[ inception ] [ fanfic / afanfic ] [ dis / trade / srs / projects / 3d / fanart / afanart / oek / tits / rpg / dumps / cosplay ] [ offtopic / vg / zombies / gay / resources / upl ]
Return Entire Thread Last 50 posts First 100 posts

class and you (139)

1 . Name: Riff Raff @ 2011-10-09 19:25

I think the old one died so here's a new one. Post any class x you fics you can find. Maybe we can get this going again.

Let's start out with some scout x you by LoLo, shall we? ALL CREDIT TO LOLO.

Smirk/The Butterflies - Scout & You

Your face was growing hot, and not just with the steam that rose in billowing clouds out of the sink as you scrubbed - almost-clean plate in one hand, sud-soaked sponge in the other. Your apron is messied from a days' work - that's three meals a day, making no mention of the cleaning work in between - and your hair a likewise mess, but normally that wouldn't bother you. No, just today, it happens to be quite a problem, one that you frantically attempt to fix up and pat down whenever your current partner looks in the opposite direction. It just had to be him, didn't it? Murphy's Law, you guessed, would have it that you are given dishes duty with Scout on an uncomfortably hot, humid night, cramped in the small back of the base's kitchen, almost shoulder to shoulder as you both systematically powered through the burgeoning sink of dirtied dishes that a team of nine men and their behind-the-scenes crew might create. Which is to say, quite a few.
You knew him, but just marginally enough to be flustered when he did those... things. During breakfast, you'd try your best to casually slide his ordered usual (pancakes, of course) in front of him, but his cocky little smile and nod put the casual right out of that. Bring out his soda at lunch, only to be met with that smirk jutting rudely out from the rest of his boyish face, blue eyes dancing even under the broad shadow of his cap. And, god help you, slide him a tray during dinnertime, and even in his bruised, tired, slumping end-of-the-day stature, his usual polite "thank ya" put a knot in your stomach, which doubled up on itself when you made eye contact and he smiled, tired and genuinely thankful. Mama taught him some manners after all, even if the boy did still wear his hat at the table.
And now, here he is, humming ever-so-lightly to himself as he dries and shelves the dishes you rinse. The cap of contension now lies, discarded in the heat, on the far side of the kitchen, removed upon entering the varitable steam-cooker of a linoleum prison. After you'd made your hellos, chat came with some difficulty, the butterflies in your stomach now rampant and intent on gracing your sensitive ribcage with their flitting wingtips with every word he spoke. The smirk never left his face, not even as he complained to you about dishes duty.
"Man, I tried to trade out for sweepin' or laundry or somethin'," Scout shrugged halfheartedly, sliding a stack of sterile-white plates into their respective cupboard, "Dishes just aren't my thing. My ma did them when I was back home, guess they just never grew on me." Sweat was just beginning to darken his light dusting of mousy hair, already crushed down to his head from a long day in the sun. You watch with a little smile pecking at the corner of your mouth as he heaves another heavy load up over his head into an empty cupboard, the sleek muscles of his exposed arms gliding under fair - albeit bruised - skin. You were about to make a remark in response to his statement when he quite suddenly turned and caught you staring - which was rather rude of you, actually, serves you right to be caught.
The halfassed smile that constantly played at his face grew just so slightly with his ego as he made his half-turn to face you, those sharp blue eyes aggrivating your blasted butterflies once more. You could feel your face growing even redder as you tried to quickly turn back to your work, but once Scout got on a tangent, there was no stopping him.
"Checkin' out the guns, huh? I don't blame you." His cocky voice drifted like the steam through the room, he himself inspecting the guns in question, flexing his (admittely nice looking) arms beneath his stare. "They come naturally when you do the stuff I do, plus workin' out, that too..." He trailed off as you concentrated harder on your scrubbing, and you realized with a little start that he was silently looking at you, that same narcicisstic smile planted on his handsome face. When you turned to face him, his arms were crossed, placing him in a quintessential knowing stance. You couldn't stop yourself before the word bubbled out of your mouth in a frustrated inclination - "What?"
"You dig me. No, it's totally clear, you can be honest, I know I'm pretty much prime and all. Not to mention when you're faced with the crop a' old-timers like everyone else is here." He shrugged, closing his eyes momentarily as he turned back to his growing pile of dishes, towel in hand. "It makes sense, though, why yer always lookin' at me funny and blushin' and stuff." The smirk on his face was almost unbearable in vauntingness now. Even if what he was saying was true, you were determined to prove him wrong. You huffed a little melodramatically, as if what he was saying was to ridiculous to even laugh at.
"I'm the only server on the base, I've gotta look at everyone. When I bring them their food." You reassured him with another slightly melodramatic roll of the eyes as you plunged a mug into the soapy depths. "And just because you and I are close in age doesn't mean I've gotta 'dig you'." Feeling as though you covered your ass sufficiently, you decided to cut your defense short, hoping he'd either revoke his statement or, even better, drop it altogether. He harumphed quietly, still sneering as he inspected the last of the plates a little too strenuously. You were almost back to a regular heart rate and more focused on getting those last few silverware pieces done when he spoke again, a little abruptly, in a voice more coated with faux vaingloriousness than you'd heard from him before.
"Well, uh, it's kinda possible that I'd been diggin' on you for a little while," Scout shrugged, "I mean, just because we ARE kind of close ages, and you're not really bad-lookin' or anything like that, and you're... nice, I guess, not a lot of the guys are really nice and that's cool." Now it was him that avoided eye contact, shelving the remaining dishes that you'd passed along during his short statement. There was none of that politeness in it this time, just him coating his words in false cavalierity to make up for that small note of question and - was that nervousness quavering in his final intonation? This must be a breakthrough.
In an almost role-reversal, you felt a soft grin float to your lips as you watched him out of the corner of your eye, putting away the last of your chore, your hands working themselves dry on your apron to no avail. You didn't even know it was possible for the self-centered Scout to feel in any semblance of that way, especially towards someone like yourself. Even the fact that he tried to play it off so cool, like he always did, made your knees quiver a bit. You were right on the verge of admitting your rather schoolgirl-ish feelings when you realized Scout wasn't even standing there anymore. Fast as he was prone to being, he had sauntered unseen to the gaping doorway of the kitchen, and had a hand laid on the light switch for the main overheads.
"You mind if I turn these off now? Our work's done in here and I wanna get to bed." The tone of his voice implied that he'd forgotten all about your previous shortlived conversation, and with a disapproving sag from those inner butterflies, you resigned yourself to keeping up the facade of nonattraction. "Go ahead," You called back, a little more aggrivation hanging in your words than intended, which you fixed with an overwhelmingly neutral, "I've still got to dry off back here, I'll get the lights in the back." A curt grunt of agreeance from Scout as a small clang resounded from the massive lights shutting off. In the meantime, you dried your hands off, absentmindedly taming your steam-mussed hair at the same time with an errant hand. You listened as you flipped off your half of the lights - a swivel on heel as the lithe shape of his slight shoulders disappeared into the hungry darkness of the base hallways. Several light footsteps later, he was gone down the hall, leaving nothing but quietly echoing steps behind him. And his hat!
It's possible that you subconsciously took the opportunity for a quick conversation more as you snatched up the plain cap, lying forgotten on the counter near the front, and quickened your pace in his direction. His footfalls were heavier as they lead away, and gossamer moonlight from the occasional open-curtained window made his figure an easy one to follow. Scout slowed and turned when he noticed that he wasn't prowling alone in this dark corridor near his room. You slowed and eventually halted as you neared him, unable to read his expression in the dark.
"Forgot your hat," You panted, slightly out of breath from the jog. "Didn't think you'd want to run off withou-"
"When I said you weren't bad-lookin', I meant you were actually very nice lookin'." Scout suddenly blurted, cutting you off mid-sentence. As you cocked your head slightly, it dawned on you that this was the first time you'd seen him flustered, and that he'd been visibly so since he left the kitchen. You let that dreadful word slip from your mouth once more - "What?"
"Look, I'm not great at expressin' some things," he shrugged - this time a more exasperated and almost ashamed event than before - and continued, "But I kinda let it go to to my head when you were lookin' at me, and, uh, I kinda got a problem with that happenin'."
The smile that had been hiding just under the surface of your own face breached as you recognized the moon-highlighted expression on his face as apologetic. That's where those manners went. You chuckled very slightly, the only response you could muster at that second. "I can see that," You managed after a short, awkward moment. His baby blues still darted around in avoidance, that smirk of his wittled down to an unsure grimace as he floundered for more words. Before he could find them, you stood on tiptoe just so slightly - he was quite the tall boy - and planted a gentle kiss on his unsuspecting mouth, an act of impulse you almost never caved in to (but now seemed like a good time to start).
You pulled away, a mutual look of mixed bewilderment and almost-naivety on your faces. While his remained, yours quickly faded into a small, somewhat guilty smile, signifying that, yes, you'd lied just a little, too, you'll forgive him if he'll forgive you. Upon seeing that grin of yours form, his returned as well, although a little more relieved than anything else. Just as suddenly as it had happened the first time, you were kissing him again, despite the two of you being a great deal less unsuspecting. His arms were hooked around your shoulders this time, pulling you together beyond where your lips met, pressing your chest to his in a tight hug. The kiss was almost innocent in its sincerity, nothing but two peoples' faces trying to be as close together as possible, the tip of your nose grazing his slightly freckled cheek as you moved to pull back again, this time the smirk on both your faces.
"You're not so hard on the eyes yourself," you chuckle after a few breathless moments, a hand on his chest assuring you that his heart was beating just as quickly and erratically as your own. He clasped his larger hand over yours, bring it up to his face to briskly kiss your knuckles, never so much as relieving pressure from the arm slung around your shoulder, holding him close to you, which was apparently just how he liked it. Which was lucky for you, because you felt the same way, quite comfortably warm despite the hot weather, breathing easy at last with your face buried in the divot of his collarbone. Breath hot on your temple, he not-quite-whispered to you, "My room's just a few doors down," urging you out of your pleasant hiding place, although still under the gentle pressure of his arm around your shoulders as you both strolled down the hall, in no particular hurry, you still clutching his hat in a free hand.
Your mind was racing to the point of all other things becoming a blur. Thoughts rattled inside your head with every rise and fall of your steps, bobbing slightly against Scout's shoulder. It would have been helpful to see into his mind for only a second, just to gain some clarity and maybe a little level-headedness - he seemed so calm, if not lightly redfaced at the moment, a spring in his step that was not there before your lips met. And then you were at his door, with you hanging behind as he opened up and let you in, flicking the switch that let dim light flood the square room for just the split second before you struck out and turned it back off. He countered with a small sound of confusion. "I like the moonlight," You explained, a slightly playful tone having taken in your voice. Scout didn't seem to mind striding over to his single window and flaying open the curtains, letting the both of you bathe in the pure moonlight of the summer night that poured through the pane of the window.
He leaned against the wall by the window to shuck off his shoes, working with a surprising slowness and deliberation. Those were followed by socks, gloves, pants - leaving a scantily clad Scout to stand up straight, reaching behind him to peel away the tight uniform shirt he bore every single day. The glow of the light over his skin was breathtaking, almost porcelain, appeareaing to have a purifying, healing effect as it touched at all his bruises, cuts, scars. Your eyes darted over those things as his clothes piled up in a heap on the floor, a sympathetic glint flickering in them as you tallied up the Scout's various maladies. Instead of waiting, you went to him, a sudden will overcoming you to wish him well again, despite the fact that he'd made no deal of the wounds. You placed your hands back on his smooth chest, appreciating the gentle twitch of every muscle, every pump of his now calmed heart that you were so determined to get racing again. It possessed you in an almost matronly way to bend to his arms and stomach and kiss every one of those ailments, bless every one of them away with a touch of your lips and a great deal of sympathy. How could you complain about working in a hot kitchen when all the working classes are out there getting rattled around so badly, you reprimanded yourself, first and foremostly crooking your neck to peck a glaring, battered spot on Scout's chest with a gentle kiss.
Before you could go further, Scout hooked a slim hand under your chin and pulled your face upward to face his, hair glowing red-gold in the halo of the moonlight backing him. The look on his face was crippling, endearing and warm, so unlike the Scout you'd served so often in the mess hall. "You don't havta do that," He said with a smile - not a smirk but a smile - as he placed a hand at your waist. "I'll be just fine." You reached a hand up to grasp his that cradled your chin, lips twitching into a worried crescent. Your bodies pressed together like this, you became aware of the heat of his crotch, alluring just behind the soft material of his breifs. Your attention was drawn there, the hand having discarded his hat at the door traveling to the elastic band at his waist while his blue eyes watched your face with piqued interest. While your hand rest there, touching at the bones of his jutting hip, his began to work the buttons of your work shirt, unsurprisingly quick and skillful, leaving your shoulders bare in no time. You kicked your own shoes off, working your way backwards to his well-made bed, pulling the barely clothed Scout by the hand with no reluctance from his end.
Soon enough, you were sitting together, mouths on each other once more, this time open and lapping, eyes closed and hands gripping. He was intent on getting your pants off, and in your overheated frustration, you were as well. With some teamwork and a few breathy chuckles between the two of you, they slid down your thighs, pooling at your ankles, flicked away with a small kick. It was plain to see that the sight of your exposed, radiant skin, smooth and flawless, excited the already aroused Scout, proving itself in the growing tent in his shorts. He became bearing, pressing down on you, coaxing you wordlessly into laying back with him over you, casting a hazy shadow over your already excitement-blurred eyes. You didn't need sight so much, anyway - just the smell of it all was enough to drive you crazy. Scout's undeniable musk, sweat and the faint undertone of some aftershave long gone and possibly even some fragrant soap from a shower that morning. It was splendid. Fantastic. All-encompassing and lustful. Hands at his waist again as he laid a plentiful amount of short kisses on your sensitive neck, your fingers gently worked their way under the elastic, this time pulling them away, careful not to catch on his sharply portruding cock, still stiffening even as you yanked his breifs to the crook of his knees.
Scout hissed inward sharply as he became aware that he was visible, might as well be naked, stark as the day he was born. In return, he leaned away, hooking his thumbs in the band of your underwear as he did so, not-so-gracefully pulling them down and off your feet before tossing them aside and hovering over you once more. That smirk touched both your faces, the gleeful beam that very well suited his soft features and pleasantly arching eyebrows, mischevious in a way, but attractive in so many more. He spoke the first words that had been said in quite a few lustful minutes.
"You ready?" He asked in a voice deep with anticipation. You felt the need to ponder just for a moment, if only to figure how to go about this whole messy ordeal. After you nodded, biting your lip just the tiniest bit - enough to catch his attention - you placed a cautionary hand on his shoulder, stopping him from further movement. You had a few requests of your own to share.
"Would you sit down?" You asked, voice a little shaky - oh, those butterflies were back, a thousand times worse than they ever had been, a whole colony of butterflies in your chest and stomach tickling your insides and it was good.
Although a bit confused, Scout did not object, and somewhat awkwardly positioned himself on the opposite end of the bed, spread-eagled, that stark exclamation point of an erection leering almost painfully full up from a thin thatch of mousy-brown hair. When he'd made himself comfortable, you got up and angled yourself although you were sitting in his lap, which, really, you were. With a knee placed on either side of his thigh, you were hovering at the very top, his dick just on the verge of entering you, the breath in his throat catching as you moved forward to taste his lips another time. Simultaeneously, he gave up a slight moan and gripped at your wrist, holding you to the spot you were at - not that you'd want to leave, anyway, his chest firmly against yours, hearts pounding like your lives depended on it. Unceremoniously, yet still quite deliciously, he slipped into you, eliciting a mutual grunt from your throats, gutteral and passionate and deep. Animal instinct took over before you knew it, and quite suddenly you were riding him for all you were worth, rocking both your bodies with carnal thrusts and slams and the frantic meeting of flesh-on-flesh.
The butterflies weren't so much butterflies as they were dragons now, hot and fiery and bursting inside you with ignited breath and flame. Scout's nose was practically in your ear as a single hand tousled your hair, too lost in pleasure to get a decent grip on anything, your name leaving his mouth in soft gasps every so often. There was a moment when, for the life of you, you didn't care if he was enjoying this as much as you were, lost in all your fireworks and bursting scapes of stars, but it was oh so apparent that he was, head lolling back in lax motions, leaning on his elbows, sweat beading at his brow and rolling down the defined slopes of his soft cheeks and beyond. It was art. Together, you were making a work of art.
For some strange reason, it touched your mind how concerned with your appearance you had been an hour ago, compared to now, how you reveled in your cumulative sweatiness, in the gently tousled look of Scout's fair hair, in the rising blush of his cheeks that gave you a warning sign that he was on the edge, much like yourself. The heat was building in your stomach, in your heart and lungs, and in what felt like no time, you were clawing at his back, softly scraping his exposed shoulder with your searching teeth and tongue, looking for something for your mouth to do since it was far beyond coherent speech.
In that one moment, you felt him grip you tighter, hold you closer, and you knew he was there - a soft grunt and heavy panting later, you were, too, and you could feel the climax of this sweet young man inside you, which was just about the greatest reward you could garner for a hard night's work.

Under the covers, cold from sweat and exhausted, you held each other, beautiful in your collapse. He on your outside, chin nestled in your hair, holding you possessively to his chest as if to give off a (very Scout-esque) message of 'mine, mine, this is all mine'. It couldn't have been more perfect, simply could not have. Not a care in the world touched your mind, not a worry or a cross. But one seemed to plague Scout's, as he spoke before drifting off to sleep.
"What about in the morning? Don't you have to get up and get to work in the kitchen?" He asked. The rise and fall of his chest while speaking was magnificent and organic in inexplicable ways. You were quiet for a time, not so much concerned, but plotting your words carefully to leave something good in his mind before you closed your eyes for the remainder of the night.
"Just think of it this way - I'll be that much closer to getting you pancakes tomorrow."

