SWING (Demoman and You)

"Demo, all this industrial hardware in the fort, so many attachment points... why do you guys even bother to fight all the time?" you ask.

"Just another type of game, innit? One ye can play wi'oot the lads seein' yer goolies." The dark-skinned man grins at you, lone eye glittering with humour.

"Why deprive them?" You cock an eyebrow. "For that matter, why deprive me? Strip," you order, eager to see more of his muscular body.

He obeys, grinning broadly. "Come oon, love, won't ye shuck off, too? Gi' us a little somethin' to look at?" You watch he shrugs out of his flak jacket and shirt, revealing smooth dark skin flecked with tiny pale scars.

"I'll go half," you say, "just so you remember who's in charge here." You strip off your shirt and vest.

"Oh, no doubt it's you, love." Naked save for his eye patch, he offers up his hands, forearms pressed together.

"And don't you forget it." You grab one of the skeins of rope coiled handily on a nearby hook, and loop it deftly around his wrists. When his hands are bound to your satisfaction in a tidy two-column tie, you tow him close and claim his mouth in a kiss. His lips are soft, even as his beard rasps against your chin.

"Ooh, fookin' 'ell," he sighs as you break the kiss. "Just that, and I'm ready to go already."

"Well, you'll just have to wait, now, won't you?" You pull the rope over his shoulder, forcing him to stretch his arms up until his elbows are tightly bent and his wrists are behind his head. You thread the rope between his glorious round ass- cheeks, pausing for a little grope, before looping the rope around his cock and balls. This simple loop evolves into careful genital bondage. It's not so tight as to hurt him, just snug enough to keep him achingly hard. It also serves to display his erection, holding it proud from his body. On a whim, you slide a loop of rope between his balls, making them separate and bulge. The Demoman moans as you adjust the knots, then gasps when you jerk the free end of the rope back and up between his legs. You pull it taut and tie it to his wrists again.

The effect is stunning. You have an unobstructed view of his throat, chest and abdomen, stretched out as he bends backward to ease the tug on his balls. His arms are in tension, his head thrown back, his erection jutting proudly toward the sky.

"You look gorgeous," you say, stroking his cock. "You all right?"

"Never bloody better," he pants.

"Good. Now wait here a bit." You look up at the ceiling. All these beams, it's like an invitation just for you. Before the Demoman got here, you put in some effort up on a ladder, hanging three large steel rings from loops of rope. Each one hangs about eight feet off the ground- high enough for hoisting, low enough to work with. You double-check your work, tugging at the rings. Yes, they're more than sturdy enough, even for the Scottish Cyclops. You grab another long skein of rope and look at the Demoman with a thrill of anticipation.

"Come here, you." You undo the rope between his wrists and his balls, letting him relax his arms, and pull him in for another kiss. "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"Haven' ye heard? I'm nae afraid of anything!"

"I like that about you." You smack his ass, and use the rope at his wrists to lead him under the line of rings. His erection bobs as he walks, but it's not quite as appealingly displayed as when he was tied up. "Hang on a second." You loop the rope from his wrists through the first ring, leaving enough slack that the Demoman can go where you put him.

You look over your ropes and select a soft, thin red cord. Looping it around his cock and balls, you bind his genitals into a perfect package. Dark and velvety, they stand out proudly from his pubic hair. He tilts his hips toward you, smiling.

"How aboot we skip all this an' just go to the bit where I get a blowjob?"

"What makes you think that was part of the plan in the first place?" you grin. "For all you know, I'm just gonna hoist you to the ceiling, stick a candle in your arse, and use you as a handsome chandelier." You loop a rope around his waist, twist and wrap it around his pelvis in the elaborate pattern of a sitting harness. You stand back to admire the contrast of the pale rope against his umber skin, the bright red cord on his dark purple cock.

"I've got to hand it to ye, this does show off my assets to good effect."

"Yeah," you say happily. "It's functional, too." You grab the thicker rope at his waist and pull him into position underneath the centre ring. The free end of that rope goes up through the ring, then back down to loop through the harness. You tug on it, then yank hard til the Demoman is standing on tiptoe. He yelps in surprise, and you laugh in response as you tie it off.

"I love how you look when you're startled," you smile. You take another rope and wind several broad loops around his chest, under his arms. "Right, now..." you undo the loose knot that tethered his hands to the first ring and put that rope behind his shoulder temporarily. Then you loop the free end of the chest rope through the ring where his hands had been, and pull it taut. "Lean back," you tell your willing captive.

He obeys, but hesitates as he starts to overbalance. "It's all right," you assure him. "I've got you. This is kern-mantle dynamic rope, it could support four of Heavy, if I had four Heavies and wanted to do that. Here, take your weight off your feet." You brace yourself, making sure you have a good grip on the rope, just in case. "The rope on your waist is more than strong enough to support you. The rope on your chest is just... insurance."

His lone eye is bright with worry, and he grabs the ascending rope with both hands. "I trust ye." He sits back in the harness, taking his feet fully off the floor, and laughs nervously as it holds.

"Told you," you say. "Now, just... lean back. You pay out rope as he does so, letting him lean further and further until his shoulders are level with his hips.

"How do you feel?" you ask as you tie off the ropes supporting his shoulders.

"This is bloody amazing, actually."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet." You pause to stroke his cock for a moment, then tie the rope at his wrists back to the ring, just to keep things tidy.

Speaking of tidiness, his legs are distinctly at loose ends. You bind them together at the knees, then trail the rope down to bind his ankles. Since the other two ropes are bearing the bulk of his weight, it's easy enough to loop the long end of the rope through the final ring. You thread the end back through the loop at his knees and pull it in until his legs are level with his torso. The final knot is a work of joy.

You step back to admire him again. The loose cannon Demoman, wrapped in rope and hanging a metre off the floor. As secure as if he were lying on a bed, and so much more accessible. You reach out a hand to stroke one firm thigh, trailing your finger along a thin white scar. "Comfortable?"

"Aye, oddly enough." His eye flashes at you.

Laughing, you run your hands all over his skin. It's warm, smooth and yielding, such a contrast to the hardness of rope under tension. You lower your head to his face, kiss him, then move down along his body. You lick his sweet-salty skin, bite his muscles, grope everywhere. There is nothing that he can hide from you, no way he could stop you- and from the noises he's making, he'd never want to try.

"You said you wanted a blowjob?" Your hands roam to toy with his cock.

"Oh, god, aye-" he tries without success to buck into your hand.

"Ask nice." You slide your fingertips ever so lightly over his foreskin.

"Please, please sook me."

"Come on, I've heard you curse for a minute straight. If you can't come up with something more convincing than that, maybe you don't really mean it." You give him one firm stroke and stop.

"Please!" he gasps. "Please, you mother-grabbing dirty bastard, put yer lips on my cock an' let me feel yer tongue, yer teeth an' every inch of yer whoore throat aroond me or I will surely die of the jism backing up in my bawws. Do it o'er an' o'er til I come on yer filthy tongue an' ye taste every drop of how badly I want ye. Please!"

"Pretty good," you say.

"Wi' sprinkles on top?" He bats his eyelashes.

"How can I say no?" you laugh, and lick the head of his cock.

He moans appealingly and writhes in the ropes as you suck him. The rasp of the cord on your lips as you take him in your mouth is uncomfortable, but a reminder that you're the one in charge here. You pull back to make sure that the Demoman knows it as well.

"Ohh- I'm surely dyin'! Why did you stop?!"

"Because I could." You wipe your mouth and kiss him. "And, I wanted to do this." You strip off your pants and boots, cursing as the laces tangle. Once you're free, you set a tube of lube on his chest- "hold this-" and grab another small bit of rope. The Demoman cranes his head around curiously as you thread the rope through the underside of his sitting harness, tying it into two loops.

"What're ye doin'?"

"Wait and find out." You grab the centre ring and swing yourself up to straddle his thighs. You're both in midair; it feels like you're flying.

His eye is round as a shilling as he looks up at you. Tucking your toes into the stirrups you made earlier, you stand up over him and grab the lube.

"I want you so bad," you tell him, slathering the gel on your hand and quickly preparing yourself.

"I'm yer very oon carnival ride of fook," he says devoutly.

"Glad you know it," you tell him. You lower yourself onto him, groaning. He's almost too big- he always is- but the fullness as he slides inside you is worth it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you groan as you take him in.

"I'm tryin', but I cannae get leverage!"

"Enough outta you," you smile savagely. "I'm handling it."

Kicking your legs out, pulling against the ring, you slide onto him, then swing back. Every motion you make moves him, too, slipping him into and out of you almost without effort. You moan, he howls, and you haul on the ropes even harder.

"Fook, yes, oh please-"

"God- so close-" you tell him.

"Please!"

You lift yourself up momentarily, and undo the crucial knot on the red cord around his balls. The binding falls loose, and you slide yourself back onto him. He screams as he comes, ecstasy so intense it's almost agony. The smooth ropes around his pelvis are rubbing your most sensitive part just right, his face is a beautiful mask of passion, and you can feel him throbbing inside you- you come, too. Foregoing the stirrups, you wrap your legs around his hips and ride him, swinging at the mercy of your own inertia now.

When the rhythm of the swing and the pulses of pleasure both subside, you sag against the central rope and smile down at him.

"Tha' was unreal," he pants.

"You're wonderful," you tell him.

"Soo, ah, how d'we get doon?"

"Well, *I* just climb off. No idea how you're gonna get down," you smile.

PICK UP (Heavy and You)

Your alcohol tolerance isn’t anything like that of the big Russian next to you at the bar, so you slide your drink over to him. He toasts you with a smile and downs it in one gulp. “This bar is not so much fun, no?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Let’s blow.”

“Ah... so sorry-” he shrugs, “I am not so good at English slang...”

“Let’s leave,” you smile.

“You know better bar? Go-go club?”

“If you want, but I was thinking about going back to my place.” You cock an eyebrow at him, hoping that this, at least, is an international language

“Not shy!” he laughs. “I like. We go to your home.”

Under cover of darkness, you walk home together and slide your hand into his. It is huge, very warm, and his palm is far softer than you’d expected. You lean against his shoulder, enjoying the solidity of his body. When you reach your house, you offer him another drink. He accepts it, but leaves it on the coffee-table, untouched, preferring to watch you as you hang up your coat and kick off your shoes.

“You like what you see?”

“Da, very much,” he grins at you.

“Then why not get a closer look?” You slide onto his lap and kiss him then, and he responds in kind, tongue tangling until your teeth click.

“So sorry,” he says, drawing back. “Has been long time,” he smiles ruefully.

“I don’t think you forgot how it goes,” you kiss his bald head.

“Maybe I need practise,” his smile widens as he draws you back in for another kiss.

You let your hands roam his chest, exploring over his shirt- solid muscle, compact fat, temptingly broad nipples hardening under your fingers. Kissing the tendons in his thick neck, you pluck at the hem of his shirt, encouraging him to take it off.

He does, but you can tell that he’s trying to suck in his gut, so you lunge at his ribs and nibble until he can no longer withstand the tickling. He laughs, his stomach relaxing in broad ripples, and you caress the soft, smooth skin at his sides as a reward.

“You see what I have, why not show me yours?” he tugs at your shirt. You stand with your arms out, head held high, and let him undress you. His big fingers are deft with the buttons, and delicate on your skin. He caresses your collarbone and traces your spine before kissing your hands. You straddle his lap, kissing him again. You can feel the warmth of his groin and grind down to tease him with yours. He groans and bucks upward, holding onto your hips. As you kiss more, he massages your back and shoulders with just the right pressure to melt the muscles like butter. You moan into his mouth.

“Come to bed,” he offers, “I do this right.”

“You’re already doing real well,” you smile, and show him to your bedroom.

“Lie down on bed, on belly,” he directs. You can feel the heat of his arousal as he straddles your hips, but he ignores it in favour of massaging your back, from the base of your skull down to your waist. Pressing down gently but firmly, he wrings cracking sounds from your spine, loosening knots that feel like they must have been there for years. As he runs his thumbs under your shoulderblades, you feel like you could melt into the bed.

Chuckling softly, the big man plucks at your waistband, asking without words. You lift your hips, tacit permission granted, and he strips off the rest of your clothing. His long arms let him put your things on the dresser without leaving your side. He also proves able to lift you bodily off of the bed. You barely have time to laugh in surprise before he sets you back down, face-up with your ass at the edge of the bed. His intent is clear as he kneels on the floor between your knees.

“This is good, da?” He strokes your thighs.

“Oh god, yes, couldn’t be better,” you tell him. He obligingly lowers his head and begins teasing you with lips and tongue. He kisses your thighs, licks your belly, nuzzles your navel until you groan in frustration. Only then does he give in to the urge he’s obviously been holding back, going down on you as if he’s been starving for it. Maybe he has. He licks and sucks with incredible skill, all soft lips and wide, wet tongue. He moans in pleasure as you wrap your legs around his head- an “om, nom,” sound that would be comical if it weren’t sending vibrations through your most sensitive regions.

You writhe, and he slides his hands under your ass, lifting you bodily so that he has complete freedom to lick every part of you. His tongue is agile, exploring ridges and folds you hadn’t known were there, drawing pleasure out of every part of you. You bite your fist and whimper; he laughs loudly and redoubles his efforts. Apparently, making you scream is his goal. You oblige, unable to care what the neighbours will think.

You howl and claw at the bedsheets, and would squirm away from the overwhelming intensity of this Russian stranger’s mouth, except that he has you firmly by the hips. You come on his tongue, and he moans, licking it all up. He only gives up after coaxing wave after wave of pleasure out of you, leaving you panting and dazed on the bed. As you come down, groaning softly, it occurs to you that he’s still kneeling on the floor between your thighs. You look down, and he’s grinning up at you, blue eyes sparkling as he wipes his face on the back of his hand.

“C’mon,” you tell him, caressing his shoulder with your toe. “You need a rubber?” You reach for the nightstand.

“Nyet, have my own.” He strips off his pants and boots and digs in the pants pocket. He’s still wearing boxer shorts, but there is an impressive tent in them. He locates what he’s looking for in the pocket, and pulls out a paper-wrapped item, labelled in Cyrillic.

“Here, let me help you with th-” you’re smiling when you start speaking, but it fades as you unwrap the putative condom. It’s opaque, brown rubber, about as appealing as a length of fire hose. “Hang on, I’m sure I’ve got something better.” Forget taking a shower in a raincoat, this would be like wearing a deep-sea diver’s uniform, complete with helmet.

“Cannot be big enough,” the large man murmurs, embarrassed, as you raid your nightstand. “Mine is... special Soviet issue.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you squeeze his cock through his boxers. Man, it really is huge... “but we Yankees have our ways.” You slide his boxer shorts down and get your first look at what you have to contend with. It’s the biggest you’ve ever seen in person, even though his erection is now drooping in embarrassment. You smile sweetly, then kiss him and fondle his balls- they’re amazingly soft and warm. This achieves the desired effect: he’s hard again in no time. You stretch the ring of the condom, and squeeze a dollop of lubricant inside before rolling it onto his cock. He groans in pleasure as you touch him, and you make sure to leave a generous length of condom free at the head of his cock.

“See?” You kiss him again. “Yankee ingenuity.” You stroke him, sliding the extra latex up and down around his shaft.

He groans in agreement and kisses you desperately. “Please,” he pants. “Please, please.”

You lean back on the bed and take a deep breath. Relaxed as you are from his ministrations, this is going to be a challenge. “Come and get me,” you purr.

He kneels on the bed between your thighs and squeezes some lubricant onto his fingers, which he then uses to prepare you, tease you, stretch you. He’s tender and thorough, and you wrap your legs around him willingly when he positions his cock near your entrance. However, you still feel a momentary qualm when you feel the huge, blunt tip of his erection nestled against you- this can’t possibly fit, can’t possibly- and then he’s pushing into you, making you pant and groan and claw at his shoulders.

“Tell if I hurt you,” he whispers roughly in your ear.

“Don’t stop,” you beg him.

He complies by lifting your thighs to slide in more deeply. You throw an arm over your face, needing to shut off one stimulus in the face of this sensory overload. It hurts, it does, but in that pain is the promise of wild pleasure- you bite your lip and spread your legs wider.

Finally he is sunk deep inside you, so deep that you’d swear you can feel your organs jostling to make way. Then he pulls back, just a tiny fraction of an inch, and that’s all it takes. Pain slides effortlessly into pleasure, and you moan. The man on top of you goes still until you clutch at his shoulders and pant, “oh, god, don’t stop!”

He begins to move then, slowly at first, rocking you back and forth between pain and pleasure until the pain dissolves and all you feel is ecstasy. His giant hands are all over you, gripping your shoulders, pinching your nipples, caressing your face. You buck up toward him, seeking more of this insane, unbearable sensation.

He obliges enthusiastically, wrapping your legs around his waist and letting more of his weight press down on you. Your legs are spread wider than seems possible, and his erection feels immense inside you. His face is transformed with pleasure, from the amiable tough you met in the bar to a brutal, beautiful beast. You claw at him, screaming for still more.

His thrusts rattle your bones, banging the headboard against the wall and probably moving the building on its foundations. You bite his shoulder, adding dark bruises to a collection of scars. You think you may be bleeding, you know you’ll be sore in the morning, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except him, and you realise that you don’t even know his name to scream it as you come again.

You can feel each muscle inside yourself as they clamp down on his cock in rhythmic waves. You know he can feel it, too- he shouts something in hoarse Russian as he comes inside you, nailing you to the bed with the force of his final thrusts. Even as his body covers you completely, he’s still supporting his weight on his knees and elbows, careful even in extremis.

When he is done, he rolls off and lies beside you, stroking your hair in a dazed way. He has half of the bed, and is still in danger of falling off, so you scoot over. He follows to press up against you, and you kiss his cheek. Remembering himself, he peels off the condom and knots it to drop in the bedside waste-basket. He looks down at you, melancholy in his gaze.

“So good...” he murmurs.

“But you can’t stay,” you finish his sentence.

“Da,” he mumbles. “I did not plan this. Cannot tell you who I am, where I go. I... I look like bad man.”

“No, I understand,” you tell him, stroking his cheek. “If this is all we can share, just enjoy it for what it is.”

“Da...” he says, uneasily. After he gets dressed, kisses you goodbye and leaves, you find that he’s left something behind. It’s a bullet bigger than your finger. You figure you’ll keep it as a souvenir, and put it on your shelf like an small sculpture.

Oh, thanks Marty. I've been looking through some of these from the old archives I have saved. I can put some up too if you'd like. I just wish there were some better Sniper&You and Spy&You. The few I found were either rape, or just unfinished.

We badly need vivisectionist medic and you. If there's one out there someone post it, if not I'll have to take a stab at writing it.

>>1
aglet
Oh man
Marty
I fucking love you, man.

I hope there's a Pyro&You...preferably if the Pyro is a man.

Thanks for these. The one with the Heavy is my favorite.

>>7

Ditto! Hell pyro wouldn't need to be a man for me, just move that mask up for it's mouth and I'm good.

What I really, REALLY want is a Sniper and you.

Pretty sure kilo had a solly/you thing going on and said it would be completed but it NEVER WAS >:c

Gender-ambiguous Sniper/You/Spy PWP.

I'LL JUST LEAVE THIS HERE.

-

You found yourself on all fours, and suddenly wondered if this was such a good idea.

This had nothing to do with you, after all. No, you were just the innocent messenger sent up to Sniper’s nest to call him down for dinner. You only opened the hatch because you assumed him to be alone, like he always claimed he was. You didn’t mean to catch him and the enemy Spy together, tangled up within each other in a heated make-out session. And you certainly didn’t mean to sit there staring for the next few minutes with your mouth agape and a funny tingling in your pants.

Spy was the first to make mention of the unwelcome audience.

Dragging you up from your spot on the ladder, Sniper let loose with every insult and threat in the book--you didn’t bother defending yourself, because really, there wasn’t much of an excuse for your behavior. Yet, when an unfazed Spy suggested another method of persuasion to keep you silent, the coy smirk tugging at the edge of his lips didn’t leave you all too reassured.

You agreed, though, to your own surprise. Not because watching them tear at each other’s clothes left you hot and bothered, or anything. No, you were just curious.

“Of course you are,” Spy replied, voice as smooth as silk.

With vague force, Sniper pinned your wrists behind your back and guided you to your knees, shooting off a quip about your apparent fondness of keeping low to the ground. Before you knew it, Spy was unbuckling his pants in front of you, the masked man’s shameless arousal tightening the fabric around his crotch. It didn’t come as a surprise, of course--you had interrupted a rather intense moment--the only thing that startled you was how huge and obvious and right in your goddamn face it was. You weren’t used to such blatancy.

Not expecting you to just sit there and look at it, Sniper released his grasp so you could reach up, shyly, and pull Spy out into the open. The head of his considerable length was already slick with clear fluid. You gave the glistening substance a small lick, growing brave as you went on to brush your tongue along the bottom of his shaft, getting yourself used to the taste of his skin. Spy tilted his sympathetic gaze as he watched your eager tongue go to work on him; twisting his gloved fingers in your hair, he pressed his hand lightly against the back of your neck, a polite implication that he was growing impatient with your teasing.

Happy to comply, you took him fully into your mouth.

“Ah, mon Dieu...”

You enjoyed the way Spy’s accent draped over his gentle imploring, loving how the small thrusts his hips made grew more erratic and uncontrolled when you tightened your lips and traced your tongue across the tip of him, and when you glanced up to see his flushed expression, the room around you was suddenly way too damn hot. Sniper’s hand trailed across your back. Just as you pulled away from Spy to see what he was up to, Sniper pushed to force you down on your hands. His rough nails dragged against your skin as he shoved his fingers down your waistband with little caution, yanking your pants and underwear down to pool around your knees. Sniper knelt down and busied himself with a bottle in his pocket, and a grim realization dawned upon you: they didn’t just want you to satisfy them; they wanted to be satisfied at the same time.

Before the cold drop in your stomach even managed to settle completely, Spy traced a curved finger down the side of your jaw, fingertip resting against your chin to tilt your head up and redirect your widened stare onto his half-lidded gaze. “Did I say you could stop, mon amour?”

Spy slid his shaft past your lips again, and you welcomed the distraction, taking in as much of him as you possibly could while darting your tongue beneath him, across him, around him in time. Sniper pushed his hand against your tailbone once more and made you form a deep arch with your back; his slick fingers worked their way inside of you, preparing you for the inevitable.

Everything was sending you spiraling into a daze. The very feel of Spy moving in and out of your mouth was indescribably intimate, considering you were the one pleasing him with upwards glances and an agile tongue. The pleasure building from Sniper’s constant motions was getting intolerable--every so often, he touched against a spot that made you shut your eyes tight and hold back whimpers, and after the fourth time you were almost sure he was avoiding it on purpose.

Sniper removed his busy hand from you; he took himself within his other hand and positioned himself behind you, not wasting a second before pushing forward burying himself inside. The surface of his thighs hit your rear end as he forced himself in to the hilt, and the sensation of being filled so completely overcame you, your whines eliciting another incredible moan from Spy as your voice vibrated against his length.

Unable to maintain restraint, Sniper kept a one-handed grip on your waist and cursed, withdrawing himself before ramming into you again so hard you saw stars. The bare fingers of his free hand were quick to slide around your thighs and stroke you between your legs; he was nearly bending over you, now, the leather caress of his gloved palms creating friction upon your skin. The overwhelming combination of pleasure from the waist-down was making your legs tremble beyond your control. You continued sucking Spy off, tongue swift and desperate against the agent’s aching member; the soft lines of French spilling from Spy’s lips were growing hurried, and even if you couldn’t understand what he was saying, it was obvious what he was trying to.

Spy’s release was salty and bitter, but you let it wash down the back of your throat, savoring the surprised expression forming beneath the man’s mask as you finished off every last drop.

You swallowed hard, only so you could breathe again.

Spy pulled himself away from you and you nearly collapsed in turn, pressing your forearms to the floor to keep steady. Now that your mouth was freed, your breaths were painfully audible, your stretches of heavy panting broken only by embarrassing, drawn-out moans of pleasure and sharp whimpers of Sniper’s name. The huntsman’s pace was growing deeper and faster by the moment, reaching and hitting that spot he teased against before, over and over and over; you tried to make sense of it all while biting back the pleasure, refusing to let it be over so soon.

“Hell...” Sniper growled. “Stop holdin’ back, ya bloody weasel, you’re almost there.”

“Oh, don’t be cruel.” Spy lowered to sit on the floor in front of you. He rested his chin upon the back of his hand in nonchalance while leaning in to speak--you tried to keep staring at the ground. “You must forgive ‘im, ‘e cannot finish unless ‘is partner does first.”

“Piss off, y’wankah,” the other snapped, sounding much less intimidating out of breath.

“Ah-ah, ‘e denies it now, but...” Spy took your face into his hand, brushing his thumb feather-light across the surface of your parted lips. “You just need a little more encouragement, non?”

When your mouths met, your inhale was deep enough to make you light-headed. Spy’s tongue was masterful against your own, twisting against yours in confident longing, gliding against the roof of your mouth to swallow your every moan; his passion combined with the repetitive strikes against that marvelous spot inside of you made the entire world around you collapse in on itself.

You broke the kiss with Spy, clenching your fists while moving in perfect rhythm with Sniper, forcing yourself back as he pushed forward; another thrust ripped a cry from your throat before you climaxed, hard and fast, causing a sticky mess all over his fingerless glove, but he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

Sniper retracted his hand from between your legs and grasped the other side of your waist, pulling you onto him even harder. “There ya go...”

One final push from his end, and you felt rushes of hot, sticky fluid erupting inside of you, viscous and warm and oddly satisfying.

The taste of Spy was still on your lips, and though your body was perfectly still save for the rise and fall of your heaving chest, you felt as if you were still moving in time with Sniper. You were a heap on the floor, now; a complete mess, mentally and physically. Not only had you just received the most mind-blowing sex of your natural life, but it was sex involving Sniper and Spy. At once, for Christ’s sake.

As Sniper rose to his feet, Spy glided behind him, lifting the Aussie’s hat from his head and donning it in his place.

Breaths still slightly shallow, Sniper shrugged his pants back on, tugging up his zipper. “Maybe next time our friend here’ll think twice before entering a room without permission.”

“Mmm...” Slipping a cigarette between his lips, Spy wrapped an arm around Sniper’s neck, flicking the switch of his lighter with his other hand. “I’m certainly ‘oping not.”

I've got a few lying around.

The Medic And You
a PWP story by Dot

Compared to the other men of your unit, the Medic is a paragon of calm, his entire body exuding an aura of detached boredom that remains persistent even in the most heated of battles. He also seems to exist in multiple places at once, appearing and disappearing with such ease that if he was not seen carrying his ever-present Medigun, immediate and enthusiastic Spy-checks would commence.
You couldn't be any more different. You are, or so you are told over and over again by your exasperated fellows-in-arms, too loud, too reckless, too impatient, too cocky, too inexperienced, too stupid, too whatever. You don't care about what they say about you, not any more.
"Who is the one running headlong into danger and disrupting the enemy? Who caps the point or steals the intelligence faster? Who always pushes the cart as if his life depended on it even though he's the skinniest out of all of us?"
"Me," you whisper to yourself every time you remember the Medic's kind words. He is like the father you never had-better, even, because he never raises a hand or even his voice, or does he scold you or tell you how disappointed he is. He showers you with affection and praise, and you want nothing more than to please him.
So when a routine examination turns into something a little more, you almost wet yourself in excitement. The Medic, for his part, just gives you a little smirk when he notices how you respond to his less than professional touch.
"Oh, dear," he intones as if he has just discovered a horrifying new medical condition. "Whatever shall I do now?"
Your face is as red as a tomato, you're sure of it, but you don't want him to stop. "Anything you want, Doc."
He raises an eyebrow. "Anything?"
You nod, the very thought of what the expert hands of a trained professional are capable of enough to send your pulse racing even faster.
The Medic looks thoughtful, tapping his chin. "Well, then, if you insist. Follow me."
Naked and cold and more than a little pert, you follow the Medic as he unlocks a door you never noticed before and opens it, indicating with a nod of his head that you should go in.
There are no words that could describe The Chair that sits in the middle of the otherwise empty room. It's a mass of wood metal and leather straps and-your brain has stopped working as you stare, mouth opening and closing in an effort to say something.
The Medic guides you into it, chuckling to himself as you flinch with instinctive panic. "Trust me. I am a doctor."
Reassured by his words, you force yourself to relax even though your hands and legs are being strapped to The Chair (oh God oh God oh God), your ankles positioned so that your unmentionables are in full display. The Medic then leaves you to test the restraints while he switches out his heavy work gloves for some tiny latex ones, and you bite your lip when he snaps them on.
He tests the gloves' flexibility with one hand, fishing through his pockets for his ever-present tube of mysterious stuff with the other. "You know how this works by now. Turn your head and cough, please."
Deep breaths, you remind yourself, deep-
You squeal louder and higher than you mean to when the Medic eases one slick finger inside, working its way around you, murmuring reassurances in German.
"English, Doc, English-" you remind him, even if dirty-talking in a language you don't understand is hot, all the better if you know what he's saying to you.
The Medic ignorers you and adds a second finger, and this time you moan, wishing you could push back against them. "Very impressive," he says at last, running his other hand over your body.
"Aah, Doc, I can't hold it in any longer," you wheeze, convinced that the Medic could make you orgasm by his fingers alone, but you crave something more, "so p-please-NGH!"
"Patience, patience," the Medic chides, withdrawing the fingers to prepare himself.
But you can't wait. You're telling the Medic to hurry up already, your words slurring as he teases you all the more, caressing your thighs.
When he pushes in it's heaven. Your toes curl and you're sure you're going to snap all of the binds off then and there, but they hold you tight.
The Medic is grinning now, peering over his glasses at you with an open leer as he licks your belly button and begins to move, slow and steady.
"Doc, please!" You're crying, you're sure of it. You want to kiss him back, to hold him, to claw at his back-anything, anything at all-but he has you trapped and at his mercy.
"No, my dear, that is not how you beg." The Medic enunciates a string of foreign syllables to you. "Repeat after me."
You try your best, but it comes out all wrong and the Medic gives you a light slap on the rear.
"Again."
You try again, your voice raw with need.
"Better. Again."
You're screaming this time, and you're sure you've bungled it, but at last the Medic takes pity on you and-there's no nice way to say this-fucks you hard and deep. Between grunts and moans you manage to ask for more, and the Medic gives you more, and more, and more-
You come first, loud and fast and all at once, and then the Medic does as well, pulling out to spill all over you in jets. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering for a moment if this was all just the most awesome dream ever.
"COme, let's get you cleaned up." The Medic undoes the straps and helps you up, all smiles.
Everyone on the team thinks you've gone crazy when you go to your next appointment skipping and grinning the whole way there.

You look down the dark pipe, slimy water trickling out the bottom. You have heard stories whispered around the base of a terrible monster that lives in the sewers: something that might seem human, but isn't; a hideous, tentacled beast that would tear you apart, eat you, and build elaborate structures from your bones. Scout usually constructed the most entertaining—and unbelievable—stories, which he often shared loudly until Medic scolded him.

Is there really such a creature? You peer into the darkness, straining to see to the end. It looks like, several yards down, the pipe turns, and it is impossible to see any further. The only way to know where the pipe goes and what lies beyond that bend is to actually go inside. After some internal deliberation, you suck in your breath, stoop over, and clamber down the pipe.

You stoop-walk all the way to the bend, more wary of smacking your head on the low ceiling than any horrible monsters. When you finally round the corner, you see another long stretch of pipe, though it seems to be a bit wider and have higher ceilings. It's also quite a bit darker and, as you can tell when you take a falling splash-step into knee-deep sewage, quite a bit deeper. Realizing how loud your entrance was, you pause and listen for a moment.

Nothing.

You hear only the sound of flowing sewage and water dripping from the ceiling. You frown, beginning to think this was a waste of time and energy, and turn to go, but hear a faint sound like a man's voice, chuckling in the distance.

You freeze, then slowly turn back to face the larger area of the pipe. Very little light from the outside reaches around the corner, and it is impossible to make out much of anything. You stare so hard, the dark air almost seems to be solid. You hold your breath to try to hear better, but your blood is pounding too loudly in your ears. Finally, after a few more moments of nothing, you relax and exhale. It must have been your imagination.

Before you begin to move again, you hear another faint sound. Again, it sounds like a man's voice, but you also hear faint sloshing sounds, like someone else moving through the water. You focus hard on the faint sounds until a drop of water hits the top of your head and startles you. You jump and gasp involuntarily, which elicits a tinny laugh from farther down the pipe. Wait a minute, that sounded like Spy.

"Spy, is that you?"

No answer. Well, no direct answer. You hear the laughing again and more sloshing. It doesn't even sound like walking. What the hell is Spy doing?

You make your way about halfway down the tunnel toward where you think Spy is before the little bit of fading daylight runs out. You realize you can't keep walking blind, so you fumble for the wall. Just as you find it, you see a faint, red ember flicker to life further down the tunnel. There's Spy's tall, lean figure taking a drag on a cigarette. He lets his arm drop and you see the red glow reflecting off multiple, curved surfaces—surfaces that appear to originate from Spy.

You try to figure out what those strange shapes could possibly be, but fail to come up with a logical explanation. "What are you doing down here?" you ask as you move closer.

"Watching you flail about and enjoying a cigarette." He takes a deep drag, eyes closed, holding the cigarette lightly with two spindly fingers. He lets out the smoke slowly, as if he is indeed savoring the moment. He opens his eyes and seems to be surveying you. "To what do I owe ze pleasure of your company?"

"I wanted to see if that octopus-monster everyone's been talking about was real."

"Ah. If such a creature did exist, zen what?"

"I dunno, I didn't really think it through. I suppose I'd be part of some kind of bone sculpture by now."

Spy laughs heartily. The light from his cigarette gleams on those strange objects again.

"But I guess it's nothing to worry about," you continue. "I haven't come across even a single tenta—" and then it dawns on you. Your blood runs cold.

"Tentacle?" he finishes for you, and out of the water, mere inches from your face, rises a slender appendage. The edge of each sucker glows with a faintly blue bioluminescence. You would scream, but it presses against your lips.

"Please don't do zat, petite. I just finished my smoke. I don't need a headache right now." He tosses the cigarette into the sewer water, and the red light is extinguished. You are plunged into darkness.

There is a great amount of turbulence, and several tentacles emerge, covered on one side with the glowing rings of suckers. They curl and unfurl in midair, sending droplets of water flying. The tentacle against your mouth moves away to join the others. You can't help but think, despite your terror, that it's actually kind of pretty. The creature glides toward you.

"Are— Are you going to eat me?" you ask.

He laughs again. "Non."

"Well, uh, w-what are you going to do?"

He moves back a little and rubs his chin, considering his answer. The blue glow from his tentacles fluctuates, giving the filthy pipe almost an ethereal quality. "Well, petite, you did come here of your own accord, and I consider myself a gentleman, so if you do not wish to stay, you may leave."

"Just like that?"

"Just like zat. Alzough..." He approaches you again. "It is very lonely down here. I would very much appreciate your company, if you do not mind."

You know you shouldn't trust him, but he could have torn you apart, eaten you, and artfully arranged your bones about a hundred times by now, so you figure he's probably being at least a little bit sincere. It is a pretty lonely place, and now that you are at some level of ease, your curiosity is piqued once again.

"I-I mean, I guess I could stay here a little longer... Um...how did you get to be...like this?"

A few of his tentacles curl up. "I was a normal person once. I don't fully remember what happened, but I do know it hurt tremendously. It felt like all ze bones in my legs were forced out zrough my skin. I was aware of nossing but ze pain for ze longest time, and I lashed out at whatever came near. And finally, when ze pain had dulled, I realized I was here, in ze sewer, like zis. People feared me, and I had nowhere else to go, so I stayed here, in ze water, in ze dark."

"Oh, I'm sorry, that sounds awful..."

A melancholy smile briefly ghosts across his face. "Ah, it was, but it is worse still," he sighs as he plays with the end of a tentacle in one hand. "You see, as I was...changing, my senses became heightened. First my vision and hearing, then my sense of smell and touch."

"Why is that bad? I would think that's pretty cool, to be able to sense everything around you better than before."

"At first it was frightening, being able to see other creatures by zheir heat signatures, being able to hear every minuscule echo of each of zose creatures' movements, smelling no longer just filth, but every chemical compound present in ze filth, and being able to feel all of it at a maddeningly high resolution zhrough tens of new limbs."

"Whoa, you can see infrared?"

He sighs and cracks another brief smile. "Yes, I can see infrared," he answers before his expression grows concerned. "Ahh, but you cannot. I am being quite rude, aren't I, having you just stand zere in ze dark." He holds out a gloved hand, just barely visible to you in the low, but workable light. "Would you like to see somesing interesting?"

You hesitate, remembering suddenly that you are in a sewer talking to a dangerous creature. "Um..."

He smiles, sensing your apprehension. "I promise it is nossing to be afraid of."

You take his hand. It's cool and a little damp, but not slimy like you were expecting. He must try to keep his upper half clean, despite the apparent impossibility of such an endeavor. He starts leading you down a long, dark pipe with a few bends in it.

"Petite, about my senses..." he says after a few moments, as you turn into another fork. "Have you ever heard of a mesod of torture known as sensory deprivation?"

"I think so, yeah. That's where they blindfold you and make you wear earplugs so you go insane from not sensing anything, right?"

"Precisely. And zat is what I experience on a daily basis."

"But I thought you can sense everything extra well?"

"Once I became accustomed to my new abilities, I quickly realized how few stimuli zere were in a dark sewer. No visible light, barely any sound, always ze same filthy smells, and nothing of interest to touch. Just concrete and sludge."

"I can see how that could be torture..." you say quietly.

There is an awkward silence. In the faint blue light, you can make out the beginnings of stalactites forming on the pipe's ceiling. You begin to go up another pipe at a slight incline; immediately you notice a reduction in filth.

"Where are we going?"

"A favorite spot of mine," he replies as you enter a very large room with uneven ceilings and floors. The smell is gone now, with the exception of some residual filth on your clothes. You see a large, pristine pool with a gentle current, fed by an underground stream. You realize now that you are in a natural cave. You also notice long, narrow cracks in the ceiling; they permit a few slivers of bluish light from the now dusky sky outside. You let go of the creature's hand and walk forward in a state of awe.

"Oh, it's beautiful..."

"Isn't it?" he agrees. You look down from the ceiling and see he is in the process of climbing over the dry rocks toward the pool. With him out of the water, all of his tentacles are visible. There are so many, more than fifty, maybe even a hundred, all slick and black. They wend their way around stalagmites, pulling against the stone. The tips are as thin as a pencil, gradually increasing in thickness until they disappear under his suit jacket. They powerfully carry his human body through the air, as if he were riding in a palanquin. You cannot help but stare.

"I am lucky zis cave and stream exist. Here I have one place where I can escape ze sewage." He grips two rocks at the edge of the pool with his hands and then eases himself into the water, dropping in his tentacles gradually. He lets out a satisfied sigh as he settles on the floor in the crystal clear water. The pool is fairly shallow there, though you imagine it gets significantly deeper in the darker part toward the center.

He gestures to the pool, as if offering it to you. "After all your splashing about earlier, I am sure clean water will be a welcome change."

You have to agree. You were just noting the disgusting squish in your shoes as you stepped into the room. After surveying the coast briefly, you walk toward one spot near the edge of the pool that is mostly flat, a few feet down from where your host seems to be joyfully swirling his tentacles around in the clean water. You sit and remove the offending boots and peel off your disgusting socks, which are probably permanently stained a greenish-brown. You stick your feet in the water, which is wonderfully cool. Small clouds of dirt come off your skin and eddy away with the current. You scoop up a little water in your hand and attempt to clean off the rest of your legs a little bit.

"Do you mind if I take a quick swim?"

You look up toward the creature, a little confused by his question. "Um, go right ahead."

He pulls off his gloves and sets them on the rock. He then takes off his coat, folds it up carefully, and lays it beside the neatly stacked gloves. You suddenly realize why he asked your permission.

You try to busy yourself with wiping the sludge off your skin, but can't help but steal glances as he removes each layer of clothing from his top half, excluding his mask, which he leaves on. You suppose old habits die hard—you know your team's Spy would never let you see his face, and guess this former Spy is no different. The creature then glides away from you, toward the center of the pool, the water level slowly rising against his body. He is very well toned, a fact that is even more pronounced as he lifts his arms up over his head, stretching his muscles. His skin is extremely pale, not having seen the light of day for who knows how long. About halfway down the deep groove of his spine, his skin becomes a slightly darker color, which gradually deepens to grey farther down, and then it melds to black at the start of his tentacles. Your furtive scanning of his bare body is interrupted as he heaves himself forward and arcs into the water, not making a single sound as he breaks the surface.

You stand up on the shore in time to see his tentacles spread out like a purple flower from an alien planet, covered in dots of pale blue light, and then snap closed. There is no longer any sign of him in the shadowy water.

The cave around you is serene and quiet. The moon must have risen, as white light now shines through the cracks in the roof. You can see the beams of light through the haze in the air. You wonder where the other side of those cracks are in the ground. You try to think of the surrounding area of the base, but you have never seen them, or any likely place they could be hidden. To get your bearings, you try to think of how you moved through the sewers... you entered the pipe and turned the bend, which would put you directly under the edge of the base. Then you were led right, then left, then... you try to remember the twisting path through the darkness, the various forks you were guided through, but the directions become muddled, and you are unsure of exactly how you got here. You realize with a twinge of panic you'd have no way of leaving through the maze of the sewer by yourself.

You look out over the now completely still water, seeing no sign of the creature within its depths. You wonder how long he could stay underwater, leaving you to stand there by yourself. Several minutes have passed already. Your panic rises the longer he stays submerged, your mind wandering to increasingly lurid places. How are you getting out of here? Where is the Spy-creature? Why isn't he coming back up? Where are your teammates? Had they even bothered to look for you? Even if they had, would they ever be able to find you? Oh god, what if you're stuck down here? There's no way out that has any light...

You sink to your knees, eyes wide, thoughts cycling, when finally the creature slowly emerges from the water right in front of you. A wave of relief washes over you, intensified by him touching your cheek gently with his fingertip, as if to verify his physicality.

"Petite, what is ze matter...?" he whispers as he traces your jawline.

"I...it's nothing." He's staring into your eyes, mere centimeters from your face. His irises are a stunning blue, almost as bright as his bioluminescence. You forget what you were panicking about, glad not to be alone, to be with him, strange as he is. He traces a path over the top of your ear, entwining his fingers in your hair as he rises partway out of the water and leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes and let him draw you into his arms; he's warm, a lot warmer than you were expecting. Sensing you relax, he gets a little bolder and licks your lower lip. You return the gesture and he slips his tongue into your mouth, stroking the inside with the tip. Working deftly, he traces seemingly impossible curves around your tongue. He tastes like tobacco smoke and salt, reminding you vaguely of the ocean.

Hands begin to wander as you press your lips more forcefully against his. You feel his jaw slacken as you slide your tongue into his mouth. You realize why when you feel the tips of his sharp, pointed teeth. Carefully avoiding them, you explore his mouth, tasting more of the smoke and salt from before. He lets out a soft, deep moan as you run your hand up his still-wet, bare chest. In response, he runs his fingers up your spine, eliciting a similar reaction from you. You break off for air and gasp as you feel a cool, slender appendage snaking up your back. It unhooks your bra as others go to join it, following the curves of your upper back. They ripple over your shoulder blades and up your spine, sending electricity throughout your body. They gently exert an increasing amount of force, both massaging the tension from your muscles and pushing you closer to the creature for another kiss.

