(This here would be the sequel to It's A Lot Like Life) ---/-/--- Prologue 1: Mr. Mundy ---/-/--- It's the end of a very long week, and the last thing he wants to take back to the apartment is more bad news, not after Wednesday's delivery of new equipment was opened by someone else, his riding crop handed off to the Soldier who declared it an error and handed it off to the Engineer in turn to be scrapped. Scrapped for what, he doesn't know, since it's not even metal, but there's a lot in the war that's beyond his understanding, and he's always felt it was safest to keep his head down and keep drawing his paycheck until the war was over. He's about to swing up into the driver's seat and head into town when he hears a soft cough, not a man's cough, and the crunch of gravel beneath a woman's boots. "Mr. Mundy." Miss Pauling greets him, and there's a weight hanging over him at the sound of her voice. He tries to keep his own light, just the same, and he doesn't turn to face her, just keeps an eye on her in his side view mirror and hopes she'll think he's not at all concerned to have her standing at his back. "Miss. Hope this won't take long, it's my weekend. Was going to head into town for a drink and a night on a real bed before spending a couple days in the woods." "Were you, now?" Her tone is not cool exactly, but he gets the feeling she sees through the lie. "This won't take very long, if we can just get through it. Your employers are aware that you've been... spending a lot of time with a man on BLU. A spy, in fact." "We don't talk work. I do my job, and I kill him when I get the chance. No need for one of your little private wars, I got no problem putting a bullet through him or a knife in him, and he doesn't have any problem doing the same to me. You can check the records if you need to." "Next week the teams are going to be off, while respawn is down for repairs and updates." She says, as though he hasn't spoken at all. As though she hadn't even brought the Spy up. "Thanks for letting me know." He nods, unsettled and unwilling to show it. "Guess being late for my weekend won't be such a tragedy, then." "Mr. Mundy, you won't have that time off. And neither will the BLU Spy." "What?" He whirls around, the door to the cab of his truck slamming shut as he takes a step to her. "What the hell's this about?" She stands her ground, expression placid, the only sign that she's even noticed the change in his demeanor the lifting of her clipboard to block the flying spittle. She lowers it just as calmly after and offers him a polite smile. "This is about loyalty, that's all. You have a week to kill the BLU Spy-- if it takes you that long-- and to save yourself. There won't be any respawn. I don't know what the reward for compliance is, though I believe there is one. The punishment for not complying, of course..." He snorts. "Punishment for not complying, suppose we both don't comply?" "Well, that won't be an issue, Mr. Mundy. You see, I have on good authority that the Spy has already been met with, they took him aside between rounds. I heard he didn't hesitate to agree to the terms. But then, I guess that's the trouble with spies. Their loyalty is always to themselves." He snarls and wrenches his door open, climbing in and speeding off. In his mirror, he sees Miss Pauling take a neat step back from the spray of gravel he sends flying. He's a little sorry it doesn't hit her. He's a little sorry he didn't hit her.
Prologue 1: Spy ---/-/--- He blows an imperious plume of smoke against the monitor-- it's not as effective at getting his point across as it would be to blow it into the camera, but it is more satisfying. "I'm expecting company, so if we could hurry this along." He drawls, and the man wearing the equipment shifts nervously. It's some small reward, though there is no reaction from the woman. Of course, she is perfectly safe. He wouldn't be surprised if the man he currently has against his wall will be the first messenger to make it back to her alive. He's seen the remains of others... but he refuses to make that kind of mess in his own home, to invite that kind of trouble. "The RED Sniper? I'll hurry it up then." She sneers, and he feels a stab of ice go through him. "You do realize that you are employed by Builders League United, don't you, mister Spy?" "And they have no reason to be unsatisfied with my work." "They have reason to be unsatisfied with your cavorting with the enemy. Mister Mann is horrified enough you would have the man over to watch a ball game on the television. If I were to tell him one of RED's mercenaries was fucking you, you'd be terminated on the spot. Terminally." "I wasn't aware there was any other way to terminate a man. Mister Mann being as old as he is, I think he might just terminate himself at that kind of news. But then, that is speculation on your part." "Is it?" She raises an eyebrow, looks through him. The messenger looks ashen when the Spy spares him a glance. "This isn't really my business, see--" The Spy nods, drops his focus back to the camera. "Regardless of what kind of 'ball games' I may be enjoying, my work is the same as it has ever been." "Be that as it may. RED has already sent someone to speak with your little friend. They're sending him to kill you. Their Sniper prides himself on being a professional, does he not?" "I suppose he does." "Respawn is down for the week, Spy. Don't disappoint me. If you come out of this on top, you will be rewarded... but only one of you is going to survive to next weekend. Shouldn't it be you?" He levels a bored moue at the camera, before pulling out his sapper and frying the monitor. "You were never here." He tells the messenger, opening the door. "And we never spoke. That is how these things go, yes?" "No. I mean yes! I mean--" "Get out before I change my mind." The man runs. Once the door is locked, he can feel himself fall apart, and he pulls himself to the sofa, collapsing against it only to slide to the floor, letting the bulk of it hide him and letting his head rest against the cushions.
