hunk of scrap catching some moonlight, he thought to himself. He began to turn around, only to feel something grab him by the wrist and pull him back. A hand clamped over his mouth, and he could feel that he was pulled against another human body. “Don’t scream,†said the husky voice in his ear. Engineer recognized it instantly. “I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m gonna let go, an’ we’re gonna talk, all right?†As promised, Engineer’s captor let go, and Engineer twisted around and staggered back a few steps. “It’s you,†he said, a grimace etched on his face. “Th’ hell do you want?†Stepping out from the shadows was BLU Engineer, his expression grim as his mechanical hand spun on its wrist. “I came here to give you a warning,†he said. “Is that right?†asked RED Engineer. “An’ why should I believe anythin’ you have t’ say? You’re a traitor to yer team.†“I did what I had to,†said BLU Engineer. “I wouldn’t expect you t’ understand.†“What’s there t’ understand?†asked RED, arms akimbo. “You abandoned yer team, you ran off t’ work with th’ enemy, you helped construct those robots Grey Mann is sendin’ out t’ destroy us… I’m hard pressed t’ think a’ any good reason you’d have fer doin’ that aside from yer own personal gain.†“I should’ve figured that you’d be so short-sighted,†said BLU with no small amount of disdain. “All I wanted was to end this pointless, petty conflict.†“By killin’ us all?†asked RED Engineer. “By killin’ yer own teammates?†BLU Engineer went silent, his jaw set. He, unlike RED Engineer, was still wearing his goggles over his eyes, making them unreadable. “That’s what I thought,†said RED, nodding. “So what’s this warning, then? You comin’ t’ finish th’ job?†“Not me,†said BLU. “I… look, you jus’ need t’ get on outta here. Leave. Go home. There ain’t gonna be anythin’ good comin’ to you if you stick around these parts. Grey… he’s got somethin’ up his sleeve. He’s fixin’ to destroy not jus’ Mann Co., but you fellas personally. He’s mad as hell an’ he’s out for blood.†“You tryin’ t’ scare me?†RED asked, crossing his arms. “If you bein’ scared means you get a chance t’ run while you still can, then yeah, I am,†said BLU. “Listen, things… things weren’t supposed t’ go this far. I had my reasons…†“I’m sure you did,†RED said with a sneer. “Would you just shut it?†BLU snapped, lunging towards RED with his robot hand outstretched, just shy of RED’s shirt collar as RED backed up against the cliff wall. “You might think you can face this, but you listen t’ me, son; you can’t. I helped build this thing he’s fixin’ t’ use on you, and you can’t lick this thing. You REDs, you could get lucky, you might be able t’ survive, if respawn holds out, but BLU…†he slunk back a bit, hanging his head. “Jus’ leave. Let th’ real army handle this. They could probably nuke it…†“What is this thing?†RED asked. “Another robot?†BLU heaved a sigh. “Yeah,†he said. “But this one’s bigger. Nastier. You’d need a nothin’ short of a squadron of tanks t’ take this thing out. Gray’s callin’ it his ‘Last Measure.’†“Last Measure?†“His initial name for it was his ‘Final Solution,’ but he decided against it ‘cause of… well… you know…†BLU Engineer was gesturing by rotating his mechanical wrist, and finally just waved off the train of thought as though it were a cloud of dust. “That don’t matter. Point is, you need t’ get out of here. Soon as you can, before it comes here. If you fight it… well, best case scenario is that RED Respawn doesn’t get destroyed. BLU Respawn…†“We already rigged th’ Respawn so that BLU could use it,†said RED Engineer. “If Respawn gets destroyed, we’d be at about th’ same risk, but it won’t be.†“You sure about that?†asked BLU. His tone was almost threatening, and RED shifted under BLU’s steely gaze. “L-look,†said RED, “we took on all those robot waves. We even beat back th’ giant Engie bot.†“So you did,†said BLU Engineer flatly. His eyes were boring into Engineer, making him feel like an ant under a magnifying glass on a sunny day. “An’ Gray knows that. He’s been watching you, trust me. He’s poured everythin’ into this new one. This is th’ end game, pardner. He’s playin’ fer keeps.†“Now you listen here!†said RED, jutting a finger towards BLU and pointing it to the underside of the other man’s chin as though it were the barrel of a gun. “I don’t take kindly t’ threats, mister. I don’t see one darn reason I should even be listenin’ t’ you in th’ first place, seein’ as you’ve proved yourself t’ be as trustworthy as a skunk. How do I even know yer not fixin’ t’ have us run off so’s you an’ Gray Mann can jus’ waltz right in an’ seize Mann Co.?†“Because you an’ I both know that Mann Co. ain’t worth dyin’ for,†said BLU, gripping at RED’s wrist with his Gunslinger and directing RED’s hand away from his head. “Is that how you wanna die, Dell? Defendin’ some God-forsaken hat factory like a sucker?†RED’s resolve instantly began to wilt as he rubbed his sore wrist. “I know you have better things worth dyin’ for, Dell,†said BLU. “You don’t-†RED started, but faltered again. “I… I need all th’ money I can get. You don’t understand…†“So do I,†said BLU. “I daresay we’re in very similar predicaments, you an’ I.†“How could you possibly know that?†RED shot back, looking like a wounded animal backed into a corner. BLU said nothing for a moment. Again, his face was nearly impossible to read, his mouth drawn out in a thin, taut line on his face. RED Engineer wasn’t sure if the eyes behind those goggles were looking to him or… something else. Only God knew for sure. “I think you an’ I both know th’ answer t’ that,†said BLU softly. “You’ve thought about it an’ considered it. An’ you’ll be thinkin’ it again as soon as you go back t’ the others.†RED didn’t say anything, and let his wrist slide out of his gloved hand as both arms dropped to his side. He looked down at the ground, to the robot feet and tire tracks still pressed into the earth like gashes cut into flesh. “Go back an’ tell them somethin’s comin’,†said BLU. “Give them a choice, at least. You can do that much. As fer you, I’d advise you t’ leave here while you can. You have your family t’ think about.†The RED Engineer lifted his head and looked to BLU. “You… how do you…?†“I know,†said BLU. “I trust you’ll make th’ right choice, when it comes on down to it.†Now RED Engineer found himself at a loss for words, cringing at the scenarios playing out in his head. All he could do was give a shaky nod, and choke out a strained “yeah,†in response. “Good,†said BLU. “Thank you. For hearin’ me out.†Again, RED Engineer could say nothing. He looked back to BLU. “I should leave,†said BLU, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really shouldn’t be here. Gray… well, he’d probably kill me if he found out I was here. I should leave before he starts suspectin’ somethin’.†“Yeah,†said RED. “That’d… that’d be smart.†BLU Engineer took a deep breath, and tipped his hat towards RED. “See you around then, pardner,†he said, and started to make his way back further into the alley. RED watched him, unsure of what to do, and saw BLU stop in his tracks, and turn around. “Hey,†said BLU Engineer, removing his hard hat. “You think… maybe you could do me one more favor?†“What is it?†asked RED Engineer. BLU Engineer took a deep breath, and looked down to his yellow hardhat in his hands. “You think… you think maybe you could tell BLU that I’m sorry?†“Not sure what good it’ll do,†said RED Engineer, his tone sour. “Tell ‘em anyway,†said BLU. “I don’t care if they accept it or not.†RED Engineer nodded. “Yeah, all right,†he said. “I’ll tell ‘em.†A ghost of a smile flickered over BLU Engineer’s haggard face. “Much obliged,†he said, and put his hardhat back over his bald dome. “Good luck t’ you, Mr. Conagher.†With that, he turned back around, and walked away. Engineer straightened up, no longer leaning against the wall of the tiny canyon, and watched as BLU Engineer was swallowed by the darkness. He looked back over the field, towards the bonfire. His heart sank, thinking of the friends he’d made with RED, and the eerily similar counterparts from BLU who had so grown on him. He took a few deep breaths, mentally steeled himself, and walked back to the field, homing in on the light of the bonfire like a moth. It wasn’t over. Not just yet. ----- Prompt: "The robots have been defeated. What now?" No particular character preferences, open to all ratings.
Below this post are NSFW stories.
Saudade * Scout pressed the phone receiver to his ear, listening with anticipation as each ring rang into the next. Around him partygoers jostled past, laughing and chatting. There were sounds of breaking glass and the incessant thrum of revelry. Alcohol muted his senses, but he still aware. Aware enough know he wanted them gone. To be left alone in this lavish apartment, which, somehow, didn’t feel quite like home. Someone pushed past, bumping straight into Scout. He staggered forward, grabbing velvet curtains to steady his balance, tearing a long large rip in the process. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the sounds coming through that phone. He pressed the receiver closer to his ear, straining to hear the tone over the clamour. There was a click, and then a pause long enough to make Scout wonder if he’d been disconnected. To his relief a familiar voice joined the line; the southern drawl unmistakable. “Howdy?†Scout exhaled in relief, he pressed the phone closer, desperate not to miss a word. “Engie! Engie, that you?†There was an extended silence and then, “Scout... We’ll I’ll de darned. Never thought we hear from you again. How you doin’, boy?†“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Great actually. Couldn’t be bettah.†Scout slurred. He shook his head, trying to stay sober enough to follow the conversation. “Well. That’s good to hear. You know, me and the fellahs here were a little worried about ya. Y’know, after the accident…†“Yeah…†Scout swallowed. “Don’t worry ‘bout that. I can handle myself. I ain’t broken.†“That’s good to know. You’ve always been a tough kid.†An awkward silence hung between them. Scout twirled the phone cord around his fingers nervously, summoning the courage to ask the next question. His abrupt departure from the Builders League United had not been a decorous one. Bitter words and violent blows had been exchanged, with his closest colleagues bearing the brunt of his vitriol. Regret lingered. Drinking only seemed to intensify his remorse. He clutched at the phone handle so hard he could hear the plastic casing crack. “Hey listen, I was kinda wondering. Is Spy around? Could I talk to him for a minute.†Another pause. “Ah, sorry to disappoint you, son. He’s been gone for a few days now. On leave as far as I know.†Scout sagged against the wall. “Oh…†“But hey, maybe I could take a message for ya? I’m sure he’d be happy to know you called.†Scout ran fingers though his hair, mulling Engie’s words over. “Yeah, okay. Could you tell him… †Scout hesitated. His mind overflowed with memories, feelings, but nothing he could properly articulate. He was momentarily distracted by a sudden crash of a chandelier. By now the party had descended into a chaotic frenzy. Fuelled by a near bottomless supply of liquor, his guests were making short work of his apartment. It was only a matter of time before the authorities showed up. “Sounds like you’re keeping busy,†the Engineer chuckled. Scout managed an empty laugh. “Yeah, I just have a few pals over.†“A few?†Engineer asked incredulously. Scout suddenly felt very tired. What else was there to say? He had a new life now. Maybe it was better that the past stayed far behind him. Time had a nasty habit of moving forward, with or without him. “Listen, don’t worry about Spy. I guess I’ll call another time. Catch you later.†“Well, okay then…†Scout thought he caught Engineer begin to say something before he carelessly hung up, dropping the receiver back on the phone. It bounced and fell off the table, dangling by the cord and hummed the tinny sound of a dial tone. Scout fumbled as he retrieved his crutches, making sure not to stumble on the scattered shards of broken glass littering his carpet. With a heavy sigh he limped forward and back into the crowd. * Morning came. Blinding light filtered through Scout’s windows, distorted only by the hairline cracks radiating through the doubled paned glass from an unfortunate baseball incident. It was winter and white frost tinged the edges of the glass. It was an oddly tranquil vision. The light exposed the night’s wreckage. Debris littered the floor, furniture was tipped over, and his bespoke jukebox crackled as damaged record skipped on an endless loop. Scout cracked his eyes open, unprepared for the wave of nausea that washed over him. He lay sprawled on the couch, his sore limbs spread awkwardly across its lumpy contours. He groaned and placed a cushion on his face, trying to avoid the searing light that was assaulting his retinas. He was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu. How many times had he awoken to this same scene? His nights of partying and days of recovery were blurring into one continuous moment. He wasn’t sure how much longer it could continue. It was mornings like this when he missed his team the most. He missed the rustic architecture of their ever-changing bases. He missed the thin military-issue pillows which were surprisingly comfortable after a hard day on the battlefield. Despite their hefty pack-packages, there were few luxury provided for the men on site. It was only basic amenities and longs nights discussing strategy over a game of poker. He especially missed his eclectic group of teammates. Each unhinged with their own eccentricities, and yet perfectly complimentary, not only as a combat unit, but also as friends. Most of all, he missed one insufferable Frenchman… Scout attempted to suppress the tide of melancholy rising up in him. It was time to move on. That part of his life was over. He gingerly sat upright, getting a proper look at the devastation. To his relief the party guests had left. Their interest screeched to a halt as soon as the music had stopped and the booze ran dry. Scout couldn’t say they were friends of his. Most he barely recognised. They were simply gatecrashers that had caught wind of a house party in uptown Boston. It had now had become a regular event, much to the ire of his pretentious neighbours. The consequences of his wild nights were catching up with him. Scout was desperately in need of a glass of water. He moved to leave the couch only to discover his crutches were halfway across the room. He glanced down at his legs with irritation. The pant leg of his left calf was tied in a knot, just below the knee, hanging uselessly in the space where his leg used to be. It was his fault. A hard fact that Scout had yet to fully accept. At the time Scout had only a vague understanding of Mann Co’s respawn system. Dimly he could appreciate the profundity of an invention that allowed a man to be shot, stabbed, eviscerated, incinerated, even blown apart down to the molecular level and yet still recover in time for the next battle. But, like most things in his life, Scout had taken it for granted. If it kept him alive, and they continued to pay him for his services, who was he to question it? Scout was never much of a thinker. He didn’t stop to think where the boundaries were. He never thought to wonder how far the protective radius of this technology extended. In hindsight he should have pestered Engineer on the details, but of course it was too late now. Scout was never a thinker, but he did know how to take risks. By chance Scout had discovered that if he snuck through the wire fencing that surrounded the compound he could make a clean break for the opposing base, thus avoiding enemy fire. He didn’t think of it as cheating. It was more like ‘strategic warfare’. At first it worked. He was able to run around the perimeter and re-enter from the back, giving him a clear shot for the intel, all the while remaining undetected. However, it wasn’t long before the enemy cottoned on. For some reason they didn’t appreciate his underhanded tactics. Scout had the ability to elude the boundaries. It turns out, so could stickybombs. It wasn’t until the ringing in his ears had stopped did he realise that something was terribly wrong. He hadn’t awoken in respawn with a scattergun in his hands as he had so many times before. The smoke was clearing and pain unlike any other took the breath from him. A hastily made tourniquet had saved his life, but the damage had been done. No respawn, no medigun, no technology of Mann Co could restore him to his former self. Now he couldn’t stand to look at his disfigurement. The consequences were permanent and it remained an eternal memento to his hubris. Scout wasn’t keen to crawl through broken glass, so he flopped back on the couch in defeat, annoyed at the world and its many injustices. He closed his eyes, ready to succumb to his weariness. A shallow sleep tugged at his consciousness, pulling him from reality. Three loud knocks thudded against his door. Scout’s eyes shot open; the sound rattled his brain. He lifted the cushion from his face and wearily craned his neck to look at the door. He froze, hoping that his silence would discourage the stranger. Often opportunistic party guests would return, either hoping to continue the celebration, or looking for lost property. This morning Scout had no energy for it. Another knock echoed through the room, more persistent than the first. After a short pause the door handle began to rattle. Scout was mildly alarmed by this attempted break-and-enter. “Get lost!†He shouted, his voice hoarse. “The party’s over. Jeeze! Can’t a guy get some peace around here?†He was confident enough that the locks were sturdy enough to keep the intruder out, which only doubled his surprise when the latch clicked and the door swung open. He scrambled to right himself and in his haste toppled off the couch. From the floor he had the perfect view of the stranger’s polished Italian leather shoes. He blinked once before his eyes traveled further. His heart began to pound when he recognised the cut of a very familiar pinstripe suit. Leather gloves straightened cufflinks, and a face shrouded in a thick woollen scarf and balaclava took time to look around the room in interest. The man plucked a cigarette from his lips and exhaled. A plume of smoke enveloped him like a shroud. “So, this is where you have been where you have been hiding all this time. How quaint.†Scout sat up, jaw open in astonishment. “Spy!?†“It was far too easy to find you. I would advise you to be more careful not to advertise whereabouts. Anyone with unfinished business could come looking for you.†Scout’s shock was fast turning to anger. A headache had settled in his brain, gripping his skull with a splitting pressure. He balled his hands into fists, unprepared for the flood of emotion Spy’s presence brought. “So, what? You came all this way to tell me how to live my life? Fuck off. I already have a mother.†Spy smirked, untroubled by Scout’s cold welcome. Always a man of composure, the older man carried himself with ease, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He took care to step over broken glass and properly examined Scout’s odd assortment of furnishings. He took particular interest Scout’s extensive collection of rare sporting memorabilia – an extravagant purchase for a young man with such a humble upbringing. He ran a gloved finger down the glass casing of an autographed baseball bat, tapping it in thought. “I can see you have spent your money wisely.†Scout climbed back onto the couch, pressing a palm to his throbbing temple. He watched Spy’s movements warily. “Am I hearing this right? You’re gonna lecture me on money? You don’t see me buying fifty pairs identical suits. I never though a guy could have more shoes than my Ma.†Spy only smiled. “Never underestimate the power of a well-tailored suit.†He turned to face Scout. He gaze travelled downwards and to Scout’s discomfort lingered on his missing leg. The young man turned away, self-consciously crossing his legs to hide his injury. “Why are you here?†He muttered. “It is so unusual for an old associate to pay a visit? You have not been forgotten.†Scout laughed wryly. “Like I’m gonna believe that. I bet you’ve already replaced me with some wannabe track athlete.†Spy was courteous enough to collect Scout’s crutches and hand them back to the man. Their hands briefly touched as Scout took hold of them, causing a peculiar fluttering sensation to jolt through him. As hard as he tried not to let it, Spy always had a way of getting under Scout’s skin. He sat next to Scout and lit up another cigarette, observing him in thought. “There is still a position for you at BLU.†Scout thought about that for a minute before he snorted. “So this what this is all about? You’re gonna let me answer phones or something because you feel sorry for me? Well fuck you! I don’t need your pity.†In his indignation, Scout attempted to stand from the couch. It wasn’t quite as dramatic as he hoped. He awkwardly leaned his weight on the crutches and limped away from Spy, who remained seated, smoking his cigarette in nonchalance. “No. That is not what I mean. Your old job is still waiting for you, if you choose to accept it.†Scout stopped in his tracks, not believing what he was hearing. He jabbed a finger in his ear and wiggle it around, as if to dislodge the stupidity of the suggestion. “Um, okay, are you blind?†He made a wild gesture towards his feet, wobbling with the movement. “I’m missing a freaking leg! And forget whatever Medic told you, it ain’t growing back. I’m a fucking cripple! Do you expect me cap points by hopping on them? Am I going to crawl to the intel? Jesus Christ.†Scout turned away. He couldn’t let Spy see him lose it. He retreated to the bathroom, fighting back tears. “I may be a cripple, but I’m not a moron. Don’t fuck with me.†He slammed the door shut behind him and buried his face in his hands. * Scout sank into the bath, his mind running a mile a minute. Spy hadn’t followed after him with any explanation, which was only added insult to injury. He was acutely aware that the older man was still waiting in his apartment for god knows what reason, and he was still fuming at Spy’s absurd suggestion that Scout had any chance of returning to the team. Scout had played plenty of cruel jokes in his time, but not even he would have done something so low. Spy. Scout didn’t understand that man. Where did they stand with each other? He’d never known such a double-dealing, arrogant, sophisticated and utterly magnetic person. When he had first been introduced to this strange, well-spoken Frenchman, Scout was perplexed. He’d never met anyone quite like him. Of course it didn’t take long for Scout to resort to childish teasing (what kind of queer wears a suit into a battlefield?). Spy was impervious to Scout’s taunts, and could always counter the harsher insults with a witty retort, often leaving Scout the butt of the joke. What surprised Scout the most was how well he handled himself. Despite his odd tactics, Spy was a surprisingly effective mercenary. Scout had to admit a begrudging respect to him. Their friendship had grown, and with it an odd sense of longing for something more. Scout ignored it, and was quick to suppress any of the more uncomfortable urges he felt. He always feared that someone would question his fixation, but it never stopped him from seeking Spy’s company. Somehow he always felt secure in his presence. Spy’s unexpected appearance had only dredged up those odd feelings, stirring them back into his mind. He sunk deeper into the bath, letting the water slosh over the sides and form puddles of the tiled floor. The warmth had taken the edge off his hangover. He wasn’t feeling quite so wretched now. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, feeling the tension ease from his muscles. There was a light tap on the door, before Spy ducked his head in. He had removed his jacket, looking unusually casual in his button vest and rolled-up sleeves. “Whoa!†Scout quickly moved to cover himself. “You ever heard of privacy? Or don’t they have that in France?†Spy stood in the doorway, clearly not bothered by Scout’s state of undress. “I apologise if I upset you. It was not my intention.†“This is how you apologise?! How about waiting until I have some pants on?†Spy leaned against the doorframe, hands in pockets. A sly smile tugged at his lips. “We are both men here. There is no reason to be embarrassed. When you are ready I have something to show you.†“Uh…†Scout blinked, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He looked away, unable to meet Spy’s gaze. “I can see I have once again overstepped the boundaries. Pardon my intrusion.†Spy lingered a moment longer than necessary before the door snapped shut, leaving Scout alone in the room once again. Scout exhaled, unaware that he had been holding his breath. “Jeeze…†he murmured before leaning backwards, submerging his head under the water. * When Scout finally emerged from the bathroom, hair wet and a towel draped on his shoulders, he had to stop and double-take. For a second he wondered if he had walked into the wrong apartment. Furniture had been turned upright and neatly pushed back to their original positions. There was no longer litter strewn across the floor and every surface gleamed with a freshly polished sheen. Heck, someone had even bothered to wipe the windows. It was spotless. Scout couldn’t remember the last time he had seen it this clean. A heavenly aroma wafted from the kitchen. Entranced by the smell of home-cooked food, Scout followed his nose to find Spy pouring batter into a hot buttered pan. This made only slightly more ridiculous by the fact that he was wearing the floral apron Scout’s mother had left behind. “You cleaned my apartment?†Spy shrugged, flipping a crepe with a practiced flick of the wrist. “It was filthy.†“C’mon man, you’re not my freakin’ maid.†He hobbled over to a bar stool, rested his crutches against the table and seated himself at the counter just as Spy slid his freshly made crepe on a plate to join the pile. He pushed it towards Scout and gestured towards an assortment of condiments. “Bon appétit.†“What kind of guy breaks into someone’s house and starts cooking for him?†Scout poked the thin pancakes suspiciously before he gabbed a bottle of maple syrup and slathered it in the viscous liquid. He took one bite and his eyes fluttered shut in pleasure. He began to shovel mouthfuls in, barely pausing for a breath. “They are good, non?†“Goddamn,†said Scout, mouth stuffed. “Break into my house more often, okay?†Spy looked pleased with himself. He cleared the bench and hung up the apron while Scout ate, content to watch the boy. The silence was comfortable between them. When it was apparent that Scout was suitably fed, Spy produced a nondescript brown package, placing it on the table between them. “What’s that?†Asked Scout, wiping his chin “An item that might interest you.†Scout raised an eyebrow at Spy’s cryptic response. He lifted it up, getting a sense of its weight. “Is this supposed to be some kind of Christmas present?†“Perhaps.†“If it’s socks I’m gonna kick your ass.†He ripped off the tape and opened the box, pulling out packing foam to get a proper look at this mystery item. At first he was confused. It just appeared to be machine parts. They gleamed in metallic gold, catching the light when he tilted his head. Removing more foam revealed it in its entirety. He paused and slowly looked back at Spy. “Is this…†Spy nodded. “Built by none other than our Engineer. Good craftsmanship takes time, so he apologises for the delay.†Scout lifted the contraption from the box, his chest tight with emotion. The design was unusual, that was for sure, but Scout recognised a prosthetic limb when he saw one. It had a flexible metal shin, with a curved blade extending outward, flaring at the base. It was the perfect size and height for Scout’s stature and was deceptively light to hold. Scout turned it over in awe. “What the hell is this made from?†“Australium.†Scout nearly dropped it in surprise. “Aus… Australi… you can’t be serious! This would cost-“ “An arm and a leg?†Spy suggested. Scout stopped for a beat before glowering at Spy. “You’re an asshole.†“So I have been told. Perhaps we should see if this fits? I would hate to find out that we have wasted our money.†The found themselves back at the couch. Spy kneeled at Scout’s feet, taking on the strangely intimate task of attaching the false limb. Initially Scout was hesitant at exposing his stump, but Spy had assured him that he has seen far more graphic injuries in his time. Scout rolled up his pant leg, allowing Spy access to tighten the straps around this thigh. Raised white scars crisscrossed along the wound mottled with burn marks, a souvenir of the impact trauma. Scout sucked in a shallow breath as Spy’s fingers glided across his skin, looping leather though gold buckles, securing the prosthesis. “Is this comfortable?†He asked. “Yeah, I think so.†Scout has lost some sensation around that area so it was hard to judge. He flexed his knee and to his amazement the leg followed suit. Scout straightened in his seat, stunned by this development. “Holy shit, I think it’s working!†He laughed, unable to contain his elation. Spy smiled, cradling the valuable limb in his hands. “I am glad.†The crouching man glanced up and their eyes connected. Something electric rippled through Scout. He watched, wordless as Spy pressed a kiss against the cool metal of his prosthetic and slowly worked his way upwards. Soon he was trailing kisses along his thigh, then chest. Long arms reached around to pull Scout closer. Scout closed his eyes and tilted his neck as Spy placed his lips against his throat, shivering as warm breath ghosted across his skin. Taking initiative, Scout gripped the man's necktie, tugging him forward. Spy’s eyes widened in surprise before their lips pressed together. The sensation of Spy’s mouth against his unlocked something inside of Scout. He melted into the embrace, forgetting for a moment that they were two grown men. Forgetting they ever worked together and really trying not to think about what his mother might say if she saw this. He held on to the man like his life depended on it, the kiss imbuing new strength into him. Their kiss grew increasingly impassioned. The fabric of Spy’s balaclava rubbed against his face, and the older man took the liberty of running a hand up Scout’s shirt, exploring the form of the young man’s body. Scout bucked against Spy, relieved to finally have the chance. They parted for air and Scout was taken aback by the desire he saw reflected in Spy’s face. “Let me please you.†Said Spy, his voice deep and heavily accented. Who could refuse a request like that? Scout swallowed and nodded, his hands gripping the leather of the couch as Spy slid down his body, tugging at the elastic of his knickerbockers. “Oh shit.†Scout sucked in a sharp breath, trying to control himself as Spy pulled Scout’s pants and underwear down past his hips, exposing him to the cool air and revealing just how eager the young man was. Scout watched, transfixed as Spy kissed the head of his erection. He gave the boy a smouldering stare. “You are beautiful,†he said, before taking Scout in his mouth. Scout’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He arched his spine, choking back a gasp. He had played this scene so often in his imagination, but the reality was far more overwhelming than he dared to believe. He dug his fingernails into the couch, knuckles white and his heart thumping in his chest. Spy’s eyes were closed, taking his time to savour the young man. How long had Spy wanted this? He licked a slow trail up Scout’s cock, teasing him and chuckling softly. “Oh fuck man, oh shit.†Scout’s lexicon contained little more than obscenities now. Spy increased his pressure, switching from his languid pace into one with purpose. Scout couldn’t last long with Spy’s velvet soft mouth wrapped around him like that. The man pulled back, sensing Scout was reaching his limit. He muttered filthy foreign words, finishing Scout off with his hand. “Look at me†he commanded. Scout met Spy’s gaze, his eyes half lidded and face flushed. The intensity in Spy’s expression pushed Scout over the limit. He came in spasms, his muscles tensing and his mouth open in bliss. Scout leaned his head back as he caught his breath. He stared at the ceiling in a daze while he allowed Spy to pull his pants back up over his hips. Spy stood and wiped his hands with a handkerchief, only leaning back down to place a kiss against Scout’s temple. “Thank you,†he said. Scout couldn’t move. “Uuuhhh.†Spy sat beside Scout, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he waited for the man to gain his bearings. He took one of Scouts hands, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Perhaps I am being hasty here, but I am curious to see how well you move with your new leg.†Scout’s heart slowed to a normal pace. It took a moment before he realised Spy was talking to him. “Huh? Oh, yeah…†Scout was struck with an enormous sense of relief. The crushing weight that had been pressed against him for so long had now lifted. He wasn’t sure what the appropriate course of action was now, but thankfully Spy didn’t seem to have any expectations. “Go on,†Spy encouraged. “Stand for me.†Scout look down at his legs, one flesh and the other cold hard metal. He thought about Engineer’s own prosthetic hand, affectionately named the Gunslinger. It was alien to look at and frigid to touch, yet it was just as dexterous and twice as durable as any flesh and bone could be. It was reassuring that the same man was responsible for the equipment now strapped to Scout’s thigh. Scout took a deep breath and looked back at Spy, still a little embarrassed about recent events. With a slight wobble he rose to his feet. He stood tall and unassisted for the first time in months. It was exhilarating. Scout took a shaky step forward, the prosthesis clicked against the ground, finding purchase on the carpet. Spy beamed at him, looking just as euphoric as Scout was feeling. It was peculiar walking on this thing. It certainly wasn’t the same as standing on his own two feet. The straps held the leg securely in place, and the curved blade had a spring to it, which Scout would need time to adjust to, but otherwise it was functional. The impulse to break out in a jog was strong, but he knew he needed a lot more practice with this device before he was ready to attempt it. “Are you seeing this?†Scout tapped his false leg against the floor. “I’m fuckin’ walking over here!†“It is a miracle,†said Spy as he approached Scout, pulling him into another kiss. * Scout had his suitcase packed and ready beside him. He took one last look at the apartment before closing the door shut, glad to be leaving it behind. It hadn’t taken long for him to adapt to his new leg. In a way it was advantageous. It was light, resilient and most importantly, bullet and fireproof. Spy’s visit had been brief, but Scout knew he would see him again when he returned to the base. He still wasn’t entirely sure where they stood with each other, but he knew he had plenty of time now to figure it out. For the first time in a long time he was content. He flipped the key in the air, grinning as he made his way to the elevator. Scout was ready for duty. ----- Prompt: Spy/Scout, prosthetic limb Scout.
