One day I'll learn all the filters in this forum. One day...

Kinda ironic to see "faggot" used as an insult in a site about gay porn, though.

This post has been deleted.

>>102

Considering that for the longest time folks around here would call themselves drawfags, writefags, etc. etc, faggot is not used as an offensive term here since, as you pointed out, this site revolves around gay porn.

Avoid the use ecks-dee and other anime type emotes and phrases and you should not have a problem with word filters.

>>101

Oh, man, I wish I could actually speak Italian-- I have a couple relatives who do, my aunt's been a couple-few times, and my cousin spent some time there while she was studying architecture. (I can sometimes make a little out if I'm reading it, but I'd never attempt to make any sense on my own)

Instead of going to an online translator, I just looked up full phrases and didn't try to conjugate anything on my own. I'm glad I wasn't steered wrong!

Well, can't sleep, so y'all know what that means. Taking a look over the request thread to see what speaks to me most (or, um, what I already rehearsed in my mind when I couldn't get to a computer/notebook...)

Prompt:
This might sound weird, but...haircuts. I have a really big kink for haircuts, shaving or anything similar, and I would really love it if someone wrote something involving any (or all!) of the above.

(And for once I write some Sniper/Spy that's NOT cross-faction... haven't done that since I was on LJ...)

~~~Shave and a Haircut~~~

When the Sniper trudges into the locker room, grumbling to himself and trying to wring half a pot of spilled coffee out of his shirt, he doesn't expect to run into anyone else. Then again, the Spy is never there when the rest of the team showers after a battle...

He looks away quickly, and knocks on the tiled wall of the showers. "Didn't mean to interrupt. If you, um... if you have a problem with me being here... I mean-- your face--"

"Not at all." The Spy looks up, brushing wet hair back from his forehead. "We are on the same team, after all..."

"Oh." He looks up, and only half meant to. "Just figured it was... a mask thing, why you never--"

"Ah, that is right." The Spy smiles-- there is an edge to it, a teasing quality, but it is not entirely unfriendly. "You arrived late. You don't know. No, it is not out of a need for privacy that I shower alone. The Americans were rather insistent upon it. Because of my... proclivities."

"Proclivities?"

"I am an open homophile." He shrugs, as easily and naturally as if this were some ordinary conversation, as though he were not wet and naked.

"... You mean you're a pooftah?"

"If you like. I make no secret of it, but apparently this is an... issue, for some of the team. It was suggested rather strongly that I shower alone. Since then I have not really been... vocal. Well, it is not as though I have so much of a love life to speak of."

"Yeah. Well. Guess it doesn't bother me." The Sniper shrugs, not so easily, and strips to the waist, tossing his shirt into the dirty laundry, most of it stained with blood and sweat from the day's fighting. He reaches for the clean shirt he has hanging in his locker-- he'd had one in his locker in resupply earlier, of course, but he'd changed into that after the day's battle. With no clean laundry left in his van, it left the lockers by the team shower.

"I shouldn't think it would-- you're not the one with your pants off."

He laughs at that, but only until he realizes it won't be true long. He could throw his shirt on, but it's his last one, and the spilled coffee's already leaving his skin uncomfortable and tacky.

At least it had been halfway to cold, before the damn Scout had to go upsetting the pot onto him... Small mercies.

"The whole team knows about you?" He undresses the rest of the way.

"Yes." The Spy turns his back to the spray and rolls his shoulders. "It happened before you arrived. I hadn't really thought about that. I suppose I imagined someone would say something."

"Nothing-- I mean, nothing that couldn't just be... Well, you know what the Scout talks like, he calls everyone everything when he gets to running his mouth. Didn't think it meant it was true."

"It is. I am surprised you are not bothered."

"It's not like you're going to jump me."

This time there is no joke hiding in his smile, but there is surprise. "None of the others seem to realize this. Even after I assured them all that none of them were to my tastes."

"Anyway," The Sniper weighs his words carefully a moment, then plows forward anyway. "I'd still take my chances, I'd already sweetened that pot of coffee. Rather have you make a pass at me than get eaten alive by ants. You're not bad-looking."

He's in and out of the shower quickly, anyway. Despite the Spy's head start, they're drying off at the same time.

The Sniper takes a long hard look at himself in the mirror. No, the Spy is not bad-looking. The Spy is the opposite of bad-looking, but he...

"Ah, shoulda looked for a barber over the weekend. I'm about a month late for a haircut..." He rubs at his chin and wonders to himself when he started to look so tired. He can't blame it all on letting his hair get shaggy.

"Do you want me to do it?"

"Thanks, but I think I'm better off waiting."

"I've been trained-- not that cutting a man's hair takes so much training. You would be surprised at the education I have had, mon ami. There are seven professions I could adopt at the drop of a hat-- and I mean those which do not involve espionage or murder."

"Yeah, fine. I can get it fixed on the weekend anyway. Not like I don't have a hat." He shrugs and sits on one of the low benches on the locker side of the room, facing the long mirror.

The Spy pulls the second bench behind that one. He drapes a towel around the Sniper's shoulders and rests one knee on his bench.

"Tell me, do you actually shave or do you merely hack at your face periodically and hope for the best? Ah! Never you mind. First, a shave. Then, we deal with the hair situation."

The Sniper feels he ought to protest, or at least make some kind of joke at the Spy's expense, except in his secret heart of hearts he knows a little too much about being queer to boil it all down into fussiness over personal appearance.

"Now is the best time for it, anyway." The Spy continues, returning from his locker, placing his knee once more upon the rear bench.

The Sniper lets himself be re-positioned, and he is acutely aware of the fact that neither one of them is wearing more than a towel or two when he finds himself leaning back against the Spy's chest.

The lather is nice... he can't deny the lather's nice. He's used to working up soap suds with his hands and a bar of whatever's cheap and handy, the Spy has a cake of shaving soap and a beaver brush.

And a straight razor.

He ought to be more concerned about having that at his throat, but the feel of it scraping his skin is almost hypnotic... it's metal, sharp, a blade, but there's no fear... adrenaline, maybe... arousal, at least, though he doesn't chalk that up to the razor. It's more soothing, having it pass over his skin in broad and careful sweeps, and then there's a soft towel and a whispered 'there'...

The Spy sits him back up after that. He feels the teeth of a comb drag over his scalp, hears scissors once in a while. For a while there's a back-and-forth. Comb, snip, comb, snip. Then he sees the scissors land on the bench next to him, and the comb, and it's the Spy's fingertips massaging his scalp and brushing through his hair.

He moans, and the Spy freezes. For a long moment, no one moves and no one speaks.

"Do you have a pomade?" The Spy asks eventually, tone even.

Careful. If the Sniper didn't know any better, he'd say it was the kind of care that implied an underlying danger. It takes him a moment to realize that he doesn't know better, not really.

"Yeah. In my locker, I'll--"

"No, sit. All part of the service." He can hear the smirk in the Spy's voice at that, but it's a newly-recovered smirk.

It's nice, thinking he might not be the only one who's shaken.

Nicer still, when the Spy's touch returns, and the stroking along his scalp lingers longer than it ever takes a man to apply a little pomade.

The Spy takes the towel from around the Sniper's neck, shaking out the little hairs and wiping the excess fixative from his palms.

The Sniper stands, coming face to face with his own reflection.

"You look a year younger, at least." The Spy says.

"Ah, go on." He shakes his head, but... he looks less tired, at least. The close shave, and the slight flush replacing the weary pallor he's had since that afternoon. Nothing you could pinpoint, not the way years of sun had weathered his face. You'd never call it out as blushing, but it looked healthier, he had to admit that.

He'd been admitting a lot that evening, since finding the Spy...

"Really." The Spy's eyes meet his in the mirror. The man's smile is soft now, utterly un-spy-like, and the Sniper wonders if maybe it isn't time to share a little of what he'd been admitting to himself.

"Well, thanks. Your doing, I'd imagine." He leans in, quickly, kisses the Spy's smile lightly before he can change his mind.

"What... what was that?" The Spy touches his lower lip, rubs at it as if to banish the fleeting sensation. "I don't need to be pandered to."

"Wasn't. Just... thanking you. For a job well done and all. Didn't mean it to make fun."

"Oh. In that case... in that case, I should perhaps point out that my price is two kisses." The smile, mercurial as the man himself, shifts into something at once playful and hesitant.

"I see. Didn't mean to shortchange you." The Sniper smiles back in kind, kisses the Spy again. He can't pull himself away, dives back in open-mouthed.

The Spy's little gasp of surprise at the third kiss is rewarding.

"I believe that was three," He sighs.

"That was a tip."

"Too much,"

"I insist."

"Oh, no, Monsieur. Your change..." The Spy drags him back down, nibbles gently at his lower lip.

"Keep it," The Sniper moans, before pushing his tongue into the Spy's mouth, mapping it out. Before he's even sure what he's doing, his hands are all over the other man and he's forgotten why he came down to the showers in the first place. Something about the shirt he's still not wearing.

When the kiss breaks, they're both breathing hard. A brief glance is enough to confirm that the Spy's towel is just as tented.

"Your usual barber must be a very lucky man." The Spy pants.

"Don't be crass. Anyway, I don't have a usual barber."

"May I volunteer for the position? As well as any other positions you may have for me?"

The Sniper nods and wills his hands steady as he finally reaches for his shirt. "Think we could discuss such an arrangement. Maybe someplace a little more private."

The Spy dresses quickly. "I'm with you, then."

That was bloody beautiful! Now I want a hair cut, great fill.

Oh my. I think I've seen a picture for this exact sort of thing.

Thank you. Very refreshing. I love when people play with each other's hair. It's a very soothing thing to read.

And I learned what pomade is! Thanks for that!

Ayyeeee, this is pretty perfect.
I like same-faction Spy/Sniper a lot more than cross-faction, and I also love a Spy who doesn't mind showing his face to his teammates.

That was so relaxing and lovely. I'm pleased you wrote it! The kisses as payment exchange was extremely cute and sweet. I smiled. I was also very pleased with how many skills Spy has. It makes a lot of sense, especially for an espionage merc. Not to mention, the work may always be out there but finding the people to hire a merc can't be simple every time. With TF2 universe there's really no telling but I somehow doubt they have adverts in the paper saying "Merc for hire! Killing them dead since I could crawl! Contact this number here." Though the reverse for employers looking might be true, there'd still be a smaller number of folks willing to pay for advertising and etc.

Two bits! Haha.
I really like this one, mainly because I'm a sucker for those hesitant back-and-forth interchanges. Also a plus: that mini backstory with spy being alienated before Sniper was present to make any opinions.
... Shoot, that's going up on the request thread.

Captcha: 7/8/1812
Captcha is reminding me to review downfalls of generals during American war campaigns.

OP here. Might I have your internet babies?
Seriously, thank you so much for filling my request. I loved it and now I am forever indebted to you.

Thanks, all! I did enjoy writing a completely different kind of Sniper/Spy than usual.

Still awake... so, going in depth with the 'Shave and a Haircut' Sniper/Spy.