one quick author's note-- captcha says 'servamat discussed', and that struck me as worth mentioning... ---/-/--- Ch. 1- Make This Life Livable ---/-/--- The Sniper unlocks the door with his key. Some days the Spy is waiting for him, some days the door is opened as he reaches it. This time the apartment is dim and quiet, and worry takes over. "Spook?" He locks the door behind him, glancing around and preparing to make a full sweep, until he hears the soft sound from behind the sofa and rushes there in long strides. "Oh, hell, what did those monsters say to you?" The Spy shakes his head, and before he can explain, his mask is being rolled up, his collar being placed around his throat. The Sniper doesn't try to take the mask off, or even roll it up any higher than necessary, not after the ultimatum they've been given. "I would never take the deal." He promises, leaning into the Sniper's hands. "I would never betray you." "I know you wouldn't, Pet. Who'd take care of you?" The Sniper coos, pulling the Spy to lean against him and stroking at his head, his shoulders. "And I promise, no one's laying a hand on you... forget it for now. I can worry for both of us for now." The Spy's expression is unsure, though eager to please. He still radiates tension, if not quite so much of it. "Tell you what you can do to help me relax... how about a nice foot bath. You can do that for me, yeah?" That's an order the Spy is happy to comply with. He rolls up his sleeves and takes the Sniper's boots, his socks, rolls the cuffs of his jeans up high before disappearing. He comes back with a tub, pours in salts and oils and warm water until the room smells of eucalyptus and lavender, and the Sniper's feet are eased into the little bath and massaged and laved over. The Spy has a washcloth, though he also uses his bare hands to knead at tension from a long day spent mostly standing. "Do you have another bank account? One BLU doesn't know about?" He sighs, petting at the head bent low near his knee. "Tomorrow, we'll transfer everything, all right? And we'll just pick up and leave. How's that sound? I'll take you away with me and we'll just leave this mess." The Spy nuzzles at his knee, and there's a wordless little sound that he hopes is agreement, before each foot is lifted from the tub, warm water poured over to rinse his skin before he's patted dry in a very soft towel. He's left to sit on the sofa, towel under his bare feet, while the Spy cleans everything else up. It seems like a solid plan to him, at least. He wouldn't be surprised, if someone was sent after them, but he thinks they'd come out on top, the two of them together. "Let's have something simple for dinner." He says, when the Spy returns to kneel beside him. "Light little something, yeah? I can order in or you can cook, I don't know what you've got on hand. Do you have dinner handled?" The Spy kisses his hand. "Oui, Maitre..." "All right. You get to it, then. Surprise me with something nice and I'll see to it you get a nice reward." There's enough to make bruschetta-- he'd been surprised at his door after picking up groceries, and it wasn't his plan, but he rolls with it. The Sniper makes him eat, in spite of his own lack of appetite, with reminders to keep their strength up for their coming flight. "You know I'd never betray you, either, right?" The Sniper murmurs, as he leads him to the sofa after dinner. "Oui, Maitre. Who would you take care of?" The Spy smiles, and he is rewarded with a laugh. "Come here, my good boy, and lie down here and put your head in your master's lap... you earned this. Just close your eyes and let me watch over you." The Spy does, relaxing under the callused hand that brushes across his brow and strokes down his chest. He has worries to address yet, but they will keep. Now, he needs this and they both know it, the Sniper shushing every fear with low-whispered words and gentle touches.
I am extremely excited for this.
My chest is tight, my eyes are wide, and my fingers are shaking a bit. The sequel is up and the tension starts right from the beginning? Sir/Ma'am you had my interest, but now you have my <i>complete</i> attention.
Captcha "Conflicts rityning" ... yes, conflict does make for good story. Anyway, this is barely starting and you already got me on the edge of my seat. I can hardly wait to see how it's going to unfold.
Thank God, finally something readable among fem!s and Paulings! And such a promising start, too. The sadistic part of me wants to see them fighting for their lives and the other one ending up miserable. That would be a wonderful way to end otherwise so cute and sweet fic.
Ch. 2- People Said That You Were Virtually Dead ---/-/--- They pack in the morning, the Spy fitting everything he can't leave behind into two suitcases and one box of books. He dresses in a pair of dark slacks and a soft blue turtleneck, his collar hidden beneath, and for the first time in a long time, he peels the mask off and lets it fall to the floor of his apartment, prepared to go outside without it. The ex-apartment, he realizes. It won't be his once they walk out the door. The Sniper puts his books in the camper, and offers a weary smile as the Spy stows his suitcases. He goes back one last time, grabbing the Spy's good comforter and pillow and bringing them to his little bunk. "At least you'll be comfortable, yeah?" He smooths the bedding out. "I mean... comfy as we can be." "At least." The Spy nods, voice hollow. "I don't know how I am going to do this..." "One step at a time." "I've worn that mask so long now... Being out without it is like being naked..." The Sniper tugs at his turtleneck, hooking his finger into the ring on the Spy's collar and using that hold to pull the Spy in close for a one-armed hug. "That's why you've got this on. You're mine. I know it's not perfect, but it's all I've got, so I hope it works. Just let that protect you. Because there's not a man alive who's going to lay a hand on what's mine and walk away breathing. As long as you remember that, then..." "Then it doesn't matter." He smiles. "Well... it will matter less, at least. Thank you." "Come on, we'd better head up front and start driving." "Where to?" "Bank, first. And then... I'm starting for the desert. It's what they'll expect, once they see I've gone missing. If we can loop around and find a way to cover our tracks out there, head in the other direction... I want to lay a false trail first. Then we make for the other side of the Sierras." "All right." He kisses the Sniper's cheek, and lets himself be bundled into the passenger's seat with a light blanket. At the bank, he transfers everything to his Swiss account, and closes out the one the company knows about before they can go looking for a paper trail. While he does that, the Sniper takes everything out in cash, and they meet around the corner where the van is parked. "Your business taken care of?" He takes advantage of the empty alley, touches the Spy's cheek gently. "It is. Yours?" "You know it. Come on, let's get out of this town. When we hit the next one, we'll stop and eat, but I don't want to stick around here another minute." "Agreed." The Spy accepts the Sniper's help back up into the cab, and accepts the re-bundling. The blanket itself is unnecessary, but the gesture is deeply appreciated, and a look at the Sniper's face tells him it isn't just for him. Taking care of the Spy gives the Sniper something he can control, and control is something he is in too short a supply of. Having the power to comfort in a time like the one they face is power indeed, and he needs to feel that, just as badly as the Spy needs to feel cared for. It's a long drive, with the radio fading in and out. The Sniper's jaw keeps a grim determined set, and the Spy dozes when he can, and frets when he can't. It's not yet noon when they stop, but breakfast was a rushed affair of grabbing what was edible, and both men are hungry. The drive had been a winding one, down stretches of white-knuckle road where segments of guard rail were missing and the mountains were sheer rises and drops to either side of the sinuous strip of asphalt. The valley is a breath of fresh air when it comes to driving, and the Sniper has always been more at ease with foothills and flat land, with the gentler slopes. Hills he likes just fine, but mountains come with hazards. The Spy does not consider the valley a breath of fresh air in any capacity-- he trusts the Sniper's driving under any condition, believes with his whole being that whatever happens, it won't be the Sniper's driving that kills them. The valley comes with vineyards and dairy farms, and he knows too well that neither one of those things makes for very fresh air. He takes no comfort in things that remind him of his childhood. The diner is small, but it's clean and bright and mostly empty, and the waitress is tired and impersonal. "Eat." The Sniper whispers, when the Spy pushes his food around listlessly. "It's not easy, on the road." He shrugs, forcing a few more bites. The Sniper's eggs are colorless, their texture looks rubbery, and the Spy is glad that he didn't order any, but his own meal is too heavy to want much of. They box it up and he holds the container in his lap as they drive again, unsure how long it will be good. He doesn't have very long to wait. The Sniper drives to the edge of town and parks in an empty lot by a boarded-up building. The Spy makes no move, until the Sniper has come around to open his door. "Come on. Back." He jerks his head, and the Spy follows. At the Sniper's little table, he finds it easier to eat. his skin doesn't crawl the way it does in public spaces, with no one but the Sniper to see his naked face, and he would hate to refuse a bite that the Sniper hand-feeds him. "From here we go east. Farms are mostly behind us, except a few here and there. There's a good stretch of chaparral up ahead, and then we'll hit the desert. We can keep each other warm for the night. There's one more town before it's just us and the wilderness, we'll stop there to stock up. Sound good?" "Sounds good." "Won't be going anywhere near Teufort, so no worries there." The Sniper promises, kissing his brow. "There's gonna be a whole state between us and that place, just in case. But it's five hours to hit Death Valley from here, and it won't be too hard to give 'em a false trail... No one's going to follow us very far." The Spy nods. There are not many quarries he would be willing to follow into a place with death right in the name. He hopes that their disappearance is a thing their employers will let go, at an obstacle like that.