You feel his hands move to your shirt to unbutton it. He undoes the buttons slowly, as if he is relishing doing such a human movement with his hands. As soon as your shirt is hanging open, more tentacles reach up to slide the shirt off your shoulders and remove your bra. He wraps his arm around your waist and leans you back, so that you're lying on the rock you were kneeling on before. He slides his hand up your abdomen in a straight line before it detours to trace the border under your breast, the side of his hand just barely touching the underside. Cool, wet tentacles slither up your sides to replace the warm touch of his hand. The tips of each appendage move around the undersides of your breasts and up your sternum, squeezing gently as they curl symmetrically around them. Your nipples begin to perk up as thicker parts coil around your breasts, exerting slightly more force. You gasp as a sucker settles on each of your nipples and begins to work at them in a cycling motion.

The creature now moves his mouth to your neck, kissing, licking, sucking, as he drifts down to your collarbones. Your moans and gasps are louder and more frequent now, the sensory overload of tentacles exploring your upper body, suckers rhythmically massaging your nipples, and his warm mouth on your shoulder eroding your coherency. He moves his hands now to the top of your pants, again undoing the button slowly, extending the movement to opening the zipper. He pushes the top of your pants down just a little so that he can put his hands on your mostly bare hips. He runs his thumbs over the symmetrical edges of your hipbone, causing you to shudder, as more tentacles finish the task of removing your pants.

"Would you swim with me, chérie?" he whispers against your neck. You nod.

He slowly slides your underwear off you before taking you into the water. The water cools your skin and washes off the remaining sweat and dirt from your journey here. Now up to your neck in cold water, the drastic change in temperature around your lower body makes you painfully aware of the growing heat between your legs.

You feel more tentacles wrap around your waist, exploring more of your lower surface anatomy. The creature's hands travel downwards now, with one coming to rest in the small of your back, the other briefly coming to rest on your ass. After a quick squeeze, he moves his hand over your hip and downward again to your inner thigh. Using his thumb, he begins to rub your thigh in a repeating, arcing motion, in time to the tentacles still massaging your back and breasts and those beginning to curl over your shoulders to massage there.

In response to your higher noise level, the creature sends more tentacles up your legs, coiling around your feet and spiraling upward to your thighs so they can continue the motion he was doing with his thumb. With his hands once again free to roam and your legs in his full control, he reaches down between them to rub your clitoris. You gasp so loudly it echoes within the cave. He grins at your response and rubs harder, eliciting more loud gasps and moans that start to run together into echoing cries of pleasure.

Suddenly, he pauses for a moment. You take the opportunity to catch your breath, but wonder why he stopped. You stop wondering as he slides a finger into you, eliciting the loudest cry you've uttered yet. You involuntarily spread your legs, wanting to feel more of him inside you, his tentacles more than happy to accommodate that. After getting a sufficient rise out of you, he slowly withdraws the finger. He now slides two fingers into you, stroking and stretching you as another one of your cries echoes in the cave.

This time when he removes them, he rests his hand on your lower back and puts a tentacle to the task of rubbing you. Another cool, thin appendage wriggles its way into your entrance. It settles deep inside you before starting to move cyclically, as another tendril goes to join it. Delighting in your reactions, he experiments with the two tentacles inside you, moving them in different ways: helical winding motions, sinusoidal rippling, and drawing circles with the tips. Each pattern of movement elicits a different corresponding pattern of sounds and movements from you. You press your body against him, clawing at his back, wanting more of him. Sensing this, he slips a third into you, amplifying the patterned movement to the point that it pushes you over the edge. Your vision goes black as you scream into his neck, writhing in pleasure.

As you return to reality, you realize the creature's tentacles are still all over you, the three from before are still synchronized, and they are all still moving, though slower now so that you can catch your breath. He's stopped rubbing you for the time being, but he doesn't wait for you very long before he starts wrapping more tentacles around your body. More thread up your arms and over your shoulders in tight helices, leaving only your hands uncovered. He seems to enjoy the complex movement of your forearm muscles rippling as your fingers curl against his back. He's finally starting to get worked up, sighing against your hair.

You feel a single tendril slowly glide up your midline, under all the other tentacles, up your neck and over your chin. The tip crosses the threshold of your parted lips and slowly makes its way into your mouth. Your tongue can't help but explore the concavity of each sucker, tasting cave water as you take it into your mouth and start to suck on it, eliciting a low moan from the creature and a tightening of coils around your body. As the appendage starts to go down your throat, carefully avoiding setting off your gag-reflex, you run the tip of your tongue up the soft, slippery strip of rubbery flesh between two columns of suckers. The creature gasps, his human half shuddering. You moan against the tentacle in your mouth as he responds to your tongue-strokes, the suckers sucking on various points on all surfaces of your tongue, the back rippling against the roof of your mouth. After some time, you start to get a little light-headed, which becomes evident to the creature as your tongue-strokes slow. He removes the tentacle from your throat, tracing the grooves on the roof of your mouth with the tip as he withdraws it. He returns to rubbing you as more tendrils slide over your ribs, feeling the gaps between them change with your quick, deep breaths. The movement of the three tentacles inside you reaches its previous level, and the creature continues his experimentation, now less methodical with his growing arousal.

A fourth and fifth tentacle wriggle into you, the creature now beginning to add to the noise within the cave. As his moans intensify, so do the movements of his appendages. They do some of the same patterned motions from before, but now the creature begins to slide individual tentacles almost all the way out of you before thrusting them back in. The creature's moans follow the pattern of the first few slow thrusts, but soon there is no correlation between the timing of sound and movement as the tentacles dart in and out of you. There seems to be a complicated pattern to the cyclical, piston-like thrusting motions, but you can't keep track as the pace and intensity send you flying over the edge again. You throw your head back and scream, sparks clouding your vision.

You crash into his body once again as you come down from the high with loud gasps, muffled with half your face against his chest, as ever more tentacles, somewhat frantic now, press against you. They tangle around your ankles and feet, suckers on your toes. The creature pushes two more tentacles into the writhing, thrusting mass within you. New ones slide around your butt cheeks, the tip of one sneaking inside, causing you to change pitch and clutch your hands even harder against him. The ones on your back hold you against him with great force, the ones around your breasts squeeze hard enough to bruise, and the ones inside you writhe without any sort of pattern now. His hand moves to your face, spread out against your cheekbone and jaw. He holds you firmly against him as he groans ever more gutturally into your hair, and you continue to cry out, lips catching on his skin, as the tentacles explore inside you. There is not one part of you not in contact with him.

The creature is almost as loud as you now, clearly reveling in your every movement, the feeling of your skin against his tentacles, the warmth and tightness of you around him. You feel yourself getting close again as each of the tentacles thrusts, writhes, and coils within and around you, stimulating you in ways and places that no man could ever hope to achieve. You want it to continue forever—this is the best you've ever felt in your life—but your vision blanks to stars again as you feel yourself powerfully contracting around the writhing tentacles, both screams of absolute ecstasy echoing throughout the cave.

As you both come down from the high of the best orgasm you've ever had, you feel the tentacles removed from you slowly. The creature carries you in his arms and lays you down on your back in the shallowest point in the pool, with just a few inches of water around you. Here it is more shadowy, but the moonlight glistens on the edges of his form, and you can still make out the parts of his face not covered by his mask. He curls up beside you, a few tendrils lightly coming to rest on top of your arms. His hand reaches toward you, and he brushes a stray hair out of your eyes.

"Would you be willing to come visit me again, chérie?" he asks softly.

"Absolutely."

He smiles, his finger now caressing your cheek. You watch how the moonlight lands on his body, cascading over his muscles before falling smoothly over his tentacles. You would be content to lay here forever.

"But I don't want to leave yet."

"I don't want you to go eisser," he says, nuzzling into your neck.

You sigh and close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beside you. You focus on the regular sound as he inhales and exhales below your ear, and gradually your awareness fades away.

(Oh yeah. Don't know who wrote the Tentaspy fic. If anyone knows, post away.)

And I thought I had a second Medic and You, and a Scout and You, but I seem to have lost them. Dang.

I believe the "Tentaspy and You" fic was written by Icetigris & Buuk. I'm pretty sure it was already reposted, too.

I love this thread

>>16

So do I. I also want more Tentaspy.

Spy&You (Female Version) By MrX.
~~

It is almost 10pm. You curse at yourself, at your shift going overtime, of all nights for things to go wrong, as you hurriedly try to open your door. Tonight was supposed to be a special night because you were supposed to go out to meet Spy.

Eventually you get your door opened. Then you flip on a light, but as you are about to hang up your jacket you see something, or more precisely, someone, on your chair. The jacket promptly falls to the floor.

It is Spy.

Seeing Spy himself would not cause you to become completely awestruck; this is not your first meeting. No, it is body language, or rather, his body position; he isn’t really sitting on the chair, more like lying across it, one leg hanging over an armrest. He is smoking, of course, but what really mesmerized you is that his shirt was open, completely open, his tie undone, his surprisingly muscular torso revealed. He is buffer than you though he would be. His pants are also unbuttoned and looked like they are pulled down a little bit, revealing his defined hip lines…

Spy took a small drag, his almost lazy eyes seeming to just notice your presence. If you weren’t so captivated you would’ve noticed the tiniest formation of a satisfied grin on his face.

“You are late,” he flatly commented, breathing out smoke.

You nod lamely in response, still staring at the incredibly hot body in front of you. Then you realize that with his other hand Spy was ushering you closer. As you took your first step you realize that you’ve been holding your breath until now.

Carefully approaching Spy, you wonder what his intentions are. When you approach within his reaching distance, suddenly he grabs one of your hands. He was not rough, however, as he then proceeded to place your hand right onto one of his pecs, brushing aside his tie.

You gasp as you felt the muscle underneath ripple when he released his grip. His skin was also smooth and soft. You look at Spy, wondering what was going on; he looks back at you with inviting eyes. You can feel your heart pounding in your ears; does he know what you’ve been fantasizing about all this time? Slowly you trail your hand across Spy’s chest, touching and lightly squeezing his musculature. Your other hand follows shortly, starting at Spy’s lean flat stomach and slowly running up.

Spy nonchalantly takes another drag out of his cigarette as you explore his body, keeping his arms away from his torso, clearly pleased that you are under his spell. Not that you would have noticed, so enchanted by every crevice, dimple, and curve underneath your hands. Your hands then run over his nipples, Spy hitching his breath every so slightly under you touch.

He takes one more drag before putting out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray along with five other stubs and continues to watch you explore his musculature. Meanwhile your hands continue to run up and down his sides, gliding over lean muscle, then his abdominal plains. You could feel his breathing and his strong heartbeat through you hands.

Once again your hands reach his nipples, but this time you give them a light pinch. Spy audibly gasped at the sensation this time. It turns out he has very sensitive nipples; you make a mental note of this for later. Then you once again notice that his pants were open and lowered; your hands follow your eyes as they traveled across those fine hips. You briefly wonder how far Spy is willing to let you go. Then you decide that it must be pretty damn far if he has gone through the trouble of waiting for you for so long with an open shirt. Carefully, you wiggle your fingertips underneath his underwear…

But suddenly he grabs both of your hands with his hands and before you can even react, he has taken off his tie and bound your wrists together.

“Wh-what are you doing!” you sputter, looking up at Spy’s lecherous grin.

“I ‘ave waited over two hours at the restaurant,” Spy levelly replies, “I believe some payback is in order, no?”

Before you can reply he pushed himself up onto his feet and proceeded to drag you to your bedroom. He was strong, able to keep you under control, and yet still be gentle about it. He was also quick; just as both of you reached your room he throws you onto your bed and deftly ties up your hands against the middle of your bed frame above your head.

You try out the knots by struggling. “Don’t bother, cherie,” Spy advised, taking off his shirt. “I am an expert at zis sort of thing, you know.” And he was right; there was no way you could get out of his bindings. It looks incredibly secure, and yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. You turn to face Spy, surprised that he is suddenly straddling you.

“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” you lamely ask. Surely he wouldn’t hurt a woman, would he…?

“Two hours,” he emphasized, his weight on your stomach as he takes off his gloves. The mask stays on, of course, and you can only watch as Spy prepares himself to do whatever he is going to do. “I am going to salvage an otherwise wasted night, no?”

You nod, not quite understanding what he means. With his now ungloved hands he grabs your chin and forces your head to face him. “I surely ‘ope you will behave,” Spy warned with an evil smile; you can smell the smoke on his breath.

The situation is out of your hands at this point, not to mention Spy was also quite heavy, keeping you pinned to the bed as well. Yet with the moonlight filtering through your window you can see his amazing body, flexing and moving like a cat with every motion.

And you can’t help but feel incredibly turned on.

Just as you had that thought you feel a hand go up your shirt, his strong smooth hands gently massaging your body as he goes further and further up. Then he cups one breast and squeezes the nipple, causing you to squeak.

Spy chuckled, liking your reaction. “It seems like I am not the only one that is sensitive.” He pinched your nipple again, this time a bit harder.

“Ah!”

Now both of Spy’s hands are on your body, groping and massaging you breasts, special attention give to your sensitive nipples as he pinched and prodded them, causing you to squirm and squeal. All the while you can feel a tingling sensation in your loins, and before long your gasps become moans.

Spy continues to play with your reactions. “You like this, yes?” Then he lifts up your shirt, deftly undoes your bra, and leans down to lick one of your now sensitized nipples, slowly taking it into his mouth. A moan escapes your lips as he gently sucks. Another moan escapes your lips, then a grunt as he suddenly nibbles on it. He licks his lips than continues the same treatment with your other nipple. You had never known how erotic your nipples are until now as Spy continues to nibble and suckle those sensitive areas.

Through all the teasing and sucking you suddenly realize that you feel a little wetness in your pants, causing you to flush even more than before; his ability to arouse you was impeccable. After a bit more playing Spy stops and looks at you. “It is my turn now,” he cryptically said as he leans forward, his torso now right in front of your face.

You hesitate, now face to face with Spy’s chest. “You know what to do,” he commands. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out and give one nipple a gentle lick. “Mmm, yes…” He smells and tastes of expensive cologne, and you gave another more purposeful lick as Spy response with a satisfied moan. You continue to suckle and nibble in the same fashion Spy has done, arousing low moans and sighs coming out of the man in front of you. He then shifts a bit, giving you his other nipple to treat. You could feel something hard forming against your body as you continued to lick and suck those delicious nipples.

“Mmmnnh, that was good…” Spy sighed contently, moving back toward your feet now. Suddenly you feel a breeze when you realize that you are now without pants.

“H-hey!” you try to protest, but you are immediately cut off when Spy suddenly used his fingers to rub your clit.

Spy chuckled; you can feel his breath against your pussy, and you held your breath in anticipation. He knew exactly how to tease you, and with a playful grin he opened you up and lightly licked the tip of your clit, just to measure your reaction.

“O-oh god..!”

Obviously pleased, he takes a longer lick. You shudder at the sensation, moaning, begging for more.

“But of course cherie,” he coos as he slowly starts to eat you out. A long low moan escapes your mouth at the warm and wet sensations, and a groan escapes when you feel what Spy is doing with his tongue. Oh, how he knew how to use that tongue! It was pretty obvious that Spy has experience because you have never felt this good in your life. And Spy knew that, judging by all of the sounds you make, the small movements you make.

He even knows when to stop. Just as you were getting close to the edge, he stops. You whimper, thrashing a bit, demanding why he stopped. Spy only laughed. “Zat is not how it works now, cherie. You are mine now,” he explained as he stood on the bed, taking off his pants and underwear in one motion.

You can not help but stare at his revealed semi-hard member. “Do you like zis?” Spy proudly asked. You nodded weakly; you would probably choke if he decided to thrust that into your mouth. Spy knelt back down, straddling your chest, his cock now right in your face. “Show me what you can do.”

You whimper, but proceed to follow his command, adjusting your head so that you take the head of his cock into your mouth. A small groan is heard above you as you licked off the precum, which tasted bitter and salty at the same time. You continue using your tongue to massage the head, Spy moaning ever so slightly louder as he leans against the bed frame.

You then continue taking in more of his cock, bobbing your head back and forth. He groans, thrusting his hips into your mouth ever so slightly, forcing you to take in more and more of his cock. You moan, not sure how much more you can take in your mouth, as the thrusting get more and more forceful.

But Spy is aware of your difficulties. He then pulls out, his wet dick coated with your saliva. “Need a breather, mon ami?” he asks, brushing your hair aside. You nod, taking a deep breath. Yet you wanted more of that cock, and you stick out your tongue in anticipation, trying to lick the throbbing member in front of your face. Spy smiles, but instead holds up his cock and offers his balls. You take that in eagerly, suckling on each testicle, rolling them across your tongue, lapping up the salty taste. Spy moans, stroking himself lightly as you continue your work on his ballsack.

You still want more of his cock however, and you whimper in hopes that he will let you suck him. “Oh, you want more of this?” he teases, slapping his cock against your lips. You nod, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. “Do you want to see if you can take it all in?”

You nod again; anything to please Spy.

“Grunt if it is too much for you,” Spy said as he slowly inserted his dick into your eager open mouth. You could taste a fresh coating of precum on his cock, and you suck it off eagerly. He groans as he pushes further and further into your mouth. You do everything you can to not choke as his dick goes further and further in. You moan softly instead, trying to suppress your gag reflex as Spy’s dick reaches your throat.

And soon enough, you feel hair on your face. “Oh, mon dieu, zat is good…” he whimpered ever so slightly, slowly pulling out. You try to take it in again, this time on your own, and it becomes easier and easier as you continue to deep throat his hot throbbing member. You can hear Spy mutter something in French that you don’t understand, but judging from the sporadic grunts and moans they must be good things.

After a little while he pulls out, and you wonder why. Were you not good enough? His cock was still rock hard, from what you can tell, however, glistening in the low light. Spy then leans down again and gives you a light kiss on the lips.

“Zat was good, petite. But now I want the main prize…”

He was always so cryptic, you idly thought, never telling you what he is thinking in a straightforward manner. But it all suddenly becomes clear when Spy settles down between your legs, holding a condom.

He is going to fuck you.

You recoil a bit, tugging at your tied-up wrists, the though of having that monster of a dick in you, ripping you a new one. Spy then proceeds to put on the condom, prepping himself up. You whimper at the sight of Spy stroking his thick member, how much it is going to hurt. “Ze key is to relax,” Spy encourages while slowly sticking one finger in you. You could see his arm muscles working under the dim light.

“O-oooh…!” you moan, writhing against the sensation, feeling your pussy getting wet. You can feel Spy’s finger going deeper and deeper in you. He then slides it out once he is all in, then back out and in, each time you gasp in pleasure, causing you to get even wetter.

Spy chuckles at your reactions, obviously pleased. He then slowly inserts two fingers in, just to tease you. You moan at the additional stimulation, Spy watching your reactions as he continues to play with you, wriggling his fingers around your insides in ways that make you squirm and squeal. Reflexively you spread your legs out, taking it all in, signaling that you want more.

When he feels that you are sufficiently warmed up—which means you are begging for him to fuck you—he props himself up, positions your legs, and starts to insert his cock in. You groan loudly as that huge invading member initially stretches you out. He starts slowly, gliding his thumb over your knob to help you relax as he penetrates deeper and deeper into you, your moans growing louder and louder.

Spy himself is moaning between saying how tight you are, how good you feel around him, how sexy you look, how hard he is going to pound you…you are reduced to sputtering noises at this point, gripping onto your bed frame until your knuckles turn white, wanting Spy to fuck you hard and good. But Spy starts out slowly, thrusting at a steady rhythm in and out, relishing the feeling of you around his cock. Yet your vocal responses are more than incentive for him to ever so slightly quicken his pace.

You can see his muscles working under the dim light as he purposefully fucks you, rolling those lean hips into you, watching his abs contract with every thrust in, his arms flex as one hand works your clit, his chest ripple while holding your hips, his entire body a well-tuned machine, his purpose now to please both you and him. You continue to make your noises, your volume overpowering Spy’s by far yet enhancing Spy’s desire as you feel him slowly start to thrust into you and rub you harder, and harder, and harder...

Your head is banging against the headboard, but it doesn’t matter; Spy was grunting with every thrust he is giving you, waves of pleasure crashing inside your body. You hope that he will go on forever, fucking you right into the bed for all you care, just as long as this pleasure doesn’t ever stop. Never, ever stop…

But all of the stimulation was too much to contain, and soon enough you feel yourself flying over the edge, fireworks exploding in the back of your eyes as you orgasm like you never have before. Spy was still fucking you as you went blind with pleasure, but you can hear his grunt as he gives his last most forceful thrust into you before he follows suit, moaning loudly.

And right then everything goes black.

…

You can hear your heart pounding in your chest. Then you can hear yourself breathing. Then you realize that you hear someone else breathing and feel a different heartbeat against your body. You then realize that Spy is lying right on top of you, breathing into your ear. Of which you then feel the weight of his body on top of you.

“…s-spy?”

Your cracked voice appears to have woken Spy up as he slowly props his head up to face you. “Ah, ma amour, zat was…very good, non?” he rhetorically asked in his own smooth voice. You nod weakly in response, a small smile on your face. He smiles back, then plants a deep kiss on your lips.

“Ah, I see zat I am still in you…” he casually remarks as he slowly pulls out. You groan as he slides his dick out, glistening with your juices. And after he takes off the condom and cleans up himself a bit, he got up, gathered up his clothes, and heads toward your door.

“W-wait, where are you going?” You were still tied to the bed.

He looked back, a twinkle in his eye, before leaving. “Next time you call me if you are going to be late, yes?”

Spy&You (Male Version) by MrX.
~~

It is almost 10pm. You curse at yourself, at your shift going overtime, of all nights for things to go wrong, as you hurriedly try to open your door. Tonight was supposed to be a special night because you were supposed to go out to meet Spy.

Eventually you get your door opened. Then you flip on a light, but as you are about to hang up your jacket you see something, or more precisely, someone, on your chair. The jacket promptly falls to the floor.

It is Spy.

Seeing Spy himself would not cause you to become completely awestruck; this is not your first meeting. No, it is body language, or rather, his body position; he isn’t really sitting on the chair, more like lying across it, one leg hanging over an armrest. He is smoking, of course, but what really mesmerized you is that his shirt was open, completely open, his tie undone, his surprisingly muscular torso revealed. He is buffer than you though he would be. His pants are also unbuttoned and looked like they are pulled down a little bit, revealing his defined hip lines…

Spy took a small drag, his almost lazy eyes seeming to just notice your presence. If you weren’t so captivated you would’ve noticed the tiniest formation of a satisfied grin on his face.

“You are late,” he flatly commented, breathing out smoke.

You nod lamely in response, still staring at the incredibly hot body in front of you. Then you realize that with his other hand Spy was ushering you closer. As you took your first step you realize that you’ve been holding your breath until now.

Carefully approaching Spy, you wonder what his intentions are. When you approach within his reaching distance, suddenly he grabs one of your hands. He was not rough, however, as he then proceeded to place your hand right onto one of his pecs, brushing aside his tie.

You gasp as you felt the muscle underneath ripple when he released his grip. His skin was also smooth and soft. You look at Spy, wondering what was going on; he looks back at you with inviting eyes. You can feel your heart pounding in your ears; does he know what you’ve been fantasizing about all this time? Slowly you trail your hand across Spy’s chest, touching and lightly squeezing his musculature. Your other hand follows shortly, starting at Spy’s lean flat stomach and slowly running up.

Spy nonchalantly takes another drag out of his cigarette as you explore his body, keeping his arms away from his torso, clearly pleased that you are under his spell. Not that you would have noticed, so enchanted by every crevice, dimple, and curve underneath your hands. Your hands then run over his nipples, Spy hitching his breath every so slightly under you touch.

He takes one more drag before putting out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray along with five other stubs and continues to watch you explore his musculature. Meanwhile your hands continue to run up and down his sides, gliding over lean muscle, then his abdominal plains. You could feel his breathing and his strong heartbeat through you hands.

Once again your hands reach his nipples, but this time you give them a light pinch. Spy audibly gasped at the sensation this time. It turns out he has very sensitive nipples; you make a mental note of this for later. Then you once again notice that his pants were open and lowered; your hands follow your eyes as they traveled across those fine hips. You briefly wonder how far Spy is willing to let you go. Then you decide that it must be pretty damn far if he has gone through the trouble of waiting for you for so long with an open shirt. Carefully, you wiggle your fingertips underneath his underwear…

But suddenly he grabs both of your hands with his hands and before you can even react, he has taken off his tie and bound your wrists together.

“Wh-what are you doing!” you sputter, looking up at Spy’s lecherous grin.

“I ‘ave waited over two hours at the restaurant,” Spy levelly replies, “I believe some payback is in order, no?”

Before you can reply he pushed himself up onto his feet and proceeded to drag you to your bedroom. He was strong, able to keep you under control, and yet still be gentle about it. He was also quick; just as both of you reached your room he throws you onto your bed and deftly ties up your hands against the middle of your bed frame above your head.

You try out the knots by struggling. “Don’t bother, petite,” Spy advised, taking off his shirt. “I am an expert at zis sort of thing, you know.” And he was right; there was no way you could get out of his bindings. It looks incredibly secure, and yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. You turn to face Spy, surprised that he is suddenly straddling you.

“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” you lamely ask. If there was one guy you don’t want to cross, it was Spy.

“Two hours,” he emphasized, his weight on your stomach as he takes off his gloves. The mask stays on, of course, and you can only watch as Spy prepares himself to do whatever he is going to do. “I am going to salvage an otherwise wasted night, no?”

You nod, not quite understanding what he means. With his now ungloved hands he grabs your chin and forces your head to face him. “I surely ‘ope you will behave,” Spy warned with an evil smile, lightly slapping his gloves against your face before tossing them aside.

The situation is out of your hands at this point, not to mention Spy was also quite heavy, keeping you pinned to the bed as well. Yet with the moonlight filtering through your window you can see his amazing body, flexing and moving like a cat with every motion.

And you can’t help but feel incredibly turned on.

Just as you had that thought you feel a hand go up your shirt, his strong smooth hands gently massaging your body as he goes further and further up. Then he squeezes a nipple, causing you to squeak.

Spy chuckled, liking your reaction. “It seems like I am not the only one that is sensitive.” He pinched your nipple again, this time a bit harder.

“Ah!”

Now both of Spy’s hands are on your body, special attention give to your sensitive nipples as he pinched and prodded them, causing you to squirm and squeal. All the while you can feel yourself become harder than before, and before long your gasps become moans.

Spy continues to play with your reactions. “You like this, yes?” Then he lifts up your shirt and leans down to lick one of your now hard nipples. Another moan escapes your lips, then a grunt as he suddenly nibbles on it. He licks his lips than continues the same treatment with your other nipple. You had never known how erotic your nipples are until now as Spy continues to nibble and suckle those sensitive areas.

You can feel your pants getting a little wet; he hasn’t even touched you there! After a bit more playing Spy stops and looks at you. “It is my turn now,” he cryptically said as he leans forward, his torso now right in front of your face.

You hesitate, now face to face with Spy’s chest. “You know what to do,” he commands. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out and give one nipple a gentle lick. “Mmm, yes…” He smells and tastes of expensive cologne, and you gave another more purposeful lick as Spy response with a satisfied moan. You continue to suckle and nibble in the same fashion Spy has done, arousing low moans and sighs coming out of the man in front of you. He then shifts a bit, giving you his other nipple to treat. You could feel something hard forming against your body as you continued to lick and suck those delicious nipples.

“Mmmnnh, that was good…” Spy sighed contently, moving back toward your feet now. Suddenly you feel a breeze when you realize that you are now without pants.

“H-hey!” you try to protest, but you are immediately cut off when Spy grabbed on to your very hard member.

Spy chuckled; you can feel his breath on your cock, and you held your breath in anticipation. He knew exactly how to tease you, and with a playful grin he lightly licked the tip of your cock, just to measure your reaction.

“O-oh god..!”

Obviously pleased, he takes a longer lick. You shudder at the sensation, moaning, begging for more.

“But of course petite,” he coos as he slowly takes your entire length into his mouth. A long low moan escapes your mouth as the warm and wet sensation envelopes your cock, and a groan escapes when you feel what Spy is doing with his tongue. It was pretty obvious that Spy has experience because you have never felt this good in your life. And Spy knew that, judging by all of the sounds you make, the small movements you make.

He even knows when to stop. Just as you were getting close to the edge, he stops. You whimper, thrashing a bit, demanding why he stopped. Spy only laughed. “Zat is not how it works now, petite. You are mine now,” he explained as he stood on the bed, taking off his pants and underwear in one motion.

You can not help but stare at his revealed semi-hard member. “Do you like zis?” Spy proudly asked. You nodded weakly; you would probably choke if he decided to thrust that into your mouth. Spy knelt back down, straddling your chest, his cock now right in your face. “Show me what you can do.”

You whimper, but proceed to follow his command, adjusting your head so that you take the head of his cock into your mouth. A small groan is heard above you as you licked off the precum, which tasted bitter and salty at the same time. You continue using your tongue to massage the head, Spy moaning ever so slightly louder as he leans against the bed frame.

You then continue taking in more of his cock, bobbing your head back and forth. He groans, thrusting his hips into your mouth ever so slightly, forcing you to take in more and more of his cock. You moan, not sure how much more you can take in your mouth, as the thrusting get more and more forceful.

But Spy is aware of your difficulties. He then pulls out, his wet dick coated with your saliva. “Need a breather, mon ami?” he asks. You nod, taking a deep breath. Yet you wanted more of that cock, and you stick out your tongue in anticipation, trying to lick the throbbing member in front of your face. Spy smiles, but instead holds up his cock and offers his balls. You take that in eagerly, suckling on each testicle, rolling them across your tongue, lapping up the salty taste. Spy moans, stroking himself lightly as you continue your work on his ballsack.

You still want more of his cock however, and you whimper in hopes that he will let you suck him. “Oh, you want more of this?” he teases, slapping his cock against your lips. You nod, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. “Do you want to see if you can take it all in?”

You nod again; anything to please Spy.

“Grunt if it is too much for you,” Spy said as he slowly inserted his dick into your eager open mouth. You could taste a fresh coating of precum on his cock, and you suck it off eagerly. He groans as he pushes further and further into your mouth. You do everything you can to not choke as his dick goes further and further in. You moan softly instead, trying to suppress your gag reflex as Spy’s dick reaches your throat.

And soon enough, you feel hair on your face. “Oh, mon ami, zat is good…” he whimpered ever so slightly, slowly pulling out. You try to take it in again, this time on your own, and it becomes easier and easier as you continue to deep throat his hot throbbing member. You can hear Spy mutter something in French that you don’t understand, but judging from the sporadic grunts and moans they must be good things.

After a little while he pulls out, and you wonder why. Were you not good enough? His cock was still rock hard, from what you can tell, however, glistening in the low light. Spy then leans down again and gives you a light kiss on the lips.

“Zat was good, petite. But now I want the main prize…”

He was always so cryptic, you idly thought, never telling you what he is thinking in a straightforward manner. But it all suddenly becomes clear when Spy settles down between your legs, a small tube of lube in his hands. You feel your legs spreading apart, and a small spurt from the lube.

He is going to fuck you.

You recoil a bit, tugging at your tied-up wrists, the though of having that monster of a dick in you, ripping you a new one. Spy then proceeds to spread the lube on your hole, the sensation causing you to relax, another drop of precum forming on your cock. “Ze key is to relax,” Spy encourages, slowly sticking one finger in you. You could see his arm muscles flexing under the dim light.

“O-oooh…!” you moan, writhing against the sensation. Your cock throbs again, precum sliding down your shaft. You can feel Spy’s finger going deeper and deeper in you. He then slides it out once he is all the in, and back and forth, every time lightly touching on that one sensitive spot inside of you, teasing you. And each time you gasp in pleasure, your cock throbbing.

Spy chuckles at your reactions, obviously pleased. He then slowly inserts two fingers in. The additional pressure causes you to tense up a bit, but Spy gently massages your cock to get you to relax, which helps. Soon enough he is able to easily get two fingers in, scissoring you to loosen you up.

At this point you just want him to fuck you. Instead you now feel something even bigger enter you. You look at Spy. “Three fingers for good luck,” Spy explained as he pushed in you. You groan at the spreading of your hole, spreading your legs out reflexively as you take it all in. “Good, good…” Spy reassured, rubbing the inside of your leg with his free hand.

When he feels that you are sufficiently warmed up, which at this point you are begging for him to fuck you, just as he planned, he props himself up, positions your legs, and starts to insert his cock in. You groan loudly as that huge invading member stretches you out even more. He starts slowly, stroking your own cock to help you relax as he penetrates deeper and deeper into you, your moans growing louder and louder.

Spy himself is moaning, saying how tight you are, how good you feel around him, how sexy you are, how hard he is going to pound you…you are reduced to sputtering noises at this point, gripping onto your bed frame until your knuckles turn white, wanting Spy to fuck you hard and good. But fortunately for you, Spy starts out slowly, thrusting at a steady rhythm in and out while massaging your cock. Your vocal responses are more than incentive for him to continue as he ever so slightly quickens his pace, stroking your cock slightly harder.

You can see his muscles working under the dim light as he purposefully fucks you, rolling those lean hips to hit your sweet spot, watching his abs contract with every thrust in, his arms flex with every stroke he gives you, his chest ripple while holding your hips, his entire body a well-tuned machine, his purpose now to please both you and him. You continue to make your noises, your volume overpowering Spy’s by far yet enhancing Spy’s desire as you feel him slowly start to thrust in to you harder, and harder, and harder...

Your head is banging against the headboard, but it doesn’t matter; Spy was grunting with every thrust he is giving you, every time which you cry out in pleasure. You hope that he will go on forever, fucking you right into the bed for all you care, just as long as this pleasure doesn’t ever stop. Never, ever stop…

Then just as quickly you feel yourself flying over the edge as your cock explodes in cum, squirting all over your body, mixing in with the sweat that has accumulated. Spy was still fucking you as you went blind with pleasure, but you can hear his grunt as he gives his last most forceful thrust into you before he follows suit, moaning loudly; you can feel the hot liquid swirling and coating your insides.

And then everything goes black.

…

You can hear your heart pounding in your chest. Then you can hear yourself breathing. Then you realize that you hear someone else breathing and feel a different heartbeat against your body. You then realize that Spy is lying right on top of you, breathing into your ear. Of which you then feel the weight of his body on top of you.

“…s-spy?”

Your cracked voice appears to have woken Spy up as he slowly props his head up to face you. “Ah, mon amour, zat was…very good, non?” he rhetorically asked in his own smooth voice. You nod weakly in response, a small smile on your face. He smiles back, then plants a deep kiss on your lips.

“Ah, I see zat I am still in you…” he casually remarks as he slowly pulls out. You groan as he slides his dick out, all covered in slick cum. And after cleaning up himself a bit he got up, gathered up his clothes, and heads toward your door.

“W-wait, where are you going?” You were still tied to the bed.

He looked back, a twinkle in his eye, before leaving. “Next time you call me if you are going to be late, yes?”

I have a Medic & You fic somewhere in my files. I don't remember who wrote it, but if I post it up and someone remembers who wrote it, would that be okay?

BLU Mama, fork that shit over! Medic & You is something I want so badly I can't even write it.

Check the thread titled, "post-crash Lost and Found". It's right underneath. I think RobotLyra wrote it, but I'm not too sure.

Don't know if I'll get in trouble for posting it again in another thread.

Could I suggest a Medic & You fic, but not a kinky one? Like, actual love-making? Preferably a for-females-version. Just a suggestion.

You can suggest it, but I'll just sit here going "ewww vanilla."

Can i suggest a Class & You fic. But you are the one on top? Like not being on the receiving end?

(Aww hell, you all know i want a Dominated Soldier. Yeah, yeah i´m awfull and nothing special...)

Alright, whoever's got OH GOD TITS saved, please repoast.

I'd love another Soldier/You fic.

Not sure who the original author was, as this is a repost of a repost I saved. Seems to be unfinished, but I liked it.

Spy & You
_

Replacing chicken wire turns out to be a lot harder than you thought. Heavy had widened the hole during one of his tantrums, shooting Natascha wildly and screaming like a madman; apparently, Medic has sworn never to say the words “flu shot” out loud again. You sigh lightly and shake your head, balancing yourself on your knees and leaning over the length of the hole, laying down some new chicken wire. Well, it’s not that bad when you get yourself in the right position.
Thinking back on it, you’re surprised it took this long for someone to come up and fix it. You’re even more surprised that Engineer wasn’t voted the man for the job.
“Sorry, kid, busy buildin’ sentries,” he told you, tipping his hat politely and grinning at you in that special southern way. You let him off the hook after that, though you knew he probably wasn’t doing jack-shit. It’s just that no one wants to be all the way up there. It’s damn lonely.
You nail the wire into place, holding a few spare nails in your mouth and furrowing your brow intensely. It’s fucking hot up there and you don’t have time to be fooling around like this. You could easily be fooling around somewhere else, such as with Spy.
You lean back suddenly, wiping your forehead and letting your hand rest there, as though checking for a fever. Spy? Really? That weirdo? Good lord, you just admitted to wanting to fool around with him. Him and his stupid mask and that fruity suit of his, and those hands, those slender, gloved hands…
‘Honestly,’ you think to yourself, ‘there’s nothing redeeming about a guy like that. He sneaks around, he smokes like a train, he…’
You try to think of more vices, but nothing comes to you. Well, maybe those are enough. Being shady is enough to damn a person to hell and back and couple times over, and adding smoking into the mix doesn’t seem like it’ll help. Still, you can’t help but wonder if they’d pardon someone for being so incredibly sexy.
And, as if on cue, there’s a squeak to your left on the roof. No one’s there, of course, so you wonder for a few moments if it was just your imagination playing tricks on you. Yes, you decide, that must be it. Thinking about Spy has made you feel vulnerable and silly; he’s just a teammate, nothing else. He’s just a coworker. He’s only the man who dresses better than most, who makes such fluid movements, who always smells of cigarette smoke and rugged, unnamed French cologne.
For a moment, you wonder if he’s ever been able to read your thoughts.

Then again, why would he need to read them? He’s got the power to slip into your room, unnoticed, for as many nights as he likes, listening to the things you say about him and the corresponding actions. Actions heated enough to make a floozy blush, as Engineer would say from time to time (though why he would is another situation entirely). You clear your throat and thoughts with a small cough, setting the hammer and nails aside and prodding the chicken wire lightly with your foot. It’s reassuring that it’s this sturdy just a few nails in, but you decide to take a break. Not like anyone comes up here often, anyway. (And it’s not like it’s a vital thing to get done, regardless.)

So you reposition yourself and relax for a little, tapping your foot tunelessly on the roof. But Spy has other plans that are made apparent as he runs one of his gloved fingers down the back of your neck. You grab your neck quickly and turn yourself around, not sure if you want to be flattered or creeped out.

“Jesus Christ, what sort of jerk would sneak up on a person at this time of day?” You say out loud, because you know he’s there for sure, and he’s definitely listening. Spy de-cloaks himself, looking smug as usual, and you silently curse him for ever having such a thing in the first place. He stands, putting a cigarette in his mouth and smirking, because he can see that you’re blushing and biting your lower lip the way you always do when you’re thinking bad things about him.
“Well, mon cheri, I saw you were alone up here and I wanted to give you a bit of company,” he says. You scoff. It’s obvious to you that he doesn’t mean anything he says.
“As if you’ve ever really wanted to spend time with me,” you say plainly, your hand still resting on your neck.

Spy says nothing for a moment, putting a hand on his hip and shifting his cigarette around in his mouth. He hasn’t lit it yet, and you aren’t exactly being subtle about looking at it. (After all, you can’t recall a time where he wasn’t smoking.) So he notices you stare at it, and shrugs his shoulders lightly.
“I forgot my lighter, mon ami,” he says simply, taking a few, almost cautious steps forward. You fish around in your pocket for a moment, finally finding a small, silver lighter, which you flick on and off a few times. He smiles a bit and leans forward, the cigarette held between his lips expertly; he wants you to light it for him.

You look at him for a moment, feeling sincerely flattered before raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, right!” You say, smiling. This guy is unbelievable. “Light your own damn cig.”
“Non,” he says simply. A flat-out refusal.
You pause again, considering how much of a pushover you’d turn out to be if you actually complied with his orders. On the other hand, everyone is a pushover when he’s in the vicinity. You decide it’s just in his blood, that strange ability to control everyone around him, and flick the lighter on. Spy’s smile widens, and it’s clear that he’s satisfied with your reaction. He’s got you right where he wants you.

So you light that cigarette of his, trying to ignore the fact that he’s looking right at you while you’re doing so. He’s just staring, for God’s sake, with those gorgeous blue eyes, and continues to look at you even while he stands up again, takes a drag, and blows it in your general direction.
“Merci,” he says, as you cough pitifully and wave the smoke from out of your eyes. Asshole. You hate him right at that moment, because smoke was never so erotic and so disgusting all at once.

“No problem,” you say, pocketing the lighter and glancing towards the hole in the roof. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Before you have the chance to do any of that work, however, he leans forward and puts one of his hands on your cheek, the other holding the cigarette in an almost statuesque way. You let him look at you for a few more seconds before blushing again.
“What?” You ask, sounding a bit nervous. He’s much, much sexier up close, you realize, and it’s not half-bad having him near you. However, you have a reputation to uphold, and you can’t imagine how weird it’d be if Scout saw you hanging out with, as he said, “that fuckin’ frog”. You’d never hear the end of it. Spy begins to speak again, sounding much softer and friendlier than normal. He’s not trying to subdue his accent.
“I never knew you had such lovely features, petit,” he murmurs, rubbing your cheek softly with his thumb. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to think of something to say to that, and each passing second becomes more and more awkward for you. He, however, is obviously fine with the whole situation. He’s got enough smooth things to say to last him a lifetime.

You end up saying nothing, replying by pressing your lips against his softly, almost a bit tentatively, but he replies exactly the way you want, by returning it and bringing you into his arms. The smell of his cologne is prominent now, and for a moment you can’t figure out how you went so long without being this close to him more often.
“Ah, now it gets good,” he says, dropping his cigarette and crushing it expertly with his heel. You can’t help but agree.
Marked for deletion (old)
> Anonymous 09/06/01(Mon)11:06 No. 234 He holds you for a moment as his lips curl into that mischievous smile of his.
“Pardon me, petite…” he says quietly, trailing off a bit as he moves his hand to the nape of your neck, the other to your lower back. You wonder what he’s up to until he begins to lean you back, and you brace yourself for a romantic, movie-style kiss. (It’s not too far-fetched that he’d do such a thing, you think.) You close your eyes and purse your lips a bit, wrapping your arms around him to steady yourself as he lowers you more and more, until you feel the grating of the chicken wire supporting your ass. You squirm a bit, undoubtedly nervous, your upper back against the edge of the hole in the roof.