~~~

The Spy coughs, coming to stand at the Sniper's shoulder, attempting to attract the other man's attention without drawing the attentions of the rest of the team. Still, it is not as though they cannot see and hear him. Not as though he cannot employ a subtle touch, anyway.

"I have the book you asked about in my room." He says casually.

They hadn't really gotten around to discussing literature, when they'd gotten some time to themselves in the Sniper's van, and the last thing the Sniper had asked him had been 'so when can we do this again'... The Sniper gets to his feet easily, a smirk plucking at the corner of his lips.

"His room? I wouldn't fall for that, man." The Scout jeers.

The Sniper's jaw tenses, tenses up worse when he sees the way the Spy's expression closes down, the way the figurative mask shutters his face up tighter than the real one ever hides him.

"Of course. How silly of me to have forgotten. I am, Monsieur, a bit of a pariah." He nods to the Sniper with an ironic little smile that doesn't look at home on his face. It would be one thing if his eyes were in on it, sharing the joke, but they remain blank.

"Oh?" The Sniper swallows back a hard bitter lump.

"I will just... I'll go get it. I can just as easily bring it to you here."

With that, the Spy's ducked out of the room, and the Sniper glares at the Scout with no shortage of malice.

"What? The guy's a fruit, you oughta be thanking me! Who knows what he'd try with you if you went off alone with him."

"He's on your team." The Sniper points at the Scout. "I've known him long as I've known any of the rest of you--"

"You never really know a Spy, though..." The Engineer says, uneasy. "Even if he's on your team, I mean-- well, not letting people know much about you's part of the job. And... It's not just the boy talking, he's-- He admitted as much to the rest of us."

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I happen to take something like somebody being my teammate serious. You stand with your mates. If you're in a war, if someone's fighting for your side?"

"We shouldn't have queers fighting on our side." The Soldier argues, and the Scout and Engineer both nod.

"Well, the Spy hasn't given me a reason yet not to trust him. He's saved my life a couple times out there."

"Well, I don't know how they do things where you come from, pal," The Scout starts.

"Where I come from," Sniper cuts him off. "Shagging another bloke's illegal. And nobody looks kindly on it, neither."

The Scout's mouth closes.

"So how come you're fine with it?" The Soldier challenges.

"Like I said, he's saved my life and he hasn't given me any reason not to trust him." The Sniper lies. He hates that he's lying, when the Spy's already paid the price for being honest, when the whole situation sets his stomach roiling, but he's gone his whole life with that lie and he doesn't know how to shed it now. "Besides, whatever he likes, he's... We're on a team, yeah? So it doesn't hurt me any to be nice to any one of my teammates."

"That's what you think, but--" The Engineer hesitates. "Look, I'm not saying he's a bad person, necessarily. But you don't want to go giving him the wrong idea."

"I'm not." That much, at least, is true.

"I'm just saying, fellas like that, they might... they might misunderstand some things. You might just mean it as honest friendship, but a guy like that probably--"

"Probably what?" He folds his arms and leans forward.

"It's a mental weakness, is what our Engineer means." The Medic frowns, coming out from behind his newspaper. "Or if you prefer, a pathology."

The Scout nods, his jaw jutting forward confidently, though his eyes remain confused.

"Right. When a guy decides to be that way--"

"A pathology is not a decision, Herr Soldier." The Medic sighs. "Trust me. The Sniper already mentioned that homosexuality is a crime in his country. I have seen it criminalized as well, I daresay to a greater extent. When it is easy enough to have sex with a pretty girl, no sane man chooses something he will be jailed or killed for. Anyway, as skilled as the man may be with a lie, I trust that he was at least telling the truth when he said he wasn't attracted to us. Well, at least most of us. Well, at least, he hasn't bothered me at all..."

'Pathology', the Sniper feels, is not any better.

"Look," He says. "It doesn't benefit you any being cruel to him."

"We're not being cruel." The Engineer is honestly baffled. "Nobody's saying we oughta string him up for something-- like the Doc says-- he can't help himself over. Just warning you off being too friendly with him, that's all."

"You're not listening to what I'm saying. I'm saying, Scout, if you take every chance you get to rib him about-- well, about anything, really-- then he's not going to be too keen on keeping you out of trouble when we're all on the field. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I like my teammates to watch my back."

"Sure, so do I, but I don't want 'em watching my ass."

"Look, the Spy understands how things are, and the team's working out fine. Nothing to worry about." The Engineer says, an attempt to soothe. It falls far short, and it's all the Sniper can do to keep himself from throwing off the friendly thump to his shoulder.

The Spy enters, gaze flickering across the room, a book in hand.

"My apologies," He says, and those two words are achingly sincere, despite the facade built up around the rest. "The book is of course in French, but I included a translation of the passage in question."

"Thanks." The Sniper nods. Once the Spy's gone, once no one's eyes are on him, he opens the book and finds the note tucked inside.

'Come to my room when no one is paying attention', it reads. 'We can talk then'.

Talk hadn't been foremost on his mind, but he wants to now. Wants to ask how the Spy can bear it. Where he got the courage or the idiocy to tell these men about his preferences, and why he bothers with any of them when it might be so much more satisfying to let the whole team lose just to see them suffer.

He misses the simplicity of their first night together, when his only questions had been about where and how to touch, when his only problem had been inexperience, and that was quickly relieved. He could have known it wouldn't last... he knew the rest of the team had imposed a couple rules on the Spy, anyway.

Once it seems like everyone's forgotten his outburst or his presence, he leaves, but the Scout's left as well, and they run into each other in the hallway.

"What's up?"

"Returning this." He waves the book.

"That's fast."

"Can't read most of it." The Sniper shrugs.