My heart is so full of worry right now, I do hope they'll be alright.
Ch. 3- Bang Goes the Knighthood ---/-/--- They stop to eat in a Woolworth's, when they reach the last stop they'll find before the desert, and then it's just the drive. When the Sniper finally pulls over, late in the afternoon, civilization is far behind them and there's nothing but the harsh desert ahead. "We can drive a bit more after dark." He sighs, pulling off his shades to run a hand over his face. "Oughta let 'er rest... A fried-out engine's the last thing we'll need. Sit tight a sec." The Spy nods, and waits again for the Sniper to open his door, to escort him back to the camper. With the curtains drawn, the light is dim, and once they've stripped half down, it's cool enough to be bearable. "Five hours--" "Six, from the apartment. Not counting the stops." "Six hours. Feels like longer." The Sniper groans. He rolls his shoulders, and the Spy moves to stand behind him, his gloves already stripped away with his sweater. He kneads the knots out of the Sniper's back without being asked, and from there he works his way down each arm, before dropping to his knees to work up calves and the backs of thighs. "Thanks, Pet. I could fancy a nap, how about you? You'll lie down with me, won't you? Be a sweet boy for me?" "Mais oui, Maitre." He smiles, nuzzling gently at the small of the Sniper's back before rising. "Good." The Sniper pats the mattress. "Up." The Spy scoots back into the bunk, relaxing once the Sniper is lying beside him. They both doze on and off, trading little touches and tired smiles as they take turns clinging to consciousness. It's the Sniper who's awake to hear the sound of an engine dying, of tires rolling over sand, and he slips out of the bunk, grabbing the Spy's revolver and waiting by the camper door. He watches the lock turn. When the door swings open, he swings into place, leveling the revolver to the center of the RED Spy's forehead. "So they sent you." He tries not to betray any surprise. He knew someone would be sent, though he'd hoped to outrun them. They must have guessed he would, to send someone so early. "I'm not here for you." His former coworker shrugs, looking as disaffected as he's ever seen a man with a gun to his head. "Through me's the only way you'll ever get to him." "Cute." He snorts. "Whether I come back with or without you is not important, but I was not asked to kill you. Only to... effect a separation." Behind the Sniper, the Spy is on alert, having slid from his place on the bunk to grab a knife. "How about I effect a separation between you and your head?" The Sniper growls. "I'd've pulled the trigger already if you were anyone else. Since we've been mates, and since I reckon you value your own skin more than you do your orders from on high, I'll give you one chance to get out. You can't get the drop on the both of us, and if I catch you 'round again, I'll kill you. If you've got anything worth living for, you'll disappear yourself, get away from the companies same as us." "Ah, but I am not the same as you." Something almost sad touches his smile. "My paramour is not a deadly assassin capable of protecting me while I sleep, nor someone ready and willing to pull up stakes and vanish into the night. My presence there would be a danger. So you see, the job is all I have." "There's always your health. Unless, of course, there isn't." He slips his finger inside the trigger guard, a satisfied smirk spreading slow across his lips as the RED Spy swallows hard. "Choice is yours, Mate." Rather than answer, he turns to his old counterpart. They speak in French, rapidly, and the Sniper doesn't bother trying to follow, only keeps his gun trained on the RED Spy, even when he sees his own falter. "Whatever he's telling you--" "If he fails, BLU sends someone. You can guess who." "Their piss-poor excuse for a Sniper?" He guesses. Both Spies nod, the RED coolly and the BLU stiff with worry. "He won't bother getting close, he will just kill you." "No. He won't." The Sniper growls. He grabs the RED Spy by the front of his suit and shoves him back from the door, jabbing the gun under his chin and continuing to back him all the way to the red sports car that had rolled as quietly as it could up to where they were parked. "Is he on his way now?" "I don't know. But as soon as the companies realize I have failed-- if I fail-- then he will be." "Turn around and keep your hands where I can see them, if you want to keep breathing. You like opera?" "I don't see what that has--" He clubs the RED Spy in the back of the head with the butt of the revolver, and when that only dazes the man, he hits him again until he goes down. After checking him carefully, he hefts him up and carries him back to the camper, where he ties him up. "Think you can handle watching him back here?" He asks. The Spy stares. "What exactly is your plan with this?" "Driving out to Amargosa to kill two birds with one stone. Your teammate's going to find us there." The Spy takes a deep breath and pulls a shirt on. "I can handle him. But I don't know what I think about this plan." "Trust me." He kisses the Spy's brow. "We've got one shot and between the two of us we can make it work. You trust me?" "You, I trust. The other players in this little game..." "I'll explain everything when we get there. Give me time to get the words straight in my head. And keep him alive and under control. We're gonna get out of this. And once we do, if you never want to see another desert in your life, then I'll take you anywhere you want to go." "The ocean." The Spy sighs. "After the desert, I want the ocean." "Then it's yours." He promises, pausing for another kiss before leaving the Spy to guard his counterpart, and returning to the cab of the truck to drive them on towards Amargosa. Sneaking the RED Spy into a hotel room unseen isn't easy, but the Sniper is willing to put every dollar he has on the fact that there are less than ten people in the whole of the town, and they get him there. "How long are we supposed to keep him alive?" The Spy asks, holding the RED at gunpoint as he regains his consciousness. "Long as we have to. Get his disguise kit before he's properly awake, and I'll need a lend of your watch when the time comes. First news has to reach BLU's Sniper that the last mercenary sent after us hasn't checked in with results-- or at all-- and then he's got to track us. And once he does, we'll have a nasty surprise for him." "You'll get whatever you need from me, if this is what it takes." The Spy nods, fishing for his old rival's disguise kit. "If you're conflicted about the idea of me killing one of your old teammates--" "Not in the least." "All right. Good. Me neither. Not that we'll be the ones killing him." He toes at the RED Spy. Hours later, the two spies sit side by side on the bed, backs to the window, where the Sniper crouches with his rifle aimed at the roof of the Amargosa Opera House. He wears his lover's watch, and as long as he doesn't move, he is invisible. If there is one thing he knows how to do, it's not moving. The RED Spy wears a mask. When the window shatters, so does the illusion, and the RED Sniper on the bed disappears. The RED Sniper at the window appears, pulling his trigger as he spots his quarry. On the opera house rooftop, the BLU Sniper drops. "Two down." He stands, sparing the remains of the RED Spy a brief glance. A headshot, but it could have been a neater one, in his professional opinion. Even with the messy exit wound, he can tell it wasn't dead centered on the sweet spot. "Do you think they will send more?" The Spy sighs, pulling out a handkerchief and cleaning the blood spatter from his face. "I don't know. But I don't think you and I ought to be sticking around to catch any operas." "Shame." He shrugs. They slip out to the camper and are off, rumbling through the desert before anyone can find the source of the second gunshot.