2 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-09 20:25

Unf. Hot damn, son.

3 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-09 22:20

Gender-ambiguous Sniper/You/Spy PWP.

I'LL JUST LEAVE THIS HERE.
(I don’t know who originally wrote any of these)
-

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.”

4 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-09 22:24

I don't know who wrote this either, but here y'all go.
----------------------------------------------------------------

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.

5 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-09 22:27

Spy&You (Female Version) By MrX.
(I saved a lot of the fics, so bear with me.)
~~

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?”

6 . Name: Anomnomnom @ 2011-10-09 23:04

>>4

.....I--I---I'll be in my bunk.

7 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-09 23:42

>>5

i can't
the bunk awaits

8 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-10 00:08

I saved this Medic & You (included the author's notes too).
_
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 accompaniment 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 stethoscope. At least now you can blame it on the little cold metal pad.

He places the stethoscope 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 cacophony 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 embarrassed 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 embarrassed 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 embarrassed 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 accompaniment, 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 Lieb 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 accompaniment 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.”
----------------------------------------------------------------
(There is a part 2! Please wait patiently while I retrieve it.)
----------------------------------------------------------------

9 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-10 00:15

(this is the continuation of the Medic and you, w/ author's notes still in place)
---------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, kids. Medic and You, part 2, is in process. However, it involves some stuff that I find a little challenging/nerve-wracking, 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.
_________

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!
_________________________________

“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.

10 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-16 16:31

New content would be nice. I'd do it but I can't write for toffee.

11 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-19 15:39

Anyone have any new stuff? Anyone?

12 . Name: Riff Raff @ 2011-10-19 15:45

Here's some by Pen Name. Author's notes and everything!
__________________________________________________________________

MEIN GOTT I FINALLY FINISHED THIS

Here, have some Gender neutral Spy/you

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

When you woke up, you felt like you were glowing. It was one of those mornings where you had slept like a baby and woke up in an exquisite state of comfort. The scarlet sheets were wonderfully warm from the body heat of both you and the man sleeping beside you. You took in a deep sigh of contentment and fluttered your eyes open. Sunlight dripped perfectly through the curtains, casting a soft golden light across the hotel room. The articles of clothing scattered around the room adorn it like carefully placed pieces of furniture. You closed your eyes again and played with the idea of falling back asleep. The last thing you wanted to do right then was leave that bed, where everything was perfect. But you sat upright anyway, flinging your legs over the side and letting them dangle in the surprisingly cool air. It was a starling contrast to the cozy warmth of the covers. Too late to go back, though, so you placed your feet tentatively on the floor.

The bathroom was even colder. Goosebumps ran up your legs from the chill of the tile floor. It was a nice room, though. Everything was a shining egg white and accented with light blue. Very stereotypical bathroom decor, complete with a hand soap dispenser in the shape of an angel fish. The shower stood in the corner, clean and welcoming. You found it mildly amusing that you didn't have to undress at all. You turned the small, crystalline knob, resulting in a light sprinkling of warm water. A wide smile flashed across your face. You leaned your head in, relishing the feeling of the water as it splashed across your features. Your hair began to sag with water and drip onto your shoulders. Not wanting to exclude the rest of your body from this heated bliss, you stepped inside the shower and closed the mottled glass door behind you.

This was arguably more comfortable than the bed was. You hugged your arms to yourself and started humming. You were so happy. Your mind wandered back to last night and how you met Spy. You had been in such a bad mood, slumped over the bar with a glass of some indiscriminate alcohol. Just another lonely Friday night in this one horse town. Then he walked up to you. Spy tapped you on the shoulder, catching you by surprise. You were mostly confused that anyone was talking to you. He seemed to enjoy your bewildered expression, smiling lightly. He took a drag on his cigarette and you found yourself intoxicated by the smoke.

From then, it happened quickly. You felt butterflies grow in your stomach while you remembered the butterflies from that night. He had led you from the bar and a couple blocks down towards the tall hotel. You were dazed and enamored. He guided you by the waist down the carpeted hallways, trailing smoke behind the two of you. He had been speaking lightly in French the entire way and you had loved the sound of his voice despite not knowing a bit of the language. You were in awe. Lovestruck.

You didn't recall much of your surroundings from that night. Standing in the shower, you concentrated and tried to remember walking into the hotel room, but, for the life of you, you couldn't. You just remembered kissing him in the subdued lighting.

Oh, that kiss. A wide smile danced across your face. His lips were so warm. You leaned into the kiss with a sigh, wasting no time in letting his tongue slip into your mouth. Your stomach was doing back flips and your head was getting dizzy. Spy pulled you closer, moving his lips to your neck and ear. You found yourself moaning quietly, already impatient. The suspense itself was arousing, every moment getting drawn out and teasing at what was to come.

Spy worked off your clothes easily, leaving you with your underwear for the time being. The touch of his silky gloves against your skin had you shuddering with pleasure. You hands finally had enough of all the waiting and grabbed at his clothes, clutching the lapels of his suit and quickly tugging it off of his shoulders. You mouth hung open and your breathing was heavy. Your heart pounded in your chest as you revealed more and more of the Frenchman's beautifully scarred skin.

There was a moment, you remembered, where you simply stood and stared. Spy was a slender man with sleek muscles subtly making their appearance. The lacy burns and deep scars that covered him did nothing to lower his appeal; in fact, they complimented his frame and accented his body just so. You eyes were drawn to his belt line, where curls of dark hair spilled over the top of his pants. Spy was smirking and obviously enjoying your attention. He waved his hand down were your eyes were fixed as an open invitation.

You certainly didn't want to keep him waiting.

You braced your hand against the shower wall, your legs feeling a bit week. Your jaw dropped and you breathed a bit heavier, placing yourself back into that intimate moment. He was already semi-hard when you pulled down his underwear and it didn't take much to get him the rest of the way there. You knelt before him, licking along the bottom of his shaft in long, slow motions. That taste of dry skin... you really only get to taste that once. Then it's tainted with the ever so familiar taste of saliva.

Spy placed both hands on your shoulders, smiling down on you softly. His eyes - oh, his eyes - were asking a question. They were very politely asking 'please?"

His hands suddenly tightened around your shoulders, fingers digging into your back, as you finally swallowed his whole length. You tucked your thumbs into your fists, remembering vaguely that it suppresses the gag reflex. You bobbed your head, pleased with the quiet murmurs of French above you. Of course, after his initial tension, his hands loosened up and began to toy with your hair, coiling and winding inside of it and pulling you in closer. You closed your eyes and focused on getting deeper. You thrust your head forward, up to the point that curls of hair tickled your nose, then pulled back slowly, lips tight around his cock.

You found your hands getting uneasy and distracted, both in memory and in real time. Spy had noticed the increased number of moans vibrating against his member caused by your inquisitive and easily bored fingers. Laughing, he pulled out of your mouth, leaving you confused. He grabbed your arm by the elbow to gently pull you to your feet.

"It seems you are ready to continue, non?"

In the shower, Spy wasn't around to stop you, so your hand was able to continue fondling yourself as it pleased. Your face was flushing just a bit, but you still had a ways to go.

Next thing you remember, you were on the bed. Your undies had miraculously disappeared on the way over and Spy was wearing nothing but his socks. He laid on top of you, hands feeling up your sides and lips nipping at your neck. You gasped audibly as you felt his cock brush against you. Damnit, you wanted it /in/ you. But Spy just kept fondling and bucking his hips just to torture you. A master tease, he was.

Breathing rapidly, you flashed through the events like a slide show, not bothering to tease yourself at all. It was mostly a blur from that point on anyway. Once he actually /did/ get inside you, you lit up like the fourth of July. He had started slowly, still teasing and chuckling at your gasped pleas to ride you until you couldn't see straight, but boy did he deliver in the end. Dwelling on that glorious flood of passion, you doubled over in the shower. You were actually panting now. Spy's hurried lines of French - what you believed to be swears interrupted with words like "cheri," and "amour" - rang in your ears, coaxing you to climax.

"MY GOD-" you gasped, feeling the tension in your body suddenly release and wash down the drain. You hand went limp to your side and your mouth shut into a warm, contented smile. You had fallen asleep last night resting on Spy's shoulder while he casually smoked another cigarette.

Listlessly, you turned off the shower, promptly getting out and wrapping yourself in one of the fluffy white hotel towels. You hummed a song that you couldn't put a name to; one that was upbeat and romantic. You fancied for a moment that you had actually fallen in love with the masked Frenchman. And you also fancied that he loved you. He had been so passionate, so tender. You wanted to do something nice for him. Cook him breakfast? You thought on the matter, wondering what you could scavenge out of the mini bar, as you opened the bathroom door.

Spy was leaving. Your stomach dropped and you dashed across the room to meet him at the door, clutching your towel to your chest and burying your face into his side. Spy only glanced at you before turning his eyes away.

"I 'ave to go, /cheri/. It's part of zhe job."

You were holding back tears.

"Will I ever see you again?" You pulled your face out of Spy's shirt to look up at him, doe eyed. He smiled and abruptly kissed you. Your breath hitched in surprise. The kiss wasn't fancy; no tongue, no slobbering, no wandering hands; but it was passionate nonetheless. You felt your heart melt.

"Per'aps, /cheri/"

You think you need another shower.

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

I've noticed that I hate writing actual intercourse. I was about to write it in, but then I was like, "Naw. I'll just talk about you fapping in the shower. That's just as good, right?"

13 . Name: AlienCreep @ 2011-10-19 16:31

Here, have some Bondange!Engineer I wrote at three in the morning and didn't proofread.
No plot. No description. Just fucking.
_____________


Engineer looked up at you from his position on the floor, his arms and legs spread, each ankle and wrist shacked to a stake in the cold concrete.

This, of course, rendered him incapable of all movement, but if his swollen erection was to be believed, escape was the last thing on his mind.

You couldn't help but admire how good he looked stripped of his clothing, all thick muscle under a layer of fat, scars from gunfire and mechanical mistakes white against his flushed skin. His goggles had been pushed up to rest on his forehead, revealing dark eyes that were half-lidded with want.

You paced around him in a slow circle, tapping the riding crop you stole from Soldier against your bare thigh. His gaze flicked to it, then back to you as he gave a small shiver of anticipation, but you were too busy taking in every inch of his well-displayed body to address his need.

Finally, you moved closer, sliding the leather loop of the riding crop up his throat, tapping it against the underside of his chin. His eyes slid shut as he arched his neck to invite more, a soft rumble of pleasure growling deep in his chest. You brushed it lower, through the dark thatch of hair on his chest and across a nipple. He moaned, his hands curling into fists, his erection twitching as it became engorged to the point of aching.

You shivered as he moaned again, a delicious bloom of heat spreading through your hips and sides, moisture gathering at your slit. If took all of your self control not to give in and fuck him right then, but you forced yourself to resist, slipping the loop of the riding crop around his cock instead, stroking it with the rough leather.

His hips bucked upwards as he gave a low groan of need, his breath growing heavier. Pre-cum beaded at the tip of his cock before sliding down the front of his shaft, where it was quickly absorbed by the leather, leaving a damp spot.

Quickly, you slid it off and examined it, and he made a noise akin to a growl of frustration.

"Look what you did..." you said softly, and his eyes opened, looking up at you with apprehension.

"Wh-what now?"

"Soldier's going to have my ass for this..." He grinned in spite of himself.

"I'm sorry, darlin'..." he replied, his voice a low rumble. "I won't do it again."

"No, you won't," you said smugly, slowly lifting the riding crop before bringing it down onto his chest with a sharp crack.

He gave a shout, arching his back as a red wheal appeared where you had struck him.

"OH GOD!"

"You like that?"

"D-DAMMIT, GIMME MORE!" You obliged happily, striking him again, a little lower. He practically howled, writhing in his bonds, a small gush of pre-cum spurting from the head of his cock.

As you continued to whip him, each noise he made sent a fresh rush of arousal through you until you were forced to stop, panting, sweat sliding down your sides and back. He was panting as well, some of his wounds bleeding, his entire body trembling.

"P-please..." he begged, his voice raspy. "God dammit, sugar, PLEASE..."

"What do you want?" you crooned. He groaned, sweat sliding down his face as you slid the tip of the riding crop down his side, brushing across a few of the dark red marks you had left. "C'mon, I want to hear you say it..."

"F-fuck me..." he moaned softly, and you struck him again, provoking another ragged shout.

"What was that?"

"FUCK ME!" he roared, making you grin.

"I love hearing you beg..." you growled as you knelt between his legs, moving your mouth to his erection and teasing the tip with your tongue.

He moaned, thrusting his hips upwards, but you planted one hand on his thigh to hold him down, carefully cleaning every last drop of pre-cum from his shaft and stomach, wringing a desperate groan from deep in his chest.

Finally, you moved up to straddle his hips, positioning the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushing down, giving a moan as his girth stretched you. He thrust upwards, seeking more stimulation, and you dug your nails into his shoulders.

"I'm handling it," you said, leaning up to kiss his neck. "Just calm down." You began to thrust, slowly, enjoying the sensation of his throbbing erection stretching you and pushing against the walls of your pussy.

You planted one hand next to his head, holding yourself up while you reached down with your other hand and rubbed your clit, causing another rush of heat to bloom deep in your stomach.

"Ooh God, Dell..." you moaned, thrusting harder, and he gave a delicious shiver, pushing his hips upwards to force more of himself into you. You stopped and let him do the work, spreading your legs a little wider to better allow him access.

"Oh damn," he panted, arching his back. "Oh damn, sugar..." You brushed your tongue over one of the wounds on his chest, the salty taste of blood and sweat mingling on your tongue.

The combined sensation of your rubbing and his cock pounding at you was quickly proving to be too much, and before long you were matching his moans, panting and begging him to fuck you harder. He obliged as best as he could from his position, your cries mingling along with the smell of sweat and sex.

As you felt yourself barreling towards orgasm, you growled and planted both hands on the floor, grinding your hips into his as hard as you could. Your pussy clenched around his shaft as you let out a scream that left your throat raw and your body shaking with pleasure. In response, his moans grew steadily louder until he arched his back and roared, his cock twitching inside you and spurting a thick stream of cum.

Slowly rocking your hips back and forth, you wrung another throb from him, then lay your head on his chest, smiling as you listened to him pant.

"Th-that was..." he rasped, and you put your finger to his lips.

"I know." You leaned up to kiss him, and when you broke apart he lay back on the floor, closing his eyes.

"....So you plannin' on untyin' me, or...?" You laughed and lay your head on his chest, stroking his dark chest hair with your fingertips.

"Nope."

14 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-21 05:17

I'm guessing there's nobody else on re Internet that has fantasies with pyro... Back to my horrible imagination, then

15 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-26 15:12

Dosnt anyone have a good story about pyro....? Prefferably one where he's a guy..... ?

16 . Name: Cas @ 2011-10-26 19:52

>>15

This. Sadly none that I have yet to come across.

17 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-26 20:38

Glad to see more folks pining for Pyro. too bad I cant write worth crap.

18 . Name: Riff Raff @ 2011-10-26 21:13

Ta daa! Pyro stuff! Don't know the author, sorry.But author's note are in tact, so there. I'm not a pyro fan so I don't know any good pyro fics. Sorry about that, too.
---
Oh look, I wrote another.
"SPICE IT UP" YOU SAID. Now look what you've done.
Yeah, in my head, Pyro's... kind of... really weird.