"Oh. Right. Look, it's cool if you want to be everybody's friend or whatever, and I guess if he did jump you, you could probably take him out, but you oughta know, if you keep sticking up for that guy, people are gonna think you're all queer for him. I'm just telling you how it is."

"Well thanks, but I think I can handle myself."

"I'm just saying." The Scout raises his hands, before taking off.

The Spy opens the door before the Sniper can knock.

"Hi."

"Come in." He smiles sadly.

"Part of me wanted to just tell him, you know. And I couldn't do it."

The Spy takes the book, and leads the Sniper over to his bed. "Lie with me a moment."

"And maybe... maybe I'll never be... I don't know how you can do it."

"I am used to being forward about it. It is different... I am used to a different sort of society. I am used to salons with artists and intellectuals who openly embrace the outcast. I pretended to be a lousy painter to fit in with them-- I have never been part of a society where I did not have some lie to tell. But I was not the only one who preferred the company of their own kind. It was an insular world. And in cities across Europe, in places where I did not have to worry about a reputation or a name or a past and a future, there were few consequences for such openness. If there was ever a problem, I merely left town or adopted a new identity. I was not prepared for... all of this, I suppose. But, I was not prepared for you, either."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Well... it is never a good thing to be unprepared, but it is never a bad thing to have someone willing and wonderful in my bed."

"Oh?" The Sniper drapes an arm around him.

"I think we have some things in common. True, you have always hidden that particular similarity. But... I know deception well, too. And we both know what it is to be the lone wolf. And my time with you is pleasant, even when the world is not."

"Yeah. Yeah, reckon so."

"Tell me..." He smiles wickedly. "What did you do with the underwear I left in your van?"

The Sniper's face heats. "Do? I mean-- I didn't--"

"Just keep it. I said you could. But... I asked you here for something a little more exciting."

The Sniper can't help a reflexive swallow. He'd found the other night in the van plenty exciting. He'd teased the Spy a bit at first, for being exactly the type of fancy French fop who'd wear silk underwear, but instead of teasing him about his own choices-- very utilitarian and very worn-- the Spy had only said 'of course I wear them, they feel so good', had wriggled out of them and swished the fabric across the Sniper's heated skin, had wrapped the silk around him and stroked him through it and left them behind at the end of the night, damp and stained...

The Spy hands him a condom and a tub of Vaseline, and the smile he offers is more nervous than teasing.

"I want you to have me." He says.

That... "I guess that is a little more exciting." The Sniper admits.

The Spy grins.

Why would you stop there. Oh my god.

Accidentally discriminatory Engineer! I did a little happy gasp when I saw that.

This is beautiful, don't ever stop writing ♥♥♥
And I love the fact that you studied about homosexuality during that era in different countries. Medic telling everyone that it is a pathology was great, nice touch.

You people make me ridiculously happy, so I shall attempt to return the favor... with pornography!

~~~

The Spy strips and gets on his knees, bent over and waiting, and the Sniper has to remind himself to breathe. He strokes one palm across the other man's ass, eagerness and hesitancy fighting their ongoing war within him. The Spy's sigh adds artillery to the 'eagerness' side of things.

"I've wanted you in me... since you kissed me in the showers, I knew I needed to have you."

"Did-- Did you want me to... the other night?"

The Spy nods and swallows a little moan as the Sniper's thumb spreads his cheeks. "I did, a bit. It seemed a bit soon for that, though. When you told me you were a virgin--"

"I didn't say I was a virgin. I said I hadn't with a bloke before. There is a difference."

The Spy chuckles. "I thought I might have some fun building up to it, anyway. Do not think last night disappointed me in any way. A word of warning, though... tonight?"

"Yeah?"

"When you fuck me?"

The Sniper's mouth hangs open a moment, before he can get any strangled sound of assent or attention out.

The Spy just chuckles. "That is what will happen. Isn't it?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah." He uncaps the Vaseline. "Doesn't it-- Isn't it... uncomfortable?"

"Not for me. I trust you. You use your fingers first, to get me ready."

The Sniper nods. Even knowing the Spy is facing away and can't see, he can't make any sound to accompany the gesture.

"When you fuck me," Spy continues. "You need to reach around and... muffle me. I'm afraid I can be... loud. It wouldn't do for our teammates to hear."

"Muffle... Yeah. Okay. Um-- Yeah." He dips a finger into the Vaseline experimentally, before coating it.

"You can always smother anything you can't hold in against me." The Spy offers. "You can even bite down on me, I don't mind it."

The Sniper unzips his jeans with his un-slicked hand. The pressure is starting to be a problem, and the thought of biting the Spy is more appealing than he thinks it ought to be. Another resounding volley against hesitancy.

"Okay?" He starts working a finger in. It doesn't seem like it should be okay, the tightness around his finger is incredible.

"Almost... deeper?"

"Sure?" He slides in to the next knuckle and the Spy bites down on his own fist, but the low dirty moan that does escape doesn't sound pained. "Guess so."

"Deeper,"

The Sniper complies, spends long moments just watching his finger slide in and out, watching the sweat start to bead at the small of the Spy's back and on his thighs, watching the way his hips push back and the heavy swing of his balls and his hardening cock.

"Give me more,"

Hesitancy is no match for eagerness. Not when the Spy is begging him in a raspy half-whisper, not when his body is so surprisingly accommodating to intrusion, and not when the sweat is rolling down the inside of his thigh begging to be tasted.

The Spy gasps and jerks, though whether it is because of the second finger or the tongue tracing up his leg the Sniper doesn't know. The Spy already smells like sex, tastes sharp and heady, and the Sniper has to fumble with the condom like he's a blushing virgin teenager, has to use his teeth to tear at the wrapper.

"Deeper,"

"Can't get any deeper than this," Sniper crooks his middle finger slightly. "You want me in you for real now?"

"Please..." The Spy's head hangs forward. His hips shift slightly, and he moans when the Sniper's hand pulls away and moans again when the head of his cock presses in.

The Sniper stretches forward, slips his un-lubricated fingers into the Spy's mouth, as his slick hand reaches down to fondle the hanging cock.

"Good?" He pushes in, stroking the Spy as he does so, and for an answer, he gets a tongue laving over his fingertips and the Spy pushing back to take him deeper.

He kisses the Spy's shoulder blade. He's used to keeping himself quiet under a lot of circumstances, but having permission to bite down to muffle his moans is nice... after a few more kisses, he takes advantage of the offer, closes his teeth around a pale bony shoulder and thrusts in hard. He can feel the Spy's moans, along with more suction, more of the clever tongue swirling around his fingers, and the Spy's release spills out over his hand. The Spy's body under his, around him... everything suddenly tighter and hotter and somehow even better in that moment before he goes over.

After, he has no idea what to do with himself, what to think or feel. The Spy gives him a cigarette and for a while they lie in silence.

He should have undressed... his clothes are damp and sticky, there's no hiding the sex that hangs like a cloud around him now...

The Spy kisses his cheek. "Do you want me to make sure that the coast is clear?"

"I... Yeah."

"You were wonderful, you know..."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." He smiles, and this time he plucks away the cigarette to kiss the Sniper full on the mouth. "Fantastique."

"You were-- You are-- You're incredible. I don't just mean sex..."

"Thank you." The Spy rolls out of bed and dresses. He spends a moment at the door, opening it only a crack and using a small hand mirror to check the hallway beyond. "A straight shot to the showers."

"Thanks." The Sniper wipes his hand on his shirt and does his jeans back up. He pauses before the door. "I-- Come by."

"Tonight?" The Spy raises an eyebrow.

The Sniper blushes. "I want to give you something. Just come by tonight, okay? It only has to be for a minute."

"I will, I promise. Now hurry." The Spy gives him a gentle push out into the hall and closes the door, sags against it. After a moment, the Sniper's parting words sink in, though, and he can't help smiling like a fool.

Oh man, I never meant for this to turn into something long...

~~~

After dark, the Spy goes out to the Sniper's van, raps on the door five times in a rapid patter.

The Sniper opens the door with a grin. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself."

The Sniper's grin goes nervous as he lets the Spy in, as they move to sit on the bed, the only very comfortable place in the camper to be.

"So... you wanted to give me something?" The Spy drapes an arm across the Sniper's shoulders, and is pulled into a kiss. "Mm, lovely... but you didn't ask me out here just to give me that?"

"Nah... but as long as you're here." The Sniper kisses him again, deeper, tugging his body in closer and delving into his mouth, tongues sliding together.