“Spy, it’s not-“ You begin, quickly stifled by his smooth, direct kiss. He bites your lower lip gently before taking your hands and pinning them to the sides of the roof, seeming to ignore your nervousness over the current positioning. So you continue, a bit aroused and surprised that he didn’t seem to be aware of the danger. You could fall right through, after all – there aren’t exactly a whole bunch of nails keeping the wire firmly in place, and once it begins to fall you imagine you’d go right with it. You try to dig your heels into the roof, regardless, his gloved hands still politely holding you down.

“I won’t let you fall, darling,” He says, sounding strangely American, cocking one of his eyebrows gallantly. He really has been watching romance movies.
“Don’t toy with me, Spy,” you say, smiling slightly, hoping to high heaven that no one happened to pass through the hallway below you. “We’re in broad daylight here. What if someone sees?”
“Then let them,” he replies, letting his usual French accent take over, that low and seductive voice you’re so used to. He seems sure of himself, of course, and it’s as if he’s done this many times before.

He lets go of your wrists and, to your astonishment, removes just one of his gloves. As he runs it through your hair you look at him, impressed and happy that he would do such a thing for you, his smile reminding you that yes, this is a privilege and yes, you’re lucky to have made it this far with him. He’s not a man who just gives people things, you know that much.

He moves his hand down to your chest smoothly, taking his sweet time, his hands much softer than you expected. Gentle and caring, for such a conniving man. He makes it down to the collar of your shirt and unbuttons it, leaning over you and kissing your neck and collarbone softly, sucking on it gently every so often, eliciting a few small moans from you. His lips feel soft and sweet against your skin, experienced, his slight stubble brushing against you. He had forgotten to shave. Had he been that eager to see you?

Before you know it your shirt is unbuttoned, and Spy is running his hand along your stomach to the button of your pants.
“If you don’t mind,” he says politely, whispering it into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel his hot, eager breath against your skin. You’re nervous, but excited, and so is he. You nod anyway, giving him the go-ahead, so he smiles and undoes your pants so quickly you almost can’t remember having them done in the first place. He slides them down abruptly, almost a bit too eagerly, his eyes flitting to the ground below you, maybe looking out for intruders. There’s a business-like quality to him, even now, that you can’t help but admire. The man knows how to get things done.

He traces his hand down further even more, over your panties and to your inner thigh, rubbing it softly with his ungloved hand in a circular pattern, his other back at your neck, cradling you gently as he works his magic with his tongue, slow and deliberate motions, hitting every right spot in your mouth as he moans into it gently, getting a bit worked up. You’ve never seen him get excited about things – especially not like this – and the sight only makes you want him more. You take his hand in yours and move it, gently, closer and closer to your panties. He takes the hint.

He stops the kiss long enough to take a breath, then brings your head up towards his lips for another of his sickeningly sweet movie kisses, as though he couldn’t be bothered to move back down again.
“Ah, so eager, mon ange,” He says, his voice husky and a bit thick with passion. He says something else, something entirely in French, but even that’s enough to turn you on. He’s nice enough to use his ungloved hand to rub you, softly, almost too softly to feel, through your panties. He’s teasing you.

His touch becomes more and more firm, up and down, his lips pressing against your neck, and you feeling satisfied but not quite satisfied at all.
“Spy, come on…” You moan softly, grabbing onto his tie and bringing him closer to you, biting your lower lip pleadingly. He smiles, stopping completely, his hands finally moving to his pants, looking ready to rip them right off himself. Enough teasing, he seems to say silently. He unzips his pants, and as you finally get the chance to see his cock, erect and ready-


“Spah!” Engineer calls from the end of the hallway. “Spah, I need you to check out the other team’s base. Yer the only man that kin do it.”
Spy pauses, pursing his lips a bit angrily, and looks to you. You curse Engineer and the opposing team for even existing. For a while, you forgot that you and Spy weren’t the only ones here. You groan a bit, unhappy at this sudden interference, and look to Spy.
“You’re not really going, are you?” You ask, suddenly very aware of your almost bare ass pressing against the chicken wire. It hurts like hell.
“I must, cherie. Duty calls,” He leans over to kiss you again, a tender kiss, his hardness rubbing against the crotch of your panties for a few precious moments. You sigh, reminding yourself to beat Engineer up for this later on. Spy stands, leaving you sitting there, looking horny and forlorn. You can tell he likes it when you’re left wanting more. That’s just the sort of man he is.

He lights a cigarette, putting the glove back on his slender hand slowly, as though to remind you the special (Albeit unfinished) treatment you got.
“Spah, where in the heck are ya?!” Engineer calls again, his footsteps echoing down the hall towards you.
“Oui, mon ami. I will check their base,” Spy says finally. Before you know it, he has given you a sly wink and has cloaked himself, leaving you there to think about him and fantasize and hope for more, just as he knows you will. You stay there, your pants half-off, your ass pressed against the wire, for a while longer, looking at the sky, biting your lip again.
“Jesus Christ,” you think, almost angrily. “What a fucking tease…”

Engineer stops and looks up. He adjusts his goggles, tips his hat up a bit so as to see better, and says nothing. At least you got the hole partially fixed.

I saved this Medic & You (included the author's notes too). If anyone has the other Medic & You story that floated around a bit I'd love to see it here. It had a medigun kink.
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Medic & You: A Prelude Anonymous 09/07/07(Tue)20:40 No. 1314
I'm going out on a limb here and posting something for the first time. If I'm stepping on the toes of the established "___ & You" writers, feel free to say something.

A little background: My pediatrician for the larger part of my childhood was an old Austrian man with a very thick accent. He was a great doctor, but for a little kid, that strange tonality of speaking was always a bit intimidating. A lot of that feeling came back to me writing this.
___________________________________
You have just decided that musical accompanimunt for a routine medical examination is in fact a very bad idea. It's not that you aren't a music lover, your copy of Pet Sounds with grooves worn down close to non-existence attests to that. It's just that if you had the choice, you'd really prefer something other than the howl of german opera. But the immaculate gleam of the medical office is firmly the realm of the Medic, and judging from the scratch and hiss of the record, Der Ring des Nibelungen is on permanent rotation, and not likely to be displaced for anything short of Ragnarok itself. So you grit your teeth through another earsplitting aria and hope to get this over with as soon as possible.

It's not that you don't appreciate the Doctor and what he does, oh far from it. He's saved skins more times than you can count. It's just he's a little... what's the word ... intense? Something about him makes it difficult for you to relax. Maybe it's that his accent is a little intimidating. Maybe it's the fact that his eyes are a shade of blue so deep that it doesn't seem entirely normal. Or it could be that just last week you saw him disembowel an enemy spy using nothing more than a repurposed bonesaw. Whatever the case, sitting on a cold steel exam table in your unmentionables sure isn't helping matters.

In the meantime, the Medic seems unnaturally cheerful today. While he's certainly at home in a skirmish, this office is where he's most comfortable. From the crisp click of his immaculately shined boots on the laminate floor to the flawless white of his jacket (how the hell DOES he get those bloodstains out every time?), every inch of him exudes confidence and energy. You fight off a wave of goosebumps, cursing inwardly.

He examines a clipboard, adjusting the round glasses on his nose, humming quietly. “Now, how are ve feeling today, hn?”

“Well no extra holes as of late, so pretty good I'd wager!” Your weak smile wilts into a chewed lip under the ultramarine gaze.

The levity shoots right by him. He scribbles briefly on the clipboard. “Yes, yes. Good. Now hop on the scale, bitte.”

He starts putting you through the motions of the standard physical. Weight, height, visual observation, all that. Even with the melodramatic howling in the background, you think you're finally beginning to ease up. Then a rubber gloved finger artfully traces the alignment of your spine.

Goddamnit, ANOTHER wave of goosebumps. You're praying he doesn't notice as you hop back up on the table, but oh goody here comes the stethescope. At least now you can blame it on the little cold metal pad.

He places the stethescope pad onto your skin in the hollow of your chest, and you just manage not to startle when it makes contact, but before you can congratulate yourself on not looking like a complete idiot, you can see his brow furrowing. He pauses, makes a little doubtful noise in his throat. And just when he lifts the device away, and you think he's moved on, you realize he's just going over to turn down that stupid record player.

In the silence of that examination room, the cacaphony of Wagner was never more missed than now. He returns and listens again to your pulse, and tells you what you're already painfully aware of.

“Your heart rate is elevated.”

Before you can respond, he's reached the pad around to your back, arm nearly curled around you. “Breathe deeply”, he orders. He's focusing on you intently now, as you try your damnedest to inhale normally. A few gasps and rattles later, and his brow has dropped even lower.

“You are very tense.” He announces as he returns to his clipboard. “Perhaps the conditions here are beginning to tax you.” He pauses as he finishes his scribbling. “Or, is there another reason, possibly, vhy you could be so nervous?” His expression indicates that he clearly suspects the latter.

“I-I'm sorry... I guess I'm just not that good with... doctor's appointments.” You blather. The statement is ALMOST true. You'd probably be a lot more relaxed if you didn't have those eyes bearing down on you, like you were some sort of specimen to be dissected, opened up to have all your secrets revealed.

He sucks his teeth in vague irritation, a soft sharp little noise that makes you check slightly. “Basic medical examination is intended to detect and diagnose problems BEFORE they become serious. There is no reason to be so high strung. But if you do not relax, I cannot check you properly.”

You attempt to hide a pout as well as you can manage (not very), and try to focus on something else. Maybe if you can just get your mind off it, you can get it over with. And that's when your eyes land on a little black case in the corner of the office, almost hidden by another jacket on the rack.

“Wait, you brought that to field operations?”

“It alvays comes vith me.” He replies tersely, marking a few notes.

“Huh, so I guess you play, right?”

“Mmm.” He makes a noise in affirmative, and tries to get back to his poking and prodding of your flesh.

“Then how come I've never heard you?”

Now it's his turn to look uncomfortable. To be honest, it's a little unusual. You've never seen that kind of expression on his face.

“It is not important. Now hold your arms out in front of you.”

You follow his directions, but continue your interrogation. “Come on. If you love that thing enough to bring it with you into a war zone, then you must be really good at playing it.”

“A true musician is never fully satisfied with his skills.” He partially mutters, slipping a pressure cuff around your arm.

“That's not really an answer.” As the cuff tightens around your arm, it occurs to you suddenly. “Waiiiiit. You're embarassed about it, aren't you?”

“I have NO idea vhat you're talking about.” He snatches the pressure cuff off, and sulks over to the jars of medical supplies on the shelf. It is eminently clear that your positions have been inverted.

“It's not a big deal to be embarrased by something. I mean, look at me.” You try to be as pleasant as possible, but he marches back and jams a tongue depressor into your mouth.

“Pah, nonsense. I have nothing to be embarassed about.” He growls as he shines a light onto your tonsils.

“Ehn ay or eee.” You mumble around the mouthful of popsicle stick.

“Vhat vas that?” He removes the popsicle stick from your mouth and you repeat yourself.

“Then play for me.”

He freezes, in mid notation. You can't help but smile a just a little. “Come on. Play something for me. Just me, nobody else. I promise I won't tell anyone else about it.”

You can see the expressions on his face changing, as his train of thought gathers steam. Finally he glares at you.

“I vill play for you, but not now. Later. Tonight. After Call to Quarters.” He snaps. It takes him a moment to comport himself. “Now can ve continue vith the YOUR examination, bitte?”

“Yes I think so.” And your curiosity and anticipation does indeed make the rest of the appointment go much smoother.


TBC!And now the conclusion! I'm thinking of calling this "Eine Kleine Nachtmusic", because I am THAT UNCREATIVE. Before we begin, a few notes and musical selections to aid your enjoyment...

Greifswald: The University of Griefswald, Germany's oldest and most respected Medical University

“Air on the G String”- JS Bach, from Orchestral Suite No. 3
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOVwokQnV4M

“Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen”- Johannes Brahms, from Ein Deutsches Requiem
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Johannes_Brahms_-_Op.45_Ein_Deutsches_Requiem_-_(04)_Wie_lieblich_sind_deine_Wohnungen.ogg

_________________________
You realize you've never seen the Medic out of uniform before. In these later hours of the evening, in the golden-lit comfort of his quarters, he has dispensed with the white overcoat and the constricting tie, leaving him in his shirtsleeves, rolled up to his elbows and collar opened. He's also, oddly enough, barefoot, a token of casualness that nearly takes you aback. But he seats you on his bed with that familiar air of definitive action.

The violin case is set on a small table, along with the record player. In the corner of the room he rifles through a box full of records, and selects one. You can't make the title out from where you're sitting, and he notes your craning to see. He turns the sleeve over, and tsks quietly. “Now. You asked to hear me play, and you vill. But none of your prying beforehand. Just sit and listen.” He sets the vinyl onto the turntable and takes up the violin case.

When he opens it, you catch the gleam of amber wood. But as he draws it out, the instrument appears clearly scarred: there are superficial scratches and burns, the blister of a patched bullet hole, and splattered haphazardly across the entire object, the maroon glare of what can only be dried blood.

You make to ask a question, but catch yourself as he starts twiddling the pegs and checking the tune. He has that look on his face that tells you interruption is out of the question. When he's finally satisfied with the sound, he sets the needle on the record player.

The record must be a recorded audio accompanimunt, and the track ticks rhythmically for a few beats, the sound of a metronome counting in the time signature. After one measure, it fades to silence, and the Medic draws the bow across his violin.

The quiet, chill tone of piano on the record, is a distant contrast to the warm, rich voice of the instrument played before you in the here and now. His eyes close as he focuses entirely on the music, which is all the better for you, because you don't realize that your mouth is hanging slightly ajar until the piece is almost complete. There is a familiarity in his posture, his expression, that same intensity that made you pause before, but now, in the intimacy of his room, with his music, it draws you in like a moth to a flame.

You raise your hands in quiet, heartfelt applause, and struggle for the right praise. After a moment or two you manage to settle on “That was AMAZING, what was it?”

He turns his face away slightly, but not soon enough for you to miss the slight rosyness on his face. He clears his throat in a businesslike manner and mutters. “J.S. Bach, Air in G. It was adequate. My vibrato lacks clarity, however.”

“Will you quit the modesty act? You're incredible! The best I ever heard!”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, somewhat flustered by the praise, but he doesn't take it badly. “Thank you... but I feel I lack interpretive skill. Anyone can become passably proficient vith enough practice, but true art takes years of development.”

“It's more than I could do, I doubt I could get one squeak out that didn't sound terrible.” You inch over to one side of the bed a little self consciously as he sits beside you.

“Nonsense. Everyone loves music in some form. So everyone can be taught. In some form.” His voice is slipping into a softer register, and he is watching you intently again. Not the surgical, scruitinizing stare of earlier today, but something entirely different. It makes you shift slightly as you sit. He takes the inch you've given and presses closer by another half.

“I don't know...” you start, but trail off.

“It is not so difficult,” he murmurs. His arms bring the violin up towards you, and he tucks it gently under your chin. One broad hand takes yours and delicately presses your index finger down onto the fingerboard. His other arm brings the bow around and he draws out the note. “E. And now to G.” He moves your fingers again, and the calloused pads press one down into a new position. “A,” he breathes against your cheek, and draws again. This continues for a while, but soon your hands are laid gently aside as he takes up the melody, chin hooked gently over your shoulder. He is murmuring something softly, actually singing, right into your ear, something in german... <i>“Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen...”</i>

Your hands, now free, have slipped down by your sides, and one rests on his knee. You can't stop it from gripping slightly as his lips brush across your ear as he continues, <i>“Meine Seele verlanget und sehnet sich...”</i> And then, he presses a kiss to it.

Your gasp carries more voice than expected, but he laughs softly, and goes along with it. “Such a sound. Those who cannot play can always sing. I have played for you, vill you sing for me, Kleine?” His mouth, warm and insistent, inches its way down your cheek to settle in the hollow of your neck.

You can only manage a soft moan, and you realize he's set the violin aside and enfolded you entirely in his arms. One hand reaches up to graze against your throat while the other presses low on your belly. “Vhere talent is lacking passion vill aid, for vithout passion, all is mere clockvork,” he rumbles against your neck. The lower hand dips under fabric, seeking skin.

You burst out with another little sound of surprise, and you hear his amused hum. “The racing heartbeat again. Vas this the reason all along?” The thickening haze of arousal is momentarily cleared by the realization that he can actually mark your pulse from merely pressing his mouth against that swelling vein in your throat.

He growls, as his hand dips lower, pushing clothes out of the way on the journey down inbetween your legs. “They vere leery of my 'passions' in Greifswald. But how can I deny them? <i>Mein Leib und Seele freuen sich,”</i> he intones, and a cool even line of teeth graze against your skin.

“Oh god,” you can't help but gasp out, as he finds you, deep down, and begins to stroke, deft surgeon's hands working with diabolical skill.You note helplessly that he has pulled you fully onto his lap by now, and his other hand is working to rid you of your shirt.

“And it appears I am not alone,” he laughs gently, inbetween nibbles. When he has managed to pull the shirt off, he tilts your face towards his with his free hand, and kisses you fully. His lips are soft compared to the rough trace of stubble that lies as a shadow under his skin. The press of dark, wet velvet takes over your mouth, and leaves your moans muffled.

He breaks the kiss, gradually, and fixes you with those eyes again, and they are dark, dark blue, almost black in this low light. “Now tell vhat you vant...”

His fingers inside of you twist out another wave of pleasure and you're about to moan for him to hurry up and make love to you before you lose your senses but he presses a finger to your lips first.

His smile is the like brief gleam of a concealed knife, and he purrs. “Ah ah... <i>in deutsche.”</i>

You flounder desperately, trying to remember any of the little snippets of german he has attempted to ingrain in you, but his warmth and his stare and the imperative hardness of him pressing into you makes it nearly impossible. You whimper plaintively the only thing you manage to hold onto even now <i>“...bitte.” </i>

His smile softens in mercy, and he cups your chin. “Ah, schwach kleine. I should not be so cruel.” His thumb traces the line of your lower lip. “You vould say: <i>Eroberst mich.”</i>

<i>“Eroberst mich.”</i> You repeat. “What does it mean?”

“It means, 'take me.'”

Your eyes widen, and his mouth falls over yours again, muting any further commentary.

He keeps you on his lap somehow in the frenzy of movement and the tangle of limbs, while he strips the rest of your clothes, and bares his own skin as well, leaving only his white shirt open and flung haphazardly around his shoulders. His strength startles you as he lifts you up, one arm under your legs, and eases the blushed length of his erection into you with infinite care. Enthroned on his lap and full to the point of ecstacy, you claw fruitlessly behind you to get more of him in your grasp, and settle for looping your arms up and behind, to thread through his hair. He rocks forward and up, with a little moan, fingers on your chest grazing roughly across a nipple. The other snakes down your front again, more free without the constriction of clothes, to work its magic.

You wish you knew german, because he is saying such terrible, wonderful things in your ear inbetween the nips and the licks, things that sound both elegant and profane at the same time in that guttural tongue. But you settle for the sound of his voice getting higher and louder as he presses into you again and again, and your near wordless moans are accompanimunt enough.

You can feel the heat of him as his stomach and chest press up against your back, and one hand splays over your chest, a cage to catch your pounding heart. He nips at your earlobe and slides back into english just long enough to growl, “Sing, sing for me!”

You can't help but oblige him as he presses in again, and his hand between your legs circles insistently, pulling an aching soprano cry out of your throat. He matches it with a wail of his own, before urgently bringing your face around to kiss you again. Under the hood of your half-lidded eyes, you can see his face, blushed with abandon, hair slightly askew, fine dark brows knitted in rapture. Even in this madness of pleasure, you take care to remember it, for he has never looked more beautiful.

He gives a harsh little shout, and tightens, all around you, as he slips over the edge. Then, a shuddering moan slips out and he drapes himself over your shoulder, as you follow after him, breathless and dewed with perspiration. In his completion, he eases backwards onto the bed, taking you with him. Rolled onto your side, he curls around you, one arm flung haphazardly over your body. When the rattle of both your breathing has finally dwindled and he has slipped delicately out of you, you hear his soft, musical laughter on the back of your neck, as he presses a final kiss there.

“A fine performance, don't you think?” He muses.

You nuzzle back against him as he reaches over and sets his glasses down on the table. “I'd say a standing ovation is in order, but I don't think either of us can at the moment.”

His short bark of laughter makes you smile as much as the fingers that flicker up your side.
“Vell put, Kleine. Vell put.”Okay, kids. Medic and You, part 2, is in process. However, it involves some stuff that I find a little challenging/nervewracking, so the going is slow. I'll give you what I've got so far, that feels worthy of presentation. It'll also give you the big fat surprise reveal that's been gnawing my ear off, and I'll be able to gauge from reactions whether to continue on or not. So on with the show, as it were.
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Medic and You Part 2: Verboten

It's been three weeks since your little private performance with the Medic. Since then, the doctor decided that it would be in the best interests of the both of you, if the dalliances were kept sub rosa. He is nothing, if not devoted to at least appearing professional. And as if to emphasize the fact, a sudden burst of particularly intense combat with the opposite team makes it nearly impossible to meet with him, even if the scandal of discovery meant nothing to the both of you.

The frenzy of activity does nothing to distract you from your growing longing, however. You see him out in the field, in each skirmish. You watch him as he follows the surge of the attack, swift and sure, boosting his comrades in both strength and morale. You watch as he races back and forth, just inches from the line of fire, as you defend your base from a payload attack. You watch as he works to heal all the wounds, with the sternness of his clinical detachment, and yet with the unspoken tenderness of a dear friend. Your eyes meet across the battlefield, from time to time. And you can see the smile that curls ever so faintly across his lips.

It seems that even he is not immune to longing, though. He begins to tease, as combat starts tapering off. His touch lingers, as you congratulate amongst yourselves after a successful sortie. He watches you, pointedly, through another of Soldier's blustering tactical dissertations. At one point he even catches you by surprise, in an empty hallway, coming up behind as stealthily as a Spy. His arms loop around your body briefly and his stubbled jaw skims against your cheek. “Soon, mein herz...” he rumbles into your ear, and before you can whirl around and grab a hold of him, he is already striding off, as cool and unflustered as ever.

He is driving you mad.

And then, mercifully, the fighting trickles to a halt. The opposing team driven back to lick its wounds and regroup, you find yourselves in a temporary cease fire. You are both barely even off the field and into the base when his gloved fingers creep over the back of your neck. He purrs softly, “2200, tonight,” before slipping away, leaving you to cling for dear life to the doorframe, lest your legs give out entirely.

The rest of your teammates have settled in for the night, when you finally slip round the corner and down the stairs to his quarters. You have to stop to collect yourself so you don't knock too hard on his door, but your knuckles have barely tapped once before you hear him answer, “Come in, kleine.” You claw at the knob, barely keeping yourself from flinging the door open, you simply cannot wait any longer. You must have him again, have him pressed against you, or you're certain you'll lose your mind.

What you see waiting in the room promptly erases all thoughts in your head from existence.

The Medic is there, seated easily in his little swiveling chair, legs crossed saucily. He sets aside his journal and pen, as a smile of beatific innocence plays across his features. It is all in complete contrast to the black SS uniform he's wearing.

Your mouth makes a few open and shut movements while the door squeaks closed behind you, shutting with a faint, yet ominous click.OH GOD, FINALLY DONE. I had all these excuses lined up, but then I just said "the hell with it." Presented without further comment and if it gets choppy, I blame it on my own personal hangups with forbidden uniforms. Enjoy!
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“Schätzchen, is somezing troubling you?” His tone is light and musical, and combined with that grin of his, it hits you like cold grease trickling down the back of your neck. You raise a hand and gesture vaguely at him, and mumble something about why or how or oh god you can't possibly be.

He raises one eyebrow and then remarks airily, as if your reaction is a totally unexpected surprise to him. “Oh, zis uniform? You vish to know how I came to have it?”

You can only swallow and nod slightly as he rises from his chair, and prowls toward you, chatting as conversationally as if he were at afternoon tea. “I recall, I had just returned to Greifswald University vhen it reopened in '46, and I vas not there even a veek before I got some strange mail. Some distant relative, a step-cousin or an uncle, tvice removed, something like zat, killed in action, and his personal effects had to be returned to zhe family. But he had no living direct kin, and so the package kept passing hands, until it arrived in mine. Inside vas zhis uniform.”

He plucks idly at a shiny silver button. “I meant to dispose of the verdammten thing, no man vith sense in his head vould be caught vith a Waffen uniform on his hands vith the Red Army routing the local garrison for trial. But... I just could not. Somezhing about it compelled me to keep it. I heard rumors about its psychological impact on ozhers. To be entirely honest, I never believed something as simple as an item of clothing could elicit a .... vhat is the vord... visceral response. But I vas curious. And I remained curious, when I noted it vas almost nearly my own size.”

As he draws close to you, you can see how it fits him, indeed almost his own size, but perhaps a little snug across the chest, and the line of the dress jacket sits a little high on his hips. But even so, it looks good on him. Far too good. The clean, crisp lines and the shining leather belt around his waist accentuate his already impressive physique, which is not quite yet softening into the effects of middle age. And then there's the color. Black just suits him, for some reason. Keeping the suit hidden has only kept it from fading; it is black as ink, crow feathers, midnight, black as charcoal.

He lifts your chin with one appraising finger “I can see now zhere is some credence to zhe claims. You seem frightened, Liebeling. Tense.” A gloved thumb traces the line of your bottom lip. “You have shown such behavior once before. Vhen you vere in my office, under my examination.” He draws close enough to press you back against the door, looming over and pressing his forehead against yours. “Do fear because zhe uniform strikes it into your soul as zhey were touted to do? Or do you fear because you desire zhis?”

Your jaw works a little, while your mind attempts to reboot, and come up with a valid excuse or protest, but he seals your lips with one finger. He has apparently been preparing for this little exercise for quite some time, and there is no stopping him now. You find yourself questioning whether you even want him to stop.

“I have a theory,” he muses. “Zhe item itself is not zhe focus of desire, but zhe simple fact zhat it is verboten. Vhen one should not vant, one only vants it more.” He begins trailing a hand down his neck, and starts undoing buttons. “Zhe only vay I can think to properly treat such a condition is to indulge it.”
He grasps one of your hands in his, and brings it up to his now bared chest, to flatten over the hollow where his heart lies. His pulse is strong under your fingertips, and a nipple rises to attention as your fingers graze past. “Ve shall desensitize you, until your guilt is gone.” He moves your hand inexorably downward, to rest at the waistband of the jodhpurs. “And to start, you must come face to face vith your anxiety.” A quirk of his eyebrow suggests exactly HOW you will be facing things.

As you kneel between his legs, your mind races for an alibi. Just imagine you're sucking off a cop instead, something trite like that. Oh I had no idea I was going so fast, officer, do you think you could let me off with a warning? Cliche, tame enough, keep your eyes closed and you won't be able to tell the difference. But as he reaches down, and cups your chin upwards, you are forced to meet that glacial gaze, that carnivorous smile, and there's no excuse your mind can make. You're pleasuring a man who looks like the pride of the Party, and you realize with a guilty writhing in your stomach that you are enjoying it.

You fiddle awkwardly with the buttons on the woolen pants. The suit smells like gunpowder, the mustiness of age and old cedar, which mixes with the Medic's usual bouquet of alcohol antiseptic and the distant chill of peppermint. You pull him out of the fly, and he's already hard. Maybe this whole uniform thing makes him as hot as it does you, but he's a lot less torn up about it. Hell, he looks like he's loving every minute of it. He paws gently through your hair, and curls fingers around the shell of your ears as you lean in and gently press your lips to his heated flesh.

Although fully in control, he is gentle and patient, and lets you explore with your mouth at your leisure. He hums appreciatively as kisses turn into full-tongued licks, tracing his contours. “Sehr gut,” he murmurs, and you shiver slightly. He is apparently not even going to give you the mercy of his silence either. “Remember, kleine, it is just a uniform...” he comments amusedly above you, and the softness of his belly moves with his warm laughter.

Well, if he's going to be all chatty about this little hangup, then you're going to make it difficult for him to speak, you decide. Eyebrows knit with concentration, you take him into your mouth as much as is comfortably possible. The pressure of your suction causes him to clutch tighter into your hair and reduces him to a shuddering moan. “Nnn! Mein Gott...” he sputters briefly, before lapsing into silence broken only by the rough panting of his breath.

You continue in this way, hungrily lapping and suckling, edging further into arousal as you listen to his moans. You wonder how close he is to the edge when suddenly, he tenses, and abruptly pulls you away from him, both hands framing your jaw. He pulls you upwards, to assault you with a hungry kiss. The pressure, the warmth, the intensity of it is so arresting that you barely even notice that he's maneuvered you over to the bed, until your knees are folded underneath you by contact. Falling back on the covers with a startled gasp, he arches over you, open shirt like drooping black wings.

A frenzy of tugged clothes and hurried kisses ensues, he kisses every part of you that becomes exposed, from throat to chest to belly, flicking at your nipples, dipping into the hollow of your navel, and even down between your legs, paying back your previous obedience in full. The sweet agony of his mouth is momentary, however, and you can see the hunger glittering in his eyes, as he just barely tugs the jodhpurs down his hips enough to be out of the way.

A moment of profound silence as he stops, and drags gloved fingers down your body. “You vant I should leave the jack-boots on?” he muses, and the smirk that settles on his face would tempt a saint.

Shame be damned, you grab him by the lapels of the uniform, knuckles white against fine black wool, and pull him down until chests meet and bodies rub together. “Shut up and just give it to me already,” you hiss into his ear.

He enters you with a shudder and a smile of vicious indulgence, while one gloved hand reaches up to pin your wrists above your head. The other lingers down at the space between your hips, and he doubles your bliss with his skillful attentions. He grinds into you, smooth and firm, and it is exactly what you need. You are pinned down under his hands, under the control of a black-clothed conqueror, helpless to do anything but ride out his passions, and it is ecstasy.

At some point in the fierce tangle, he releases your arms, and they immediately wrap around him again to hold on for dear life. He buries his face in the side of your neck to lave and suckle the tendons and the pulse of the vein there, while stubble frictions your cheek into sudden heat. Moving upwards, teeth are grazing across the curve of your ear. When he actually traces the curvature with his tongue, you gasp something incoherent, and your fingers claw bluntly along his back. He is pressing into you and on top of you, driven deep into the mattress by his weight, and you can feel his heat where you join, and it's all cluttering together in a mix of sensation and sound, and when he thrusts into you a final time, you can feel his release deep inside. As his expression melts from exquisite torment to satisfaction, you spill over the edge at that very moment, high and white and perfect.

Sense returns, to find him still sprawled over your body, breathing slow and deep. You lay there, for a few moments, then comb idly through his hair with a free hand. It seems to rouse him from his stupor. He arches up and away, but not before favoring you with a tender kiss.

He finally pulls the uniform off, and examines it, looking distastefully at the stains of sweat and human release. “A sorry state,” he muses, as he lays it carelessly on the chair.

“We'll have to be more careful next time.”

He turns towards you, and the look of wonder and faint curiosity on his face is almost as good as the look of his climax. “Next time?” he asks, gesturing to the clothes.

All you answer him with is a smile.

I saved this Medic & You (included the author's notes too). If anyone has the other Medic & You story that floated around a bit I'd love to see it here. It had a medigun kink.
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Medic & You: A Prelude Anonymous 09/07/07(Tue)20:40 No. 1314
I'm going out on a limb here and posting something for the first time. If I'm stepping on the toes of the established "___ & You" writers, feel free to say something.

A little background: My pediatrician for the larger part of my childhood was an old Austrian man with a very thick accent. He was a great doctor, but for a little kid, that strange tonality of speaking was always a bit intimidating. A lot of that feeling came back to me writing this.
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You have just decided that musical accompanimunt for a routine medical examination is in fact a very bad idea. It's not that you aren't a music lover, your copy of Pet Sounds with grooves worn down close to non-existence attests to that. It's just that if you had the choice, you'd really prefer something other than the howl of german opera. But the immaculate gleam of the medical office is firmly the realm of the Medic, and judging from the scratch and hiss of the record, Der Ring des Nibelungen is on permanent rotation, and not likely to be displaced for anything short of Ragnarok itself. So you grit your teeth through another earsplitting aria and hope to get this over with as soon as possible.

It's not that you don't appreciate the Doctor and what he does, oh far from it. He's saved skins more times than you can count. It's just he's a little... what's the word ... intense? Something about him makes it difficult for you to relax. Maybe it's that his accent is a little intimidating. Maybe it's the fact that his eyes are a shade of blue so deep that it doesn't seem entirely normal. Or it could be that just last week you saw him disembowel an enemy spy using nothing more than a repurposed bonesaw. Whatever the case, sitting on a cold steel exam table in your unmentionables sure isn't helping matters.

In the meantime, the Medic seems unnaturally cheerful today. While he's certainly at home in a skirmish, this office is where he's most comfortable. From the crisp click of his immaculately shined boots on the laminate floor to the flawless white of his jacket (how the hell DOES he get those bloodstains out every time?), every inch of him exudes confidence and energy. You fight off a wave of goosebumps, cursing inwardly.

He examines a clipboard, adjusting the round glasses on his nose, humming quietly. “Now, how are ve feeling today, hn?”

“Well no extra holes as of late, so pretty good I'd wager!” Your weak smile wilts into a chewed lip under the ultramarine gaze.

The levity shoots right by him. He scribbles briefly on the clipboard. “Yes, yes. Good. Now hop on the scale, bitte.”

He starts putting you through the motions of the standard physical. Weight, height, visual observation, all that. Even with the melodramatic howling in the background, you think you're finally beginning to ease up. Then a rubber gloved finger artfully traces the alignment of your spine.

Goddamnit, ANOTHER wave of goosebumps. You're praying he doesn't notice as you hop back up on the table, but oh goody here comes the stethescope. At least now you can blame it on the little cold metal pad.

He places the stethescope pad onto your skin in the hollow of your chest, and you just manage not to startle when it makes contact, but before you can congratulate yourself on not looking like a complete idiot, you can see his brow furrowing. He pauses, makes a little doubtful noise in his throat. And just when he lifts the device away, and you think he's moved on, you realize he's just going over to turn down that stupid record player.

In the silence of that examination room, the cacaphony of Wagner was never more missed than now. He returns and listens again to your pulse, and tells you what you're already painfully aware of.

“Your heart rate is elevated.”

Before you can respond, he's reached the pad around to your back, arm nearly curled around you. “Breathe deeply”, he orders. He's focusing on you intently now, as you try your damnedest to inhale normally. A few gasps and rattles later, and his brow has dropped even lower.

“You are very tense.” He announces as he returns to his clipboard. “Perhaps the conditions here are beginning to tax you.” He pauses as he finishes his scribbling. “Or, is there another reason, possibly, vhy you could be so nervous?” His expression indicates that he clearly suspects the latter.

“I-I'm sorry... I guess I'm just not that good with... doctor's appointments.” You blather. The statement is ALMOST true. You'd probably be a lot more relaxed if you didn't have those eyes bearing down on you, like you were some sort of specimen to be dissected, opened up to have all your secrets revealed.

He sucks his teeth in vague irritation, a soft sharp little noise that makes you check slightly. “Basic medical examination is intended to detect and diagnose problems BEFORE they become serious. There is no reason to be so high strung. But if you do not relax, I cannot check you properly.”

You attempt to hide a pout as well as you can manage (not very), and try to focus on something else. Maybe if you can just get your mind off it, you can get it over with. And that's when your eyes land on a little black case in the corner of the office, almost hidden by another jacket on the rack.

“Wait, you brought that to field operations?”

“It alvays comes vith me.” He replies tersely, marking a few notes.

“Huh, so I guess you play, right?”

“Mmm.” He makes a noise in affirmative, and tries to get back to his poking and prodding of your flesh.

“Then how come I've never heard you?”

Now it's his turn to look uncomfortable. To be honest, it's a little unusual. You've never seen that kind of expression on his face.

“It is not important. Now hold your arms out in front of you.”

You follow his directions, but continue your interrogation. “Come on. If you love that thing enough to bring it with you into a war zone, then you must be really good at playing it.”

“A true musician is never fully satisfied with his skills.” He partially mutters, slipping a pressure cuff around your arm.

“That's not really an answer.” As the cuff tightens around your arm, it occurs to you suddenly. “Waiiiiit. You're embarassed about it, aren't you?”

“I have NO idea vhat you're talking about.” He snatches the pressure cuff off, and sulks over to the jars of medical supplies on the shelf. It is eminently clear that your positions have been inverted.

“It's not a big deal to be embarrased by something. I mean, look at me.” You try to be as pleasant as possible, but he marches back and jams a tongue depressor into your mouth.

“Pah, nonsense. I have nothing to be embarassed about.” He growls as he shines a light onto your tonsils.

“Ehn ay or eee.” You mumble around the mouthful of popsicle stick.

“Vhat vas that?” He removes the popsicle stick from your mouth and you repeat yourself.

“Then play for me.”

He freezes, in mid notation. You can't help but smile a just a little. “Come on. Play something for me. Just me, nobody else. I promise I won't tell anyone else about it.”

You can see the expressions on his face changing, as his train of thought gathers steam. Finally he glares at you.

“I vill play for you, but not now. Later. Tonight. After Call to Quarters.” He snaps. It takes him a moment to comport himself. “Now can ve continue vith the YOUR examination, bitte?”

“Yes I think so.” And your curiosity and anticipation does indeed make the rest of the appointment go much smoother.


TBC!And now the conclusion! I'm thinking of calling this "Eine Kleine Nachtmusic", because I am THAT UNCREATIVE. Before we begin, a few notes and musical selections to aid your enjoyment...

Greifswald: The University of Griefswald, Germany's oldest and most respected Medical University

“Air on the G String”- JS Bach, from Orchestral Suite No. 3
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOVwokQnV4M

“Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen”- Johannes Brahms, from Ein Deutsches Requiem
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Johannes_Brahms_-_Op.45_Ein_Deutsches_Requiem_-_(04)_Wie_lieblich_sind_deine_Wohnungen.ogg

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You realize you've never seen the Medic out of uniform before. In these later hours of the evening, in the golden-lit comfort of his quarters, he has dispensed with the white overcoat and the constricting tie, leaving him in his shirtsleeves, rolled up to his elbows and collar opened. He's also, oddly enough, barefoot, a token of casualness that nearly takes you aback. But he seats you on his bed with that familiar air of definitive action.

The violin case is set on a small table, along with the record player. In the corner of the room he rifles through a box full of records, and selects one. You can't make the title out from where you're sitting, and he notes your craning to see. He turns the sleeve over, and tsks quietly. “Now. You asked to hear me play, and you vill. But none of your prying beforehand. Just sit and listen.” He sets the vinyl onto the turntable and takes up the violin case.

When he opens it, you catch the gleam of amber wood. But as he draws it out, the instrument appears clearly scarred: there are superficial scratches and burns, the blister of a patched bullet hole, and splattered haphazardly across the entire object, the maroon glare of what can only be dried blood.

You make to ask a question, but catch yourself as he starts twiddling the pegs and checking the tune. He has that look on his face that tells you interruption is out of the question. When he's finally satisfied with the sound, he sets the needle on the record player.

The record must be a recorded audio accompanimunt, and the track ticks rhythmically for a few beats, the sound of a metronome counting in the time signature. After one measure, it fades to silence, and the Medic draws the bow across his violin.

The quiet, chill tone of piano on the record, is a distant contrast to the warm, rich voice of the instrument played before you in the here and now. His eyes close as he focuses entirely on the music, which is all the better for you, because you don't realize that your mouth is hanging slightly ajar until the piece is almost complete. There is a familiarity in his posture, his expression, that same intensity that made you pause before, but now, in the intimacy of his room, with his music, it draws you in like a moth to a flame.

You raise your hands in quiet, heartfelt applause, and struggle for the right praise. After a moment or two you manage to settle on “That was AMAZING, what was it?”

He turns his face away slightly, but not soon enough for you to miss the slight rosyness on his face. He clears his throat in a businesslike manner and mutters. “J.S. Bach, Air in G. It was adequate. My vibrato lacks clarity, however.”

“Will you quit the modesty act? You're incredible! The best I ever heard!”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, somewhat flustered by the praise, but he doesn't take it badly. “Thank you... but I feel I lack interpretive skill. Anyone can become passably proficient vith enough practice, but true art takes years of development.”

“It's more than I could do, I doubt I could get one squeak out that didn't sound terrible.” You inch over to one side of the bed a little self consciously as he sits beside you.

“Nonsense. Everyone loves music in some form. So everyone can be taught. In some form.” His voice is slipping into a softer register, and he is watching you intently again. Not the surgical, scruitinizing stare of earlier today, but something entirely different. It makes you shift slightly as you sit. He takes the inch you've given and presses closer by another half.

“I don't know...” you start, but trail off.

“It is not so difficult,” he murmurs. His arms bring the violin up towards you, and he tucks it gently under your chin. One broad hand takes yours and delicately presses your index finger down onto the fingerboard. His other arm brings the bow around and he draws out the note. “E. And now to G.” He moves your fingers again, and the calloused pads press one down into a new position. “A,” he breathes against your cheek, and draws again. This continues for a while, but soon your hands are laid gently aside as he takes up the melody, chin hooked gently over your shoulder. He is murmuring something softly, actually singing, right into your ear, something in german... <i>“Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen...”</i>

Your hands, now free, have slipped down by your sides, and one rests on his knee. You can't stop it from gripping slightly as his lips brush across your ear as he continues, <i>“Meine Seele verlanget und sehnet sich...”</i> And then, he presses a kiss to it.

Your gasp carries more voice than expected, but he laughs softly, and goes along with it. “Such a sound. Those who cannot play can always sing. I have played for you, vill you sing for me, Kleine?” His mouth, warm and insistent, inches its way down your cheek to settle in the hollow of your neck.

You can only manage a soft moan, and you realize he's set the violin aside and enfolded you entirely in his arms. One hand reaches up to graze against your throat while the other presses low on your belly. “Vhere talent is lacking passion vill aid, for vithout passion, all is mere clockvork,” he rumbles against your neck. The lower hand dips under fabric, seeking skin.

You burst out with another little sound of surprise, and you hear his amused hum. “The racing heartbeat again. Vas this the reason all along?” The thickening haze of arousal is momentarily cleared by the realization that he can actually mark your pulse from merely pressing his mouth against that swelling vein in your throat.

He growls, as his hand dips lower, pushing clothes out of the way on the journey down inbetween your legs. “They vere leery of my 'passions' in Greifswald. But how can I deny them? <i>Mein Leib und Seele freuen sich,”</i> he intones, and a cool even line of teeth graze against your skin.

“Oh god,” you can't help but gasp out, as he finds you, deep down, and begins to stroke, deft surgeon's hands working with diabolical skill.You note helplessly that he has pulled you fully onto his lap by now, and his other hand is working to rid you of your shirt.

“And it appears I am not alone,” he laughs gently, inbetween nibbles. When he has managed to pull the shirt off, he tilts your face towards his with his free hand, and kisses you fully. His lips are soft compared to the rough trace of stubble that lies as a shadow under his skin. The press of dark, wet velvet takes over your mouth, and leaves your moans muffled.

He breaks the kiss, gradually, and fixes you with those eyes again, and they are dark, dark blue, almost black in this low light. “Now tell vhat you vant...”

His fingers inside of you twist out another wave of pleasure and you're about to moan for him to hurry up and make love to you before you lose your senses but he presses a finger to your lips first.