"Coffee Break"/"Hot Date" - Pyro & You

It wasn't exactly love at first sight, if you could call it love at all (not really). Interest at first sight, maybe. Curiosity. And who could blame you? Such a man was interesting at the very least. Tall? Certainly. Dark? Handsome? You couldn't tell for the life of you, and that piqued your interest. You're not exactly shy, but flirting seemed impossible - him not quite being the talkative type, so to speak. You're sure he noticed you one way or another - you've said brief hellos when eye contact was made in the hallways of the base, or when you collected garbage from around his room, if he was even around the area. A quick nod, a muffled greeting, an equally indistinguishable farewell as you went your separate ways moments later. Not much more, but enough to get you frustrated and wondering - what's behind that gas mask and for Christ's sake, why wouldn't he just talk to you? If you couldn't flirt and couldn't even talk, what step did you take from there?
Well, it seemed to be that the next step was one of early-morning impulse as you knelt on the kitchen floor, fumbling awkwardly with the clasps of Pyro's suspenders as he leaned back against the counter, egging you on in short words, just about discernible from beyond the mask - "go on", "do it", "you got it". Okay, maybe not quite a logical step, but nonetheless one the both of you seemed to be alright with.
The slightest happenstance was the beginning of it, simply enough. You, doing your job in the wee hours of the morning, unglamorously emptying garbage cans before the cooking crew would wake up and start on their tasks. As you were cinching up a final bag, a clattering from across the large kitchen alerted you that someone was not only present, but fixing themselves a pot of coffee. A bit of junior sleuthing - peeking around the white-tiled corner quietly - revealed that, oh, damn it, it was him. Not so far in the distance, a yellow-striped oxygen tank glared in the bright lights at you, strapped tightly to the broad back of the tall, stocky man you'd come to know as the Pyro. His breathing was audible, but easy, for the first time you'd heard. It seemed, to your great surprise, that the thick rubber of the mask that so sufficiently veiled his face was actually hitched just above his chin - strikingly bare strips of flesh shown in small spaces on the back of his neck where the edges of the mask began to climb.
Intrigued beyond belief, you began to silently tiptoe towards the figure of Pyro as he continued amiably at fixing himself some coffee. It didn't surprise you much that he was making himself a drink at this hour - it was commonly known around the base that he was not only a resltess insomniac, but a caffeine addict. As you approached, it struck you that you needn't even tiptoe, as he seemed to be rather absorbed in not only making his coffee, but humming - a tuneless string of notes in low, raspy, but not unpleasant, vocal rift. On flat foot you continued until the gap was bridged, clearing your throat quietly before uttering a small "hey".
The effect was not quiet what you expected - he jumped visibly, knocking the glass pot of coffee with his elbow, all the while scrambling to yank down the sides of his rubbery mask around his exposed face. In the end, seconds later, his face was hidden, and the glass pot - previously full of coffee - shattered on the ground, simmering in a brown puddle. His veiled gaze ripped from the broken pot to you as you backed, startled, away a few steps. Back to the pot, back to you, clearly frustrated. It only just suddenly dawned on you to apologize frantically, speaking in clipped-off "oops I'm sorry I didn't mean to"s. A heavy huff sounded from inside the mask, followed by something like "gfft grng" - "Good going." A blush crept into your face as your apologies got more frenzied.
"Jeeze! I'm sorry! Look, lemme go get a replacement pot and a - ugh - a rag and a dustpan and a broom..." You trailed off as you turned on heel, embarrassed, booking it for the utility closet with a grimace on your face. When you returned - dishcloth and dustpan in one hand, broom in the other - his arms were crossed as he leaned against the counter, his head cocked in a way that silently (but efficiently) placed frustrated blame on the idiot coming towards him with cleaning tools. The redness in your face grew in intensity as you made eye contact through the distorting yellow of his mask lenses. You realized that "I'm sorries" were still flowing needlessly from your nervous mouth in a crude stream. You halted them as you bent down to mop up the coffee around the shards of glass before sweeping them up to escort them away to your trash bin. The second time you returned, you had the single other coffee pot in your hand, and the ruddiness of your face had finally begun to creep away.
Awkardly, you (carefully) held the glass pot out towards Pyro, still looking rather disgruntled in your general direction. Coherent words finally floated to your conscience.
"Look, I'm sorry," You said, handing the pot off to him, still speaking as he turned and set it down. A rather sordid idea crept into your head like the blush had to your face, and you decided to go out on a limb and gently touch his shoulder as he pushed the pot to the back of the counter. "I am sorry." You explained, speaking with a slightly different tone of voice as he started on the new bath of coffee, "I'd like to do something to make it up to you."
Pyro shot a strange look over his shoulder, and just by that, you were sure he caught your drift. There was a wavering moment of silence, in which you were sure you were about to be shut down at what was already a compeltely humiliating time, before he cleared his throat and spoke through the valve of the mask, "gff m huh mndnt" - "give me a minute", you were sure.
You hung back as the man, quite dedicated to his caffeine, prepared the second pot, watching in silence, thoughts racing, as he slid it into the machine, which began quietly whirring and grinding. Satisfied, Pyro turned around, still with that ever-so-slightly agitated air, and leaned his gloved hands against the counter. "Whffew hff nmnud?" The inquisitional infliction gave it away - "What'd you have in mind?"
And there you were, just a short bit of convincing later, slipped conveniently to your knees on the floor and working the clasps of his suspenders, clinging desperately to the belt of Pyro's fireproof suit. Your heart pounded in your chest, and to your ears, it seemed just audible as his constantly labored breathing - now increasing in volume as his heart rate increased as well. One released - there was an audible metal clap as half of the heavy tank on his back lost its connection. A smirk plastered itself on your face as you felt the tiniest twinge of success, moving your hands to the remaining one on the left. Your fingers adapted slightly faster this time, managing to unattach it quicker, cringing just slightly as you heard the tank they suspended clatter, now loose, against the counter. There were still a few layers left between you and your goal, belt, pants, whatever was beyond that, if anything. You were sure that if you weren't so eager to experience this, the anticipation itself might kill you.
The one thing already irking you so far was the almost complete lack of reaction from Pyro. It's not that it wasn't there - it could be, for all you knew - but it was undetectable, invisible under rubber and tinted glass. Instinctively, you'd look up for some sort of reassurance or emotion beyond his muffled encouragement, only to be staring up at the ventilation slots and the cold shine of dark lenses. Yes, quite irking, for a while, but in the end, you found it to drive you to create a reaction to strong you could see it through all that. Motivation if there ever was any. Exponentially easier work with his loosely fastened belt made the zipper and buttons of his pants not only viewable, but, moreover, accessible. Yes, after essentially flaying open the stiff material of his trousers at the zipper, the end point of your little race was almost visible - the almost comically vibrant sliver of orange y-fronts showcasing through the V of Pyro's open zipper, a bulge just beginning to grow beneath them (you found the slighest comfort in knowing he was feeling at least some form of growing excitement). The stifled encouragement from above had cut off, you realized, and you turned your head up towards the source, looking for something like approval to go on to the next step. Despite the silence, focusing your eyes on the eclipses of visible face through the mask revealed a pair of cocked eyebrows, no doubt accompanying a grin that was nearly expressive enough to be audible. When an enthusiastic couple of nods shook his face, you complied just as enthusiastically.
A tentative hand hovered over the elastic band of the orange shorts, almost hidden under the hem of his undershirt, leaving no skin yet to be seen. You pressed onward underneath it, biting a lower lip, expectant and excited. The skin on his stomach was soft and warm, but ridden with a strange texture - scars, you realized, layer upon layer of them, a juxtaposition of burns and slashes. Odd but not unpleasant. You hooked a curled finger into the band of his underpants and slowly, coyly, began to pull, at first revealing a sparse thatch of dark hair - also etched into with needling, thready scars. It was an interesting view, and one you wanted more of. Done with the games, your eager hand yanked the soft material of his underwear as far away as his drawn pants would allow, bringing his semi-erection into your pleased view. Success at last, as far as you were concerned, and you reached up a capable hand to aid your conquest - only to be met with a strangely rough tap on the head (that was more like a smack, to be perfectly honest). Bewildered, your gaze wandered upward again as you heard the first words that had been said in a while, muffled and difficult as usual, but the message was nonetheless the same as he shook his head: he didn't want you to use your hands.

Strange, but doable regardless.

Placing your hand back down at the floor, steadying yourself, you inched forward slightly enough to plant yourself neatly between Pyro's boots. If he didn't want you to use your hands, you'd show him that your mouth was just as capable on its own. Inhibitioned, you leaned forward, taking an initial taste with a drawn-out, long lick, testing Pyro's cock from base to tip. It was an icebreaker of sorts, resulting in what sounded like a breathy chuckle from above your head. He stiffened further, wordlessly egging you on. It was encouragement enough, and you dove for it, taking the whole of Pyro's girthy length - there was nothing to compare against at that moment, but it must've been at least seven or eight inches - into your awaiting mouth, eliciting a sudden small gasp from Pyro, who tightened his grip on the counter behind him. You quickly found that nothing pleased you so much as to see him quietly pleased, and soon, you were moving your head rapidly, taking his cock down your throat as far as it would go - downed to the hilt, burying your nose in the coarse hair at the dip of stomach above his dick - before pulling away, leaving a spit-slicked trail beyond your mouth. There were several times when the tip of it jammed against the back of your throat, making you thankful for a weak gag reflex. To your pleasure, Pyro seemed to be enjoying himself quite a bit, as signified by the animalistic grunts that emanated quietly from that mask.
Hardly having began, you felt a little jilted when he pulled away suddenly, twisting around, making whatever he was doing at the kitchen counter invisible from your point of view. Your first thought, a rather erratic one, was that he was grappling for a condom, but it turned out not to be so - but not to be too terribly wrong.
Condiment. Hot sauce, to be exact, resplendant in its bright red bottle and warning label. When he held it out, it took only moments to realize the bizarre favor he was asking of you. Only a few moments more to shake your head slowly, unwilling and unready to make take such strange requests. To your chagrin, he insisted, not only tapping your head lightly and playfully with the bottle, but actually speaking once more, pressuring you, voice still heavy with slightly labored, excited breathing. He asked that question you could have almost predicted as soon as you shook your head - come on, didn't you say you wanted to make it up to him?
Logic said to keep refusing, that he'd give up eventually and either let you finish or call it off entirely. That having been said, logic was not what was pumping adrenaline through your system at the time, and it would have no part in your decision making for a while. Reluctantly, with a little scared grimace, you paused to think before lifting a hand up for the bottle. He brushed it away once again.
"Ahhlw mb," came Pyro's muffled voice - "allow me". In the mood to obey and almost desperate to please him despite your initial reaction, you obediently set your hand back down, watching as he removed one of his long, thick gloves - pulled off his large hand with a snap and set down on the counter behind him - and unscrewing the lid. You were temporarily captivated by the largest amount of flesh you'd seen on him to date in the form of his calloused hand and exposed forearm, scarred as you'd have imagined it, but also graced with an almost olive tone, not to mention the thick hair that grew between the latticed crops of scars. It made you all the more crazy with desire to see his face, but, if that wouldn't happen, just to jump his bones as you were originally planning.
You were so involved in watching the twitching musculature of his arm move to remove the cap that you almost didn't notice when it was off. The ungloved hand shot to your chin, tipping it up, holding it in place with a strong grip. The gloved hand, bearing the bottle of hot sauce, planted the open mouth at your lips, having to prod just a little before you would allow it in (hard-to-get was your specialty). Pyro vociferated a little contented hum, pleased to see your mouth full of the stuff - and in the meantime, god, was it hot. You didn't exactly pay attention to the label on the little glass bottle, but now you were sure it was something intended for hot sauce afficianados. After the first gulp, you no longer made the mistake of letting it slide down your throat, instead pooling it under your tongue, in your cheeks, until it dribbled off your lips. Maybe it was just the fact that you never one for spiciness, but the burning in your mouth was intense. Yet, in the back of your mind, you might have enjoyed it for that very reason.
The bottle began to retract just as your mouth overflowed. Pyro let go of your chin, setting the mostly empty bottle back on the counter behind him, cautiously watching as mottled-red liquid escaped the tight purse of your lips and splattered onto the previously clean white-tiled floor. Distracted by your pain (only now just beginning to slowly ebb), you didn't notice the ungloved hand gravitating to the back of your head. Pressed in closer by that strong arm, you couldn't stop the floodgate of hot sauce from gushing out as you opened your mouth to envelope Pyro's cock, now harder than ever. You could hear him hiss through his teeth as the excruciating spice lubricated your mouth's travels up and down his shaft, and as he writhed and squirmed beyond your lips, you found yourself becoming steadily more aroused. No telling what exactly it was - your pain, his pain, or maybe just his first show of unadulterated feeling. No matter the reason, you were now past the pain at hand and working on applying yourself to Pyro, making him sweat and moan without so much as the use of your hands. Without looking down, you knew a red puddle was forming beneath you, could feel the ocassional splatter and streak of sauce down your chin. It was somehow disgusting and exhillerating.
By this time, most of the excess was either on the floor or on Pyro's dick. His one bare hand had entwined itself in your hair at the back of your head, forcing you up and down with a sort of gentle persistence. He was clearly enjoying himself, in spite of the pain that he must have been feeling - his breathing was incredibly labored, you could hear, rasping and whining from up above you, the ocassional grunt escaping the valve of the mask (but, as much as you'd like to imagine it, the lenses did not appear steamed up). You were sure he was just about to finish when the hand on your head stopped pushing, untangled itself from your hair. Looking up, you could see his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he pulled himself out of your mouth. Your confusion got the better of you.
"What's the matter?" You asked, dragging a wrist across your mouth, clearing away a red stain. He responded with a jerk of his hand upward and a short command - one to stand up. You did so, slowly, a little unsteady on your feet after so long balancing your weight on your knees. Pyro even helped you with the balance of his gloved arm, and you found the act endearing, making a soft smile touch your sore lips. He moved away from the counter, clearing the way for you, along with a rather curt request to bend yourself over it. Your reluctance resurfaced, both the obvious instruction and his equally obvious erection clues enough for what he was aiming to do. Regardless, you weren't bent on turning down his offer - no, but maybe getting a little more out of it yourself.
The coy smile that had touched your lips turned sultry and a little devious as you took a step towards him. "I will," You promised, pausing to think, "But you've gotta do something for me first." The silence from him was enough to let you know that he was a little confused (not unlike you had been just a little while ago). Another approaching step and a hand extended towards him made Pyro flinch the slightest bit, unsure and skeptical like a cornered animal. Your hand went to the base of the rubber mask, and you could feel him begin to protest as you pulled it upward, but he stopped himself when you only disclosed the bottom third of his face - the edge of the gas mask blocking out everything above the end of his nose. You were extravagently pleased, although he seemed to be nothing special: sharp jaw, uneven stubble, a mouth twisted with a permanent smirk (the apparent result of a very old scar), all beneath an angular, broken nose. Lips slightly parted, in the midst of saying something, the words died. "That's all." You said, letting go of a contented sigh, "All I wanted, really."
Well, not exactly. Just one more thing. With some effort to avoid the bulk of the overhanging mask, you tilted your head and leaned forward to plant a brief kiss on Pyro's marred lips. Hopefully just enough to leave the lingering taste of spice behind. The bottom half of his expression was somewhere between befuddled and pleased as you backed away, still watching him, and bent yourself over the counter as he'd requested, half-waving your ass as you did so - if he wanted your pants gone, he'd have to do it himself, those wags said. Sure enough, within no time he was behind you, reaching beneath your doubled waist to access the buttons and zipper of your pants with more precision than you'd have expected from him before. It seemed to milliseconds to you before your pants were loose around your waist, hanging, then off with your underwear in one felt swoop. You felt them hit the ground at your ankles, and in anticipation, you bit your lip - the pain wouldn't be as bad as your mouth seared now, you were sure, seeing how diluted the remainder of the hot sauce on Pyro's cock would be, but it would be painful nonetheless. You shot one final remark over your shoulder as you felt his hands grip your hips, ready to enter - "Be gentle?"
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the half-masked face of Pyro make an understanding nod, tightening his grip and aligning his dick with your entrance. One short thrust later, there he was inside you, and as you'd anticipated, it did hurt, but god, was it wonderful. You immediately let your forehead rest against the cool granite of the countertop, sight now made useless by the throbbing rapture going on inside you. You couldn't concentrate on a single thing but him and the white-hot mixture of pain and pleasure he was providing, both sensations burning. You were biting at your lip hard enough to draw blood, your fingernails digging into your palm at the same rate, your breathing coming to you in short gasps and moans as his pace increased. Pyro bent close to you, one arm reaching beneath your torso and grabbing at the skin beneath your shirt, his grappling hand adding yet another overwhelmingly pleasant sense to the menagerie. The way he was bent, his chin bumped the back of your head lightly every time he slammed into you, his breath hot and gasping on your ear. His grip tightened, the weight placed on you more heavy, every thrust more and more feverish, and you knew that he was about to go over the edge - not unlike you were, panting and groaning beneath him, more than happy to support his weight if it meant this would go on just a little while longer.
The moment at hand was undeniable as he spoke, huffing and grunting: "I'm, guh... gonna cum..." Before trailing off into another assault of laborous pants and grunts. The sound of his voice, unfiltered and pure - despite deep, growling and rasping, just as its nature - was too much for you. You let out a final mewl as your insides clenched around him and a wave of overwhelming pleasure racked your sore body. In response, Pyro's cock twitched within your depths and shot off, his great pleasure audible in his dying groan. The both of you spent, after a moment's rest, you tried to stand to go and clean up - apparently to his displeasure, as Pyro wrapped his bare arm around your waist and pulled you back. You didn't bother protesting - in one encounter, you'd learned that it was extremely hard to say no to this strange man. He pulled you in to stand next to him as he continued where he left off - preparing his coffee. You turned away as you began to regain feeling in the nerves of your mouth that were apparently numb with pleasure, and every one of them was back to being on fire. Turned away, but didn't bother walking off, because he wouldn't let you.
It surprised you slightly when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning back, you saw that he had not only prepared his own coffee - black, of course - but a mug for you, too - mostly milk, from the looks of it. You took the hot mug with quiet thanks, reluctant to partake of the steaming liquid with your mouth still burning as it was. As he drank his own, uninhibited by any temperature as usual, he noticed your reluctance. With a breif and awkward smile - as if he weren't used to the act - he explained to you in that deep, smoked voice: "Milk counteracts the sensation of burning. There's plenty in there."
With a cocked eyebrow, you looked up to him, but he was already back to drinking his own. You took a cursory sip and, sure enough, you felt the burning begin to abate. You still felt the mild tingle of your last experience down where it counted, but it served more as a pleasant reminder than a painful hinderance. The both of you drank in silence just as sunlight began to filter through the windows of the kitchen, letting you know that the cooking staff would be in there shortly. The revalation surprised you - it felt like you'd spent no time at all with him in here. You set down your mug, mouth sufficiently healed, and explained that you had to clean the floor up, not to mention clean yourself up. Pyro nodded with understanding, grappling behind him for his detached tank and suspenders, reconnecting them with much more ease than you'd worked them off. The thought made you smile. Your smile widened when he spoke, as it had already become accustomed for you to do.
"We should get coffee together more often."

19 . Name: Mus @ 2011-10-26 23:13

>>18 Bravo! I really enjoyed that.
Especially the description of Pyro's "smoked voice". I love the little things, though I confess I didn't anticipate the hot sauce thing, which was nifty.

Interesting that you avoided any sort of rubber or suit fetish. Was that deliberate?