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Author's note: The prompt was "Rather casual but awkward! sex, (weird nosies, accidental elbowing, head bumping, "not neccessarily awesome sex"). Preferable in a funny/comical way but it could be just painfully awkward if that's more of your thing. Any of these classes: Scout, Demoman, Heavy, Engineer, Sniper." I chose Scout and Heavy. I hope you enjoy it, giftee! Happy wintertime from Joe. :) ----- When the team had found out about Heavy's sexual preference, they said nothing. The man was a muderous giant, after all, and he had done nothing unsavory in their presence, so they mostly pretended not to know. Scout, however, wasn't one to let things like that go lightly. He confronted Heavy, who was already defensive about his homosexuality from years of persecution, but the conversation took an unexpected turn when the American asked if he could explore his own preferences with him. Not having had a lover in several years, Heavy was hesitant but not unwilling, and so they ended up in the Russian's bedroom. "You are sure you want to do this?" Heavy asks, stripping off his clothing far more slowly than the younger man. "Yeah, totally. I ain't scared. It's just sex, right?" he looked the taller man in the eye as he pulled a sock off. "да, just sex," Heavy replies, eyes tracing Scout's lean, muscular body. That T-shirt he wore in battle did his physique no favors, if those abs and pecs were what was hiding underneath. He is snapped from his thoughts, though, when Scout finishes undressing and tugs at Heavy's pants. "You're even slow off the field," he comments, getting his hands slapped away as Heavy pulls his pants and underwear off. It's Scout's turn to stare, then. "Friggin' hell," he breathes, "is that a weapon?" Heavy chuckles. "Do not worry about that," the Russian hums, tugging the smaller man to his bed, "only do what feels good." "Yeah, okay," Scout nods, crawling into heavy's lap when the older man sits. They start with kissing; Scout is hesitant to do much else, Heavy notices. To encourage him, he lets his hands wander, over Scout's back, along his sides, over his rear. Scout's cock begins to plump, and he moans softly into Heavy's mouth, pushing the older man against the wall and moving his hips against Heavy's. He gets a little too enthusiastic, though, and knocks Heavy's head against the wall. "Ouch," Heavy grunts, rubbing the sore spot. Scout looks sheepish. "Whoops," he grins nervously, but Heavy just sighs. "Is alright. We try again," he says, shifting into a different position, and they resume making out. "Oh, God," Scout moans, finally finding a good rhythm to rut against Heavy's body. "Stay. Stay like that." Heavy grumbles, pushed again into an awkward pose. He moves to sit up. "нет, is bad for back." "Hey hey whoa," Scout protests, slipping sideways off Heavy's body. He grabs a handful of chest hair to keep himself from falling off the bed entirely, and Heavy shouts in pain. "Stupid," the Russian growls, lifting the smaller man by the scruff of his neck, "what do you think you are doing?" "I was tryin' ta--screw it. Are we gonna fuck proper or not? I'm startin' to think this is a lost cause," the American huffs, crossing his arms and pouting like a child. Heavy grunts and rolls his eyes, setting the smaller man on his back on the bed. When he tries to sit up, Heavy pushes him back down and spreads his thighs. Scout tenses. "You're not gonna... you're not gonna put that thing in my ass, are ya?" he stammers, eyes locked on Heavy's thick erection. "Shut up," Heavy says, exasperated with the tiny, mouthy man, and kneels down to take Scout's cock in his mouth. "Ffff-f-fuck," Scout whimpers, lifting his hips to feel more of that wet heat, but Heavy puts a firm hand on his stomach, keeping him from moving too much. Scout doesn't complain. instead, he writhes under that practised mouth, making noises he'd never make in front of his teammates, but he can't help it; not here, not now, with Heavy's tongue swiping saliva over his cockhead and hands touching him in places he never realized could be so sensitive. Heavy grins around Scout's erection, glad the encounter is finally moving in a pleasurable direction. He loves this level of control; making his partner helpless to do anything but chase their pleasure. The hand on Scout's stomach moves slowly, from a firm grip to a gentle stroking, rubbing the soft skin in circular motions and delighting in the twitch of muscles. Heavy's other hand works the shaft and travels down to the balls, massaging the hairy skin. Scout whines, curling his fingers and toes in the sheets as Heavy sucks him. His back arches when the larger man takes him deep into his throat, and he nearly shouts at the feeling. "Fuck," he mumbles, his tone shredded by passion. He reaches out, putting a hand on Heavy's cheek. "Fuck," he says again, and Heavy understands, nodding just enough for Scout to see. He moves his hand from Scout's stomach to his thigh, teasing the skin as his other hand moves to stroke his perineum and scrotum. Scout bites his lip, and comes in the giant's mouth with a strangled grunt. When he's finished, he collapses, limbs lying limply at his sides. Heavy gets up and picks up a washcloth, spitting Scout's cum into it and wiping his mouth. The corners of Scout's mouth twitch when he hears. "Ain't ya supposed to swallow?" he asks breathlessly, putting an arm over his eyes. "Is not a rule," Heavy shrugs, throwing the cloth into his laundry bin. "Gives me stomachache." Scout laughs, rolling onto his side when Heavy sits back down on the bed. "Of all the shit that happens to you, you don't want a tummyache?" Heavy rolls his eyes. "Cannot prevent battle damage; it is my job. But I can prevent stomachache. So do not complain. I do nice thing for you." Scout sighs. "Yeah, you did," he admits, "frickin' amazing." "Thank you. But you have not done for me," Heavy points out, his erection waning but still there. Scout raises an eyebrow. "I don't think that'll fit in my mouth," he grimaces, "and definitely not in my ass." "So you think you get free sex and you have to do nothing?" Heavy grits his teeth, scowling at the younger man. "ÐÑ… Ñ‚Ñ‹ мелкий, жадный ублюдок!" "Whoa whoa calm it down with the Russian!" Scout says defensively, putting his hands up. "Can I just, like, give ya a handjob or something?" Heavy snorts through his nose, thinking for a moment. A satisfied smirk creeps over his face. "Turn over." "I said nothin' in my ass, chucklehead!" Scout snaps, pressing his legs tight together. "Nothing will go in ass, just turn over," Heavy frowns, nudging the smaller man. Scout scowls, but relents, lying on his stomach. He hears Heavy open a drawer, and tenses again, but while he fears for his anus, he also trusts the other man, even if he wouldn't say it in words. Wet, squishy sounds come from Heavy's direction, then the drawer closing again. Scout takes a deep breath when he feels the bed sink under Heavy's weight and the big man straddles his thighs. Leaning forward, Heavy runs his hands over Scout's smooth back, and Scout jumps a little when he feels the other man's lubricated cock brush the cleft of his rear. "Hush, little Scout," Heavy soothes, rubbing the younger man's shoulders, "nothing will hurt, I promise." He kisses the nape of Scout's neck, then positions himself, pressing Scout's legs together and sliding his erection into the gap between his thighs. Scout lets out a long breath when he realizes what Heavy is doing, and folds his arms under his chin, deciding to imagine this is a very strange massage. Heavy is helping with that illusion, as he has moved to use his legs to keep Scout's thighs together, and is using his hands to rub and squeeze whatever skin he can touch. Scout closes his eyes, sighing in pleasure as Heavy's huge hands run over his back, chest, arms, stomach, and hair. He bites his lip again when Heavy's belly presses against his ass, moving faster as the giant's bliss builds. Frenzied kisses are planted on his neck and hair and shoulders as Heavy becomes more desperate, and soon Scout is grunting with each of Heavy's forceful thrusts against his body. The Russian finally comes a few moments later, pressing his nose into the space between Scout's shoulderblades to muffle his cry. Heavy knows better than to collapse on his smaller lover, so he sits up and moves out of the way once his buzz has died down. Scout looks just as spent as he did after his own orgasm. Shifting his weight, he slips a hand under his stomach to wipe up the semen splattered between his legs. "Sticky," he comments, rolling onto his back and looking at the translucent smudge. "What did you expect?" Heavy sighs, going to grab another towel. "Nothin'. Just sayin'," Scout responds, relaxing. When Heavy goes to wipe the smaller man off, he chuckles. "Huh?" "You came again," he says with a grin. "Oh." Scout is glad his face is already red. "So?" "Makes me happy. I did good job," Heavy's face settles into a genuine smile as he cleans the cum and lubricant from Scout's stomach and thighs. "Guess so," Scout mumbles, rolling onto his side when Heavy is finished. "Сволочь," Heavy mutters as he tosses the towel away, but his tone is affectionate. "Now you go back to your room," he prods, poking Scout in the center of his chest. "You serious?" the American asks. His expression is pathetic. Heavy laughs. "нет. You can stay, tiny Scout. Just for tonight. Now, make room for giant man." Scout makes a show of moving over, grunting and groaning the whole time. Heavy ignores him and slides under the sheets beside him, and surprises the smaller man by spooning him against his broad chest. Scout harrumphs for effect, but when he finally falls asleep, he's smiling.
Author's Note: Steam ID (also leads to dA): http://steamcommunity.com/id/ragedecem ----- When the news about Grey and his robot army had gone around the bases, it came to no one’s surprise that RED’s Demo and BLU’s Soldier had joined together almost immediately on Coal Town. And since Soldier went there, Scout would naturally follow him, seeing as they were nearly inseparable, and then Engie had come with them, probably because Soldier persuaded him on this and wanted his Team America on his side. Scout had actually hoped that Spy would be with them, but since everyone decided that it would be better for the balance or whatever, they should go only with 3 REDs and 3 BLUs on each point of attack. So Spy had gone along with their Heavy and Medic, and RED’s Soldier, Pyro and Sniper at Decoy. He was unsure why he’d ever willingly go on a team with the RED Pyro, seeing as he was the fuel of the Frenchman’s many nightmares, but he had to accept it anyway. Not that he was happy with that. Because he liked Engie, really, but he just didn’t understand certain things, like, the problem he was having right now. So, the RED Medic was with them, too – he’d be fine with that, but there was that thing that he believed that wherever a Medic went, a Heavy would follow – but no, not this time. “He’s fine wizh supporting our Engineer over at Mannworks,†the Medic had said, “he can support zhem over zhere better, and act like an additional sentry for him.†And instead of him, they now had the RED Scout, too. Which was not awesome at all. So when they were sitting together in the debriefing room of their current, small quarters to discuss ideas and strategies in the early morning of their first day, Scout wouldn’t leave that just slide by. “Who the hell needs two Scouts? How’s that supposed ta work?†The Red Scout just glared at him at first, but then looked into the round as well, apparently having the same doubts as him. The Medic and Engineer both appeared to be rather exasperated at that subject. Scout turned to Soldier right away. If he could convince anyone, it’d be him. They could just, trade some people around or something! “It ain’t strategically smart, is it?†Soldier appeared to contemplate this. “I cannot quite agree with your observation, private. Our team is the only one to have both a Medic and an Engineer. And seeing as both Tavish and I are force enough to defeat all of these freedom-obliterating, metal menaces at once, it would be unfair to take away more firepower from any of the other teams. We are far superior to them as it is, so there is no need for that.†Soldier crossed his arms and puffed his chest as he finished. “Also, it’s probably not wise to send people around so short before our first battle,†he added as an afterthought. They were quiet for a while until the RED Scout piped up. “Are ya sayin’ our class is weak?†Demo sensed the fuse of an argument-turned-brawl right away, and cut in before the bomb could explode. “Naw listen boyo, he’s jes’ sayin’ that we kin blow em away all at once a lot faster than anyone else, ’cause we got the firepower ter do that, aye? But yer good at what yer doin’, yanno, distractin’ an’ annoyin’ yeh enemies, that’s good help. And now ye kin do it double, ‘n that’s goin’ ter help us out if we ever get into a pinch or something. That’s what yeh meant, right?†He slapped his hand on Soldier’s shoulder and gave him a look that said he better not say anything against that. “Yes, sure,†he replied and shrugged his shoulders, at which Demo grinned at him. BLU Scout snorted. “Yeah, right. Like that idiot could ever be a great help. I could outrun him in my sleep!†“Oh yeah? Did ya forget how many times I dominated you the last time we were in battle?†The RED countered. “That was nothing compared to how many times I bonked ya that round before!†“Pure luck, but how many times did ya run straight at me when I was throwing guillotine?†As their word-fight slowly escalated, the rest of their team just looked back and forth at them as if they were witnessing a tennis match. They came up with counters so fast they could barely keep up with what was being said. Engineer just sighed and put his head in his hands. “Double the help? More like, double the headaches…†Medic frowned. “Listen-“ “And then I blasted ya right into da train! And then off the bridge into da train! And then-“ “Listen!†“Your trickshots don’t prove anything bout ya, not when I killed ya with my mackerel like, a hundred times-“ “SHUT YOUR TRASH MOUTHS, THE MAN HAS SOMETHING TO SAY!†Soldier yelled at them out of the blue, causing both Scout to cower into their seats. Medic smiled at him. “Zhank you. Now, zhat behavior won’t do for us if we want to get out of here alive. Mind you, we may still respawn, but if zhey manage to get zhe bomb into our base…well, zhat will mean the end for all of us. Zhere is no going back. Do you understand zhis?†He paused to let the works sink in. “Now, can you promise me zhat you will try and get along? For zhe sake of all of us?†The Red looked at him guiltly and the Blu sighed, both nodding slowly. “Good! Zhen shake hands on zhat and we can return wizh discussing zhe important zhings!†Both Scout looked at him wide-eyed, believing him to be making a joke. However, it was returned with an expectant smile, and they both grudgingly extended their arms to each other, their hands barely touching as they shook hands for no more than a second. They ignored each other for the rest of the day. --- “And remember, run for the money. Don’t leave a single dollar behind. We will need it for better upgrades. And bonuses. Understood?†Soldier reminded the two Scouts as they stood at the front end of Coal Town, were their enemies were sure to attack from. Engineer and Demo were holding the high ground, while Medic was standing at Soldier’s side for now, right on the path that would lead to the bomb hatch. Obviously the medigun had been tweaked so that it could heal anyone within the team, and of course Engie’s sentry had been upgraded so that it would only target the robots. They were all ready for the fight. “And remember: get in, do your damage, and get out. Don’t waste your time in respawn by being overzealous,†Medic “Ey, you don’t gotta tell us all o’ this, we’ve been doing this for quite a while now! We aint stupid or anything, alright?†Red Scout yelled back, annoyed at everyone keeping on babying the two of them. Sure, they didn’t get along yet, but there was no need to keep drilling their whole ‘behave now’ and ‘be nice to each other’ attitude at them the whole time (which had gone on the entire morning already) and for once that was something both Scouts could agree on. And, to prove a point to them, they both did their work perfectly, swerving around their metal counterparts with ease and leaving a trail of smoking spare parts as they got away without a single scratch. And Demo had cheered them on when they had cleared their first wave, and the others seemed satisfied with their performance as well... …that was, until the whole place was littered with dollars. Each one of them wanted to be the one who gathered the most of it, and get the praise and admiration from the rest of the team (although no one really cared who brought in the money as long as it was there) and show the other who the faster Scout was. They quickly cleared the green carpet off, stuffing the bills into their duffle bags and filling them in a matter of a few minutes. When they were done they both stood, sizing each other up, when Engie called out to them. “Yah forgot something over there,†he said as he pointed to a stray bundle of notes that was lying near the barred-close entryway, dangerously close to a few metal limbs that were still spouting sparks. The two Scouts shared a look, till they both threw themselves into a mad dash for the money. They reached it at the same time, and ended up shoving and hitting at each other, none of them wanting to let the other win this battle they had started up between them. A stray spark however caused the bundle to ignite, and they both froze as it began to burn down before their very eyes. They slowly turned to Soldier, dreading the reprimand they were about to get. He looked like he was about to get into a full on rant of their incapability to work together, but instead, he held back and just shook his head. “We will discuss this later. Everyone head back to the upgrade station before the next wave comes! Move, move!†--- In the end, their first day could’ve been worse – but also a lot better. The arrival of the first sentry buster had caused confusion at first, but as it ignored everyone safe for the sentry itself, fire was focused on the other metal foes. Blu Scout ended up chasing the thing to Engineer, who had been so consumed in repairing his machines that he didn’t even recognize its approach. And when it came to a stop behind him and started to beep loudly, Scout jumped in and shot damaging blasts with his Scattergun in it – and then that thing would be destroyed and everyone would forget his bout of idiocy from before and they would find him to be amazing for saving their Engineer! …Only that it wasn’t enough damage to simply destroy it and both Engie’s nest and himself were blown up. Red Scout would have loved at this if it weren’t for the fact that the lack of sentry fire and the dispenser meant that the army of robots finally had a way to force themselves further into the base. It had taken Engie a longer time then to build it all up again, and now they had been forced back, too, and everyone ended up fearing that they would fail, on their first day no less, but luckily for them, their foes weren’t arranged strong enough to crush them (hell most of them only had melee weapons and they barely came in big enough numbers), so they ultimately managed to push them back. Not even the tank seemed to be much of a problem. “It was just the first day. We’ll get better by time,†Engie reassured them when they had started to head back to their quarters, of course only after they were certain that no more robots would come. No one appeared to be really satisfied with today’s outcome. Shoulders were hunched and lips tightened into frowns. Their weapons discarded into their lockers, everyone had sat down together at the small dinner table that was standing in their also quite small kitchen area. Blu Scout had decided that he liked sitting next to Engie a lot better at that moment; he couldn’t take that air of disappointment that was wafting from Soldier right then. For a long time, no one said a thing. Soldier was staring the table down, as if there was something particularly interesting on it that no one else could see; Demo was leaning against him with his scrumpy at hand and looked like he was about to fall asleep and Medic had leaned back in his chair, his gaze to the table as well, lost in thought. And the other three were watching Soldier, expecting a storm of fury to be hailed at them for not living up to his expectations. And when he finally rose his head, they held their breath for a moment. “We need to talk about sleeping arrangements!†And they sighed in relief. He was rather unpredictable, after all. “We have three rooms with two beds each in total. Any preferences?†“I call ye,†Demo said groggily, his eye closed already. “I’m with hardhat!†“Callin’ on Doc!†The two in mention shared a rather dismayed glance. Both Scouts weren’t exactly quiet before going to sleep; they were those kind of people that said ‘good night’ and kept on talking afterwards. That was not going to be an easy night. But it was probably better than having both of them in one room, trying to outtalk the other for the rest of the night. --- The next day had gone slightly better; if not mainly for the fact that Engie had found the best way to counter those sentry destroying menaces was to walk up with his packed up sentry right into it and run away as soon as it started to engage in its explosion stance. That had gone all well, except for that one time Blu Scout didn’t take notice of the fleeing Texan and ran right into the explosion radius of the buster again. And this time Red Scout laughed at him for all that it was worth and kept teasing him about it. “Focus your anger on the real threat,†Engie told him when he passed by and overheard another taunt directed at the Blu. And he followed his advice, and as soon as Red Scout realized that his name-calling fell on deaf ears and that his counterpart was dead-set on getting the most kills of the day, he threw himself into the fray with just as much ferocity, and soon there were no enemies left to destroy. This time they made sure to stay out of each other’s way when they collected the money. And when they were back at base and got ready for dinner, Soldier had showered them with praise at their growing teamwork (or at least lack of the contrary). “But don’t get cocky just yet. The better we get at holding these mistakes of science off, the stronger they will come back at us and hinder us on our way! So don’t become lazy or too confident of yourselves, if you don’t want our home to be overrun by aliens!†with that he proceeded to march off to help Engineer with…whatever he could need help with. “Aliens?†Red Scout wondered as both he and his class-mate arranged the dishes on the dinner table. “Yeah. He’s convinced that aliens made those robots to conquer the world or somethin’,†the Blu replied with a lopsided grin. The Red laughed. “Yah should hear the bullshit our Soldier goes on about! That one time it was so bad, I actually fainted of laughter!†They shared a laugh, but it quickly died down when they realized who they were conversing with. “Well, I’m helpin’ Medic an’ Demo out,†the Red said and quickly left before the situation turned awkward. Medic was currently stirring a pot while Demo kept an eye on the oven. “Smells good. Whatcha makin’?†he asked as he looked over Medic’s shoulder. “Mashed potatoes wizh meat loaf,†the German replied. Scout was about to reply when he was abruptly caught in a headlock and crushed against Demo’s side. “Yeh done good today, boyo! An’ yer startin ter get friendly with the Blu, too! I’m proud o’ ye!†Scout lifted the arm that was thrown around his shoulders and straightened up, picking up his cap that had fallen off in the process. “Yeah, yeah, friendly. I’m just trying to be the better man here. After all, you guys obviously need me or you’d be wrecked,†he answered smugly as he placed the cap onto his head again. Medic snorted. “Wasn’t it you who behaved like a child today?†Scout glared at him but relented from catching the bait. He’d rather eat his food without any spit in it, thank you very much. Later during dinner, Engineer had notified them of the communication system, which he had managed to fully configure. With this they were able to contact their teammates on the other bases per screen and microphone which was much like those things the administrator had used to talk with them. The primary task was to report in of their current status and receive information from the other teams, as well as swapping out strategies and tips and the like. It was a relief for them, however, that they weren’t the only ones who had a few problems with their teamwork; the Red Heavy had at one point mistaken his Blu comrades for robots (in his defense, it wasn’t that easy to distinguish the colors from each other, especially if you stood farther away) and ended up shooting them all down, which had evolved into a heated argument when they had settled in, ending into their whole battle room taken apart by angry mercenaries. And over at decoy, there had been a great bout of tension between the Sniper and the Spy, carrying out to the battlefield where they had started to fight it out and threw the rest of the team out of their reverie, ending it quite similar to their own first day. Both teams however had ultimately discussed their flaws and found ways to overcome them, and their next day had come with well-earned victories and better camaraderie. Hopefully they would come to the same point, soon. After all the business talk, everyone was granted to chat with other teammates for a short while. Most of them used the chance to talk one-on-one with their favored allies. So did the Blu Scout. When Medic had finally left the battle room (he took a lot longer in there than he should have!), Scout quickly jumped up and locked the door behind him. He didn’t want to have anyone stumble into his conversation. He called up the channel on Decoy and not even a few seconds later Blu Spy answered it. “That took a while,†the Frenchman remarked as he inspected his gloved hand. “’S not my fault when the Medic’s gotta fag it up with the Heavy,†Scout replied, rolling his eyes. “What makes you think they are related in that way?†Spy asked, an eyebrow raising and the corner of his mouth lifting. “Wild guess,†Scout smirked at him. He visibly relaxed; it felt good to be in the presence (well more or less) of someone that neither judged him nor tried to baby him. They shared a short comfortable silence before Scout finally came out with the reason of his call. “How’d ya deal with it?†A quizzical look was sent his way. “Yanno, that problem ya had with their Sniper?†Spy shrugged. “We are grown men. We were able to talk matters out. Deal with it outside on the battlefield. When it doesn’t matter. Staying professional is after all the first commandment.†“What was the reason for all that anyway?†This time the Spy rolled his eyes. “He kept telling me on the first day about how he still didn’t trust my presence and that I better keep clear of him if I still wanted to stay intact. Of course not with the same vocabulary, but you get the gist of it,†finishing with a wave of his hand. “Though, I wasn’t exactly innocent of the whole thing either; when he came up to me with his nonsense I decided to humor him and ‘spooked’ him. And well, you know the rest.†The Bostonian processed the information he got, his absence of a vocal response emphasizing that he was deep in thought. “You want to know what you should do in your situation?†Spy asked when he still got no reply. Scout nodded sheepishly. “It’s just, I’m tryin’ to get along, okay? But it’s really hard, like, I’m feelin’ that I have to prove myself in front a’ the others, but they’re all just like, eh whatever, cause they don’t understand it, they’re not havin’ that pressure I’m havin’ here, ‘cause if I’m not good enough, why should they even care ‘bout me, yanno? What if I make a mistake, or what if I’m actually the worse Scout, an’ they just send me away an’ get a replacement or somethin’? An’ then I would get home an’ my mom would be all disappointed in me an’ my brothers would just rub it in my face again, that I failed at somethin’ again, an’ then I’d be by myself again an’ I wouldn’t see you guys anymore and I’d really hate that and geez-“ he stopped to catch some air. Spy patiently waited for him to compose himself. “Man, that felt really good,†Scout finally said as he rubbed his neck. Spy stubbed out his cigarette on the desk and lit himself a new one. He blew out a big puff of smoke before he spoke again. “Mon petit, a good challenge is never a bad thing. It will make you become more ambitious, work harder. However, you should see to it that this rivalry has boundaries. Don’t make the same mistake like I did and let it interfere with your duties. Resolve it outside of your work where it doesn’t matter, or at least in a profitable way.†“Outside? Like, takin’ him on in a fight or what?†“Non. Minor things. For example, you could go outside and throw balls and see who can shoot the farthest, or maybe run laps and see who is faster. That will also give you some additional training. And if you feel the need to show off in battle: try it with things like ‘who can support the team the most?’ Of course, don’t try to overdo it or you’ll end up hindering your colleagues more than helping them,†Spy answered him, flicking off some cigarette ash. The Bostonian’s face finally lit up. “Yeah, you’re right! I coulda thought this up myself…Whatever. I’m gonna think up something good!