"You will not hear me complaining." The Spy chuckles softly.

"No, I-- I wanted you to-- I mean, you... Well, you, uh... You left me something, and... I thought about it a long time, and, it's not like I could return the favour exactly. I haven't got any sexy underwear or anything, but... I reckon I could still give you something that belonged to me, to hold onto. It wouldn't be... you know, much good for that, but... you could have something."

"I would very much like to have something of yours." The Spy smiles. "Even if I cannot masturbate into it. No-- No, really. Really, I mean it, I think it's sweet. I would like that."

The Sniper fishes around in his vest pocket, coming out with a long yellowed tooth on a leather thong. The Spy loosens his tie and collar and lets the Sniper tie it around his neck, where it can stay hidden under his shirt and his suit.

"Did you kill this yourself?" He runs a finger along the edge.

"Yeah."

"That is kind of sexy." The Spy offers.

The Sniper grins again, nerves replaced by pride. "Saltwater croc. Took more'n a few of his teeth, got a few in one of my hat bands. Oh, he was something."

"Big?"

"Huge. Gorgeous creature. But, I mean, when they start eating kids and old people, someone's got to step in like. This one was something of a terror, and the community'd taken me in, while I was out on my own. So when they needed someone to take it out, I was happy to volunteer, I guess. Anyway, that's where I got that scar you saw. Not from his teeth, if I'd'a let him bite me, I wouldn't be here talking to you. Just one of the claws. I meant to just take him out from off a ways, but he wasn't... wasn't entirely dead when I went down to check on him."

"How exciting." The Spy leans forward.

"Well, it was something of a surprise to me, yeah. But I wasn't taking any big risks even so, and I came out on top. Guess I learned how many bullets to the head won't kill a crocodile..."

"How many?"

"Three, but one of 'em was off a bit."

"Thank you for this." The Spy tucks the little trophy under his shirt, re-fastens the collar and adjusts the tie. "And for the story of how you came by it."

"Just... wanted to give you something."

"And I really do think it's sweet of you." He kisses the Sniper's cheek. "I had no idea you were a romantic. And a dangerous big game hunter... it's not a bad combination, actually."

"I should let you go. But maybe you could come out here tomorrow night and let me give you something a little different...?"

"I have a feeling it would be my pleasure." The Spy grins and kisses the Sniper again before rising. With the rough leather cord against the back of his neck and the smooth fang resting over his chest, and the memory of the kisses and conversation playing over in his mind, he is walking on air all the way back to his own bed.

>>119

So lovely! Please continue :)

Sadly, I don't have more of the Shave-and-a-Haircut Spy/Sniper at the mo', but... I have a quick, silly Tavish/Jane one-shot, and it seemed like it would do better here than in a thread of its own, being as it's pretty short.

(and bonus points to anyone who recognizes my inspiration for this one... I will admit to barely making any change to the punchline.)

~~~The Air Between The Threads~~~

Tavish Degroot was not a man who got nervous easily. Drunk or sober, he weathered things that might throw a lesser man, and he did so with, he liked to think, no small amount of aplomb. He was a brave man, a tall man, a handsome man. Little in the world rattled a man like that.

One thing did.

His mother, talking about marriage. Saying things like 'I want to live to hear my grandchildren, Tavish'.

Then, she brought out The Degroot Marriage Tradition. It was the strongest weapon in her arsenal, to be sure. She very mistily told the story of how his father had proposed to her, how his father's father had proposed to his grandmother, and so on and so forth.

It was rather difficult to break it to her, at that point, that he could hardly in good conscience propose to some girl while quite happily shagging his best friend, who he could not propose to. He decided not to tell her, though what he would tell her, he wasn't sure.

Find a way to sneak Jane past her, perhaps? So far, she approved of him seeing a lot of someone named 'Jane', but hearing the man's voice would probably change her mind a bit...

Well, he didn't have to make it a proposal... after all, it wasn't as though they could get married. Too many reasons why they couldn't get married. Still... he liked The Degroot Marriage Tradition... As much as he hated the pressure that came with, he enjoyed hearing his mum tell the story of the day his da'd come tromping up to her door in his Sunday best to present her with a shawl in the family plaid...

He could make a sort of... invitation, maybe. An informal sort of invitation, to bring Jane into the family in an unofficial way... Maybe it would be the last thing needed, to really repair their relationship, after all it had suffered...

It was late on a Thursday evening when he finally mustered up enough courage. Most of it he'd found in the bottom of a bottle, and the rest he'd found in the bottom of the third bottle. Getting into his own Sunday best was a bit of a trick while drunk, but he managed. Almost. His Sporran wound up behind him instead of before, and his shirt may not have been buttoned correctly, but he was dressed and regimental, and that was really as much as any man could ask.

He didn't actually have the shawl. For one thing, it was at the mansion, with his mother, and he could easily enough get it on the weekend if he was willing to come up with a story for her, but on the weekend, he would be sober... More importantly, he sincerely doubted Jane wanted any kind of ladies' garment, no matter how traditional or symbolic it was. Still, he had a plan. He was going to go over there, knock at the door of the BLU base and hope Jane answered, and then he was going to...

He had half of a plan, and he would come up with the rest when he got there.

The evening chill had already settled over Dustbowl, but that was no deterrent. Tavish had an overcoat, and a fair handful of hats that would all do the trick of keeping his head warm.

He kept his feet under himself on the long walk across the battlefield, and completely failed to notice when his kilt snagged itself on one of the splintering boards that he stumbled past, as he weaved around one ramshackle building.

It was gone before he reached the BLU base.

Jane wasn't the one to answer the door, but the BLU Spy sent him out quickly and without much more than a raised eyebrow.

"What did you need?" Jane looked concerned, more than anything else. "Isn't it kind of risky you coming over here."

"Couldn't wait. I needed to talk to you about something important." Tavish shook his head, then threw his coat open. "Well? What do you think of me? Wanted to dress up something special to see you."

"Well... Aw, you know. It's... nice. Really impressive." Jane blinked. He wasn't entirely sure what occasion had spurred his best friend-- his sometimes-maybe-more-than-just-a-friend-- to cross the battlefield half-naked and flash him, and he wasn't sure if he should really complain. "Uh... it's the best one I've ever seen?"

"Well, if you like that," Tavish grinned. "I've got a good yard and a half more of it neatly tucked away."

121 Oh gods I love it.

Seconded!

I desperately needed to write some porn, and I hope some people desperately need to read it. Sniper/Spy tickle torture was requested, and while I didn't know a whole lot about tickling as a fetish, I am willing to give it a shot, and I hope I'm doing it right. (Included a little bit of nipple play and general 'sexy torture (of an enemy)' that had been requested separately)

~~~Torture~~~

Things had been building to a head all over. Communications had been severed with headquarters for both RED and BLU, but with respawn in full working order, there had been no need to put their daily battles on hold.

The savagery had intensified, however. Stripped of contact with the civilized world, everyone was taking liberties with conduct, old rules ignored.

The BLU Spy had archly compared it to a social experiment gone awry, before the Engineer told him to stop being horrible.

Before he had been taken prisoner.

When he came to in the belly of the RED base, it was to find he had been unconscious for long enough that his hands were half-numb, strung up above his head. It made freeing himself worse than a longshot... it made freeing himself nearly impossible. He had his mask, his gloves, his trousers... everything important. His waistcoat and blazer were gone, and his shoes, but he could deal with that.

The door opened, throwing a long shadow across the floor, and the Spy blinked against the harsh light when the switch on the wall was flicked.

"How's it going?"

The RED Sniper. Sounding altogether too amused, although fair was fair, the Spy had been having his own fun at the man's expense that week. Still, under the circumstances...

Well, under the circumstances, there were worse men to be trapped by.

"Bit of an argument over what to do with you." The Sniper continued, strolling in, hands in his pockets and a ridiculous hat perched on his head.

"What is that?" The Spy picked the hat-- there weren't too many targets for mockery, with things the way they were, and he was willing to take a cheap shot if need be. "Are you supposed to be Peter Pan?"

"Robin Hood. And I don't know what you're supposed to be, mate, but it looks like Harry Houdini's right out." The Sniper laughed. "Couple of the blokes thought about taking your mask off. Our Spy and Pyro put a stop to that line of talk, don't you fret. Said some violations just plain go too far. You don't even want to know what Medic wanted to do to ya."