20 . Name: Mus @ 2011-10-27 02:49

>>18

D'oh. Sorry. Didn't see the bit where you stated that it was someone else who wrote it. Sorry.

21 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-27 23:49

>>18 I squealed a bit when I saw "pyro" I am happy as fuck now

22 . Name: MonsterSpy @ 2011-10-28 00:30

>>18

MONSTERSPY AM BE IN BUNK (Jesus Christ that formatting though. We are pleased by this offering nonetheless.)

23 . Name: Riff Raff @ 2011-10-29 19:00

Any one have any scout fics by any chance?

24 . Name: Kino @ 2011-10-29 20:25

I want to ask if there's another Engie one that doesn't involve BDSM, but I'd also like to see if there are ones for the other classes, too. So far, I note there aren't any for Hoovy, Demo, and Solly. I can't imagine that no one's thought to write any for them yet.

Any idea if there are fanfics like these that would fit into /fanfic/ as well? Those would be interesting to read.

25 . Name: BluScoutMama @ 2011-10-29 21:10

I can't remember, but I think Teratomarty wrote this. Correct me if I'm wrong, please.

---

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 practice,” 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 shoulder blades, 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 a small sculpture.

26 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-29 21:33

>>24
Here's a Soldier and You.


ORDERS (Soldier and You)

"Drop and give me twenty!" you roar.

"YES SIR GENERAL SIR," the Soldier barks, and goes from strict attention to face-down on the ground. It's a good look for him.

Of course, you're no more a general than he is a member of any legitimate military. That's the whole point- anyone with four stars on their shoulder and the right attitude can do what they please with this man. He is in the dust on your say-so, and loving it, pounding out push-ups that would bring a proud tear to any gym teacher's eye.

"One, two, three," he counts off his repetitions.

"Bad form, maggot!" you shout. "Take off that jacket so I can see what the Hell you're doing so god-damned wrong!" Once again, he obeys immediately, stripping down to a T-shirt and putting his jacket neatly to one side. He resumes his exercise.

"Spine straight! Arms right-angle! Christ, what a mess!" You castigate him while admiring the perfect bulge of his arms and the ripple of his back.

"Ten, eleven, twelve." The more you sneer, the more he smiles under his helmet.

"On the double, I haven't got all day for your lazing around!"

"Seventeen eighteen nineteen twent-" his rapid counting cuts off with a rasping exhalation as you kick him soundly in the ribs.

"What are you?" you rage at him.

"Sir, a Soldier, sir!"

"You are NOT!" You kick him again, eliciting a grunt. "You are a maggot! A crawling worm! A total mockery of human manhood! DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?" All this yelling certainly is therapeutic.

"Sir, no, sir!"

"You miserable scum! You can't even answer back to a direct insult! You are not fit to lick my boots!" You pause, waiting for a reply.

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"WHAT?" you roar. "Are you AGREEING that you are not fit to lick my boots?!" You're aware of your own sadistic smile. There is no right way to answer a question. The Soldier knows it, too- he's grinning.

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Well congratulations, you waste of skin! You have earned yourself a promotion! Start licking!" You shove your right boot in front of his face.

They're good boots. Knee height, thick black leather, kept polished to parade gloss. The hobnail soles make your feet look heavy, while the tight lacing makes your ankles and calves perfectly sleek. The contrast has made you vain before now, and the sight of Soldier cautiously opening his mouth makes something warm shift below your stomach.

"What are you waiting for, Christmas? Get to work!"

He laves his tongue across the shiny toe cap, leaving a damp trail, then another. The leather there is so thick that you don't feel anything until he works his way up to the throat of the boot. Through the thinner leather, you can feel the warmth and pressure of his tongue. He holds your calf as he licks, and even through the leather you can feel how firm his hands are. He licks meticulously, painstakingly, clearly waiting for you to find fault with his work. And who are you to disappoint him?

"Are you on fucking vacation?" you thunder. "Get the back of the calves, too!"

Sir, yes, sir!" He crawls behind you and mouths the backs of the boots. You can feel his lips press against your Achilles tendon, sending electricity up your leg to your groin.

"Now the other one!" He obeys, licking reverentially, his tongue tracing over every inch of your boots.

"Stand down!" you bark when he's done. "Untie my boots!" He lifts a hand off the ground and reaches toward you, but you kick the heel of your boot into his shoulder. "With your teeth, you worthless son of a bitch!"

He complies, delicately grasping an aglet in his teeth and tugging until the knot slides free. He does the other one, then waits on his hands and knees for further orders.

You don't give him any, not just yet. Instead, you sit down and look at him. He looks good, even with that overlarge helmet. Hard, scarred muscle, scrubbed clean this morning and only just starting to sweat through his T-shirt. For all his efforts to resume a military-grade scowl, you can see a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. On his hands and knees, with beeswax from your boots on his tongue, he is in his glory.

You sit down and extend your right foot toward him. "Take off my boots, maggot." He does so, carefully loosening the tight lacing from top to bottom before he even begins to pull. You notice that his hand shakes slightly as he puts aside the right boot and starts on the left.

"Do it right, idiot!" You wrench your foot from his grasp and kick him in the chest. The boot print shows up well on his white T-shirt.

"Sir, yes, sir!" He resumes his work and takes off your left boot. When he sets it aside, you stand up and shuck down your pants. You kick them away.

"Clean that up, maggot." He folds your pants and sets them neatly to the side as you step back into your boots. He watches as you sit down. "See something you like, dog face?" You spread your legs.

"Sir, yes, sir!" All his efforts to the contrary, he's practically beaming under that helmet.

"Good answer, private numbnuts. You think you're worth what I got here? You think your dirty boot-licking tongue can do anything for me that I can't do for myself?!" You slide a hand between your legs and stroke yourself. Sweating, smiling and practically drooling for you, the Soldier has never looked better.

"Sir, no, sir. Permission to try, sir?" Soldier barks.

"Get to work, you sub-human." You put one hand on his helmet, not forcing him down, but reminding him that you've chosen not to. He buries his face in your lap, first teasing with his tongue, then going in for broad, loving licks. You bite down on a moan. "Is that all you've got, maggot?! You're a sorry specimen if ever there was one!"

He pushes down further and, you prop one boot heel up on his shoulder. "You are a sick and twisted individual! Anyone not terminally fucked in the head would run away from the sound of gunfire, and for some reason, you run toward it!"

The Soldier attempts to say "sir, yes, sir," with his mouth full, resulting in some wonderful vibrations. You notice that he's got one hand between his legs, kneading his erection.

"What is THAT?" you roar in apparent disgust. "Are you playing with your pecker? No-one gave you clearance to do that! You are lucky to be allowed to breathe without my express orders!" You hook your other leg over his shoulder and haul him closer.

"What is your major malfunction?" you bellow as he licks and sucks more fervently. "If you were a reasonable human being, you would," you pant, "you would ignore the deranged, debased and occasionally depraved orders I give you! And you're just waiting to ask 'how high?' when I fucking tell you to jump!" You have to stop your tirade as pleasure rushes through you. So good, so good- you wrap your knees around Soldier's head, knocking his helmet askew, and scream hoarsely.

"But you're not a normal person," you continue when you can breathe regularly again, "and that's what I like about you, Soldier." You treat him to a smile and stroke his cheek.

"Sir, thank you, sir." He wipes his mouth on his hand and kneels at your feet.

"You're welcome, Soldier. Now, let's see your gun."

"Sir, yes, sir." Understanding you perfectly, he opens his fly and pulls out his cock.

"That's a fine-looking weapon, Soldier. Do you know how to use it?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Then prove it!" you roar.

"Sir, yes, SIR!" He's always enthusiastic about taking orders, but he accepts this one with particular verve. You know he never touches himself; obeying a direct order must come as a profound relief. You cup his chin in your hand.

"Eyes front, Soldier." You force him to look at you, those clear blue eyes full of need.

In hardly any time at all, he is groaning and panting. His face is red, and every vein in his arms is standing out as his heart pounds.

"Sir," he pants. "Permission to- sir, please-"

"In your own time, Soldier," you growl.

He comes, throwing his head back and roaring in pleasure. "Sir- thank you... sir." His whole body trembles as he comes down.

"What in Hell have you done, maggot?" you thunder as he slumps into a state of bliss.

"Wh-" he looks at you muzzily.

"Look at my boots, you damn dirty animal!" You point at where his semen has splashed on the black leather. "Clean that filth up right the fuck now!"

"Sir, yes, sir." The Soldier gets down on his belly and licks his own sperm off of your gleaming toe caps. He swallows, kisses each boot when he is done, and lies flat on the ground.

You prop your boots up on his shoulders as if he were a footstool. "Well done, Soldier, well done."

27 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-10-29 21:35

>>24
And a Demo and You. I really like this one.


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.

28 . Name: Dove the Unoriginal @ 2011-10-29 22:50

I really liked the bondage Engineer one but OMFG the Heavy, Soldier, and Demo ones made me die with joy several times over. They're so perfect for each of them and the Demo one was especially inventive. Fucking hell, I just want to keep reading them for the rest of my life!

Captcha: Hercules, joingin

It seems Hercules is jealous... or he wants in and he brought some gin to seal the deal! Of course, if it's TF2 universe that would be Shakespearicles instead but I'm not faulting captcha for trying.

29 . Name: Lolo @ 2011-11-03 00:26

Just stopped by out of curiosity to see if my stuff was still getting reposted. Honestly shocked that it is.

Taking credit for hotsauce Pyro story now. Sorry for the lame wall-o-text formatting, computer was babies.

30 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-11-03 02:35

I DEMAND MORE TENTISPY

31 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-11-04 03:06

All of these stories are FUCKING AMAZING, I can't get over how great they are.

That being said, I hope I'm not the only one who's hoping for some new content soon. As great as these stories are (and they ARE, I've been re-reading a lot) a lot of them were posted in the last thread, and a lot of THOSE were posted before that.

Just putting it out there that hopefully these stellar writers can come up with some fresh new material soon. I'm sure we're all starving for it. Haha.

If I wasn't so totally crap I'd write some myself.

32 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-11-08 23:31

bump, must has more

(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)

33 . Name: Riff Raff @ 2011-11-19 17:00

Here's on by Lithe-Fider I don't know if this is still on here but oh well. (This doesn't count as a bump, does it? God I hope not)
---
Nitrile Pleasures

This was requested to be reposted by Kumori!

While the medic in here noticeably shares kinks with my OC medic Jaeger Reinhardt (with the gloves and handsy-ness), I leave him a nameless BLU Medic so anyone can enjoy this reading as they imagine fit. Note this fic has Medigun kink too.

This ‘And You’ is gender neutral, and I kept the talking responses of ‘you’ to a minimum so you can imagine yourself in the role.

Also - in honor of Meet the Medic I’ve changed one detail - he performs this procedure minus his medic coat, mmmm dat vest.

...
…

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, looking charmingly casual in his gray vest and button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He grins curiously at you as he glances up from what looks like paperwork, “Mmmm? Who are you?” The medic 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 gets up, “You vhork for BLU, zhat means I am your medic as vell, ja?”

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

“Vas happened?” He asks, 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 broken, rusty 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 length 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 medipack 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 have an infection ve must clean und disinfect it befoah I heal it vith zie Medigun.” The medic explains as he puts down a tray of supplies with cheerfulness like he’s preparing for afternoon tea.

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 have 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 have 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; 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 the back of that vest. 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. A playful, but confident, smirk graces his lips as he looks back at you,

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

34 . Name: withdanger @ 2011-11-20 09:00

Ooooh my god. >>9 is just so heavenly. Nazi uniforms are like up there in my top 5 fetishes.

And the Tentaspy fic.... God. I guess all the old hentai put me in a mindset of "tentacles are fer rapin".... The tenderness took me aback... fucking loved it x_x

Man alive, I love these Class x You fanfics. So wonderful.

35 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-11-20 13:58

OMG that medic fanfic was SO HOT. the first medic one i read actualy makes me.....ehrm

36 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-11-20 16:23

I'm also going to respectfully request more TentaSpy that isn't rape.

My god, the emotion and the tenderness and everything else in that fic...it was so touching and beautiful. (Of course the sex was unbelievably hot as well...wowza.) If any other kind/friendly TentaSpyxYou stories exist I might just wet myself with excitement.

37 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-11-20 19:35

I have to admit a secret love of Class x you fics.

Is there any way to find more of LoLo's fic without joining YGallery? Is there a Tumble-r account somewhere?

38 . Name: Lithe-Fider @ 2011-11-20 19:35

>>33 Oh hey that's mine, thanks for the repost. Glad you like it >>35 heh heh! I wish there was more glove and medigun appreciation around, that or I'm not finding it.

>>36 >>30 I actually am working on one right now because of the requests, gender neutral too! I'll throw it in here when it's done.

39 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-11-21 01:57

>>36 here

Lithe-Fider you are a hero among men!

I will just sit here patiently, consumed with lust, awaiting your update. Hahaha.

40 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2011-11-22 15:54

Words cannot express how much I loved that Tentaspy and the Medic fics!

I second anon 36 and request more non-rape Tentaspy. Also, some more MedicxYou stories would be cool.

41 . Name: Mimi @ 2011-11-22 16:12

(>>40 I found this fic from earlier on the site. Definitely not written by me, instead written by the awesome Lolo complete with original author notes. Hits every one of my major Medic fetishes: psychological games, physical pain, domination altering with affection, etc. Hopefully it'll hit at least one of yours.)

Author Notes: Personally, I am a devout little Medic fan, and I've been looking forward to making a nice Medic and You fic for quite a while.

Instead, I wrote this. If I called it 'Medical Benefits', how many people would find a way to stone me to death through the internet?

Do excuse my broken German. For having family that was straight up born in the Deutscheland, I'm pretty shitty at the language.



"Bitte"

You felt craftly. A little devious, a little sneaky. You'd made yourself a nice little deal, found an arrangement you liked, a little case of "you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours"... sometimes not so metaphorically. Oh, yes, you could feel those well-worn claw marks on your shoulders fire up as if they were new every time you got that little wink-and-a-nod, even worse if it was a not-so-subtle hint dropped in that just slightly broken English: "I zhink it's time for a check-up, it's been too long since your last..."

As had gone the events of earlier in the day. The stoic expression of the base's Medic was marred only by the tiniest, knowing glint in his blue eyes, almost hidden under the dark shadows of sleepless nights and battle-worn days. It made him all the more wonderful, in your own eyes, that unattainable professionalism he so convincingly kept up on a day to day basis. Wunderbar, he might say it. Would say it, as a matter of fact. All these fleeting thoughts rushed through your swimming, excited mind as you made your way - as nonchalantly as you could manage - down the linoleum hallway that ended in the sterile whiteness of the medical room. Although it was early in the day and no one was around just yet, you didn't need to be calling attention to yourself (as well as the Medic) by sprinting to his office with bells on, even if that's what your downstairs was screaming at you to do. Reaching the closed door with the pebbled-glass window, reading the name of your German physician in neat black letters, you stopped yourself as you touched the knob you knew to be unlocked. A small smile touched the corners of your mouth as you rapped a knuckle lightly on the clean glass of the door, asking a question you damn well knew the answer to, simply for the sake of teasing. If there were a man to appreciate such a gesture, this would be the one.

"Doctor? May I come in? Are you busy?" Your voice floated with a certain acoustic through the empty, echoing hallway, as did his response. "Of course not, liebling. Ze door is unlocked. Do come in."

You obeyed quietly, as you had learned to do in his comandeering presence, opening the door with a muffled click and stepping through to see the origin of the voice so gruffly addled with German affluence and vocabulary. Yet another aspect of him you found irresistable. There he sat, facing away, parked stiffly at the desk that also bore his name, scribbling madly away at papers in his almost incomprehensible shorthand that most had learned to adapt to, almost like reading a new language. You closed the door behind you and stood still just a yard or so away, feet together, hands clasped behind your back, looking much like the good child that you had never been in your own adolescence. Medic remained predominantly still, not turning, writing at what seemed like a frantic speed. You cleared your throat in a cliche attempt at getting his much sought after attention, and when that didn't succeed, you spoke up.

"I'm here about my, erm, appointment?..." Your voice trailed away as he stopped writing, turning his head only slightly enough for you to appreciate his grizzled, yet well-kempt (and rather lovely, in your opinion) profile. "I know. I am trying to get some work done. I vant to have some-zhing to show at the end of the day; I presume our scheduled appointment will manage to absorb most of my morning as well as my motivation." He said these things as though they were of no affliction to you, when in reality, they made your heart leap and flutter in anticipation. Medic turned away once more and quietly picked up writing, this time humming to himself a baritone tune of Ich Wollt that caused your muted adoration for him to grow even more, evidencing itself in the heat of your cheeks and the slight upturn in the corners of your mouth.

You wandered a bit, straying to the examination table - affixed to the wall of the small room, a cushy 'mattress' stretched over with a clean pleather covering. Your usual seat. After a few efforts made null by your weakening knees, almost useless with excitement, you hopped up on the table, your legs heaved over the edge in another needlessly childish mannerism. Your attention shifted immediately to Medic as quickly as your heart picked up pounding when he stood up, tidying a stack of paperwork as he did so. A smile, soft and similar to your own, was playing at the man's face - an almost unfamiliar expression on his stern face. His gloved hands, agile and skilled (as you well knew), casually drifted to the tie at the throat of his buttoned collar and loosened it in a relaxed manner. His voice (calming when not ordering you to go right, RIGHT!) cut through the almost palpable, sterile silence in the cramped office as he made the short way over to where you were stationed.