His smile is the like brief gleam of a concealed knife, and he purrs. “Ah ah... <i>in deutsche.”</i>

You flounder desperately, trying to remember any of the little snippets of german he has attempted to ingrain in you, but his warmth and his stare and the imperative hardness of him pressing into you makes it nearly impossible. You whimper plaintively the only thing you manage to hold onto even now <i>“...bitte.” </i>

His smile softens in mercy, and he cups your chin. “Ah, schwach kleine. I should not be so cruel.” His thumb traces the line of your lower lip. “You vould say: <i>Eroberst mich.”</i>

<i>“Eroberst mich.”</i> You repeat. “What does it mean?”

“It means, 'take me.'”

Your eyes widen, and his mouth falls over yours again, muting any further commentary.

He keeps you on his lap somehow in the frenzy of movement and the tangle of limbs, while he strips the rest of your clothes, and bares his own skin as well, leaving only his white shirt open and flung haphazardly around his shoulders. His strength startles you as he lifts you up, one arm under your legs, and eases the blushed length of his erection into you with infinite care. Enthroned on his lap and full to the point of ecstacy, you claw fruitlessly behind you to get more of him in your grasp, and settle for looping your arms up and behind, to thread through his hair. He rocks forward and up, with a little moan, fingers on your chest grazing roughly across a nipple. The other snakes down your front again, more free without the constriction of clothes, to work its magic.

You wish you knew german, because he is saying such terrible, wonderful things in your ear inbetween the nips and the licks, things that sound both elegant and profane at the same time in that guttural tongue. But you settle for the sound of his voice getting higher and louder as he presses into you again and again, and your near wordless moans are accompanimunt enough.

You can feel the heat of him as his stomach and chest press up against your back, and one hand splays over your chest, a cage to catch your pounding heart. He nips at your earlobe and slides back into english just long enough to growl, “Sing, sing for me!”

You can't help but oblige him as he presses in again, and his hand between your legs circles insistently, pulling an aching soprano cry out of your throat. He matches it with a wail of his own, before urgently bringing your face around to kiss you again. Under the hood of your half-lidded eyes, you can see his face, blushed with abandon, hair slightly askew, fine dark brows knitted in rapture. Even in this madness of pleasure, you take care to remember it, for he has never looked more beautiful.

He gives a harsh little shout, and tightens, all around you, as he slips over the edge. Then, a shuddering moan slips out and he drapes himself over your shoulder, as you follow after him, breathless and dewed with perspiration. In his completion, he eases backwards onto the bed, taking you with him. Rolled onto your side, he curls around you, one arm flung haphazardly over your body. When the rattle of both your breathing has finally dwindled and he has slipped delicately out of you, you hear his soft, musical laughter on the back of your neck, as he presses a final kiss there.

“A fine performance, don't you think?” He muses.

You nuzzle back against him as he reaches over and sets his glasses down on the table. “I'd say a standing ovation is in order, but I don't think either of us can at the moment.”

His short bark of laughter makes you smile as much as the fingers that flicker up your side.
“Vell put, Kleine. Vell put.”Okay, kids. Medic and You, part 2, is in process. However, it involves some stuff that I find a little challenging/nervewracking, so the going is slow. I'll give you what I've got so far, that feels worthy of presentation. It'll also give you the big fat surprise reveal that's been gnawing my ear off, and I'll be able to gauge from reactions whether to continue on or not. So on with the show, as it were.
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Medic and You Part 2: Verboten

It's been three weeks since your little private performance with the Medic. Since then, the doctor decided that it would be in the best interests of the both of you, if the dalliances were kept sub rosa. He is nothing, if not devoted to at least appearing professional. And as if to emphasize the fact, a sudden burst of particularly intense combat with the opposite team makes it nearly impossible to meet with him, even if the scandal of discovery meant nothing to the both of you.

The frenzy of activity does nothing to distract you from your growing longing, however. You see him out in the field, in each skirmish. You watch him as he follows the surge of the attack, swift and sure, boosting his comrades in both strength and morale. You watch as he races back and forth, just inches from the line of fire, as you defend your base from a payload attack. You watch as he works to heal all the wounds, with the sternness of his clinical detachment, and yet with the unspoken tenderness of a dear friend. Your eyes meet across the battlefield, from time to time. And you can see the smile that curls ever so faintly across his lips.

It seems that even he is not immune to longing, though. He begins to tease, as combat starts tapering off. His touch lingers, as you congratulate amongst yourselves after a successful sortie. He watches you, pointedly, through another of Soldier's blustering tactical dissertations. At one point he even catches you by surprise, in an empty hallway, coming up behind as stealthily as a Spy. His arms loop around your body briefly and his stubbled jaw skims against your cheek. “Soon, mein herz...” he rumbles into your ear, and before you can whirl around and grab a hold of him, he is already striding off, as cool and unflustered as ever.

He is driving you mad.

And then, mercifully, the fighting trickles to a halt. The opposing team driven back to lick its wounds and regroup, you find yourselves in a temporary cease fire. You are both barely even off the field and into the base when his gloved fingers creep over the back of your neck. He purrs softly, “2200, tonight,” before slipping away, leaving you to cling for dear life to the doorframe, lest your legs give out entirely.

The rest of your teammates have settled in for the night, when you finally slip round the corner and down the stairs to his quarters. You have to stop to collect yourself so you don't knock too hard on his door, but your knuckles have barely tapped once before you hear him answer, “Come in, kleine.” You claw at the knob, barely keeping yourself from flinging the door open, you simply cannot wait any longer. You must have him again, have him pressed against you, or you're certain you'll lose your mind.

What you see waiting in the room promptly erases all thoughts in your head from existence.

The Medic is there, seated easily in his little swiveling chair, legs crossed saucily. He sets aside his journal and pen, as a smile of beatific innocence plays across his features. It is all in complete contrast to the black SS uniform he's wearing.

Your mouth makes a few open and shut movements while the door squeaks closed behind you, shutting with a faint, yet ominous click.OH GOD, FINALLY DONE. I had all these excuses lined up, but then I just said "the hell with it." Presented without further comment and if it gets choppy, I blame it on my own personal hangups with forbidden uniforms. Enjoy!
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“Schätzchen, is somezing troubling you?” His tone is light and musical, and combined with that grin of his, it hits you like cold grease trickling down the back of your neck. You raise a hand and gesture vaguely at him, and mumble something about why or how or oh god you can't possibly be.

He raises one eyebrow and then remarks airily, as if your reaction is a totally unexpected surprise to him. “Oh, zis uniform? You vish to know how I came to have it?”

You can only swallow and nod slightly as he rises from his chair, and prowls toward you, chatting as conversationally as if he were at afternoon tea. “I recall, I had just returned to Greifswald University vhen it reopened in '46, and I vas not there even a veek before I got some strange mail. Some distant relative, a step-cousin or an uncle, tvice removed, something like zat, killed in action, and his personal effects had to be returned to zhe family. But he had no living direct kin, and so the package kept passing hands, until it arrived in mine. Inside vas zhis uniform.”

He plucks idly at a shiny silver button. “I meant to dispose of the verdammten thing, no man vith sense in his head vould be caught vith a Waffen uniform on his hands vith the Red Army routing the local garrison for trial. But... I just could not. Somezhing about it compelled me to keep it. I heard rumors about its psychological impact on ozhers. To be entirely honest, I never believed something as simple as an item of clothing could elicit a .... vhat is the vord... visceral response. But I vas curious. And I remained curious, when I noted it vas almost nearly my own size.”

As he draws close to you, you can see how it fits him, indeed almost his own size, but perhaps a little snug across the chest, and the line of the dress jacket sits a little high on his hips. But even so, it looks good on him. Far too good. The clean, crisp lines and the shining leather belt around his waist accentuate his already impressive physique, which is not quite yet softening into the effects of middle age. And then there's the color. Black just suits him, for some reason. Keeping the suit hidden has only kept it from fading; it is black as ink, crow feathers, midnight, black as charcoal.

He lifts your chin with one appraising finger “I can see now zhere is some credence to zhe claims. You seem frightened, Liebeling. Tense.” A gloved thumb traces the line of your bottom lip. “You have shown such behavior once before. Vhen you vere in my office, under my examination.” He draws close enough to press you back against the door, looming over and pressing his forehead against yours. “Do fear because zhe uniform strikes it into your soul as zhey were touted to do? Or do you fear because you desire zhis?”

Your jaw works a little, while your mind attempts to reboot, and come up with a valid excuse or protest, but he seals your lips with one finger. He has apparently been preparing for this little exercise for quite some time, and there is no stopping him now. You find yourself questioning whether you even want him to stop.

“I have a theory,” he muses. “Zhe item itself is not zhe focus of desire, but zhe simple fact zhat it is verboten. Vhen one should not vant, one only vants it more.” He begins trailing a hand down his neck, and starts undoing buttons. “Zhe only vay I can think to properly treat such a condition is to indulge it.”
He grasps one of your hands in his, and brings it up to his now bared chest, to flatten over the hollow where his heart lies. His pulse is strong under your fingertips, and a nipple rises to attention as your fingers graze past. “Ve shall desensitize you, until your guilt is gone.” He moves your hand inexorably downward, to rest at the waistband of the jodhpurs. “And to start, you must come face to face vith your anxiety.” A quirk of his eyebrow suggests exactly HOW you will be facing things.

As you kneel between his legs, your mind races for an alibi. Just imagine you're sucking off a cop instead, something trite like that. Oh I had no idea I was going so fast, officer, do you think you could let me off with a warning? Cliche, tame enough, keep your eyes closed and you won't be able to tell the difference. But as he reaches down, and cups your chin upwards, you are forced to meet that glacial gaze, that carnivorous smile, and there's no excuse your mind can make. You're pleasuring a man who looks like the pride of the Party, and you realize with a guilty writhing in your stomach that you are enjoying it.

You fiddle awkwardly with the buttons on the woolen pants. The suit smells like gunpowder, the mustiness of age and old cedar, which mixes with the Medic's usual bouquet of alcohol antiseptic and the distant chill of peppermint. You pull him out of the fly, and he's already hard. Maybe this whole uniform thing makes him as hot as it does you, but he's a lot less torn up about it. Hell, he looks like he's loving every minute of it. He paws gently through your hair, and curls fingers around the shell of your ears as you lean in and gently press your lips to his heated flesh.

Although fully in control, he is gentle and patient, and lets you explore with your mouth at your leisure. He hums appreciatively as kisses turn into full-tongued licks, tracing his contours. “Sehr gut,” he murmurs, and you shiver slightly. He is apparently not even going to give you the mercy of his silence either. “Remember, kleine, it is just a uniform...” he comments amusedly above you, and the softness of his belly moves with his warm laughter.

Well, if he's going to be all chatty about this little hangup, then you're going to make it difficult for him to speak, you decide. Eyebrows knit with concentration, you take him into your mouth as much as is comfortably possible. The pressure of your suction causes him to clutch tighter into your hair and reduces him to a shuddering moan. “Nnn! Mein Gott...” he sputters briefly, before lapsing into silence broken only by the rough panting of his breath.

You continue in this way, hungrily lapping and suckling, edging further into arousal as you listen to his moans. You wonder how close he is to the edge when suddenly, he tenses, and abruptly pulls you away from him, both hands framing your jaw. He pulls you upwards, to assault you with a hungry kiss. The pressure, the warmth, the intensity of it is so arresting that you barely even notice that he's maneuvered you over to the bed, until your knees are folded underneath you by contact. Falling back on the covers with a startled gasp, he arches over you, open shirt like drooping black wings.

A frenzy of tugged clothes and hurried kisses ensues, he kisses every part of you that becomes exposed, from throat to chest to belly, flicking at your nipples, dipping into the hollow of your navel, and even down between your legs, paying back your previous obedience in full. The sweet agony of his mouth is momentary, however, and you can see the hunger glittering in his eyes, as he just barely tugs the jodhpurs down his hips enough to be out of the way.

A moment of profound silence as he stops, and drags gloved fingers down your body. “You vant I should leave the jack-boots on?” he muses, and the smirk that settles on his face would tempt a saint.

Shame be damned, you grab him by the lapels of the uniform, knuckles white against fine black wool, and pull him down until chests meet and bodies rub together. “Shut up and just give it to me already,” you hiss into his ear.

He enters you with a shudder and a smile of vicious indulgence, while one gloved hand reaches up to pin your wrists above your head. The other lingers down at the space between your hips, and he doubles your bliss with his skillful attentions. He grinds into you, smooth and firm, and it is exactly what you need. You are pinned down under his hands, under the control of a black-clothed conqueror, helpless to do anything but ride out his passions, and it is ecstasy.

At some point in the fierce tangle, he releases your arms, and they immediately wrap around him again to hold on for dear life. He buries his face in the side of your neck to lave and suckle the tendons and the pulse of the vein there, while stubble frictions your cheek into sudden heat. Moving upwards, teeth are grazing across the curve of your ear. When he actually traces the curvature with his tongue, you gasp something incoherent, and your fingers claw bluntly along his back. He is pressing into you and on top of you, driven deep into the mattress by his weight, and you can feel his heat where you join, and it's all cluttering together in a mix of sensation and sound, and when he thrusts into you a final time, you can feel his release deep inside. As his expression melts from exquisite torment to satisfaction, you spill over the edge at that very moment, high and white and perfect.

Sense returns, to find him still sprawled over your body, breathing slow and deep. You lay there, for a few moments, then comb idly through his hair with a free hand. It seems to rouse him from his stupor. He arches up and away, but not before favoring you with a tender kiss.

He finally pulls the uniform off, and examines it, looking distastefully at the stains of sweat and human release. “A sorry state,” he muses, as he lays it carelessly on the chair.

“We'll have to be more careful next time.”

He turns towards you, and the look of wonder and faint curiosity on his face is almost as good as the look of his climax. “Next time?” he asks, gesturing to the clothes.

All you answer him with is a smile.

Wow please disregard my failed post, I'm not sure what I did wrong. Here's the whole Medic & You Fic I saved.

http://www.mediafire.com/?dqct886r4msbcc2

I remember seeing this in the chan but I don't recall who wrote it. Engineer/you (There was a male equivalent but I can't seem to find it)
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Engineer is a man who solves problems. Sexual problems. And that's why you're here. You peek your head in the door and speak quietly. "..Engineer? I'm confused. Can you fix me?"

He sets down the blueprints he was looking at on the bench next to him. He looks concerned and pats his knee. "C'mere an' tell me about it." There's plenty of bench to sit on but you end up on his knee anyways. His thigh feels like a bunch of cabling pulled tight. He's so patient as he listens to you, running his thumb over your knuckles and smiling. You trail off into silence as you lose your train of thought. He waits, watching you and bouncing you gently on his knee as you try to collect your thoughts.

So patient.

An uncomfortable silence grows in the room. You face Engineer, his mouth a serious line and his jaw firm as he watches you. A thought plays at your mind and you reach up and tickle him under his chin. He wriggles his shoulders a bit. "Hey now, knock that off, silly." with a playful light punch to your shoulder. You nab his hand and begin tracing a circle in his palm with your fingertip. His chest shakes as he holds down the laughter. His big hand closes around yours and he draws your hand forward to rest on his shoulder. Now leaning against him with your arm around him you tense up a little bit. You've never been this close to him before. He has the smell of his work around him. Machines, metal, hard work. Underneath that there are more natural smells; just a hint of barbecue and beer. But he's warm. So very warm.

Slowly you relax your neck and your head rests on Engineer's shoulder. Heavenly.

Your other hand drifts to one of the buttons on his coveralls and begins toying with it idly. He snuggles in a bit closer, wrapping an arm around your back. His stubble rubs up against your face - it tickles and now you're the one suppressing a giggle."That tickles!" The laugh seems to pass from you to him and you can feel the low chuckle echoing out from his core. "Aw, you-" He pats your head and then rubs your face with his stubble again on purpose making you twist around and laugh.

A kiss lands right on the edge of your ear and he whispers a sweet nothing in his smooth drawl. You settle down as you feel that sweet hot breath against your ear. The sound of those deep breaths coming from his barrel chest. You lean back into him, enjoying how affectionate he is. The sound is so rhythmic and relaxing. Better than waves in the ocean. Better than wind through the tall grass. His warm breath drifts against your cheek as he rests his head on yours. He laces his fingers in yours. You can tell exactly what expression is on his face, even when you're not looking.

You turn your head and press a shy kiss against his neck. Then another. You snuggle in a bit closer, tracing a line going down his throat with the tip of your nose. Your hand rubs across his chest. "Engineer." You whisper his name. Underneath his clothes you can feel hints of the firm pecs underneath.

A reassuring squeeze - he knows what you're thinking.

When you nip up to kiss him, you catch him on the jaw, making him smile more and then he turns his face just in time to kiss you back when you try for a second one. Engineer's lips aren't rough. They're some wonderful place between leathery and soft. Just a little peck at first with a hint of moisture. Nothing too fast, all in good time.

He strokes your cheek gently with his thumb as you move back in for more. Even as you show your impatience he's still as paced and relaxed as ever. Just the feel of his rough thumb moving up and down sends tingling across your skin. Lips meet again with a series of short pecks growing stronger and firmer. And you know that he'll get around to whatever it is you wanted right when the time's right. That's why you let him take his time. Engineer knows just what he's doing.

His hands are the best. His fingers are rough, strong and calloused but his palms are worn soft. So soft and gentle. And he's got such fine control. His motions are fine and precise, his touches gentle, warm and in just all the right places. He slides a palm up and down your side, warm and a welcome contrast to his rough, work-worn fingertips. His head tilts and his mouth presses against yours. His mouth is so wide and his stubble brushes against the side of your face as his lips work a slow spell, tracing from the corners to the center. A slight sound escapes him. "Mm."

That slight sound, that primal echo rumbling out from him. It lasts only a moment but it makes your mouth go dry and lights a fire to your hunger. He opens his mouth slightly as he works in dizzying but deft motions. His taste is heady and rich - a slightly sweet malt with a bitter aftertaste mixed with a hint of barbecue smoke.

You slide your arms around his bowed shoulders. If at all possible even in your wildest dreams you want to be closer to him. As his lips trace circles of delight one of his strong arms slides beneath you. He holds you closer. Just right. Twisting slightly your bodies seem to become interlocked. Breaths come in rhythm as one. Engineer breaks the kiss at its' apex to look down at you. Even through the goggles you can tell the look - filled with a steady love. You know this is a man you can rely on as he smiles down at you. His free hand traces down to your hip as you move towards him again. This time bolder. His lips are strong but tempered. His tongue is thick and hot. No alcohol could ever match the intoxicating pulse coming from Engineer.

The very tip of his tongue traces over your lips. Another pause. In a low drawl he whispers, "We grillin' tonight." This time it's him that's moving in, exploring the entry of your mouth like a gentleman. Bold but not forceful. Moving to match him you feel the rough texture of his tongue against yours. Even with your mouth full of Texan you mutter his name. "Engie..." He responds with a gentle squeeze as he turns his head slightly, working in with greater strength. His hand traces in waves downwards to massage your hip. It almost feels like his big workman's hand is wrapping right around you. His fingers slide under the edge of your shirt and he breaks the kiss for only as short a time as he needs to skillfully pull off your shirt. Who needed that shirt anymore? Not you. Goodbye shirt, hello again Engineer.

Slowly you become aware that the kiss had become something much more active. Engineer's movement had started from his neck but it had soon spread down. Both bodies pressed against each other rocking back and forth in unison. Warmth begins to give way to heat and sweat.

Your arm slides away from his shoulder - now rippling with motion. Your fingers fumble at the button of his cover-alls, tugging at the hook. His hand meets yours, stroking your knuckles gently again. Guiding your hand he helps you as you unlatch the straps. Your hands return to his broad shoulders and begin to side down his back, slipping the cover-alls off. Engineer arches his back and the front panel of his cover-alls drops away revealing the bulging muscles stretching the fabric of his shirt. A gentle shudder passes over him as your hands linger at the small of his back. Looking down he grins while stroking your arm as your fingers trace lower and begin tugging up at his shirt-tails.

"Eager, ain't we?" He gently chides as you begin to wrestle his shirt off. You both slide upwards as he helps to pull the shirt up and off. As it hits the floor you both lie back down. Skin against skin. His chest hair is soft and just a little bit ticklish - less so than his stubble. So warm and close.

His arms wrap around you. The smooth skin of his biceps whisper across your upper arms as the strong muscles below press into you and hold you tightly. Completely encircled you can feel his muscles relax and it feels like you're sinking into a heavenly pillow made just made for you. His head bends down and he begins to nuzzle your neck. His stubble tracing rough sparks of excitement along your throat and his goggles gently tapping your cheek. Suddenly fingers dance at your side making you giggle and squirm. "Eehe! Stop it, you!"

A chuckle rumbles out from Engineer's core as he continues to snuggle, rubbing his jaw along your throat as he traces gentle kisses. The tickle is replaced by an exploring hand that finds the top of your pants. Engineer sticks a finger under the waistband and slides it along until it reaches the top button.

"Y'thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Engineer asks, even though he doesn't need to. He already knows. You nod, managing a dreamy "Mm-hmm". With a snap of his fingers he undoes the top button of your pants. With a steady hand he slowly pulls down the zipper. Agonizingly.

He leans up and plants a slight kiss at the corner of your mouth. He gives you time to adjust before proceeding. Even though your mouth is hanging open slightly and your breath quick his kind manner is slowing everything down to a casual pace. He gets up on his knees and straddling you, he begins to slide down your pants. Watching him work you can see the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. Down- down--

Off goes one pant leg then the other. There's a slight hint of concentration on Engineer's face as he tosses aside the pants and leans back over you, holding himself above you like a well toned arch. His stomach muscles stand out even more when he's leaned over like that. That navel again- And below it--

You can't resist and reach out a hand tugging at the folded-over cloth of his overalls. The top of a pair of red and white striped boxers peeks out. Your heart feels like it's jumped up into your stomach as your fingers curl around the top of his boxers. There's nothing more you'd like than to tear down those boxers and satisfy your curiosity. A soft tap on the back of your hand stops you. Engineer waves a finger at you and rests your hand on your stomach. He places his hands on his sides and begins siding them down. His hands push down his overalls and his underwear revealing his penis and his hard-muscled thighs.

You stare in awe at it. Engineer himself was a tall, stocky, well-built man. His little dispenser was impressively thick and hung slightly to the left. The base fed into a thick forest of wiry pubic hair that spanned over his taught groin. You noticed his penis wasn't just hanging anymore. Now that Engineer was exposed it was quickly coming to life. A blush spread across Engineer's face. A smile curled across your lips. "Now who's eager?"

Sliding away from him slightly you take more of him in as you tug off your underwear. Engineer was looking down and away slightly but he didn't look at all unhappy or uncomfortable. Maybe he was getting a bit bashful? You couldn't help but look between his blushing face and his mounting erection. His testicles came into better view as they became less visually obstructed. ...Well would take a big pair to go running out into the field of battle with just a wrench and a shotgun. That pretty much summed up Engineer right there. As you tossed away your underwear you got to your knees to meet him in an embrace. Now free of any obstructions you pressed against the hardhat. You could feel all of him against you. His heat, his sweat, and now his hardness.

His big hands gripped at your shoulders. For a few moments you stared into his eyes. His stare back was intense. His jaw was angled in a serious line. He opened his mouth and very, very softly but deliberately whispered, "I love you. So very much." You felt a flush rush across your face as you smothered his mouth in kisses. The kisses became fiercer and you vaguely noticed he was grinding into you ever so lightly.

"Engie, you're so hard." You sigh as the head of Engineer's penis rubs up and down across your stomach. He leans his face into the space between your throat and your shoulder as he muffles a short moan. Rub. Rub. Rub. The sensation drives you crazy - everything in you begging for more of that sweet thick dispenser. Both you and Engineer speak at the same time, your words blending together, "Take m-want you."

You both blink at each other for a moment then laugh a bit shyly. "So I guess.." You trail off, blushing. "Yep." Well, that was settled. Engineer begins sealing the unspoken deal by tracing kisses across your collarbone then moving down. You squirm a little bit trying to hold back tears of laughter. As Engineer reaches the center of your chest he suddenly reaches up and presses your breasts inwards just lightly enough that they press against his scratchy cheeks. Then he chuckles as he shakes his face back and forth. "EEEHAHAHA! That tickles!" You fall on to your back giggling like crazy. Engineer leans over you, observing his handiwork and grinning. "C'mere you!" You throw your arms around his neck and pull him down into a passionate kiss.

Engineer's hands probe busily while you keep his manly tongue occupied. His hands trace the outer edge of your breasts as he uses his palms to kead them. He applies a soft touch, but the state he's in is catching. You rub your thighs together to try and quiet the growing arousal. That just draws Engineer's attention.

Finishing off the kiss Engineer turns looking downwards at your twisting hips. He reaches down setting a big warm hand on one hip, thumb hitched into the top of your underwear. He looks up at you waiting for the go-ahead. You shyly nod. He begins sliding down your underwear with his big fingers. The panties fall to the floor in a small heap. Now it's Engineer's turn to stare.

A slightly awkward silence as Engineer takes in the view. He begins to gently stroke your outer thighs, careful not to go too far too quickly. "Mm." You begin to make little noises as Engineer's hands slowly moved inwards. As he reaches your inner thighs he begins gently spreading your legs with each stroke. He watches your expression even more carefully than he watches a sentry go up. His rough touch against your soft skin just makes you want more. His hands slide between your legs and you feel the slight shock and pleasure as one of his fingertips brushes against your clitoris.

Engineer begins rubbing gently, managing to spread some of the wetness that had already resulted from the earlier fooling around. You begin rocking into his strong hand as he gently teases your clitoris. The pressure increases illiciting a series of cries from you. "Ah! Ah! AHH!" You look up at Engineer and it seems you're not the only one affected by this. His breathing has quickened and he looks redder than ever. His fingers slide down a little further and he tests sliding his index finger inside. You're immediately aware of just how big Engineer's fingers are. It doesn't hurt but it's certainly an experience. As you get used to his finger it starts to feel good. Then he tries moving the finger in and out just a little. Oh god.

"Nnf" Engineer moves the finger a little deeper and deeper still. Oh god it's fantastic. He pulls the finger out and very slowly tries inserting two fingers. It hurts a bit this time as you stretch to accommodate two of his great big fingers. Though from what you could see you'd need it in preparation for something even bigger. Engineer is surprisingly methodical and patient as he proceedes to wait and work in slowly. Once he gets both fingers in he moves them around gently. You grind your hips against his great big hand. He slides his fingers back out and climbs between your legs. He'd been patient, an absolute gentleman. You were ready and he was well beyond ready. Now was the right time.

He lifts you into a better position and guides your legs around him. It was amazing he was so co-ordinated considering how hot and heavy he was breathing. One hand steadies him while the other aims his dick. He presses forward slowly. At first just the head of his penis comes in contact with your vagina. It's incredibly hot and just a little wet. After lingering for a few moments he moves forward pushing himself inside. Oh god oh god oh god he was huge. It hurt a little bit but- HUGE. Engineer lets out a moan "That's tight!" His hips slide backwards and you can feel his penis slowly sliding out. Then he rocks his hips forward and you're completely full again. It was a sweet, satisfying feeling as he begins to move. He catches one of your hands and interlocks fingers as his hips buck. Then he reached it and started hitting that spot inside. You began to call his name, sighing and moaning. "Engie... Engie. Oh! ENGIE!"

On top of the sensation of his big, thick dispenser hitting just the right spot was the friction his body was producing. His muscles ripple as he moves. His chest hair scratches and tickles. Body heat spreads out and sweat collects. Your toes curl and you bite your lip as he plows into you. It was a heady combination that makes you cry out. "Harder Engie!" His hips begin moving faster and harder and a gravelly groan escapes the back of his throat at every breath. You barely even notice the dirty wet sounds or the sensation of your body being lifted up at the apex of each thrust. Your world is Engineer. As you look up into his strained face glittering with exertion your heart strains. Behind that black glass he's looking right back at you and you know for him there is nothing and nobody else in the world. "What.. a man-" You barely manage to sigh between ragged breaths. You feel the tension within you rise and you squeeze his hand still interlocked with yours. His mouth opens slightly and his lips move, a question hanging there that had been interrupted by a moan.

Cranning your neck upwards you whisper in his ear, "Come inside." Engineer squeezes your hand back. You wrap your legs tightly around him as he continues his pumping. By this point your voice is raised to high cries of pleasure as you feel yourself getting closer. "E- ENGINEER!" Your eyes close for a breif moment as the orgasam hits you. Sensation spreads all the way to the tips of your toes as you let yourself go. Your whole body shakes as Engineer cries "GOIN' UP!" - a hot sensation spreads inside you in short bursts as he comes. Engineer loweres himself onto his elbows, his breath slowing and sweat dripping off him. Your thigh rubs up against his hip as another smaller orgasam follows up the first. "Haa- haa. How was it?" Engineer asks softly as he catches his breath, a hint of eagerness in his voice. You reach up and stroke the side of his face. "Oh Engie, it was perfection."

Did I mention that I love this thread?

Found another -class/you- in amongst my things. To whomever the author of the medic/you/medigun fic, reposting it here if it hasn't already been reposted elsewhere.
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Your stay with Builder’s League has been relativity uneventful besides the assigned work on your docket. You were hired by BLU and shipped out to a supply station base called ‘Well’ to tune up their automatic train systems. According to what you were told; their rival company, Reliable Excavation Division, is vying for the same land and train lines...hence all the noise you hear during the day as hired mercenaries protect what is rightfully BLU’s.

Your tour was nearly over…working in the quiet afternoons while the mercenaries were in their respective bases. Everything was fine; that is until you slipped and bashed your arm on a broken guard rail.

You were told not to interact with the private ‘army’, but you don’t trust the gash along your forearm. You tried to dress the wound yourself but that rail was rusty, you could get an infection. You know there is a team medic; what harm could it do to run in and ask for a quick healing? Both of you work for the same company, after all.

*Knock Knock*

You tentatively rap on the steel infirmary doors. It’s just become dark outside; most of the other mercenaries are asleep or in their quarters.

“Hallo, Wer ist das?” You hear an inquisitive German accent respond, like it is beckoning you to come in.

You open the large doors and peer inside. Sitting at his desk is a sharp looking older man with strong cheekbones. He grins curiously at you as he glances up from what looks like paperwork, “Mmmm? Who are you?” He asks, though he can see the BLU company logo on your uniform.

You don’t give your name but you tell him who you are, and that you are sorry for intruding.

“Nein, kein problem!” The medic waves a hand and comes out from behind his desk, his light blue lab coat is given a flourish as he gets up so it does not catch on the chair, “You vhork for BLU, zhat means I am dein medic as vell, ja?”

You nod and pull back your sleeve, showing the wound dressing you did on yourself.

“Vas happened?” He asks, his hands coming up like they want to check your injury, perhaps a bit too eagerly. You hold your arm out for him, and explain about the rusty sharply broken railing. He feels over the wrapped bandage, scrutinizing as you talk, like he isn’t too pleased with what he sees. Dried blood can be seen where it just barely seeped through the white bandages.

You take notice of the gloves he is wearing as he delicately touches you. They are the same blue color and size of the ones you have seen him wearing on the battlefield…but they seem to be a fancy ‘off duty’ version. The gloves are instead made of fine soft suede leather; it’s like butter on your skin as he feels up to the unwrapped part of your exposed wrist.

“Wollen Sie nicht Platz nehmen?,” The medic waves his hand invitingly to an examination table as he pulls away from you and dances over to the supply cabinet. You assume he means to sit down on it, but you hesitate a bit in uncertainty. You sit anyway, and the German looks pleased as he returns, his jackboots making a clear sound against the concrete floor.

There is now a Medigun clipped to his belt, the hose curling around to his backpack which is held by thick suspenders. He must be of good strength to carry the unit around with such ease, despite his obvious older age, made apparent by his graying temples. However, he looks quite distinguished, and you are a little surprised by how attractive it looks on him…or perhaps you are surprised how much you find HIM attractive. He has a charmingly confident and slightly treacherous air about him that you can’t ignore.

“I could feel how varm zie vound vas. If you haff an infection ve must clean und disinfect it befoah I heal it vith zie Medigun.” The medic explains as he puts down a small tray of supplies.

He stands before you and pulls up on each finger of the perfectly fitting suede gloves. They must be custom made, their seams are so delicate. The man gives a pleased sigh as he slowly pulls each glove off. You watch intently. Moments after, fresh, form fitting nitrile blues are snapped on. You only get a glimpse of his bare fingers, but he indeed lives up to the stereotype of ‘doctor’s hands’, they look pristinely kept.

“Let’s haff a look, ja?” He singsongs in an attempted restrained fashion; like he can’t wait to see the wound, but is trying to hide his enthusiasm

The medic unwraps the bandage with a wide, thin smile, like you are an amusing present. He grips your arm, turning the soft underbelly upwards to inspect the wound. He runs two fingers gently down your flesh, straddling the gash. The medical gloves are still dusted with their factory talcum powder; they smoothly glide over your skin.

“You got yourself gute, nicht wahr?” He chuckles.

The older German continues to feel over your arm, all the way down over your wrist, palm, and finger tips. He has a skilled touch, and his inspection feels rather nice, tingly even. It is easing the dull remaining throbbing of the wound as he goes up and down your skin. You don’t protest at his swirling hands, using his finger pads on the down stroke, and the backs on the up stroke. You can feel his nails through the thin nitrile gloves.

He pauses for a moment and you look up at him, as if silently asking why he stopped. A toothy grin crosses his face as he gives you a momentary look like you are guilty of something.

“It iz a little infected…A quick cleaning und zhen I kann Medigun it for you.” He says professionally, but his eyes tell another story.

He gets a warm cloth and washes over the gash. Why must he go so slowly, so purposefully? You begin to feel like he is thoroughly enjoying this. He sees you biting your lip, the wound stings as it’s cleaned out to make way for the topical antibiotic. “Does zhat sting?” He says in a tender, but somehow dangerous tone. The medic strokes a hand up under your chin, like he’s soothing you against the pain.

You can’t help but whimper. How he uses his hands…he is doing something to you. He has to be taking pleasure in getting to touch your exposed, damaged flesh, and making you quiver with every slow stroke. You can feel it through his finger tips and you are falling right into his grasp.

The medic must be able to feel your rising heart beat through your wrist. He strokes your cheek, still cooing to you like you must be suffering as he finishes cleaning the oozing gash.

He picks up the tube of antibiotic, and squeezes a dollop onto his fingertips. He can’t hold back a sigh as he slicks it between his thumb and forefinger before he smoothes the crème onto your flesh. You watch, and he sees in your eyes that you are hungry for more...but don’t want to admit it. He doesn’t miss a beat as he comes in close, as if inspecting how your arm is doing, but he instead slips your index finger between his lips.

The medic sighs against you, furrowing up those lovely eyebrows as he does not stop smoothing his lubed fingers over your arm. He gives your finger multiple tongue backed sucks, like he is enjoying methodically sucking on your digit. He supports your palm with his free hand, using it as an aid as he bobs up and down on you.

All too soon the German slides off you with a soft moan, standing up straight with a wry grin as he trails his other hand off your wound. “Zhat should be gute,” He looks down at his slightly greasy glove where the antibiotic residue sits, his expression reading ‘oh my I’ve made quite a mess...’

The medic rolls off the dirty glove, leaving his right hand exposed to you. You lick your lips and flex your injured arm. You can feel his saliva cooling on your fingers. You press your legs together, guilty of the burning arousal welling up there.

The cool feeling does not last long as the medic soon brings up his Medigun, “Zhat should heal up nicely now,” He says lowly, taking his time as he pets his bare hand over the large top handle of the gently humming device. He can see you wavering, he must know. Instead of opening the healing gun’s valve onto you, he leans in close, and slips his left hand over your thigh, the nitrile blue fingertips slowly making their way to within inches of your groin.

You involuntarily gasp softly and loosen. He takes the opening and nudges the gun barrel between your knees. It splits you like a wedge, making its way up your thighs until the warm mouth is hovering over your crotch as close as it can come for its width. You lean back to accommodate it, you know if you spread yourself wider...it can nestle over you, but you are reeling, and unsure.

“Was willst du?” He whispers huskily in your ear, right before he nibbles on it. The BLU doctor is fully in control now. You whimper under his fingers as they caress up from your thighs to your chest. The gun is held firmly in place by your clenched thighs and his body pressing towards you. With how he is nudging towards you, it’s like the gun wants to go further, and nestle its glowing mouth over your groin.

He forwardly pushes up your shirt, using his gloved hand to flick over your nipples, pinching just enough to make you squirm. His bare hand is like silk over your skin despite its masculine appearance, and it trails right up to your face. The medic pets over your lips, dragging his finger over the moist inner rim as you part them loosely. He starts to nudge inside you with an exploring but dominant index finger.

“AAHHhhh!” The doctor bites his lip and moans out deeply, throwing his head back as you start to suck on him. “Sehr gute!”

He groans against your tongue work, but even as he reels he keeps in control, bobbing his hand against you and adding a second finger as you get his skin moistened. He face fucks you with a steady, slow, pulsing motion, softly moaning all the while. The sounds he is making are driving you crazy. You might as well be sucking him off proper with your face between his legs, with how he is reacting and swaying with you.

Suddenly, the medic jumps up onto the examination table, pressing your back to the steel surface. You yelp in surprise but it is muffled by his hand still in your mouth. The gun comes with you, and you open wider for him as he straddles the gently vibrating Medigun. The bottom handle is off the edge of the table end, so it can still sit flat against you and the steel table. Thankfully, the table is bolted to the floor, or it might toppled over with both your weights at its far end.

He removes his wet fingers from your mouth, and you are able to gasp fully as he laughs in enjoyment. You feel a rubber-skinned hand trail down between your quivering legs.

“You vant mehr...?” He smirks.

“Mehr...?” You ask.

“More...” He translates then continues, “Beg for me... ‘Bitte Herr Doktor’...”

You writhe as he pleasures you, unzipping your pants to get better access. He moves the gun just long enough so he can strip you of the troublesome garments. That warm mechanical mouth is pressed into your bare flesh now, as well as the cooler metal of the table. As he leans in he pulls on the top handle with a bent back arm, causing just a small stream of blue vapor to leak from it. It tingles against your crotch; it feels incredible!

“B...bitte! Bitte Herr!” You finally wail. You need more!

You notice now he has unzipped his own pants. His erection is pressed against the top barrel of the gun, his ass nestled in front of the large top handle. He hisses as he teabags the device as well; it tingles against his groin. The wily old German leans over your half undressed body, and caresses up your skin with those talented hands. You moan and he offers you his fingers again. You hungrily take them, licking between every digit webbing and up every fleshy pad.

“AAHHggnn! Gute!” He praises, rocking against the top of the gun, which in turn rocks the Medigun right into your burning crotch. You open a little wider each thrust, until the tingling Medigun is firmly over you like a needy lover. Your legs are spread as wide as they can go.

You grip up around him with your arms for support and writhe your palms into him. Your hands are ensnared momentarily by the aroused German as he takes pleasure in your anatomy; he graces them with wet kisses and hearty licks, over your pulsing veins and twitching tendons.

Once he releases you, his free hand dances over your flesh, teasing at your erect nipples. He growls as he starts to lick over your pulsing carotid neck artery, which he exposes by pushing your head back with the hand you are pleasuring. His hip thrusts strengthen in speed and intensity; the front edge of the lower Medigun handle rams against the table edge. He babbles various German into your ears with a husky tone. He must be as on edge as you are, rimming release so precariously.

The BLU medic opens the Medigun valve fully now, causing a swirling outpouring of vapor to explode against you.

Your throbbing arm seals over, the skin stitching together as you are healed. You don’t take much notice; you are too busy crying out into his trembling fingers as your body explodes in orgasm. You feel the medic cry out as he spills his seed over your stomach and the barrel of his Medigun.

...

You’re still trembling as he cleans you both up. The medic looks quite pleased with himself as he puts away his Medigun and washes his lovely hands so he may put his usual gloves back on.

“See? Healed up Schön like I said, ja?”

>>34

On one hand, I'm mad that I didn't think of this. On the other hand, I'm glad SOMEBODY did. I love some perverted Medic and creative mis-use of equipment.

You'd Best Keep Lyin' Down (written by Red Nurse)

My hands are tied together above me; my feet are tied together below. I can see him pacing a little ways away from me. It is dark in here; we are in some sort of enclosed space, perhaps a van. It is night outside, I know this.

My shirt is unbuttoned, and I am not wearing a bra. My breasts are exposed to the air. The temperature is stale, humid. I am tied to a wooden table. He paces.

Finally, he turns to look at me. Fully dressed, his hat tipped slightly back, sunglasses, a tidy vest. A very impressive getup. The walls are lined with weapons, mostly rifles, some swords...I am paralyzed with fear.

He walks closer to me as I stare up at him helplessly. What can I do? I struggle, but I am tied firmly. He smirks, sliding a finger down my face.

"Ain't ya a beauty, Sheila?" he says quietly, looking right at me. I struggle again, but I am too nervous to say anything. He moves up and around to my feet, and I watch his every move. Slowly, slowly, he climbs on top of me.

This is where my adrenaline takes the best of me. I speak, "W-what are you doing?" But he puts his hand over my mouth, and my eyes simply widen more.

"Ya best not overwork yourself, Sheila…you're gonna need your energy for this one." He orders me. He has a strong, rough voice, a recognizably Australian accent.

He slowly pulls his hand away from my mouth, and before I can even scream his lips lock against mine. He forces his tongue into my mouth, and I let him, whimpering. One of his hands moves to my breasts and toys with one of my nipples, and, in spite of myself, I become aroused. I am so ashamed.

Slowly, he kisses down my face, to my neck, and focuses there for a moment. I shout slightly, cry, and close my eyes. "I can't tell ya how excited I am to stick it in ya, Sheila…" He tells me as he moves lower and lowers down to my breasts. He pulls and squeezes them harshly, and I cry out. "Don't botha. No one can hear ya out here."

"That hurts! Please, stop!" I beg, but he ignores. He sucks on one of my nipples while squeezing the other breast, and I moan against my practical thinking, my girlhood dripping between my constricted legs.

"It's only gonna get worse, Sheila…might as well just shut up an lemme do this…" he lifts himself up and off of me, and begins to take of his vest and unbutton his shirt. I watch him in anguish, and my eyes travel down to his crotch…he is aroused. My stomach feels as though it has fallen.

"Please, don't!" I struggle against my bondage, but still to no avail. "I'll do anything, just, please, don't do this to me!" I beg, I plead, and he nods ever so slightly.

"Lemme see…" he steps away slightly, looking around our enclosed space, up on counters and through cupboards. "Ah hah." He pulls something out, and turns around so that I may see it. It is a medium sized jar, filled with yellow liquid. I blink, and he walks closer to me. "I promise I'll go easier on ya…if ya do this for me. Ya can either drink it, or…take a showa."

I widen my eyes in horror, but seriously consider this. I really, really do not want to drink…whatever it is. So, slowly, shaking in my bondage, I swallow and say, "I…y-you…pour it on me." I close my eyes tightly. He grins on the side of his mouth, and I shudder. He walks towards me, unscrews the lid, and pours it over my head and onto my breasts, dripping down over my hard nipples, dripping down and wetting my pants.

It is warm. It smells. It is piss. My fallen stomach churns.

"Oh look," he chuckles sadistically, "you're all wet. Might as well getcha outta those wet clothes, Sheila." I squirm again and again as he moves towards me, undoing the button on my shorts and pulling them down to my bound ankles. He left my panties on, and I quiver.