†Spy nodded. “On behalf of your other…problems. I deem it important that you find yourself someone to talk to. If thoughts like this nag in your mind too often, your cheery and…loud attitude will eventually not work for you anymore. And you won’t always be able to reach me; the communication lines could break down any time.†Spy said, his expression completely serious now. Scout looked down. “I can’t talk to anyone else. Hardhat would just baby me again and yanno that I really can’t stand that. And ya also know that Soldier is no option; he doesn’t understand all that stuff an’ I’m not gonna tell someone all that stuff who thinks being whacked over the head is a form of consolation. An’ I’m definitely not gonna go vent to the Reds. Now don’t worry, I can suck it up. I just need to get it out every now an’ then. Don’t start like the others now!†Spy didn’t seem entirely convinced but he backed down. “You want to talk to Heavy or Medic?†Scout shook his head. “Nah. Heavy can sense it from a mile away if I’m upset an’ then he’s gonna go in pity-mode an’ I’m havin’ none of that, an’ I don’t have anythin’ smart to say to Medic. Just send ‘em my regards an’ stuff.†Spy smiled then. “Let Soldier hug you in my name.†“Hell no! I like my spine as it is! The Frenchman chuckled. Scout was about to leave, when he stopped in mid-motion to say one more thing. “Hey, uh…Thanks, okay?†His hand was on his neck again in a slightly embarrassed manner. “No worries. À bientôt!†That night Scout went quietly to bed, too lost in thought about the coming days, and when Engineer inquired if something was wrong and only got a confused ‘why?’ as an answer, he merely dropped it, glad that he could sleep without any further disturbances. Which quickly changed soon when various things (and by the heavy sound of it even bodies) started to bang against the wall from the room next to them, where Soldier and Demo had instigated a drunken brawl. Engineer won that fight. --- The third day bore another bout of bout of failure. The waves had gotten slightly harder, but that didn’t seem like much of a problem at first. However, the current of enemies bore down on them a lot, and in the middle of it all Engineer had missed that third Sentry Buster and his Sentry nest blew up with him together (and Red Scout remarked to the Blu why he hadn’t been there as well, earning an accidental bat to the head), and shortly after Medic fell victim to a Spy bot. The waves then luckily came in smaller crowds; and when Soldier shot at their feet, causing a few bots to be catapulted into the air, he hit a falling Pyro-bot with a well-aimed shot before it came even close to the ground. Blu Scout immediately dashed around him and cheered, “Nice air shot, Solly!†and high-fived him as he ran past. Upon witnessing this, the Red ran up to his Demoman with a wicked-good idea. “Hey, you seein’ this? Ya can do that too, can’t ya?†Demo looked surprised at the runner suddenly being next to him, then answered. “I, uh, yeh, sure I kin. Why?†“Well, why don’t ya do one too? Gonna make ya look good!†“Heh, aye yeh right!†And promptly two pipe bombs hit into the crowd, and when another metal body was thrown into the air, he shot another calculated bomb aimed further below, hitting the target right as it came down from the sky again. The Red yelled in excitement and jubilated loudly, so that the two Blus both could hear it, simultaneously scratching the Scottish Man’s ego. The Blu Scout looked over in confusion; then he understood. Support your team. Well, that was supporting in one or another way. “Come on, you can do more than that! Show us what ya got!†He challenged Soldier, “Go, Cyclops, go, ya can easily outrank him!†the other Scout shouted. And then their robot counterparts just flew all over the air, and yet the masses started to thicken, making it harder for the freshly respawned Engineer to build up his nest again, and there was a flurry of rockets and pipe bombs. But eventually the shouts of ‘to the left!’ ‘to the right!’ ‘behind ya!’and the outnumbering masses became too confusing, and here a stray rocket was shot down into the wrong direction, and there a lone pipe bomb bounced off a wall and headed to where it shouldn’t have, and then both Soldier and Demo had blown each other apart. The Scouts both stood frozen, their hearts sinking into their bottoms after what happened sank in, and Medic had arrived moments before to put together what just transpired. “You imbeciles, what were you doing?†he yelled, the healing beams of his medigun hitting them nonetheless as more robots were starting to overrun then. They had to fall back however when Engie couldn’t manage to place his machines without them being shot down immediately, causing them to make their final stand right at the bomb hatch. Even after both Demo and Soldier had respawned, the bomb had been taken closer and closer to their demise, the alarms blaring loudly and resonating in their bodies, adrenaline kicking in and helping them make their final stand, the bomb merely a few meters away from the hatch. They all had dropped down on the floor then, exhaustion taking over, even worse than on their first day. Back at their base, both Medic and Engineer had taken to scold the four responsible for the mess, two for starting it up, the other two for acting into it. They endured it without any excuse or rebuttal. “Yah mad at me now?†Red Scout asked Demo when the four were by themselves. “Nah, yeh know, it’s been fun! Would be boring if we just held em off at the same point. Right, Jane?†Demo answered, throwing his arm around the American. Soldier grinned. “Of course you’re right. It would be embarrassing to have enemies that cannot hit back properly. And it makes for a better and more satisfying battle!†Blu Scout raised an eyebrow at him. “Yanno, ya kinda seem changed since this all started. More relaxed or something. An’ less angry.†“That’s probably my influence,†Demo threw in. The arm around Soldier tightened and he held him in a chokehold. “Now let’s get piss drunk, I’m gonner need it t’night.†They walked to their shared rooms, shoving and punching each other, leaving the two Scouts by themselves. There was a sudden silence till they turned to each other. “No hard feelings?†Red started and extended his hand. The Blu was taken aback for a second, then caught himself. “No hard feelings.†And they grasped their hands in a proper handshake. --- When the Blu Scout hit the showers, he found himself to be alone. He was glad; he needed this. And get some relief. He knew he had to be quick; the door to the communal shower couldn’t be locked and he didn’t even know if anyone else had showered yet. The erection came quickly; it wasn’t hard for him to conjure up various images and thoughts, (especially with so much visual stimulation around here). When it came to the act though he kept his mind blank, solely focused on getting off as fast as he could. He could feel the build up in his guts when the bang of a locker door made him stop immediately. He turned around, seeing none other than his class-mate enter the shower area. “Yo what’s up!†he greeted him as he took the shower right next to his. Fuckin’ great. He greeted him back, trying to turn his body into the other direction and hoping he wouldn’t notice his predicament. “Were you jackin’ off?†Well so much for that. He wouldn’t embarrass himself however. If he went down, at least he’d go down with some dignity. “Yeah, so what? Gotta leave it out at some point. ‘Sides is a good way to get off some stress, but ya probably didn’t know that.†The Red laughed as he lathered himself up in soap. “Ya right. With how many girls I get, I don’t got now reason ta jerk off,†he boasted, but the Blu wasn’t convinced. “What would I need girls for if I can have every dick on base?†he retorted. Well, that was only more or less a lie. The Red stared at him, mouth agape, the Blu smugly looking back at him. “You’re a fag?†“ Yeah, you got a problem with that?†“Nah. Just…interesting..†Blu Scout wasn’t sure then how to proceed. He felt a nagging frustration at not being able to finish, yet the man next to him made him unable to do just that. He considered leaving and hoping that he might find some other time for his ‘special alone time’, when the Red spoke up again. “Yanno, I’m kinda wonderin’…who could do it faster?†“Do what faster?†“Like, jerkin’ it.†This time the Blu gaped at him. “You serious?†“Sure, why not? Not like there’s anything else ta do in our free time. Sides, you said stress relief, eh? Better now than never!†The Blu narrowed his eyes, uncertain of the preposition. “Are ya makin’ fun of me?†he asked, suspicion laced in his words. “Nah, why would I do that?†The Red sent his best winning smile at him. The Blu looked down, weighing his options, the coming to a decision. “Fine. But I dare ya to make me look like a fool!†The Red didn’t respond and instead set himself to ‘work’. It both took them a while to get hard (again for the Blu), and the awkwardness of the situation didn’t make it easier for him; the fact that the Red was up with a lot more ease got him the suspicion that he probably was a closet gay – or at least, situation-sexual. “Whoever comes first, wins,†the Red Scout breathed through the fog of heat that had erupted from the showers by now. “Wins what?†The Blu painted, already trying to get his hand to move at its fastest. “Yeh playin’ that game all wrong,†a slurred voice spoke up behind them and they both froze mid-stroke. They slowly turned around and faced their Demoman, who was standing beneath the opposite showers; they must’ve been to distracted to notice him coming in. And the bastard just kept quiet and listened in on them, too. “Yeh gotta jerk the other off, ‘n whoever’s first loses, ‘n then he’s got ter suck the other off,†he babbled on. The two just stared incredulously at him as he finished his shower and stumbled over the tiles, almost slipping twice and then vanishing into the locker rooms. They stood like that till they both heard him falling through the door and dragging himself away. The Red turned back to the Blu. He was smirking again. “So? Up for it? Or ya gonna wuss out?†“Wha- What about the Demo?!†“Don’t worry. He’s already too drunk to remember anything of this.†He gripped the Blu’s straining erection and earned a gasp. “Well?†“You’re on!†The Red Scout was incredibly unskilled when it came to touching other dicks, and the Blu had to learn this the hard way; first he gripped to hard, then his nails cut in accidentally and at one point the jerking got so fast he thought he was going to rub his skin off. Every time this happened he imitated it to stop his counterpart from continuing his painful actions. “Geez, don’t you even know how to jack off?†the Blu hissed through gritted teeth. “Do it more like this,†he continued as he carefully fondled the pulsing cock in his hand, sliding his fingers over the head with slightly more pressure and leading them back down to the base, his other hand softly fondling the balls of his Red counterpart. The Red inhaled sharply and reciprocated the action, the Blu burying his head into his shoulder. He had been so certain that he could win this. But the frustration from before finally beat through and with the slow, jerking motions of his counterpart he slowly felt himself fall apart. He came abruptly, the water of the shower washing his seed away. When he came to himself, he realized he had stopped stroking the other Scout completely and had instead gripped at his shoulders when his orgasm hit. Slowly lifting his head, he came face to face with the smug smile of his counterpart. “Looks like I’m really awesome at this.†The Blu huffed and shoved him away, crossing his arms in defeat and embarrassment. “What are ya waiting for now? Get down an’ suck me off!†The Red yelled enthusiastically. The Blu glared at him as he slid to his knees. Well, at least he knew what to do somewhat. He wasted no time as he slid the cock into his mouth, his tongue teasing along the underside as it almost hit the back of his throat (thankfully, he wasn’t that big). The moans that followed encouraged him to go faster, his head bobbing back and forth as hands gripped at his shoulders and into his cropped hair, and then the body he was working at moved with him and it quickly became to much as he barely could breathe anymore, and when he grabbed at hips to slow it all down and to catch some air again, a gush of warm sticky fluid shot into his throat, making him choke and gag as he broke away, his lungs trying to cough out the unwelcome liquid. “You-idiot-,“ he said between coughs, “freakin’ tell me- when ya bout to cum!†The Red immediately got down from his high and cowered next to the other. “Damn, sorry man! I just – let me help ya, okay?†He helped him walk to the lockers while coughs still wracked the Blu’s body, and waited for him to get dressed when he did so first, and they both left for their rooms together. They stopped at the doors, silence once more covering them as their former situation fully sank into their brains. The Blu was unsure how this was going to go on in the future – while that would be more or less a way for them to settle their differences, he wasn’t entirely sure if the Red would agree with that. And he wasn’t really sure how he felt about the situation himself. He was thrown out of his reverie when a hand grabbed his chin and a mouth crashed against his in an inexperienced kiss; it was sloppy and far too wet, but he didn’t really feel adverse to the action. “Let’s do this some time again, right?†The Red Scout said, confident as ever as he turned to leave for his room. Well, that answered all of his questions. “So, who won?†Demo asked as they all sat together for breakfast. Red Scout spit out his drink and Blu Scout almost choked on his food again. Looking into their round, everyone seemed to be barely interested in what they were talking about. So the Red Scout replied, â€Naturally, I won.†He grinned at him and Demo grinned back. “Won what?†Engineer asked mildly curious. “Just a game of Baseball,†the Blu Scout replied and as he turned to the Red, they shared an almost friendly smile. “Ah. Good to see you are getting along,†Medic commented. He wasn’t sure why the three broke into laughter, but he found that he didn’t really care either way as long as the battle today would go over well. And that it did. ----- Prompt: RED Scout/BLU Scout. During MvM, both Scouts wind up on the same team and must learn to get along despite their previous rivalry. (If you're inclined to write/draw something smutty, bad/awkward sex where neither participant knows precisely what they're doing – but insists that they totally do, of course – would be fantastic.)
"Pedes un Lingua" By: Valiax_Gryphon It wasn't unusual for Demoman to see the team's Medic. Besides the fact he was the only doctor on site, the Scots always placed his trust in the ole' Doc as much as he placed his trust in his skillful craft of demolition devices. So on this particular cold day off, while the BLUs on the other side were currently repairing the damages left by the crazed duo of the Soldier's onslaught of rockets and of course Demo's carefully placed sticky bombs. The Scot had been proud of his handiwork, always had been at the end of a successful day. Though on this particular evening, a well placed sticky didn't mean a well placed Demolitions Expert. The Scotsman carried himself to one side just slightly, his left step lightly than his right. His boots clogged along the concrete flooring, echoing off the walls in an otherwise silent hallway. Most of the time, the German kept to himself so visitors usually came in the form of needing his care. Well, 'care' may of been not quite exactly the word of choice to describe a man with a revoked medical licence, a possible warrant for his arrest for hijacking a catering van and theft of 'livestock' which ended up becoming the man's most cherished little friends. At last Demo arrived at the front doors of the Infirmary, already starting to pick of the smell of antiseptic and dove feathers. He scratched at his small beard pondering if something minor was worth pestering the doctor or not? Deciding to take the risk for reward, the man allowed himself in past the double doors. The Infirmary looked half way between cleaned and primed for surgery and the other half appeared as if the almighty office gods delivered a shit-storm of paperwork and overdue reports all the while Medic's army of feathered companions littered the cabinets and high vantage points with fluffs of feather sheds, leftover seeds, and of course things best not mentioned when in a medbay. Demo glanced around with his remaining eye before raising his hand up into a fist to make a loud, audible cough. Immediately, a flutter of wings and a few doves flew from behind a paper tower, followed by a tired looked doctor. "Yes? Somezhing you need Herr Demoman? I'm a bit tied up and I swear if I stop for a moment ze company vill send me five more pounds vorth of papervork." The doctor announces, eyeing the other man who was currently only wearing his red issued sweater and slacks. Uh, aye. Sorry to bothar ya Doc but me foot's been givin' me a lobbin' so I came 'ere for ye to have a look. If ye be a wee busy, I'll care fer it myself and.." Demo replied, trying to not anger or at least frustrate the Medic away from his own work. "Nein, patients before papervork. I'll probably send for Pyro to take zhese piles and use zhem for his bonfire.. vhatever it is he does vith a tinfoil hat. Please, take a seat on ze examining table and ve'll see vhat ze problem is." Medic stood up, showing to be out of uniform as well, dressed in that nice long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up and that beige vest he seemed fond of (how he managed to get the blood stains out from an earlier incident was beyond anyone, not just Demo). The Scotsman did as he was asked without question, taking a seat on the examining table. He was no stranger to the table or Medic's handiwork. Although having to bandage up his head and cover an eye already covered with an eyepatch was a little redunent but Demo placed his trust into his team's doctor. He had to, can't depend on that magical device of science; the respawn system, always. As he sat down, Demoman went ahead to remove the boot off his ailing foot. Medic took one look at it before glancing up to the other man. "Demo... do you mind?" He asked, not yet approaching the limb. "Mind? Me head's alright. Hasn't had me remaining eye boggled out." "Nein, I meant your foot. It's.." Medic paused, slowly raising a hand towards his nose. Demoman glanced down before realizing what the doctor meant. "Oh! Sorry Doc! I guess I fergot to do a bit of washin'. I've lost too many socks in the wash!" He states, matter of factly, before swaying slightly to the left. Medic rolled his eyes slightly before taking a seat next to the examining table. "Have you been drinking again?" Medic asked, taking a antiseptic wipe and with some unknown bout of tenderness, rubbed the Scot's aching foot so to not aggravate whatever was hurting him. "Doc, when have I haven't been drinkin'? Me and the bottl' just work togetha! 'Sides no harm came from takin a wee bit of drink to battle, warms up the spirits!" Demo grinned, leaning back on the table's tilted up end. Sure he had been drinking, but thankfully towards the rest of the team, not so much tonight. Just enough to feel warm and happy, nothing more and no harm in indulging in one of his favorite past times off work. The Medic merely nodded, finishing up before discarding the wipe into a nearby trash bin. Carefully, he reached with both hands, pressing with his thumbs at various points on that foot, massaging carefully. "So, tell me vhen zhis happened? I can narrow it down to vhat's hurting you." He asked, casting one eye up to the man with a small smirk barely visible to the Scotsman. Demoman gazed up to the ceiling to recall the event in his head, if he could. A few doves fluttered overhead, their beady black eyes staring down at the man with curiosity. One or two would make those soft cooing sound, a ruffle of feathers and maybe one preening under its wing. Somehow, watching the little winged creatures brought with them a sense of comfort. Perhaps that's why the doctor kept them in his infirmary. How he managed to keep it clean was something the demolitions expert could worry about another time. "Well, I was settin' up a nice ole' sticky bomb trap fer our wayward 'guests' if ya know what I'm sayin'. " Demoman started, his solitary eye lazily watching where Medic's thumbs rolled slowly on the front pad of his foot applying pressure before releasing a few times. "And well, here comes this flame weildin' monsta thinkin' he can use he wee can o' air to blow me bombs out of sight. So I set the detonator prematurely and KA-BLEWIE! There be more body parts than a Englishman's tea party with a Yank!" Medic paused, raising a eyebrow. "So, how did you not blow yourself up as vell Herr?" The Scotsman gruffed slightly, laying back down. "Oh I tried movin' away from ze ones air blasted at me and one of me bombs knocked me square acrossed the field and twistin' mah foot a wee bit. So I figured if anyone could fix me back to walkin right it be you Doc." "I'm flattered. Normally I see ze lot of you trying to nurse your own vounds." Medic paused and cast his gaze down at Demoman's exposed foot. Thumbs gently glided over the contrast of where dark skin met the pale underside of the weight bearing limb. Secretly... it fascinated the doctor how the combination of skin tones could be witness on one of only a few areas on such people as Demo. Taking a closer examination, he cleared his throat before returning his starring gaze back to his patient. "I zhink I found ze problem, but I have somezhing I zhink you vill benefit from more zhan just pain pills and a ice bag to relieve ze sore muscle." "Oh? Got somethin' special Doc? Ain't gonna saw off me leg are ya!?" The other exclaimed, looking down his chest at the German. The other merely shakes his head, a simple smile upon his lips as Medic removed his glasses to clean them on one of his shirt sleeves. "Nein, consider zhis a favor. Don't share zhis around, it's just between you and me, Herr Demo?" The Scot was silent at first before a chapped smirk etched on his own face. "Sure nurse, anythin' for a favor of yers." He said before laying down on the examining table only to let out a small yelp. "Oi! Careful where yer squeezin', I be a bit light on some small spots I dun want anyone to know about!" He scowls slightly. "Don't call me 'nurse'. I take some offensive to zhat little 'pet name' as you put it." Medic warned. "By light.. do you refer to having some sensitivity in your exterior dermis-" "Yea I'm a wee bit ticklish! So don't be spreadin' 'round or else I won't hear the end of it from Soldier!" Demoman quickly stated, making a small embarrassed face with his lips pulsed into a rippled look. Medic said nothing, only smirked back and nodded. He looked back down at his patient's foot and hummed to himself. Thumbs returned to the small massage all the while he admired how well kept it was. Hell, the worst thing the doctor could find would be maybe some dryness around the ankle area but nothing some ointment cream couldn't cure... or something better. Medic massaged down to Demo's heel, careful where he did and at the same time, wanted to get a reaction. "Comfortable?" He asked, rolling one eye up to the Scotsman behind those glasses. "Because I zhink I found your problem Herr Demo. Tell me vhat do you do to your feet? I never suspected someone so heavily engaged in ze frontlines like you to keep your feet in such good shape. Even ze nailbeds lack any sign of damage or vhat is commonly referred to as 'athlete's foot' as I've seen time and time again from Scout." Demo chuckled, grinning a bit. "Well Doc, I dun wear me socks to bed, always take em' off after dem battles and let me feet dry off then wear a fresh pair fer around base. Also a good washin' never hurt anybody. You should see Soldier, he can smell like the ole' catch o' the day." "Don't remind me..." Medic mumbled while he placed a bit of pressure to the Achilles heel, thumb and forefinger massaging in small, tight circles. So smooth, this skin and how much the man took care of it made the doctor admire it more. Living velvet was the closest he could cross his mind of things to compare this moment to. What was Demo's secret? A quick glance to find the semi-drunkard quite relaxed with one arm folded behind his head to stand in for a pillow. Quietly, Medic leaned forward intending to use his other senses to find out. It would be a lie to say the doctor was not into this sort of thing. That he was simply one of those physicians with a knack for body parts and blood, not the admirations for the load bearing part of the human body, the part that without it could not help for man to conquer the world before civilization begun. Just inches away, Medic's nostrils flared, inhaling that foreign scent down into his lungs. Within a few seconds, a identity was found. "Shea butter?" He spoke, leaning back up to stare at his patient. Of course, such a common item for skin lotion. Why hadn't it crossed his mind before? Could be his own preference in skin lotions were artificial, cheap commodities he could get or something the company would ship in with the supply trains if only to keep hands from chapping while handling weapons in the long-term use. "Yea? Wat are ye up to down thar?" Demoman replied, raising an eyebrow as he also questioned Medic back. Medic smirked, eyeing Demo. "I have... a bit of a secret I am villing to share vith you, but only if you agree in not sharing zhis vith ze rest of ze team." The Scotsman let out a small scoff. "Depends on what cha be meanin' to keep a secret boyo? I might be keen to liking it." With a grin on his face and the invitation received, Medic lowered his head back down replying, "Let me show you." Suddenly, Demoman's foot was carefully caressed while a pair of lips gently kiss the front pad in the crook of his toes. The sensation surprised him a little but the alcohol flowing in his veins as of current delayed his reaction to a mere curling of toes and small almost inaudible gasp. His body slowly tensed up, unsure how to take this 'secret' with a grain of salt... or a spoonful of sugar. The kisses were light, gentle like wisps of butterfly wings. Teasing the other man, Medic eased from one digit to the next from small to large. Once he stopped at the end, the doctor gave no warning as he kisses the end of that toe then slowly rolls his tongue out to give it a slow lick. The Scotsman tried to relax himself, but found this strangely new and exciting. "Some secret eh Doc? Never would o' guess you be into this sorta thing." He said, body slightly tensing up again in reaction to another lick. Normally such tenderness was not really top priority with the German but witnessing this new development made the bomb maker all the more curious as to how this was going to be played out. "Not somezhing I vould publicly share, no. Just.. a burning curious admiration I've gained over ze course of vorking here. You could say I've gotten.. a foot in ze door and I razher step in and explore zhan stand and ponder forever." The doctor calmly replied, taking the moment to look back at his 'patient'. Deny all he wanted if he could, the small signs on Demoman's face told the other to continue. "Shall I stop or.." "Nah.. keep goin'. I like where dis is headin'." Demoman replied, receiving a small spark up his spine as thumb and forefinger slide down to peel those curled digits back open. Medic didn't need to say anything, and just let his little fantasy take over. He leans back down to kiss each toe a tad deeper now all the while flaring his nostrils to take in that unique scent the Scotsman carried that was clean with the slight hints of the shea butter lotion. That hot breath was wonderful on Demo's foot, like sticking it over a heated air vent except this one was alive. Medic took that pinky toe onto his lower lip, dragging it upwards so slowly as it started to dry and stick to that skin, creating a small rippling sensation. "Hmm, dat be a nice feelin' Doc. Not yer first time is it?" Demoman asked once another small spark struck him up the leg and crawling over his lower back. "I've had... practice. Zhat's all you need to know." Medic replied before going back to work perform the same slow lip drag on each other toe. Perhaps it was a good thing Medic kept quiet or otherwise his patient might take in some disgust at him practicing his small fantasy on cadaver parts and leave mid-session. Let the drunk Scot use his imagination if it came down to wanting to ask questions. Of course Demo did allow his mind to imagine what Medic meant, though thankfully it resulted in him plainly imagining the German taking up self-taught lessons with the aid of Heavy. But those were best left for another story altogether. The Scotsman let out another small gasp, grinning like a fool as a warm tongue slid out and snaked through between each toe, wiggling about like some curious worm. Medic swirled his tongue in small circles, lathering each digit. After the space between the first and second toe was coated, the doctor moved back just slightly and huffed out his hot breath slowly. Demoman's leg trembled for only a few seconds, the sensation of warm saliva suddenly cooled in a quick moment made for some interesting sensory. Once Medic leaned back on, he was greeted with those toes curling in and foot stretching outward to rub under his chin. Oh that soft, well kept and clean skin felt like