The Spy tried to hide his shudder. He had far too many ideas of what the Medic might want to do with a captive BLU. They were all worse than being roughed up by the Sniper. He could stand being made a pincushion of-- there was always the chance the man would go a little too far and send him to respawn, and to safety. The Medic would be careful. Would heal him just enough to keep playing.

"So where is he?"

"We drew straws." The Sniper grinned. "He lost. I got a question for you..."

"I don't know anything important."

"Actually, I just wanted to know if you were ticklish."

"No." The Spy glared.

The Sniper just laughed again, plucking the feather out of his hat. "Well, we'll see."

"This is quite honestly the most ridiculous-- ah!" The Spy cringed away as the Sniper grabbed for his mask.

"Sh-sh-sh... I'm not going to take it off." The Sniper promised, rolling it up and trailing the tip of the feather along the side of the Spy's neck. Across his throat in a straight line, like drawing a knife... "Nothing?"

"I told you as much."

"I can try harder. What, you'd honestly rather have me stab at you?"

"Yes. At least that way you might kill me and spare us both the rest of this ridiculous exercise."

"Oh no. I'd be careful not to kill you..." The Sniper promised, tracing the Spy's open lips next, other hand holding his head in place, thumb over the pulse of his throat. "But if you're not ticklish after all, we can do all this again with a knife, if that's your idea of fun."

It didn't sound half as bad as the Spy knew it ought to... Then again, he'd started their game. The others had all gotten meaner, more violent, more vindictive. The Spy had instead given himself license to do something else against the rules, to sneak up on the Sniper and give himself away with a kiss or a whispered word just before his own blade hit home. If this was to be an intimate torture, he had earned it.

The Sniper released his throat, fingers gliding up his ribcage, touch light. The Spy squirmed.

"Oh?" The Sniper tucked the feather back into his hat, freeing up his other hand to do the same on the Spy's other side, fingers moving from the Spy's waist up to his armpits, walking, crawling, gently skimming, digging in in earnest... the touches were varied without discernible pattern.

The Sniper stroked the back of his knuckles across the Spy's stomach, low down, just above his waistband. He was in close, his breath warm and soft against the Spy's face, his nearness almost tangible even where they didn't touch, and he nudged the toe of one boot under one of the Spy's feet, lightly stroking along the sole through the thin fabric of his trouser sock. The Spy jerked his foot away before he could stop himself from giving the other man the satisfaction.

"Aren't your friends going to be disappointed in you?" He tries to shift the focus from his reactions. "Surely they expect to see me bloodied and beaten when you are done."

"Other ways to torture a body." The Sniper shrugged, untucking the Spy's shirt, fingertips dragging lightly across soft, warm skin. He unbuttoned it about halfway up, getting the feather out of his cap again to trace the line down to the Spy's navel, circle there, dip in lightly before taking the trail of dark hair down the couple of inches, tip of the feather just on the inside of the Spy's waistband.

He rolled the edge of the mask up again, breathing against the Spy's neck a moment before tracing the very tip of his tongue over the Spy's pulse. The Spy moaned softly, muscles over his stomach fluttering at the light touches, his neck arched.

"I can't tell if you're trying to get away or trying not to beg me for more." The Sniper chuckled. "Well? Which is it?"

"Bastard." The Spy hooked a leg around the back of the Sniper's knee.

"You didn't exactly give me much of a chance, when we were playing on your terms." The Sniper said. "If I didn't have you tied up at my mercy, you'd just be offing me and running away and we'd never get to have any fun together. Now... are you trying to get away, or do you want more?"

"More. Bastard."

He laughed, unbuttoning the Spy's shirt the rest of the way. He teased one nipple with the feather, slowly, in circles moving inward, eyes intent on the tautening nub, and the little rises and falls of the Spy's chest as he struggled with himself. He ignored the other nipple even when he finished, trailing down the Spy's ribcage, the shirt pushed away to allow him to trace the feather over bare skin. Down to trace the exposed ridge of a hipbone rising up over the waistband of the Spy's trousers, back up to brush the side of the feather across the nipple.

He followed that up with the very tip of his tongue, before blowing a stream of air across the wet skin. He raked his thumbnail lightly around the very edge of the areola, studying the little gasps and jerks and shudders.

"You can expect more of the same, if you keep coming up and kissing me on the neck and just killing me and running. That's just plain rude, that is..." He murmured, before letting his teeth scrape gently over the Spy's chest. He didn't bite down, didn't take the nipple all the way into his mouth, didn't do anything that would relieve the Spy of any of the lingering tickle.

The Spy didn't know if that was meant as a threat or a promise. He wasn't sure if he was more or less likely to keep doing it, with that warning in place. Not with the feather dancing across his skin and the Sniper's lips dragging up from his chest to his underarm, and the toe of one boot tracing arabesques on the sole of his foot again. The Sniper was close, but when the Spy's hips jerked forward of their own accord, he wasn't quite close enough.

"Thought you might wind up wanting more." The Sniper chuckled, fingering the Spy's belt. "Tell me what you want now... This is where we stop unless you ask me for something more."

"Such a bastard..." The Spy tried pulling him in again with one leg. "Dammit, if you don't at least get your hand on my cock right now, then you are worse than any torture your medic could devise."

"Aw, I promise I'm not." The Sniper laughed, undoing the belt, the fly. He pushed the Spy's trousers down and got on his knees. "Do you better than a lousy handjob."

"Yes..." The Spy's hips rolled forward again, the Sniper leaned forward, nuzzling his belly just below the navel.

Nuzzling his belly and not moving lower.

Instead, the tip of the feather traced up the underside of the Spy's cock, slow.

"Oh, you bastard son of a whore..." Spy whined.

The feather traced its way back down, the side sweeping around the Spy's sac, the tip teasing the smooth skin just behind.

"Play nice." The Sniper grinned up at him. "You be good to me and I'll be good to you, now."

"What do you want from me?"

"Just this..." He probed gently at the tip, before wrapping his hand around the Spy's shaft, pulling his foreskin back to expose the head only so that he could start the slow torture with the feather back up again.

The Spy groaned, hips bucking forward into nothing as the Sniper's hand fell away, and he swore again, bit down on his lip. The Sniper started the whole process over, always stopping when the Spy grew too eager, until the Spy was holding himself as still as possible and the feather was spreading a drop of precome across the glistening head of his cock.

Every nerve ending was on some queer sort of fire, every place the Sniper had touched still felt as though the attention was there, with no firm touch coming to quiet it.

The Sniper leaned back, sitting on his heels with the tip of the feather held between his own lips.

"Hm..." He closed his eyes a moment, then tucked the feather back into his hat and leaned forward again, tip of his tongue following the feather's path along the Spy's cock, around his balls. By the time he got his mouth around the head, the Spy was coming in short spurts, hips jerking forward, little sobbing noises he would deny until his dying day in his throat.

The Sniper untied him after that, laying him out on the floor and kissing his lips. The Spy could feel the other man hard against him, but nothing was asked for. Instead, eyes closed, the Spy felt the cold edge of a blade on his skin, tracing so lightly it did no more damage than the feather had.

"I could tell them I got carried away with you," The Sniper whispers.

"You did get carried away with me." The Spy smiled.

He places the Spy's hand over the bulge in his own trousers, edge of the kukri still moving across the Spy's chest, teasing.

"Maybe you can take care of this next time I see you, yeah?"

"Of course..."

"I'm sending you back to your side. Tell the rest it was an accident." He kissed the Spy's lips again, his neck, his cheek through the mask.

Then, nothing.

The following day, in the Sniper's nest, the Spy appears, and he teases, but he does not dispatch of the other man quickly...

Bless you Anne, and all your wonderous writing.

this is all L&O's fault i'm afraid. we've been gnashing at the bit to write porn scenes and we just can't justify it yet.

>>126
It is absolutely because of the lack of porn in L&O. If it ever becomes fully justifiable, though, it is gonna be so sweet...