He pressed one of his long fingers on me and begins to stroke my, now very wet, girlhood through my panties. I shake, getting more and more aroused, but more and more upset at myself. His chucking is becoming hypnotic. I feel myself fading as he pulls down my panties to where my shorts are.

"I ain't done yet, Sheila…get ready." I feel very cold as I watch him unbutton and unzip his pants and pull out his manhood. It is a little above average size, and incredibly engorged. It feels as though I do not even have a stomach anymore; I am a virgin.

He gets much closer to me, until he is on top of me again, and parts my legs as much as he can against their binding, spreading me eagle. He takes a hold of his manhood and searches about with it in the dim lighting for the dripping hole of my girlhood, until he finds it and slips it in.

"Mmm, beautiful…" he moans, and I look up at him in horror. It is breaking pushing against the inner walls of my girlhood, until it reaches the most delicate point. "Ohh, a virgin, eh? Even betta. I promised I'd go easy on ya…" and, albeit slowly, he pushes through, and I feel it break. I cry out, struggle.

"I don't want this anymore! Please stop! It hurts so much! Please!" I cry things of this sort, and he increases his tempo of thrusting.

"Ah ah, no complainin." He says between moans, pressing harder and harder, faster and faster into me. "Mmm, Sheila, ya feel so damn good and tight…I reckon you're gonna get real used to lookin up at me." He continues to pound into me, his moans getting more and more intense as my squirms and squeaks match them. My whole body being forced by the movement, the sticky, warmth of the piss still dripping over me, mixing with sweat; my sweat from trauma, his from ecstasy.

He leans over me, kissing, biting, and licking my face and neck as he trusts into me. I struggle against the bindings on my hands, and find a loose point, which I work on against the force of being penetrated. Finally, I get my hands loose, and attempt to push him off of me, but to no avail. He is too strong, too focused. I grip onto the shirt on his back.

"Not gonna happen…mmm…" He is moaning, and tears begin to mix with the piss on my face. He is moving faster and faster, pounding into me. It hurts, but there is really nothing I can do. "You're bleedin…makin it even smootha for me…" His moans are becoming congested grunts. I look away, but every time I find myself looking back to his face.

"No! No, no, no! Stop!" I cry and whimper.

"Your pussy feels real great on my dingo," he sort of moans, sort of laughs, "bet my yella smells real bad, don't it?" He stares at me, before arching his head up and back. "Mmm…that's right…right there…real good, now…ohh-gahh…" he pauses sharply, and I feel a warm, fierce rush into my girlhood. He moans out loud, and I cry at the terrible sensation. He slows down, and then stops, still inside me.

One more sharp noise as he pulls out of me. He leans over me, breathing heavily, and I am panting below him. My arms, free, loosen from his shirt, and simply fall to my sides, and down. After a moment, he shifts really close to my face, his lips close to my ear, and whispers, "You just lost, Sheila."

Red Nurse... How... How did I not read this before?! It's... It's.... BEAUTIFUL! FANTISICO! Words cannot explain the awesomeness of this 'chan, and you my friend (and of coure, the person who posted, who-ever you are) just made this chan even more wonderful!

"Dripping girlhood"?

Jesus H. Kay-rist, this is the kind of stuff that stops me reading straight porn.

IT'S HER VAGINA. Her pussy, her cunt, her snatch, her twat! We are writing goddamn porn here, you're allowed to be fucking vulgar! You're writing piss play! Why can't you bring yourself to use a good old-fashioned English word like "cunt"?

yeah she uses girlhood a few times. Usually I copy and paste it into a word document and make changes to the writing.

Would it be okay to post an adult fanfic with corrections/word changes that you made as long as you still gave credit to the author?

>>38
That's what I was thinking. I mean, honestly. It reminds me how Monica from friends used to call it her 'flower'.

The story touches on a fetish that I'm not keen on sexually but still would like to see more of in smutty Sniper fics. Mostly because the dude does keep piss in a jar! There's gotta be some sort of underlying golden showers fetish going on there.

>>39

Why would you want to do that? If you're not seeing the porn you want to read, then just write your own! Don't do the work and let others take the credit.

A friend pointed out to me that my earlier post (38) could discourage new writers, which isn't what I want to do. (I posted before I'd had my coffee, though the sentiment about the appropriate use of vulgarity holds). I really want to see more people writing more stuff! If you really think that your strengths lie with helping others improve their stuff, then maybe go in /workshop and offer to beta-read others' things before they post.

It's not that I don't like what I'm reading,I totally enjoyed the sex scene that Red Nurse wrote! It's just changing words such as girlhood/manhood to a word that someone would actually use.
I will definitely look into beta-reading, thank you for the advice!

>>38
>>39
>>40
>>42

See, I disagree on all points. I like the lack of vulgarity in the first person in this one. It's consistent with the stated virginity (and implied youth/inexperience) of the subject, the horror at being violated and not wanting to think about what's happening in bleak, clinical, or above all PERSONAL terms.

It's not an authorial reluctance, as evidenced by Snipes' "Your pussy etc.", it's the character's.

LOLANALYSISOFPORN

>>36
Most everything about this fic screams inexperienced writer. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but I encourage any new writers to run their work past a beta before publishing it. No way to improve if you aren't willing to look for concrit!

That being said, I love this thread and the gratuitous amounts of fantastic Medic/You that's been written before. I'd just really like to see a Sniper/You fic that doesn't pin him as a creepy rapist for a change.

>>26
It's a mite big for a repost, would anyone mind if I just left a link or should I copypasta to the thread...?

>>44
Yeah, me too. I want some good old fashioned Sniper/You. There's only one other that I've read that Sniper isn't a creepy rapist but then the character gets revenged raped by Spy? And that was just...urgh. Y U DO DIS FANFIC WRITERS?

Sorry, Doublepost but reposting a rather lovely Solly/You from the kink meme that I found and saved. Author Anon.
--------------------------------

The song on the radio is old, one your parents sang around you when you were younger; and he catches your quick smile of nostalgia, because somehow despite that helmet he never misses /anything/, and he asks you if you know how to dance.

You don't know.

He stands up, poker-straight, and holds out his elbow and you have no choice but to take it, really, kicking a chair out of the way as you go.

It's just the two of you alone in the break room with a radio and one of the cats that infest the complex sleeping on the counter next to the coffee machine. It's dark outside, sunset maybe, you're not quite sure - anyway, the only lightsources are the bare flourescent bulb overhead and a lamp by the ratty couch illuminating the end table with it stacks of ratty magazines (gun catalogues and Reader's Digest, which nobody reads). You wrap your arms around his neck, shyly, because you're not sure about touching a man you've watched decapitate people with a spade, but he chuckles and rests his hands around your waist.

He leads (of course). You think it's a waltz, but aren't sure, so you have to watch him to figure out where to go at first. It's a slower song and you begin to sway despite yourself.

He grins at your obvious inexperience (he has a lot of teeth and they are very white). You apologize, it's been a while, and he tells you that it's like riding a bike, you never forget.

You say, "Apparently I did."

He says, "It'll come back."

You say, "I hope so."

He laughs to himself, inside his mouth, hmm-hmm, and you wonder where he learned to dance because he's /good/ and you weren't expecting that at all. His movements are practiced and controlled and oddly fluid but he's giving you room to watch and follow. You dimly remember years back, doing this with - someone else, not really paying attention. You wish you had, now. It'd be nice to be able to challenge.

"See, you're getting the hang of it."

"Dancing's not really my thing."

"/That/ sounds like an /excuse/, private."

You smile, then, "Maybe."

He dips you and you squeak which is not very dignified and he knows because he's grinning like a fucking cat that's found the cream. When you right yourself, puffing a little /only/ because you were surprised, you find yourself being held a little bit closer. Odd.

He's in a curious mood this evening. He's not as scary at times like this, off-duty, off the battlefield where bloodlust seizes him and makes him spastic and schizophrenic; he's actually being, could it be, nice. Well - nice for him, which means, at least, not as abrasive as usual. He's humming along with the radio.

You try to catch his eye under the helmet and resort to tipping it back (which coincidentally forces you to pull closer to him, against his jacket, up close where you can smell aftershave and paper and paint). He frowns, briefly - it's his personal space and you didn't ask permission - then raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"What do you do under there all the time?"

"My own business."

"Hmm."

"Eh, it's nothing you have to worry about."

"I hope not, but I can't always tell."

He laughs again. You tuck your head underneath his chin and hear his breath hitch for /just/ a second. Hah. Bet he didn't see that one coming.

The song dies down, replaced by the low velvety murmer of the station's announcer, and the two of you are left there swaying gently, silent. He buries his nose in your hair and makes a soft sound in the back of his throat.

You think for a moment, held there with your ear to his heartbeat, but it doesn't take much deliberation. You press your lips against his throat, a pulse underneath the stubble, and when you pull back he traces his nose down your cheek, and you hang for a moment, sudden doubt, uncertainty. You feel him smile an inch from your mouth, and fuck it.

He's not breathing when you kiss him and he doesn't seem to remember that he needs to.

He pulls you up, a hand above your waist, a hand below it, giving you a better angle. You pull the helmet off, a quick glance over to make sure it lands on the couch - too much noise might alert the rest of the base - well who cares, you're being kissed.

It started off gentle, sort of bumping mouths, but gentle isn't his style and you know it and make him fight. His tongue is in your mouth, warm and solid, you're not sure if your feet are touching the floor. They're not; he's scooping you up, and you lose contact for a few seconds, both of you breathing heavy, you grab the lapels of his jacket as he tosses you back onto the couch and you drag him down with you and start all over again.

Jacket's off, he can't get out of it fast enough, and then you grab his dogtags, reach around his back to untuck his wifebeater and undo his belt, tug his pants down and then grip his back again. (There's muscle moving under your fingers, sleek and taut, it's so good to handle a man after so long-) He's exploring up your thigh, tugging your underwear down but leaving your nylon stockings intact. You move a hand down to his ass and pull him forward, you can feel it, his forehead is pressed against yours, eyes on yours, and he's breathing heavily. You nip a kiss to the side of his mouth and whisper into his cheek bone, "come on, come on do it"

He kisses you again, growls gently against your lips - "is that an order?" - and you say "mhmm" and push his shoulder around till he's sprawled on the couch, wide-legged. You straddle his lap as you unbutton the front of your dress, meeting his half-lidded eyes and unable to stop yourself smirking in triumph at the reversal of roles. You wiggle a little, just for emphasis, and he makes an exasperated noise and pulls you into him with a hand at the back of your neck, kissing hard.

His free hand moves inside your dress, into your bra, cupping your breast; you grind against him, frustrated now, and bite his lip a little to make your point. He just grins, and presses your head into the crook of his neck so he can free a hand to push your skirt up over your hips.

"Patience," he murmers.

"God - d - just-" You shake your head, feverishly. "Do it."

"Do it, what?" There's something velvety and dangerous in his voice now.

"Please!"

He chuckles.

"Please, sir," you're begging.

"Mmm." A thumb moves across your nipple and you gasp. "Well, /iiin/ that case..."

You moan against his mouth, so wet already, grabbing his hips (brushing your fingers along his inguinal ligament) as he pulls his boxers down. His fingers are at your entrance, sliding inside once and then out and tracing, teasing you, and you make some kind of undignified noise that makes him kiss your neck. You rock forward on your hips to allow yourself some space, some breathing room. A brief glance down to make sure you're in the right place, and then you spread your legs a little wider and then you sink down and he draws a deep breath, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

It takes you a few seconds to adjust and you brace yourself against the back of the sofa for balance. But you need this, and he's licking his lips as though they're suddenly dry, so you begin to move.

He's so warm and thick and slick inside you and there's so much of him, more than enough, and you wonder why you waited so long to get to this part when it's so good. You're panting into the hollow of his neck, riding him for all you're worth, and his grip on you suggests his appreciation.

His hips are trying to help out but you bite his shoulder, lightly, just enough to get the message through. You're on top here, /dammit/, but he's getting the message, you see his wicked grin in the corner of your eye. It figures that a man like him would like it rough. You bite again, savage him a little, careful with your teeth, dig your nails into the sofa and try to leave a mark.

Your dress has slipped down your shoulders and your hair is a mess, you're absolutely certain of that. You find yourself not really caring. He's rubbing against that place inside you that's turning your legs to jelly and your head to something else altogether and his hands are warm, calloused, one at your waist and one ghosting up your back.

You can't stop the sounds you're making, you can't, and you shift your arms to circle around his neck, grabbing his dogtags, watching his muscles move under his thin cotton undershirt as he arches up into you. Your nails leave bright half-moons on his skin. There's beads of sweat on his forehead, on the exposed parts of his arms and chest, probably on yours as well - he's getting red-faced which means he's probably close, a thought solidified by the urgent way he curls an arm under your shoulder. His breath is hot against your ear and you can feel his thighs bunching beneath yours and it smells like sex.

You step up the pace now and he blasphemes against the Lord. Your nerves are on fire, you're losing focus; you just want /more/, you're pretty sure he does too and you're both going to get what you want. But there's something else-

"What's your name?"

He blinks, meets your eyes (so blue, here in the dimness), unable to keep his voice level. "Hah, h- P-pardon?"

You bend closer.

"Tell me what I'm gonna scream."

He pulls your ear next to his mouth and tells you.

He's throbbing inside you now, buried to the hilt, so close. The world is slowly fading away and you're moving as one, rocking back and forth vaguely in time with the radio still on in the background. Your mouth is on his and he's got a hand tangled in your hair and you tighten around him, pushing it, let's see how long you can last /now/ and he grunts and grips you closer. Your limbs are tangled in or around his and that's fine, that's teamwork.

And then he's coming, straining up into you with a strangled cry. You ride it out, the fluids making your movements more slippery but it's so good and you're right there, you're /right there/ and you repeat his name like a mantra and he's stroking your swollen lips around the place where your bodies meet murmuring encouragement under his breath and you /can't/


You regain use of your senses and you've collapsed into him, your arms around his neck, your chest heaving against his. He pulls you off his dick, carefully, so you're sitting sideways on his lap. He lifts his hips briefly to tug his boxers back up, and then his pants. And then he nuzzles your hair and holds you, safe and securely his, and hums along with whatever song that is.

There's nothing inside your head, no problems, no ideas, nothing in the world you want. And you're perfectly fine with that. You curl up into his chest and all you can think is how you had no idea Soldier could dance.

>>46

UNF. WOW.

>>46

...

Christ, that was amazing.

"Your limbs are tangled in or around his and that's fine, that's teamwork."

Ugh! I love this!

Pale Scar (Medic and You)

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

When you wake up you can't quite remember why you were out in the first place. The first thing that comes back in the wave of sensory reflux is the pain. Your head is heavy, and there's a screaming ache like a thunderclap migraine that comes when you try to move, so you clench up tight and ride out the worst of it. It takes a while, seems like forever, but you regain some awareness though it all. Other sensations begin to present themselves to you as the pain in your head drifts into a low, throbbing hum.

You're lying flat on a table, a cold metal one, and your legs...shit, your legs hurt, too, and as you focalize your attentions to that fact, you realize that it's a ripping kind of pain, it feels like your legs are full of razors.

There are voices emerging from the fog. You make an effort to peel your eyes open against the greenish fluorescent light and look down, not moving your head, towards your feet. You expect to see your legs torn to ribbons. Instead you see bone, and quickly close your eyes again, adding nausea to the list of things you're not happy about. You listen to the voices, it sounds like someone is laughing at you. God, that sucks. You tell them to fuck off, but it might just be internal monologue. It's hard to tell what's going on.

Your tongue is thick, difficult to manage, but control of your voice inevitably returns, and it sounds ragged in your own ears. "Augh...wh-what happened?"

Cool hands are on your thighs, just above the knee. You try so hard not to think about your legs, but fear seizes you. The pain sears a hot, jagged line through your mind: was anything missing? It's foolish, but you find yourself begging feebly that there'd be no amputation. He senses it, and pats you lightly, as if you are a beast to be gentled.

"Didn't quite make zhat jump, I'm afraid."

It's the Medic. Of course it's the Medic. You're on his exam table.

"What?" You jerk your head up, a little too quickly, and you regret it immediately.

Your vision swims, and you grimace as the memory trickles back: the intel is on your back, you're legging it for home base. It feels natural to see the gap between buildings ahead of you and head right for it, even though you know there's a sheer drop between them. You gauge your trajectory, it's no big deal, you've done it before. You're chugging your way to the ledge, smirking. That is, until a concussion grenade goes off somewhere behind you and launches you prematurely into the atmosphere. There's a wall of heat behind you, sizzling, and you only have a few seconds to realize you weren't gonna make it, and then you were just falling, dead weight.

It's an embarrassment. Somebody had probably picked your lousy ass up and carried you to the infirmary. You hope you didn't scream or cry like a girl on the way down. You'd hate for your teammates to have to see such a spectacle.

"Don't vhorry," said the Medic, and his hands were gone from your body, causing you to open your eyes again to find him with his back turned, "I vhill haff you better in no time."

When he turns back around he's got a pair of medical shears in his hand. His face is mostly passive as he adjusts his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. It's a dignified nose, it suits him. You think to yourself that he has quite a handsome face. You take a second to thank god that there's a dedicated Medic on site, and that you didn't have to get sewn up by a big Russian or stapled back together by a beer-swilling Texan.

He comes towards you with the shears. "Hey, what're you doing?"

"Removing your pants," he said. "I need access to ze vhound."

Your eyes bulge open, but you watch him cut your pants off, until you see how bloody and mangled your legs are, and then you turn your head sharply to stare at the wall. You find yourself gripping your right wrist with your other hand, you suppose it hurts, too. You hiss in pain a little as the doctor maneuvers your limbs. You don't want to see what he's doing.

"Ach. I must reset ze bones, und zen I can heal you."

"Can't I get something for the pain, doc? It hurts."

Of course it hurt. He pauses what he's doing. Please, lord, you hope he gives you something. He goes away and in a few moments he comes back and takes your arm away from your clutches, making you twitch, jerking your hips and fucking up your legs, and you cry out in agony. You do your best not to yelp and whimper as wave after wave of gut wrenching dread fills you to the brim. Trying your damdest to pretend there aren't tears welling in the corners of your eyes, you feel like this unhappy event will go on forever.

"Mmn. Does zis hurt?" He moves your arm. From under your eyelids the whole world is dark, but full of savage, red misery. Instead of sobbing, you yell at him.

"Yes, god damn it!"

The Medic's brow arches at you, but he thumbs the inside of your elbow, finds a vein, and sticks you with a needle. He watches as your features slowly relax, the lines on your face lessening as the drug does its magic. The blades shredding your legs disappear as everything becomes melty and soft. This time you don't pass out so much as drift off into la-la land while the good doctor does his own magic. When you wake up for the second time, your breathing is much more even, and again, sensation creeps back within range slowly. You sit up on your elbows and look around, eyes bleary. The Medic is sitting at his desk, just a few feet away, his head down for a few seconds before he notices you. It smells like sanitizing chemicals and ozone and metal. He must have used the medigun on you. You check your legs. They're practically good as new.

He gets up and comes to your side. He takes out a pen light and flicks it back and forth before your eyes, and his face is like a stone as he processes you. He ends every visit this way. The Medic makes a note on a clipboard and takes a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope from a drawer. You sniff and watch him curiously as he inflates it on your arm.

"So," you begin, feeling awkward with the silence, trying for a bit of conversation with this acutely private man, "no long term damage?"

"Shh."

You purse your lips and wait for him to finish. He scribbles down a few more notes and sidles up next to the table. He gently pulls up your legs so that your knees are bent. The feel of his cool surgical gloves on your skin is...interesting, to say the least. Acknowledging that you've got no pants on makes you blush a little bit. He sees it, and chuckles lightly. His fingers move along the joints of your ankles, from tendon into muscle. His palm wraps around your calf and for an instant the movement of his hand around the sensitive skin of your knee seems insanely intimate, and sends shivers up your spine.

"You'll be back to capturing ze point in no time," he said, suddenly balling his hands, straightening, and stepping away.

"Doc."

He clears his throat. "Ja? Vhat is it?"

"Thanks." You shrug, to yourself, because he isn't looking, and try to ease the tension with a nervous quip, "What can I do to repay you?" It seems like people always say that, and it always sounds stupid, but you say it anyway.

The doctor turns only slightly and looks at you, and his his eyes flicker over you with an intensity you've never seen before. His mouth opens, but he thinks better of it, and he closes his mouth. You want to know what that is, what that look means, and so you endeavor forth. You slide your legs off the table and sit on the edge, swinging your feet out so that you can look at the light scars left behind by the medigun.

"I mean it," you say, lowering your voice and looking up at the Medic through your lashes.

The doctor's back is to you, he is a vision of white in his lab coat, but you can see that he is all hard angles and lines beneath it, his shoulders hunched a bit. "Zat is not necessary. You may go." His voice is a bit weary.

You feel brazen. He's very attractive, you've though so for a while, and you've got a soft spot for the stern quiet guy, so reserved, so refined in comparison with the others. He raises his hand and rubs his temple a few times, then rakes his fingers through his hair and presses his fingers into his neck, rolling his head forward. You lower yourself down from the table, bare feet ghosting over the frigid linoleum floor to stand just beside him. You put your hand on his arm, and you can feel muscle there, and can't help but squeeze it. You let your hand move upwards towards his shoulder, fingers exploring him through the heavy material of his jacket.

"But I want to," you murmur.

Your legs are a part of you, and you're thankful. Yes, it's his job to heal you and the others, but still...anyone who keeps you stitched up when there wasn't a hospital for hundreds of miles around deserves some recognition sometimes.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't withdraw either.

"How about I give you a neck rub," you suggest.

Before he can shut you down, you spot the metal stool nearby and hook your foot around the lower rung, dragging it over. You place it behind the Medic and pull him back and down onto it, and keep your hands planted on his shoulders. He begins to protest, but your fingers dig into the tight bunches of muscle at the base of his neck and he "aaahs" into your touch. It's a sigh laced with pleasure, laced with pain.

You lean forward an whisper, "Relax, doc. Relax."

The doctor heaves a much bigger sigh and relents, dropping his shoulders slightly and dipping his head forward to allow you more access. "I haff a mile of papervork to tend to..."

"You can get to it later," you tell him. "Christ, you're tense."

His broad shoulders are hardened with tension, unending long days on the battlefield and long nights in his office, researching, or filling out documentation. You can't believe how muscular he is, beneath his mantle of medical precision. You work on his traps, pinching them and trying to hide your smile as he winces and hisses at it, but does not tell you to stop. You knead and smooth and press him into a wad of putty. You get satisfaction from the periodic little grunts and sighs of pleasure he emits. You slow your ministrations and work outwards, towards his deltoids, and then back up his neck, working there for a while, until you find yourself really getting into it. You slide your fingers up into his hair, and he moans.

That makes you hesitate, but only for a moment. Your body is pressing up against his, and when you realize this, you don't bother to correct it. Instead of stopping, or patting his shoulder to signify that the favor was done, you bring yourself even closer to the man, and you smell his aftershave, because your nose is grazing his cheek. You breathe ever so faintly against the shell of his ear, and then brush your lips there. He is stock still, waiting for more feedback. You nip at his ear, and close your eyes to this feeling. You let your hands wander around to the front of his chest, fingers splayed over his collarbones. You place a few very soft, airy kisses against his neck, and find the buttons of his coat, undo them, and then his tie. The smooth fabric whirs as you pull it free and undo a few more buttons on his shirt.

His hand takes yours and he pulls you aside, and for a second you think you're screwed, he's gonna throw you out, but then he draws you nearer. The movement is so small and slow and shy, you start to blush even despite yourself. He looks at you with such softness, unsure of you, and unsure of himself. He pulls you just close enough and moves in, just barely places his lips on yours, and then retreats a half-beat to look at you again.

Your heart is thumping fast, one corner of your mouth quirking up slightly, but you suppress it because you don't want him to stop. He leans in again, experimentally, and kisses you again. This time it becomes something more. His larger hands fit easily around your waist, and he pulls you into his lap. His kiss builds, becomes frenetic and needy, and you find yourself helpless against his will, but it's a good kind of helpless. His tongue invades your mouth and slides over yours, tangles around it briefly before he disengages and starts applying maddened kisses to your cheeks and then down the column of your neck, making you gasp.

His breath his hot on your neck, and you trace your hands down his abdomen, finding yet more firm muscles there, and this seems to spur him on. Your hands wander down farther. You're glad to see that you're not the only one who's aroused. His cock is hard through his trousers, and you press into it, drawing a grunt out of him, and you quite approve of this. His mouth crashes against yours again, and your teeth click together. His gloved hands dip under the hem of your shirt and you let out a burst of awkward, sudden laughter. He looks at you, wholeheartedly confused, maybe a little hurt.

"Your gloves," you say, and reach down to draw his hands out and remove the cold, slippery things one at a time, tossing them over your shoulder. "Now..." You snake your arms around his neck and press your forehead to his. "Let's continue."

He resumes, and his hands, one on your breast and the other on your back, are pulling you tighter, are softer than you'd imagined they'd be. He strokes and palms and even tweaks your nipple, making you groan into his mouth. He lifts you by your bottom, groping it through your panties, and lifts you up onto the nearby countertop, knocking over a tall canister full of cotton swabs, which rolls and clatters onto the floor. Other things on the countertop shift around you as he pushes you insistently against the cabinets. Your fingers pull at his belt and manage to unbuckle it and further undo his pants.

You spread your legs wide around his waist. He sucks on and tongues your neck for a while, and his five o'clock shadow bristles just a bit. Tracing up to your jaw and capturing your earlobe between his teeth, he shocks you with his boldness. He pulls aside your underwear and slides his fingers into your pussy. You're good and wet, and he rubs his long fingers up and down, spreading your slickness around as the heel of his hand cups you, pressing against your pubic bone. He tugs on your ear and then kisses his way back to your mouth, plunging his tongue against yours as he drives two fingers deep into you.

The Medic guides your hand, which had flown up to clutch the collar of his lab coat, back down to his hips. Your fingers struggle for a second to work their way beneath the band of his boxers and pull them down out of the way, but you manage to wrap your hand around his cock. He beckons his fingers within you, pressing urgently against your g-spot, while his palm and the movement of his hand presses against your clit and sends vibrations up the root of you and into your skull, fireworks going off, vessels dilating, blood engorging. You work on his shaft with your hands, and his skin feels velvety and warm. You use your other hand to cup and softly squeeze his balls.

He finds you sufficiently aroused and spares no time in moving your hands out of the way, grabbing the base of his dick, and slipping it inside of you. You grab onto his jacket and grit your teeth together. It's not quite painful but the sudden invasion is tight, and it takes a few seconds to ease into it, and all the while he's slowly rocking his hips into you. You give him the go-ahead by rocking back against him, and you nod at him when he glances at you. Sweat is beading on his forehead, and you find it impossible not to kiss and taste it.

He thrusts into you, deeply, full of some repressed and demanding need. You are yielding and let him set the pace, expecting him to be fast and rough. He fucks you clamorously, hands grabbing and scrambling over your skin. It's uncoordinated, it's messy, but it's not careless. He bucks up against you, hard, but not so hard that it rattles you. You reach around his hips and squeeze, feel his ass flexing as he draws out and then buries himself into you, over and over, deep, hard, but slowly. His cock is thick and gives a fine feeling of fullness, and every few pumps he manages to thrust against that cluster of nerves at the front of your cunt and it feels like each time it happens a bulb of pleasure chemicals bursts somewhere and floods your brain with indescribable multi-colored flashbangs.

Medic jerks your shirt all the way up and sucks a nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue over it and grazes it with his teeth.

"Oh, shit," you groan, having to reach up and grab onto the cabinet.

He digs his face into the crook of your neck and you can hear his grunts, though they are muffled. You're pretty close, but not there yet, and you guess he might beat you to it. You rub your own fingers into your clit to take things up a notch. The Medic's hands are on your ass, forcing you impossibly closer, beginning to speed up his efforts.

The cabinets, the supplies within them, your heart, your head, everything is pounding and thumping. Your toes curl as you wrap your legs around him and really ramp up your breathing, pushing yourself ever closer to that ledge. On the other side of this jump, there's just stars and inky blackness and woozy, oozy goodness. You feel your hips twitching, a familiar seizing of muscles in your low back, and rising from deep inside is a cascade of warmth that overwhelms you. As you shake yourself into pieces, the Medic lets out a few final, frenzied gasps, and slams into you a few more times, until finally stopping, lodged against you, unfettering his seed inside you. His hot breath on your neck, your parted lips trembling, the two of you ride it all out.

When he draws back somewhat, you smile at him. He looks a bit sheepish, but mostly just dazed, or tired. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't haff..."

"It's okay," you say, shrugging, still catching your breath.

You and he both know that it's corporate policy to take the pill. He's the one who gives it to you every month. Before now it had been an incredibly awkward exchange, but you soften at his look of concern. You crane your neck and kiss him gently, not only because your lips are swollen and tender, but because he's just so darned cute. His eyebrows raise at this, maybe he's suddenly mortified by the whole thing, but it doesn't matter. You don't regret it.

The doctor licks his lips when you break away, and delicately retracts, pulling out of you, reaching for a hand towel and cleaning himself up. He steps away, turning slightly, pulling up his boxers and his pants, buckling his belt. You remain on the counter, adjusting your panties and watching him re-button his shirt, looking around for his tie. He finds it on the floor, picks it up, and then finally looks over at you. He stares and his face is thoughtful.

"Danke shön," he muttered, and you could see a trace blush creeping across his stark features.

You shrug, and look down at your legs, at the flesh he'd knitted back together where bone had been jutting through. There was a strip of skin there, whiter than the rest, a new, pale scar. You made the jump once, you figure you can make it again some other time. If you fell...well...you'd figure it out later.

>>46

I... You... Fuck. Wow.

What are words?

That was amazingly intense. Chai, thank you so much for reposting that.

scout/you pls~

Here. This one's by DuskZephyr

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

It was good to have a day off. /‘Especially a day off with Scout’/ you think, walking out onto the battlements with him. Both of you are carrying bats and he has a few baseballs with him too.
“Alright.” He announces, stuffing most of the balls into his pockets, keeping one and passing you another as he gives you a cocky smirk. “Whoever breaks the least windows has to try and get Spy’s mask off!” You give him a confident smile.
“Hope you’ve been training then, he’ll kill you if he catches you!” Scout gives a cute chuckle, throwing his ball in the air and catching it with one hand.
“Please! You’re the one who’s gonna have to avoid that sneaky bastard after you pull it off.”

This little bet of yours was born after discovering that nobody on the base had seen him with the stupid thing off. You knew the rest of the team had mixed feelings towards the two of you being loose at the same time - On the plus side, Scout wouldn’t bother them by complaining about being bored and you wouldn’t be wandering aimlessly around; On the down side, they were more likely to be harassed by the two of you pulling off what they thought were ‘stupid stunts’. But it wasn’t stupid to replace all of Demomans booze with water, it just showed to Scout that you were right and that Demoman did taste his alcohol. Just as this wasn’t stupid either. You’d smash some windows, hopefully piss off the enemy and try to see Spy without his mask on.

Anyway, time to show Scout who was a better shot with a bat and a ball. You really didn’t want to lose this bet, no matter how eager you were to see Spy mask-less. The athletic runner steps forward to take the first shot, swinging effortlessly. It’s not bad, you note: It’s smashed through one of the higher windows. You’re up and, hiding some nerves, toss up your own ball and give it a good whack. You hear him hum as it breaks one of the lower windows.
“Not bad. But watch how it’s really done.” You snort slightly and shake your head. He looks over his shoulder, giving you another smug grin before turning back to business.

It goes back and forth for a while, just the two of you taunting and teasing each other with the sounds of bats connecting with balls and shattering glass interrupting your conversation at regular intervals. He’s winning and you both know it. Scout uses a bat daily for bashing skulls and dazing opponents with amazing precision so there’s no way he’d lose at this. But watching him work is a good payoff. His body tightens as he curls up for the swing, uncoiling rapidly to strike the ball with ease and speed. It’s a beautiful thing but you’re careful to not get too distracted or to stare. Last thing you need is for him to catch on that you’re admiring his ass as he takes aim.

It’s your turn again and there’s no way you can make up the difference now. But who cares? Neither of you are stopping until you’re both out of ammo. You pick your target and pull back your arm, trying to mimic the way Scout does it. You launch the projectile at another low window, congratulating yourself when it flies straight through the windowpane, Scout nodding and looking pleased with your shot. However, a thud and a booming cry from the other base makes you both freeze.
“DOCTOR!”

The enemy Heavy appears at the window you just broke, looking for the source of the ball. Evidently, you just gave their Medic a ‘slight’ bump on the head. He sees you and Scout and begins to shout loudly. You back away slightly but Scout laughs and mocks him, and you can’t help but catch some of his confidence as you stand next to him.
“What now, fatass? Gonna try shooting at us from down there?”

You can’t help but laugh with Scout as the Heavy shouts both insults at the two of you and cries for help for his Medic. Unfortunately, it’s at this point when the Heavy is joined at the broken window by other members of his team – namely, the Pyro, Demoman and Sniper. As the Sniper pulls out his rifle and starts taking aim, the little dot sweeping towards yours and Scouts foreheads, you decide it’s a good idea to leave. Quickly. Luckily Scout isn’t stupid and comes to the same conclusion as you, the two of you grabbing each other’s wrists at the same time and bolting into the base.

He pulls you slightly since he’s faster than you and neither of you stop until you reach the safety of the spacious kitchen. At this point you nearly fall to the floor, doubled over with exhaustion from both running and laughing like a hyena. He’s no better, leaning on one of the counters and trembling with mirth. You touch his shoulder, trying to stand up properly yourself when he turns and leans on you now. So the two of you are hunched over, using each other for support, shaking and sniggering. Your arm has slid from his shoulder to curl around his waist while he has his rounded over your shoulders.

Eventually you both calm down, breathing deeply. You suddenly frown and look up at him, dropping your hand from around his waist.
“It really wasn’t that funny, was it?” You ask, realising that it was hilarious to take out a dozen or so windows and a Medic but it probably shouldn’t have yielded tears of laughter. Scout straightens, keeping his arm in place as you look up at him.
“Nah, maybe not.” He breathes, correcting his cap and headset.

He gives you a coy smile, leaning slightly down to you. “You know, this means you’ve lost the bet.”
“No way!” You protest competitively. “The Medic easily makes up for the other windows!”
“No dice! We agreed it was windows broken, not including skulls!” He holds you slightly closer and leans over you.
“Aw, c’mon! If you’d done it, it would count!” You prop yourself onto tiptoes to try and match his height.
“Hey, I wouldn’t need it to count!”

You frown at him, annoyed that he’s right. And he knows that so he’s smirking at you. And he’s really close now – you can feel his breath over your top lip, smell his earthy skin, feel the warmth of his body. You hover like that for a few moments, unable to retort. Then the stupid attractive smirk and stupid close proximity gets to you so you grab his shirt and kiss him. Which is probably a stupid move.

Only it turns out it isn’t. He freezes for a few moments, then makes a low noise and wraps his other arm around your waist, returning your kiss. He’s surprisingly gentle but his enthusiasm is obvious as he tries to figure out how to do this. You smile softly and gradually toy with his lips, learning with him to find out what’s fun and what isn’t.

Catching his bottom lip in a gentle nip gets a positive response, as he pulls you closer still and presses into you. When he licks your lips you exhale in a tiny gasp, one hand sliding form his shirt to the back of his head. You tilt your head instinctively, licking back shyly. Spontaneous actions seem best as you certainly don’t argue or resist when his tongue slips inside your slack mouth. As you begin to play with his tongue using your own, you taste him. He tastes sugary, and of something else...

But before you can identify that something else, you hear someone approaching. You pull away from Scout hurriedly and notice he has a blush to match your own as Soldier storms in. And he’s pretty pissed off.
“You maggots better explain why the enemy convict is taking aim at us through the windows!!”

And this one was posted by an anon.

For once, the base is quiet. The team you're working for aren't on a mission, but as the base needs a lot of upkeep, most of them tend to leave you to your work.

Most of them.

'Hey toots, think fast!'

You barely have time to react before the baseball smacks you in the face.

'Oh, sorry, I didn't mean ta hit ya,' Scout smirks, approaching to retrieve the ball he was toying with. He doesn't sound nearly sorry enough for you to let him off the hook that easily. Snapping out of the short daze induced by the hit, you scowl and bend to pick up his ball before he reaches you.

'Aw hey, thanks,' he grins. You snatch his ball behind your back, away from his outstretched hand.

'That hurt, you jerk.'

'I didn' mean it! Gimme my ball.'

'What ball?'

'C'mon, I need dat ball!' He lunges, trying to weave his hands behind your back, and you twist out of his reach. You start to hop backwards around the room, just one of the many small, overlooked equipment rooms they have here, so you're constantly dodging equipment while attempting to keep Scout at bay.

He's starting to look pretty pissed.

'Don' even try ta outrun me, toots, give it up.'

'Make me,' it's your turn to smirk, there's something so gratifying about being able to annoy him. You roll his precious ball between your palms in plain sight. You lose that smile as Scout jumps at you, tackling you to the floor, his arms around your waist.

You grunt in pain and gasp, but Scout's still intent on his prize, keeping your body pinned right next to his. Something about it stops you from trying to fight him off. He's still grabbing for the ball you're holding to your chest, and somehow manages to seize your breast through your shirt by mistake (or at least, you'll have to assume by mistake), and the game stops.

Scout snaps away from you and sits up as you turn onto your back, looking up at him straddling you. The two of you are panting and warm from your little keepaway dance. An inadvertent blush heats your face.

'Sorry, I- ... I didn't mean ta, it's jus' you... and... they're kinda the same, so-' he's trying to talk much too fast in some attempt at an excuse, the idea of getting off your legs not entering his head, 'I-I wouldn'ta on purpose, I mean, well, I would if ya wanted me to, but I guess ya don' 'cause that's... I'm not... not that I DON' want...'

An overly exasperated sigh from you cuts him off. 'Scout, do you ever stop talking?'

'...Make me,' he pouts.

You sit up, happy enough to comply this time by silencing his mouth with yours. The kiss clearly surprises him. His lips are surprisingly soft, but you know better than to tell him that. He tries to kiss back, hesitance revealing his inexperience. You slip your hands around his neck, and feel his stroke down your back to your hips. He holds you tight there, his deft, bandaged fingers clutching your shirt.

By the time the kiss breaks, you're smiling. He's blinked away the confusion now, grinning from ear to ear, so you nuzzle your nose against his, nipping frequent kisses at his cheek. The top of your head bumps against the brim of his cap.

Noticing this, he holds you off long enough to remove it, and tosses his hat aside. The clunky headset comes off too.

'Ain't nobody else need ta know what we're doin',' he remarks, and then he's on you so quick you have to wonder if he drank any Bonk! earlier. The boy keeps you pinned to the floor, unleashing ferociously quick kisses you can only try to keep up with, your fingers now tangled up in his haphazard mop of brown hair.

Your bodies get closer and the kisses get clumsier, until you're hardly aiming because nobody cares where they land. Eyes closed, all that matters is they keep coming. He stops just a half second, all he needs to throw off his shirt. You're happy to let his hands explore your chest, and to do it in return, stroking your fingers over his bare skin. He moans deeply into the kisses, one of his hands travelling up your leg to brush your thigh.

'So, uh.' He's so close to your face you can feel his warm, quick breathing. 'We gonna fuck or somethin'?'

You push him down and take over as an answer, slipping your hand between his legs and giving him a squeeze. It's only fair. You nuzzle his neck, leaving repeated kisses there, listening to his moans of increasing volume as you fondle his erection through his pants.

But he won't let you tease him for long and gets back on top, holding you close and grinding his crotch against yours.

'O-oh... Scout, you got so damn hard,' you whimper, his stiff member bumping just the right spot between your legs. He's humping you slightly, gasping and grunting in desperation. Feeling his arousal makes you wet, but nowhere near as wet as when he snatches off your top, your bra, and licks at your hardened nipples.

'C'mon, c'mon please,' he whines inbetween the licks and kisses on your breasts. 'I jus' gotta do ya...' One of his hands slides between your legs now, and you squeal and shudder when his fingers brush against you. He applies pressure to your wettest spot, fingertips moving in the tiniest circular motion, and you can only gasp and moan his name until he quiets you with a kiss. He lowers a hand to unzip himself.

'ALERT! Mission begins in 60 seconds!'

You can feel a low growl growing in Scout's mouth. He breaks off and practically screams.

'FUCK.'

The two of you lie in silence for a few seconds, your heated, half-naked bodies still entwined on the floor, coming to terms with the fact that this can't be done.

'I gotta... you know,' Scout roughly pulls his shirt back on and replaces his hat while you fumble with your bra. 'W-we ain't done here, right?'

You just shake your head, trying not to seem too disappointed, it can't be helped. Then you pick up the entirely forgotten ball from the corner.

Scout fixes his headset back on and tries to hide his all too obvious arousal. 'I got like 30 seconds, aw man- they're gonna notice, what the freakin' hell do I do!'

You pat him on the shoulder to calm him down, and hand back the prized object you both fought over. 'Try thinking about baseball.'

Scout doesn't look the least bit amused, but he does bump a final quick kiss on your cheek before dashing off to the front lines.

Anyone got Sniperxyou?

>>55
Seconding

>>55

I have one I can repost. But it's also got Spy/You rape in it and then revenge rape in it.

Meh, that's fine... Maybe even good.

Oh, and anyone got ScoutxYou where they actually get to shag?

Post that shit up chai! or 57, I have no idea on how to reference the numbers.

Seconding. Assuming it isn't the same Spy/Sniper/You raep that was already posted in here.

Is it that unfinished one in the archives? If it is, it deserves to be put back up.

>>44
26 here. Link me up Scotty.

Seconding that you share your Sniper/You/Spy(Rape) chai. Haven't read that one, and this seems like the best place to post it.

Here's a random Sniper You story I saved ages ago.
__
When you poke your head through the hatch into Sniper’s nest, you’re not surprised to see him there. You are, however, surprised to see him lying on the floor. His hands are resting on his stomach, folded neatly with his aviators hanging between his fingers. His head turns slightly as you make yourself known, and he hms softly at you, and though he doesn’t say anything you know he’s essentially asking why you’re bothering him.

“I, uh, brought you that radio you wanted…” You say, hoisting a small but heavy radio through the hatch and onto the floor. You then pull yourself up and sit, your legs still hanging over the edge. You look at him for a moment, rubbing the back of your neck and wondering if it was a bad time. Maybe he was trying to sleep. After all, it /is/ rather dark out, and he isn’t exactly the type to sleep in a conventional way. It’s not far-fetched at all to think that he’d sleep out here on the cold, hard floorboards. You can’t help think to yourself how lonely it must get up here.

“Bring it over,” he says, not specifying where he wants it. You take a guess, pushing it across the floor and putting it near the wall. He leans his head up a bit and reaches back, fiddling with the stations and sighing derisively. You laugh a little and kneel next to him, swatting his hand away gently and offering to help. He grins and motions for you to go for it, though he doubts you’ll find anything. Stations don’t come in so well anymore. He watches your hand move the dial intently, eyes flickering to yours every so often to gauge your expression. You know he’s going to reprimand you as soon as you let on you’re not finding anything, so you continue and pretend as though you know how to work these things.