magic to the touch and the doctor shuddered his breath in equal excitement as his patient. Medic tilted his head to one side, nuzzling that offering limb and started inhaling deeply the rugged scent mixed with his own now and the lotion. Lips began to trail up to the top of the foot, then pressed up against a puffed up vein, pushing the tip of his tongue down to feel their heartbeats, feeling the rhythms dance and pulsed in his head. He eventually removes his tongue to return to those kisses. Pressing down, Medic trailed his lips up to the crook of where foot meets ankle, moving to the inner side. Planting a deep kiss on the ankle, Medic slid that muscle back out, licking in the spot in tiny laps. Then without so much as a pause, moved towards that ankle and promptly gave a nice deep suckle. Skin quivered and the foot twitched in place, nearly jerking away from Medic's grasp before stopping within that same second. Looking back up, Medic quietly asked, "Too rough?" Demo shook his head, grinning on the side of his face. "No, just a wee bit surprised is all. Didn't know what you were up to, Doc. I think I can handle it now. " He responded, relaxing his leg down back into the German's waiting hands. "Just so you know, Herr Demoman... I like to keep mein patients happy so if should somezhing displeases you..." He paused, leaning in with a smirk. ".. do not hesitate to tell me." That gave the bomb maker a thought to think over. Oh yes, despite the scrumpy haze in his mind, Demoman managed to come up with an idea. "Now that ye mention it... I am a wee bit unsatisfied. Care to loosen me up some, Doc? I'd like it better if ya took dat tongue of yers decided to play the part of washerwoman." He said with a grin, then let out a witty sounding chuckle. The Medic only smiled back with an amused scoff. Hot tongue met with the ball of Demoman's heel, slowly dragging its way up onto the bottom of that foot. As Medic dragged on, his warm breath exhaled from his now gaping mouth, making his patient's foot and leg tremble with excitement. The Scotsman let out a small groan, a crumpled smile on his face. Kisses were placed dead center of his foot. It felt so warm, so comforting while his foot was caressed and massaged in a combination of fingers and that oh so wonderful tongue. "More.. I need a littl' more on top. I think my big toe needs a nice kiss. Poor thing's been dinged more times than I can count." The Scotsman spoke up a tad demanding, but the German was all but willing to obliged if it meant caving into his secret fantasy on a living reacting limb. The man moved over, taking that large digit to his lips and kissed it at first. A second fluttered then a third which lasted much longer, staying in place as Medic flared his nostrils again to pick up the other man's scent. Those blue eyes casted back up to Demo, just past the rims of his glasses. Without a second's notice, the doctor took that big toe into his mouth. "Oh lord o' mighty Doc! Full of surprises, aren't cha?!" The Scotsman nearly jumped in place, his leg held tightly in Medic's hands. That tongue rolled around the large digit like a lollipop, wiggling about to feel the distinctive toe prints on the skin. Medic chuckled deep in his throat, causing the vibrations to tickle that mouthful of toe. Demoman braced himself on the table, tensing up. "Oi! Careful lad, I dun want to kick ya from a laughin' fit!" He warns. "Oh?" Medic hums out after removing his mouth. "Ticklish are you? So.. if I vere to say, lightly move mein finger like so." He paused, reaching up with a free hand to run the tip of his finger up the center of Demoman's foot, causing a jerking reaction and hearty laugh. "OH HAHA HA! Doc that... that's...!" He started, hands clenched on sides of the examining table. "Zhat's pleasingly good?" Medic finished the other, returning back down to give the foot an apologetic kiss. "Shall I make it all better?" He teases. All he gets is a quick nod for an answer. "Very well." Squeezing those toes together, Medic returned to taking the digits into his eager mouth, sucking and licking at them like some form of exotic dessert. The Scotsman shuddered out at the sensations that were toying and playing with his mind. Sparks shot up his leg right into his inner thigh. A quick glance confirmed that yes, he was rock hard. This fetishism was gaining more of his interest than once thought. He discreetly reached down under his pants' waistline, grasping his aching length in one hand. "'Ey.. Doc? Can ye bob yer head like goin' fer apples in a barrel?" He asked, shuddering in his breath. The doctor rolled an eye up to his patient without saying a word. Slowly, he raises back up before diving back down. He repeated the process, the feeling of those digits rubbing on his tongue and the roof of his mouth also gave inner excitement for the doctor. No time to loosen his pants belt now, he had business to attend to and a eager, willing patient to do so! Every now and then, the German would let out a small groan or hum deep in his throat, enjoying the responses from the Scotsman in return just the same. Stroking himself, Demo followed Medic's movement, each pull and slow tug was copied with his occupied hand. The slow drags were especially good causing a deep moan to escape his nostrils. How long as it been since he got a good self shag off? Not to mention having a 'partner' around to help get him in the mood? His mind momentarily snapped to attention before almost kicking Medic down the throat after feeling the sensation of teeth rake his skin. His hand tightened just slightly before relaxing back. "Careful with dem chompers Doc." He spoke up, starting to noticed a small thin layer of sweat forming on his skin. He shouldn't enjoy this, not with what Medic was doing even if it was relieving him away from the alcohol buzz and built up urge. But Demo did enjoyed it regardless if he was feeding the German's bizarre form of getting his jollies rocked. Maybe he too, was a little nutty like the doctor? Medic didn't bother to respond, taking the caution to be careful on where he delighted Demoman before setting him off in a laughing fit and the doctor with a foot down his throat. The idea sounded fun and accelerating, however the reality would come down to choking to death and no one wanted to waited till the Respawn machines brought them back to life. By then the mood would of been killed off and that was no fun at all. The German paused while he pulled back, sucking all the harder. He eyed Demo, seeing the strain on the man's face, watching him wanting more of this. The moment the other managed to stare down, the look on his face was plain as day that sent out a single message: faster. Receiving the single, silent message, the doctor plunged back down intending to attack this limb. Slight faster in his pace, all Medic would hear was a needful groan from the Scotsman. His teeth barely glides over the skin, making sure for the feeling to be satisfying and not set off any ticklish offsets. Every now and then as he pulled back up, a small bite grazed the sink getting a nice reaction. Instead of wanting to buck and probably cause Medic to lose a tooth or worse, Demoman would wince his thighs together while he massaged himself, trying to keep up with the man's pace. "Come on Doc... dun keep me waitin'!" Demoman spoke out, letting out a shuddering breath. The other let out a quick hum in response. Time to please his patient completely. Taking his free hand, Medic grasped the center of Demo's foot, squeezing and releasing with each bob of his head. Each pass gained a slightly stronger grasp, guaranteed to leave behind a red mark later. The Scotsman couldn't help but pour out a small whimper through his throat, the sensations growing all the more steadily and being without this much stimulation in such a long time, the timing had to be just ideal. Unable to tell how long the two were at it, Demo warned the doctor with a tiny foot jerk just as the other pulled back. Medic quickly glanced up, understanding the situation. Squeezing with that one hand, he paced himself faster, sans teeth this time. It would be all tongue on this task. The Scotsman tried to keep up, pacing himself alongside the doctor. He groaned again, harder and louder. Yes, he could feel it. That desire that had been bottled up like a new shipment of scrumpy couldn't be held back any longer. "HIT IT DOC!" Demoman cried, ready to release himself. Medic pulled back, biting down on the front of Demo's foot, avoiding biting any toes all the while sucking as hard as he could, swallowing down the new flavored saliva down his throat. His grip on that hand squeezed tightly, shaking almost. In response, Demoman thrusted himself until he mimicked that grip, letting go as he finally cried out. Release came in a steady burst, soiling his sweater and undergarments as well as his hand. But it was worth it all, so worth it the time and effort. Wiping his hand on the side of his pants legging, it took Demo just a few minutes to calm his heart rate down and breath back to normal. How exciting that was, exploring something he had not tried out before. "That.. that was the weirdest but best way to wank me off, Doc. Thank ye." He huffed out, grinning like a drunken idiot which he was only half of. The German slowly removed himself off the other's foot finally, lower lip dragging across the toes one final time as he inhaled the last remnants of drool and scent down. A satisfied smirk laid on his face, seeing his patient just as satisfied at the work done. "Thanks Doc... Me foot's feelin' a whole lot bettar and yer extra 'benefits' helped me out as well!" Demo said, grinning still before taking out that scrumpy bottle to swig down a hearty helping for this conquest. "Anytime. I'm glad I can be... of service." Medic responded, returning to being the good doctor and handed Demo a clean cloth while he, himself took another cloth to clean that foot dry. The only evidence the German's work was shown was the red marks on the underside that will go away within a few hours. Then again, the limb would be covered up so none the wiser. All cleaned up, Demoman placed his foot back down, feeling as if the sprain was gone. He grinned again before turning back to Medic. "Next time.. ya do me other foot, yeah?" He asked, watching the other with that single eye. Medic finished cleaning his hands with the cloth, even so much as to wipe the corners of his mouth. "Of course. Come back anytime you feel your feet are in need of mein.. services. Danke Demo for ze pleasure. I look forward to zhat again. " He responded, watching the bomb maker leave the Infirmary back to his barracks. "Oh yeah, I'll be sure to." The Scots grinned, already plans in his drunken mind plans for another 'mishap' to have another wonderful experience with the doctor... or maybe sooner than that. He was a drunk afterall... and that was enough for a good excuse for repeat 'treatments'. With a silly grin on his face, Demoman walked himself back to his bunk, feeling like a new man in shoes made of clouds. -Fin- ----- Prompt: A piece involving one or more members of the team out-of-uniform. Please include Demoman and his feet. (Any situation, any type of clothing or state of undress is fine).
Out Of My Sight The Sniper was always watching him. Now, the Engineer didn’t strictly mind being the center of the marksman’s attention—not overall. He appreciated having someone else watch his back on the field, he smiled at the stares he got at the dinner table, and in the bedroom, the Sniper’s attention was invigorating, exhilarating, and exhausting in the best kind of way. And the warm look he always got afterwards, the way those brown eyes wouldn’t leave him even after they were done, that warmed his heart right up. That unfaltering gaze was what had first alerted him to the other man’s intentions, and his own reaction to being paid such close attention to had been….well, not surprising; he was too old to be surprised by his own tastes. But he hadn’t expected to find someone out here, and certainly not someone as attentive as the Sniper. As the days dragged by and the two men grew closer to each other, the Engineer realized that he was being watched more closely than ever. It was comforting, in some ways, and flattering, but after a few weeks, he finally decided he was getting too much of a good thing. He planned to broach the subject to the other man on the weekend, when they’d have time to work through it, but Thursday’s team meeting made him realize this conversation couldn’t wait. “Unbelievable,†the Soldier growled across the table, glowering at the Sniper. “And here I thought I was in the presence of a professional! Tell me, maggot, would a professional spend the entire battle paying attention to only one area of the battlefield?†“Dunno what you’re talking about,†the marksman muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh really? Then we’ve all just been imagining you focusing on protecting the Engineer, have we? Or maybe you’ve just forgotten how to shoot?†The Sniper’s face flushed with fury. “I haven’t—“ “And Engineer!†The Soldier cut him off. “What’s the matter with you, private? I thought you were an American. Don’t tell me you can’t manage without this foreigner watching your back!†The Engineer pressed his lips into a thin line. “I can manage just fine on my own, thank you kindly,†he snapped. He saw the Sniper flinch out of the corner of his eye, and chose his next words carefully. “If the Sniper thinks otherwise, he can take it up with me after the meeting.†The other man seemed to understand—when they adjourned, he followed the Engineer back to his room. As soon as they closed the door, the Sniper’s face split into a sheepish grin. “Sorry ‘bout that,†he rumbled, keeping his voice down so no one outside would hear. “Didn’t mean to get you in trouble.†“Soldier’s got a point, y’know.†“Wh—oh, come on!†The marksman scoffed. “I can do my job, and I know you can do yours! We need sentries and dispensers, so I’m taking care of the bloke who builds them. That’s all.†“Look, Sniper, I know you mean well, it’s just…†He sighed and scratched at his scalp, nudging his helmet away from his face. “I can’t help but feel a mite coddled.†The Sniper looked hurt. “Well, piss, if you wanted me to back off on the field, all you had to do was ask.†“I’m asking now. It’s bad strategy, anyhow. And—and heck, it’s not just on the field.†He held his breath and braced himself for the reaction. “Not just on the—what are you getting at?†He snarled like a wounded animal. “Don’t tell me…Don’t tell me you want to end it, just because of this? Just ‘cause I was worried about you, ‘cause I wanted to look out for you?†“I don’t need looking after, dammit, I’m a grown man!†He shouted. “And being with you don’t make me any less of one!†The Sniper was quiet, stunned, and suddenly the Engineer realized he’d gone too far. “Hell, I—I’m sorry, that was…Look, I don’t want to end it. I just—you can’t keep making eyes at me at the dinner table, at meetings; people’ll start to talk!†“That…right, that’s fair,†the marksman admitted, a little cowed from the Engineer’s outburst. “It’s just…well, you’re a tough bloke to look away from.†His gaze was still fixed on the shorter man as he twisted his mouth into a sad, sheepish little smile. The Engineer couldn’t meet his eyes. “Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, it’s just—“ “If you want me to go—“ “Don’t!†His hand flew out to grab the Sniper’s wrist, to stop him from heading towards the door. “It’s not you, I…ah, shucks.†He took his helmet off completely and scratched his head again, getting up the courage to say something he’d had trouble admitting to himself. “Look, partner, I’m no Don Juan. I’m not the kind of fella folks have dreams about.†His other hand passed self-consciously over the bit of pudge poking out above his belt. The Sniper reached out and ran his hand over the other man’s overalls, trailing down his belly and covering the Engineer’s fingers with his own. With the mechanic’s other hand still clutching the Sniper’s other wrist, they looked almost as if they were preparing for some sort of awkward waltz. The marksman squeezed gently. “You’re the one I have dreams about,†he whispered. “And I can’t tell you how much that means to me,†the Engineer murmured, entwining their fingers, “it’s just…When people stare at me, they usually don’t mean it kindly.†It wasn’t just because of his appearance, and he knew the Sniper knew that. He’d surely faced some of the same kind of stares back in Australia. The other man frowned, thoughtful, and began to slowly draw their bodies closer together. “Is there anything I can do to help?†The Engineer smiled, finally meeting the Sniper’s eyes. “Actually…if you’d go along with it, I’ve got an idea.†“Mmm…†The marksman matched his grin, leaning in towards his ear. “Always love your ideas…what do I do?†In answer, he disentangled one of his hands and pulled off the other man’s aviators. “Close your eyes.†The Sniper obeyed. The mechanic pulled his other arm free as well, and gave his companion an admonishing pat on the cheek when he jerked forward, almost opening his eyes again. “Ah-ah, keep ‘em closed.†The Sniper’s smirk was cheeky, and so was his “Yes, sir,†but his body was tensed and hyperalert. His nostrils flared, and his hands reached out warily to either side, as if he was having trouble keeping his balance. As the Engineer moved carefully towards his nightstand, the marksman’s brows furrowed, and while he kept his eyes closed, he jerked his head around as if he was looking for something. “Mate? You still there?†“Don’t you worry,†the Engineer called back, arriving at his nightstand and opening the drawer, “I’m over here.†The other man jolted, apparently just realizing how far away his companion was, and started to move towards him, but the mechanic called out again. “Hold on there, partner, stay where you are. You don’t think I’d up and leave, do you?†“’Course not,†the Sniper objected, “I just like keeping an eye on you.†“Don’t worry,†he repeated, “I’m not going anywhere.†He grabbed something thick, soft, and black out of the drawer and started back towards the Sniper. “You can relax,†he assured, reaching out to touch his face. “I’m right here.†The marksman jerked backwards when fingers first brushed his cheek, then leaned back into the Engineer’s hand when he realized what was happening. “Can I open my eyes yet?†“Not yet,†the Engineer admonished, drawing his hand back again, marveling at how the Sniper’s head tried to follow and only stopped when he was in danger of unbalancing himself. “I think it’s high time your eyes took a bit of a rest.†He took the cloth in his hand and wrapped it around the other man’s face, covering his eyes completely. The marksman shifted nervously, and the Engineer whispered, “All right?†“It’s…dunno,†he admitted. “I…just for a bit, yeah?†“Yeah,†the Engineer promised, tightening the knot. “Just a bit. And you let me know when you want it off, okay?†The Sniper nodded, smiling sheepishly. “Wish I could see you, that’s all.†“Oh, I reckon you’ve been watching long enough to have all of me just about memorized by now.†He chuckled. “In fact, I bet you can tell what I’m doing just from listening…†His fingers slid down to his own belt and started working on it. The Sniper grinned. “Unbuckling your tool belt,†he guessed correctly. “Good, good,†the Engineer crooned. “Keep going.†“Belt’s hitting the floor…Oh, there go the kneepads! Now you’re getting the straps on your overalls…†The marksman frowned; the next one was harder to get. “Crikey…Aha! Unbuttoning your shirt! Work shirt’s off, next is…Ooh, there go the goggles. Undershirt next, right?†He guessed before his companion even started on the white T-shirt that went under his company shirt and overalls. Once that was removed, the Sniper’s job was easy. “Boots off. Overalls down. Down to your boxers, aren’t you?†The Engineer chuckled darkly, grabbing one of the other man’s hands. There was another jolt of surprise, but it was gone soon enough. He dragged his companion’s fingers over his bare chest, eager to reassure him of his presence and glad for the feeling of warm, calloused skin. After placing the Sniper’s hand on his naked side, he reached forward and tugged at the marksman’s vest. “Can I?†He murmured. The Sniper still seemed tense, but he let his head tilt back as he groaned, “God, please.†The Engineer made short work of his companion’s clothes, and he was filled with a rush of power when the other man was naked and blindfolded before him. He stepped back a moment, and the Sniper very nearly whined. “Easy, easy. You can relax, partner; I’ve got you.†He began peppering the Sniper’s body with brief caresses and squeezes, spreading his attention all over so the other man couldn’t predict where he would touch him next. The marksman’s arms flailed wildly, and the Engineer ducked out of the way. “Easy, I said! Don’t you trust me?†Each new caress was still causing a nervous jolt. “’Course I do,†the Sniper panted. He was starting to make wonderful noises. “I just—ah!†He gasped as the Engineer’s hands trailed over his shoulders, up each leg, thumbed at a nipple, ruffled his hair, squeezed his ass. “Then let me take care of you,†he whispered, firmly grasping the other man’s shoulders and directing him towards the bed. His hands slid down to the Sniper’s hips, which he pushed towards the mattress. Once his companion was sitting comfortably, he leaned in and gave him a swift, chaste smooch. He had to bite back a chuckle when man underneath him growled, wrapped his arms around him, and nibbled at his lower lip. For a moment, the Engineer allowed himself to be pulled forward, and shoved his tongue eagerly into the Sniper’s mouth, where it was welcomed with enthusiasm. The marksman’s hands rubbed up and down his back, grateful for more direct contact, and after a moment he disentangled their mouths and blindly nuzzled the shorter man’s neck, breathing in his scent. “You’re gonna take care of me?†His breath washed over the Engineer’s skin. “You bet,†he breathed, sliding his hands over the Sniper’s hips. “Ready?†“Please,†the Sniper keened, “please…†Suddenly, the Engineer pulled back, severing all contact. A low groan came from the other man, but he seemed more relaxed than before, if not entirely calm. It would be difficult to be calm, the mechanic allowed, if one was as visibly aroused as the Sniper. The Engineer gave himself a moment to drink in the sight of the other man. Usually, at this point in the proceedings, he was too anxious about his own appearance and performance to fully appreciate the magnificent creature in front of him, but now he was able to ogle as he pleased: lithe, lean, and powerful, the deadly marksman was blindfolded, slick with sweat, and almost fully erect with excitement. His mouth gaped in a silent cry; “Touch me, touch me,†he seemed to be saying. The Engineer was happy to oblige. Silently, he reached forward with two fingers, touching them to the base of the other man’s cock. He would have loved to start with his mouth, but deemed it unwise. The Sniper cried out in surprise at the sudden touch and gave a start, jerking his hips forward and almost falling off the bed. The Engineer gripped his companion’s hips again and guided them back a bit for safety, then returned his hand to the marksman’s erection, running a single finger from base to tip. The Sniper moaned and reached forward in an attempt to find his companion’s face; in response, the mechanic leaned forward and kissed one of his palms. Both hands caressed his face briefly, then found their way to the Engineer’s bald and bare scalp as the shorter man lowered himself to his knees in front of the Sniper. He began with light, teasing touches, aware that he might never get the other man to wear the blindfold again and determined to draw this experience out as long as he could. The marksman was putty in his hands, and after a minute, under his tongue, as be began to lick at the base, around the head, and at the slit. He made sure to fully involve both of his hands, fondling the other man’s balls and squeezing his ass. For a few minutes, the Sniper’s entire world comprised only of the Engineer’s scent of sweat and oil, the Engineer’s stubble under his fingers, the Engineer’s hands on his body, the Engineer’s tongue on his skin, the Engineer’s mouth around his cock, and his own groans and heavy breathing. When he came, the mechanic swallowed it all, making his own appreciative noises. Afterwards, the Sniper laid himself out on the bed, wrung out and deliriously happy. One of his arms stretched towards the edge of the bed, reaching for his lover. The Engineer hopped up next to him and ignored his own arousal in favour of stroking his companion’s sides and kissing his cheek. They lay there content for a moment in each other’s arms, neither needing anything more than the other’s presence. After a minute, the Sniper groped lazily at the Engineer’s erection, still trapped under his boxers. “Wanna help you out with that, but I dunno if I can return the favour wearing this blindfold,†he murmured, still a little dazed. “Don’t wanna accidentally bite you or something.†The Engineer was about to ask if he wanted the blindfold off, but before he got the chance, the Sniper continued, “But there’s a couple ways of doing this we haven’t tried yet, yeah?†The Engineer’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting…I mean, we have tried it, sure thing, but are you saying we ought to do it the other way ‘round?†“Yeah,†the marksman grinned, “been thinking about that cock of yours, and how much I want it in me.†“You…†He tried to swallow, but his throat seemed to be devoid of any moisture. “You sure about that?†“God, yes,†the Sniper groaned, dipping his fingers below the waistband of the other man’s boxers to tease at the arousal he found there. “Such a bloody perfect cock…†It was amazing, how he knew just where to touch, even though he couldn’t see anything. The Engineer had trouble pulling away, but finally managed to roll over, open his nightstand drawer once more, and pull out a tube of petroleum jelly. He could feel the other man’s hand groping around, trying to figure out where he’d gone. He turned back to the spent and temporarily blinded Sniper, grabbed the exploring appendage, and pressed a kiss to each fingertip. “You’re really sure about this?†He asked again. The Sniper nodded. “I trust you. You’ve seen me do it enough times. ‘Sides, didn’t exactly come to me a blushing virgin, now did you?†They shared a chuckle; it was true, the Engineer had fucked a man before, although it had been awhile. They each took a moment to prepare, one of them fiddling with the tube of lubrication while the other one tugged at the first one’s boxers. Finally, the Engineer’s slicked-up finger was poised over the other man’s entrance, ready to start preparing him. He looked up one last time at the Sniper, who was still lying on his back, his head resting on the pillows. “One last time, partner, are you sure—“ “Yes I’m bloody fucking sure! Let’s go, mate, I need you!†That was more than enough to set the Engineer off. He circled the edge of his companion’s hole once, then started working his finger in. “Yeah, fuck, that’s it, that’s perfect†the Sniper moaned as the other man prepared him. The marksman was surprisingly tight, which made the Engineer wonder. “Tell me something, Sniper,†he panted, leaning forward to breathe into his ear, “you ever been fucked before?†The Sniper shook his head wildly as a second digit was added. The Engineer grinned. “Oh, I’m gonna have fun with you, boy,†he hissed, right before curling his fingers against the other man’s prostate. He really was quite a sight, thrashing and writhing, moaning and whining, grabbing at the Engineer and making all sorts of faces that he surely wouldn’t have made if he was thinking about what the other man could see. The mechanic spent a little longer than he needed to opening him up, and made sure to brush against his sweet spot as often as possible, just so he could watch him flush and sweat and pant. The Sniper stopped saying real words after the third finger was added, and shouted garbled nonsense until the Engineer slid his fingers out and away. He let his slick digits brush against the other man’s cock, which was trying its damnedest to harden again. “No,†the Sniper moaned, clutching at the sheets. He had totally lost himself to touch, at this point; the witty professional that the Engineer knew so well had melted away to reveal a wanton and needy creature. It made sense—at this point, all the marksman knew was touch and scent and sound and taste, and each of those senses was being overwhelmed by sex. “Need you,†he gasped, “need you; I need you; need you bad; need you now, fuck I need you—“ “Shh,â€cooed the Engineer, slicking up his own cock, “you’ve got me; I’m here.†The Sniper’s head raised up suddenly, almost whacking against the other man’s, and he started mouthing at the air, trying to find his lover’s lips. “I’m here,†he repeated with a smile, and before the marksman could kiss him, he pressed the head of his erection against the Sniper’s entrance. He took a moment, as he pushed his arousal forward into the tight heat of the Sniper, to watch the shape the other man’s mouth made. It was a surprisingly delicate “O,†almost as if he was singing, or posing, or having some kind of religious experience. His lips, red and swollen from the night’s activities, were a perfect picture, and the only thing better than looking at them, the Engineer decided, was kissing them. His tongue and his cock worked in tandem, probing the Sniper from opposite ends, one of them lithe and quick and clever, while the other was hard and hot and powerful. As lost to pleasure as the marksman was, he still managed to respond beautifully, sliding their tongues together and moving his hips in time with his partner’s thrusts. When they reached the perfect rhythm, the Engineer closed his eyes, and for a moment, both of them forgot the rest of the world. All too soon, he opened them again. He was close, very close. “Sniper,†he panted, pulling away from the kiss, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—“ He started to pull out, but the Sniper’s hands flew to his hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. “In me,†he growled, pulling the Engineer’s hips forward and pushing himself against his lover’s cock. “Come in me, fuck, I need you, need you there, come in me—“ It was the last encouragement the Engineer needed. He arched his back, swearing loudly, and emptied himself into the Sniper. They laid there, panting, until the mechanic realized that the other man was hard again and gave him the best handjob he could muster. As tired as he was, it wasn’t very impressive, but the Sniper was tuckered out, too, and he curled around his lover happily, pressing soft kisses into his skin until he reached his second climax. “Bet I’m a right sight,†the Sniper laughed when he finally remembered how to speak. He really was. His lips were still swollen and red, his whole body shone with sweat, and his chest was sticky with his own release. “Finest sight I ever did see,†whispered the Engineer with awe. “You really did take care of me,†the Sniper murmured, and only then did the mechanic realize that despite not being able to see a thing, his lover was totally relaxed and at ease. “And you…you really do trust me.†He nuzzled his partner’s face, bumping his nose against the blindfold. “Still alright?†“Mmm,†agreed the Sniper, nuzzling back, “kinda like it, actually. ‘M always watching, on the lookout, you know?†“What do you call ‘em…bushman’s rules?†The marksman snorted. “Bloody common sense, ‘specially on the battlefield. But this way…†He stretched. “Don’t have to look out for you, or me, or anyone. Get to focus on just being with you.†“Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself,†the Engineer grinned. “Reckon I enjoyed yourself, too…And shucks, I’m sorry about before.†“Before?†“When I hollered at you. Figure I just didn’t like the idea that I couldn’t take care of myself…†“I meant it, you know?†The Sniper whispered. “Meant what?†It was the Engineer’s turn to be confused. “’Bout needing you. Not just your cock, not just…Piss, I need you. That’s why I’ve been keeping an eye on you, mate. Not because I thought you couldn’t manage without me, but ‘cause I knew I couldn’t make it without you.†The Sniper’s fingers stroked absentmindedly through the Engineer’s chest hair. “Shit, I know you can take care of yourself. Take care of me pretty well, too. Sorry if I made it seem like I thought you were the one what needed taken care of; I just…Guess I wanted to feel like you needed me, too.†“I do.†There was no hesitation. The Sniper’s hand stopped moving. “What?†He whispered. “I need you. Maybe not as my full-time backup on the field, but I need you. ‘Till I met you, I didn’t believe very strongly in the good kind of attention.†He smiled. “You’ve just about got me thinking I’m worth a damn.†The Sniper frowned for a moment, then felt his way forwards and covered the Engineer’s smile with his mouth, engulfing him in a passionate kiss. “Worth more than that,†he mumbled as he pulled away. “Worth more than anything; I can tell without even looking at you.†“I don’t mind you looking at me, you know,†the Engineer admitted. “Fact, I rather like it…†He stroked the edge of the blindfold again. “Can I?†“Yeah.†The blindfold came off, and the two of them stared into each other’s eyes for a long, long time. When one of them finally drifted off to sleep, the other went with him. Their eyes closed together, and they dreamed of each other. ----- Prompt: Sniper x Engineer, blindfold fetish.