Anyway, my chocolate just gave me permission to sleep late tomorrow, so as a counterpoint to that last bit, I present Sniper tied up and whimpering. (and a surprise bit of another requested kink)

~~~Captive~~~

The Sniper wasn't sure how he'd wound up tied to his own bed, wearing nothing but his underthings, with a funny taste in his mouth, but the fact that he was on his own bed was some comfort, and the smell of cigarettes and cologne, both very French, gave him enough of an explanation. How is overrated-- now he knew why.

The restraints themselves certainly seemed the Spy's style. Rope, yes, but not just any rope. Not the kind of thing you'd find around either base. It was black and silky-- actually silk, he didn't doubt-- and the knots were solid, the loops around his wrists and ankles neither too tight nor too loose for comfort. Well, if being tied down could be called comfortable under any circumstances, it was comfortable. He would have to ask how the Spy rigged it-- he didn't have bedposts for easy securing, the ropes must have been passed under his mattress and carefully arranged.

He'd ask after the Spy was finished... whatever the next step in their escalating game was, it looked sure to be worth paying all his attention to.

"Wondering why you are here?" The Spy asked, stepping into view. He wasn't quite stooped in the cramped space of the camper, the low ceiling merely forced him to hold his head at an angle, and the angle he chose merely accented his every current advantage.

"Wondering why you're here." The Sniper grinned up at him.

"Oh, mon ami, I am here because you were so very cruel to me... when I was at your tender mercies. And now I will play with you. For as long as I please."

The Spy's voice was a low promising tone that sent an early shiver running through the Sniper, and the pleased chuckle that followed sent chills up his spine. He waited for a touch-- any touch-- fully expecting it to be as light and teasing and drawn out as his own had been, back in the RED base.

Nothing came.

"You look so handsome spread out for me, cheri." Spy sat on the edge of the bed, eyes raking over the Sniper's body. "You would be even handsomer without all this in the way, though, don't you agree?"

"Oh, absolutely."

The Spy flipped his balisong open, twirling it, slicing through the Sniper's shorts and undershirt without nicking him-- without so much as an accidental brush of his hand. With those disposed of, he merely stood back to admire his naked prisoner.

"Definitely a better view without." He smirked, arms folded, knife disappearing. "Now... what will I do with you?"

"Got a few ideas." The Sniper offered.

The Spy laughed. "I am sure you have. I have a few ideas of my own. Oh, I could touch you... could run my hands all over that hard, lean body... feel your muscles respond to my touch. Feel your cock, hard in the palm of my hand. But! I believe-- what was it you said that time? I believe I can do you one better than a lousy handjob."

"Please do." The Sniper squirmed just a little, feeling his cock twitch with interest.

"Then I could lave over you, taste the sweat on your skin, swirl my tongue through all that rough hair, down your chest, down your belly... suck you into my mouth. That might be fun. You are starting to look like a proper mouthful, after all, and I know how to do everything right..."

"Uh huh..." The Sniper shifted his hips slightly, the sheets cool where he hadn't been resting on them for who-even-knew how long. "That sounds real good."

"For you, perhaps, but... what about something fun for both of us, hm? Have you ever been fucked by a man, cheri?"

The Sniper groaned in spite of himself. He hadn't been. He hadn't meant to be interested in doing that, either. He wasn't sure he was interested, but the way the Spy's voice dropped, throaty and painted with lust, was enough to make a man agree to a lot of things.

"You would love it, it is fantastic. I could spend hours, fingering you open, making you slick and ready. Watching your tight little asshole swallow my fingers..."

"Nn-- I've never-- Guess you could--"

"Making you come, just from that touch... It is one of the benefits, you know. You can come over and over again, while I stretch you out. And I would so love watching you come all over yourself, without so much as a finger laid against that pretty cock..."

The Sniper's face heated, he found his hips bucking up off the bed as if he could fuck the Spy's words.

The Spy laughed. "Oh, yes... I would enjoy that. And I would take my time once I was inside you, too. I am in no hurry to be done with that ass. But... maybe that is a little too exciting, for a virgin."

Another dirty chuckle, and the Sniper opened his mouth to protest the moniker.

"Ah!" The Spy laid a finger against his lips, and the Sniper opened his mouth to suck it in. "Oh... hoping to speed up the proceedings?"

The Spy added a second finger, moving them in and out of the Sniper's mouth. He touched him nowhere else, merely pushed in and out, until the first two fingers of his glove were slick with saliva, and the Sniper was moaning around them, writhing on the bed.

"Maybe," The Spy withdrew his fingers, massaging his own nipple through his shirt, leaving a dark translucent spot. "Maybe I will fuck myself on you instead. Ride you up and down, hard... I could put on quite a show from on top of you. I bet you would like that..."

"Please," The Sniper lifted his head.

"Oh, cheri..." The Spy leaned forward, kissing him, careful not to let their bodies touch. "I could untie you... turn you over... tie you back down and smack you until your ass is hot and bright red, and maybe that would teach you not to torment me. I would feel bad, of course, but sometimes a little discipline is necessary... Still, after, I might kiss it all better... No. No, if I let you on your stomach, you, naughty thing you, will just rub off against the mattress before I have any fun with you."

"Least I touched you," The Sniper moaned.

"True. I am being mean." Another kiss, and this time the Spy lowered himself, their chests touching, one hand dragging along the Sniper's side. He pulled back, nuzzling the Sniper's temple and whispering in his ear. "And who knows what twisted revenge you will take, if I do not have mercy now..."

The Sniper bucked up from the bed as best he could, brushing against the Spy, coming as he did.

The Spy sat, sighing.

"Really?"

"What?" The Sniper crossed his arms and turned away, his face red.

"You got come on my suit."

"If that's not what was supposed to happen, then maybe you should've played that one a little differently."

"It was supposed to go a little longer..."

"I like dirty talk, okay?"

Another sigh, and the Spy lit a cigarette, placing it between the Sniper's lips before untying him. "Fine. I will see you next time."

"Hey-- hey, you don't have to go... I mean... I can still blow you, if you want." He sat up, resting on his elbows.

The Spy smiled, returning to the bed. "I'll try not to take too much more of your time."

"Shut up. C'mere and get your pants off."

"Avec plaisir..." He crawled up to kneel at the head of the bed, one hand stroking the Sniper's hair. "Maybe I can stay a little while after, too..."

The Sniper kissed the Spy's hip. "That'd be nice."

"Just for once."

"Just to say we'd done it." He grinned, before moving to close his lips around the head of the Spy's cock.

The Spy stayed an extra hour in his bed after, just cuddling.

One humble crit:

"What?" The Sniper crossed his arms and turned away, his face red.
How'd he manage that, tied down?

Other than that, the Sniper isn't the only one who likes dirty talk. Unf.

128 that confused me to, but I just assumed he broke the ropes. With all the manly strength of Australia.

>>126
OH GOD YES.
Just. the tying down. and. Dirty talk. and.
If I could have sex with this fic, I would.

You have a brothel at your disposal. With lots of empty rooms. And not empty rooms. And, considering the time, aphrodisiacs lying around, if that is truly necessary. Write some porn for Law and Order. It will be so beautiful.

... Under-cover hookers?

I'd like to request a fanfiction, please. Based on this picture:
http://artmcnobody.tumblr.com/post/26404167582/rp-basquespy-answered-your-question-agh-artist

Here is my idea: Sniper hasn't heard from BLU Spy in a few days and is very worried, so he decides to sneak around the BLU base to try and find out what happened. It turns out that an Emergency BLU Spies Meeting had been called all of a sudden (maybe the recent Mann Co. trouble means that they stopped making spytech tools?), and his BLU Spy's current base had been randomly picked for the group’s meeting. Thus, for the last couple of days, a whole bunch of BLU Spies has been staying at his lover’s place, discussing the problem at length, and forcing him to be extra careful and stay away from Sniper to avoid suspicion.

Unfortunately, while Sniper is sneaking around, he gets captured. With a whole bunch of BLU Spies keeping watch on Sniper, BLU Spy is forced to ask RED Spy for help to save his lover. The problem isn't just rescuing Sniper, but doing so while making sure that his highly-perceptive guests don't find out about their secret relationship.

>>131

(I really liked that picture, too! So this was fun to spend all day playing with))

The Sniper wasn't sure whether to be angry or worried. There was a cease-fire-- during which the teams were confined to the base anyway-- and yet not once during the three days they'd had so far, the perfect opportunity, with the Sniper's van being 'on base' without being on base-- had the Spy come to see him.

Finally, he decided he'd figure out how he felt about the spook after he got the chance to talk to him. And that meant breaking into the BLU base. Something he was ready to do, as soon as the sun went down.