"Ich entschuldige mich for the wait," Medic chimed to you, slipping off his thick white coat in reveal of the still so tidy suspenders and buttoned workshirt beneath it. "I myself can be quite impatient from time to time, but I know how much more you tend to be..." He drifted off, hanging the long coat and crossing his arms in your direction. The tone of his voice was just playful enough to send that familiar shot of electricity down your spine. "Vell, I seem to be stripping already, liebling - vhy don't you follow suit?" Your grin curled into something almost obscene as you heaved an almost releived sigh. "You don't have to tell me twice, Doc," You chided back, going to work at the tricky belt of your pants. He watched contentedly, bemused with your struggling as he almost always seemed to be, holding his chin in a single gloved hand. As your pants finally surrendered and slid down your thighs and beyond your knees, a loose, folded slip of paper tumbled from your pocket with a light tap to the floor. Medic's eyebrows shot up, curious, but not overwhelmingly so. He bent his long frame - he towered over you in means of height - and snatched it up before you could even get down, all of this effortlessly.

"And vhat is this, might I ask? Keeping secrets?" He chuckled at his own joke, but it seemed almost true to you, and your cheeks grew red as he unfolded the note enscribed with your own rushed handwriting. You began to embarrasedly stutter an explanation as his amused eyes shot over the text.

"Well, you know, I don't know German... I mean, I don't know it well... so I wrote down some of the words you've said, and I, uh, I wanted to try to memorize them, to kind of... impress you, I guess..." Your eyes dropped to the floor as he refolded the bilingual note. Unsurprisingly, seeing as the circumstances under which these words were uttered (that is to say, panting, out of breath, or growled), a good majority of them were not the kind you'd say to your mother. Medic's tell-all eyes grew patronizing and repremansive in their gaze towards you. He made a few mocking tsk-tsk sounds as he stepped forward, closing the gap between the both of you.

"Oh, really... I thought I was a good enough teacher in person," He was kidding, but the note of chaste remained. "Zhis is really below you, trying to memorize a slew of what seems to be mostly dirty words just so you could impress the likes of me," He shook his head, once more in mock reprimand. But an idea had blossomed behind that casual vociferation. "Really, now, liebling. It feels as though you are, hm, cheating on a test? Yes, I'll put it like zhat." The gloved hand that held his chin previously now held yours as you looked up at him, watery-eyed and red-faced, pantsless and defenseless although the hold he kept on your jaw felt almost intimate. "And vhat happens to cheaters? Zhey are punished, geliebte." Those pet names he so often used were already common in your limited German vocabulary - little things like darling, beloved. You doubted he truly meant the things those words implied, that he was just peppering his formal speech with something like softeners, but it was better than nothing. And what was this about being punished, now? Your feet shifted uncomfortably, hanging in the air just before his knees.

Medic planted a somewhat abrupt kiss on your forehead, still gripping your chin. He had a penchant for this, kisses anywhere but your mouth, and you had come to enjoy it more than any embrace of lips. The sweetness of it all was leveled by his rough and sudden jerking of your head upward, the cold amusement dancing in his eyes as he spoke. "Come, now. Finish stripping quickly and maybe I'll let up on you - just a bit."

Obedient, you peeled off the remainder of your clothing layers, piling them up almost neatly at the foot of the table, save for your pants, which still lied dejected beneath your feet. The way Medic inspected your naked body was almost, well, medical. As was expected of him. You could feel his observant eyes touching at every point and crook of your exposed flesh, noting every new bruise and scratch, as well as old ones that you could attribute to the doctor himself. The smirk that had once been on his face had long since died in favor of played stoicism.

"Not in the shape I had hoped you would be in," He noted, lightly prodding and grazing several new wounds. Feeling somewhat berated, you spoke up once more.

"A pretty great deal of those are from you," You noted aloud, which Medic full-on smiled at in response. "You are in no standing to be talking back, mein lieber." As he said this, his knuckle brushed harder than before on a very sore bruise. You winced visibly, holding back a startled gasp. You saw the game he was playing, nonetheless. "Point taken, doctor. What kind of punishment am I in for?"

"I am not quite sure yet," He informed you with a certain lackluster inclination, eyes heavily lidded, as though bored. It almost aggrivated you to see. He was inspecting you like a show dog, as well as making you feel like one. "Why don't we start by playing a game of, oh, what is it called? 'Simon Says'. Some variation therein. Do just what I say, just how I say it, when I say 'please'. Do be careful, liebling. I will be sure to start you off easily."

He contemplated his first move as you sat there, naked, afraid, and most of all, anxious for this game of his.

"Now... just down from zhere, quietly, bitte." Luckily for you, that word, 'bitte', tugged at your memory - German for 'please', of course he'd say that. You complied eagerly, hopping down with a soft pat on the floor. Medic seemed pleased with this result. "Sehr gut, my dear! I almost wasn't expecting you to make the first round. Now, let's try another." He thought for a shorter period of time, looking away as he did so, then snapping back to you when he had something. "Give me a little peck on the cheek, if you will, bitte."

You sighed quietly. This would be easier than you thought. And more pleasurable, you added, craning your neck upward to land a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. Pulling your face away, it was adorned with a smile, as was his. "Wunderbar. Turn around, now, bitte." Still smiling, you did so, only the slightest bit antsy about exposing your previously-hidden rump to him, although it mattered not.

"Ah, you're doing much better than I zhought you would. Could you bend over for me, maybe?" Caught up in your strange pride, you did so, leaning your weight on the table before you caught your own mistake, breath hitching suddenly in your throat. You didn't feel up to getting back up to face him as a dark chuckle emanated from behind you. "Ah, I know you are already aware of your mistake. I do enjoy your enthusiasm, but I most zertainly did not say 'bitte'." There was a lengthy pause, permiated by several telltale sounds - snapping of one rubber glove being removed, the clip of suspenders, a zipper. "It vas a noble attempt on your part, zhough."

Your brain was a muddled fog of slightly illogical fear, excitement, and anticipation as you fleetingly pondered his next move. You no longer had to ponder it as he jerked your head up by your hair, now charicteristically rough. The hand holding your head at such an awkward angle was ungloved, and, quite soon, you realized where that had gone. He held your head near his face, hot breath in your ear, as he used the free hand to loop the length of the long rubber glove around your exposed neck, arched and quivering with frightened breath. Medic hissed into your ear before easing you back down. "Be a good haustier for me, won't you?" The foreign word was alien to you, but you'd soon know the meaning. One hand of his held the rubber collar tight around your neck as the other - ungloved and calloused - found a holding place just above your hip bone and dug in mercilessly. Although your face was away from his, his breathing was now audible, darkly excited and focused. His aim was dead on and his strength undeniable as he rammed into you hard enough for your vision to blossom into stars momentarily.

As your sight came back to, you resisted the urge to crane your neck and peek over your shoulder. All you wanted to do at the time being was sit and enjoy this wondrous abuse of your already bruise-spackled flesh as Medic buried himself up to the hilt in you again and again. Just moments into the act, a whimper of excruciating pleasure escaped your mouth, and to your great surprise, the grip on your neck tightened exponentially and Medic's thrusts came to a grinding halt.

"Ah-ah-ah, liebling," He panted from over your shoulder, bending himself to make his harsh whisper audible. You could feel the drape of his shirt and tie tickling at your back. "Only I get to make any noise here. You are being punished, ja? Zis is time out for you." You began to get lightheaded just as he let up on the grip. So many mistakes you were making that morning. In his own sweet time, Medic picked the pace back up, digging his rough hand even further into the welted flesh at your hips. The moans wanting to escape your tightly-shut mouth were now both those of pleasure and growing pain. It was, in a word...

"Wunderbar," You heard yourself squeak. Medic laughed airily in response, choosing not to tighten his grip this time around. "Glad to hear you... speaking in Deutsche," He growled from above you, his free hand roving from your hip to a wrist of yours, pinning it to the cool pleather of the examination table. The pleasure far outweighed the pain at this point, and you were quite on the edge, incapable of the self control that Medic displayed in his stamina and ability to come to a sudden stop - just as he did when he noticed your writhing and panting becoming more frantic. You resisted the urge to berate him and ask why he stopped. You knew he'd answer that himself without prompt, and he did.

"I don't vant zhis to be a free ride for you," Medic noted, and released a chuckle at his own small pun, "Zhis is just too easy for you, I think. You should beg for me to finish you."

You laid there, dumbfounded, unable to think of a god damn thing to say in response. Your cheek stuck to the sweaty surface below your reeling head and offered no suggestion as to just what to respond with. Medic, quite unsatisfied with your silence, let your rubber restraints go as his gloved hand wandered to your erogenous zones. His slight petting, teasing and prodding, was enough to elicit a frustrated gasp and groan from you.

"Really, now, I am giving you permission to speak. You know ze words. Beg me to continue fucking you, liebling." That pandering tone in his voice, coupled with the gentle encouragement of his skilled hand, was too much to refuse. The words spilled out of your desperate mouth before you knew what you were saying.

"BITTE, doctor! Please! Bitte! I can't... I really..." You searched desparately for the words you needed, locked away in the tiny part of your brain that had transcribed that list of his favorite dirty language in his own language of choice. Finally, you choked it out. "Bitte ... fuck me ... Ich brauche deinen... Schwanz ... bitte!" Although the broken sentence was littered with deep breaths and rather horrid pronunciation, the Medic seemed pleased enough with it, and decided to please you in return.

"Da Sie fragte freundlich..." And, as though starting completely over, began his rythym once more, slowly and suredly, this time pressing his weight entirely upon you and the table. His scent was absolutely intoxicating - the cleanly hints of aftershave and cologne, with undertones of that human scent the both of you were emenating. The heat of it all was opressing and exhilerating at the same time, and, finally, long after you'd expected to, you felt the pressure building up inside your core that signaled your final release. The doctor noted it, too, and panted more requests into your waiting ear.


"Please, with me," He asked, pressuring you to wait just those few short moments before his own climax caught up with you. You did the best you could, and, eager to please him and earn his adoration the same way he had yours, managed to release your final gasp-and-shudder just as his muscles went weak for a split second, synched with the animalistic grunt he emanated as you were filled with the fruit both your labors. Even after this wonderful moment, he remained inside you, your rapidly expanding lungs heaving the weight of his chest up and down as you both caught your collective breath. After what seemed like an intimate, pleasant eternity, Medic pulled himself up and slid out of you, leaving you cold as he redressed himself, you naked but for his glove draped around your neck like a gaudy lecklace.

For the first time in simulated hours, you turned your head to look at the man behind you, throwing his coat back on over his re-kempt work clothes, humming that same song from before, content and almost glowing. It made you proud and beyond happy. And to think you had been just slightly fearing his actions before now. You lazily pulled yourself up from the table to dress yourself, watching the Medic with some strange interest as you did so. Fully clothed, for a crazy split second, you considered taking the abandoned glove back to your room with you, like a college boy might take his date's panties, but reason got the better of you. Smiling, you sheepishly got up, holding the glove in your hand, to return it to its rightful owner. Medic took it in one hand and, with the other, pulled your head close to him, leaving a saccharine kiss on your temple.

"Bittle, liebling."

42 . Name: withdanger @ 2011-11-24 05:50

>>41 Oh man. That was really, really good. I can never get enough Medic.

43 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2011-11-25 14:03

That was ridiculously hot! Oh Medic, you naughty, naughty man... or should I say, "Oh me, you naughty, naughty gal."

Thanks for sharing this.

44 . Name: Mimi @ 2011-12-02 14:16

(>>42 and >>43 Glad ya liked it. As a person of the arts, it's my sworn and solemn duty to spread good literature. I have no choice. ;)

I think I'm going to keep posting class/you fics I've saved before on a semi-regular basis to keep this thread from dying. Here's a Scout/You one, complete with author notes.)

Scout And You DuskZephyr 09/07/27(Mon)20:47 No. 1716
First time writing this sort of thing, so be gentle. I know another Scout/You was written really recently but I started this before I saw that and I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit around on this. It builds up slowly but don't worry, I'm already working on the next part and it will eventually lead to porn.

It always stuck me as a bit weird that most of the Class/You fics went from friendship/sexual tension to immediate sex. Not that I'm complaining but I'm gonna take this one slow and warm up to it. =)

Also 5AM fuck the title. Might come up with something better but honestly, right now can't get a damn.

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

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!!”

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

Sunset always looks best from the rooftop. That, and next to no-one knows you’re up here. You’ve been sunning yourself up here for a while now, possibly an hour or so, and haven’t been found yet. It’s nice to have some peace and quiet for a bit, especially after a long day of strategic planning and pouring over intelligence. Which was basically Soldier shouting in your face and throwing papers at you. You hear footsteps over your shoulder and sit up, looking behind you.

It’s Scout, his dog tags gleaming in the sun. The surroundings really make his features look striking, the dying sun bathing him in a flattering warm glow. You smile softly, your eyes tracing over your favourite parts of him and there’s a lot of choice there – cute nose, pouty lips, firm chest, slender hands, curved back, defined backside, long legs. You could easily start fantasizing right now but he’s right there. What would be the point? Besides, he’s already seen you and flopping down beside you.
“Hey,” he says, getting comfortable and flashing you a smile, leaning towards you. “I was wondering where you were.”
“Why?” You ask casually. Instead of answering, he catches the back of your head, pulling you close and kissing you passionately.

Sweet. In every possible meaning of the word.

You’re glad the two of you got along before you started this sort of thing. It reduced the time spent trying to get to know each other, drawing temporary boundaries and making up a bunch of rules about how to act in certain situations; the usual crap that had to be dealt with when dating someone. Instead the two of you had simple understandings. Acting mushy on the battlefield was asking to get shot, set alight, backstabbed, etcetera. Snide jokes about your relationship resulted in attempted acts of violence from Scout, often foiled by yours or Engies efforts to hold him back.

And impromptu hugs, kisses and general embraces are to be expected at any time during ceasefire. He shifts, one hand running to your side and holding you there and pressing closer. You turn to face him, tilting your head, sliding one arm around his back and tracing idle circles on his chest with your fingers. His body is always so warm. The two of you nestle close together, the kiss breaking into soft, repeated lip touches. Not really kisses, just the two of you pulling close and sharing breaths, nuzzling noses. Until someone gets impatient and dives forward for another real kiss. It’s always this way with Scout. He’s not a man for half measures - the all or nothing type.

Finally the two of you separate. Turns out the underlying taste behind the sugar was the unique flavour of ‘energetic Bostonian‘; a blend of zests and spices that can’t be recreated artificially. Scout looks...not so smug for once. He isn’t trying to be the tough guy right now, he’s just a guy who’s been kissed and is revelling in the moment. He’s still holding you close as you sit in his lap, tucking your head under his as he glances at the last sliver of sun sink under the horizon.
“Heh. Kinda pretty. This why you were up here?” You nod slightly, still drawing on chest with a feather touch as his fingers skim your side and inhaling his scent as you feel his breath in your hair. It’s rare for him to be so calm, so it’s best to take advantage before he challenges you to another round of “who-can-drop-the-most-innuendo-into-casual-conversation-before-the-rest-of-the-team-notices”.

Turns out he had completely different plans as his hand slips down your side and into new territory. More specifically, onto your ass. You look up at Scout, not dislodging yourself from comfort of his lap or shifting away from his hand. If he’s nervous, he’s coating it over with his usual cocky attitude.
“Like that?” he asks bluntly, beginning to firmly squeeze with a relaxed yet smug look. You feel heat rise to your cheeks at such a forward move. You may have started it by kissing him after the baseball incident but there’s no denying that this was much bolder. Much, much bolder.

But not bad. Not bad at all. Sure, you’re a bit flushed because it’s unexpected and he’s groping your backside. It’s not like its painful and you’ve dreamt of far worse scenarios. So, with a small smile you slip your hands under his shirt, splaying the fingers over his chest and drumming slightly.
“Maybe.” You say playfully. He grins confidently, evidently pleased with your response, but there’s a hint of determination there.
“Maybe?” He asks, his other hand snaking beneath your shirt and up your back. You shiver slightly as his cool hand strokes your heated back, urging you close. You know what he wants you to say. And you know there’s no shame in giving him what he wants, at least this time. Your noses are touching now and his gaze feels like he’s trying to seep into your mind, to find out if you really do want this.
“Yeah…I do like it.”

All his features light up in eagerness, as he pulls you in for a kiss. You can feel his smile as your lips are pressed together, before the kiss opens naturally. His hands are openly curious but there’s a hint of carefulness in his movements as he follows your lead and slips his hands under your shirt. He maps your body as you continue to stroke and rub his chest lightly, one hand reaching to graze the muscles on his back. You close your eyes, trying to focus only on how he’s touching you and the feel of him under your own fingertips.

His fingers nimbly scurry on your skin; still delightfully cool as they dart over your chest, around you back, across your stomach. You gasp slightly as one digit dives into your belly button before retreating hastily. You’re both humming, the kiss slackening as you both forget about it to concentrate on the primary task here. You’re both experimenting but your tops are getting in the way. You pull away from him slightly, tugging at the fabric over your hands and jerking it off him. His dog tags jingle as they slip out of the collar and fall against his lean torso. You barely get a moment to admire it before he’s repaying the favour, yanking roughly at the fabric you wear.

It all comes off (with thankfully few rips) and the two of you end up just staring at each other for a few moments. It’s gotten darker now, the sun disappeared ages ago. His eyes are a bit wide as he shamelessly absorbs your bare chest, making you feel self-conscious. You shift slightly, beginning to consider grabbing your discarded when he quickly grabs your arm and tilts your head up so you’re looking him in the eye. His expression is earnest and he’s a bit tongue-tied for some reason.
“You look great. Really great. No, actually, better then great. I mean, you look...” Realising that this could go on for a while, you smile with relief and kiss them quick and hard.