“Static,” he points out helpfully, grinning as you turn the dial again. You shoot him a look, smiling back once you see him smile, and shake your head.

“Shut up. I’m still looking,” You say, pounding the radio a few times to try and get it working. He clicks his heels against the floor as he waits, as the realization dawns on you that maybe you won’t find anything. You’ll just have to live with his teases after that, bad as they are, and-

Suddenly, a station comes in, and music floats through the speakers and around the nest. Sniper raises his eyebrows at you, making a small “hm!” sound and giving you thumbs up. You silently thank the radio for being on your side tonight and look out onto the horizon, realizing for perhaps the first time that stars are visible from where you’re sitting. You also realize why he likes to sleep up here so often.

Both of you listen in silence, staying in your respective positions and watching the sky.

“S’girl music,” he mumbles, sounding like a man who’s trying very hard to appear displeased, and grumbles something else a bit angrily after that. You chuckle, thinking that he’s a bit adorable when he’s trying to keep up his tough guy façade. But as he pats the floor and invites you to lie beside him, you can’t help but agree with his sentiment. Sure, it was a slow song, and sure it had a sickeningly sweet set of vocals and lyrics to go along with it, but it wasn’t awful by any means. Both of you know it.

“Take a look at that,” he murmurs, looking towards you for a moment as he points into the sky and to constellations, tracing one after the other with his finger. You don’t learn any of their names, of course, as you’re too busy listening to the sound of his voice and not what he actually had to say. Of course, you pretend to listen, saying ‘ahh’ and ‘mm-hm’ where appropriate. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

He puts his hand down and it brushes against yours.

“Oh,” you say, moving yourself a bit away from him. “Sorry about that.”

He flips himself onto his stomach, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he looks at you. You look up at him from your position, feeling yourself turn a bit red. He stays like that for a moment, chewing on his lower lip as he looks at you almost contemplatively. He starts to tap his shoes on the floorboards again.

“You don’t like me that much?” He asks.

“It’s not that at all!” You say, sitting up and turning to face him. You hadn’t meant to make him think that; you just assumed he wasn’t the sort of guy who liked contact.

He smiles, appreciating your answer and draws himself toward you, pinning you down to the floorboards and kissing you softly. You search for words for a few moments, shocked and highly flattered that he’d do such a thing. (Mostly, you’re surprised that his kiss was so sweet and gentle.)

“Thanks,” You say, smiling and blushing a little.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he says, moving in to nip at your ear gently, his breath hot against you despite the cold air. You notice that his hand is resting against your thigh, slowly making its way up. Making sure he’s looking at you, you nod and watch as he leans back, now straddling you, and fiddles with the zipper of your pants.

He pulls your pants and underwear down, as far as he can manage, and leans over you again, his tongue probing into your mouth gently. Your arms now free, you wrap them around him and accept his advances, moaning softly into the kiss as his other hand begins to rub you softly, just teasing you for the moment.

“Come /on/,” you say, pulling away from the kiss momentarily. He murmurs a barely recognizable yes as he kisses you again, his rough tongue running up and over yours in the softest circles. He certainly knows his way around a person’s mouth. He brushes his fingers against your clitoris and looks satisfied at your heated moans. As you plant small kisses on his neck he delves in a little deeper this time, using two fingers; the sensation is strange at first, his rough and calloused fingers moving in and out of you slowly, but you become used to it quickly and enjoy it more than you thought you would.

Before you know it, you’re crying out his name softly as he goes in and out rhythmically. He’s breathing heavier and heavier each time you call out for him, the two of you kissing each other sloppily – you’re aiming for his lips but you’re missing quite often – and you moving your hips a bit in time with his. The cold doesn’t bother you so much anymore; you can feel his heat against you as he continues, mumbling sweet nothings into your ear while pleasuring you, his fingers probing and sliding in ways you hadn’t expected.

But you know he’s ready when he stops and leans back again, taking his belt off and his own pants, his penis erect, the tip glistening with precum. He shivers as it touches the night air and you pull him closer again, biting his lower lip hungrily as he rests the head of his dick against your opening. You brace yourself, and suddenly he’s pressing himself into you, your walls stretching to accommodate him. It’s bigger than you expected but it doesn’t hurt, it’s actually very pleasurable, and you wrap your arms around him as he goes in and comes back out.

It’s a good thing you’re laying down; your legs have turned to jelly already. He goes in again, and out, faster and faster each time, sweat beading across his forehead. He moans huskily each time, his dick hitting just the right spot for both of you. You notice that you’ve gotten louder, screaming for more and grabbing onto him tighter, though that’s not enough, you just want to stay like this with him for the longest time, the two of you hot and wet.

You lose your ability to think clearly as you come closer and closer to orgasm. All you can think about is the steady, quick rhythm and the tension rising between the two of you. He thrusts harder this time, but a little slower, and as you cry out his name for the final time you feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, your toes and fingers curling in ecstasy. Your world, for a moment, is nothing but passion and heat, and as you lay your head against the floorboards to catch your breath, he pulls himself out of you and comes, the sticky white mess between the two of you.

He lies next to you again, an arm over his forehead and his breathing slowing down. After a bit he turns to look at you, grinning happily and no doubt looking for your approval; he wants to know what you think. You smile and grab his hand, giving it a small squeeze. You feel as though nothing else in the world matters as you look at Sniper, your Sniper, and lean over to kiss him on the lips one more time.

“Can I thank you now?” you ask.

“No need,” he says, looking up at the sky again. “Consider it a gift.”

He points out a constellation he had missed earlier and the rising of the sun as the two of you move a bit closer, holding onto each other. He even lets you wear his hat.

>>63
Oh man
Just regular sexy sex! That's a surprise! A gooood surprise. I just read that three times and it's still making me tingly.

I love ...and You fics so much. It doesn't matter that it's a shameless self-insert because by God it's meant to be. I love the cleverness of the genderless ones, I love how it's one of the very few non-canon-destroying ways to get a woman on base (LITTLE-TO-NO SETUP YEAH)...guh, there are so many talented writers on this chan, it's insane.

>>50

You. More.
That was amazingly written and incredibly sexy.
No weird jumpy 'rushed' feeling, it all flowed naturally. Wonderful.

Umm.. could you guys post class and you fics for now on specifying the gender of the "you"?

I'm a homosexual reader, and it is quite, let's say boring, to find halfway a fic the "you" isn't male.

I can guess it must be the same for heterosexual readers? So yeah, if you guys could do this, I'd be grateful

Oh, and of course there'd be no need to say so if the you's gender is ambiguous.

>>58
>>62
Scout/Fem!You written by yours truly. It's fucking huge, though, so I'll just drop a link here.

http://tiny.cc/pu15h

Hope it's to your guys' liking!

>>50

Is it sad that I like this fic because it's probably one of the only fem!You fics I've read that mentions birth control?

Seriously, I'll read some of these and at then at the end I'm like "...and then I had a babby and it sucked." I know it's negligible in fiction, and I could just assume and all that but that's just something that caught my eye about fem!You fics and am just continually amused about.

>>66
This would also be a good idea. I don't mind having a magically appearing dick all that much, but that's just me.

>>68
Rofl, signed. It's such a common oversight but I'd like to see more fics take on the responsibility.

Where the hell's that Sniper/raep/spy/raep/you fic chai?! I demands that porn pronto! Pretty please?

>>70
Ah, sorry. At work now. I will totally post it up when I get back.

>>63
DANG. That was good.

Did you guys mean this? IDK who wrote it.

Anonymous 09/06/01(Mon)10:02 No. 145

Tried to do a "_____ and you" for another class and got a drabble that was a whole bunch of NOT AS PLANNED and tl:dr. Not beta'd as of yet, so I hope it's not terribly offensive to the senses. I offer my apologies in advance.

---

You have to wonder what made you stop last night. Scout likes to tell stories, sometimes, “I knew this guy, man. He fucking knew things. Like, the future.” While the others booed and hissed, they still listened. Entertainment was entertainment, after all. But they were absurd stories.

It was highly unlikely that you ‘knew things’, but none the less, you found yourself lingering. It was late, even for your ilk. Three? Four in the morning? Long before dawn in the cold months of the year. You had left what scant warmth your bed had offered to piss, and cursed your bodily functions the whole way. The porcelain and tile were frigid, and your mood was terrible. Bed was what you wanted, and you hurried back with unerring purpose.

Until you passed the attic stairs.

The rickety things, with their narrow steps, led to the Sniper’s nest. Despite the cold and the discomfort, you paused there. Perhaps, out of compassion? He almost never left the damned place, and you knew for a fact that it was forsaken by others for a reason. The rest of the base at least managed to generate some kind of heat, either from dying furnaces or bodies. But the nest was just wood, buffeted about by high winds and god’s displeasure. It must have been freezing.

You frowned, and not just because of the lack of feeling in your toes. Sniper.

What strange creature. There was no doubt that he was good at his chosen profession. He was one of the enemy’s nightmares. Death with naught but a dot for warning. A long distance watcher that turned windows from viewing ports into places of incredible danger.

But despite steady hands and nerves of steel, he was remarkably awkward. When one could coax him into talking about his work, or his home, he was charming and confident in his speech. But these instances were few and far between. And above all, only to be found in one on one conversation. When you had approached him, seeking that same ease, in the busy common room or kitchen he had seemed an entirely different person. Halting, clumsy with words, and seeking escape.

The others had seemed amused at your confusion. Sniper, they informed you, was vastly anti social. Many called him comrade, and were pleased that his scope was on their side, but few would call him friend.

You chewed your bottom lip in deliberation. What moments of dialogue you’d had, were in secluded hall ways, and empty corners. Never in the nest. It was an unspoken rule that the place was forbidden (not that it needed to be enforced, due to its dreary condition) during normal, human hours. Much less at this ridiculous time.

But why, then, had you found yourself with an incredible urge to climb those stairs?

You’d fought with yourself for long minutes in the dark before giving into your curiosity. The accent was slow. Companioned with your urge to stick your nose where it didn’t belong was the need for silence. It was like being a school child out after curfew, and it left your feeling very, very silly. One foot, then pressure to see if it would creek, careful application of your body weight, and then the other. Over and over. One stair at a time.

There was no door at the top. Just a rectangular hole in the nest’s floor, guarded on either side by rails. It was a little brighter at the top, than in the belly of the base. And as you ascended, you realized why. The fool man had a few of the windows open, and starlight fell.

It was freezing up here, as you had guessed. Why on earth would he leave the windows open? You could hear the howl of the wind from your crouched position. And something else. But you’d paid it little attention at first.

One step, and then another, and you could see the room. You guessed that only the top of your head broached into the nest itself, and even that was obscured by the rails, but you could see rather well. In particular, you could observe the reason that the windows were open. His beloved rifle, some ammunition, and a long cold cup of coffee were placed by the sill of one of the portals.

He was still prepped for work. He was surely mad. But where was he?

You’d scanned to the left, to a few beaten crates and a coffee maker, and then to the right. There he was.

You’d sucked in a breath sharply, but thank god, inaudibly. Now you knew what that sound had been, playing on the edge of your hearing. Breathing. Heavy breathing.

Here was your Sniper. Lying on his back on a worn mattress layered with sheets and blankets. His vest was discarded, shirt open, and one fist clenching a handful of the bedding. The other, was wrapped around a rather prominent piece of his anatomy, rising from his open trousers.

His trademark hat and glasses had been set carefully aside, so your view of his face had been unimpeded. Eyes screwed shut, mouth closed tightly, with a faint sheen of sweat even in this weather.

His hand worked quickly, with surprising force. He was not teasing himself. His fingers arced, squeezing his cock as they rose, and his thumb running over the head at the apex. The end of it glittered with moisture. Every once in a while, he would give himself a particularly violent tug, eliciting a quiet gasp from his own throat.

It was hypnotizing. The way his clothing strained to contain him, the sounds your ears could barely capture, the way his spine was starting to arch.

His expression began to contort. His brows drew together, and his mouth opened. He seemed…pained? No… /guilty/. A word managed to burst past his lips…

…Then his hips rose from the twisted, dirty bedclothes. He came into his hand and across his naked stomach.

Or so you imagined. You had not remained to see. Down the stairs and through the hall you went, in a panicked flash. In retrospect, you can only pray that you were as silent upon exit as entry.

He’d called your name.

/Your name./ There was no mistaking it. Long, sleepless hours of rationalization did nothing to convince you otherwise.

And now here you are.

In the kitchen staring into a coffee mug, the contents of which were no longer steaming. Most of the others had come and gone, heading to the showers or elsewhere to prepare for the day’s fighting. Which was not more than an hour away. You had best begin your own preparations. Doubtlessly, familiar routines would clear away confusion for the time being. The mug goes into the sink, and you to the room’s exit.

Despite its sturdy construction, the door is little barrier to sound. A voice on the other side of the battered oak makes you falter. There are back and forth murmurs, and then silence. An unbelievably long minute later, courage returns and you step into the hall.

Spy is there. You nearly leap clear of your skin. This amuses him. The ass.

He does not wait for you to initiate conversation. “Sniper,” He informs you, “asked me something curious.” Smoke oozes from the corners of his mouth, which is pulled into a wicked smile. “I am a light sleeper, you see, and he knows this. So, he asks me if you were in bed all last night.”

You feel your heart tear loose form its moorings, and drop into your belly. Perhaps Spy can hear its impact, for his smile grows impossibly wider. “I am, of course, an honest man. I told him that I heard you leave your room once, in the earliest of hours, and that you did not return for many minutes after. You seemed in such a hurry then, too.” His eyes are intense, and they shine with a hunger you cannot place. They bore straight into your skull, and you have never felt so naked. “His reaction was… peculiar. I wonder why?”

He is the devil.

You push past him, and he offers no resistance. Spy’s laugher nips at your heels and chases you down the hall.

The impact as you round the corner is sudden and jarring. You clutch your nose, and wait for the world to right itself. Your stammered apologies fall silent as your vision clears.

Sniper stands before you and the panic that fevers your brain is mirrored in his eyes.

He /knows/.

Note: Sorry this took so long. This is my version of the continuation of >>15 Sniper + You ...with sexy times!
Be kind...I'm an /afanfic/ virgin writer.

Another note: I don’t do accents well, so I will just type as grammatically correct as I can without a beta and leave the audio to your imaginations~


...Feel free to critique. Nicely. Enjoy~

--

Before you can react, the man grabs your shoulder to keep you from bolting. His grip is a little too strong, and you wince slightly in pain. Glancing around, Sniper leans close to you, and you feel yourself start to get goose bumps.

“I need to…to talk to you. Later.” His voice is hesitant, but he seems to force himself to continue. “After the battle…in my room.” In his nest? You feel yourself tense nervously, but you nod in agreement. He seems satisfied, and removes his hand, walking away…probably to return to his lair. You rub your shoulder and walk towards the kitchen, grabbing an orange juice. Not feeling hungry at all, you sit by yourself, drinking slowly.

It was going to be a long day.

--

Being distracted and nervous had taken a toll on you during the fight. Countless times you respawned because one enemy or another shot you, stabbed you, or blown your face off with a rocket. After the siren that ended the match with a stalemate, you are feeling exhausted and a little achy.

Dinner had at least been good; Medic had whipped up some German mess that had turned out to be edible this time. Sometimes you wonder if that crazy man put something in there…because some of your nervousness had faded away as you chowed down on whatever it was the doctor had cooked.

Suddenly you found yourself standing at the base of the attic stairs. You don’t even remember leaving the dining hall. The room was lit; Sniper must be up there. He seems to notice your presence, because you hear him clear his throat.

“Come on up, then.”

The nervousness returned as you set your foot upon the first stair. Hesitating, you glance behind you. No one was around. With a frown, you gather what courage you have and move into the cold room. It looks quite different when it’s lit. While it seemed creepy last night, it’s almost homey now.

Stepping into the room, you see Sniper watching you, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He pats the bed next to him. He wants you to sit next to him on the bed? Swallowing, you do as he says, sitting about an inch from him. Sniper removes his had and glasses, setting them on the other side of him before rubbing the back of his neck.

“You…were in my room last night, weren’t you?” he said sheepishly. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks as you nod slowly. He groaned in embarrassment.

“Then…you heard…” Again you nod, your blush deepening. You’re afraid to meet his eyes, and instead look at the floor. An awkward silence fell between the two of you for a few minutes, though you swear it was an eternity.

“I…I’m sorry.” He muttered at last. You glance up, startled, to see him staring at the floor too. His anguished and embarrassed look made your heart squeeze in pain. Suddenly, you realize that you do not want him to look like that. The revelation startles you.

“Sorry?” You question his words with a frown. Sniper looks up at you, though he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Yeah. Sorry for uh…aw you know.” He was still too embarrassed to say it. A smile creeps onto your face, though the blush still remains. Without thinking, you scoot closer to the man, who looks confused.

“It’s fine.” The blush that had been fading away returned with vigor, making you look like someone spread tomato paste all over your cheeks. “In a way it was kind of…flattering.” And it had been. He could have said any other name on the team, after all. “Really.”

Shock crossed Sniper’s face, and his expression had you wondering if you had said something wrong. The man seemed to gather his courage, and his bright green eyes connect with yours. Before you knew it, Sniper’s lips were against your own, and you stiffen in surprise. They were dry, but soft. After a moment you find yourself relaxing, and you lean into the kiss with a small sigh. You are wrapped into surprisingly gentle arms and pulled onto Sniper’s lap. Surprisingly enough, he did so without breaking the kiss.

A small noise comes up from the back of his throat, and his tongue runs against your lips hopefully. You part your lips to let him in, and that same tongue slips into your mouth, exploring every inch curiously. Moaning, you straddle Sniper, who gasps slightly and pulls away, looking at you in surprise. Smiling, you decide to take the matter into your own hands and you tug at his shirt. Sniper hesitates for only a moment before pulling his shirt off quickly, his sunglasses catching on the hem and falling in the heap with the article of clothing on the floor next to the bed. You remove your shirt as well, and he stares, a deep flush crossing his face as his eyes admired your upper body.

When his eyes finally move up to meet yours, the fierce look of need nearly has you wanting to tear off his pants as well as your own. But Sniper seems to want to take it slow, running his hands up your sides and pulling you against his chest. The feeling of warmth makes tingles run down your body. He kisses your ear, and you gasp loudly. Sniper chuckles. “Not used to that…?” He murmurs, and his lips move down to your neck and down your body, kissing and sometimes even biting. The sensation has you gasping and moaning for more, and you don’t even realize that he’s laid you down on his bed until he is undoing your pants and pulling them off with a swiftness that has you wondering if he’s really as patient as he seems. His hands trail down to your crotch and he pauses thoughtfully. Whimpering, you arch your hips a little, your body aching for touch. He chuckles.

“Someone’s impatient.” Sniper’s hands finally reach you, and you exhale in a moan, not caring who hears. His hands are remarkably capable for someone who is alone a good amount of time, and he is quick to find what makes you cry out the loudest. Your hands grip the sheets, and the loss of sensation has you stop in mid-groan as you open your eyes to see what had him leaving you without that glorious touch. You are about to complain when you see him undoing his belt and removing his pants, revealing a rather sizable, and very hard, package.

You shift to a sitting position before moving to your knees, and before he can react, your hands are on his erection. He groans softly as your hands stroke his length a few times before you bend down and give his tip a lick. He cries out, his hips twitching violently while his hands find your hair, gripping softly. With a smirk, you take his head into your mouth. He thrusts unexpectedly, and you fight back a gag.

“S-sorry, love,” he rasps between breaths. Your lips twitch in what was supposed to be a smile before you take as much as you can into your mouth. Exploring him with your tongue and mouth, you manage a steady pace while Sniper tries his hardest not to shove his whole length into your throat. Soon he pulls back and you let his pulsing member free, looking up at him with a question on your tongue. Before you can ask, though, his lips are on yours and he gently pushes you down onto the bed. His breath was ragged as he pulled away from you, his lust burning in his eyes and making you shiver with eagerness. You know your eyes reflect the feeling, and he smiles.

“Are you sure about this…?” This is it: your one chance to say no. Not like you’re going to say anything but yes. You nod, and his smile gets wider as he places his lips back on yours and pushes into you. There is a little pain at first, but as he thrusts in and out at a slow pace, the pain fades and a wicked pleasure replaces it, making you beg for more. The kiss is broken as the two of you concentrate on your lower bodies, establishing a rhythm. When he thrusts down you push back in order to take as much of his length as you can.

The gentle pace begins to speed up as time passes, and soon he is riding you at a frantic pace. Your soft moans become cries of ecstasy as you find yourself moving closer and closer to orgasm. Sniper leans down, his breath rapidly fluttering against your ear. “This time, I want you to call /my/ name.” He whispers heatedly.

“A-ah! Sniper!” At the top of your lungs you cry out as a white flash of pleasure courses through your body, and Sniper pulls out quickly, jerking himself off a few times before he comes as well. Exhausted, he falls next to you, and you both fall silent except for your heavy breathing.

Once you catch your breath, and he catches his, he chuckles and wraps you up in his arms. “Now we’re even.” He mutters gently. You smile and snuggle up close to him as he pulls a blanket over the two of you. It wouldn’t be cold if the two of you shared body heat.

A few minutes after the two of you fall asleep, a shimmer is seen by no one as the Spy steps out of the corner with a smirk on his face. “Well. /That/ was certainly interesting.” With a leer at your two sleeping bodies, the man slinks down the stairs, and towards his room. He would have to fix the problem in his pants now…and there was no way he was going to get caught doing so.

This is just a bridge between the Sniper + You and the pretty next ‘chapter’ that I decided I’d be attempting for you guys.

Scrunchy is my hero, and beta'd this, as well as bashed me over the head because of my terrible issues with past and present tenses. <3 Many thanks to her~

I BRING YOU: Spy + You + Rape.

---

Opening your eyes, you are completely startled to see that you are in the arms of Sniper. It takes a minute for you to remember what happened that night, and when you do, you smile a little. As unexpected as last night had been, it wasn’t all that bad. Everyone is a little sexually tense these days, after all.



You shift around a bit, and the movement wakes up the Australian. Obviously, he is a light sleeper. He mutters something unintelligible, and lifts his arm up to let you go. Obligingly, you hop out of bed and slip into your clothes before Sniper himself rolls into a sitting position. You laugh a little: though his hair was short, it was still a bit of a mess. He half-heartedly glares at you, shooing you off with a wave of his hand and a muttered, “see you later,” and you trot down the stairs, pleasantly surprised at the considerably warmer temperature of the main part of the base.



Almost immediately you run into Spy, whose smile is as unclean as Sniper’s jarate. “What were you doing up in Sniper’s nest, /mon ami/?” He asks with a sneer. You try to walk past him, but he steps to the side to block you again. Glaring at him, you mutter about it not being his business. Spy’s smile only gets wider.



“Oh, come now, you can tell me. Did you have a late night chat?” He steps forward, making you loose ground. “Maybe the two of you had a nice, cozy cuddle session. Or perhaps he just fucked your brains out.” The last sentence startles you, and he laughs softly, moving close enough to whisper in your ear.



“You can’t hide anything from /moi/,” Spy mutters before you push him away, just as Sniper walks down his stairs.



“Eh? What are you two standing about for?” The Australian asks the two of you curiously. Spy just shrugs and goes on his way, probably back to his room. You blush, and follow Sniper to breakfast.



---



The day is particularly good. You don't die once, and you even manage to keep the enemy Spy from sneaking into your base. As you eat your dinner, a healthy stew whipped up from Engineer, you wonder what celebrations the team will have tonight. Usually there was some sort of bonfire, or just an enormous drinking session that ended in hangovers and a brutal loss the next day. To your great surprise, everyone just goes about their usual night-time business, finishing their dinners before heading off to bed. With a disappointed sigh, you rise to your feet. Sniper left about an hour ago, just grabbing the stew and going back up to his nest. It hurt a little that he hadn’t even said hello or something.



As you walk back to your room, you are again intercepted by Spy. Your eyes roll. “Go away, Spy.” You grumble. “I’m just going back to my room.” You are not about to go up to Sniper’s nest without his permission. Not after last time. Spy, however, doesn’t move.



“So rude, /mon ami/, perhaps I just wanted to talk to you,” he says with a devious smirk. You scowl at him. No one with that expression on their face is up to any good. The masked man steps closer to you, though this time you stand your ground. He reaches up as if he wants to touch your face, and you grab his wrist with narrowed eyes.



“I said, go away.” You repeat, pushing him backwards with a firm hand, and he stumbles back. His face falls from the ‘I’m-pretending-that-I’m-being-nice-to-you’ expression into a glare so furious that it makes you freeze. Before you know it, the butt of his Ambassador is slammed into your head, and your world goes blank.



---



When you wake slowly from the blow to the head, you find yourself in Spy’s room, bound quite firmly on your stomach upon the assassin’s bed. You struggle a little, but he's tied your hands to the bedpost, and your feet to the foot of the bed. The bastard’s even got you gagged with his tie. The man in question is sitting in his desk chair, smoking a cig. Naturally. When he sees you struggling, he smirks.



“Ah, /bonjour mon ami/. Did you sleep well?” He chuckles darkly, and you struggle, too dazed and angry to realize your danger. The gag blocks a string of cuss words from reaching Spy’s ears properly. In fact, you sound a bit like Pyro. Giving up, you just growl, resting a moment to catch your breath. Spy is obviously unimpressed.



“Rude as always,” the man sighs to himself, rising to his feet and walking over, putting the burning side of the cigarette to your (oh, you’re nude) side. You scream, though it’s muffled by the gag, and try to writhe away from the pain. It’s futile, however, and he pulls away with his crushed cigarette in his hand. He tosses it with a bored expression on his face.



“Ah, /mon cher/, I am going to enjoy this.” He leans down to look into your eyes with a wicked grin. Suddenly the gravity of the situation hits you, and you start flailing against your constraints. To no avail, however, and the man is undoing his belt slowly. Only now you see the rather large bulge in his pants.



Whimpering what was supposed to be a plea for mercy, you struggle again, hoping just maybe the spare ties that bound you firm would slip loose. To your horror, the knots only got tighter, nearly cutting off your circulation. Immediately you stop struggling, and Spy laughs. When you look back, the man is completely nude save for his gloves and mask. And he’s hard. Almost painfully so. Again you whimper, though it only makes the man smile more.



“This will only hurt a little…if you do what I say,” he whispers into your ear, and you glare at him despite your fear. He smirks, taking off the gag, and you gasp for air for a few moments before taking a deep breath to scream. Before you can do so, he slaps you hard enough that tears form in your eyes.



“No screaming, first of all,” Spy hisses sharply, and you shut your mouth to cover a sob. “And, no running. My door is locked, so I will be able to catch you before you try and escape.” He unties your hands and legs carefully, and you obediently lay there until he motions you to sit up. When you do, he grabs your head and pulls it down to his erection.



“Well?” It’s obvious that he wants you to suck him off. Already you feel like gagging. When you don’t begin immediately, he squeezes your head hard enough that you cough out a cry, before licking his head. He moans, triggering another gag before he jerks your head towards his cock, and you open your mouth reluctantly to let it in. Thrusting his hips, he forces his length down your throat, making you gag violently. He doesn’t even let you give him head, just thrusting in and out while holding your head steady. Over and over you gag, tears running down your cheeks. It was humiliating to be subject to this. What did you ever do to him?



“I want you…to know this…” Spy hissed between moans. “Sniper is mine. Understand?” He was doing this because he wanted Sniper? You jerk your head back in surprise, earning a violent smack to the head before he shoves you back into position, and you gag again. Before you actually hurl from the amount of times you’ve gagged, Spy pulls out of your mouth.



“On the bed, on your stomach. Now.” You freeze, staring up at the man in horror. He was going to…? With a sneer, he shoves you on the bed without any ceremony. He studies you for a moment, and once you arrange yourself in the way he wanted, he shoves his spit-lubricated erection into you, and you yelp in pain.



“You /will/ be quiet!” He hisses, grabbing his knife from the bedside table and slashing your arm with it. Quiet sobs wrack your body as he roughly pulls in and out of you, the pain overriding any sense of pleasure you could get from this. The man mutters in French behind you, moaning occasionally as he picks up speed. All you want is for this to be over.



You know he’s close when his French starts getting louder, and his thrusts become erratic. With a grunt, he releases in you, and you gag again, nearly vomiting all over the sheets. When he pulls out, you feel under the pain a sense of afterglow, and realize you had hit orgasm as well, but you hadn’t felt it at all. Was that even possible?



“Get out…and remember what I said.” Spy whispers in your ear, and pulls away, grabbing your arm and throwing you roughly by your clothes, folded neatly by the man’s. You hastily put on your clothes and dart to your room. Once the door is safely closed and locked, you hide under your covers in a fetal position. Sobbing yourself to sleep, your last thought is a grim one. You wish that you had never met Sniper.


For weeks you avoid Sniper and Spy both, keeping your eyes cast down and remaining in your room when you aren’t fighting or eating. Everyone notices your behavior, especially Medic, who has taken to dogging your footsteps everywhere you go. He asks you questions, however you don’t respond. At all. You haven’t spoken since Spy raped you.

You are preparing yourself for the fight when Medic comes up to you, trying to get you to talk once again. “Come now, tell me what’s wrong. You have been all but useless to our team for almost a month. /Something/ is wrong and I must know what it is!” Medic is obviously frustrated today, because his eyes narrow in impatient anger. You stare blankly back at the man, as he pushes his glasses up on his face in irritation. “Mein gott, I am your Medic! I have the right to know!”

Sniper walks in at that time, his eyes drifting over to you. You can tell that you’ve hurt his feelings by refusing to speak to him. It’s his fault that Spy did this to you, though, so you push past Medic and Sniper in your usual angry silence.

---

Later that night Engineer cooks up a meal of spaghetti and meat sauce; a meal that is welcomed by the whole team. You take a plate and sit in a corner by yourself. Only a few minutes later Spy walks in, looking like he owns the place. Fear strikes your gut and you rise to hurry out of the room. You can’t be anywhere near the man, and as you pass Sniper he catches your eye. It’s then that he makes the connection, and though you move as fast as you can, he follows.

Before you can run for the safety of your room, he grabs you and hefts you onto his shoulder with a grunt, and starts walking down the hall. “You’re being a stubborn little ass.” He grumbles as he turns to go up the stairs to his lair. You struggle and beat his back, trying to make him put you down. It was in vain, though. He sits you on his bed, a hand on your shoulder to keep you from running away. Fear rips through your belly. You can't escape, you’re trapped again!

The fear gets to Sniper, and he takes his sunglasses off with his free hand. “What the hell is wrong with you, mate? What did I do? You said that…that…” his voice breaks as he stammers, and you blink in surprise, though your anger remains. You didn’t know he’d been this hurt. Good, he aught to be sorry for what he did to you. Wait, he doesn’t know what he did wrong, does he?

A flare of anger replaces the fear, and you shove his hand off. Well he needs to know what he did wrong! He made Spy rape you, dammit! You stand as the rage fills your entire body, though instead of lashing out at the man, the anger focuses on your vocal chords.

“It’s your fault!” You snarl at the man, taking a step forward. A baffled Sniper backs away with his hands up as if to shield a blow.

“Wh-what?”

“Because of you he did that to me! That sick, perverted, disgusting asswipe! He said that you were fucking /his/!” Sniper is complete confused, staring at you with wide eyes. Does he think you’ve gone mad? Somehow that makes you even angrier. He shouldn’t be confused!

“Who said I was his? I don’t know what you’re –“

“H-he did!” You can’t say his name. You can’t. The anger is chased away by a returning sense of fear; the fear of the slimy man’s name. You back away to sit on the bed again and you don’t realize that you’ve curled up into a fetal position. Sniper sits next to you, placing a gentle hand on your arm, the one that Spy slashed. You inch away, making Sniper flinch back.

“You aren’t saying anything helpful…”

“S-s….Sp…” You try to say it. You try your very best, but you can’t. Fortunately, Sniper seems to understand. There aren’t very many names with ‘Sp’ in them, after all.

“Spy? He said I was his? Fucking spook, he’s crazy. You should know that.” He tries to scoot closer to you, but you push him away with a hand, and Sniper frowns. The Australian is silent for awhile, and you turn your head to see what he’s doing. Sniper’s face is thoughtful.

“…What /exactly/ did Spy do…?” His voice was low, and dangerous, though the anger wasn’t directed at you. After all, not many actions end up with the victim not talking for several weeks.

You can’t seem to form any coherent statements as you try to explain. “Angry…hit me unconscious…too scared, door was locked, took off his /pants/, made me, he m-/made/ me…” Suddenly you burst into tears, sobs wracking your body, and you find yourself in Sniper’s arms again as he struggles to comfort you.

“Shh…” Sniper rocks you back and forth slowly as you cry into the man’s shirt. It’s oddly comforting. For minutes all you do is let yourself be rocked as you cry, until you cannot shed another tear. Finally you are silent, and Sniper stills his movements, though he strokes your hair gently.

“You say…that this is my fault?” Sniper looks down at you; you can feel it from the way his body strains, but you don’t look at him. Instead, you focus on his shirt and nod slowly. It was still his fault. You are supposed to be angry…but all that crying sapped the energy from you. To your surprise, Sniper laughs harshly.

“Well fine. I’ll fix it then.” He gently lifts you off his lap and sets you on his bed. “Now. Sit here and wait. I’ll be right back.” To your surprise, you obey, lying on his bed as Sniper walks back down the stairs on some mission or another.

---

Until you wake up from a gentle shake from Sniper, you don’t realize that you fell asleep. You glance up at him with a confused look, and movement behind the man catches your attention. The sight you see almost has you bolting out of Sniper’s nest. There was Spy, bound and gagged with rope. And damn you to hell if he wasn’t naked, also.

“He won’t do you any harm, mate. He’s as tame as a rabbit.” Giving Sniper an incredulous look, you manage to speak again.

“What are you going to do to him?” What if what Sniper does makes things worse? Will Spy go after you again? Sniper only chuckles darkly, and Spy struggles to free himself. It was pointless, as pointless as you trying to escape the ties had been.

“Not what I’m going to do. What /we’re/ going to do. We are going to teach Spy some bedside manners.” His grin lights up his face in a wild sort of way. Through your fear, you manage to feel butterflies in your stomach. ‘We?!’ What made him think you were going to do anything with Spy? “You know, a little bit of revenge.”

Revenge. In a way, that sounds good to your ears. It would teach the man not to mess with you…or Sniper. The fact that you had unconsciously included Sniper in your list of ‘no messing with’ has you surprised for a moment before you are distracted by a furious ramble of muffled nonsense coming from the gagged Spy.

“Shut your trap,” Sniper growls, kicking the man to the ground. You find that you don’t have any sympathy for Spy as he writhes on the floor. Placing a booted foot on Spy’s back to keep him from moving around too much, Sniper looks over at you with a raised brow.

“Well? How should I start?” The question leaves you confused, though Sniper waits patiently as you work out exactly what the Australian means. He wants you to tell him what he’s going to do to the man? Swallowing, you work up your courage before you answer.

“Take off the gag,” The remark has Sniper’s brow raise in surprise. “Then smack his face. Hard.” Shrugging, Sniper obeys, jerking the gag down and backhanding the man. It was hard enough to make spittle fly from the man’s head, which had turned forcefully towards you with the blow. His eyes glare at you with pure hatred, making your fear return in a single, breathtaking blow. Sniper notices and smacks the man’s head the other way.

“Do not look at our teammate,” Sniper growls at Spy, who is dazed at the force of the Australian’s hand. “You don’t deserve to look at /anyone/ after what you did.”

It was then that you suddenly realize that it wasn’t Sniper’s fault. Sniper couldn’t control Spy’s actions. All your anger suddenly turns completely to Spy, and now that it wasn’t divided between two people, the fury is almost overwhelming.

“Cut the bastard,” you suggest suddenly, making Sniper look at you briefly. He nods, and then walks a few steps over to his kukri before returning to Spy. “Got a request as to where?” You lift up your shirt’s sleeve to reveal the scar on your right arm – you hadn’t approached Medic to heal it. Now it would be a permanent reminder of how Spy violated you. The scar ran from your shoulder down to your elbow. “His /left/ arm.”

Sniper grimaces in sympathy before turning back to the bound man. His kukri glinted ominously before Sniper jerked him up roughly so his weapon could slash down across Spy’s left arm. Spy screamed; loud enough that Sniper shoved the gag back in place until the Frenchman was just whimpering. The Australian turns back to you, ignoring the blood pooling on the floor.

“Like that?” He asks, and a brow rises, waiting for you to respond. The feeling of excitement, and arousal, that you suddenly feel freaks you out a little. You don’t want to be like Spy. But...you can’t help it, but you like this kind of revenge. To your shock, you smile at Sniper, who smiles reassuringly back. What other things could the two of you do to Spy…?

>>72
Please, oh God please tell me that there is more. I feel it just cuts off.

>>72
Yep. That was it. Thanks for reposting.

>>73
I dunno if there was more. There was only that much posted on the original chan so I'm guessing the orignal authors gave up on it?

Thanks~!

Still, anyone else got a different youxscout?

Here's another Tentaspy/You from the archives


---
You remember the first time you saw it: the upper body of a Spy atop a churning mass of tentacles. Not quite believing what you just witnessed, you panicked and made a hasty retreat.

He, however, did not like silly little girls intruding.

His skinnier appendages snaked through the murky water and wrapped themselves around your ankles. Pulling you back was no problem, your frame was small and light.

You pitched forward, landed on your butt, and felt yourself being steadily tugged towards him. Panicking, you blindly fired three shots into the darkness, hoping that the bullets would hit their target.

“Now, now,” Spy purred as a single tentacle swiftly plucked the gun from your hands. “Zat zing’s not a toy.”

And that was that. The screams you held back spilled loose and your legs kicked at the various stalks. You clawed at the ground, desperately trying your best to tear away from his grasp. Your head was so full of fear that it was hard to think.

Your efforts were fruitless; the iron grip around your ankles barely shifted as you struggled. Before you knew it, other appendages seized your arms and legs and held fast, tugging you deeper into the confines of the sewers.

Soon enough, the tendrils started exploring your body. Across your heaving chest and down your stomach, you felt the ice cold limbs stroking you through your soaked clothes.

Everything in you recoiled in disgust and horror. You wiggled around, thrashed your legs about, but to no avail.

“Come, now,” he leaned forward and whispered into the crook of your neck, “I won’t hurt you… I only want to have a little fun…”

As the words left his mouth, the tentacles found their way under the hem of your shirt. You heard a few stitches rip as they strained against wet cloth. Others slithered up your sides and pushed your bra away. You felt them wrap around your breasts and tweak the sensitive nubs.

You gasped and jerked back as more unbuttoned your shirt and whisked the article of clothing away. Thick tendrils propped you up as others worked on the clasp of your pants. After much difficulty, Spy opted on ripping it apart.

The tentacles left wet tracks as it brushed over your thighs. Questing their way up the smooth expanse of warm flesh, they came to a stop, resting over your hips. You stomach jerked and quivered with each move he made.

You tried to keep your legs together, but Spy was stronger and simply pulled them apart with ease.

“Stop! Don’t–!” you stopped short as you felt a tentacle trace along your back and cup your ass. He flashed you a lecherous grin and slid a particularly slick stalk across the damp, flimsy fabric of your panties.

You jolted forward on instinct, only to crash into his sopping wet suit. Spy’s arms, the two parts of him still human, immediately wrapped around you waist.

You looked up him, eyes widened in fear and breathing erratic. A whimper you were barely aware of escaped you lips. The frantic beating of you heart pounded painfully in your ears as he gently traced invisible patterns on your cheek with a finger– a surprisingly tender gesture.

You could only watch, paralyzed with horror as his cool lips connected with your jaw and a slippery appendage firmly squeezed your breast. Tears began to well up in your eyes and, to your dismay, Spy’s Cheshire grin only broadened at your suffering.

He still had that damned smile slapped across his face as he ever so slowly pulled down your underwear. Your tattered bra had long since disappeared, and now you were completely bare in front of his penetrative gaze.

At first you were too mortified and embarrassed to make any sounds, much rather move. All you wanted was to curl into a ball and die. But his plans were starkly different.

A tentacle found its way to the apex of your thighs and ran itself between your outer lips. Every now and then, it rubbed against a bundle of nerves and you felt your body warming up in spite of the circumstances.

He withdrew the tentacle, hovering directly under you and savored the tension and terror radiating from your being. He positioned it carefully, and with an inhuman ripple of strength, he viciously plunged in.

For a second you felt nothing; just the strange sensation of–

Oh god.

The pain. The pain, the burning, the agony. Your screams started up again, this time escalating sharply in volume. Your wails resounded through the empty tunnels of the sewers but to no avail. No one heard. No one came.

The one tendril grinding away inside you soon became two, then a dozen, then more and more and more. They stretched you impossibly wide, tendrils probing and prodding, and you could feel every single one of them.

They were freezing cold, sending shivers up and down your spine. They writhed inside you, caressing every inch and filling every gap. An incredibly bloated feeling gathered in your abdomen, causing a wave of nausea and feverish pain to rock your frame.

Hysterical warbles were all you could manage. Thrashing around proved to have no effect. Your limbs were bound by countless tentacles; you were ensnared in his trap. Still, you tugged at them pitifully, not quite ready to give up.

“Cease your useless protests. Here, let me give your mouth somezing better to do.”

A stalk was thrust into your mouth and roughly down your throat, muffling your cries and cutting off your oxygen. Tears ran down your cheeks and through the blur, you could see a look of utter pleasure on his face. His lips were curled into a sneer, and his eyes eagerly took in your writhing form.

The lack of air and the unbearable pain soon took its toll. Bright spots began to cloud your vision, and your lungs ached for oxygen. After what seemed like an eternity, your protests slowly died down and you hung limply as his back arched and a soft moan escaped his lips.

With a final spasm, Spy pulled out of your throat so you could breath again.


The first though on your mind was to breath, to take in giant gulps of air. You never knew air could be so satisfying. You were barely aware of the slime caked on your skin, in your hair, and in the back of your throat. You were barely aware of the bruises and aches in your body. All that mattered at the moment was air.

After that, pure misery.

The pain was back and the roar in your head was deafening. The horror and revulsion bubbled forth again. Fragments of conflicting thoughts raced through your mind. You were still trapped in his snare and still no one came to your rescue. You felt defeated, betrayed, and abandoned. Yet a part of you insisted your teammates had heard your cries and would arrive at any minute.

Without a warning, you were released back into the murky water as he retracted his tentacles. You crumpled to the ground, lifeless, and stared ahead blankly.

You didn’t seem to the notice as the monstrosity dragged you by the waist back into the inky darkness.

>>67
YES thank you. Haven't read a scoutxyou that comes close to this epicness.

Anyone saved the Tentaspy/You story that begins with you falling down the sewers and knocking your head? It was around before the big data loss, so it wasn't that old.

>>74
Oops, 73's desperate yearning was me I'm afraid, damn, it was still hot though. Thanks chai/and Anonymous.

As for >>78 this is the 'Tentaspy and you' fic, though I'm not that organised to save author's names I'm afraid.
-----------------

Your head is pounding. How did you end up here? That Spy...He must have pushed you off the roof. The pain throughout your body kind of makes you wish the fall had killed you. Re-spawn has a bit more mercy than Spies do.