I cannot express how happy I am every time I see this post at the top, and I am never disappointed: it's always worth it. Please continue!
Oh... Poor RED Spy. Also: Unless I'm misreading the situation, the RED Spy/BLU Sniper are dead for real. Unless it were for technical reasons (which would make sense), I'm having trouble understanding why they would send out mercs to track them down if they would be at risk for dying permanently - even if those mercs were so highly skilled at tracking and killing, it just doesn't seem logical that they would risk losing both Spies and both Snipers instead of two. Granted, from what we know of RED and BLU, pettiness often takes priority over logic... Even so, it also seems odd that the pair seems to know that they won't respawn, when you would think they would assume otherwise. Unless I'm reading it wrong, and they were just killing them long enough to escape and hide deeper. I love this, though, and I'm so glad you're back writing again.
>>12 I automatically assumed since respawn was down, when they died, they wouldn't come back until it was fixed and that's when they are permanently killed. I don't know, it at least made since to me and helped explained why they sent the others out but now your post has me re-thinking it..
>>13 I'd forgotten Respawn was down! That makes sense. Though, I still wonder why they would risk losing both sets of Spies and Snipers, instead of just one of each - but like I said, pettiness might be stronger than logic on this one.
Well, I can't really address the bulk of the comments on the last chapter without spoiling things, but... thank you for reading and then thinking/having feelings about! ---/-/--- Ch.4- I Could Sleep For a Thousand Years ---/-/--- Night passes, with the driver's side window cracked, the whistle of cold air keeping the Sniper awake. The Spy has his blanket tucked up around his shoulders, twisted around in the passenger's seat to face him, and in the scant light that penetrates the cab, his eyes seem impossibly large and bright, not the scrutinizing squint he wears in broad daylight or the half-lidded disguised alertness of soft light and shadows. In the dark, the Spy is all eyes, picking out as many details as he can with what he is given. The Sniper has avoided any roads with traffic, has avoided long stretches of soft sand where tracks may be left. Wherever possible, he's driven along hard clay or salt flats, and stuck to the highways closely enough, only veering away from them at the sight of lights coming up behind him, venturing back when it seemed safer. "Fuck." He sighs, pulling off the road once more in the long morning shadow of a looming gas station. It tells him what direction they're facing, at least, and it's good to be able to orient himself. "Indeed." The Spy lifts one eyebrow. His expression is cool now, with enough light to banish that hungry too-young look he'd had in the night. "It's not over, is it?" "I doubt it. BLU's Sniper has no real reason not to come again." The Sniper shakes his head. "Respawn's off." "Pauling told you respawn is off. And for you and I, I don't doubt it is. Would the companies send their best if they weren't stacking the decks?" "Fuck." He repeats. It's a good word for repeating. "Fucking fuck me. Just fuck." "Exactly. I think perhaps your old teammate will take the warning as serious. I do not know him well, but if he is any good, he values practicality over pride. Mine, though... he will keep gunning for you, if he realizes that you are still alive." "Maybe he won't. Fuck, maybe... maybe he won't remember so good if he does respawn. Further out you are, the fuzzier it gets, and we're miles out from Badwater Basin right now. Probably the system there will spit him out, in the morning at the latest. He might think you shot him, after he shot me... He might." "He might. We cannot rely upon it, of course..." "They still might send someone." The Spy reaches out, taking the Sniper's hand. For a while, nothing needs to be said. They both know what hangs over them, nebulous and threatening. The Sniper puts the truck in gear and turns around, striking out into the desert heading north. When he hits a road, he takes it west, drives until they hit another self-serve station, a dusty hot dog stand by its side. The Spy has no appetite, but he lets the Sniper feed them both just the same. They both feel the spectre of Badwater as much as they do that of the mercenaries who have already pursued them. Men could be reasoned with, or at least killed until they stopped coming. The companies... the companies could not be. And though the Sniper loved it, knew as much of the heart of it as any man, the desert herself was unforgiving. For the first time in his life, he felt he would be glad to see the last of her for a while. He drives until they hit the mountains, after that, until he finds signs for a campground and follows them off into the woods. He is weary down to his very bones, and a look at the Spy tells him he's not the only one. "Nice thing about a camper van... don't need to set up camp." He attempts a smile, before oozing out of his seat and onto the soft earth below, crunching across the pine needles to open the Spy's door. No one else is parked nearby, and he doesn't know if that's a relief or not in the long run, doesn't know what the policy is on civilians, on witnesses or on casualties. Without any solid reason to think being surrounded would protect him, he is happy to be alone, to slip an arm around the Spy's waist for the walk back around his camper. He pulls himself into his bunk after the Spy, feels himself melt into the thin mattress as though he were on clouds. Once in his arms, the Spy is out like a light. He hates himself in the morning for falling asleep so quickly after, but no harm came during the night, and after a night and a day of driving, over desert and through mountains, he needed that. He digs out his coffee, his kettle, his bottled water. Once the coffee is percolating, he finds a box of cereal, and realizes he has no milk. He dunks the big squares of shredded wheat into his coffee instead, and makes a drowsy offer of the same when the Spy joins him at the table. "I should be appalled." He groans, accepting it anyway. Breakfast is breakfast is breakfast. Strength, they'll need. "I ought to move our campsite... we'll catch a bit more sleep, a little ways from here. Just want to see if I can't get any deeper in." The Spy nods, nibbling at his own square of shredded wheat between sips of coffee. The van won't go much deeper, though the little parking area is well back from any main thoroughfare. It doesn't feel safe enough, even with the trees around, even with the pine needles covering the lines painted over the dirt, making it all seem like less of a car park and more of an honest campsite. Still, there's a wide enough gap for him to maneuver his way back into a rough clearing. He's eager to fall back into bed, though this time, he takes turns staying awake, until his body is finally rested. "I'm going to get you to the ocean." He promised. "And it won't all be like this. I promise, if I see a nice hotel, we'll stay there a night on our way. Scope out civilization this far out from where we've