“Same to you.” You whisper against his ear, hands freely roaming over the exposed skin, tracing wide patterns over his shoulders and down his back. You hear him cutely chuckle as he nestles against your neck, beginning to eagerly kiss and suck. You gasp softly. That was unexpected. His hands curl around you, rubbing your sides as they slip lower. Your own hands follow suit, fingers circling his belt. As his hands dip under your trousers, slender digits drumming between underwear and outerwear... There’s a buzzing noise from the headset he’s still wearing, followed by the sound of Engineer’s voice.
“Boy? You there?”

You immediately blush and let yourself slump forward with a little groan as Scout swears, snapping his head up in irritation. Had that thing been on the entire time?
“Engie...this better be fucking good man.” The two of you separate as Engie affirms that, yes; it is ‘fucking good’ and requires Scouts presence as soon as possible. He also asks if you’ve been seen (looks like he didn’t hear anything) since Medic needs to see you about something. With a sigh, you redress and Scout throws on his shirt. He couldn’t look any angrier then if a Spy had run off with both the Intel and his lucky bat, still cursing and furiously raving about the interruption.

You shake your head, used to his antics and turn him to face you. Slipping a hand just under his collar, you find his dog tags and jerk him gently forward into a soft kiss. He cools slightly under your lips, relaxing into the kiss and holding you close. The two of you part and walk together to the hatch leading into the base, casually talking about what Engie might need Scout for that’s so important and why Medic needs you. He puts an arm around you and you return the gesture, the two of you leaning slightly against each other.

Privately, you make a resolution. Next time you’re making sure that no-one can interrupt, via headset, in person or by any other means. You would consider kicking Engie’s ass too, but Scout has that thought covered. As always.

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

To say that today had not been good was a huge understatement.

You had been woken up by the alarm system. There was an enemy wave approaching - at half three in the damn morning. Halfway through the fight it began to rain, turning the landscape into a pit of mud. The enemy Spy seemed to take a liking to your identity so you ended up taking the brunt of the various Spy-checking routines in the team. And, it was Monday. Whether it being Monday encouraged all of the above or if it was just a coincidence, you didn’t really care. Fact was, today was Monday, it had been awful and it was only going to get better when it was over.

You’re currently reclining on the couch in the small rumpus room. Scout is slumped next to you, head lolled back, with Demo and Sniper drinking by the small bar in the corner. Scout makes a low groaning noise, which raises a small smile from you as you shift to face him better.
“That...sucked.” he declared. As if it needed saying.
“Cannot agree more.” You sigh, watching dreamily as he stretches out. He puts an arm around you as he sinks back into the sofa, looking over to the drinking duo. They’re getting up to leave. Demo is truly smashed – his speech is a slur which keeps alternating in volume and he has to rely on Sniper to walk, who is only mildly tipsy. Sniper tips his hat to you both as he leaves, muttering goodnight. You return the sentiment as Scout waves a hand in acknowledgement.

Scout leans forward from the settee, hunching over his knees. He isn’t tired, just fed up from how crappy today has been. You give him a kiss on the cheek and begin to rise.
“C’mon. Might as-“ You lurch forward as he grabs your wrist and pulls you back to him, giving you a sound kiss and slipping an arm around your back. You quickly return it, feeling a little of the tension from the morning loosen. You can feel his stress ease slightly too, but he’s still more tightly wound up than you. He grips you tightly, muttering against your lips in between increasingly heated and open kisses.
“Fucking Spy, trying to act like you. Fucker couldn’t even get your accent right...”

You’ve settled into his lap by now, straddling him as your hands curl around him. One reaches up and toys with his seldom seen hair. The strands you thread your fingers through are surprisingly soft. Scout hums as you play with it, pulling away from your lips to lock eyes with you. The hand that had grabbed your wrist now slides up to your cheek, rubbing it with his knuckles. You tilt slightly to the touch but it isn’t long before the hand reaches behind you to rest at the top of your neck, pressing your head towards his. You don’t resist and meet his lips eagerly, the kisses opening now so your tongues can play. The taste of him is so familiar now but you can’t help savouring it every time you press your tongue to his.

He’s energetic, both in your mouth and with his hands. They begin to roam over you and as they scurry under your shirt, you know where this is going. He’s impatient (maybe he’s still a bit testy from the battle?) and pulls away hastily, making it clear that he wants you undressed by forcefully pulling at your clothing. You help him and reach for his top, taking it off with equal speed and throwing it next to his headset. Both of you are topless and as he dives forward to re-engage the kiss your bare chests press against each other, his cool set of dog tags trapped between warm skin. You push forward, loving the way your warm bodies flare at the points of contact as he pushes back, trying to get closer if it was possible.

As one hand reaches behind you to grip your backside again, Scout fumbles around momentarily until his other finds your hand. As he holds it, he begins to mimic the movements of his tongue, drawing circles and darting around your fingers as his tongue flits around yours. You melt slightly, kissing him hard and holding his hand tightly. You loop your arm up his back to snake your hands into his locks. The hand on your butt reactively squeezes, causing you to squirm slightly. Your skin rubs against his, heating up. The kiss breaks as you both need to breathe, Scout inhaling harsh but shakily.

“Fuck.” He gasps. Before you can smirk at the effect this is having on him, he suddenly thrusts his arms around you. He leans forward, easing you onto your back. Or trying to – the move would’ve been smoothly executed had you both been on the floor, rather than on the sofa. Instead you end up tumbling backwards, landing with a slight thud. Scout’s dragged down with you as you hold onto him to try and correct your balance. He makes a sudden noise of surprise at the unexpected drop, crouched over you with his head next to yours. He quickly untangles his arms from under you, using them to push himself up so he’s hovering over you. His eyes are a bit wide, clearly thinking that you might have hit your head. “Oh man, are you okay?”

His expression is totally adorable, as is the question. You can’t help but laugh gently at his expression, relaxing your hold on him.
“I’m fine.” You brush aside his concern and meet him for another eager kiss, tongues entwining the moment your lips touch. You bring one hand from around his back to rub his toned arm, his hands scooting over your torso. He traces abstract patterns as you lazily stroke the curve of his spine, pushing on his lower body so it presses against you. You break the kiss by sitting up slightly, noticing that his fingers are dancing closer and closer to the top of your trousers.

He‘s holding your gaze, that infamous lazy smirk in place. Evidently his confidence returned, bringing his ego with it.
“Want a hand?” he asks, his bold nature seeping through as he hooks a finger in the fabric. You give him a smile of your own, hands lowering from his body.
“No.” He looks abashed and uncertain, not sure what to say. But when you pull your clothing down yourself, baring all, his eyes widen in surprise and a faint blush streaks across his cheeks. He gulps, stuttering out half-formed words, staring at your nude lower half before meeting your eyes again. You’re still smiling innocently at him, throwing aside the garments. “Do you?” Your hands reach for his hips, tapping at the belt there.

Scout stares at you wonderingly for a moment before regaining his verve and kneeling upright. He rips open his belt and shimmies his pants down and off. As he undresses he never looks away from your eyes and it makes your shudder within your skin. The look he is giving you is one of bold want. Your eyes flit from that expression to what he’s uncovering, a blush slowly blooming on your cheeks - he’s hard. You begin to tentatively reach for it as he struggles to remove his shoes and socks without shifting from his position over you, swearing and looking at his feet. When your fingers brush against the flushed skin he jerks as if shocked by static electricity.
“Fuck.” He gasps, hands twitching and tugging violently at his clothing to get it off.

Finally you’re both naked, Scout kneeling in between your thighs. Your hand is still lightly touching him, ghosting over the hot flesh. He shakily swears again, eyes rolling upwards and fluttering shut as you grip him properly, squeezing softly. With a sharp cry he shoots forward, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you back onto the hard floor. The unexpected movement and surprisingly cold floor makes you emit a squeak of surprise. He lifts one hand from your shoulder, quickly reaching down to touch you.

His hand is openly curious in its movements, twisting at the wrist as those lithe fingers stroke and curl. You twitch and gasp initially but he quickly finds out what makes your body heat flare. You arch and squirm, your voice running away from your mouth as he tries to repeat the actions that make you carry the most pitch in your cries. The hand you have around him involuntarily squeezes in time with your pleasure until you become aware of it. You start to pump him slowly but steadily. A string of complimentary curses bubbles from him as he sags slightly above you, leaning heavily on his free hand to stay upright.

Scout looks you in the eyes, his hand still moving. He’s quite flushed, a faint sheen of sweat beginning to coat his skin. As he presses on a sweet spot, making you shudder and moan his name, he leans close to you so his lips hover by your ear.
“You look fucking amazing. I mean, you look good all the time but...shit.” He groans as you gently tug, thumb circling the head. His head drops slightly, so his forehead rests on your shoulder. “Fuck, I want you.” You can feel his breath on your hot skin, his fingers making you feel only hotter as they work.
“I want you too.” You breathe, adjusting yourself so you can nuzzle into his neck. He smells great – musky and earthy.

He lifts himself up, removing the hand pleasuring you (making you whine at the loss of sensation) and placing it over your hand, on his erection. He prepares himself hurriedly, your hands slipping away together as he slowly pushes himself in. Scout doesn’t attempt to keep quiet, loudly moaning as he eases himself in. He places his hands either side of your head, his eyes closed blissfully but his face contorted with concentration. You let out a low, husky groan yourself as you feel him push deeper inside you, your body easing to him. You see his mouth forming words but none of them are directed at you. You lean up in time to catch him muttering what sounds like a collection of scores - probably baseball, knowing him. Deciding that you’d rather have his full attention, you softly bite and suck at the neck exposed before you.

He shudders and swears throatily, his hips jerking out of his control. One arm curls around you, the other still holding him up as he begins to thrust, building momentum. You rock your hips to meet his, placing a hand to the back of his neck as you keep tasting delicious, sweaty skin. His dog tags dance over your skin as the two of you move against each other, a refreshing spot of cold in the blaze of hot skin.

It’s not completely comfortable of course. Hard floors aren’t designed for comfort and nobody was thinking that anyone would have sex on such a surface. You’re both a bit clumsy too, not used to each other’s bodies in this position, so it takes a while to establish a rhythm. But it’s still fun and enjoyable, especially as Scout isn’t the quiet type. He loudly moans and cries out, listing things he loves about you, how hot you are and all the things he’d love to do to you. When you hit a certain spot, just where his shoulder and neck join, his hips twitch erratically and his pitch becomes higher.

He pushes you down quickly, and kisses you on the lips, tongue darting in the moment you open your mouth to gasp at the sudden movement. It’s all piling up on you – every spot of contact, the sleek movement of sweaty, flushed skin, his rapid thrusts into your welcoming body and his unrelenting kiss. Your toes curl from pleasure, eagerly returning the messy kiss as sparks jolt through your nerves. With his lips on yours, the sound of skin against skin becomes audible, no longer drowned out by you and Scout noisily expressing your pleasures.

Suddenly, a flash of white blocks your vision as a wave of heat sears your lower body. You loudly cry out, grabbing hold of him tightly. He doesn’t stop, instead looking at your rapture flushed face. He can’t seem to form words anymore, limited to groans, grunts and cries to articulate his satisfaction. As the wave ebbs, he hits that spot again, causing you to tighten around him and cry out in a soprano pitch. It goes on like this – he can’t find it with every thrust but when he does, it sends a wave of hot pleasure through your body. You can’t help but shudder as he drives faster and faster, erratically finding that place in you that...

You can’t control the volume anymore as you arch against him, getting breathless now. You loosen and lean back slightly, wanting to see him. Scout’s so sweaty now, his bright blue eyes dilated and his face a portrait of ecstasy; so handsome, as always. He presses against you firmly, those dog tags only just being to absorb the warmth radiating from the two of you. You can feel how tense he is in your hold, slipping towards the edge. Quite abruptly he arches, shouting your name loudly as he comes, thrusting instinctively.

You twist under him, striking orgasm as you hear him call out your name in that blissful, primal tone. You cry out his name in kind, panting breathlessly, liquid heat flooding your system. Scout flops gracelessly on top of you, knocking the last of your breath out of you. The two of you stay like that, sticky with sweat and breathing deeply, as your bodies cool slightly, coming down from the high. He rolls slightly to the side, looking at you adoringly.
“Fucking...unbelievable.” he says sleepily. Tiredness must be kicking in now. “Gotta do that again...” he trails off, pulling you close and nuzzling you as he suddenly falls asleep, snoring gently.

You smile and shake your head. Typical Scout. You look up at the door, debating forcing Scout to get up and go to his room for the night. You didn’t really like the idea of being found naked in the morning and the two of you didn’t have a good track record for being uninterrupted. However, he was like a rock when he slept and might find it offensive. Finally, you settle on prying yourself from his hold to quickly lock the door shut. Returning to him, you snuggle up against his warm body, allowing sleep to overcome you.

Tomorrow will be a good day. You just know it.

45 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2011-12-02 22:15

>>44

Oh, I remember seeing this story somewhere... it is a really good one!

46 . Name: Mimi @ 2011-12-03 21:09

>>42 >>43 >>45

Glad you guys like the stuff I'm sharing. The Medic/You fic at >>41 is prolly the best I ever read. Perfect blend of his coolness, affection, and sadism rolled into one. >>44 is the best short Scout/You fic I've ever seen b/c of its cute friendship-establishing scene with the baseball bats. Only FiveTail's famous Auxilliary fic has more mischievous moments.

...I'm just of the opinion that people who put effort and intelligence into porn deserve to be given a little love.

47 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2011-12-05 01:51

I laughed when I saw the captcha: ai-suru (Japanese verb form of "love")

>>46 Yeah, I agree that intelligent porn needs more love, and reader-inserts are no exception. I have to say that >>41 is my favorite MedicxYou, although the first part of >>8 was really good too.

48 . Name: Lithe-Fider @ 2011-12-06 22:22

“I owe you one.”

Tentaspy and you – gender neutral

I heard people asking for more consensual “tentaspy and you”, so as promised I wrote one of my own! Cheers!

…

Working for BLU as a mechanic has let you travel all over. This assignment you’re out in the middle of the damp mountains, surrounded by evergreens; they call this base The Sawmill, it’s where BLU processes lumber harvested from the surrounding forest. Same as on your other assignments, you are told to stay out of the way of the hired mercenaries vying over the resources that rightfully belong to BLU.

For once, it’s not raining, and the sun is shining warm and bright. You are working on the gears of a large saw blade behind the mill on a quiet afternoon. The mercenaries have called ceasefire for the day, allowing you to come out safely to finish your repairs. Nearby to where you are working is a large pool of water fed by a waterfall…they use the water to transport logs, so many are sitting in the waterway. There is also a series of damp looking caves and overhangs that extend beyond the fences, but you have work to do and exploring them is not on your schedule.

Over the sound of your adjustments you hear something, so you pause. It’s gasping and moaning, like someone in distress. You listen close and leave your wrench to go examine the noise. You sneak through a rock overhang, crossing into RED’s territory. Your pocket knife is at the ready, just in case.

Rounding the corner of a supply building you almost drop your blade.

There, tied and chained to the back face of a RED wooden building, is what looks like a BLU Spy, but where his legs should be…is a mass of curling tentacles. Tentacles – like a giant octopus. You stare in disbelief.

The man looks like he’s been in a scrape – hair poking out of small tears in his balaclava, purple-red blood dripping down his face. His vest is askew amongst a once pristine button-up which is splayed open, showing more damage done to his chest. His arms are up over his head, tied tightly. The tentacles are restrained as well, with many haphazardly placed, tight leather straps secured to the wall and metal fencing. Though it looks like if he’d been in better shape he could have easily got himself loose from them.

As soon as you come into view his drooped head raises and his whole body tenses. He bares his teeth and hisses, an inhuman sound somewhere between a snake and a tiger growl, but as you stand your ground at a safe distance, he calms down. It more so looks like he doesn’t have the verve to keep up the display.

His breathing is labored – it’s obvious he is weak. “You’re with BLU, oui?” He says hoarsely in a French accent, “I’ve seen you…ze past few days.”

“Yes - I’m a BLU technician,” you reply.

He softens, eyes turning pleading, not something you’d expect from a Spy. “S'il vous plaît, RED caught me, tied me up ‘ere…I need to get back to ze water,” He gasps again; “They said they were coming back – for more. I might die before then. Please – I promise despite my appearance…I will not ‘urt you.” He struggles weakly against his restraints.

Two things cross your mind, besides the obvious monster-like nature of his body, he’s a Spy – you can’t trust spies. But he seems to be a BLU by his clothes, and you work for BLU as well; he’s on your side.

“You’re a BLU?” You ask, inching closer.

“Oui,” He gasps, “Sort of…”

“Sort of?”

“Just untie me!” He struggles again, desperate.

You eye him carefully as you get in close, hovering your pocket knife.

“I give you my word,” He croaks, looking like he is passing out.

You pick at the rope and strapping, cutting where you can, but the leather is tough. You finally get it undone and he falls forward, limp. He really HAS passed out. A minute later the rest of the restraints are free, but all that’s moving on the strange Spy are the tentacles, which are dried and slow. You try to wake him but he won’t answer.
The small lake behind the mill isn’t far, less then six yards.

You are able to drag him, and push his lower half into the water. Should you give him mouth to mouth? It sounded like he was suffocating, like his throat was closing up. Well, he does look watery in nature…you notice his clawed, webbed hands, and on his bruised torso you see a fluttering on his sides that looks like cut flesh, but upon brushing aside his shirt you see it’s not a wound. He has gills.