You clench your eyes shut, but it only makes the headache worse. You feel around your head to make sure you're not bleeding. You allow yourself to open your eyes long enough to glance at your hand; its too dark around you to see anything.

How long have you been out? Why hasn't anyone come to look for you? You place a hand at your side and feel a wave of confusion. Concrete? Your senses seemingly return all at once as the scent of mildew and stagnant water fill your nostrils. This is bad.

Frantically you look around in the darkness, pleading with your eyes to let any shred of light give you direction. Your head throbs again, you grab it quickly to try and soothe the pain. By now your breath has formed into short gasps.

You hear movement in the pool of water next to you. The echo inside the darkness makes it impossible to detect exactly where. Your breath hitches for a moment. The sound of a wet form escapes the water and floods onto the concrete. You feel the water inch its way to your trousers and the sudden shock of cold water forces a cry out of you.

You try to find the words to ask who is there, but find yourself without voice. Your heart is racing, your headache flushes your body still. You move to stand up but your legs have little feeling in them. You stumble in the dark. A dripping, gloved hand catches you just as you are about to hit the floor. You scream and try to pry their hand away. It only grips tighter.

The hand clutches to your collar and pulls you into a soaking hold.

“I can make zhis much easier if you keep zhe screaming to a minimum, petite.”

Clawing away at the hand that holds you, your strength has yet to return. Your limbs are weak, but you are resilient in trying to beat the form away.

You only hear the sound of a chest-deep laugh.

“You 'it your 'ead quite 'ard. It was a very nasty fall.”

You launch your numb fist toward the voice. You miss.

“I saved your life you know.”

You kick around you.

“I am only claiming a small reward.”

You move to pull your foot away when something shoots out and grabs a hold of it. The strange feeling of thick, wet, rubbery bindings around your leg catches you off guard. You gasp aloud. The form replies with another satisfied laugh.

The bindings inch their way up you, soaking your pant-legs with a thicker-than-water substance. You can feel sucker-like discs covering the underside of them. They curl around your thigh and give a small squeeze. Your breath hitches once more in your throat.

More of the bindings find their way to your arms. The tentacle-like feeling of suckers gently nip at your flesh, pulling at it firmly, then releasing with a smooth kiss. You realize all at once that you've stopped moving. A hot breath inches toward your mouth. You instinctively pull away. The tentacles, now around your upper chest and stomach squeeze you rather painfully this time. You want to cry out but still find yourself inept.

“I dislike sudden movements. It is best zhat you keep still.”

You obediently relax yourself, trying to find an outline of this form in the darkness. The hot breath again comes closer to your mouth. You can taste it on your tongue. The tentacles on your stomach have moved their way inside your shirt, gripping tightly to your chest and pulling away at a nipple. You bite your lip at the combination of pleasure and pain and betray yourself with the smallest of moans as a sucker pulls at the flesh on your neck. The rubbery lengths wrapped around your body feel almost alien. A cool, moist mouth presses its silky lips to yours, then tugs at them with its own.

A flash of arousal courses through your body and you shake your head to ward it off. The pair of lips quickly catch yours again and a long, slender tongue finds its way inside your mouth. You feel an array of sharp teeth against your lips now.

The tentacles squeeze and pull at your flesh, moving up and down your sides. The tongue matches the tentacles' pace; swirling around and exploring every inch of your mouth.

Trying to stave of the urge to follow along with the silken kisses sending jolts of pleasure through you, you grip onto a shoulder in the darkness to give yourself something to concentrate on.

“Oui petite, touch me... S'il vous plait...” The voice mutters against your mouth before hungrily grasping it again.

Hearing him speak again sends another flash of arousal through you. You let a moan escape into his mouth. You relax your hand gripping his shoulder and you gently touch around the soft material coating his neck.

As the tentacles inch their way downward, keeping one on your neck they begin squeezing your thighs again. You hear the tink of a belt being undone, but are far too busy enjoying the feeling of his binds and tongue gliding over your body.

He releases your mouth for a moment to turn your neck to the side. The suckers kissing your throat are replaced with his cool lips. Letting out a a shuddering breath you cry out suddenly at the feeling of his teeth raking tenderly across your jugular.

“Mmm, you make zhe most wonderful sounds petite.”

You feel a smile come on but it is quickly morphed into groan as his moist lips travel further down your throat and onto your chest. His tentacles have now discarded your pants as they are hanging around your ankles.

You feel the thick, rubbery ropes cover your entire lower-half. They brush against your most sensitive areas, tugging and prodding. His tongue kneads at one of your nipples as his hands caress your hips and ass. At this point you've forgotten yourself and are at the complete mercy of this creature.

A stray tentacle snakes its way around your arm and into your hand. You curl your finger around it and rub the tip with your thumb. He responds with a deep push and a swirl of his tongue around your nipple. He has begun to moan along with you.

Your legs start to regain some of the feeling they lost, but the numbness from the pain is only replaced with crippling pleasure. The tips of the tentacles tease your lower body. The slimmed touch of them against your skin forces a chain of whimpers from you.

You plead with yourself not to make any movement. You can feel your knees begin to buckle under the steady climb of an oncoming climax. You're mouthing the words 'please, please' over and over.

As if sensing your tortured body he grabs a hold of you, kissing your fingertips.

“Our performance is almost at an end. Shall we go for zhe grand finale?”

You nod a little as you feel yourself being lead somewhere. You take a minute to step out of your trousers as they were only hindering your movements. You follow blindly as he guides you in the darkness to the pool of water. You want to object as its uncomfortably cold, but the touch of his smooth lips to yours distract you long enough to forget it for a moment.

You both are in the water now. He is bracing your lower-half with the tentacle-like ropes, using a few to continue to play around your goose-pimpled skin. You hold the back of his neck and shudder into his chest. The water is stealing the immensely built-up heat from your bodies and you grip him tighter to signal a boost in pace.

He takes two tentacles and holds each of your ankles in one, spreading your legs apart. A graze across your genitals with a stray tentacle is enough to make you lose it right then. The tentacle curls itself around you and gives firm, but incredibly pleasurable squeezes, flicking its length around your painfully sensitive tip.

Your head is tossed back by now, enthralled in this sensory overload. You're now voicing your pleas with him. You hear his deep chuckle once more.

You feel the rest of the tentacles drape around your lower-half. His mouth now sinks down a few inches to happily toy with your neck.

A thick tip presses against you and sends a pulsing heat throughout your veins. You move to jerk your legs but find that the tentacles have you in a tight hold. As the thickened tentacle prods against your entrance you whimper a bit louder. While lightly dragging his teeth across your throat, you feel the stray tentacle press and rub the peak of your pleasured organ. You lean in and force hungry, wanting kisses to his own neck. His claws grip into you making you moan loudly.

He forces you back against the wall, sloshing water around your neck and chest. He growls inhumanly. All at once your insides burn with pleasure as the thick tentacle eases its way inside you. You feel your muscles tighten around it. It pulsates, throbbing as you clench. You can feel it spreading your entrance, practically causing it to rip. You are lost again in the mercy of this creature.

His breath has become raspy, he twitches and moans when you do. You beg him to continue. He grips you tighter as the tentacle forces its way in deeper sending more of that wonderful, wonderful heat throughout your body. He is gasping now, clutching you tighter with every pulsation the tentacle gives you.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle your needy moans. He has begun to move your wrapped body in the water onto the thickened tentacle. You feel its tip hit all the right places, rewarding you with quick throbs against your insides. You want more. You beg him for more. The tentacle pulls out of you slowly, and cruelly. It teases your entrance before pounding its way into you again. Arching your back you moan deeply into the darkness.

He is swearing in French now, mouthing hungrily at your neck. The pace has picked up decently now. You both are at the point of the absolute need to release. The throbbing heat inside you swells as you clutch him tightly. You whimper into him that you are close. You beg him to let you cum. He grunts a bit and shoves his face into your shoulder. The deep glides inside you finally allow you to give him pulsations of your own. You feel your entrance clench tightly as you grip his neck in orgasm. You hear him cry out, head tossed back. The tentacle is still pumping into you furiously.

You continue to moan, pleading with him to hurry. You feel his claws puncture your arms. You start to wince with pain but find yourself moaning louder than you had before. Pressure is building up inside you and the pulsations of the tentacle become erratic. The tentacle heaves inside you deeper and fills you with that exquisite pressure.

The tentacle eases to a stop, letting the melting warmth give you the full effect. You both are now reduced to panting and gasping for breath. The tentacle slides out of you and you give one finale wanting moan. The heat is still inside you, but you can feel it slowly start to escape.

You feel so wonderfully satisfied. You rest your head against his shoulder and let your body rest for a moment.

“Well petite, 'ow is your 'ead now?”

I figure I should contribute while I'm on, here is a 'Soldier and you' fic, again I don't save author names, my bad. Shoot me.
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Your legs shakily make their way up the stairs, with beer in hand, you charge up in excitement. Each step is a pain and you wince from each step and with your gun flung over your shoulder, it makes it more gruelling. Reaching the top your pace quickens, forcing your body to its destination without question. But at the top you quickly scan the surroundings, hoping for a solitaire environment before you start to get comfortable. No one's in sight.

"Finally!" You exclaim loudly before your legs give out under you with a 'thunk'. The porch had been waiting patiently for your arrival and you let out a content sigh while opening your golden elixir. Today was a rough one for sure; you've died and respawned at least 6 times. In the back of your mind, you know that can't be good for you. So what do you do? You lie back on the porch, beer to your lips, reflecting the day and reviewing the good times. Your eyes close and before you are dead to the world you hear a certain sound that breaks you from your comfort.

"What're you doing, Maggot?" Instantly your eyes bolt open to see the Soldier leaning over you to be face to face. You could smell the gun powder on him and you feel your heart 'thump' in his intense presence. Your senses feel drained as he grunts out in irritation. "Well?"

"I'm relaxing, sir." Thankfully your brain boots back up in time to answer. He looks you over, before sneering and sitting to the opposite side of the porch. It seems he brought up his own beer (or two) for his pleasure also. You sit straight and watch him from the corner of your eye in case he decides to jump you. Usually, you're here by yourself, listening to the trickles of the stream and the music from the cicadas, before Engineer calls you down for dinner. But of course, being the new recruit, you will be left with barely anything.

Slowly, you tilt your head to the side so you could get a better view of your comrade. He is sitting cross-legged against the railing, while guzzling his beer with clenched fists. Your memory goes back to when you first met the guy. He was hostile and his sharp voice became a sign to you to hide. But you knew underneath that tough exterior was someone more quiet…you hope.

"Hn, if you have all this time to waste, you should be doing something useful. Like drills around the war field!" You feel a shudder go through your spine at the mention of the word 'drills'. You know for a fact that he can be very persuasive during physical training.

"I'm not wasting time." You say smugly. "I'm here to be mentally fit." He sips his beer, while keeping an eye on you. You both stare very awkwardly until you speak up. "What?"

"I don't believe it. That's bullshit, Maggot!" His fist pounds the wood under him and you jump slightly. His piercing glare could be felt, even behind his helmet; and you do the courtesy of glaring back.

"Stop talking for once! Just try it, Sarge, and you'll see what I mean." Instantly, you wish you could grab those words and shove them back into your stupid mouth. The beer gave you enough buzz to have you say stupid shit to the Soldier. One must never command Solly around, that was his job. Your eyes shit tightly, waiting for the bone crackling impact from his fist in your face. Seconds turn to minutes until you open your eyes. What you see startles you, for you see the Soldier calmer than you ever thought possible. Cautiously you watch him; his hidden eyes were in view and his WW2 helmet pushed up.

You never thought that he'd have hazel eyes and you never thought they'd be so beautiful. Your attention is soon fully on him as he stares off into space, only to pause to drink his refreshment and scratch his neck. Suddenly his gaze rests on you and your stomach feels clenched by an invisible force. The gold tint in his iris puts you at a loss of thought and words. But to your displeasure, he flicks his helmet back down, purposely blocking your view as if he had something to hide. He quickly stands and walks into the RED building without a word. You bite back your tongue. You've already pissed him off, no point in adding in more hell.

"Dinner!" The Texan's grizzled voice echoed up the stairs and into your ears. A sudden growl was heard from your stomach and you hop up. Wincing a little, you make your way down stairs.

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"Dammit..." That bastard-scout punched you out of the way for a corn cob. You touch the purple flesh on your shoulder before rubbing it, hoping that it will magically heal instantly. Nope. Still nasty looking. But you have to admit, the Pyro can make some damn good food with the help of Engineer of course. Once again you slowly make your way back to the porch for some more 'mental exercises'; in other words daydreaming. Your legs aren't as sore but you take your time going up each step. Your mind reverts to the Soldiers eyes and you feel a flush spill over your face. This feeling was too over whelming and it made you feel too relaxed, and the last thing you want to feel in the war field is relaxed. Relaxing meant letting your guard down and letting your guard down meant getting killed.

You open the door to the porch and you try to gulp down the knot in your throat at the sight. Soldier was there with a case of brews. He turns his attention to you but says nothing. His uniform really stood out, it was near 8 o'clock and you could see his blood red jacket. You sit a foot away from him and you feel cool glass against your shoulder. It was a Budweiser, you thank him and twist off the cap in a swift movement. The two of you drink silently before soon the tension between you two dwindles enough for you to finish a beer and for him to grab another. When you finish your second bottle he's already drank 4. Being a half-pint, your vision is already swimming and it doesn't take long for you two to start a conversation.

His stories of his war were surprisingly very interesting. You find yourself asking more questions and he continues to answer with much exaggeration. He told jokes about the Medic and Spy, his first gun, and even how he got into Fort 2. To your amazement, you’re having a damn good time with him.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Two long lost drinking buddies?" Soldier and you look to the door to see the Spy leaning against the frame lighting a cigarette. He cooly inhales the fumes before puffing out some smoke.

"What the fuck do you want, Spy?" Soldier's raspy voice scares you in your drunken state even more. Spy just chuckles.

"I've noticed we were lacking our Decoy and Soldieur." Spy's coy smile turned into a grin. "I was making sure you didn't do anyzing to zhe poor zhing." You glare at the man, having you brought into this was low. You've known about the two's hate for each other for some time and always weaselled your way around those arguments.

"I haven't done nothing to the kid! So you just get your ass out of here before I shove my cleats up it!" He barked back, his teeth blaring from anger. This only makes him laugh more. Soldier does an animalistic yell before he jumped on top of the Spy trying to strangle that covered neck. Spy laughs like a maniac at his power over the fighter and you watch this tussle for a few minutes before reaching for your gun. With the Soldier yelling out random insults, you somehow manage to kick the Soldier off the Spy and quickly pull the trigger. With a loud crack, the red substance splattered over you and your comrade, and the only sound heard after that was your gun reloading. The Soldier was taken aback by the action and he looks at you stunned. The red suit starts to turn into a navy blue and you thank the heavens that it wasn't one of your team mates.

"You okay, Sarge?" You ask spitting out some blood and smile at him. He pulls himself up before getting close to you.

"I'VE COULD'VE TAKEN CARE OF THAT, MAGGOT! YOU'VE JUST EARNED YOURSELF 50 LAPS AROUND THE FIELD TOMORROW EVENING! AND IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU, YOU WON’T EAT. GOT THAT, SALLY FRUITCAKE?" The thundering voice stung your ears and you hiss in response. He turns on his heel and stomps off leaving your mouth agape and eyes widened.

"WHAT?" You couldn’t believe it! Actually, you can. He's done this so many times you should be use to it. You sink to your knees and try to claw out your hair in frustration.

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"'Ey, Welp! Mind watchin' mah back for those spooks?" You turn to Sniper who currently had the Intelligence and you nod assuringly. You run after him and turn around to throw traps for any followers. You switch out your rifle, loading it quickly for any immediate attacks. Behind you were the cries of a Heavy bellowing from pain and you smirk smugly at the small victory before turning a corner to be face to face with a BLU! Spy, separating you and the Australian.

"You go on, Snipe! I've got him!" You’re almost not sure of yourself, but the Aussie does a courtesy nod.

"Good on ya', Mate!" He responds thankfully, before high tailing it to the RED! base. You turn back to the Spy, as he smokes nonchalantly in front of you as if he had no care in the world.

"Hmm, where's your friend, zhe Soldieur?" He smirks into the cylinder of tobacco, before strutting over toward you. You have a knife in hand, but you watch him intensely for any threatening movements. "Why does he seem so special to you. mon cher?" His accent was seductive but you weren't to 'wooed' by the conversation and having him a BLU! wasn't helping. Tightening your grip around the handle, you lung toward his chest, but he grabs your wrist. Twirling you around so your back was against his chest. He grabs the other and pins both of your hands above your head. You move to make a kick but he loosens his grip for you to fall on the ground. Scrambling to get up, he pins you to the ground forcefully before sliding his knee between your legs. You gasp out and watch as he begins to lean forward. Trying to pull from his grip you hear him speak in that seductive tone again.

"Je peux vous promettre que les hommes français sont bien mieux que l'Américain simple..." He stops in mid sentence when a steel shovel clashes with his head. The lifeless body slumps on you and you’re able to see your savoir. You just wish it wasn't him. The BLU!'s body was thrown across the hallway and the Soldier grabs your arm and pulls you up to eye level. You feel his anger radiating off him like a heater, your stomach clenches again to see those hazel eyes.

"You disgust me, Maggot..." He growls out before thrusting you away from him like you were a beggar from the streets. He jogs off leaving you empty than you've ever felt.

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You lost the intelligence...It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. You were getting targeted like never before, a Sniper did a head-shot on you, Spy got his revenge and back stabbed you; Hell, you probably got killed by all the members of the other team...TWICE. Not to mention, through one of Sarge's roaring complaints, he kept on directing his yelling in your face and kept on poking your chest as if everything was your fault. Once, he was through he'd grab you by your collar and take you outback for that training you were oh so crazy about.

"I WANNA SEE YOU SWEAT BLOOD, YOU NANCY!" After 67 laps you have a feeling you might start to. Your lungs stung from exhaustion and the cool air stung your nose like bleach. You have a bad feeling Soldier saw the whole scene in a totally different perspective and instantly thought of you as a whore. Now, punishment for the 'whore' was to run 100 laps nonstop, not to mention you got no supper and it was near 9:45 in the evening. But by the 73 lap you fall to your knees and grip the ground for balance, for you've never seen the ground whirl like that before. Soldier walks to you and kicks you to the ground so you could face him.

"YOU SHOULD'VE THOUGHT TWICE BEFORE YOU WENT OFF TO SLEEP WITH THE OTHER TEAM!" Again, wincing from the loud volume, you desperately try to catch your breath.

"Not (gasp) a whore. (gasp) Spy (wheeze) trapped me (pant)." The Soldier frowns doubtfully. Leaning forward to be face to face he breathes out;"Prove to me, Maggot."

'What the hell? How do I do that?' is all that goes through your mind while you’re still panting and looking at him like deer in headlights. He scoffs before standing back up and turning back to the base. "Thought so... GIVE ME 30 MORE LAPS!" Catching your last few breaths, you watch as he disappears into the base.

"Dammit..."Trying to catch your breath again, you stand shakily and start up your running.

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Slauntering into the base took more effort than anything you've done in your life. Sweat seemed to pour off your body like a water fountain and stain your red clothing like blood on a white shirt. You move across the hallways and stumble into the dining room. The smell of a decent meal, almost made you faint from happiness as you push open the kitchen doors. You want to wipe your eyes to erase the sight of the other in the same room. Sarge, seemed to be pouring a hefty amount of the meaty stew into a bowl. He turns to only give you a disproved look and shoves the bowl into your hands.

"Eat up. I don’t want to have any useless, Worms in the field tomorrow." He wasn't yelling, but what he said still hurt you. You nod, and grab a spoon then leave to sit at the table. He follows, and leans against a wall with a mug in hand. You take a mouthful of potatoes, he was waiting to make sure you didn't go off with that Frenchy bastard. He wasn't important right now, what was important was trying to tell the Soldier what happened. But before you open your mouth to say anything. He interjects.

"You really hurt me out there, private." He states grumpily before sipping his coffee. Your eyebrows knit as you concentrate on him as he looks at the ground, trying to find the words. "You were probably one of the noblest fighters I've ever taught." Again, another blow that hurt you. "I always thought that we were..." You hear him draw off and you watch patiently for an answer. His face was already hard to read, but now he just looked so lost and unknown. This wasn't your Sarge, it was that quiet one you were talking about...you hope. He wasn't really looked up to in Fort, with all these manly figures, it was hard to be one. But even with those figures, you still hung around Soldier, it wasn't something that's really crossed your mind until now. Now that you think about it, you weren't with him because you had to or that he was your commander, you think you might actually be drawn to him.

You stand up and walk over to him. He was still absent, but you take this moment to pat his back and look up that helmet. His eyes were in view and you felt your heart leap again from those irises.

"I don’t have any relationship with that French fry." His eyes roll to you and you look at him more confidently. "That French-fuck was trying to separate Snipes and me when he had the Intel. What you saw was not intentional." You pat his back harder like he does when you've done your watch as his face goes from that unknown look to his 'MAGGOT' look. He glugs down the rest of his coffee before he faces you.

"Jesus, private. YOU SMELL LIKE THE DEAD RABBIT FROM BEHIND OUR SNIPER'S VAN!" You tumbled backwards and fall on your ass, he gives you hand, pulling you up like you were a bag of potatoes. "Good to see that I didn't lose any of my men." He whacks your back and you fall forward. "EAT YOUR FOOD THEN GO SHOWER, NANCY PANTS!" He tosses his coffee cup on the floor and marches up the stairs as if he didn't have a moment. Not sure of what just happened, you pick up the pieces of glass before you lean in to smell yourself.

"Fucking, sick! He was right!"

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It was another relaxing evening. Tonight beer's never tasted so good when you share a case with Sarge. He's leaning against that same railing with his helmet completely off. You couldn't help yourself as you, again, stare at those eyes. His attention is elsewhere and yours on him. You really begin to look at his features: from is stubble, to his buzz cut. He had such a manly look to him like Snipers side-burns or Medic's accent.

"Today was a good day!" He proclaims and you take a swig and admire him some more.

"Sure was." He turns to you to whack your back and you let out a drunken laugh.

"I blasted that Spy’s head off more than I could count!" He laughed out loudly. You frown, you could tell he was still bugged from that. "Damn, Spy. He'll pay." He puts his arms in front of him and wrings the invisible figure in front of him.

"Yeah, that Frenchy, almost got me today..." You chuckle out and he whips his head to you.

"WHAT?" He leans in to you and your almost touching noses. A flush goes over your face.

"He almost stabbed me, but before he tried anything I blasted him with my Desert Eagle." You lean away, embarrassed from the closeness. He grunts out and pats your head. The pats die down to hair tussles. He seemed calm and the last thing you wanted from him was to be yelled at, so you stay still. His calloused fingers would caress your scalp and would swirl your locks.

"I don’t want that sonabitch touching you, got that private?" He gives you a serious glare and curves his lips into a frown. You flash back to when your dad had to give you the 'Stranger Danger' talk; it felt strikingly similar and you replied with that nod you did years ago. He smiles before standing up with his 3rd bottle in hand. He's careful with his steps as he walks across the porch to the entrance.

"Sarge?" He turns around and you quickly pick up his helmet and you hand it to him slowly. He takes it graciously but still stares down at you. That flush again floats to your cheeks when you watch him angle his hat, covering those eyes. He lets out a hearty chuckle and grabs your wrist pulling you toward him. He seemed hesitant to what he was doing but continued to lean toward you and pecked you on the cheek. He was gentle and you were almost taken aback, but you knew it was that unknown Soldier. Before he pulled back you grab those helmet buckles and force lips together. You press his body to yours and you feel lightheaded by how this all feels. Those giant hands snaked around your waist pull you up to his chest for you to wrap your legs around him. That tongue of his, was pure torment. You push that horrible eye shield off his head and pull that prickly head to you. His stubble tickled you when he'd rub against your neck passionately.

You were so drawn into it, that when he pulled away you moaned. Eyes snapped open, you look at him curiously when he places you to your feet. He bent over to retrieve his helmet.

"Not here. There's too much at risk." His rough hand softly wipes your cheek. "My room 23 hundred hours." Grabbing his helmet he faces back at you. Giving a chaste light kiss to your forehead he places his helmet back on and stomps back to the base. Now you stood on the manmade track, dazed from the tender kiss and covering your face with your hand.

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"'Kay thanks!" You shut the door behind you. Apparently you weren't smart enough to know when 23 hundred hours was and had to go ask Medic. Of course, it was weird cause he thought you were giving up your body for science, only to reject him and ask your question. He was puzzled at the question and asked if you were sure you didn't want to. Leaving that office was best thing you've ever done in your life...well, second. You head back to your room, you had an hour to kill and nothing to do. Walking around the small dorm you realize you have nothing interesting except your guns. Your Desert Eagle and your light weight shotgun. You sat on your bed looking at the wall thinking about nothing when you feel your eyes become heavy.

"Oh NO! You're not falling asleep that easily."You stand up and walk out your door into the hallway. Looking around for any watchers you tiptoe to the other side of the base. There the Soldier resigns near the security room, for any updated emergencies. Your steps loose it's pace as you draw closer to the door and your heart is pounding loudly in your ears. There it was. His door. In front of you. You gulp down a sigh and knock 4 times on the cold metal door. After a few seconds, there's silence. Thinking he stood you up, you hear a 'who is it'. Another gulp.

"It's me...can I come in?" A pause.

"Permission Granted." He gruffles out. You let out a tittered sigh and open the door. The smell of gun polisher was strong when you walk in, but not as strong as the stuff Heavy cleans Sasha with. Closing the door softly behind you, you see the room actually clean. You've been in here once before, when it was trashed. The Soldier was hunched over his desk, pouring in a black powder and other explosive chemicals into one of his grenades.


"You're early, Maggot." He responds not glancing back at you. Your heart races again.

"I couldn't concentrate." You respond lamely. He grunts and continues with his work. You seat yourself on his bed and watch him.

The silence was tormenting and you wanted to talk to him, hear another one of his stories, anything but silence. Legs crossed you plant you head on your hand, trying to keep yourself awake. You give up and drift off in dreamland for a minute. The silence of the room was to calming when a sudden ring from a clock wakes you and you turn to the Soldier still at his desk. He stops what he's doing and clicks off the alarm before he stands and stretches. He was still wearing his helmet but he had dispatched his boots and jacket leaving him in a plain white shirt and combat pants. Slowly he puts down his helmet and tackles you on to the bed. The action brings you to your full attention and he chuckles. He straddles you and kisses up and down your neck. Your already moaning, your hands begin to travel up his clothed chest. A throaty chuckle vibrates against your neck and you shudder.

" Persistent, aren't we?" He kisses your neck and you feel his hand snake up your shirt.

"L-like you aren't~" You can hardly talk when he tenderly nibbles your earlobe and plays with your nipples. He stares down at you like a predator.

"You haven't seen persistent yet, Maggot!" He attacks your mouth and chills rush through your body when he suckles your tongue. Once you have your tongue back he kisses down you jaw line to your chest. Slyly he'd capture one of your nubs and trace around it with his tongue. Your arms grip him closer as you pant out his name and go into a light sweat. He sucks harder in response then returns to your mouth for another round of 'conquer'.

Your hands shakily roam his body, being a little new to this you approach things with caution and while pulling up his shirt, you hesitate. But his hand grabs yours and pushes it underneath reassuringly. You feel his skin and chest hairs, but what really catches your attention was his scars. Your fingers outline the soft tissue and you hear him moan approvingly above you. His tongue swirled around yours in a dance for dominance and you played along knowing well who was dominant. Your hand travels lower to find the rim of his pants. You pull away.

"Do you..want me to...um..." Your face turns as red as your uniform. His hearty laugh rumbles in his chest.

"That's not my decision, now is it, private?" He does a grin and rolls over so you’re on top. You look down at him, his attention was all on you and you inch your way down south. You pluck the button and slide down the zipper. Pulling down his pants and underwear in unison you peer down at his manhood. It was HUGE...he was already hard and his tip was leaking. You peer up at him and he's smirking snarkily at you. First you let your hands feel the warm flesh, and you hear the other growl out in pleasure. Pumping slowly, you replace your fingers with your tongue. Kissing at first you begin to lick the tip and swirl your tongue on his head. Soldier's hips would rock in the beat, while his fingers weaved themselves in your hair. You can feel him so close but before you could finish he pulls you up and captures your mouth in a deep kiss.

His hand dives into your pants, past your underwear, and starts to stroke your entrance. He flicks his fingers over that one sensitive area and your already pushing onto his hand begging for him. His fingers curled and scissored, twisting your hole farther smirks and with his other hand he grasps your chin and makes you look at him.

"There's no turning back now, got it?" He sharply says pulling out of you so he could seat you on his lap.

"Sir yes, sir." You smile back and kiss him. Laying you down he pulls off your pants and hovers over you like a lion. He gives a peck to your lips before sliding in . A gasp escapes you when you remember how big he was. He leans over to kiss your neck and you pull him closer. Solly throws your legs on his shoulders and slowly penetrates you. Each thrust became even better than the last and already you're telling him 'harder'. He obliges and your quiet pants turn into loud moans echoing off his walls with his own groans of bliss. Your both near the edge when he begins to ram harder and faster into you, he'd find your mouth again capturing your moans. Your orgasm hits you first as the waves of pure pleasant feelings put you into multiple spasms. He follows after, resting his head on your shoulder as he releases inside you.

Your breathing is all that is heard in the room before he slicks out of you easily. Carefully grabbing your body he pulls the covers out from under you and brings you back to the bed. One arm is flung over you protectively in way that calms you.

"How's that for special training?" You chuckle out and you feel him smirk into your hair.

"I don't know...I think you should practice your technique some more..."Your eyes open and you look up at him with a smile.

"Practice?" He chuckles before giving you a soft kiss.

This is titled 'Secret Waltz' and is a 'Spy and you' fic.
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Roaming the BLU Base was a calming hobby you did before each battle, it lets you clear your mind and get use to your surroundings. Your metal-padded BLU boots would clank from your slow steps and echo off the grey walls. You took your time, looking through every door that came into view; just to satisfy your curiosity. Most of what was in these rooms were empty dorms and cleaning supplies. You started this pass-time when you were first starting and when you had nothing better to do. Every morning you did this, you wish you had something more productive to do.

Mentally you knew that this was about the time you'd turn around for breakfast, but you’re to content to be pulled back to reality. This (and sleeping) was the most rest you get when you were sent here. So continuing down the hallway, farther than you've ever ventured. Every corner that you turned was a wave of excitement and adventure that you haven’t experienced since you were a kid. Of course Fort 2 was exciting, but it felt more like a wave of alarm than that childish excitement you haven't felt in so long.

Your pace quickens, and you notice it's because of the most delightful sound you haven't heard in months. Music. The chilling tune makes you halt; the sound was haunting to your ears like an old toy. Almost 2 months without the sound of instruments playing together and you’re stunned to know how much it affects you. Taking a quick glance around for the source, you lean to the grey walls and close your eyes. Your feet direct you over frames of doors and your fingers graze the wall paper like it were a page from a book.

The music continues to get louder until you're sure that you're as close as you can get to it. You look up to see you've stopped on a door and did not hesitate to turn the handle. A squeak echoed from the other side when you push the wood forward. The darkness and music welcome you and are practically lending you a hand to venture further into the dark chamber. You take a quick suck of air before stepping down deeper than you would have liked. Almost falling over head first, you grip a handle to see a small stair case leading downward. After another gulp of air you strive downward to a faint light.

A piano, along with violins, are audible as you blindly make your way to the light. You note that it isn't like live performed music, in the distant are the sounds of dips like on a record player. A door with a tiny window near its top, shows in the light with shadows moving across. The first thing you do is press your ear against the door to hear more of it. You felt so deprived, music was a big influence in your life and was what put you to sleep at night. The window overhead beckons your curiosity; whispering answers you wanted...needed. Quickly your tip toes pull your eyes into view to the other side for a glance, and what you see makes you gasp.

Inside the dim room was a gleaming record player; almost new. Across from it was an extremely old table with its corners chipped and everything. It was pretty empty, to say the least, except for one form. The Spy. The Frenchmen’s BLU coat was thrown over the, equally chipped, chair provided; along with his tie. Leaving him in his button up shirt and dark blue vest. But it isn't his casualty that takes you aback, it's what he's doing. His movements, were more than precise as he waltzes with an invisible partner. In concentration, he'd move in beat with the music as the violins took over.

On the other side of the door, you're glad he cannot see you. With your mouth open and eyes burning from staring, you'd continue to watch. The masked man was a symbol of a gentlemen and what you see, never felt so alien to you. His eyes were closed in bliss, totally focused on the melody and his partner. His feet had a mind of their own! Every step was planned out and precise just like one of his killing sprees. The tips of your toes ached from the uncomfortable position but you dare not look away for he's never looked so gentle.

"Mission begins in 5 minutes." The dry voice echoes through the corridors, startling you slightly. The Admin's voice can be quite disturbing. You hear the music stop and so does Spy after closing his feet together before he bows to the invisible lady. Tightening his gloves, he makes a quick glance to a clock near the door before he catches sight of you. With your fingers clinging to the bottom frame of the window, you watch as he makes his way to the table, eyes still on you, before you book it. Running into the nothingness had your heart already thumping like crazy and when you hear the door slam behind you, it increases the tempo by 34%.

The outline of the door was in view and you think you're going to make it until you hit an unseen wall. You let out a grunt and suddenly you’re rammed into the wall with a hand on your shoulder. You’re squinting until he flicks on his lighter, bring the flame to his lips to lick the tobacco object. With his face in a shadowy view, you see him staring at you bored, twirling the cigarette with his tongue.

"Well, it zeemz we 'ave a wonderer. Tell me, mon cher. 'Ow much did you zee?" You look back to the hand on your shoulder and notice the butterfly knife hazardly close to your neck. "Well?" You look back to only feel the cold steel against the pulse in your neck. He flicks the light closed, it's pitch black.

"I-I won’t tell..." It's all you could let out, being interrogated by someone as cool and seductive as him was over-whelming. He lets out a chuckle before pulling away from you.

"I know you wont... because if you do..." You feel him grab your chin and pull him toward his face. The scent of cologne sends shivers down your spine. "I will 'ave to skin you while I burn you alive...everyday." A different set of chills makes you quiver; whether you respawned or not, it still hurts to die slowly. You respond with a nod.

"It zeemz you are good at eavesdropping and taking ordeurs..." He lets out a considerable 'hmmm'. "...I like you." He states simply before heading off to the door. You watch him leave after he gives a quick smirk to you.

"Mission begins in 60 seconds." The unpleasant voice wakes you from your moment of 'awe' and you bolt out the door to retrieve your weapon.
________________________________________
"And that mother fucker tried to pull a fast one at me, but I was like 'Sorry, handsome. But your looks won’t help you here!' before I 'boinked' his brains outta his sockets!" Another one of Scout's amazing stories again. Your hand randomly picks up food with the fork and shoves it in your mouth. Looking around you, you see everyone dirty from battle: except Spy your eyes wandered across the table to him and you feel your heart jump. He looked at his food dully, picking up what was suitable for him and eating it slowly. He glances at you and you panic. Seeing those lips twist into a smile nearly makes you choke on your food.

"What th' fucks th' matter wit you? I'm trying to tell an amazing freakin' story here!" He points to the table as if you could see his amazingness. You let out an ironic 'of course' before turning to put your dishes in the sink. Trying to leave the room ASAP, you continue down a different hall from this morning. Your systems start to cool as you let your mind wander from your usual thoughts to the Spy and his dancing. Thinking it was easy you stop in your tracks you pick up your feet to mimic his movements. Of course, you should never rely on memory to copy something, even if what it was looks easy to do. Already feeling a little silly, you lift your arms pretending to be holding onto another while you move side to side. It was harder than it looked and you thought to much about your next movements making you mess up and having to start over. But you imagine the music still playing and your steps more confident from each step.

"'Ave you neveur danced in your life?" Your back straightens and you turn around to see the Frenchmen leaning on the wall fingering a cigarette. His handsome chuckle causes you to gulp down.

"I've never done it. It seemed too..." You draw off when you see him approach you.

"Pardon? Did it zeem too difficult? Too weak?" He reaches for your hand and pulls it up to shoulder height. "Permettez-moi de vous montrer..."(1) He grasps your other hand and presses it to his arm; mid way to his shoulder. Your face feels like it's burning when you stare up to that beautifully smug face. In your mind you keep telling yourself "this is just a crush that will pass, this is just a crush that will pass...', but inside your hoping it could be more. He pushes your feet together and he quietly tells you to repeat his movements from your point of view. At this point your just saying 'ok' and 'uh huh' just so he could talk to you more. You feel his free hand grab your waist, feeling the warmth makes you nervous and more confident with your steps. You concentrate on your feet trying to get the movements down, while you feel his eyes burning through your neck. It's a bit cramped in the hall but you both manage, you find yourself gradually becoming better and you’re enjoying it. With spy leading the whole time, he slows to a stop.

"You ztop zhe dance when you both end with your feet togezher." With your feet slightly apart you push them together with a 'clack'. He chuckles as he moves his hand from your waist. You try to hide a pout from the loss. With your other hand still in his gloved grasp he brings it to his lips and kisses it gently. "You aren't too bad at zhis, roturier."(2) Your dry mouth compels you to say nothing as he pushes some hair from your eyes. "You should come practice with me more often, zay tomorrow morning?" You bring up your courage to let out a small smile.

"Of course." Satisfied with the answer he kisses your hand once more before he turns on his heel with an 'adieu'. You want to follow him but think against it. Continuing down the hallway, you dream of the possibilities of tomorrow.

________________________________________
There it was. The door that leads you to an unknown and a comfort. You peer into the door window to see your heart's desire smoking a cigarette while toying with a pack of cards. You take a breath and twist the handle. The record player was barely audible, playing a song with a woman singing in French. His head lifts and he looks in your direction with a thoughtful smile.

"Good to zee you 'ave come, mon cher." He walks over to you and grabs your hand. But before he goes to kiss the back, you twist it around so you could give it a quick peck.

"The pleasures mine." You smile up to him and see his face amused from your courage. He obviously knows your game and intends to play it.

"Eager I zee. Well zhen, shall we start?" Nodding your head, he grabs hold of your left hand and brings it to his shoulder; the other is still in his grasp. "I will lead, someone as small as you wouldn’t be able to be dominant." You merely scoff off the comment and he replied with a hearty laugh. He turns up the player and has his attention all on you while he starts up the tempo. You try to keep up like yesterday and slowly you’re in beat with him. His eyes were half lidded watching you while you try to find something to look at. From the corner of your eye you see him frown.

"L'amour, concentrate on me. It will 'elp you keep your beat if you watch the other." Another blush unfolds on your face and you nod to him. Your eyes wandered up his chest to his masked face, with those secret eyes open to you. Minutes into the waltz and you realize he was right; watching the other was a lot easier and calming. "I was wondering..." You perk up to see him puzzled about something.

"Yeah?" You almost forgot to lift your feet as he pulls you into circle of movements.

"Would you be interested in being my dance partneur?" He stops and you barely remember to stop with both feet together. His raccoon eyes still watch you.

"Are you sure? I'm not an expert on this, there's probably-"

"Zhat is why you will learn from me, and if you 'onestly zhink zhat zhere will be a better person 'ere zhat would be it, zhen I'm all ears." He lifts his eyebrow before retrieving his cigarette from the ash tray. "Besides, I'm not interested in zhose baffoons being my partner, I was interested in you..." Your face heats up and you try to avoid eye contact but he grabs your face in his hands.

"I would be interested in you too..." He quirks his eyebrow again and smiles slightly and you catch yourself.”I mean! Being your partner and all that..." You mentally face palm your head; you’re sober and you’re saying embarrassing stuff. He pulls you close to where your bodies are nearly touching. He pulls away, his touching lingering, and walks over to the record player and turns it off. The piano and singer die down and he looks to you.

"C'est magnifique." He states and grabs his coat form the chair before roaming over to you. "I will look forward to it..." Grabbing your hand he pulls it to his lips for a chaste kiss.

"Mission begins in 5 minutes." That shivering voice declared from the speakers, upstairs you could hear the steps of rushing comrades. With a quick nod he walks out of the room leaving you there to swim in your sweet fantasies. You looked at your hand, the one that has received more attention from the other, and give it a quick kiss.
________________________________________
A week has passed since you started your secret dancing lessons with the Spy. His pin striped uniform became a sign to your heart to beat ridiculously fast. On the battle field you noticed that he's been saving you more and more often. Not that you're complaining, the more you spend with him the more you feel relaxed with him; thankfully the teams too occupied with their lives to notice you two leaving the table together. You've already fallen head over heels for him but you’re not sure how he feels for you so you keep it casual and act like yourself.

"I'm very impressed with you, you've improved dramatically." Both of your heels clasp together.

"I've had a good teacher, this past week, show me the basics." You let out a laugh and pull away. You notice him frown slightly when he turns around to turn the turn table down.

"I am very happy you zhink zhat..." He responds when he turns toward the table to grab his jacket. Patiently you wait as he flings on the coat and starts looping his tie in swift movements. "But I always zhought zhat it wasn't who zhat teacher was but who zhe trainee zhought of zhey were, zhat made them excellent." Stunned at the remark you remember all those moments with him and how much you loved his company. You're at a loss of words while he makes his way toward you and pulls you close.

"What do you zhink of me? You are zhe student and I am your teacher..." Those fable eyes pierce you when you're that close to them. Your mouth is gapped as you try to respond with a suitable answer. "Or is it zhat you never zhought of me as a teacher in zhe beginning?" He leans closer to your neck and his moist breath causes you to shudder, this makes him smile. His lips pucker up to your jaw line where he stops.

"Souhaitez-vous me le permettez, pour vous prendre?"(3) His gentlemen voice was heaven but also alien as he spoke in the language of love. At the moment, you only knew one French word and it was oui and non. Noticing your blank stare, he gives you a wicked smile while playing with your bottom lip with his thumb. "I zhink your answer would be somewhere along zhe lines of 'I would love you to." He lunges for your mouth as you comprehend what he said. With your brain a few minutes slow, your body is fully aware with the situation. That expert tongue swirls with yours, his hands push you into the wall, making sure not to hurt you. He tasted of tobacco and mint and you never thought he'd be so much of a drug. Tobacco mixed with lust. Grinding you into the wall, small moans are captured by his mouth and you whine in response.

He moves back to your neck with his half clothed cheek streaking down your neck, quickly he begins to pull your shirt over your head. With your bare chest exposed he kiss down the middle and back up to brush against a nipple.

"Ahh!" You squint your eyes and relish the feeling. He gives it a lick before returning to your mouth, pulling your hands to his jacket. You feel the faint beating and grab the tie, undoing it while pulling him closer. Tossing the strip of blue material to the floor, you attack those damn buttons. His hand decided to help while his other began moving down to your pants. Once that last button clipped off, he shoves both jacket and collar shirt to the ground and rubs your bare skin to his. Your next destination was down south but before you could touch the pin striped pants he pulls you out of yours. Instantly you buck into him to hide your 'frustration' while he leans down to pull your pants off your legs. Your boots were already off since you got into the room, so thankfully there wasn't anything stopping him. He becomes face to face with your nether regions touching the sensitive flesh he licks. You grab his mask, trying not to mess it up was difficult especially when he began to finger your entrance. He kisses back up to meet your eyes in a loving way.