He found a ladder, and his Spy's window. When he got there, he found about five identically-dressed men waiting for him.

"Well, well, well..." One of them sneered, as two others pulled him into the room. He could see his own Spy-- recognized the eyes, and saw the quick look of horror flash across his face, before he composed himself.

"What have we here?" Another spy crowded in.

Before he knew what was happening, he was being shoved into a chair, and ropes were brought out. It was his Spy doing the tying, something he was grateful for, since the ropes could have been a lot tighter.

"Who sent you?" One of them barked. Another scrambled to cover a map, a third stuffed papers haphazardly into different folders, and they all hissed at each other in french, before his Spy blindfolded him.

"What do you want?"

"Don't exactly have a name, rank, and serial number to give you, sorry."

"Idiot." His Spy hissed, but he could hear the worry.

"Come now, we know why you are here. Your team knew about this meeting, they sent you--"

"Why send their sniper?"

"Who knows why those imbeciles do anything. If their spies are meeting at a different base, they don't have one to send against us..."

There were more whispers, after that, more french, but when the question of what to do with him came up, the Sniper heard it plain as day.

"I doubt he knows enough to make getting him to talk worth the trouble." His Spy yawned. "Just leave him, we can conduct the rest of the meeting en francais, he will be none the wiser. I can take care of him when we are done here."

"Even if he doesn't speak it, he could remember enough to parrot back to his spy."

"Maybe we should piss on him."

"NO-- I mean-- Don't work out your frustrations with your own enemy sniper by flinging urine around MY room. This one is not so filthy as that, anyway."

"Maybe we should--"

There was more french after that, some suggestions sounded violent, others sexual, but in the end, his Spy convinced the others to just watch him, begging off to make a call.

A call? The Sniper shifted nervously in his chair. How long was that going to take? And how was that supposed to help him?

---/-/---

The Spy had done everything he could, to preserve his lover's dignity, and to reassure him where he could, with a few stray touches as he bound and blindfolded him. And now...

Now he had to find a way to get him out.

He knew what that way was, and he also knew for it to work, he wouldn't be able to do anything to help.

"What do you want?" His opposite number met him outside the RED base, clearly suspicious.

"Your Sniper got himself lost inside our base. My colleagues are rather keen on doing him some mischief. I thought the gentlemanly thing to do would be to inform you."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "Wear my face. Go in. Betray no surprise over anything you see, and do not let anyone know that you are not who you appear to be. Then get your friend and go home. If you can do that, you will be able to call on me for any favour you find yourself needing--"

"Oh, I know what I want from you." The RED Spy snorted, grabbing the BLU's tie. "And you know, as well."

"They're yours."

He smiled. "Why would you owe me, for this?"

The BLU Spy blanched. "I want that filthy bushman out of my room. Before things get ugly. It is worth the negatives of your photographs, to have him removed."

He laughed. "Keep them, if you want to. They are nothing compared to the knowledge that you are fucking the enemy himself!"

"I didn't--"

"Or he is fucking you. And you want me to rescue him. Don't play games with me, petit, you'll never win."

"That's funny, I have photographic evidence to the contrary."

The RED Spy shoved him back, glaring. "Do you want my help or not?"

"I do. The negatives are yours. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can. I'm the best."

The BLU Spy grumbled, watching him go, seeing himself walking into the base.

He went to the Sniper's van, couldn't show up as an extra spy without blowing the game. He still worried, but at least he worried in a place where everything reminded him of his lover.

---/-/---

He knew right away that it wasn't his Spy coming back. The voice was close, almost dead on, but the tread of the feet was all wrong.

The conversation continued in french, he could hear drinks being poured, someone told a joke, and all the while, the Sniper was growing more and more nervous.

After a while, there was a heavy thud, then three more, and his ropes were being untied. His teammate was standing in front of him when he took his blindfold off.

"Hm. Those drinks must have been pretty strong." The RED Spy chortled. "Remind your playmate he owes me."

He reached out, one knuckle touching the Sniper's chin lightly, and he laughed again, shaking his head, disguising again before ambling out. "By the way, he has fourteen hours, before they start asking some questions about what they were doing waking up on the carpet."

The Sniper let out a sigh. Maybe this made things a little more complicated, but it was a relief not to be tied up at the mercy of a group of spies with their own agendas. He shimmied back down the ladder, tossing it off to the side and hurrying back to his camper, where his own Spy was there to greet him with a hard hug and a series of desperate kisses.

Thank you very much for writing my prompt, I'm very grateful :D

So, the phrase "Soldier in drag" has been in my brain for a while, and since I love helmet party:

So Soldier has a crush on the new Engie, but dosen't know if he (Engie) is gay (he is). To find out, Soldier tries seducing the Engineer on his first day by dressing in drag (heels, makeup, the whole nine yards) and laying on Engie's bed with a dozen roses.

Akwardness (followed by sex, of course) ensues.

>>134 ...Should not want, but sort of do.

You totally have me hooked to a new pairing... Engie and Pyro.

I was wondering if you could write that maybe, one of the Pyro's psycho triggers are when Engie dies and goes into respawn, maybe because Pyro was just a few seconds too late, or wasn't there-whatever. And Engie notices after awhile, the team does too maybe, and of course, romance, kisses, sex, whatever you wish ensues haha.

I've seen a lotta Heavy/Scout and I'm into that but I'd like to see one where Scout tops for once. I think it'd be interesting to say the least.

>>134
>>135

I don't really do helmet party or Heavy/Scout, but maybe someone in the regular request thread could help you out with those. Sorry!

>>136

Now Engie/Pyro I can do.


It had gotten to the point where the RED Spy was loath to do his job. He was never fond of going up against the Pyro, but it seemed to him like the little monster was getting worse.

Even among the BLU team, they all had to admit Pyro was... a little unpredictable, sometimes. Not all the time, any of them would be quick to defend. Pyro usually did exactly... whatever it was he or she was paid to do, and beetled around the base after hours helping out in the kitchen or lounging around with a couple of the guys, normal stuff. Sure, sometimes Pyro would get a little bit too fascinated with fire, but someone could usually pull the little guy back before any damage was done, battles aside.

There were just... times. Times when Pyro wasn't Pyrosself. Mostly harmless stuff. Staring off into space too long, getting too excited about something on television, insisting on that one ladies' hat-- and that one was only really weird, they pointed out, if Pyro was a man under there.

And then there were the times Pyro went berserk on the field, and it was the RED Spy who always seemed to take the brunt of it.

It was the BLU Spy who started putting it together, beyond that. Specifically, it was the RED Spy attacking the Engineer's nest-- most specifically, attacking the Engineer.

The protective streak was curious. Touching, perhaps... at least, so long as it was happening to someone else. He spent enough time monitoring the Pyro so that he could get to the cause, but he avoided watching the aftermath. Seeing his double being brutally murdered was hard to stomach, and he'd killed the man himself in the past. This was different. This was savage.

It wasn't his place, to mention anything to the Engineer, but he did anyway, tone lofty and amused when he spoke of the firebug's 'little crush', only to be snapped at and shooed away.

The Pyro is a little more controlled, after that. Still violent, but after all, they are all paid to be violent, it is hardly the mark of the insane to be violent when one is given a weapon and a paycheck for using it. Less panicked, though, whenever it's too late to save the Engineer during an attack to the nest.

The Soldier will say it is discipline, the Medic will say it was a phase. The Engineer will say nothing, and no one presses him more than any of the others. Only the Spy would think to, and the Spy... The Spy would say that the Pyro, unlike the soulless abomination on RED's team, is a sweet enough thing deep down, though he has not plumbed the depths of that suit. Still, he sees and hears enough to know that whatever lives inside the suit has a heart, and that that heart belongs to someone, and he knows more than he would like to about how one makes love in a boiler suit just from his habit of wandering through places without knocking.

I'm bouncing merrily here at work. Ooh, that was lovely, even better than I imagined. Oh Pyro... you little firebug you. This was beautiful! Thank you so much for writing my prompt!

>>137

I’m working on a Scout/Heavy story, for what it’s worth. I’m not sure when it’ll be done, though, but I’m hoping it’s soon.

>>138

Delicious as always, Anne. You’re the master of subtle hinting, saying just enough to tease the imagination. Now I’m curious to know how one makes love in a boiler suit too...