The strange spy is still out cold, so you figure ‘what the hell’ and take off your boots to drag him all the way in, so his face sinks below the water. It’s cold at first but the warm sun makes it at least somewhat refreshing. The tentacles curl to life, but he still seems unconscious. You’re in up to your calves, trying to push him into deeper water when suddenly there is a thrashing. You are caught off guard as a strong tentacle knocks you off your feet. Your butt smacks into the water and you try to get to your feet, but curling tentacles are around your ankles hold firmly.

You gasp in surprise as without warning you are yanked, fast, into deeper water, head barely kept above as you shear over the surface. Out of the corner of your eye you see the RED’s by the shore looking for their captive, just as you disappear unseen into a cave opening in BLU territory.

You catch your breath, eyes adjusting to the low light, and latch onto the first firm land you find as you feel your ankles released.

“I apologize, I caught scent of ze RED’s coming back.” You hear the Spy’s voice, far smoother now. You can see him faintly, stripping off his torn clothes with his body turned sideways to you. He grunts in annoyance looking at his soiled clothing, and then there is a groan of pain as he stretches his arms and back. A silhouette of fish like frills stretching on his spine and arms cause your eyes to widen.

He slips into the water, smoothly gliding towards you. You scramble to get your entire person onto the dirt, but you stumble and sploosh back in. Never turn your back to a Spy, you think, so you turn and end up with your shoulder blades to the edge, the Spy’s smile there right in front of you, face exposed. His hair is short, wavy and dark, and slicked back with water.

“Merci beaucoup, I do believe you owe you my life…at ze very least I owe you one. And that is not something I like to say to anyone.” His voice is a strange mixture of gratitude and prideful warning.

“I…it’s fine.” You are not sure if you want a Spy owing you anything, no matter his smooth voice seducing you into accepting otherwise. Treading water you shiver a bit, and feel smooth tentacles gently latch their suckers onto your exposed ankles. The feeling is so different now that he is in control.

“Despite this, I always repay my debts, and I do not forget favors.” He replies.

“Do you now?”

“Might there be anything I can do for you, mon ami?” He has a knowing tone.
You reply with another small shiver, without the warmth of the sun the water is not as cozy.

“Mon dieu, let me at least warm you up,” He fusses.

You gasp as tentacles coil with more fervor, and help you onto the dry land. They are so strong yet so gentle; their suckers create such an alien massage-like feeling. The Spy follows after, perching over you. He must know, no matter how much you tried to hide it, you find him strangely attractive, and those tentacles fascinating.

“I can smell the arousal on you,” He rattles, sharp grin widening, “Is this something I can do for you? Give you some…relief?”

You bite your lip, breathing deepening. You are feeling warmer indeed, those tentacles acting like a blanket...but it’s not just that making you heat up. You nod, and voice your consent and desire.

He seems VERY pleased, like he is eager as well. Those tentacles move in waves, creeping higher up your legs, to your inner thighs. You pause looking at his bruises and scrapes from his run in with RED.

He shakes his head. “Do not worry, I’ve ‘ad far worse. Now…what do you like?” He breathes hot against your neck, coming in close. You feel wet licks there, strong against your flesh. You manage a request, groaning to the wave of sensation crashing over you.

“You want to feel more of my tentacles?” The spy arches his back over you so that he is basically straddling you, if he had legs. “So adventurous.”

The tentacles prod into your clothing, pulling at your shirt and jeans. Your shirt is easy, sticking a bit as it’s wet, but soon your torso is exposed, your arms over your head. He unzips your fly with his webbed hands, but then leaves the tentacles to disrobe them. Your body is no longer chilly as heat rises in you, aided by slick, pulsing tentacles coiling all around your groin, squeezing your ass and cupping over your crotch. Your head throws back, and you buck your hips. You feel a single thin tentacle tip wriggle into your underwear, and touch against you directly.

“Ohhh so eager,” He purrs, petting over your face with soft hands, “You feel so nice, I bet you feel even better on the inside…” He teases a second tentacle against your entrance. Your damp underwear bulges against the invading appendages. You writhe your hips more, and consider for just a moment…

“Yes…” You moan, burning for it. “Please…Fuck me…”

“I’ll go slow - at first.” He grins, nipping at your neck and pressing his naked torso into yours.

His whole body writhes with you. You feel your legs spread and your ass lifted as your underwear is ripped off. That smooth, slimy slickness encompasses you, thick suckers nursing your throbbing crotch as your legs settle into their open position. You relax, arching and letting the pleasure overtake you as all your other limbs fall slack.

Everything is so slick and wet…his body pressing into yours and that angular face grinning down at you, taking pleasure in being in control of your gratification.
It’s then you feel that teasing tentacle tip press into you. It’s easy at first for how small and tapered it is…but soon you are moaning and gasping as you feel it go deeper and deeper…the thickness slowly stretching and filling you. When it’s at your comfortable limit, he pulls out of you, and then delves back inside, going a little faster and a tiny bit deeper each time.

“Ahhh, ahhh!”

“Ohh you do make very lovely noises,” he chuckles, “Do you like that?”

You nod and wrap your arms up around him, body tensed. You are careful of those slits on his sides, which flutter with each of his gasps.

He seems just as pleased, groaning and grinding his hips into you with the motion of his tentacles. Larger suckers latch onto you, they feel like sucking mouths at your crotch, pleasuring you mercilessly as he fucks you. You feel so full, the wriggling inside you igniting a deep sensation. You gasp harder, and buck against him. His lips press into your neck, kissing and licking with fervor.

The Spy cries out, and then you convulse and feel your orgasm crest and crash over you, hot and overwhelming. It ebbs smoothly though, leaving you blown and satisfied…everything tingling as your enveloped and filled body is let down gently by slowed tentacles. The tentacle inside you leisurely slips out, and then slicks up your undercarriage, both of you enjoying the sensations.

“So is my debt repaid?” He voices, obviously reveling the high of his own orgasm.

“I dunno,” you smirk, “I still have a few more weeks to complete my job for BLU….I might require subsequent sessions to be convinced.”

He chuckles. “I will do everything I must, mon ami.”

49 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-12-06 23:05

Many, many, MANY thanks from this TentaSpy-loving Anon
Please never stop writing, Lithe-Fider!

50 . Name: Hybrid @ 2011-12-07 05:14

I don't think I'll ever stop appreciating every little tentacle filled bit of lovely that you do, Lithe-Fider.

51 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-12-07 06:33

well, me being from germany often can't enjoy stuff cause the german sentences are so unintentionally funny, i usually burst out with laughter. its worse when pics/stories are meant to be sad or hot and you read something that doesnt fit into context for 2 cents. do u mind me correcting your german or is it unwanted at all cause u all dont understand it anyway and dont care, too?

52 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-12-07 19:04

Does anyone have any Sniper and You fics? Or Engie and You? I did like the Engie one upthread, but I'd like one that didn't cut right to the chase, yummy though it was.

53 . Name: Colorsburst16 @ 2011-12-07 19:15

Currently working on an Engie fic (school comes first, dammit)

54 . Name: Kilo !H3LM3TZ @ 2011-12-07 19:50

>>51

I'm sure folks won't mind you correcting German, so long as you don't mind me correcting your English. Refrain from using "u" in place of "you". This is in the chan rules, Rule number 2c:

Try to keep your spelling and grammar tidy. Do not abuse ellipses or exclamation marks, do not shorten words (e.g. using "u" as opposed to "you") and learn the difference between "your" and "you’re;" and "their," "there," and "they’re." If English is not your first language, let us know.

We're more forgiving on non-native English speakers, but thought I'd point that out to you since complaining about people using German incorrectly while doing the same to English contradicts itself.

But like I said, you should just correct their German, for whoever you are talking about. It would be great if more writers would seek out native language speakers if they are going to use a foreign language in their fics. If you point it out, maybe people will come to you so they do it right next time.

55 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2011-12-08 14:05

>>48

Awesome work, Lithe-Fider! I really like how you wrote the meeting of the reader and Tentaspy. Usually, the character is sewer crawling and runs across him, so this is a real breath of fresh air as far as Tentaspy fic.

56 . Name: Mimi @ 2011-12-10 19:02

>>48

New stuff?! In a Class/You thread? This cannot be!

Anyways, great job. I love how the protagonist has a self-assured job at the TF2 base w/o the plothole headaches of a tenth class. While I admit to a fondness for non-con, they're even harder to write than vanilla-sex fics so I wouldn't trust them in the hands of most writers. Plus, associating tentacles with non-con is just silly. They're strange on a human, but there shouldn't be anything inherently more violent about them.

>>51

I agree with Kilo about correcting your English, but I don't see why you can't correct someone's German. Just remember that most of the stories on this thread are reposts, so the original authors might not be reading them. If you see a mistake that bugs you, just make a post saying how the words should've been written.

57 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2011-12-12 16:11

>>56

I'ts because of the whole stereotypical animu/hentai mentality of "tentacles are for rapin'". Hentai is largely incapable of 100% happy, consensual sex. Even in situations where the sex is consensual, it still sounds like the bottom person is being brutally tortured.

58 . Name: Mimi @ 2011-12-22 12:00

>>57

True. As an anime fan who's watched some really sophisticated, surrealist anime, I hate the way hentai drags down perceptions of our entire subculture. But that's for a different topic.

So...I guess it's that time of a year to save this thread with another repost. How about one of the few good Class/You fics where you are the dom? This one's by Anon.

Domination//You vs. Engineer
(Female)
This might be a two-parter...

From the moment you saw him, you pegged him as a good old boy, and when he opened his mouth for the first time, you knew you were right. Here you had an unmistakable specimen. He had a pleasant countenance, a trace smile on his lips. As a matter of fact, he looked damn pleased to be there. You almost drop your jaw when you see him tip his hat in your direction. Was this...a gentleman? Was this one of those legendary men whose mother taught him to say "yes ma'am" and "no sir," whose father beat the old timey notion of opening the door for others and saying grace before meals into him with a swift, god-fearing hand? You can't help but smirk, but it quickly becomes an internal one. You can't sacrifice your own image just to satisfy your sick and twisted scheming, and besides, the battle has just begun.

You take your time, cloaking and dawdling around, watching your prey. Every utterance he makes is laid back, he's so polite you can hardly stand it, and nary a syllable out of him is bereft of a charming southern drawl. He's got a fine smile, a wholesome one, and it looks genuine. Your own rocket-hopping Soldier blows a hole through him, dashing his equipment, and when the Engineer lies on the ground hollering for a friendly Medic, he still looks well-mannered. There's not one rankled nerve or irritated twitch outlining his features. You would call him stoic if it weren't for that stupid, unassuming look on his face. He doesn't even bark out a naughty word, even as he's bleeding darkly across the platform, his body showered by sparks from a smashed teleporter exit.

That is, until you decide to start getting under his skin.

Even a man with that much sweet tea in his blood began to show signs of infernal rage when faced with an enemy who had no face at all. He begins to unravel when you, his unseen foe with an INVIS watch, begin tearing down his equipment as soon as he's turned his back. At every turn, your sappers are on his buildings. He beats them off with a wrench, and you creep up on him to stab his back. Once he's picked up by the respawn system, you wait a while, and as soon as he's within range again, you break another one of his toys. His groans become screams of outrage. You almost out yourself from laughing. He turns on your position, though you're cloaked, and you feel his eyes, hidden behind goggles, burning you up. If he could see you, he'd wring your neck.

He seemed an easy going guy, but everyone had their limits. Exploiting them was part of your job.

No matter how many times you foil the opposition's defenses, sapping his sentries and deconstructing helpful dispensers, your nincompoop associates never manage to get the upper hand. Backstabbing was your forte, and you make a few jaunts at taking out some enemies in such a way, but it became a bit of a sport after a while, keeping the Engineer on his toes.

Halfway through, he's only seen glimpses of you on the retreat, cloak deactivated, on the run from his associates and their hail of fire. His Pyro burns you to death, and when you're picked up by the respawn system, you disguise yourself as the enemy who'd done you in, and return to the Engineer. He thanks you, calls you "pardner," and whacks you on the shoulder in gratitude for taking out that "Spah." You uncloak and see your own reflection in his goggles as you drive your knife into his neck. So it goes.

Killing him doesn't seem to irk him as much as your sapper, so you spend a lot of time running behind him and applying them liberally. Once he's leveled up his sentry and moved on to do the same to his dispenser, you sap it. He's sweating bullets and looking about as ornery as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, trying to keep up with his team and with your psychological tactics.

You're close enough when the final time is called to see him screaming and swearing a blue streak, but far enough away to avoid the blast of his shotgun.

And yet, the round ends with yet another stalemate. You wonder if you might have been a detriment after all, with your cat and mouse game. You shrug it off. This is a week-long campaign. You'll all be stuck on this base for a few more days yet before you can go home. A stalemate isn't a loss, it just meant that there was no cease-fire called until there was a win on either side, that the battle was over for now, but that it'd resume at a moment's notice, if either team so chose to make a move.

You crush a spent cigarette under your shoe and turn to make back for base. The first hour or so after battle is always a tenuous cooling-off for both teams, so nobody is really worried about a continuation of the day's events. If anything, it'd be nightfall when either team undertook any further activities. Your beaten and bruised compatriots look downtrodden as they slog through the basements to shuck their gear and clean up for supper.

Your mind's eye wanders over the day's events, back to the Engineer. He is a bit of a short man, compared to his teammates, and stocky. His eyes covered with tinted welding goggles, his stubbled jaw set at a hard angle, he was a blue collar image of a hard working man if you ever saw one. From the top of his yellow bump cap to the toe of his construction boots, he was a corn-fed Texan, and you couldn't help but find some curious disparity between the man himself and the personnel file which declared he held eleven different doctorates in the sciences. You smirk at that, and let it uncoil across your lips, basking in the notion; no one is around to see your goofy expression.

He might even be a little handsome, if rough around the edges.

Dinner is forgettable: overcooked pasta and tomato sauce out of a can. There are vegetables and a seasonal fruit involved, and you eat just enough to coat your stomach before heading off. With a fresh cigarette on your lips and a plan in mind, you make a detour to a storage room to rummage about before heading off into the evening seeking your quarry.

You find it in a garage of sorts, a shack retrofitted into a machine shop on the west side of the enemy base. While most of the building is boarded up, there's a big roll-up door in front, and in the rear, a man door and a window that's seen better days. Where panes are missing, there are patches of tin or wood. You manage to peek through what remains of a dirt-coated pane of glass and see him sitting at a workbench. There's a level one sentry flayed open in front of him. He's got a sensible look about him, now deep in contemplation. He chooses a tool and uses it thoughtfully, making delicate adjustments with a high level of attention and skill. It's a different man from the one you saw earlier, blindly bashing his wrench, throwing up buildings effortlessly in the heat of battle. You feel excited just looking at his calm demeanor. You want to mess with him so bad that it almost concerns you, but you don't dwell on it.

With your cloak already activated, you test the door handle. It opens, and you gently let the weight of the door itself move it, allowing it to swing open in the still night air. You crouch and watch the Engineer. His attention honed in on the circuitry in front of him prevents him from noticing what you're up to. You push the door open further and creep in, hiding behind the hollow shell of a broken dispenser. The Engineer looks up and swivels on the metal stool he's seated on, and stares at the now-open door. He gets up, slowly setting down his tools and stretching his back. As he rolls his neck, you watch and listen as joints realign. He walks over, looks around in the darkness at the field behind his shop, and scratches his neck. He closes the door. From what you can see, he looks oblivious.

On another workbench, across from you, you can see an array of familiar weapons all lying out as if in an exploded view, their parts all separated for cleaning and maintenance. The Engineer resumes his seat, and you wait until he's invested in his work to rise to your feet and take a few steps, approaching him from behind. You reach into your jacket, remove the little syringe you'd prepped earlier, and give the tube an experimental flick. The Engineer perks up, and as your cloak dissipates, he knocks over the metal stool, and you sling your free arm around his neck. You can feel the hard muscles straining under you. He's stronger, there's no doubt he can wrangle you like a mewling calf if you give him the chance.

So you don't. You stick the needle right in his ass and push the plunger.

He grunts loudly and you let him go before he starts thrashing. He knocks some of his work onto the floor, metal crashes loudly, tools clang, and after a few moments of woozy flailing, he falls too. He's more dazed than anything. You have enough time to light a cigarette and get your bearings while he sputters and mumbles in a heap under his workbench. You set the stage, and once he's totally shellacked, you manage to drag him by his arms up into a wooden chair.

When the Engineer wakes up, he's bound. His arms are tied behind the back of the chair, wrists taped together, and his legs are tied up too, one ankle each tied to the chair. You're nearby, of course. You're wearing his hat, but as he starts moving about and gaining awareness, you take it off, set it on the bench next to his goggles and his tool belt.

"Whuh...what in the..."

"Don't tire yourself," you warn him. "I have plans for you, Laborer."

He sneers at you, eyes dull under a haze of sedation. His voice is a growl, "I oughta..lay you out."

You move swiftly and backhand him with your fist, cracking his head to the side. As he reels, you press a piece of duct tape over his mouth to prevent any bright ideas he might get about wailing for his team to come an assist him. While you're there, you hike up your skirt and sit in his lap, straddling his legs.

"That won't be necessary," you say, inflecting your voice with a sweet intonation that makes his eyebrows furrow, "just relax."

You lay your hands flat against his shoulders and smooth them down over his chest. Once you reach the buckles of his overalls, you undo them, lazily letting the front flap fall down to his waist. He grumbles from under the tape. You produce your knife and press the edge against his throat, just enough to get the point across. He's still drugged, about as harmless as a kitten, but you're careful at any rate.

"Please be quiet." You drag the edge along his jaw line, a hair's breadth from cutting him. "I will tell you when you may speak."