"Let’s move zhe table." He said in a husky accent before picking you up and gently lying you on top of the table. Returning back to your mouth, he feels his hand fumble with the zipper and buttons. You pull away to repay his pleasure by pulling down his left over clothing. You feel him watch you when he's completely nude with his member in full view. Grabbing the hard rod you give it a firm pump and watch as he quivers. You continue, pushing down harder and faster, you hear him stutter out French words and his breathy pants.

"Didn't AH~ I..t-tell you, you would (gasp) never be...dominant?" He breathes out with much difficulty and as merciful as it was when you begin to play with the head.

"No. No, I don’t recall. Want to remind me?" Your snarky reply earns you’re a dangerous smile and you feel him twitch in your hand before he swats you away. Your hands were pinned to your head while you feel the warm organ press against your entrance.

"With pleasure." He pushes in and you gasp out, trying to grab hold of him but to no avail. Before pulling back out he begins to grind into you, causing you both to growl out in ecstasy. Your legs pull him closer and he pulls all the way out before pushing back in. Skimming past that spot you moan out.

"Th-there!" He smiles, knowing who was boss, he pulls out to ram back in that spot. You respond with a wail and he kisses your head and ear whispering soft, foreign words that bring you closer to the edge. Hands roam back to your chest, toying with your rock hard nipples. You lean into them while grabbing his neck and pleading out more pleasure. He pushes harder and faster in response, and you know you're going to cum soon. That prickly sensation down south was becoming more intense than ever. After a few more pushes you call out his name and grip tighter to his body while you go over the edge in an almost painful bliss.

Spy wasn't far behind, hissing as he came and filling you with his seed. He shivers when he falls on you and his sweat clings to you. Your pants and small spasms begin to decrease and the room becomes silent except for the music still playing. After a chaste kiss he pulls out he brings you to the ground against the wall. Grasping his jacket and shirt, he flings one over you and the other over both of your regions and has you lean against his chest. He reaches inside his suit pocket and pulls out a cigarette and lighter. You can’t help but smile at the ironic gesture, when he lights it and takes a drag. His arm was still around you, he pulls you closer to his chest, hearing the thumping never seemed so comforting till now.

A new song began to play, one with wind instruments playing quietly, you close your eyes when he kisses you. You hope that practice will always be like this.
________________________________________
(1) Let me show you...
(2)Commoner
(3)Would you allow me, to take you?

Good old 'Engineer and you' fic.
-------------------------

"Hey." He always started calls out the same, no declaration of who it was, but that gorgeous southern drawl was enough to give it away.

"Hey, stranger," you replied, "How much time do you have tonight?"

You hated the fact that he was always so far away. From the moment he picked up that RED comission, you'd been against it. Then again, with the hefty sum he was getting paid, it was almost worth not seeing him. Almost.

"About an hour. Everyone's already asleep," you heard him announce into the reciever, hinting. You knew what that meant, of course you did. It was the hilight if your week. It made all of the dreary machine work and fitful Texas nights bearable. "What're you wearin'?"

You grinned. So it begins. "That white sundress you got me for my birthday. No shoes." You could almost hear the gears creaking in his head as the image of you - in his favorite outfit to see you in, no less - assembled itself in his mind. Upon hearing his sharp intake of breath, you close your eyes, imagining - willing - him to be behind you, whispering in your ear. There aren't mortgage payments to be made, no dishes to be cleaned right now, only him and you and the soft, crooning voice of Frank Sinatra pouring out of your kitchen radio.

When your Engineer spoke again, you could tell he was grinning like a madman. "You know I love it when you wear that dress. It looks great on you," he mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear even though everyone else is asleep, "although I bet, right now, it'd look better on the floor."

"Not so fast, cowboy," you teased, "You're gonna have to be a little more persuasive than a bad pick-up line."

"Ah, that's right. I already picked you up." He chucked. You can feel his breath behind your ear. "What'll I have to do to keep you around?"

This time, you're the one who's grinning from ear to ear. "I think you know exactly what I want. You just have to say the right words."

"As you wish." he pauses, and you know the fun was just starting. "If I was home right now, you know what I'd do?"

"Hm?" is all you can manage, already getting lost in that fantasy world he somehow manages to weave over the telephone.

"Where are you?"

"The kitchen."

"If I were home right now, I'd be standin' behind you," he begins. "You'd be makin' supper, probably at the stove with some chicken in the fryin' pan." He pauses at the sound of clanking cookware, knowing you always liked to act out the scenes he talked out, even if he's not there. He always joked that your overactive imagination was a good thing. "I'd walk up behind you, put my hands on your hips, lean into your neck and ask if I can have dessert before supper."

"But it'll spoil your appetite," you protest, "And then I would turn off the burner because I know better."

"Then I'd nibble your ear and pull the bow on your apron apart." He stops while you gasp. "And then I'd spin you around so I can pick you up and set you on the kitchen table. And then, of course, we'd kiss. Long and slow, nice and deep and hot. Just the way you like it. You'd start to unbutton my shirt, just as slow as the kiss, and then I'd complain that you're bein' a tease. But that wouldn't make you loosen my buttons any faster. And then I'd kiss you again, and pull that ribbon out of your hair - don't think I don't know you always wear it, you'd rather have the yellow in your gorgeous hair than around that ol' oak tree by the mailbox - and I'd run my fingers through those curls of yours."

By now, you've reached up and undone the ribbon yourself, your apron long discarded on the floor, and you're tossing your ringlets and finger-combing them, willing yourself to believe that your hand is his hand, with those larger, calloused hard-at-work fingers. You tug gently as he says he would, pushing your neckline aside, thinking of nothing but his hot kisses along your neck.

"So then I would take my hand," his hand, your hand, twitching, waiting for the instruction, "and slide it up your thigh, under your dress - yeah, slowly, just to make you bite your lip," and you already have bit your lip, and you can hear his voice lowering in timbre as if he already knew that, "And - oh." He pauses, then half-groans, half-laughs. "No barrier to get through." And you know that he knows you planned it, because even when you were still dating you'd skip the panty drawer when getting dolled up to go out dancing.

Just in case.

He doesn't even have to tell you when to start touching yourself, it's more of a communal groan. "Yeah, just like that. You like it, don't you?" You respond with rocking back into your - his - hand, and he must be telepathic or omnipresent or something because he just knows what you're doing. You're leaning back on the kitchen table, absently glad you moved the vase off of it before he called home, legs spread just wide enough and resting on separate chairs. The ever present smell of him - in your kitchen, on your clothes, on your body from the bedsheets you can't bring yourself to wash - only fuels the fantasy that he's the one right there, touching you where he knows you love to be touched, in the exact, practiced way you love to be touched.

You breathe in sharply when you hear his twang through the phone again, but you ignore the coming-from-miles-away static on the line and force yourself to focus only on his voice. It makes you think of devil's food chocolate cake with mousse and fudge icing - delicious all of the time, but truly best appreciated in the middle of the night - and you lay yourself back on the table now, body tingling, the ghosts of his hands rolling, pouring over your skin.

"And then I push your legs apart," he begins, and his voice is starting to grow just a tad raspy, "and you look up just in time to see yourself swallow my cock." You've snaked three fingers into yourself. It's a start, but no real substitute. "And I will fuck you, slow and deep and just the way you like it." The table is groaning under your rocking, but the pitching is slow and continuous enough to cause no real effect on the furniture. "I kiss you, rolling into you, and the sight of seeing myself disappear and reappear again just gets me even more hot."

Soon, you're angling your hips upward at the body that isn't there (he is, dammit, shut up, reason) and making that curling motion while he mutters "And then I put my arm under your back so I can get in even deeper," letting loose a moan that most likely woke up the dogs outside, but you don't care, you're not capable of caring less.

You find yourself whispering improper things back, and he's not against it. He's just not used to hearing you talking dirty right back to him. He groans the first time he hears you whimper "Oh, yeah, fuck me, baby," into the receiver, and you know for a fact that just for that he takes a slow pull down his shaft - the one that you'd prefer was inside of you right now. "Make love to me," you correct yourself, and it just sounds even more erotic than the blunt cursing.

You eventually arrive at the point where you can't even make heads or tails of your rambling, whether they are sexy or not, rocking back and forth against your hand (his cock) and release is close, that special moment when everything is all rainbows and supersenitivity and goosebumps and heat, you can hear it in his voice when he encourages you to come. "Come on, girl, give it to me," he chokes, and that absolutely does it, you curl your toes and feel the full-body spasm that orgasm brings.

The entire kitchen smells like sex, but you don't even care to wipe up the moisture that managed to find its way onto the wooden table. Coming down from the high is something that you don't want to do, but you know it's inevitable.

Relief, satisfaction, and longing is in his voice when you exchange goodnights and love you's, and no matter how much you don't want to hang up - you don't want him to leave you now, you're nearly naked in your kitchen, and the end of the phonecall is seriously bringing down your afterglow - but Scout needs to call his ma and wish a happy birthday.

"Love you, goodnight, happy anniversary."

Hmm, I believe all the other 'and you' fics I have are already uploaded.

The only 'Heavy and you' fic I have is by Marty, curious to if there are there any others? More Russian love is needed.

There was never a Pyro and you fic? Oh my, I might need to change that.

>>84
Make it gender ambiguous on both ends and I will handcraft you a medal.

Oh God, a 'Pryo and you' fic, remember reading one months ago and well, I've found it. It's a male version. Titled 'Inside the Fire'. Also, Anonymous... please do.
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You dream of fire. The flames, the smoke, the dancing light. You see yourself standing before a wall of solid flame, burning bright red and orange in the blackness that surrounds. Suddenly you're running towards it, your feet have a mind of their own. Closer and closer you sprint, about to collide with the all-consuming heat. Just as you're plunged into the flaring light-

A horrid buzzing noise cuts through the cool morning air. For a few moments, the sound is unrecognizable. You wipe the thin layer of sweat from your brow and punch the buttons on the small bedside alarm until the assault on your ear ceases.

5:30 am

After allowing yourself a short while to calm down, you slowly sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed. The cold metal floor seems to bite at your bare feet, making you shiver almost violently.

Stretching, you pop your back and scan the room for your red uniform shirt. Slipping it on, you sigh grumpily.

"It's too early..." you say to no one, pulling your combat boots. The familiar weight is somewhat comforting and the heavy 'clank' they make whenever you take a step is almost comical. After pulling you're long, black hair into a loose ponytail, you make your way out the door, letting it slam behind you.

You scan the narrow hallway and mental curse yourself. After standing there for nearly 10 minutes, you still can't remember. Luckily, you hear loud footsteps coming towards you, meaning you might get some assistance.

Heavy rounds the corner, seeming as though he's deliberately taking his sweet time. You groan inwardly, but you figure there's no other option. Besides, you really don't wanna wait around for someone else. Someone else that could be a Spy.

"H-hey, Heavy!" you run up to the Goliath of a man, not wanting to admit to yourself or anyone else just how much he scares you. He stops and smiles, looking down out you.

"Hello, little man," he ruffles your hair and you just about piss your pants.

"U-uh, hi." you squeak, trying wiggle away. "Heavy, could you help me get to the kitchen?" This makes the large man grin. He throws back his head and shakes with laughter.

"Of course! New person lost his directions, da?" Heavy grabs you by the wrist and drags you along. "Come, you can get sandvich, too."

After what seems like hours, and just when you think Heavy's tight grip is actually going to rip your slender hand off, the kitchen comes into view.

'Finally!' you think, relieved. Heavy pulls you into the spacious kitchen and releases your wrist, thumping you on the back with his massive hand.

"There you are, little man. Don't be forgetting your way again, da?" He adds with a big smile.

"Uh, y-yeah. Thanks." You wait for him to go about his own business before heading over to the coffee pot and setting to work. "Ah! Grody!"You cry out, dropping the metal coffee pot briefly after picking it up. You wipe your hand on your pants and look down at the grime-covered thing.

"Mmrrrpphhh!" You're nudged out of the way and you continue watching as hands clad in rubber gloves snatch the pot off the ground. You bring your gaze up to look at whoever retrieved and find yourself staring into the darkened lenses of a gas mask. You let out a surprised yelp and tumble backwards.

"Mmmmhhh..." The person in the gas mask sounds exasperated, but offers you theirs hand. Reluctantly, you take it and let yourself be hoisted to your feet. They pat you on the shoulder and turn away, plopping the coffee pot in the sink with a messy splash.

You find yourself staring at the mysterious person, trance-like, until a loud 'ding' brings you out of your stupor. The person opens the microwave and eagerly pulls out a steaming cups of some kind of liquid, spilling some of it on their red jumpsuit in the process.

"Mmpphhh!" They exclaim happily, waving to Heavy, and swiftly exit the kitchen.

"Seeing you later, Pyro," replies Heavy, around a mouthful of 'sandvich'.

"Pyro...?"
Over the next few hours, you find yourself unable to think of nothing but the mysterious Pyro. Seeing as there wasn't a battle that day, you figure you have nothing better to do than wonder aimlessly about the base. But then again, that can get pretty boring, pretty quickly. For a while, you argue with yourself, before decidedly heading off to ask around about the Pyro. The first place you go is the small hospital wing, in the basement, to speak with the Medic. 'He's the smartest, so he'll know the most,' you tell yourself.

When you reach the stairs, you balance yourself on the slick metal railing and slide all the way to the bottom- only to crash into Soldier. 'Crap.'

The larger, burly man's World War 2 helmet hits the concrete floor with a disturbingly severe CLANG. Picking himself off the ground, he glares down at you, looking like he wants nothing more than your head on a pike. You don't dare to pick yourself up, but only clamber backwards until you hit the wall with a dull thud.

"God DAMMIT, maggot- just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Soldier bellows, causing you to flinch. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? Huh?"

"S-sorry, sir!" you stutter, convinced that the man in front of you is about to rip your head off. "It's a force of habit, sir!" You feel your heart hammering in your chest, feeling like it's about to either explode or leap into your throat.

"Well, your little 'force of habit' just earned you bathroom duty! Now pick your ass up and retrieve my helmet, you sorry sack of shit!"

Not quite sure what bathroom duty was, or if Soldier even has the power the punish you, but nonetheless fearful, you quickly stand up and scramble over to get his helmet. Once the thing is out of your hands, you hightail it out of the small stairwell. Not long after, you're well on your way to the hospital wing and, hopefully, information on the Pyro. With the bulky metal doors and the above medical cross ahead of you, you feel yourself calming down and your heart rate slowing. With some effort, you push the doors open and walk into an instantly colder environment. It doesn't take long for goosebumps to rise along your arms, but you rather enjoy the drastic cold. It reminds you of home.

Looking around, the tiny hospital is unoccupied, leave for various gourneys and medical equiptment. Though it's good your team is uninjured, you find it unsettling that the room is so empty.

"Hallo? Doktor?" you called, inwardly satisfied that you're the only other person on Base that speaks German. "Wo bist du?"[1] A door opens off in the corner and the Medic walks out of it, smiling almost maniacally as he comes towards you.

"Genau hier, mein Freund!"[2] he cries ecstatically, brushing a few strands of loose hair back. "But no need vor zhe use of Deutsch, ja? It's not like ve're telling secrets. But maybe later, Junge[3], maybe later. So, vat can I help you wiz? Are you hurt? Dying?" The Medic pauses, leaning in, his nose almost touching yours. "Do you vant to kill yourself?"

"N-no!" you cry, flailing your arms slightly. "No, Doktor, I'm here to ask you about... a certain person."

"Ach, zis sounds spicy already! Keep going, keep going."

"Well, what can you tell me about... the Pyro?" The Medic gives you an almost knowing smirk, though you aren't sure what there is to know.

"Zhe Pyro? Vell, he is a psycho." You open your mouth to say something, but the Medic continues. "In a wunderbar vay. And ja, zhe Pyro is a he."

"But, that just... that doesn't really tell me much, other than his gender!" you whine, trying not to pout. The Medic pats you on the head, grinning.

"Zhen vhy don't you go see vor yourself, ja? Talk to zhe Pyro, get to know him. It's not like he'll toast you on zhe spot."

"I don't know, Dok, I'm scared." you chew on your bottom lip nervously. "I never admit that to anyone, but... I am."

"Do vhat you feel is best. Vhen you're ready to talk to zhe Pyro, zhen go talk to him. Until zhen, zhere's nozing you can do." The Medic shrugs and starts to usher you out the door. "Now, you need to leave. It's about zhe time vhen zhe Scout come in ans vhines about nonexistent problems." As if on cue, the slight young man bursts into the Hospital Wing.

"Hey, Doc, ya gotta minnit? See, my knees are hurtin' likr a mother-" You don't stick around to hear the rest and instead slip out the doors.

After you consider the Medics advice for a long while, you're still scared. So, instead of running off to find the enigmatic man, you run off to find someone who seems to know him. It doesn't take long to find Heavy, as it would be he only wonders between two rooms and he currently was not in the kitchen. Even though the gigantic man scared the living daylights out of you, he appeared to now be the best source of information. Mustering a great deal of courage, you knock on his bedroom door several times. A few minutes pass and you hear him approach the door. It swings opens abruptly and the giant looks as though he could be happier.

"Little man! Have you lost your directions again?" he grins, peering down at you.

"N-no, Heavy, I-" Heavy eagerly cuts you off.

"Then the new person has come to visit with Heavy, da?" his smile grows even bigger and you think it'd best not to disappoint him.

"Uh, yeah, actually, I need to-" Once againt, you're interrupted.

"Please to be coming in, tiny one! Come, come!" Heavy excitedly grabs your shoulder and pulls you into his surprisingly cramped room. He ushers you to the bad and pushes you down. "Sit! Sit and make yourself at your home."

"Thanks, Heavy," you grimace, rubbing your abused shoulder. Jeez, this guy was rough. "Heavy, I have to ask you... Why does you're room smell like gun powder?" 'Not the intended question, but...'

"Ah, the little man does not know? I sit in here and polish and load my guns- Sasha and Natascha." He gestures to a table along the wall to emphasize his point. "Now, I have question for you."

"Ok?"

"Are you... Why do you look like girl?"

"Um, what?" Heavy reaches over, surprisingly gently, and strokes your ponytail.

"Your hair. Is long like girl. And your face is pretty like girl, too." To make his point, still gentle, he brushes his fingers against your cheek. "Why?"

"Woah... Uh, I... I don't know, Heavy. I was born pretty? And... I don't like getting hair cuts." You're slightly put off by the physical contact, but you shake it off. You're on a mission.

"Is dangerous for battle." Heavy replies simply, but shrugs, clearly ready to move onto a different topic.

"Heavy, what do you know about the Pyro?"

"Nothing, really. Pyro is secret man. He likes hot tea and fire, but that is all I know." Heavy shrugs again, looking a bit disinterested. You then realize that the Medic was right and it's time to face your fears.

"C-can you take me to him?"

Heavy sits silently for a moment, as if considering whether or not he should. Suddenly, he stands up, smiling widely.

"Da! Of course I can, little man! Come, we go see Pyro." Just like he did earlier that day, Heavy grabs you by the wrist and drags you out the door. "Is not too far away, new person!"

"A-actually, Heavy, could you let go...? You're hurting my arm." you practically squeak, trailing behind him.

"Here, this will be better." Without stopping, he slings you over his shoulder and keeps walking. "Not to be hurting now, da?"

"Yes, but Heavy, this is kinda awkward!"

"Shush, little man, we're half way there!" cries Heavy happily. You sigh and let yourself be carried. 'Well, at least it's a nice break from walking everywhere.'

Shortly after, Heavy stops in front of a large door covered in soot and burnt in various places. He pounds on the door with a huge fist and waits. Slowly the metal thing creaks open and a gas mask-covered face pokes out.

"Mmrrrrhh?" Though you can't see him that well, the muffled sound of the Pyro's voice makes your heart leap.

"I am to be having delivery for you!" Heavy pulls the door the rest of the way open and makes his way in, regardless of the Pyro's cries of what can only be confusion and anger. The larger man drops you onto the Pyro's unexpectedly plush bed and grins down at you. "There you are, little man. I will be seeing you later." With that, he leaves, closing the door behind him.

"Mmhhhh... Mmm mmmrrr mmph!" The Pyro pointedly ignores you, pulling off his boots and gloves. The discarded objects are thrown at the door. After stretching and cracking his neck, he walks towards you and sits on his bed. Turning his head, he seems to stare into your eyes, but with the darkened lenses of the gas mask, you can't really tell. Dramatically, he raises his arms up and reaches for you, and you start to panic. And then something crazy happens. Those arms wrap around you and pull you into a tight hug. You sit there blinking, shocked.

The Pyro nuzzles his black, gas masked head against your cheek and murmurs something almost inaudible. He pulls back and repeats it.

"Mhhhhrr mmm."

"W-what?

"Mhhhhrr mmm!" he cries, squeezing you tighter.

"I'm... yours?"

"Mmph!" He releases you from the hug and gets up. The Pyro walks behind a screen and you hear heavy rustling. And then his... voice?

"Don't tell anyone I've taken my mask off, but I actually want to talk to you. Without the muffling." You wait for him to come out from behind the screen, but it appears he's going to stay behind it.

"A-alright." your voice sounds tiny, even to your own ears.

"Ok, well, I'll make this haven't brief. You haven't decided which class you wanna be, right?"

"Right..."

"Well, I want you to be like me. You don't have to wear a mask, maybe just some goggles or something, but... yeah... What do ya think?"

"Um... sure?" Actually, you feel like you're about to burst with excitement.

"Good." You hear more rustling and the shuffling of soft fabric. "Mmmmph mmmrrrr mm mhhhh!" The Pyro steps out from the screen, dressed in a red robe and his gas mask, and nothing much more. You find yourself staring again, looking at how pale he is and thinking about how much you like it. He points at the bed and you stand up.

"Mmhhhh... Mrrrph!" The pyro climbs in and pulls you in next to him, wrapping his arm around you.

"Um, good night to you too?"

You awake with a start, the screech of a crazy guitar riff jarring you out of your slumber. After looking around wildly for a few moments, you realize someone is playing music. And good music at that.

You climb out of the plush bed and search for the source of the glorious heavy metal, soon to discover that it's coming from behind a door at the back of the room. Cautiously, you grab the handle and turn it, trying to be sneaky as you pull the door ajar. As light spills in from whatever is beyond, you squint your eyes. Yes, this is where it's coming from. The music rises in volume as you venture forth, slithering into the unknown room.

Looking about, you find yourself in a bathroom. Pyro's bathroom. And said maniac is currently in the tub, up to his neck in bubbles. He must have his eyes closed, you realize, for he didn't notice you come in. He starts to shift in his bathwater and turns his head to look at you. You feel a hot blush creep into your face and you quickly turn to leave.

"I'm s-sorry," you mumble. "I just heard the music and... yeah... I'll go." You start to head out the door but Pyro calls something out to you, and you stop.

"Mm! Mmmrrr mhhh mmpphhh! Mrr!" Pyro's cries convince you to turn back. You nervously approach the tub.

"Do... do you want me to get in with you?" you ask nervously, beginning to fidget. Pyro nods frantically and tugs at your shirt.

Your eyes go wide and your blush darkens. You pull off the apparently offending article and hug yourself once your torso is bare. Pyro nods and points to your pants, murmuring happily. You sigh shakily and slip out of your trousers, staring at the floor as the pool around your bare feet. For some reason, you find yourself wishing you didn't go commando all the time and bring your hands down to cover yourself.

"Mmhhhhrrr..." Pyro seems to coo, pulling you into the 're almost certain he's grinning behind his gas mask as the water splashes around you. Nervous as ever, you sit completely still, staying how you landed, with your back to the other man. You let out a surprised yelp as strong arms wrap around you and pulls you against his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you acknowledge that something hard is pressing up against your ass and lower back. The music dies down and fades to a more mellow jam, though it's still pretty heavy. Pyro rests his head on your shoulder and holds you tighter. Suddenly he's gently grinding against you, his member prodding at your back.

"P-Pyro...?" you voices comes out almost like a whisper and you start to feel hot, but not from the soothing bathwater. Pyro's hands gingerly uncoil from around your waist and start to wonder. One travels up to rest on your slight chest, the other sneaking it's way down to stroke along your inner thigh. You inhale sharply and turn your head to look at the larger man.

"Mmph mmrrr mhhnn," he chuckles. His hand, unseen under the bubbles, trails higher and wraps around your semi-hardness. Your eyes flutter shut and you moan softly. Pyro strokes you at a steady pace, soon enough he has you panting, begging for more. You whimper when his hand draws back slightly, only to toy with the head. You buck your hips, trying to urge him on. Instead, he stops all together.

Pyro turns you around and has you face him. Murmuring, he rest his forehead against your own and grabs you by the hips, lifting you to straddling him. You both moan as your erections rub against each other. A finger slips into your entrance and he prods at your most private of places. You move with his hand, groaning as he thrust another digit into you.

"Pyro, p-please..."

He removes his fingers and you have to stop yourself from protesting. Shifting slightly, he aligns himself with your entrance and prods you teasingly.

"Mmmph?" Pyro sounds like he's asking for permission and you nod frantically. He grasps you by the hip and pull you dull, penetrating you at a cautious rate. You decide he's going to slow and press yourself the rest of the way down, gasping as the big thing stretches you almost painfully. You brings your own hands up to rest on Pyro's shoulders, trying to adjust. Slowly, the pace is set and he's rolling his hips, grinding ever deeper. You begin to pant, rocking against him, wanting more. Suddenly, he changes his angle and thrusts against your sweetspot. You arch into him, needing more.

He begins to thrust harder, his movements becoming nearly brutal. You clench your eyes shut and feel his arm snake between you, reaching to pump your need. Pyro cackles as the water sloshes out of the tub, soaking the surrounding floor. His thrust are more shallow now, but harder and quicker. A tingle heat burns in your core and you start to shiver, close to the edge. You cry out in esctasy as you climax, digging your nails into his shoulders. Pyro follows suit and gives a few last, powerful thrust before spilling his seed deep within you. Warmth fills you up and you moan at the pleasant feeling, leaning against him. Pyro sighs, seeming very content, and pulls you into a tight embrace.

"Mmpphhhh..."

You grin at yourself, gazing at your reflection. You're wearing one of Pyro's old jumpsuit, one that's too small for him; a pair of boots, heavier than what you usually wear; bulky gloves that reach your elbows; and an oxygen tank strapped to you back, it's attached belt hugging your hips.

"And the final touch..." you murmur to yourself, turning to grab a pair of robotic-looking, tinted goggles off the nightstand. You put them on and gingerly tighten the strap.

"Mmmhhhnn," you turn to see Pyro in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"Yeah, I love our class, too."

>>86

IMHO...from the basic grammatical errors to the OOCs and ridiculous plot, that was pretty horrible.

Hopefully Anon's will be better.

I'm not >>84 but I took the challenge.

Packin' Heat
Pyro & You (gender ambiguous)

++++++++++++++++++++++++

The keys dig into your pocket as you walk briskly to the service door, tugging the strap of your messenger bag and your smaller attache case close to your torso. You mindlessly pat the side pockets of your jacket, looking for them, before you realize they're in the front pocket of your trousers, bunched into a lump, there's so many of them. It's cold, and while you tuck your chin down into the collar of your jacket, you can see your breath billow up in thin white clouds. There's a small set of stairs ahead of you, you take them quickly and grab the handle, rattling the keys as you sort out the right one. The base has a lot of doors, and many of them are keyed differently. You're one of the few research lab technicians who has all of the keys, even the ones that open the "secret" doors with the numerical keypad locks. You know the access codes, too, but just in case...you've got a big ring of jangling metal like a janitor, like a deputy, like a jailer.

The key you're looking for is gold, with a big, flat, squared-off handle. There are two keys like it on your key ring, the other is for...well...a different base. You find the right key, and unlock the door, hastily letting yourself in and shaking off the cold, stamping your feet. It's not snowing, at least not yet. You jam your hands into your jacket pockets, trapping the case against your side. First things first, you turn on the lights, and they flicker on one segment at a time, lighting up the basement. You hear the auxiliary generator kick on.

The base is empty. You'd been keeping an eye on the monitors back at the lab, making sure the mercs all left as they were supposed to, and then you'd spent a day coordinating with the science team and the logistics department on the timeline for getting the job done. This would be the first opportunity in many months for your team to come on site and check the place out, gather data, collect recording devices, and replace them with new ones. You're the first technician to show up, tasked with getting the place functional before the others arrive. It's chilly. The place has been on nominal power for at least a full day with no heat and very little life support.

There's a list of things to check on, and though you know the drill well, you take your time getting your bearings. You find a small metal cabinet nearby. You open the door to find it ransacked, just empty pill bottles, ravaged first aid kits, garbage, and other detritus in there. One of the shelves does just fine to situate your attache, and you open it partially to find the map you need.

The generator room is nearby. You go and turn on the main power, bringing the base back up to full functionality. You're gonna do a lot of back-tracking, and decide to carry your stuff with you off to the top floor, to the administration and control room. It's behind a special door, but you have the key. Once there, you use another, smaller key to unlock the box on the wall, like a prized treasure chest, to find the thermostat. You turn up the heat, and sigh happily. It'll take a while, but even just thinking about having the heat on makes everything feel just a bit better.

The admin room will be your ground zero, the place you call home. From here you can access every feed from every camera on the base and outside of it to the five mile perimeter. You unload the contents of your briefcase on the desk: dossiers, schematics, maps, favorite pens, notepads, your clipboard, the policy guidebook, a handful of SOPs, and a sheaf of checklists. Your messenger bag has your tools: the extendable mirror, a flashlight, various PDAs, allen wrench set, screwdrivers, voice recorder, geiger counter, pH strips, all kinds of things you need, nifty things. It's a nerdy job, but it suits you.

You spend the first thirty minutes in the kitchen, brewing coffee from what little remained in the rations you found in the larder. You snack on a candy bar and wander around a bit on the barracks level, listening to the perc on the stove and waiting anxiously for the excited burbling that would herald a hot cuppa. Being on base alone has never bothered you. You've done this before, on other bases, on different battlements, after certain missions were over. This was the main fort, though, it's home base for the men who do this work, and it's always been a bit eery to come in after they've gone. The other bases never had this permeation, this lived-in feeling.

Adjacent to the kitchen, which is filthy with left-behind dirty dishes, half-eaten food, and personal articles, you see the long corridor with five doors on each side, ten dorm style rooms, nine of them occupied during the near endless "on season." There are very basic identifiers on the doors showing who lived in each room, some of them crudely written names, or drawn caricatures, either of the man himself or his class logo. There are also pictures jammed onto a community cork board, which you look at for a bit. There's a calendar of chores--doesn't look like they really use it, it's three months out of date. There's a note, anonymous, complaining about leaving food sitting out, other passive aggressive remarks alluding to hygiene, common sense...you skim the note down to the sarcastically written closing, "signed, the management." On the blank space was written in all tall, capital letters, "MEDIC SUCKS," and beneath that, in another script, in a different color ink, "scoot wuz here."

You snigger lightly at that, and as soon as you hear the percolator begin hissing and hopping, you turn hungrily towards it, but there's a creaking sound that reaches your ear, makes you stop. The base is old and makes a lot of noises, you're aware of this. The furnace moans and groans, the floors squeak, the pipes rattle, there's all kinds of background noise, but this one is altogether too nearby. You swivel around to face the direction of the noise, and wonder if the second door to the right had always been open. Maybe there had been a pressure change somewhere, the door wasn't shut all the way. The percolator is quiet, and you quickly return to the kitchen and see a weird, hunched shape hovering over the stove. You scream a little, and feel embarrassed immediately, clamping your hands over your mouth.

"Oh, lord!" you exclaim, recognizing the form as the black, shiny head appears. "Hey! Hey! What are you doing here?"

It's the Pyro. From what you can tell, he, she, it doesn't give a damn about you. It's fully suited and garbed up, holding the percolator in one hand and rummaging in the cabinet for a coffee cup with the other. It makes a groaning noise a bit like a bear, waking from hibernation. You approach, but with caution. You're not supposed to interface with the mercenaries, but they're not supposed to be here, so you're not sure what to do. It's furlough for another two days, a long weekend. You can't have him--for lack of a better assessment--here while your team is trying to do work.

"Um...do you...mind..."

It continues to make griping, irritable noises from under the gas mask until it manages to find a coffee cup that's not coated with filth and mold. You can't really see what's going on, but the Pyro pulls up the bottom of its mask and slams back the coffee, still steaming.

"Woah, jesus," you bark, jumping towards the Pyro. "That's hot!" You grab for the percolator but the Pyro's not having it, he lifts the urn high over your head and shoves you, splashing coffee on your arm. "Watch it!"

The Pyro fills the mug one more time and chugs it down, holding his gloved hand up at you, gulp, gulp, gulp. You're busy fussing after your arm, and when you look up, the mask is back on and the Pyro seems much more relaxed. He grasps your scalded hand and drags you over to the sink, runs cold water over it. He talks to you from under the mask, and you can sort of tell what he's trying to say, apologizing for being so rough with you, he's not a morning person. He rubs your hand and seems to stare at you, unblinking tinted lenses trained on your face. He reaches and very gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smooths down a stubborn cowlick, and grazes his thumb along your jaw.

"Um, thanks," you offer, feeling a little weirded out by the guy, to be frank. You remove your hand from the stream of water and turn off the tap. "I hate to break it to you, but you can't be here. I've gotta escort you off the property."

The Pyro looks you up and down and you feel stripped nude. This...thing....gets paid a lot of money to kill people, and he can see right through you. You clear your throat and reconsider your options.

"Well, I don't guess I have the authority to do that," you say, looking over his shoulder at the percolator, "but...the issue stands. You were supposed to leave. We've got to...clean up the base. And...make repairs."

You try to edge past the Pyro to grab the percolator and get just a little bit of coffee out of it, just the dregs, hell, even if it's crunchy it's still coffee... But the Pyro has other ideas, and wraps his gloved fingers around your upper arm. He laughs and begins hauling you out of the kitchen. You sputter and try to resist, but his grip is ironclad, and you're his prisoner. You choose to let this madman do what he pleases in the spirit of keeping him calm, but you know his file, he's unpredictable. All you can do is hope that he's going to show you his bottle cap collection because he's lonely. The rest of your team is still at least forty-five minutes out, bringing the big truck with them full of equipment. They had to drive slow in this weather, considering how poorly the road conditions got this far out.

You gulp down your trepidation when you find the Pyro leading you towards the Engineer's shop, and the nearest exit. He's babbling a little bit, you pick out a few words here and there, but the whole time you're thinking about how much trouble you're going to get into if your supervisor finds out one of the test subj--the contract workers saw you, or the rest of the team, or the big TF Industries truck full of classified machinery. It was your fault. You were the one who verified on the clearance paperwork that you'd personally seen them all leave. You thought you had seen them all leave, but maybe...this one had come back, or he'd never left at all. The Pyro grabs a handful of your collar and starts to shove you out the door, but you claw at the doorjamb and root yourself there, resisting.

"No, no, no!" You force your back against him, scrabbling. It's freezing out there. You can still salvage this situation. "I'm gonna get my ass handed to me, Mr. Pyro, please don't do this! Let's make a deal! I'll do anything if you just...hide while we're here."

He murmurs under his mask, "Mrph mphda mphphl?"

"I don't care, so long as you get out of here and don't come back until the furlough is over." You're begging. You've never been above it, it's how you got this job in the first place.

The Pyro reflects on his options, gives you yet another once-over, and then nods. "Hhn hnna mphhha!"

"You'll do it?" He nods again, and you feel like you could cry from relief, but then you feel like crying because you just gave the Pyro free rein to do what he liked with you for, oh, the next forty minutes. "Okay, great, but...the team is gonna be here soon. You have to be gone before they get here."

The Pyro shrugs and starts dragging you back towards the Engineer's shop. You feel the weight of impending doom falling all around you, but try to stay optimistic. The Engineer's shop is full of nifty things, heavy blunt objects like wrenches, things you can use to brain the Pyro and knock him out. You could drag him into a closet or stuff him in an air vent. It doesn't sit well with you, having to use violence, and its unlikely that with the scrub down the place is going to get over the next two days, that the body wouldn't be discovered. You find yourself bent over the Engineer's workbench before you realize what's going on. You bite your lip. A deal is a deal, and you hope the Pyro honors it. If he doesn't, you'll find the inner strength to dash his brains somehow.

A hard plastic cord bites around your wrists, and they're quickly bound behind your back. The Pyro's creepy laugh terrifies you. The toe of his thick, insulated boot kicks your feet out wide. He reaches around to your front and rubs his hand over your stomach, down to your groin. You can feel his body, an amorphous, rubbery mass, against your back. His fingers cup around you, he fondles you down there with softness in obvious disparity to the situation you find yourself in, tied up, manhandled. You groan, and then blush immediately when you think you hear the Pyro call you a slut.

He jerks you up from the workbench and pushes you to the ground, roughly. You land on your ass and watch the Pyro unbuckle his belts, dropping the heavy oxygen tank to the floor. He comes to stand over you and points at his feet. He tells you to start sucking, and you look up at him with big stupid doe eyes until he puts his hands on his hips and taps his foot, yelling through the mask to lick his fucking boots. You've been called a bootlicker before, so you figure you'd best prove it. You gather yourself to your knees and plant a kiss on his boot, and then another, and experimentally trace your tongue over the rubber. You hurl curses from within your mind when you feel yourself tense with arousal. The taste is bitter, medicinal, but you close your eyes and lick anyways, you figure you'd best try to enjoy it. The Pyro moans a little. Your saliva leaves a shiny trail on his boots as you continue to lick and suck you way up his front. You despairingly remember that no sex was indicated in the Pyro's personnel file.

You make your way to his groin to investigate for yourself, but he stops you, curls his fingers through your hair, and pushes you back down. He unbuckles your belt and jerks your pants down to your ankles. You close your eyes and flush horribly as you feel his shielded gaze all over your body. There's a long beat where nothing happens, and you open one eye to peek at the Pyro, who is slathering some kind of salve on his fingers from a metal tube. You feel his hand on your slim hip, and then you feel his fingers rubbing against your entrance, pushing a slippery, greased digit inside of you. You gasp like a whore and clamp your muscles around his finger. In response to your wincing and simpering, he wags his finger inside of you, pulling more and more noise out of your mouth as you writhe around. The plastic cord cutting into your hands is a very real reminder of who is in charge. Whatever he put on his hand, it's starting to tingle.

The Pyro's finger leave you, and is then quickly replaced with two, and he begins thrusting them into you, curling them, pressing them against your insides. Your hips buck slightly in response, your body accepting him wholly. The tingling sensation has ripped into a full tilt burn, and it makes you wriggle and cry out in protestation. The Pyro spreads your knees wide and continues to fuck you with his hand, plunging deep, to the knuckle. You shudder and gasp as his fingers blindly dart in and out, sometimes jabbing you in that bundle of nerves, shooting a hot river of pleasure up your spine each time. The Pyro pulls out of you and jerks you up by your arms. All you can think about is the burning. He lies back and positions you so that you lie on top of him, with one knee between his legs. He grips you, wraps his legs around yours, and grinds against you. He hitches your other leg up around his hip and jams his fingers, three this time, back inside. The rubber suit he's wearing makes all kinds of interesting noises. Fluid is leaking out of you, you can feel it slip down your inner thigh. With your hands tied around your back, you can't support yourself, and your face presses into his shoulder. You open your mouth and find yourself latching onto the Pyro's neck. You lick his mask, suck on it, and bite against the slick material, finding no purchase.

This maniac is fucking the shit out of you, and his hips are jerking hard against you, trapping your leg. He groans, and you sigh and moan, and when he slaps your ass, you see stars. Everything is hot, pulsating. You hole is on fire, and he's pushing it deeper up inside of you. You feel an insane urge to kiss him, and end up ridiculous in your efforts to tongue the exhaust port and the intake vents of his mask. His pace reaches an intense fever pitch, humping you within inches of your life. His breathing is a loud, rasping wheeze. In his chest you can hear the rattling of his breath even deeper. You feel the son of a bitch force one more finger inside of you, and you intrusion is painful, but he rams into you nonetheless as a tear slides down your face, or maybe it's sweat. It hurts, but even the pain feels good. You close your eyes and let the swelling sensations fill you up from the inside. He spasms against you, groaning raggedly, and you find yourself slipping over the edge too, once his big hand clamps over your ass and squeezes it, jamming his groin up in to you one final time. You collapse into a wet heap on top of him, and he lets his arms fall aside, rocking you up and down with his labored breath.

"Holy...shit..." you gasp, blinking, hovering in the afterglow for only a moment. The very real and very urgent burning feeling is still there, but it's not as bad. "Please...let me go now." You don't even care that much about the bargain right now, you just need to go to the bathroom and do a damage report.

The Pyro groans and pushes you off of him, and watches you curiously, probably smirking, as you shift your hips uncomfortably. He rolls you over and undoes the complicated knot from your wrists, the cord falling away. You get up, trying to hurry and pull up your pants, but everything hurts, and you jolt as a white hot spike of pain shoots up your back. You wince and begin to limp away, checking your watch.

"They'll be here soon," you mutter.

You feel a little odd, having just gotten off with the Pyro, but you'll live. You never thought you'd enjoy being tied up. You make it to the Engineer's workbench and use it to brace yourself. The Pyro saunters over to you, throws an arm around your shoulder. He tips your chin towards him and makes a low noise, but it sounds cheerful. He leaves you with one more part of the deal to fulfill, and vows that he'll leave. You consider it. He looks damned innocent, but you know better now. After what you'd just let him do to you, this was tame, but still. If you give a Pyro the opportunity to take you, what else would he want?

"Hrmmn," he trills, tilting his masked head, squeezing your shoulder, but softly this time. He lifts his wrist, mock gesturing at a nonexistent watch.

The truck's loud, diesel engine is a dull roar in the background. You feel desperate. You press a chaste kiss against the Pyro's rubber cheek and hurry him off towards the exit.

"Go, go," you hiss.

The Pyro slips out the door, but reappears only a few moments later, calling after you. You're already headed for the control room. You've got to wipe some footage off the security cameras before anyone shows up to catch you doing it. You ignore him and turn the corner, smugly thinking to yourself, hah, there won't be a next time. Maybe, though, if you manage to keep your job, there might be an opportunity to figure out what kind of heat the Pyro's really packing, next time.

>>88
Finally. A 'Pryo and you' worth saving. Thank you, Anonymous.

>>88
This pleases me!

maidspy/you pls

>>88 I love you, so much. Best Xmas present ever!

There is no way I can top that though...

MOAR YOUxANYONE PLZ 8D

I dare to say it because it would be epic.

Saxton Hale & You Fic!

So if this is not a challenge i don´t know.

Oh god... My mind cannot even begin to comprehend...

>>94

B-but wouldn't Saxton Hale's pure, brute strength kill you upon him reaching his climax?

Well Scout Ma (sorry i´m still noob by writing here)
We must think that it´s canon, that the Hales can reproduce without killing their pardners. Because we see in the comic Saxton Hales ancestor. EXCEPT(!) if this was Saxton Hale and he just don´t get´s old, but just fakes his death every 40 years to reappear as his son or "grandson" or something like that.

There's still the Administrator. She's had sex with him and she didn't die.

>>99

Good call! This anon had forgotten about that too.

Remember that episode of Futurama with Zoidberg and the anchovies?

Well, that's me now. Where the hell can I find more like this? The way these are written is just phenomenal.