been and keep our ears to the ground for whispers..." "Where are we?" "Terms of bases? Giving 'em as wide a berth as I can. Lumberyard's up north of here somewhere, and we ain't going that far north. Terms of towns, bumfuck, nowhere." The Spy fumbles through the Sniper's collection of maps. "Where the hell is Bootjack?" He scowls. "South. Maybe." The Sniper takes them, sorting through until he finds the applicable one. The rest he returns to their spot in the basket under his table. "Yeah, south. We're going west for now and we'll veer north once we're nearer the coast, well away from any bases. Doubt we'll get too near Bootjack. We blew past Twain-Harte already... right where we're at, mostly we're looking at nothing." The Spy sighs, reaching for him. "I keep telling myself we are doing the right thing." "Yeah. Well, that's all we can do, reckon." "I don't know why I am worth this to you. I'm glad I am." "Honest answer? Hell if I even know why you are. But I'm glad you are, too." The Sniper shakes his head, holding one of the Spy's hands between both his own. "I don't need to bother with the whys. I've got you now and if you're all I've got, I've got something." "Well said." "Dunno about that." The Spy smiles. It is not the kind of smile that aims to hide its weariness, every tired line is plain on his face, but it is a smile that takes and owns that weariness. "I know about that. You do have something. Whatever you lose, you will have something. You've got me for keeps now, cher." He brings his other hand up to his collar, stroking it with two fingertips, and the Sniper can't help himself. He moves around the table and pulls the Spy into the kiss he was too tired to claim when they'd climbed back out of bed. "How about I find my pet a nice hotel?" He offers. "In the middle of, how you say, 'bumfuck, nowhere'?" "Must be a mountain resort somewhere." "Not without skiing, I wouldn't think." "Well, we're coming up on a park, there's got to be someplace for all the tourists, the ones who don't camp out. After the last couple nights, it'll feel nice." The Spy nods, melting into acquiescence at the Sniper's hands. It would be very nice, to forget about being pursued, to be a pampered pet... "Is it safe?" He whispers. "For now, love? Yeah. You let me worry a while and you just relax. I'll need you on top later, so for now I want you to get happy."
That was really sweet :) And I'm glad RED Spy and BLU Sniper survived. Especially BLU Sniper, tbh; guy always gets the short end of the stick in the Meet The videos, in 99,9% of TF2 fics, and he never appears in the comics, so I've grown a soft spot for him. RED Spy is cool, but he is the Fandom's darling, so I don't feel as bad when bad things happen to him.
There's more yet, but thanks much! Side note, most of the places in this fic are real, though a couple are heavily fictionalized. That opera house in a town with a population in the double digits at most, though, that's all real. In my headcanon layout of where different bases are, by the way, Lumberyard is close to Deadwood, CA, which lies along a lumber railroad. Badwater Basin is, of course, in the Badwater Basin. (I tend to imagine a lot of the bases scattered through Death Valley, though not every desert base is, I don't suppose...) ---/-/--- Ch.5- Who Taught You To Torture ---/-/--- In the end, he surprises the Spy with a very nice hotel, in the heart of the woods with mountains rising up around them. It may not be his idea of a fun drive, but it feels protected in a way the desert doesn't, and he knows that if BLU's Sniper is coming after him again, then he's safer this way. They both favor the desert and the wide open, and it's no place to be prey. "Told you I'd find you something cushy." He smirks, as they check in, with the request for a second bed neither man really wants. "Cushy?" The Spy arches a brow, playfully difficult. "It looks like a hunting lodge." "A hunting lodge?" The Sniper sputters, and play or not, he doubts the Spy has ever seen the inside of one. "Yeah, well-- maybe for... for rich weirdos!" The Spy laughs, shakes his head and offers the girl at the front desk a dazzling smile. "Ah, but of course, we are surrounded by such natural beauty, it hardly matters, does it?" The Sniper continues to sputter, all the way up to their room at the back of the hotel, where with the door locked at last, he pulls the Spy into a hard kiss. "Naughty naughty, flirting with that nice girl, and right in front of me." He hums, holding the other man tight. "Necessary, necessary." The Spy chuckles. "Go on and get the first shower." "Sure?" "Sure. Give me a nice kiss first and then it's all yours." The Spy folds himself smaller within the Sniper's arms at the request, and his lips make their first landing on a stubbled chin, traveling in soft pecks up to the Sniper's waiting mouth. The Sniper is surprised at that softness, not just in pressure but in the Spy's lips themselves. The amount of time he's spent between the mountains and the desert have chapped his own something awful, and he imagines the Spy must use balm. For his lips, the Sniper has never bothered, though he's long carried bag balm for his hands, learned as a young man that if he was going to live by them, especially in harsh conditions, he'd better be careful not to let them crack. They're rough with work and not without some chapping, but he's careful to keep the skin supple enough, wants handling his rifle to be as painless as possible for as long as possible. This is the first time in his life he can imagine hanging it up with no regrets. He isn't sure how he ought to feel about that, but he stands in the bathroom door and watches the Spy undress, in the wake of that long and lingering meander of a kiss, and he knows it's true at least. He could retire happy. A hunting trip now and then when the itch takes him, sure, but... he could leave the life he's known behind and start a new one. He reckons he'll have to, to keep the companies from finding them again. After a shower of his own, they both dress for dinner, and he lets the Spy put him in a tie to eat in the formal dining room, where they're careful to avoid the big windows, to stick to crowds and scoot back behind curtain swags, potted trees, the big wooden columns that stretch up to the rafters. The room is theirs for a week, and that's if they can be tracked by the nom de guerre in the registry-- it will show them staying at the Awhanee for days after they slip out. When to go is a harder matter to settle. The idea of staying in one place makes both men jittery, but the constant driving, with the zig-zagging and looping around to throw fellow mercenaries off the scent, it all takes a toll. The third day, the Spy spots a familiar face in the crowd when he passes through the lounge, and he hurries back to the room to find the Sniper stretched out across the bed. "You've been here?" "All day." "Then stay here. I will tell you when it's safe. No--" He holds a hand up to stop the protest. "No. You let me. This is the only way." "Spook..." The Sniper is already sitting, all but hovering off the edge of the bed at the thought of the Spy facing some danger alone. The Spy kisses him softly and goes to the wardrobe. He pulls on his