He felt like a cat, a very well to do cat, all curled up with its very affectionate master. The feeling of gloved hands running over his nearly naked body made him purr with glee. Even through worn leather gloves he could feel the heat of the other’s hands. He soaked up the feeling of being enveloped by another’s body and reveled in the feeling of being loved, if only bodily. “You’re always so soft and yielding for me, petite,†the RED Spy whispered to his BLU counterpart. “Only here,†the BLU Spy nuzzled into the RED’s thigh, “tomorrow I’ll kill you before you even know I’m there,†“Oh, we were having such a nice time and you had to go and spoil it with work talk,†the RED tilted the BLU’s chin up to face him, “naughty kitty,†A sly smile came over the BLU’s face. Naughty certainly was something he was on a daily basis but hearing it from his lover was… titillating. “Naughty, am I?†the BLU pinned the RED against the bed and aligned their bodies. “I can be very naughty,†“Oh, but Santa does not give presents to naughty boys,†“Santa has not visited me since I was a very little boy,†“Well, I had a little chat with Santa this year,†the RED used his slightly superior body weight to flip the two over, “and he said that if you promised me something more valuable than gold then you could be put back on the nice list,†“And what do I have that is worth than gold?†the BLU’s brow furrowed, “If you’re talking about the Di Vinci I stole, I already sold it,†“You really are a daft little kitty, aren’t you?†The RED leaned in to the BLU’s neck. “To think that I was going to give you something magnificent,†“Something worth more than gold,†the BLU’s eyes fluttered as the other Spy’s lips gently caressed his neck. The BLU Spy’s mind was quickly becoming a mess at the feel of the other’s body against his own but he had to figure out what he had meant. Something worth more than gold that wasn’t perhaps physically obtainable and yet within the BLU’s grasp. Surely he did not mean… But, everything they had done was meant to be purely physical. He could not mean that he wanted his heart. How could the heart of a spy be worth more than gold? No one had ever wanted it before it had become ice but, now that it was frozen solid, here he was. “I-I love you,†it was as if the BLU had no control of his mouth. The RED smirked against the BLU’s shoulder. “Oh, ma petite,†the RED climbed from his lover and grabbed a small, wrapped box from a drawer in his dresser. The BLU nearly panicked. Had he gotten it wrong? “Here, open it, cher,†The BLU frowned before he pulled the paper from the box. Inside was a thin silver ID bracelet with an elegant looking cat engraved across the front and a saying on the back. “Ton amour est précieux comme l'or,†the BLU smirked, “precious as gold, huh?†“I told you,†“You’ve gone soft on me,†the BLU smirked as the RED settled back into bed. “You’re the one who loves me,†the RED shot back as he pulled the BLU into a kiss. “But I suppose, in my old age, I’ve gotten a little bit sweeter to those I too love,†“I knew the whole time, mon amour,†the BLU smirked as he stretched out along the other’s body. “Liar,†“Well, you cannot blame me for trying,†he sighed as he finally settled into a comfortable niche in the RED’s arms. “I am a spy after all.†With a grunted laugh the RED pulled the BLU closer, “Merry Smissmas,†he whispered as the two masked men drifted off to sleep. ----- Prompt: RED Spy/BLU Spy, adorable.
The room smelled of hard liquor and beer, cheap snacks and sexual frustration. It was a Christmas Eve Party that everyone was intent on enjoying, but that no one actually was. So, to remedy the situation, and presumably to boost morale for a while, they had been supplied with liquor and tame party music. With the beer in their system, the entire team began to loosen up, letting go some of the stress and tension that came from battle and an overdose of adrenaline. They had then began reminiscing of their past experiences with women- the only way to ease the pain of sexual frustration. It was no secret what pretty much every man here did at night. They began calling it the military's lullaby, and not a night went by when you wouldn't hear the soft moans and heavy breathing, followed closely by a strained grunt, then silence. Paper thin walls certainly didn't help either. But now was not a time to be upset at the current situation, now was time to let loose, have fun, forget all the problems, at least for a day. Scout technically wasn't old enough to drink until the first of January, but no one really cared that he was probably the most wasted guy at the party. Demo was undoubtedly more in his element than any of them, preferring to stick to his homebrewed stuff instead of the cheap liquor everyone else was drinking. Though he was nearly as drunk as Scout, he could handle his alcohol much better than the kid. Heavy was drinking some vodka he had gotten from his brother back in Russia, and the alcohol had him warm and flushed, and to the drunk Medic's chagrin, he couldn't help but keep his eyes off the German. "Doktor... you are looking... like tasty meal." Heavy gruffly panted into the man's ear. Heavy just giggled, giddy from all the alcohol. He grabbed the big guy and pulled him out of the hustle of the 'party.' Pyro observed attentively, even though everyone else seemed to miss it. At least there were two people here who weren't hurting from the kind of frustration that swept through the base regularly. Pyro unfortunately had not ingested any alcohol. Besides not wanting to take off his gas mask, he preferred using alcohol to start giant fires instead of using it as a means to get drunk. Either way it was nothing but a cheap thrill, and this whole party was somewhat of a nuisance for him. He'd rather just get off to bed, but for some strange reason he had decided to hang around. It was strange that the most antisocial team member had decided to join, and everyone had at first been concerned about that. But then they all started drinking... The Pyro had never actually consumed any alcohol, let alone gotten drunk. To be honest, it wasn't exactly an idea he fancied, either. The men around him were uninhibited, loose, rude, and obnoxious, and he certainly did not want to become anything like them. It was the team's scout that first decided to come over and socialize with him. He frowned behind his mask, noticing how he was reluctant to approach the suited man. Demo seemed to be urging him on. The dark skinned man said something that convinced Scout to do it, and now Scout was walking cautiously up to him. "Uh... hey. Wassup?" The kid said in his Boston accent. Pyro just made a non committal grunt in his direction. "Uh... right. Well... Me 'n Demo was thinkin... Why don't you have a drink? It's free, ya know..." The pyro sighed, but for some reason the idea intrigued him. Or perhaps it was just the never ending pressure that was urging him to 'fit in' with everyone else. "You gotta take off that mask first..." Oh. So that's what it was. Demo appeared behind scout, offering the Pyro an unopened bottle. What the hell, why not, Pyro thought to himself. He reached up and unlatched the suit from the helmet, then tugged it up and over his head. "Holy shit, he's doing it!" Scout chittered excitedly. He watched wide eyed as the mask was removed and set aside, then scanned the newly revealed face. The Pyro allowed himself to be examined. Dark brown, mussy hair, twinkling green eyes. A strong, defined face pocked with only slightly visible burn scars, and a dark stubble along his jawline. He had the charming, handsome, rugged look that most men would be envious of. Scout gawked. "You're like... attractive!" Demo laughed at the kid, then offered up the bottle. Pyro grabbed it with his gloved hands, popped open the top and knocked it back. The bitter brew made him grimace, but he swallowed it indignantly. He couldn't see what all the fuss was about, it didn't even taste all that good. The alcohol went hot down his throat, then settled in his stomach. Pyro stared at the bottle. He was certainly enjoying that heat, like a fire swelling inside of him. "Yeah, it ain't the greatest stuff, lad. Here, try a bit o' this." The demo offered his own bottle, and Pyro eagerly grabbed it. This stuff tasted even worse, but the burn was so much stronger. He could get used to this. "Keep it, ah got plenty more." Pyro nodded. "Uh... thanks." He spoke, and for the first time they understood him. Things escalated quickly after that. Pyro was apparently a lightweight and after drinking the first bottle was already more drunk than the Scout. But he couldn't deny that he was having fun. After finishing off the last of the beer Demo had given him, he picked up his old beer bottle and started drinking that. He stuck mostly with Scout and Demo, throwing in his two cents whenever he could. "I've never actually... done it..." Scout said shyly after Demo had detailed a particularly livid experience with a woman he had back in Scotland. Demo had stared at him unbelieving for a moment before bursting out laughing. "You're joking, right?" Pyro asked, a goofy grin on his face. The room was spinning and he was having trouble focusing on the kid's face. Scout flushed. "It's not funny! It's true!" He pouted, crossing his arms. "Oh boy, you're missing out. A warm mouth wrapped around yer willie... it's like nothing else in the world." Demo's eyes glazed over as he pictured the situation, a pretty red headed woman bobbing up and down in his lap... Pyro opened his mouth before he really knew what he was saying. "I've never done it with a woman either... But I've been with a man before. Demo snapped out of his lusty day dream and Scout stared at him with wide eyes. "Did I just say that out loud?" Pyro asked, turning his gaze to the floor and blushing. "How... how was it?" Scout asked quietly. "Do tell, lad!" Pyro gawked at them. He hadn't expected that reaction at all... "Uh... well... It was a bit before I came to BLU... We had met online and were interested in eachother..." "Aw jeeze, just skip to the good part!" Scout rushed him. Pyro coughed, feeling a little uncomfortable about this. "We went over to his house... I got on my knees and..." He stopped there. "And? What did you do?" Demo asked eagerly. "I... I began sucking... him." This was beyond uncomfortable. "Damn..." Scout said in shock. "Was it good? How'd it taste?" "It was great... The feeling of hard, thick flesh inside my mouth... hearing him moan as I sucked him..." The alcohol took over at this point, along with the lust of the memory. "Then he gripped my head and pushed me all the way down on him... and I could feel him throbbing in my throat, and I could feel him shooting his cum right into my stomach..." Scout squirmed as his pants grew a bit too tight for comfort. "Did you like it?" He asked, almost breathless. "Hell yeah... Having that sort of power over someone, knowing that you were giving them that much pleasure... It's intense." Demo nodded. "I knew there had to be a reason all those lassies were so into it..." "Hey, Demo..." Scout started timidly. "Is it weird that I kinda wanna try... sucking a dick?" Demo shook his head. "That's the alcohol talking... but I kinda feel it too..." Pyro watched in confusion as something passed between the two and they started advancing on him. The next thing he knew the two were tugging on his flame-proof suit. The crowd was gone and he was in someone's room, sitting on the edge of a bed. He felt cool air breeze over his chest, which when he looked down was now bare. A light dusting of hair spread from his chest, disappearing down his stomach, then reappearing in a happy trail that grew thicker until it disapeared beneath his underwear. "Oh jeeze, I can't believe I'm doing this..." Scout mumbled. Demo just laughed at him. "Chances are none of us are going to remember this tomorrow... Might as well enjoy it," he said, taking the lead. He reached down and gripped pyro's cock through the thin fabric. Pyro threw his head back and moaned in delight. "Already hard? Good, let's get to work..." Demo swiftly removed Pyro's underwear. Pyro shivered as the air drifted over his sensitive member. Scout stared in awe. "Jesus, you're huge!" This got pyro blushing. "'M not that big..." He dismissed. Scout guffawed. "Biggest I've seen... Not that I've seen a lot or anything!" He backtracked quickly. "Go ahead and touch it..." Demo encouraged. Scout swallowed a lump in his throat and reached out, wrapping his fingers around the member. It twitched in his hand as Pyro moaned. Scout began to slowly pump up and down, and Demo's hands went back to roaming and stroking Pyro's body. "Mmm... please... suck it..." Pyro begged wantonly. He'd never ask that sober, he was sure. Scout leaned his head forward, then hesitated. He stuck his tongue out and took a cautious lick along the head. Pyro gasped, his cock twitching at the sensation. "Gods... more..." he pleaded. Scout decided the taste wasn't too unpleasant. He opened his mouth and took just the head in. Pyro moaned like a slut as Scout's tongue twirled around the head of his dick. Demo watched with fascination. He reached a hand up to Scout's head, then tried pushing him down further. Scout coughed and pulled his head up. "What the hell?" He objected. Demo shrugged. "If you ain't gonna do it right, lad, then let me have a turn." Scout reddened and sat back, allowing Demo to take his spot. Pyro watched as Demo descended down his dick, then shut his eyes tight and bit his lip as his dick easily slid down the drunken Scot's throat. "Fuck!" He moaned, hands clawing at the bed sheets. Demo came back up, panting. "Wow... I didn't think I could do that!" "Do it again... please..." Pyro begged. Scout watched with wide eyes as Demo easily deep throated him again. "Lemme try..." He said, tapping Demo's shoulder. Demo scooted back and Scout opened his mouth, sucking down Pyro's cock. It hit the back of his throat and he almost gagged, forced to let up. "How'd you do that?" He asked, breathless, hand instinctively going up to rub at the oozing dick. "I dunno... just... open your throat? Like how when you say the 'OH' sound?" Scout looked at him with confusion, then dove back into Pyro's lap. He attempted again, and this time managed to let it slide past the tight confines of his throat, before almost gagging again. Pyro was a mess, squirming and writhing around on the bed as Scout and Demo experimented on him. They licked, sucked, and even nibbled on his sensitive flesh, one at a time. Then they both kissed up the side. He almost lost in when he felt a warm mouth encasing the head of his dick and a hot tongue lapping at the side. Pyro tensed as he held back the flood gates, wanting to make this last as long as possible. But two mouths working at his cock, while he was in such a drunken state, was driving him crazy. "Guys... I'm... it's... god... unh..." He couldn't even speak, but the message was clear. Demo took the head of Pyro's cock in his mouth and Scout maneuvered his head to the side so he could lick at the shaft. Pyro's hips bucked up into Demo's mouth and he let out a low moan that escalated into a prolonged shout. Demo's tongue worked around the head inside his mouth, and a moment later he tasted the first spurt of his seed. He grimaced at the taste and pulled his head back. Scout took the hint and dove down, the two switching positions. Scout's technique was different, and it only added to Pyro's immense amount of pleasure. He writhed around on the bed, gripping at the sheets as he felt the hot seed course through his shaft and out the slit of his cock. Scout eagerly swallowed, not finding the taste as bad as demo. Scout continued sucking him dry, until the spurts stopped, and Pyro's dick began to soften. --- Pyro woke up the next morning, head pounding. His stomach churned and threatened to empty itself. As he attempted to sit up, he found himself pinned by an arm. Two warm bodies rested on either side of him. He forced himself to open his eyes and saw Demo and Scout, both snuggled up to him. They were clothed and he was naked... What the hell happened last night? END
Author’s Note: I had quite a bit of fun with this prompt. As always, I got a bit carried away, but I’m pleased with how it turned out, and I hope my giftee is, too! Merry Christmas, everyone! ----- The Path I Took Led Underground By Izzy “It has to be done,†I keep telling myself. “He deserves to know the truth.†I’d been dreading this walk for weeks now— not the walk itself, of course. It was quiet pleasant, really, with the air warm and not too dusty, just the way I like. No, it was the destination that I’d been dreading. Not that Cactus Valley was anything terrible, at least as I remember it. That was before all the signs were thrown up, half-painted, and poorly-spelled. I chuckle to myself as the one reading ‘Research Facility for Anti-Robot Weppons’ comes into view. I know instantly who made them— who made all of this, and a pang of guilt hits me somewhere about the gut for laughing at his efforts. “He deserves to know.†I remind myself, again, because he does, and because he’s the only thing keeping me on this trek towards futility. What good will it do, to let him know where I’ve been? What I’ve been doing? I doubt he’ll even understand fully. Not that he’s not a smart man (though he’s no Einstein, that much is obvious), but hell, even I don’t understand it myself some days. “He’d want to know.†He would. No matter where I’ve been, or what I’ve been doing, he’d want to know I was alright. I’ve seen him down there on the field, shouting orders at his troops, always keeping his eyes near the back of the pack. He still expects to see me running up, toolbox in my arms, ready to go to work. But it’s not me anymore. Another Engineer has taken my place—a RED, at that, though I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. They’re all wearing red these days. Even him. Never thought I’d see the day. I feel myself halt in my steps for the millionth time, and force myself to push on, muttering that mantra under my breath. It has to be done. He deserves to know. It has to be done. --- I find him near the front lines, inspecting the mine entrance— for what, who knows. For a moment, I just stand there, taking him all in. It’s been less than a month, but it feels like years since I’ve last seen him. He looks good in red, actually. After staring at him, dumbly for the longest time, I force myself to clear my throat. I clear it a second time, louder, and then a third, until I get his attention. His hearing never was that great. One of the perils of firing rockets all day, I guess. Most people never make the connection, but it’s probably why he shouts all the time. Or not. It’s hard to tell what’s from damage, and what’s just…him. He looks stunned when he sees me. For a moment, I’m not sure he even realizes who I am. I don’t look like the RED Engineer, but then, I don’t look much like myself anymore, either. Still, there’s a spark of recognition in his eyes, and when he speaks, I know he knows me. “Dell?†“Howdy, J.†For a long time we just stand there, neither one of us daring to make a move. I, because I feel rooted to the spot. Him… maybe he feels like it’s all a dream, and that if he moves, he’ll wake up in his cot, and none of this will ever have happened. I’m starting to wish that were true. “Is it…it’s really you?†He chokes out. “Yeah. It’s me.†I nod, scratching at my head for lack of anything else to do, aside from stare at him some more. His eyes follow my hand, and they widen, and for a minute I wonder why. “You’ve got-“ “Yeah.†I nod again, dropping my hand. I’d forgotten already. “…Looks nice.†He smiles a little, and I thank him. I’m not sure which new feature he’s referring to, but I thank him all the same. Tentatively, he steps forward, and I do my best to smile. I am grateful that it was him to make the first move, but at the same time, all I want to do is turn tail and run. It’s not too late. He still doesn’t know. He’s seen me. He knows I’m alright. That’s enough, isn’t it? He deserves to know. Tell him, you selfish coward. “Dell…I…†He tries, only a few feet from me now, but the words die on his lips. The gap between us is closed in an instant, his beefy arms lifting me up in the biggest bear hug possible. I can hear him laughing joyously, over the sound of my own asphyxiation, until he lets me down again. He’s all talk, now, going on about how he’s missed me, and how worried everyone was, and how now those robot sons of bitches won’t stand a chance against them. I force the knot in my throat down, and croak, “Jane, stop.†Surprisingly, he does. Damnit. I had half-hoped he’d keep going on, so I wouldn’t have to do this. “I…I got somethin’ I need to tell you.†“Can’t it wait?†He asks, one hand still clinging to my sleeve, as if I’ll turn into ash and blow away on the breeze any second. Don’t I wish. “Come on, you’ve gotta come back to the base- the men will be thrilled to see you back!†He starts leading me towards the base, but I force his grip loose with a strength he seems surprised to see from me. “What’s wrong?†I pause, just staring up at him, and I wonder how big the gap between us used to be. Damnit, I’d rehearsed and rehearsed this, and now I can’t remember my lines at all. What the hell am I doing here? It’s not too late to run. Seeing me is enough. He knows I’m alright. He repeats the question, and I pause again, before finally replying, “Everything.†And damnit, the look he gives me nearly breaks my heart. “Can we just…sit down for a bit?†He nods, and pulls up a pair of crates for us- one labelled dynamite, and the other bananas. Knowing our employers, probably neither is a safe bet, but I take the banana crate anyway. We sit there for a time, him waiting eagerly for me to begin, and me wondering just how to. “Reckon I’d better just…start at the beginning, then…†* * * * ** When I’m done, he’s still staring down at the dirt, and I find myself praying for him to say something- anything that isn’t ‘You’re lying, this is all a joke, right? Good one, Dell. You’re hilarious.’ I’ve had enough of him denying the truth I’m telling him. It’s hard enough to get through this without him trying to talk me out of reality after every other sentence. The silence between us is deafening. It feels like an eternity before he finally breaks it. “So this whole time?†It’s less of a question, and more him confirming the fact that I’m a no-good traitor, as if it needed confirmation. “…yeah.†I utter, quietly. “Why?†Finally he looks up, but I have to look away, because I know I can’t answer him. I don’t mean I don’t know the answer. He just wouldn’t understand. No one could— not until they found themselves in my shoes. There’s no other way to know what it’s like. “Why?†He presses, rising now, and I hold my breath, waiting for the crate to explode. But it doesn’t, and I find myself torn between relief and regret. “Dell, why?†He comes around to stand in front of me, and a month ago, I know he would have had to drop to one knee to look me in the eye. He doesn’t have to do that anymore. I wish that didn’t feel as good as it does. I stay silent, and I can feel his confusion turning to anger for it. “Damnit, Dell, just tell me why! Just tell me you had a good reason, and we can just…†Just what? Go back to the way things were? Likely. He exhales, loudly, through his nose, and takes a step back. “You were just gone so long. I…I was worried, Dell.†He admits. “Nobody knew what had happened to you. We thought you’d been abducted by those robots, or maybe you’d gotten hurt somewhere.†He sits back down, and I hold my breath again, until I’m sure he’s not going to explode in front of me. “I didn’t know what to do without you.†Finally, I meet his gaze, schooling my expression as best I can. “You made out alright. Kept everyone in one piece.†I shrug. He had done well. As poorly-done as Decoy was, it had been his idea, and a damn good one at that. The robots were still dumb enough to keep trying here, and until someone further up the line— someone with an organic brain— realized the truth, by then their defenses at the actual headquarters would be solidified. “Would’ve done better with you with me.†He frowns, kicking a little piece of robot shrapnel in the dirt, scooping to pick up the gold coin that was trapped under it. “So you… you’re the reason they run on this?†He gestures to the coin, and I shrug again. “I keep ‘em runnin’ on it, but it wasn’t my idea.†I would have gone with something more conventional, like coal, or gasoline. Smart as I am, even I can’t figure out why anyone would pick it as a fuel. “How?†He asks, fingering the coin. “It’s a complicated process. Would take all day to-“ “I don’t mean that.†He flings the coin down into the dust. “How did he get you to do it? What did he give you?†I swallow. The one question I’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask. I know I could lie, and he’d probably accept it. A lie was certainly easier than the truth, in this situation. Much less complicated, too. But then, the truth was already plainly visible, on my head, and my hand, and in…well, nearly everything about me, now. We’d all been exposed to a certain extent, and had been warned of the symptoms, but not one of us had ever gone this far. “Reckon you can figure what I’ve been given.†I reply. It’s easier than stating the truth outright. “So, what? All of this, for…for a stupid rock?!†He shouts, giving my shoulder a shove. We’ve gone from denial to anger, now. It’s time to go. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand.†I shake my head, getting up from the box. “Don’t you start with me, Dell!†He shoves me again, back onto it. “You let down your company, your friends, your country! And…and you let me down, Dell. All for…for what?†“I’m leaving.