If you’ll accept another request, I have one for you, a bit of role reversal: Spy is the typical secret agent ladies’ man, a gallant charmeur capable of seducing any woman he fancies—but he’s completely inexperienced when it comes to men, never thought he’d want to steal his way into a man’s bed. Finding himself there for the first time, none of his usual tricks doing the job, Sniper has to talk him through it.

Seconding Cyan's request because oh dear god yes please. I just love seeing a suave character placed into a situation where all his charm has no effect, and I've only rarely seen any good experienced Sniper fic, especially if Spy is involved.

>>140

Ooh, fun!


The Spy has always known, that he prefers men. Deep down, it's what the heart wants, or at least what parts somewhat south of the heart want. He has never allowed himself the pleasure, because a woman will never take his heart, let alone twist it, break it. A woman can never be used as a weapon against him, especially if he never spends two nights with the same one.

Women are fun. The wining and dining, the dancing, the careful flattery. The sex, though there is always a little something lacking, is physically good. Mostly, though, women are safe, and men he knows will get him into trouble.

The Sniper treats sex the way he treats his job-- detachment first and foremost, but a certain amount of fun and satisfaction all the same. And unless the need is dire or the reward too tempting, never-- NEVER-- on his home turf. He can't afford to muck up his own backyard, after all, doesn't need trouble for killing a man or for fucking one.

To work, he travels, to Europe or Asia or the Americas, and when he travels, he finds men.

The Sniper spots the Spy as a pooftah early on. Suspects it well enough straight away, but there's always the chance he's only french-- RED's, after all, proves to be pretty solidly a ladies' man, in spite of the same set of prancey, mincing affectations, and the Sniper doesn't share any of those, but when he wants a good root, he prefers a man.

They dance around each other, until the Sniper begins to recognize subtle and hastily-hidden flirtations sneaking in, and wonders how much longer he might have gone on not knowing, the way the Spy seemed determined to keep it all a secret.

The Sniper prefers the direct approach. When they wind up alone after a round ends in a tie, he traps the Spy against a wall and leans in close.

"Were you planning on grabbing me any time soon, or were you waiting for me to come to you?" He asks, getting a deep sniff of cigarette smoke and aftershave. "Shoulda been more direct, if you wanted me. I don't go for all that hint-dropping. But maybe I shoulda figured you'd be a bloody cypher, yeah?"

He can't tell, if the Spy blanches or flushes at the question, but he can tell the man is taken aback, and he likes it. He doesn't feel like he gets to keep the spook on his toes often enough... There is a moment of weak protest, of the Spy fighting himself before leaning up to initiate a kiss.

It doesn't go well. The Spy is used to having a height advantage, doesn't know how to deal with being the shorter partner in a kiss, doesn't know how to be the prey and not the hunter, either.

In the Sniper's van, in the Sniper's bed, kissing is easier. A horizontal plane puts them even, and the feel of a man in his arms is overwhelming, wonderful, the feel of answering hardness instead of the yielding curves he is used to but has never truly loved. The Sniper gives him no room to flatter, tells him to cut the crap when he tries.

"Bet you like to take it..." The Sniper growls. "Fancy type like you, and the way I catch you looking at me? I just bet you do..."

"I..." The Spy freezes, and after a moment, the Sniper does as well.

"Hey... 's all right if you top, didn't mean to put you off. I can go either way." He promises, giving another biting kiss to the Spy's throat, through the thin fabric of his balaclava. "Fuck, fuck me any way you like..."

"I don't... normally... do this..."

The Sniper pulls back again. "Holey dooley, you are rattled."

He would have thought, if he'd known he'd be seeing the Spy so shaken, that he would laugh, but he couldn't. It was strange, and he felt a little sorry, and he wondered if he didn't think it was just a little cute, in a horrible way.

"Too dangerous. You can have a hundred girls and no one cares. One man and your career could be ruined. That is not even the worst case scenario."

"So why'd you come home with me?"

"Because I wanted to. Because this is different, out here, and I thought maybe with this war it would be different. Not like I am meeting a new woman every night, here. But because I want you."

"Yeah?" The Sniper's smirk returns, full force. "The filthy bushman with his filthy van?"

"Yes." The Spy hisses, clings to him.

"Then just relax and let me do filthy things to you." He smiles, giving the Spy a softer kiss before working at undressing them. "What do you like, sweetheart?"

The Spy bites his lip against admitting ignorance, but the Sniper reads it in him.

"Well that's just fine too." He promises, another kiss, another gentle touch. "What do you want? We can just suck each other off, if you're not into the rest, that's fine. Been a while since I've been on my knees for someone half as handsome."

The Spy chuckles weakly. "How do you know I'm handsome?"

"Oh, I can tell." He gets the Spy's belt undone, trousers down. "And it would be my pleasure. 'Less you'd rather fuck me. Long while, for that, but I've got the stuff on hand."

The Spy swallows, adam's apple bobbing, and the Sniper nips at it, still through the mask.

"I want it all." He shakes his head. "I've come this far. I would just as soon be hanged for everything."

"I'd like to fuck you." The Sniper admits, shucking his own clothes, letting them fall to the side of his bunk. "If it's okay."

The Spy nods, another little silent war with himself.

"You can say no." The Sniper shrugs.

"I don't want to say no, I want to say-- I want to say nice things about you, because we're in bed together. Or will you only shut me down again if I do?"

"If you start telling me my eyes are beautiful, yeah."

"It isn't untrue, just because it is pillow talk. Trite, maybe, but..."

"But nothing. You don't need to talk to me like I'm some sheila."

"May I say I am fond of them?"

"... Fine." He shimmies down to the foot of the bunk, folding himself up to fit. "Figure your first time'll go easier if it's a good one. And I wasn't lying when I said I'd enjoy this."

The Spy doesn't need to ask about that, at least. He has received blowjobs before, though he's never really learned to give one-- at least, not through practice. He prefers this one, to any he's received before. There's a raw passion, and the scrape of stubble against his thigh, and the sounds the Sniper makes which are so unmistakably male, the way control is taken so different than any of the women the Spy has been with, and it's easy to fall apart under that mouth.

When the Sniper slides back up the bed after, reaching to the nearest cupboard with one long arm and returning with a little jar of Vaseline, the Spy doesn't really need to ask about that, either, though it is new.

"I'm clean, by the way." The Sniper offers. "I can still get a condom if you'd like, but they're over--"

"It's fine." The Spy shakes his head again. It feels no less foggy. "Rigorous health exams... haven't had the chance to pick up anything since the last mandatory check-up."

They share a little laugh over it, and then the Sniper spreads the Spy's legs, and distracts him with kisses in between harsh, ragged whispers full of wanting.

"Just gonna open you up," He begins, stroking and circling and teasing.

"Fuck that's tight," He groans, first finger sliding in and out.

"Think about this fighting you sometimes," He admits, when the Spy is finally prepped and stretched, and his cock is ready to slide in to the close velvet heat.

The Spy hangs on through all of it, so different, so backwards, but so much more real and rewarding. And so rewarding, to imagine the Sniper thinking about the two of them like this.

He's a little sore after, though not very, and not in a bad way. It's like a workout his body is unaccustomed to, a sweet slight burn that comes from exertion and not damage, one that fades into pleasant lassitude as they sprawl against each other in the afterglow.

"We'll have to do 'er the other way next time." The Sniper grins, and he lights the Spy's cigarette.

You can imagine me right now with huge sparkly anime eyes, because that's probably how I look after reading this fic.

Anon from 141 here! Thank so much for filling the prompt, Anne! I knew you would make it amazing.

LOVE your work!

Humbly requesting some tentaspy/sniper cross faction bro/romance.

Possible prompt: Red Sniper and Blu Spy use to be the worst of rivals, with slight flirting on the field. Before it could turn to anything else-- Spy disappears, and is later replaced by another Spy. Sniper continues with his job/life, thinking that Spy simply quit.

An attack on his nest forces the Sniper into the water, where he meets a familiar face.

[[I saw this idea on the prompt boards a few years ago, but it was never fulfilled; I always wondered how someone would write it.]]

As an avid Top Spy lover, I would humbly request the "next time" of which the Sniper speaks.

>>145

Seconded hard.

Any wee chance I could maybe get some Pyro/Sniper fic for my birthday? If not, it's cool.

I am also voting for >>145 I would love to see your take on that Anne!

I hope you don't mind some Omorashi (or Bladder Desperation to non-anime fans).

Lately I've been craving some Scout Omorashi, If it's alright with you, Cat Detective.

>>145
>>147

Thirded.

I adore your writing so very much. If I had a printer, I would print out each one of these stories, and give them so many hugs, and make sweet, sweet love to them until the ink runs.