blazer, and it does enough to mark him, to an old colleague. He checks to see he has everything he may need in his pockets, and turns once more to the Sniper. "I mean it. I will be safe-- you would not be. And there is only one way to end this, really end it. I will not be able to focus on what I need to do if I am worrying about you. You have given me my rest and my peace of mind-- you had to know then that it was only insurance for this. My turn. I take care of us both." "Go. And come back, dammit." "Lock the door behind me." The Sniper groans and rises to his feet, steals a long kiss before letting the Spy go, and once he is alone, he rests a long moment against the door before he can make himself lock it. The Spy glides down the stairs, through the lobby until he reaches the lounge, where BLU's Sniper stands by the big copper hooded fireplace, watching the flames-- and watching the room's reflection in the tinted glasses he holds in his hand. "Step outside with me." The Spy says. It sounds genial enough to the scattering of fellow guests, but to his old teammate, it is not a request. The Spy leads him out, to stand beside one of the windows that stretches from floor to ceiling, where numerous hotel guests can see them when they look out at the trees and mountains, but where they can speak without interruption. "No beating around the bush, you know why I'm here. You don't have to stay mixed up in this, you know." "No. I am the one who is inextricably involved in the whole affair. You could still walk away." "That work for you often?" The Spy smiles. "You would be surprised. There are still reasonable men in the world." "Your idea of reasonable and my idea of reasonable--" The BLU Sniper begins, but something in that smile stops him, and he scowls instead. "I'm not exactly a people person, Spy. I don't fall for sob stories and I don't let old allies off the hook for old time's sake when there's money on the line." "I do not expect it. But I do expect you to leave, without firing a shot. We will disappear, and you will get your money, as long as your employers believe that the job is done." "Don't think administration's going to fall for the heart of a boar on a silver platter." He sneers. The Spy reaches into his blazer, slow and careful enough to display a lack of harm intended, and draws out his balaclava, stained with the splatter of the RED Spy's blood, holding it to keep the view from the people on the other side of the window. "You hit him, a perfect shot. I was so distraught that you were able to come upon me and finish me off without a fight. A good story." "Sure. Good enough, even. But see, there's one problem. Because you know and I know that it didn't happen that way. And I'm not a fan of fairy tales. I'm a fan of satisfaction." "Oh, I will give you satisfaction." The Spy dangles the mask, his smile cold. "Kill me, you mean? And have me come back, teleport around between bases 'til I find you a third time?" He chuckles. "Be my bloody guest, princess." "I was thinking more along the lines of bringing you up to my room." The BLU Sniper recoils in shock and disgust a moment, before the Spy can continue . "Once we are there, I will cut out your eyes. I will be very certain that you receive proper care-- I don't want you dying on me." "You can't stop me." "I'm not done. I'm sure you will have to be knocked out once or twice for this plan to work, but I can do that. When you are stable enough to travel, we'll find a nice place-- the kind of place that provides... long term care, for those sad cases like yours." The Spy grins, and the BLU Sniper swallows every argument he has to hear what makes him think he can get away with something like that. "Your brother will sign the proper paperwork-- and I will have documentation, and it will look authentic when the doctors check-- and he will tell them what a tragedy it is, how you just couldn't be cared for at home any more after you attacked your poor nurse. You'd just gotten more and more delusional after the accident that took your eyes, wild conspiracy theories, violent outbursts, suicidal tendencies... It broke your parents' hearts, but he couldn't see any other way. Whatever they have to do, that's what he'll beg of the doctors. Whatever they have to do to bring his poor brother some peace. I imagine they'll try a few things. Drugs, electric shock... I do not know if it will get so far as a lobotomy, you will probably learn by then to just shut your mouth and accept your fate." "Bullshit." "Try me." He watches the man's expression falter, watches those eyes search his own out for a sign of weakness. And then, with his smile still firm in place, he reaches out, takes the aviators out of his former teammate's hand, and drops them to the flagstones beneath their feet, crushing one lens under his heel. "Your whole life without sight, what would that be like for a sniper?" "You can't possibly--" "And if you tell the truth," He stamps down on the other, grinds into it. "Well, that will just be proof that you are a raving madman. We'll be sure to find a place far away from any trace of RED or BLU, nothing to corroborate your wild stories." "Fuck you." The BLU Sniper snatches the balaclava, stuffing it into his vest pocket. "Those were fucking new, ya rotten bloody pooftah, you know the old ones broke." "You can afford the whole factory once they pay you for that story I gave." "Yeah, I'll tell your damn story." "And remember-- maybe you can take one of us by surprise... but you will never get both of us. And either one of us can ruin you alone... I think it would be worse, if it was revenge... after all, my preventative measures are harsh, but if I was getting revenge..." The BLU turns, stalking off towards the treeline. "Yeah, yeah. I'll see you in hell, mate." "Not for a long time." The Spy smiles, waving after him. He keeps his composure all the way up to the room, where he lets himself in, locks the door behind them, and sinks to his knees. The Sniper ceases his nervous pacing at the Spy's return, and once the man is down on his knees, he moves to cup his chin in one hand. "It's done." The Spy says, leaning into his touch. "Good boy." The Sniper nods, popping the top few buttons of the Spy's shirt. He slides a hand down the Spy's throat, a gentle stroke down over bare skin. "You need a little something." He smiles, pulling out the Spy's collar and fixing it in place. He walks around, helping the Spy out of his blazer, and then his shirt, admiring him a moment before lighting one of his cigarettes. "Here. Earned this treat, pet." He holds it to the Spy's lips, and lets him smoke at his leisure. "He won't come back." The Spy sighs, when the butt is taken away and dropped into the ashtray. "How'd you do that?" "He has my bloody mask to take back." His voice is dreamy, distant. "As for pride... I threatened to take out his eyes and have him committed for his paranoid delusions. He saw my side of things." "Sorry I asked." The Sniper chuckles. "Come up here and take care of your Maitre, he needs a good massage and you're just the sweet little thing to give it." The Spy rises smoothly, with the Sniper's finger hooked through the D ring of his collar urging him up, and his smile is soft as he