†I state firmly, and he tries to shove me back, but I’m ready for him this time, and hold my arm up to stop him. He tries again, to the same result, and I walk past him, up the side of the building, and towards the seemingly-empty desert. “Dell!†He shouts after me, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I’ve done what I set out to do. He knows the truth now, and he hates me for it. I can’t say I don’t blame him, but still, it stings. I can still hear him calling out to me, until I disappear behind a hoodoo, and slip into the secret door there. I shut it behind me, blocking out all sound; Blustering sands, coyotes, and him, still shouting after me, though I can’t hear it. Pausing for a moment against the cool metal, I sigh, before I take the stairs down, heading deep into the earth. * * * * ** After a few hours spent sulking in my bunk, I force myself to get up and start working. For a while, I just fritter away time on general maintenance, and a few blueprints that end up being more doodle than design. At one point I catch myself sketching out a car that could have saved Kennedy. Really, the giant cowcatcher on the front, and the rocket launchers aren’t necessary, but I keep them anyway. “The robots are here! Protect the facility!†Well that’s one voice I’ll never miss taking orders from. Sighing, I put the pencil down, and wheel my chair over to the monitor. I already know what to expect from this wave. On the other monitor I can their ranks lining up in the storage container, atop of the hill. Looks like about 50, maybe 60 Scouts, some Heavy bots, and a dozen Demos. It’ll probably be over in an hour. “Move out, men!†There he is, at the head of the pack, leading his troops as always. He stops a few yards from the mine entrance, and shouts more orders at them. Without even realizing it, I’ve straightened up in my seat, and I almost rush off when he yells “GET MOVING! Here they come!†“I’mma comin’, I’mma comin’!†hollers a voice from the base. The RED Engineer comes up running, toolbox tightly grasped in his arms. Amateur. He should have been setting up ten minutes ago. “Come on, Engie, let’s get you set up.†Sol smiles— actually smiles!— and helps him with the toolbox, covering him from robot fire until he’s got his nest up and running. He never did that for me. Of course, he never had to, but…still, there’s something in it that makes me angry. I just look at the other Engineer’s nest and… For the first time in my life, I want to destroy, instead of create. And god help me, I’m gonna wreck that poor-excuse-for-an-Engineer’s day. * * * * ** “Jesus Christ, is this over yet?!†Scout skids in the dirt, ducking behind a barrel, hoping for a few minutes to catch his breath. “We’ve only been at it for ten minutes, runt.†Sniper grumbles, working hastily to repair his broken bow. “Don’t call me runt, geezer.†He sticks his tongue out, before taking a swig from the older man’s canteen. “How’re we doin’, anyway? Clear to make a cash grab?†He asks. “Hang on.†Sniper pokes his head out, getting his answer seconds later in the form of a little blue laser light, and a bullet through the skull. “Ah, shit. Sniper down!†“Zhis is no good! Ve need to fall back!†Medic pants, shouting to be heard over his meat-shield’s artillery. “Nyet! Doktor is big worry-man!†Heavy merely laughs. “I am not! You’re going to run out of ammo soon, and zhen…†He falls silent when the gun stops making its customary roar, and only emits a series of click-click-clicks. “…Scheisse. Fall back!†“Doktor, wait!†Heavy calls, but is too late. Both fall to a series of Scout bots, all coming in from the sides, now. “Damn these overgrown soup cans!†Soldier growls, refilling his rocket from the Engineer’s dispenser. “They just keep coming!†“It’ll be over soon, Sol.†He promises, swinging his wrench for all he’s worth. “We just gotta hold… hey, what’s that sound?†A tic-tic-tic slowly gets louder, and louder, until the terrible source comes into view over the hill. “What in the name of god is that?†“I don’t know, but I’m killing it! CHAAAAARGE!†He leaps down from the building, shovel and shotgun at the ready, hurling obscenities at the faceless object. He’s surprised when the robot runs right past him, making no sort of an attack. For a moment, he dismisses the bot as cowardly. But then it plants itself up on the Engineer’s roof, and things go bad very quickly. * * * * ** “Man, you shoulda seen it! Took on all those hunks of metal by myself, easy-peasy. You guys woulda been impressed.†“Little man destroys bridge. Robots cannot cross. Is not so impressive.†“Hey, fuck you, man! It was fucking genius!†“Was Engineer’s idea.†“Who told you?!†“You just did.†“….yeah, well…I’m eating your sandwich!†For a minute there, I thought it was really over. Thought Decoy would be nothing but a crater in the ground— well, more of a crater than it already is. Part of me’s a little glad they managed to hang in there. “Hey Sol, did you see what I did?†“Did I see that you destroyed company property? Why, YES I DID.†“…it was Engie’s idea, I swear!†I chuckle. Scout was always a pain in the ass, but I had to admit, it was a lot funnier watching him be a pain in the ass to everyone else. My smile falls when I see Soldier walking away from the rest of them, crossing the temporary bridge/ladder, heading towards the mine shaft again. Everyone else is going in for dinner. Why isn’t he? With shifty eyes, he looks around the field, before creeping up the stairs into one of the buildings. I have to cycle through a few of the cameras until I find one close to him. He’s in a dusty old room, which in this part of the world is not the best series of descriptors. In one corner is a bucket of white paint, and a few abandoned attempts at signage. In another is a small mattress, with a worn brown blanket piled up on it. I remember him ordering Heavy to haul it out there, after a particularly long wave had extended into the night. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave them all a place to lie down and rest their eyes for a bit, without having to take them off the battlefield entirely. If he were tired, he’d just go sleep in his cot in the barracks. Why is he here? With a sigh, he sits on the bed, propping himself up against the folded blanket. He shuts his eyes, and for a minute, I think he’s fallen asleep, until he speaks. “Dell…†His hand wanders south, and I feel a blush creep to my cheeks. Embarrassed, I shut off the camera. Well…at least now I know what he was doing. It’s not something I should be embarrassed about, really. We were sort-of together for close to a year, and had done pretty much everything two fellers can do together. But that had been a while ago. We’d stopped seeing each other in that way for a few months before I left. Had he been thinking about me since then? “Dell…†I jump. Was that in my head, or-? “Yeah, Dell. God…want you…c’mere…†No, I’m definitely hearing this. Damn fool that I am, I’d shut off the camera, but hadn’t shut off the sound. “Oh fuck yeah, just like that, ohhh…†I can hear his zipper coming undone now, and he groans again. I feel my overalls grow a little bit tighter, hearing him swear like that. I’m no blushing schoolgirl, but there’s just something about it when he says ‘Fuck’ that gets me hard. He spits into his palm, and I hear him moan as the familiar sound of him pumping away at himself echoes through the room. I can picture it, even without the video, but something in me compels my hand to turn the dial, and bring him back onto the screen. And he’s there, as I knew he would be: legs spread wide, one hand on the mattress propping him up, the other working steadily at his hard, leaking cock. These high-definition cameras were the best investment I’ve ever made. “Oh, Dell, yeah, faster, faster!†he begs, hand answering the pleas without hesitation. I gulp, and my own hand starts to move downwards now, kneading at my hardening member through the cloth of my overalls. In no time, I’m moaning just like him, and shucking off my clothes as quickly as I can, to catch up. He’s moved, now, to lie down on the mattress, both hands busy below. I find myself swearing to the screen, telling him to spread his legs a little wider. He does, remarkably, but not because I’ve told him to. After sucking on one of his fingers for a minute, he brings it back down, to press into himself ever-so-slightly. The sight alone could finish the old me off— hell the thought alone sometimes did— but working down here with it, I’ve changed. My stamina’s better—not just in this, but in all aspects. What used to get me worn out and huffing is like a walk in the park to me now. I almost wish I could finish as quickly as I used to, because in no time, he’s done, and cleaning himself up, and I’m left with nothing but an empty screen and my own imagination to finish up to. It doesn’t take too long. What I’m left with, though (aside from a mess on my left hand), is a sickening sense of guilt. I’d been the one to suggest we take a bit of a break those many months ago. At the time, it had been purely out of physical necessity; Sol can be a bit rougher in bed than he means to be. As time went on, though, I remembered how much I had missed having my own space. I certainly have it now, and part of me loves it. I’m free to do what I want, when I want, and there’s no one getting in my way. Part of me feels awful dang lonely sometimes, though. Was he really waiting all this time, hoping we’d get back together like that? My gut starts twisting with guilt again, and I quickly clean myself up, and get back to work. What I need right now is a distraction, and a dang good one. I work at my blueprints for a while again, until a particular one starts giving me trouble, and I know it’s time for another dose. I hate thinking of it like that, but it is like a drug, I suppose. Keeps me fit, and healthy, and mentally alert. Hell, my brain’s probably never been so active as when I’m around it. The metal safe opens with a creak, and I wonder, briefly, why I haven’t fixed that yet. Too much to do, I suppose. “C’mere, darlin’.†I smile, and stroke the gold-tinged bar with my gloved hand, before bringing it out onto my workbench. It’s not out from its hiding place for five minutes before I start feeling that warm glow, and my brain starts going into overdrive. The next hour is a blur of blueprints, and by the time I put the metal away, I think I may have designed a car that converts into a submarine, an automatic clothesline, and at least thirty different types of hats. All in all, it’s been a good day. Aside from the business with the Soldier, of course. I suppose I can’t avoid the topic forever. Sooner or later I’ll have to start thinking about him again. Thinking about what to do. He hates me, but he still wants me. He’s angry, but he’s lonely. He’s a soldier, a leader, a bloodthirsty (or in this case, oil-thirsty) killing machine, but he’s still a man with needs. The same needs as me, I’ll admit. Now, it may just be the Australium talking, but I think I’ve got myself an idea. * * * * ** In the morning, I head out again, and wait for him near the mine shaft. I’ve got a few hours before the wave starts. Should be enough time. If he’d only show up… “Soldier? Vhere are you going?†I hear Medic call from the base. “Early-morning patrols!†he answers. “I’ll be back, doc.†With every crunch in the dirt, I feel the invisible hand clutching my heart squeeze just a little bit tighter. It gets worse once he comes into view, but disappears when he doesn’t see me, and continues up the stairs to the room where I’d watched him last night. I pause for a while, weighing my options. I could sit here, wait for him to finish up his ‘patrols’. I could leave, maybe come back later. Before I realize it, my feet have decided on the third option, and I’m already heading up the stairs to join him. I move as quietly as I can, peering around the doorway when I reach the room. He’s lying there on the mattress, as before, eyes closed, jaw slack as he pumps away at his fat length. I let out a groan at the sight. He doesn’t hear me, so I step forward, into the room. He feels the floorboards creak underneath him, and snaps his head up, surprised. “D-Dell?!†He cries out, angered, as he tries to cover himself up with the nearby blanket. “What the hell are you doing here?!†Wrapping it around his waist like a towel, he stomps over to me, nearly tripping when his pants threaten to slide down around his ankles. “Came to see you.†I reply, coming forward slowly. Smiling seductively, I slip my hand underneath the blanket. He grunts when I find the turgid flesh there and begin to stroke it, firmly. “Thought you might’ve missed me.†He grunts again as I try something creative with my thumb, but then growls, and I find myself pressed against the wall. Well, it’s going a bit faster than I expected, but I can’t say I’m disappointed. “Do you still respawn?†“Do I…what?†“DO YOU STILL RESPAWN?†“Uh…yeah?†I’d been programmed into my own system, just in case, but it worked the same as the regular system. If I were killed, I’d come back same as him. I don’t see why it- When I wake up in my bunker with a headache, and my skin still tingling with electricity, it finally occurs to me why he asked. * * * * ** It’s dark when I try again, finding him in the same room as before, but merely sitting on the mattress with his arms crossed, this time. “Came back for more, did you, traitor?†I sigh. He’s still angry, but I’m not dead yet, so at least he’s not above talking. “Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve done-“ “Good! Because I don’t!†He spits, pouting childishly. “Lemme finish.†I frown, and he just pouts further. “I know you’re angry with me, and I don’t blame ya. I know that I’ve betrayed you all, and that my reason for it seems…I don’t know, crazy. Stupid.†“Both.†“Both, alright.†I nod. “And I don’t expect understanding. I don’t expect forgiveness. That’s not what I came here for.†“Then what did you come here for?†He growls, striding forward to get up in my face, and for a moment, I think I’ll be heading through respawn again, but he restrains himself. “For you.†I swallow. “I didn’t have to tell you where I’d gone, what I’d done. I came here because I knew you’d want to know. I did it for your sake, Jane.†He pauses, steely blue eyes staring down into mine. “You done?†He frowns. Well, I can’t say I didn’t try. I knew he’d be angry, but I thought…hell, I don’t know what I thought. With a sigh, I nod my head, before bowing it, awaiting my fate. “Yeah, ‘m done.†“Good.†He nods, and steps away. For a minute, I think he’s going to get his shovel, or his shotgun, and finish me off that way. Instead, he drops to his knees, and starts unbuttoning my fly. “Uh….wh-huh?†I ask, articulately. “Shut up.†He orders, sliding his hand in to cup my package. I obey as best I can, only breaking orders to grunt or growl as he gets me hard, rolling my balls back and forth in his meaty fingers. “I don’t forgive you. I don’t understand how you could betray us all for a stupid hunk of metal, even if it does give you superpowers.†He’s not completely correct in that, but not completely incorrect either, and his thumb is pressing against the thick vein on the underside of my cock, and I find myself unable to respond anyway. “But goddamnit Dell, I missed you, and I still love you, and I still want to fuck your brains out, no matter what you’ve done.†Well, it’s unexpected, but I’m more than happy to go along with his wishes. Especially when he pulls me out into the air to work at me properly, before taking me into his mouth. Goddamn, when I feel that tight, wet heat around my cock, sucking me deeper and deeper into the back of his throat… it’s the only feeling into the world to rival the rush I feel around the Australium. I feel myself getting harder and harder as he moans around the length, one hand kneading and stroking my balls again, while the other moves to stroke himself through his pants. After a minute, he starts to gag on me, and pulls off, panting. Perplexed, he runs his hand up and down the shaft, and his eyes widen, astonished, as I grow harder still. I changed so gradually that I didn’t notice most of the changes to my body, but now, looking down at myself, I realize that I’ve gotten much bigger than I thought. No wonder he’s shocked. Still, he doesn’t let the new size deter him, and, after catching his breath, his mouth is back on me. First, he suckles and nips at my scrotum, tongue flicking against the space below for a bit, before he moves up again, and takes me into his mouth. He can’t take all of me in anymore, so he uses one hand to stroke what he can’t reach with his mouth. The other comes up to play with my ever-tightening sack, forgoing his own pleasure for mine, now. He works at me for probably another five minutes before he pulls off to take another breather. I’m getting pretty close, but I realize it must be slow going for him, considering our usual blowjobs are over and done with by now. “You doin alright?†I asked, my voice already hoarse from the moaning and groaning I hadn’t realized I’d been doing. “Yeah.†He nods, panting. One hand still idly pumps at me, to keep me from going flaccid, as if that was any concern. “ ‘m almost there, if you wanna keep goin’.†I nudge him, gently, stroking the back of his neck. “ ‘nother minute or two, I’ll be done.†“Yeah?†He looks up, moistening his lips with his tongue. “Alright.†A nod, and he gets back to it. I can tell he’s already worn out, but he won’t leave me disappointed. He was a crazy, reckless bastard on the battlefield, often taken action with little regard to the safety of his men, but he was never a selfish lover. Sure, he didn’t know the techniques that he currently does, and he wasn’t willing to try half of the stuff that he’d beg and plead for now, but he’d always make sure I got off somehow. I’ve missed that about him. I made myself a liar, though, and it’s almost another five minutes later before I’m close to coming. He hasn’t helped any with that- wrapping his hand tight around my shaft, holding tight to my balls when they try to draw up close. Maybe he’s punishing me for what I’ve done, but if that’s the case, hell, he can punish me all night long. “Aghhh…goddamn, J…come on….let me…†I plead, after I’ve had enough of the pleasurable teasing, and he does, loudly gulping back everything I’ve got to give him. I slump against the wall when it’s over, and he gently guides me down to sit on the floor. My legs feel like jelly, and the rest of me isn’t much better. I’d forgotten how good it feels to be with someone that’s not your own hand. “Wow.†He exhales, voice as hoarse as mine. “That…that Australium, it’s…it’s one hell of a…†“Yeah.†I finish, tugging him to rest against my side for a bit. He’s still hard, but I plan to do something about that once the rest of my body feels like cooperating. “I missed you, Dell. Missed this, too.†He pants, resting his head on my shoulder. “I did, too, J.†I murmur, one of my hands moving to cup him through his pants. Gently, slowly, I massage the hardening flesh beneath, while he begins to kiss and suck at my neck. We start to undress each other, and with every inch of my skin he reveals, there’s a newfound fascination. He seems transfixed by my chest hair, once my shirt comes off. Not that I didn’t have hair there before, but- “You cut it in the shape of Texas?†He chuckles, a rough thumb circling my nipple. “Um….no.†I blush. “Sorta…grew that way.†“Really?†He smiles, and then laughs as he nuzzles his way into it, bringing his tongue to prod at my other nipple. His hand comes up as if to cup a breast, but finds no soft flesh there, as he would have months ago. When I start touching him back is when he gets a little apprehensive. “I can…put the glove back on it, if you like.†I offer. “No, no, it’s…it’s okay.†He promises, shoulders still tense. “I just can’t believe you’d…†“I know.†I lean in to brush my lips against his. “Wasn’t quite in my right mind, I’ll admit, but I don’t regret it. Works better’n any wrench I ever had.†He reaches down to thread his fingers through my own metal ones, and slowly I can feel the tension easing out of him. “You’re so different from how you were, but…it’s still you under there, right?†“Still me, underneath all this.†I promise, giving him a smile, and we go back to kissing as we strip off the rest of our clothes. He runs his hand through my scalp, tugging at the hair there, before he pulls his mouth away. “Need a haircut, private.†I smile. “I know. Figured you’d wanna do the honors.†I bring a can of shaving cream and a razor out from my overalls pocket, and his eyes light up. “Assume the position.†He grins, and I sit on the mattress, back towards him. I know the hair will just grow back to shoulder-length in a month, maybe less, but I swear I can feel him get harder with the first pass of the razor across my head. By the time my head is bald again, he’s dripping all over the mattress. As soon as he sets the blade aside, I push him down, and start returning the favor. His own hair is neatly-trimmed, but that’s not where I’m aiming for. I cover his balls in the shaving cream, and he hisses, but he doesn’t stop me from carefully sliding the razor up one taut globe. His eyes are completely focused on the razor as I slide it over the sensitive flesh, until he’s completely bare below, save for a few puddles of pre-come. I bow my head, and start licking up the mess he’s made all over himself, and then move upwards, to take him into my mouth. He groans and swears as I swallow him back, gagging a bit from the lack of practice, but in no time it’s over. He gave me little warning, but kisses and licks the mess off my face by means of apology. “How long before you have to get back?†He asks, tugging me down for a brief cuddle. “Got all night, cowboy.†I smile. “How ‘bout you?†“Should get back soon.†He admits, and my smile falls. I really hoped we’d have more time together. “Might not…see each other for a long time, J.†I remind him, stroking his face. “I know.†He nods, and kisses my palm. He brings his own hand to caress my newly-shaved head, and I kiss his wrist back. We move from there until I’m straddling his hips, his tongue deep in my mouth. He pulls back for air, and I stare down at him, my green eyes glassy from arousal, and his gray blue eyes much the same. “Dell…†he pants. “If tonight’s all we have, then…†He reaches around, to grope my ass, one finger slipping between the cheeks to prod at my entrance. I groan, and nod fervently as he teases me. “I don’t…have anythin’, ‘cept spit.†He winces, and I wince back. We both remember the time we’d tried that. It had not been a fun evening for either of us. “Don’t worry.†I soothe, digging through the pockets of my overalls again. “I came prepared.†I toss him the little jar of petroleum jelly, and his face lights up again. “Well, aren’t you a good boy scout. C’mere.†He growls, playfully, flipping me onto my back. He shaves me down there, too, before he slicks his hand up and presses into me. We’re both rock hard by the time his fingers have loosened me up, and I echo his groan when he slides himself in. I didn’t always end up on the bottom when we were intimate, but I have to admit, I certainly missed the feel of his hard cock inside of me. He lifts my legs up over his shoulders after we’ve been going at it for a few minutes, and I practically scream with how wonderful it feels. He’s driving into me so deeply, striking every spot just so, and my brain is convinced that I’m ready to come, but my body has other plans. “Fuck…fuck…Dell, I’m gonna…†he grunts, his thrusts erratic, cock trying to just drive itself as deep into me as it can. My own twitches just from hearing him say ‘fuck’, but it’s not enough to push me over the edge. He holds me tight, groaning as he fills me with his seed, and withdraws, carefully, once he’s spent. He can see I’m still hard, though, and the second he’s caught his breath, my cock is in his mouth again. I let him work at me for a bit before I tug him away. He gives incredible blowjobs, but like he said: If tonight is all we have… “Turn around.†I order, grabbing the petroleum jelly again. He tilts his head for a second before it occurs to him what I’m going to do, and then he can’t get on hands and knees fast enough. I scrub at his tight hole with the jelly first, and then bend low to lick it up. The taste of the petroleum isn’t the best, but the sounds he makes as I probe his entrance with my tongue are well worth it. Once he’s starting to get hard again, I switch from my mouth to my hand- my flesh hand- and start stretching him out. He’s laid his head down on his arms, now, and his hips have started making little thrusts backward, pushing his ass towards me. He wants it, bad, and once I’ve gotten three fingers up in him comfortably, I’m more than happy to give it to him. “Oh god, yes! Yes, right there!†he cries, before I’m even all the way in. I chuckle, and press myself against that spot for a while, before I slide the rest of the way in. His eyes nearly roll back in his head, and his hand reaches back to grab mine. He chokes out, “How…how are you…?†“Bigger’n you remember?†I smirk, smug as the cat who ate the canary, and give him another little thrust against that spot he likes. “Oh, Dell…†he practically melts, and submits to me entirely, moving only to push his hips back against mine every so often. He’s hard again, and already making a mess when the tip of his cock drags across the mattress, but he makes no move to touch himself. “Fuck me…†he begs, tightening himself around me, and I bite my lip as I groan out loud, and give him what he wants. My brain tries to tell me I’m close to finishing again, but my body refuses to relinquish command to it. I’m nowhere near done with Jane yet. I grip his hip tight with my metal hand, and move my other below to squeeze his newly-shaved balls, and stroke his dripping cock. “Oh, please…please…†he pants, bucking into my hand. I kiss the back of his neck, and let go of his throbbing member to bring his own hand back to it. “Touch yourself.†I order, breathlessly, bringing both of my hands back to his hips. “Wanna give you the good, hard fucking you deserve.†Tentatively, he starts to pump at his own length, but his strokes become more fervent and desperate as I pull him back onto my throbbing cock over and over again, moving harder, faster, angling myself to hit that sweet spot of his every time. “Oh, Dell! Oh, Dell!†He moans, loudly, screaming a torrent of “Fuck, fuck, fuck!†as he approaches his third climax of the night. My brain is screaming that it’s time to come, and my body finally gives into it. With a supreme roar, I fill him to the brim with my come, and it’s enough to push him over the edge, too, making a sticky mess of his hand as we both ride out our near-simultaneous climax. I pull out of him, and flop down beside him on the mattress. He’s panting like he’s run a marathon, and I should be, too, but instead my breathing is even and calm. Still, the night has left us both exhausted, and sexually spent. We won’t be going anywhere for a while. Shaking, he extends his arm across my chest, and I pull him towards me, out of his wet spot. The blanket’s beside me, and I throw it over the two of us. It doesn’t quite cover us entirely. I’ve got one arm and part of my side exposed, and I think one of his legs is stuck out past the corner, but it’s enough for us. We keep each other warm. We do nothing but lie there, silently, until we both fall asleep. So much for him getting back soon. * * * * ** He rises early, and rouses me from sleep once he’s dressed. I’m still pretty groggy, so he helps me get back into my overalls, and ties my boots for me. Like old times. I really have missed this. When we’re both out on the field, I start feeling that fist around my heart again. He kisses me, and it disappears, briefly, but returns tenfold when we part without words- him heading back to his base, and me to my little bunker underground. I sit at my desk, and plunk the offensive little golden bar onto my desk, and glare at it for a while. It was all for this? For some stupid little rock? I had friends, a good job, and someone who loved me- still loves me, and I gave it all up. I gave up Scout’s burnt macaroni for dinner. I gave up playing chess with Heavy. I gave up listening to Medic’s nagging whenever one of us forgot to soak the pots and pans overnight. I gave up drinking beer, and playing my guitar along with Sniper’s banjo, by the light of the campfire and stars. I gave up a man who trusts me enough to shave his balls with a straight razor. I gave up a man I trusted to do the same. I gave up the most incredible blowjobs I’ve ever felt. The most mind-blowing sex. The warmest post-coital cuddles that could ever exist. More than that, I gave up him. Being with him. Loving him, and being loved in return. I gave all of that up. I gave up my lover, the me I used to know, and my life, all for it. Was it even worth it? I take off my glove, and stroke the bar gently, the hairs on the back of my neck already growing back, and standing up straight when the warmth washes over me. The ache in my backside heals itself almost immediately, and soon after does the same with my muscles. The hand gripping my heart disappears, and I sigh with relief. My brain starts sparking with creativity again, and I’m already designing more contraptions before I even realize I’ve pulled out another stack of paper. It might just be the Australium talking, but forty hat designs, a nuclear bunker on wheels, and a way to colonize the moon later, I decide that yeah, it’s worth it. ----- Prompt: Soldier/Engineer - MVM - Traitor!Engie reveals himself in a moment alone, can be angry, sad or desperate - themed, can end whichever way you want (wouldn't mind Last-Time Sex either).
Fool In The Shower * It happened on a Sunday, because Sundays were cleaning days. The chores roster, first instated by Medic once upon a time, had had few items at its inception. Mostly each man was responsible for his own quarters. As time passed, however, more creative tasks began cropping up, and – somewhere after 'Empty gibs bucket' (Scout) and 'Rearrange headgear collection' (Spy) but before 'Feed/train attack doves' (Medic) – the item 'Personal hygiene inspection' prompted Soldier to insert himself randomly into his fellows' personal space and give them a thorough sniffing. So it was that this particular Sunday Soldier decided that he had had enough of Pyro's absence from the showers, and resolved to do something about it. As Soldier was a firm follower of Sun Tzu, and therefore aware that knowledge was the key to victory, he timed his assault for the point at which Pyro would be most vulnerable: breakfast time. He waited until Pyro was busy negotiating the mechanics of mask, straw and coffee cup before he sprung. "Son, you are a disgrace to your country, and I will not have you befouling our kitchen and private quarters with your unwashed self!" And with that, Soldier seized Pyro by the armpits from behind and dragged him from his seat. For a moment, his teammates turned to look, but quickly resumed their previous tasks – Heavy taunting Scout with the last strip of bacon while Sniper watched, Medic and Demoman portioning out the last of the oatmeal, and Engineer filling out the crossword as Spy made helpful comments. Many a mercenary had been hosed down forcibly by Soldier before; it had taken a couple of cracked skulls, but they knew better than to interfere with his process anymore, and so Soldier hauled Pyro down to the privies undisturbed, though Pyro mumbled protest. Not five minutes later, Soldier dumped Pyro onto one of the benches in the locker area. "Strip," he demanded. "Mmph hmmph," said Pyro, crossing his arms over his chest and steadfastly refusing to move. "You will strip or I will do it for you." Soldier tipped his helmet back to fix Pyro with a threatening glare. "Hmph huddah hah," Pyro replied, tone mocking, making a rude gesture with his hand. "As you wish then!" Soldier barked, and lunged. For the first few seconds Pyro attempted to wiggle out of his hold, but Soldier was strong and also tactically-minded. The gloves went first, then the belt. The rubber suit, he found, consisted of two pieces; he removed the top piece halfway, leaving his teammate choked in a rubber stranglehold, and while Pyro struggled he divested Pyro of his boots and bottoms. Pyro finally managed to wriggle out of the rest, somehow without disturbing his mask. Crossed arms and a tapping foot conveyed his displeasure. Soldier stood back to check his handiwork. As long as he had had an objective, it had been easy to separate mind from body; undressing Pyro was not a sensual act, or even a fun one, because although he hadn't put up much of a fight he hadn't exactly been helpful, either. But once Soldier was done, much though he wanted to, he could no longer dissociate from the sight in front of him. Pyro was, quite simply put, magnificent. And, to Soldier's horror, that knowledge was doing things him. Every inch of Pyro was pure male. Under the suit he had nothing on but a liberal all-over dusting of talcum powder. Soldier fought to keep his focus above waist-level: Pyro's shoulders were less wide than Soldier's, but better muscled, and his broad chest tapered into a hard, trim waist. He was quite badly scarred. Most of them looked like burns, but a few interesting ones – a ragged snarl of flesh that wrapped around his wrist, raised strips of skin that stretched across his back – were definitely not. Soldier touched his blunt fingers to a series of small puncture marks that ran up the length of Pyro's arm. "Your own, or... someone else's?" he asked quietly, suddenly afraid to shatter the new mood that had fallen upon them. Pyro shook his head. Soldier's hands moved towards Pyro's face, but before he could get his fingers under the mask, Pyro shoved him, hard. Soldier stumbled back, his helm slipping off his head entirely and clattering loudly against the floor. Both men were breathing hard, standing off like a pair of Old West gunslingers before a duel. Soldier broke the silence first. "Come on," he whispered, as he might to a cornered animal. "We can't get you completely clean with that thing still on your head." But Soldier had hardly even gotten the sentence out before Pyro was shaking his head. "Pyro, come on – " but again, the emphatic head-shake was answer enough. "Fine," Soldier snapped, regaining some of his earlier aplomb. "You are getting washed whether or not you want it, and if you want to keep that mask on I will – I will – I don't know what I'll do but it'll be something, you watch!" And with that, Soldier shoved Pyro into the showers before him and, stepping fully clothed into the stall with Pyro, turned the water on. The water was freezing, as it always was as first, but warmed quickly. Casting an eye about the shower caddy, Soldier selected the plainest bar soap he could find, and in brisk, businesslike motions, began working up a lather against Pyro's body. He was acutely aware of the delineation of scars across Pyro's skin, charting every burn and cut and mark by the change in texture, the absence of hair. In the sanctity of his own mind, Soldier could admit that he'd always been curious about what lay beneath the suit. Pyro took his showers alone, and most of his meals as well. Until today, Soldier hadn't even been 100% sure that Pyro was male, let alone such a prime specimen. He had known, in an intellectual sense, that Pyro must have been quite strong to carry around such heavy equipment tirelessly, but it was another thing to take that strength and translate it to the feel of his thighs, hard as brick, beneath Soldier's hands. Although he was trying – honest, he was – to keep his touch professional, he was finding the experience... intimate. Moving. Arousing. And if Pyro's cock, thickening lazily against his thigh, was any indication, he was also not unaffected. Breathing hard through his nose, Soldier was caught between two desires. And, even if he were given a million years, he never could have described what prompted him to reach out and touch the other man. A noise that could have been a groan or a gasp from Pyro, and Soldier looked up, almost fearful – but no, Pyro's head was tipped back against the tiles, the image of a man in pleasure. Curling his hand around Pyro's cock, he gave a tentative squeeze and Pyro made another noise. His other hand was resting low at the dip of Pyro's back, rubbing the skin there in mindless circles. Wetting lips suddenly gone dry, Soldier gave Pyro a firm upstroke, the way he liked it himself. He got a quivery sound in response. Again he repeated the motion, and again, and again, until Pyro slowed his hand with a touch to his wrist. It was instinct for Soldier to look up into his face, the way he would with anyone else – but the blank rubber betrayed nothing. A sharp emotion shot through him, and it took a minute for Soldier to identify it as disappointment. "Christ," Soldier muttered. "I wish I could – I just – " But it was useless, and stupid, and insane, because Pyro never ever took off his mask. For a long while, Soldier's hands on Pyro were the only things still moving in a tableau gone completely still. Then Pyro's hands flew up to his face. "If you look," came Pyro's voice, dropped low in a whisper, "if you even peek, I swear Respawn won't ever able to find all the missing pieces of you," and before Soldier could answer, before he could even think, Pyro's mouth was on his. If Soldier had ever thought to imagine this – and he hadn't ever, of course; unlike some members of his team who would remain anonymous, he wasn't some kind of fairy princess fruit, no sir – but if he had, he would not have imagined it like this. For one thing, there was no shyness or hesitation on Pyro's part; from the first second in, his assault of Soldier's mouth was sure and swift, the casual invasion of someone assured of his welcome. For another, Pyro did not taste like smoke or ashes: he tasted a little bit like the hot sauce Engineer was fond of putting on his eggs, and a little bit like the strong, sweet coffee Medic favoured. And for a third, Soldier was simply not in control of the situation – even though he was fully clothed and Pyro almost fully nude, Pyro had one forearm laid just under Soldier's throat, and had shoved Soldier up against the cold slippery tiles until only the very tippy toes of his boots were touching the floor. Soldier could feel rubber against his cheek and knew Pyro had only pushed the mask up enough to free his mouth. And if that made a slow hot curl of arousal uncoil in the pit of Soldier's stomach, well, that was no one's business but his own. If his hands came up to cup Pyro's face, that wasn't tenderness, it was an inquiry (one cheek burn-scarred; the other lightly stubbled). If he dropped his hands to stroke across Pyro's chest, that wasn't a caress, it was an investigation (light scattering of hair, deep scar bisecting the torso). And if he decided to give Pyro's nipples a pinch, well, he just wanted to check his teammate's reaction, like a doctor might (nothing wrong there). It wasn't a kiss so much as it was a mutual devouring, and with every hot stroke of Pyro's tongue against his, Soldier's neglected cock throbbed with a pleasant ache. He was almost too far gone to notice that Pyro was undoing his fly until Pyro was touching him. It felt electric, felt hot and urgent and so good after so long without anyone's hand on him but his own. Pyro's skin was ridiculously warm. Soldier was barely aware of the other hand undressing him, of his own hands moving to help. It felt like he was swimming in and out of lucidity, like a television drowning in static; he'd tune in right as Pyro was biting down on his collarbone, or tugging on what little hair he had, or grinding their dicks together in the mutually slick cradle of their hips. Hunting through the shower caddy again, this time he found a bottle of Spy's fancy French shaving oil. It would do for his purposes. His insides were a hot squirming mess, which he covered with a sneer. Slapping the bottle of oil into Pyro's hands, he jerked his chin in the universal symbol of 'Get on with it, then'. A brief moment of hesitation, then understanding. "Turn around," Pyro whispered. Obeying, Soldier braced his forearms against the shower walls and resolved to stare straight ahead. His stomach had coalesced into a leaden weight, composed of – something – nervousness, maybe, and anticipation, and something else he couldn't define. As Pyro dropped into a crouch behind him, Soldier couldn't help it if his face flamed, especially when he felt himself being spread open. Clenching his teeth and setting his jaw, he willed his nerves to steady, taking deep even breaths and closing his eyes. The first touch against his entrance was gentle, but assured, and Soldier nearly bit through his lip. He hadn't known the skin back there was so sensitive. He could feel Pyro's finger working its way inside him, pushing gently past the guardian muscle. It felt... not bad, but weird, at least until the finger began to quest in search of... something, and he must have found it because not two seconds later Soldier felt like sparks were racing up his spine. He could feel himself clenching against Pyro's finger, entirely involuntarily, as Pyro insistently worked at that spot. "Too much," he gasped, almost choking on it, and Pyro eased, rubbing around in a way that sent loose, bright waves of pleasure washing through him. His legs would have buckled; only years of bending his body to his will kept his knees locked and his back straight. "Another," he panted, shame and arousal washing over him in equal measure. Arousal won out when he heard Pyro huff out a laugh, and a second finger joined the first. Arching his back, breathing into the sensation, Soldier was helpless not to moan. His hands were clenching and unclenching into fists as Pyro began to scissor his fingers. Another laugh from Pyro, and the addition of a third finger, working Soldier in earnest now, and if it made him less of a man to beg for more of that, then he did not care anymore. "Please, God, Pyro, please – " He didn't think the human body was made to teeter so long along the edge of pleasure without relief. Actually, he didn't think at all right now, not with whatever scraps of control he still had left fraying. An indeterminate amount of time later, Soldier watched over his shoulder as Pyro slicked himself up liberally and slowly eased into him, pausing every once in a while to let Soldier adjust. It felt weird, by God it did, but it felt good too; and each second that passed the balance tipped more heavily in pleasure's favour, until Pyro was fully seated and Soldier was just drawing breath through his teeth, until the ache subsided. A noise that could have been inquiry, or reassurance – Soldier wasn't sure which. "Yeah, go on," he muttered as Pyro made a small movement. Soldier half-turned to glare at Pyro. "That all you got, soldier?" Pyro thrust again, a little deeper this time, giving a slow, comfortable roll of his hips. Soldier made a derisive noise. "If I had wanted a pansy – " he began, but then Pyro cut him off with a hard snap of his hips and began fucking him in earnest. It was not gentle. It was not tender. Soldier did not want it to be. He wanted it rough, and he wanted it hard, and he wanted it now. Every thrust was exquisite, touched with just enough pain to help him from going off right away as a teenager might. Rising onto the balls of his feet for better leverage, Soldier gave as good as he got, moans and mixed obscenities spilling out of his mouth of their own accord. Distantly Soldier thought he should feel embarrassed, but all he felt now was desperate, over-hot in his own skin, which now felt too small to contain him. Pyro wrapped a hand around Soldier's dick, working it in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations were driving him insane, and he couldn't decide whether he wanted more to buck forward into Pyro's slick grip or backwards onto his cock. He could feel pressure building low in his belly – his legs were burning like he'd just run a marathon and a half, his clenched teeth were grinding almost painfully and his held breath was scalding his lungs but if he breathed he'd lose that focus and he was almost – almost – there – A bright flare of pain on his shoulder – it took him half a second to realize Pyro had bitten him and he was coming like a shot, a wrecked and trembling mess. He could feel Pyro pick up his pace, prick twitching and hard enough to cut stone, hands sliding on his sweat-slick skin, hips snapping one, two, three, four, five more times before he slammed home one final time, tipping over the edge after him, making no other sound but a harsh, heartfelt groan. They disengaged slowly, breathing slowing, heart rates evening out. "We should," Soldier said quietly, "finish up that shower." A nod from the masked head, and they both claimed separate stalls this time. They soaped themselves in silence, only the sound of water smacking against the tiles audible. "Turn around," came that whispered voice, and Soldier obeyed. He could hear Pyro pulling off the rubber mask and scrubbing his hair, could smell shampoo and hear soap-thick water sluicing down the drain. A sigh rebounded softly off the wet walls; it could have come from either of them, and was quickly lost under the spray. "Stay there," Pyro said a little while later, and Soldier could hear him stepping out of the stall. From the corner of his eye he watched as the broad, now-familiar hands reached for a towel. A touch on his shoulder roused him from his contemplation, and when he turned Pyro was fully masked once again. He shut off the water at his own stall and stood there, dripping wet, naked as the day he was born. Pyro handed him a towel. He shook his head quickly, sending droplets of water flying everywhere, and wrapped the offering around his waist. Gathering up his pile of sopping clothes, he went into the locker area. Slowly, unhurriedly, Pyro was assembling his getup, reconstructing himself right before Soldier's eyes. He tugged bottom half of his suit on first, then the top; sitting on the bench, he pulled his left leg to his right knee to tug on his boot, and repeated the action with his other leg. Standing up, he fastened his belt firmly. His gloves went on last of all, and then he was the same faceless, nameless entity Soldier had always known on the battlefield. Unknown, unknowable. "Pyro – " he began, but then faltered. Pyro turned towards Soldier, head cocked as if to convey polite interest. If Soldier were the imaginative type, he might have pretended that the round lenses and filtering apparatus of Pyro's mask all combined to form a gently smiling face, but Soldier was not, and so the mask looked only like a mask. He pressed his gloved hand to Soldier's shoulder, squeezed, then left without a backward glance. Soldier touched his fingers to the bite mark Pyro had left. It was still sore. Shaking his head, Soldier dumped his laundry in the designated bin. His task was complete. Pyro was clean. There was nothing else to say. "Mission accomplished," he muttered to himself, and left, shutting the lights off behind him. ----- Prompt: Soldier gets fed up with Pyro's refusal to shower, Pyro turns out to be a manly man of manliness. Gratuitous Soldier Bottom.