undresses the other man in return. The massage he gives is thorough, paying attention to every sore spot that their rest from the long road had not eased out. Before their discovery and flight, he'd paid the most attention to the muscles that ached after a long week hunched over a rifle, and it was a task that quickly grew to be one of his favourite orders to heed, but now he works his way through every muscle group in his search for tight knots and tension. The Sniper melts under his hands, offering direction now and then between wordless groans of pleasure, as the Spy works his way from the nape of the neck down to his calves. A light touch urges him over onto his back, and he sighs as the process is repeated, his cock flopping up to rest thick and semi-firm, listing towards one hip. The Spy ignores it, purely professional until he is ordered to be otherwise, but when the Sniper gives the D ring another gentle tug, he lets himself look his fill, watching his lover's erection fill out and move to curve up to his belly, eyes dark. "Happy ending?" The Sniper asks, smiling as the Spy licks his lips. "Mais oui, Maitre." He nods once, and makes the Sniper wait no longer. The Spy is as slow and as thorough in his blowjob as he was in the massage. His hand wraps lightly around the Sniper's cock, just enough of a stroke to draw back his foreskin, so that the Spy can brush his lips too-lightly over the tip, before his breath ghosts out warm and moist, and his hand finally finishes its downward stroke. He lets his lips flute up and down every side, tongue darting out for little licks, lets his hand relax and remain out of the way without abandoning the game completely, strictly a backup player. He holds the Sniper's cock up to his own lips as if he is giving himself something precious, and then he slides down to suck on the man's balls, to run his tongue over and around them completely. It is only after his exhaustive re-exploration that he takes the Sniper in completely, and he lets out his own pleased hum as that cock slides deeper, sounds almost grateful. He appreciates being given free reign over the direction of the blowjob. As much as he's come to enjoy the marrying of sex and scene, there are times when he wants to take charge of the pleasure he gives, and now when the Sniper's body is so close to completely relaxed, that is encouraged. Only when he's sure the Sniper has nothing left to give him does he release the softening cock, curling up alongside his Maitre's legs and nuzzling at his hip affectionately as shaky fingers comb through his hair. "Fan-fucking-tastic." The Sniper sighs. "Come up here, sweetheart, let me get you off before you fall asleep on me. Maitre's not done with you yet." At that, he scoots up the bed and into the Sniper's arms. "Handjob?" He requests meekly, tucking his head down against the Sniper's shoulder. "S'il-vous-plait?" The Sniper nods, rolling them over until he can find a natural position, where the Spy can still have the cuddling he desires without the Sniper spraining his wrist trying to get him off. He brings him off fast, when he does, whispering warm praises all the while. After, with the blankets piled up high around the shivering Spy, he holds him close and lets a relieved slumber take him.
That was awesome!
I'm always so happy when this updates!
That was a fantastic update, Spy's threat was just so amazing, so well thought. I absolutely adore how you write him (and this fic!).
Thank you! And to Anon 20, I came up with Spy's threat while on a very long car trip, when I was unable to write... I was pretty much repeating the scene in my head until I got to a computer. So I'm glad it came out well in the end! I'll probably not get to the epilogue until next weekend because of the current schedule, just wanted to let everyone know there would be one.
Epilogue? Already? Aww... Oh well. I know how it is o be too busy for the things you really want to do, but this ride has been fun all the same. Thanks for continuing to enthrall me and countless others with your magic.
Why hello there Rocky Horror Picture Show reference. This is amazing, Anne. I love the way you write these two. Can't wait for the Epilogue. I DO hope that the RED Spy respawned safely, too. I'd feel sad if he didn't.
I could not resist the RHPS reference... And thank you very much! ---/-/--- Epilogue- I Can Live Here In Luxury ---/-/--- They drive northwest, through foothills that look draped in antiqued velvet, green worn through to gold. When they finally reach the sea, in spite of all they've done and been through, the look they share is one of perfect innocence married with joy. In the hotel room, they relax with sinfully good coffee and realty listings, and the Spy wants to be in the heart of The City, looks with longing at Painted Ladies while the Sniper prefers the idea of a view, something outside of the hustle and bustle where he can look out at the ocean. He gets what he wants in the end, when they go out to look at the house on El Camino Del Mar. The Mediterranean architecture wins the Spy over, and he abandons his dreams of a Victorian halfway through the tour. The Sniper would have handed over his life savings without setting foot inside the house, for the sweet little backyard and patio, and that view down to the bay, and the bridge standing out a bright pop against all of the blue. It's not as though they couldn't drive into the city any time that they wanted, the Spy reasons, as he maps out furnishings in his mind. The first thing they buy is a bed, and the second is a little wrought iron table with two chairs, for the patio. Wrapped up in warm layers, they drink their coffee outside on their first morning as homeowners, huddled close together, the Spy once again with his collar on beneath his turtleneck sweater. The Spy finds the leather shop on his own, when the Sniper opts to stay home. He's assembling his own latest purchase, a large barbecue, and he would rather finish it quickly, would rather avoid socialization after all the salespeople he's talked to recently, during the acquisition of furniture, of linens and cookware and the minutiae of civilized life. He browses through jackets and boots and motorcycle riding gear with a cool detachment, until the young man behind the counter approaches him. "If you're not finding what you're looking for, we do have a back room." The Spy grins smoothly, a grin with sharp and predatory edges that he can never quite smooth away, even with a new life. "I think the back room is exactly what I need." He thinks it is not quite as simple as front and back rooms-- as he nears the beaded curtain in the little doorway, the items look more and more risque, though excusable, and the first things to greet him on the other side seem tame, for fetish gear. It is a gradual progression, and he pushes deeper with a slow, appreciative eye for everything. Even the items not to his taste are well-crafted, and he likes the thick scent of leather in the air, a smell that reminds him of his Sniper. He looks over a selection of collars with a wistful eye-- in a suit and tie, his own has been left at home... it is not as nice, perhaps, as these, but it makes him happy. The salesman notices him lingering, and he