Morceaux +++ Trigger warnings: Gore, torture, war crimes, PTSD, significant blasphemy (Catholic) +++ “The truth is important to have when one plans to lie. Self knowledge is vital to one who makes a living by deception. It is not impossible to look into your own eyes and lie, however. But it is impossible to hide from your own gaze.†The tone was light, companionable, as if merely discussing the weather for Candlemas. The Red Spy dropped his spent cigarette, grinding out the butt with an offhand swivel of one narrow foot. His eyes were deep and opaque, horrible in their brittle familiarity. The ropes creaked under the Blu Spy’s weight, echoing in the disused storeroom. The bulb hanging from its single wire silhouetted the itchy halo of fraying hemp looped around the hook in the overhead beam, almost too tight on his lean frame, and digging into his shoulders. It was an awkward enough position, he reflected, being suspended naked belly-down in a modified hogtie, his ankles bound and knees frog-splayed. But in the dispassionate regard of the Red Spy, gooseflesh rose to stipple skin unaccustomed to exposure, his hackles rising in vain. He knew very well that immured as he was, deep in the bowels of the RED base under the guise of interrogation, any hope of rescue was pointless. But that was not why he was here yet again, week after week. Red walked a tight arc around him, mouth tight with loathing, inspecting closely for Blu knew not what, and an ambient dread began to dry his mouth. Red’s silent footfalls began to wear as the seconds ticked away. What would it be this time? Red stopped, and smiled. A familiar smile, nostalgic and almost fond as he cocked his head, that never reached his eyes. “It was cold that day, too, in the mountains. “ His accent slid, the mellifluous Parisian French taking on the singsong-flavoured inflections Blu would never forget. “November, nineteen fifty-three. When they sent us to take the valley.†Blu’s eyes widened, the pupils constricting painfully, flooding with the tears that spilled from his closing eyes. His head drooped in resigned acquiescence. It was to be this, here and now, it seemed. Red leaned in to whisper directly into his ear. “And you remember what you did, don’t you? To that little Viet Minh scout, who wouldn’t talk? Maybe you forgot. Let me help you remember how you helped l’Adjutant-Chef with the finer details, oui?†Blu squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, the slithering clink as Red slid his belt out of its loops suddenly loud in the dry air. The first blow was always the hardest, the stripe painted on the sole of his foot blooming in flame, but it didn’t stop there. It never did. Red plied the doubled leather straps with an all too familiar meticulous care, the flesh and small bones of feet and ankles crackling and pulping under the makeshift bastinado like hatchling sparrows in a cat’s jaws. He no longer tried to hold back his screams these days, the ululating shrieks tearing his throat raw, back arched in a bow and ligaments stretched to humming. With a careless twist of his wrist, Red flipped the belt around to expose the brass buckle, then resumed, marching his blows up the sides of the writhing Blu. The angled metal tongue tore at the flesh over his ribs, smearing it to cling in skeins and strands, coating the rough hemp in thick crimson, and exposing the bony palisade in places. When Red eventually stopped, barely winded, he dropped the belt carelessly on the ground with a clink where it coiled stickily, dark and slippery with blood and more. He flexed his elbow and brushed at stray droplets on his jacket with a glittering, contemptuous smile, turning to cup Blu’s panting face with one gloved hand. “Why, are you crying, mon vieux? Is this regret? †Blu’s swollen eyes cracked open as Red wiped his face and mask dry of tears and snot, careless of the fine calfskin. Red’s lips pursed in a mock moue of surprise. “After all, you were only following orders, were you not?†That last was spoken in a whisper, vicious as a slap. “I – N-non – “ His throat and mouth were dry, lips split and bitten through from screaming. It was not enough, it was never enough. “Hush, petit. You can make penance, as of old. “ The rustle of fabric, and the rasp of a zip, before Red unceremoniously fed his erection between his battered lips, gloved hands cradling his head almost tenderly, a familiar careful grip about the jaw so he could not bite down. “Now,†came the silkily blasphemous whisper, “Time to take communion. “ Red’s thick, hot flesh slid deeper into his mouth, embraced by his swollen tongue, filling his head with the scent of salty copper and musk. Without warning, he began to thrust roughly, hard and deep, heedless of Blu’s chokes and struggles, hands strong as iron holding his head, using him as nothing more than a means to an end. He flailed and gagged, tears streaming now from the pain of having his throat forced open, lips rubbed raw on coarse pubic hair. With a muffled hiss, the Red Spy climaxed, flooding his mouth and throat with scalding bitterness, pulling out violently to spray the last rivulets on his slack face with a sneer. As Blu coughed and spluttered, Red wiped his softening cock off on the crown of Blu’s mask, wryly murmuring, “Do this in remembrance of us,†before tucking himself neatly away. He stepped back and lit a cigarette, wordlessly looking at the wrecked corpus hanging limply in the nest of ropes, hide slick with stripes and spatters of crimson, for long minutes as he smoked. Blu’s twitching eased after a time, though his breathing remained harsh and rasping, the agony receding to an omnipresent fog as his lids lowered. Red stepped forward, casually stubbing the cigarette out on Blu’s forehead. The searing pain woke him out of his daze, and he jerked, eyes snapping open with a soundless howl. “Tch, such a mess.†He locked gazes with the other man, pulling out his balisong. “Let’s get you down from there.†With strong, swift strokes, he slashed through the ropes keeping Blu aloft. The battered Spy crashed to the unforgiving stone flags with a high whine of agony, blacking out from the pain. +++ When he came to, Blu lifted his head weakly to see Red sitting on the floor, back to the opposite wall. Red smiled. “Ah, so you are awake. Come, sit with me. You ‘ave done well, mon vieux, and should be rewarded. “ He peeled off his gloves, and spread his arms wide open in welcome. “Come to me. “ The hint of iron in his tone brooked no argument, and the hapless Blu began to crawl on his hands and knees, over to him. It was only a mere few metres’ distance, but every bump and scrape on his pulverised feet sent him to convulsing in agony. He desperately tried to lift his brutalised extremities up as he inched across the rough stone flags, trying not to slip in the drying patches of his own fluids, even as his ruined legs left a wavering ribboned trail across the floor. Several times, the crushed bone ends ground together despite his best efforts, and he screamed, wet and shrill, before continuing on his clawed, numb fingers. Awkwardly, he lurched to curl crabbed on his back, panting shallowly, next to Red, who carefully slid a comforting arm around his shoulders, rocking him gently like a child in a cradle. Blu gazed up at Red, numbly gazing into the same face he saw every day in the mirror, mesmerised like a bird before a snake. The clothed man stroked his battered face gently, stroking the bruises and rope burns on his torso. “I know, I know, “ murmured Red soothingly. “Never forget that I am you. We share the memories. Whatever they have done, I have seen what you have done, I know what you want, I know what you need. “ The gloved strokes turned to caresses, the fine leather-clad fingers toying with Blu’s nipples, pinching and pulling and rubbing. “You have done well, paid for this in full. “ One hand slid lower, gently rubbing at the naked man’s groin, encouraging the swelling of his burgeoning erection. Blu’s eyes closed; he relaxed, surrendering to the mingled agony and pleasure as Red began to caress his cock, stroking it firmly with a gently quickening rhythm. The stirring sparks of sensation seemed to make the omnipresent pain of his injuries recede somewhat, and he moaned softly, his hips rocking into the other man’s attentions. “Time for sweetness now, non?†Red stirred, pulling himself tightly against Blu’s nude flank. “You need this. You need me. And I will be ‘ere, every time. To give you absolution. “ His mouth descended on Blu’s swollen lips, hungrily drinking in his soft moans as his hand sped up, slicking the hard shaft with precum and sweat, licking heedlessly as Blu’s split lip started to bleed afresh. Blu struggled weakly in the embrace, whining in discomfort and need as the tension built, deep in his abdomen, his nipples pinkly erect in the wan glow of the light above. Red’s fingers slid to the base of the shaft and squeezed sharply, driving back the impending orgasm, before resuming his stroking. The naked Spy whimpered in frustration and need, his pleasure magnified as Red tugged firmly on his foreskin, his scrotum, showering Blu’s bruised face and neck in yearning kisses like butterfly wings. When Blu’s orgasm finally crested, it would not be denied, and the naked Spy cried out, cum spurting out in an arc to patter on the drab stone floor. In that very moment, a line of ice and flame arced across his throat as Red bore down with his balisong in one swift, economical movement. His vision dimming, the last thing he heard before Respawn took him was Red’s reverent murmur as he kissed the blade. “Go forth, and sin no more.†+++ Blu stumbled out of the Respawn room, catching himself from an almost-fall onto legs no longer ruined. His heart was racing as he patted himself down, the echoes of his recent injuries hanging as dreams do on waking, to tatter like ghosts in the morning. As had become his habit in recent weeks, he rushed to his quarters, to strip before the mirror with shaking fingers, to inspect his nude form closely. What he saw was wholely familiar, each scar and mark traced and tallied under his breath, with a fingertip. He did not know what it was he was looking for, only that it was vital that the ritual be adhered to, as he unconsciously rubbed his palms down his bare thighs over and over again, feeling the phantom stickiness of drying blood that had long since vanished. The aftermath of the agony and the succeeding juddering orgasm had left him lightheaded and hollow-feeling, a strange, spent, emotional quietude, and he knew he would sleep deeply and dreamlessly that night. He wondered, not for the first time, why he and his opposite number felt compelled to return again and again to the tiny, cold room. It had started simply out of loneliness and desperation, to scratch an itch, and become something dark and shining, phosphorescent roots deep into places he dared not look. He did not question the hows of the roles they found themselves in, only the whys – they seemed unvarying, despite the various permutations of fleshly suffering. He had been garrotted with barbed wire, drowned in battery acid, electrocuted, raped with bamboo spears, drawn and quartered, and everything in between. The whys returned faithfully with each dawn. Unless -- some day far from now, his brother-self expected him to return the favour. As he tasted the idea carefully, it occurred to him that he strangely did not find it horrific, but rather beautiful, in its terrible symmetry. +++ Prompt: Spycest, Red spy can only get off on giving pain, and even though Blu spy doesn’t really like getting hurt, he keeps going to rendezvous after rendezvous in the hope of the small kindness of maybe a handjob or something after Red’s done with all his sadistic stuff. After all, he’s the only one for miles that’s willing to touch Blu, so he’s gotta take what’s available.
Helping Hands Author’s Note:Thanks to Kara, Mus, and Cyan for beta-reading. Scout hated to admit it, but it was the truth: no matter what else he could say about RED’s Heavy, if he was going after his team’s Medic the guy had damn good taste in men. The RED Medic, maybe him not so much since he was going after his team’s Heavy. But he’d seen how the two of them looked at each other right before they hopped back into battle-ready mode, caught a couple of glimpses when his own team got sent packing and the two of them took a moment to celebrate, and if RED’s Heavy was anything like the one he shared a shower room with, well hey, there wasn’t any getting around that. Not that his own Medic had anything bad to say about what Scout was packing, not a single one – and Scout had caught him looking too – and if the Doc did then Scout figured he would’ve heard them by now. It was one of the little things what made a friendship work. Being able to talk to each other, really talk to each other, and his Doc wasn’t one to let something he didn’t like go without pointing it out. Like now. “Remember – tighter, and closer together.†Medic tapped next to the gash just below his ribcage that Scout was supposed to sew up for practice. “I haven’t even been squirming.†“Freakin’ blow me, this ain’t like sewin’ a button here.†Scout tried to hold onto the glare, but gave up when he had to wipe his hands off again. He would’ve asked for a pair of latex gloves from the supply closet if he thought he might have had a chance at getting them. The first time they’d done anything like this, he’d gotten a ten-minute lecture on battlefield hygiene and how he ought to be grateful he could wash himself off right when they were done and not have to suffer through dried blood and brains clinging on underneath his fingernails for hours. And telling the Doc he had his own gloves just got him another five minutes on uniforms and combat training and how Scout should know better than to be so glib. This whole thing had been Medic’s idea but Scout’s doing, and he liked that, liked it a lot, knowing that the Doc thought he was important enough to get these little private lessons. It’d been at Granary, RED pushing forward like they usually didn’t and his team hadn’t gotten even a halfway decent round – it’d been one of those days. Medic had had both hands full dealing with what the medigun and respawn couldn’t take care of. Respawn could deal with everything but it was a pain to use it on yourself if you didn’t absolutely have to, and the medigun could fix anything but it was way too easy for something to heal wrong, like arms sticking out and bending in ways arms shouldn’t go, or an arrow that got stuck halfway through the leg and just got left there. And he couldn’t remember exactly how it’d happened, just that he’d been the only one there to give Medic a hand dealing with Soldier, getting him to sit still for just two minutes while Medic dug the RED Engineer’s bullet out of his shoulder before he got up to run back into battle and get himself killed again. They’d all done that, but Medic had given him something that was almost a smile before he had run off himself. That night in the showers, when they were the last ones in there, right after he’d turned off the water, Medic asked him about how he’d known what to do. So he told him about the basic training he’d gotten in Kentucky before he’d been snapped up by BLU, how to shine his shoes and make his bed and survive getting tear-gassed and do a decent job patching someone up out on the field. Decent, Medic had said, in a voice solid and deep like it almost never was, that Scout always loved hearing. Since then, there’d been three more bases and a bunch of private lessons like this one. Pretty much everything Medic could teach him about this stuff – setting broken bones, CPR, when he should and shouldn’t extract bullets, inflating punctured lungs, small and large amputations – there was always respawn if something went really wrong, and the medigun to keep things from getting that far, but there were still plenty of things to fuck up. Like getting the damn stitches tidy enough for the Doc’s taste. Scout grumbled and went back to trying to sew him up, and barely managed to not smile as Medic hissed right when Scout pinched him harder than he needed to. “What, c’mon, you’re all soft an’ flabby right here, it’s hard t’get a good grip. You oughta come along for a morning run sometime, do you some good.†He shook his head, and the needle pressed through and came out the other side glistening red just a bit under the blue of the medigun and the bright white of the overhead lamp. Scout pulled the thread tight and then looked up at Medic. “Y’know, if that don’t suit you, we could figure somethin’ else out,†he said, twirling the needle in the air. “I mean, not that you ain’t really easy on the eyes right now, just thinkin’ that a bit more, it’d do you some good in the old-man flab department.†“Thank you,†Medic said dryly. “I mean it.†Scout swallowed. “You’re – I mean, I know most guys wouldn’t think of it, an’ I know, hey, I ain’t most guys –†Medic’s hands were pretty much always cold, and Scout figured that was why he wore the gloves so much. They were a little chilly as they ran over Scout’s head, through his hair, but not a whole lot, just enough to notice when Medic traced the side of his head where the hair was shorter and around his ear, when his thumb slowly stroked his cheekbone before falling away. Scout swallowed again and smiled. “Yes, as you were saying?†“Right. I was just – a few push-ups sometimes, some sit-ups, what they had us doin’ in the army.†Scout smiled, and ran his left hand up Medic’s side to curl into that thick treasure trail. He twisted his fingers in it, nice and soft, and he just loved how Medic went tight around the edges of his mouth when he did that. “Bit more exercise every day, somethin’ t’get your blood flowin’.†Medic nodded and licked his lips, pupils wide behind his glasses. “Proper exertion of the cardiovascular system is, ah, quite necessary, on a regular basis.†“Yeah, that right there, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.†Undoing Medic’s belt buckle with just his left hand was tricky but worth it, since Scout got to keep his right hand busy putting the needle down and rubbing around the incision. It wasn’t too big, but he could work with it. When the belt came free, he pushed the pants down, then underwear, and that right there was what he’d seen in the showers a thousand times by now but never got a chance to touch. Something he’d never thought he’d get a chance to touch, and it was too nice a cock to not think about touching. Nice and soft – warm, too, and getting warmer under Scout’s fingers as he ran them up and down the shaft, curling around to get his fingertips into that thatch of hair right around the balls the way he knew he liked. “Mmm, I can feel it workin’ already, you feelin’ that? Gettin’ the heart pumpin’ nice an’ strong.†“Quite so.†“Good heart, too. You shown it to me a couple times, real nice heart you got in there.†The shaft was filling out, getting thicker, and Scout tried to ignore what was in his own pants to pay attention to what he had in his hands. He put the needle down, careful as he could without tugging on the thread too much, and went ahead with something he’d always wanted to do – ever since he’d been twelve and tagged along to the big gang fight, smelled the fresh blood on skin and watched his brother open up a gash on someone else’s leg and saw it start to bleed, it’d bled so pretty, smelled so much more than just alive. Scout let his thumb play its way into the open part of the wound and tease out a little blood, and that smell hit his nose, warm and fresh, almost like the ocean. Right here for him. Medic let out a sharp sighing noise when Scout dipped his thumb back in to get some blood on it, smear it in little circles and whirls on his skin, while his other thumb was teasing his cockhead and working under the foreskin. “Doin’ a good job today, always do a good job, but hey, could do it a bit better. Maybe come join me for a morning run sometime. Nobody else awake, you an’ me an’ the birds catchin’ the worms.†“You – do make it sound very tempting.†Medic was hard, tall and proud in Scout’s hand, warm and so good to hold – his cock felt good between Scout’s fingers and he was so glad to finally get to be here. And he knew he couldn’t tell Medic that, couldn’t say anything to break the moment. He rested his elbow on the exam table and propped his chin in his hand and kept smiling at the Doc, left hand busy squeezing and stroking and twisting up and down. “There is quite a bit of, ah, birdwatching, I would enjoy to do here.†“Yeah, thought you’d like that.†Scout gave Medic a little squeeze, then another and another getting a bit harder each time, moving up and down and letting him get a break between them. “I see you run on the field – runnin’ like that, you might almost be able t’keep up.†“That is an army skill prized around the world. Running abreast and keeping up, oh,†he cut into a high whisper when Scout let go of his cock. He didn’t say anything else as Scout trailed his hand, wet with pre-come, up his trail and across his chest, down to the wound that was still just half-stitched. When Scout dipped his fingers into the blood, pressing to get a bit more to come out onto his fingers, he grinned and didn’t make a sound. It went easier with the bit of lubrication – and it smelled great, that was one of the things about using the medigun, there wasn’t always a chance for it to smell this good, and if they were out practicing something on a dead guy, it wouldn’t smell so clean or fresh. This, though, this smelled just right, nice and strong, and Scout felt it going right to his head and straight to his dick. He tried to ignore it and knew he couldn’t for much longer, but right now he could do this, keep his attention up on the Doc. “Lemme guess, you’re thinkin’ this is another army skill, somethin’ you pick up here an’ there. Bzzt, you guessed wrong, I didn’t get this in the army, I got the know-how way before then, an’ sure you can say I got better at it, but I been doin’ this long enough t’get nice an’ good before Uncle Sam picked me up.†“Many years, I’m sure.†Medic was leaning on his elbows, head thrown back, panting out the words, eyes screwed up tight. Scout kept on smiling, teasing Medic’s wound with one hand and working Medic’s cock with the other. He could feel Medic’s heart pumping with both hands, what it was doing, all the blood inside and out, and he gave up on teasing and started getting Medic off like he meant it. Good, solid strokes up and down, a little twisting, even pressure and a bit of fingernails on the underside – and it was that what did it, Medic coming with a long, low groan. Scout kept him in his hand as he finished, while he got soft, until he was breathing evenly. His eyes were still closed and Scout knew it wouldn’t work to try to kiss him now, it just wasn’t the right time for it, and besides, there wasn’t any kissing with handjobs. Maybe with fucking, but not a good handjob. For that, you got something else in return. But there was going to be fucking to come later, he just knew it. Medic didn’t move when Scout got up and washed off his hands, plenty of soap and water, or when Scout sat back down and picked the needle up. He murmured a bit when Scout went back to stitching, but didn’t open his eyes until Scout patted his cheek. “There ya go.†“Finished already?†They both chuckled, and Medic ran his hand over Scout’s face again – and it was a lot warmer now – before he grabbed a mirror and took a good, close look at Scout’s handiwork. “Much better.†“Hey, thanks.†Scout shook his head and cleared his throat. “Anyway. I was thinkin’, tomorrow night probably won’t be too bad, you wanna do this again then –†“Perhaps.†He smiled, and began picking out the stitches. Scout pulled the medigun in and handed it over to Medic, who turned it up, pointed it right in, and let the wound close with a long sigh. Then he turned back to Scout and grabbed him, pulled him up onto the exam table to sit right in between his legs. “Or now, if you would like.†“What-whatever you like, Doc.†His hands were still warm when they wrapped around Scout’s dick. He knew he wouldn’t last long but tried to hold everything back as long as he could, the best he could, and right before he came, all he could think was that Medic – was that if Medic knew what he was doing, he had some pretty damn good taste himself. ----- Prompt: BLU Medic/ BLU Scout What that thing is for? or How curiosity killed the Scout or maybe just terribly maimed him. Or maybe it's the other way around? As long as it involves Medic and Scout and anything in the medbay.
These are all the fic gifts submitted for the Secret Santa (I hope). If I have made any errors, left out a story, copy-pasted the wrong prompt, or forgotten to include an Author’s Note, please let me know so I can correct my mistake! I apologise for the delay; unfortunately, the MS Word double-line break feature is incompatible with TF2chan, so I’ve had to reformat almost all the submitted stories by hand. I hope there aren’t too many erroneous or missing line breaks. You are now free to comment on the stories. Give these awesome authors some love!
25 Dear 25. I think I love you. Seriously that was exactly what I wanted and it was written so well and it is amazing. That was so great thank you!
Despite logic, I felt surprised when I realized I'd be getting an adult fanfic. Then I was thrilled, because that was most marvelously entertaining! Thank you Valiax_Gryphon!
Thank you so much, Rhythm Bastard. The story was wonderful, and including a song along with it was such a thoughtful and generous thing for you to do. You're incredibly talented.
>>35 I'm glad you enjoyed it Cupcake, happy I could be of service once again to the chan! And yeah, you did say all ratings haha.
Thank you so much #15! I love it. Stirred up some delightful brotp feelings.
ER MAH GERD I have such an awkward boner right now... Thank you so much, 29. It's exactly what I wanted
omg *rolls around on bed flailing* it is so cute I think I might just die I love you forever
>>39 I am so glad you liked it! I admit, when I first got the prompt I was like "Ermahgerd I've never written Soldier or Pyro or Soldier/Pyro what if I fack this up" but pretty much as soon as I started it I had such a tremendous amount of fun. Forgot to add this in the author's note, but I'd like to thank Cyan for the beta - and also for organizing SeSa 2012. I'm already looking forward to next year's.
>>16 wow? wow! this is so sad and gorgeous and beautifully written. I love that you included the photo, I love that Spy says Scout looks like his mom (and his reaction to being told that, oh my gosh), I love the kiss! (I also love the rest of the story! big surprise.) thank you so much, dude, this is more than I could have ever hoped for.
>>33 Ahh, I'm so glad! I'd never written Sniper/Engineer before so I was a little worried; it makes me really happy that you liked it! >>10 Oh my God don't you dare apologize; this was adorable! I'm a huge sucker for ridiculous merc antics, especially because I suck at writing them, and this was just 100% perfect. Also, I made a super embarrassing noise when I saw that you had drawn something wonderful as well. Ahhh, I feel so spoiled; thank you so much!!!
>>6 THAT STORY WAS AMAZING!!!!!! That's one of the best fics I've read. Scout/Medic is so lovely and the way you wrote the characters' personalities was flawless. You're a fantastic writer.
>>31 Tl;dr version of it was: Oh my god, if you could write more of it it would be awesome but if you don't want to, it's perfect as it is, let me shower you with love you wonderful person. I swear I squealed as I was reading along. And I totally learned something too. I had to look up the meaning of glib. So that's extra points for you there.
>>45 Ahah. Firefox ate the part of my comment where I was saying that it ate the whole of my first comment. Silly Firefox...
>>20 omg. just. omg!!!! prosthetic limbs (legs in particular) is a relatively recently discovered fetish of mine... i added it to the list of prompts with only a small hope that someone would pick it, and you did! and it's perfect! you even included things i wanted but didn't ask for, such as engineer-built leg, the fact that the leg has one of those running blades, rich angsty scout... gosh, i just, i don't even know what to say to express my gratitude. you even included a cooking spy! and a blowjob! i love blowjobs! i'm so happy, thank you so much. it's beautiful.
>>7 Thank ya. It was just what I needed.
>>23 Aaah, that was more than I was expecting to receive! Plus you gave me a Scout-Scout kiss, so you're basically my favourite person alive today. Thank you, Der Boss! (Unfortunately your steam link is private, so I can't follow it to your DA...)
#22 I had such a big dorky smile on my face when I read this, it was such a delight hahaha (and I do have a secret little love for that specific pairing). Thank you very much Joe!
>>50 ahhh im so glad!! youre totally welcome
>>4 Hello IBrotato , I've mentioned it on Tumblr, but I think I need to give this a proper review here just to express my gratitude. No. 1: Awesome. I'm so happy you took my rambling, semi-coherent prompt and turned it into such a great story. They were all in Character and I especially enjoyed the Bombinomicon's cameo. No. 2: Hilarious. The slapstick was everything I wanted. How could it not be when you're dealing with wizards and ancient magic? It's not TF2 unless there's an explosion and a screaming Scout, haha. Brilliant. >>47 Aww thanks. Actually, I was really excited when I got your prompt because it's a sort of secret fetish of mine as well. I want to write an extended version because due to time constrains I wasn't able to put in everything I wanted. I'm glad you liked it! Yay Christmas!
>>52 Oh ho! Well, if you want to write an extended version, I certainly won't stop you...
From the improvised rock song to the beautiful mess the 4th post was I love this fandom.
>>5 Oh lord but am I ever happy with this - nearly to the point of rolling around on the floor, delirious with joy over getting something better than I'd ever hoped to receive. Demo fic! Demo [i]genfic[/i}! It's like a unicorn! An awesome, awesome unicorn. The atmosphere is rich, the dialogue sparks, the little bits of the world peeking in like the hints about the courtships - and Tavish at the end, ah Tavish, all his hopes and sorrows and joys, this is beautiful on so many levels. Seriously this close to rolling around on the floor, settling for grinning wildly while I leave feedback. Thank you. >>45 And you're welcome! The fic was new to me both for the pairing and the scenario - guro isn't something I've done before - so I'm especially glad to hear it worked for you.
>>16 I was just scrolling through and this one caught me eye, so i read it, and now I'm bawling like a baby. Perfect in every way. Beautiful work.
>>16 Who wrote this one? It is utterly gorgeous.
>>6 Phew, now that I’ve gotten almost everything pertaining to my Secret Santa duties done, I finally sat down and read my own gift properly, taking the time to really enjoy it, and I have to say it’s as perfect a piece of Medic/Scout fluff as I’ve ever read, right up there with the stories by AndrewRyansCaddy and Banimal (and that’s high praise indeed!). Trust me, I did a lot of laughing out loud and mental facepalming over Scout’s hopeless wooing and Medic’s clueless obstinacy, and the ending was cute and funny and just perfect in every way. Damn, but I love me some good fluff, and this story was pure gold all the way through! What surprises me is that even though I obviously know which participants are responsible for which gifts, I don’t know who you are beyond your nickname. I can’t remember seeing you around the fandom or coming across your tumblr or anything. So this story came pretty much out of nowhere, leaving me utterly slack-jawed and as much in the dark regarding my Secret Santa’s identity as everyone else. Please tell me you have other pieces of fanfiction stashed away somewhere? I would love to read them! Either way, thank you so much for this lovely gift – I hope it wasn’t too difficult to write, and that having me for your giftee wasn’t too awkward. If you don’t mind, I’d love to link to it from my tumblr (writingcyan.tumblr.com) – can I credit you or would you prefer to stay anonymous?
>>28 Oh wow so much porn and wow I didn't expect that at all! I love it, really do! Ah and the idea of jealous Engie designing the Sentry Buster just to screw with the Red's - ahaha that put a smile to my face, I might just be inclined to draw that. (I hope at least I read your intention right there) You made me love Traitor Engie now all the more now, damn I have such a soft spot for evil people. Thank you! >>49 Oh sorry, I thought that would only make it private for people that don't have Steam or something. I'll look into that (but I think you sent me a friend request?) Anyway, I'm glad you liked it - I actually had a bonus part in mind but I just couldn't finish it to the deadline anymore. If you like, I could still put it up on my separate tumblr when I got it done and send the link to you?
>>59 Thank YOU for such a wonderful prompt! I really had fun writing it, and I'm glad you liked it. I'd definitely look forward to seeing art of it. And yes, you interpreted it exactly right. And yeah, I have a tendency to go overboard with the porn. But hey, rather have too much than not enough, personally. And I didn't know if you liked top or bottom Engie, so best of both worlds.
>>44 Aw, thank you! I was wondering if I'd be able to get their personalities and voices across without writing out the accents; it's good to know I succeeded! >>58 Heh, I was wondering why my giftee's name wasn't included with the prompt I got. I did have a little moment of "Wait a minute - doesn't the organizer like Scout/Medic a lot?" at first but I figured a lot of people like the pairing. I had a good laugh when I saw that you were my giftee, after all. I'm so relieved that you enjoyed it! This is actually the cut down version - I had to remove most of Scout's side and a scene or two to get things done (almost) on time, so I was a little worried about it lacking coherency and polish. It was a nice prompt and I had fun writing it, so thank you for that as well as the praise! I tend to lurk and write mostly for friends, so alas, I cannot pass you any more fic links because I have nothing posted. As long as you don't give my email out along with it, though, I don't mind if you credit this one to me when you link it on your tumblr. >>59 Nay, I haven't sent any recent friend requests, so if you got one it wasn't from me. I would love to see that bonus scene when it's done, though! What's your tumblr?
>>27 I didn't have the chance to thank you, kind writer, but I want you to know that you made me a very very happy person with this! Thank you so much!
>>60 Glad that you had fun with this then! Oh hey, you don't see me complaining about this. I just didn't bet on actually getting porn but hey, I got my surprise there! I'm personally more of a bottom!Engie but switching up is always good so I'm really happy with this! >>61 Oh alright then, I usually don't get random friend requests like that, heh. tiinderboxsh .tumblr.com is the tumblr it will be on, but aside from the fill there's nothing else on it as it's still in the works. On a side note, I also liked your fill a lot!
Aaa, sorry for not responding to this earlier! Thank you so much for your story, anonymous writer. It was just the sort of thing I was hoping for, and now I'm also more curious about Russian cooking....