shakes his head. "We have one, thank you. I am looking for something a little... different. For my friend." "I can do 'different'." The young man nods, and he starts towards a display of restraints, until halted by a 'no' that is very nearly sharp. He nods again and leads the Spy down a different little aisle, and his smile is relieved when the Spy shows an almost immediate satisfaction. He picks up a riding crop, testing the flexibility of it and the sound it makes smacking leather-on-leather into his gloved palm. It is the symbol the Sniper had wanted, and he can imagine kneeling, head bowed, only to have the end of the crop tilt his chin back... He peels off one glove to feel the leather tongue at the end, and nods his approval. It radiates a sort of mastery, and he trusts the Sniper to play with it without crossing his own boundaries. "Found what you're looking for?" "Oh, yes. I think my friend will be very happy with this. For that matter, I think I will be." The young man nods, and leads him back up to the register, and he passes a jacket he knows he'll be back for before the weather grows too cold, the perfect cut for the Sniper, in rich oxblood... The long white box looks like the type he's seen men walk out of florists carrying, when the young man packages his purchase up discreetly. He takes it home, smiling the entire way over how preferable the Sniper will find its contents to a dozen roses. He buys fresh strawberries as well, and a small round loaf of sourdough, and with a sense of optimism, the fresh prawns he knows the Sniper wants to break the grill in with. The Sniper is still out on the patio when the Spy returns home, wiping his brow and smiling over his handiwork, and he greets the Spy with a grin. "Hullo, gorgeous. Enjoy yourself?" "I did. I put the groceries away before I came out... and I have a present for you." "Oh? What's the occasion?" The Sniper takes a step forward, snakes an arm around the Spy's waist. "Celebrate my skills at barbecue construction?" "Not exactly. Come inside. You can play with your new toy later, I bought you some prawns. For now, I want you playing with something else..." The Spy offers a wink, at that, and the Sniper grins. "Oh, 'something else'? Think I'll have loads of fun with that." He chuckles, following the Spy inside. The Spy picks the long white box up from the table, and makes the Sniper follow him into the bedroom. He kneels on the plush white rug between bed and dresser, offering it up on flat palms, his chin tilted towards his chest and his eyes dark through his lashes. "Give me what I want?" He breathes, and the Sniper nods. He slides the Spy's tie free of his shirt collar, slips it over his head and spreads his shirt half-open, fixing his collar on before taking his present. "What does a good pet say?" He coos, stroking a hand through the Spy's hair. "Merci beaucoup, Maitre." The Spy smiles. He nods, and the Sniper opens the box, letting out a low whistle. It feels right in his hands, and he brushes the tongue gently across the Spy's cheek, reveling in the blissful smile. He takes the Spy's hand, kissing the palm, before softly, softly tapping the crop into it. "Feel that? That's the hardest you're ever going to feel this, unless you change your mind and ask." He promises, smothering a longer kiss into the Spy's hand. "Right?" "Merci, Maitre." The Spy nods, gazes up at him in rapt adoration. He holds it over his own palm, lets it whistle through the air to smack sharp against his own skin, for the pleasure of the sound it sends ringing out in the room. He continues to tap a steady beat into the palm of his hand, as he circles the kneeling Spy once. The second time around, he prods at the Spy carefully, urging him to turn his head one way and then another. On his third pass, he lets the leather tongue caress the Spy's chest, then his thigh and hip, then across the back of his shoulders, before finally returning it to his chin to guide his gaze back up. "Looks like I've got a magnificent creature on my hands." He purrs, giving the collar a soft touch. The Spy stands, and lets the Sniper strip him, lets the tongue of the crop stroke over his naked skin, so controlled and so light. The Sniper grabs the ring at the front of his collar to pull him into a kiss at last, tossing the crop onto the bed to free up his other hand, sliding it down the Spy's back to grope at his ass. "You be a good boy for me and I'll make you a nice dinner after." He promises, guiding the Spy over to the bed and moving the crop aside. The Spy is the perfect picture of sweet compliance, lying there on his back with his eyes ever-adoring on the Sniper as the other man strips. His hands go where they're guided, to rest on the Sniper's hips, thumbs stroking warm little circles, mouth falling open eagerly as the Sniper straddles him, as a ready cock slaps against his chin. As much as he enjoys being allowed free rein some of the time, there is also a simple pleasure in relaxing as his mouth is fucked, and the Spy submits to it gladly, with a helpless moan around the Sniper's cock, as the Sniper reaches back to stroke at the Spy's own. After, the Sniper wraps him up in the blankets, covers him with the thick duvet and kisses him a half a dozen times, quick and sweet. "I'll bring you a cuppa before I start on dinner." He promises. "Thanks for the present... it was... Thanks." The Spy nods, expression dreamy. He drinks a little tea when the Sniper brings it, but most of the cup sits on the nightstand to grow cooler as he dozes. The Sniper helps him dress, in his turtleneck and an old pair of the Sniper's own jeans, and he is wrapped in his blanket, the thick, soft post-scene blanket that traveled with them in the front seat most of their long trip. The blanket stays wrapped around him even as he is seated out on the patio. The moon is coming out, and an evening fog rolling in, and the Sniper hand-feeds him grilled prawns and bread thick with butter. "It feels like home." The Spy sighs, smiling over at him. It was one of his first thoughts, when he'd woken in the hotel to see the fog creep through the streets of the city out the windows, and the morning light reminded him of the only other city to make him feel that way. Now that they had the house, had it furnished comfortably, had a sense of normalcy begin to set in, it meant so much more than that. "Hm?" "This. All of it, it feels like home." "Reckon it does. Must be, then." The Sniper grins at him and strokes his cheek. "Home. I like the sound of that."
Taken fron Anne's tumblr (Cutesy request here! Whenever you have the time, could you write some sort of “marriage" ceremony between Sniper and Spy? Of course, just a symbolic ceremony and not a legal one. Would they be alone, or would they tell Sniper’s parents? Would they invite any of their old teammates? New friends? Perhaps Spy fretting about making the ceremony absolutely perfect. Have fun with it!)) Part 1 and 2 http://annethecatdetective.tumblr.com/post/54500837647/request-fill-for-anon-pt-1 http://annethecatdetective.tumblr.com/post/54586451931/pt-ii
Taken from Anne's Tumblr part 3 & 4 http://annethecatdetective.tumblr.com/post/54664051295/pt-iii http://annethecatdetective.tumblr.com/post/54744287078/pt-iv