Focusing on him, your eyes are soft as you trace his upper body with your hands. His face flushes when your gloved fingers undo the buttons on his work shirt, exposing his white undershirt and his rapid breathing. From the way the muscles in his arms are tensing, you know he's trying to loosen the bindings behind his back. Reminding him of your knife, you begin at the hem of his shirt and drag the blade up towards his chin, revealing his chest. You push the plackets of his shirt aside and take a moment to admire the sight before you.

His skin is tanned, with a number of intriguing scars. The marbled flesh, a mended gunshot wound. The long slash, perhaps the Sniper's kukri laid that trail. His upper chest is well-muscled from hefting heavy gear, and you turn your head to admire the intercostals knitting his ribs. You run your fingers along his side and watch him quiver. He has a hard stomach, but it isn't defined. These aren't muscles made in a gym, these are muscles made on a farm or in a workshop, sweaty from the sun, grease-smeared, and fruitful. These muscles were the result of labor, the results of a heavy wrench swung ten thousand times. You lean in and take a deep breath, and lick the Engineer's cheek, tasting salt.

"You must really love what you do," you say. "I admire that kind of passion."

He jerks his chin out of your hand. He struggles weakly against his bindings, and at that, you stand up, your face turning sour. You don't give compliments easily, it's not a common practice, so his rejection stings. You plant your foot on the chair seat between his legs, quieting him immediately. You kick the chair over, toppling him onto his back, on top of his arms. He lets out a pained, muted groan. You don't care, and retrieve your disguise kit for a new cigarette. You let him lie there for a while as you enjoy your smoke. You walk around his shop and touch his things. If he's any kind of real engineer, he'll be incensed at the tiny adjustments you make, moving things slightly, turning them over, re-arranging. You turn and look at him, he's so pathetic, like a turtle upturned on his shell, so you take mercy on him.

His head is tipped back, mouth open. You turn him over onto his side and then right the chair, setting him back upright, but not without some effort. You already know how heavy he is, dead weight, all muscle. Once he's right side up again, he slumps slightly. You put your arm over his shoulder and sit side-saddle in his lap again. You discard your cigarette and remove your gloves.

"Let's give this another try, shall we?"

He looks at you, but the image must be blurry, because his eyes aren't focused. You maneuver his face, holding it, and press your lips to the duct tape covering his mouth. It's nothing compared to the real thing, so you rip the tape off, making him howl, but you cover it with your kiss. He seems confused and tries to turn away, but you persist, and he gives in, lets you kiss him, and even kisses back, just a little. You let your hand wander down his chest to his boxers. This seems to sober him a bit.

"Hey, what in tarnation," he blurts, but you shush him.

"Be quiet, Engineer. Don't make me tell you again." You move to straddle him, leaving space between the two of you.

He gulps, and his adam's apple grazes the blade of your knife. His hips flex as your fingers tug aside his boxer front and venture within to grasp his dick. It's already hardening in your hand as you begin to move. He gasps, lolling his head to the side as you nibble and lightly suck on his neck. His cock comes to full attention under your fingers. He's putty, and you slide down to the floor on your knees, hands on his thighs, feeling his muscles bunching. He looks down at you, and you look up at him. His eyes are slate blue. You stare right back at him as you lift the tip of his cock to your mouth and start sucking.

The ropes and the duct tape holding him at bay creak. He pulls his arms, jutting his hips forward, straining, and you let him, so long as his noises stay at a low volume. You suck him thoroughly, your tongue moving, lips pursing, breathing through your nose. His breath goes ragged, and from his open mouth he pants and groans lightly, intermittently gritting his teeth and hissing like a tea kettle. His dick is perhaps a bit short, a bit like himself, but its girth makes up for that slight detriment. You run your hand up his thigh, to his chest. He's hairy, too, but not too much. You run your fingers through the slight curls at the center of his chest and suck him to his tip, teasing him. He looks like he's in pain, but you know better, and smile while sucking one testicle into your mouth.

"Please," he begs, "please."

You lap up extra saliva as you traverse back up to his cock, but you don't continue. You look up at him, your brow quirking. You lean your left arm on his leg and prop you chin on top of it. "Engineer."

"Let me go." He shivers, maybe from the cold air, maybe from the need. "It ain't right...it ain't."

Sighing, you stand up. He just can't seem to take orders. You grab his chin, roughly squeezing him, and jerk his attention to your scowl. "Stop your pathetic babbling this instant."

His cock is wet with your spit and twitching with anticipation. He strains his hips, eyes pinched shut, head turned back. "Augh..."

"Get with the program, partner," you warn.

He looks like he might just spit on you, but perhaps it's his upbringing that keeps him calm.

"Shall I use your own parlance, Laborer?" You get in his face, leaning forward with your other hand on your hip. "Act out of turn, and I'll beat the tar out of you."

He closes his eyes. He can't bear to look at you.

You smile, showing your teeth. You release his chin and lightly rub your thumb from his jaw up to his temple, and then you pet his shaved head, delighted by the stubbled texture. Craning in closer, you clutch his shoulder and hover your lips by his ear.

"If you behave, I might just reward you. You never know." His breathing is the only sound. You press your lips against his skin, and then place more kisses along the faint hairline on his head. "What do you say?"

"What are you gonna do? Flay and gut me like a fish? I ain't gonna sit here and..."

Laughing, you pinch his cheek. "I would do no such thing. I have some standards." You cup your hand at the back of his neck, fingers rolling smoothly over bare flesh. "Does it really seem to you like I wish to harm you?"

"I'm tied up, ain't I?" He sets his cold eyes on you with a speculative glare.

"If you were not tied up," you ask, "what would you do?"

"My daddy taught me not to hit a woman, but to be honest, I might take exception for you, after what you did today."

Rolling your eyes, you groan, "How boring." And you sigh. "Your sentries killed my teammates, so I killed your sentries. This is the mode, my dear, it is not personal." It might not have been completely true, but regardless of whether you got some twisted satisfaction from your activities, it was still a job.

Moving away from him, you begin to remove your jacket. You shake it out and hang it on a nearby rack alongside some of his tools. You roll up your sleeves, and once the cuffs reach your elbows, you pick up a large wrench.

"Do you know what it feels like," you wonder, "to be hit with one of these?"

He is quiet.

"Best not tempt me," you say, and slap the wrench into your hand, the way you saw him do it earlier. It smarts a bit, but you don't let it show. You set it aside, and pick up a particularly interesting piece of equipment. "What's this?"

He doesn't answer you, but it doesn't matter, and you're glad he's decided to take orders and shut up. You know that it's an industrial clamp. You carry it in one hand and reach up to pull your tie free. The last thing he sees is your evil smile as you cover his eyes. You don't trust him to be quiet for long, so you gag him, stuffing a shop rag, mostly clean, into his mouth and putting more duct tape over it. You're not so cruel as to actually clamp him with the heavy tool, but you reach into your pocket and retrieve two binder clips you found in the supply closet, and place those on his nipples instead. You smile at your handiwork as he writhes, his dick still hard and capped with the slightest hint of pre-cum. He moans throatily through his gag, and you bathe in the sound of his whimpering.

You look down into his lap at his cock, which doesn't look as robust as it had, and so you pay it some attention, stroking it idly, making him groan. There's a lovely red hue spreading over his face and neck. He's cute. You massage his balls and lick his cock, enjoying yourself and letting him get good and riled. Every time you feel his balls tighten and his breath quicken, you back off, bringing him back down. He gets angry, you can tell, but that fades into desperation after a while. You squeeze the root of his dick and suppress his orgasm over and over again, until he is nothing but a sweaty, jibbering, shaking mass.

"Do you want to come?"

He lets his head slump to one side, and you slide a rubberized gasket, an improvised cock ring of sorts, over the head of his dick and roll it down to the base. It's a tight fit. It will do the trick nicely. After it comes the condom. You stand up to take one last look at the clips on his nipples, and remove them. He groans raggedly as you put them on the edge of his workbench, where he will doubtless find them later. He blinks and has a hard time tracking you when you remove your tie from his eyes.

"I said, do you want to come? Answer me." Looking at his gag, you add, "Nod your head."

He nods, very weakly. You prop your foot on the bottom rung of the chair and pull your skirt up to reveal your thigh highs, garters, and simple, silk panties. You follow his line of sight as he looks down at his cock, and then from your heels up to the crux of your thighs. You give him a little show and shimmy your hips as you slide your panties down, stepping out of them. Tossing them over your shoulder, you don't care where they land. You settle on his lap again, wrapping your arms around his neck lovingly.

"I wanted to fuck you the moment I saw you," you admit. "I'm sure you do not feel the same."

You grind your pussy against his hardness and close your eyes. He moves with you, the lids of his eyes lowering. You're already wet from having played with him, and his dick slides into you, filling you up. He hisses and bucks his hips up into you, but you stay still until you're ready to progress. You enjoy the sensation of his cock filling you, and slowly lift yourself, then lower again. You fuck him at an agonizingly slow pace. It feels amazing. You haven't had much of an opportunity to please yourself since you've been deployed on this mission, and the feeling of a thick cock inside of you is unreasonably satisfying. After a while, you can't help but speed up, dropping your ass hard into his lap, rutting into him, dripping your juices over his balls. Clutching the collar of his shirt and digging your nails into his back, you moan and shove your tits against his chest, reaching a frenzied tempo. He looks exhausted, but his brow is set firmly.

You drive your fingers down between the two of you and rub your clit until you come, throwing your head back and riding him until you feel the last waves of your orgasm fade away. When you look back, his eyes are watery and he looks...sad. Breathing heavily, you collapse onto his shoulder and start laughing, but the mirth doesn't last long. You actually feel a little sorry for him.

You compose yourself. "You did very well," you say. "Now, I am going to remove your gag. Be quiet."

You delicately peel the duct tape away from his mouth, and remove the dampened rag, and rub your thumb over his lips. He strains against you, but remains silent, so you lean in to kiss him, very softly.

"Good. And now kiss me back." You stay close enough for him to do so, but wait for him to make a move.

He breathes through his mouth, but inevitably does kiss you, his swollen lips chaste on yours for just a few moments.

"Oh please," you sigh, but you find his innocence too cute to show much disdain, "you can do better than that."

You detect a slight growl on his breath when he kisses you again. This time, his tongue darts against your lips, and you part them, allowing him to taste your mouth. There's a faint aroma and a taste of gasoline and grease, probably from the shop rag, but it's not overwhelming. His thick, blunt tongue presses against yours, and slides over your teeth. He seems ill-practiced, but you appreciate his gusto. You let him continue for a while, and lightly rub your fingers against his scalp until his lips break from yours, a tiny line of spittle connecting you. You lean back and smile, so proud.

"You're so well-behaved, I think I should let you free," you say. "What do you think?"

"I think you were wrong when you said I didn't feel the same," he said, his cheeks dark with a blush. "I mean...I..."

You hold the condom in place on his still-hard cock and stand up. His embarrassment is exquisite, but you don't have much more time. The flash of your balisong's blade is swift, and you strip the bindings off of his arms first, then cut through the duct tape. His arms, no doubt sore, fall to his sides, and you prepare to flee, in case he turns on you. But he doesn't.

You watch him, warily. "Do not touch yourself, Engineer. Wait for me."

He seems to listen to you, and you kneel down to cut the ropes tying his ankles. You flinch when he moves, but he pins your arms down, your balisong falling to the floor and sliding away. His body is heavy, and you feel his erection against your thigh. He holds you down, but doesn't do anything. He looks at you, as if asking for directions.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

He nods.

"You have my permission," you say, "so long as you do not come. Remember, I will reward you if you do as I say."

The tables may have turned, you're not sure. He's bigger than you, he can pin you down and rape you if he wants to, but he's not that kind of guy, you know it. Somehow, you've managed to milk him into complicity, into dutiful obedience. His hands move down your body. Hot, calloused palms invade your shirt, and a button flies free as he pulls your bra aside, palming your breast. He kisses and licks your chest, and his left hand sneaks between you, to his dick, and guides it in. The cold cement floor is hard against your back. He grips your waist, thumb pressing a bruise into your skin. He rams into you over and over, fast, hard, shaking you, forcing you bodily across the floor each time he thrusts against you. He does reverse the tide somewhat, turning you into the squealing, moaning, sighing wad of pleasure. Another orgasm floods your senses, and he's still fucking you mercilessly. You let it unfold, smoothing your hands over his head, down his neck, and then adjusting his head so that you can kiss him. He slows down, moaning into your mouth in a way that's ravaged instead of arousing.

"That's enough," you whisper, but he's already slowed down. "I'll make you come, now, Engineer."

He chokes out a sob, and you roll him onto his back, the both of you nearly underneath the workbench. You remove the condom and the gasket, making him wince, and then you address his unsatisfied need. You suck him off until he jerks, grunting, rutting his hips up against your hands, and comes into your mouth, spilling copious amounts of semen, which you hungrily swallow. When he's quite finished, you lick your lips and crawl on your hands and knees up to face him.

He's done for, utterly spent. Drugged or not, he's completely harmless now. You wipe a bit of sweat from his forehead and pat his chest.

"Well done."

You sit up and straighten your shirt, sitting lightly on his stomach. You adjust your mask, and are startled to feel his warm hand on your thigh. It's an oddly intimate touch. His thumb rubs over your stocking for a second, and then his hand is gone, the moment is gone, and you stand up, step away. You retrieve your knife and find your jacket in the same place you left it and fold it over your arm. The Engineer might just fall asleep on the floor, but that's fine. It's a sight that pleases you. You take a mental photograph to file with the others, the well-meaning smile, the look of frustrated rage, now the post-coital nap. Whatever he's got to offer, you'll sap it, and you figure whatever you sap, he can fix. You'll see him tomorrow, and turn the shop light off as you leave.

59 . Name: Mimi @ 2011-12-22 12:02

(And now for II. As usual, author notes are included. Also, this author needs to namefag because the story is so awesome.)

Domination//You vs. Engineer
(Female)
Hurp. Part two.

Note: Retrofitted some of this from third person, so apologies in advance for issues with tense I might have missed. I feel like I should probably namefag and get a beta or even make friends, from having posted so many anon contributions to both this thread and the request thread. Shit man, shit.


On Saturday, you find yourself in a bit of a foul mood. You've had a nonstop respawn headache for three days now, and in another day or two you'd finally be allowed to leave this hell-hole. That is, until the next mission, when your handler would assign you to some other god forsaken base. Your frenetic pipsqueak of a Scout had managed to capture the intel yesterday, finishing the week with a win for your team and a sound night's rest of cease-fire to start the weekend. This morning there'd been a crate of fresh food waiting for your teammates, unexplained, at the back door.

And so, you make your way, padding down the long hallway, led to the break room by the warm smells and the slight sounds of pans shifting, coffee brewing. You feel yourself drawn out of a shroud of sleep, traversing the cool linoleum, drawn towards breakfast like prey into a spider's web. You are joined by the big Scotsman, and he looks like hell, too. He must look about as bad as you do. Every morning was a rough morning, but even that became routine.

You enter the break room which serves as a cramped little dining hall adjacent to the even tinier kitchen, and find the room already occupied. The Scout shovels a spoonful of corn flakes into his mouth. He rubs away a dribble of milk as he chews, and looks up as you and the Demoman both appear in the doorway. One or the both of you find yourselves immediately dredged into a one-sided conversation.

"Hey Demo, I hear you can fix a dislocated eyeball like this," the Scout pantomimes holding a golf ball about six inches in front of his eye and uses his other hand to flick an invisible optic nerve. "The whole thing sucks right back into your eye socket. SHLOOP!"

The Demoman couldn't be less impressed by the lad's theatrics this early in the morning. He takes a deep breath, partially camouflaging his sigh with a yawn. "Is that so?"

You groan under your breath and make to move past the Demoman, headed for the sweet aroma emanating from the kitchen. The Engineer is already in there, though, blocking your route. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

The Scout laughed, "Heheheh, yeah. Friggin ridiculous, right?"

"An' where exactly did you hear this, lad?"

"Oh, my brother," he says, eyes lighting up and grinning hugely, "he wrote me a letter the other day. He said he was playin' soccer and one guy got hit so hard, his eyeball popped right out."

The Engineer turns and starts a bit, not expecting you. He nods cooly at you, and moves to get away from you. He sidles up to the table. A sheaf of newspaper flaps down first, and then he sets down his plate, and then himself across from the Scout at the little table. "I thought you said your brother played baseball, kiddo."

He shakes his head, taking another big bite of cereal and talking around it, cheeks fat and gerbil-like, "No, that's the other one."

"How many you got, again?"

"Tons."

"Good night Irene," chuckled the Engineer, scratching at his stubbled chin.

"What about you, hardhat, you got siblings?"

"I ain't got no kin to speak of," he said, using his fork to push the food on his plate around, mixing the melting pad of butter into his grits.

You realize you'd been listening to them, inadvertently, and remember what you were after to begin with...now that there's room, you make for the coffee.

"Guten morgen mein Herren," greets the Medic, who stands by the stove, donned not in his typical lab coat, but in a cook's apron. "Vhould anyone else like--"

By god, the eggs are real. There's a carton lying open on the counter, but it's not the first thing you notice. There's a strange new contraption sitting on the counter in place of the shining, chrome-clad economy priced Mann Co. Jav-O-Tron percolator.

"What the hell is this?" You're in no mood.

The Demoman finally makes it through the doorway. "Bloody hell."

The Medic adjusts his glasses and glances over at you while tending to a piece of toast in the frying pan. "It's the coffee, mein Spion. Vhat does it look like?"

"Looks like a bomb," laughs the Demoman.

When you turn about to pin him with a mirthless stare, he shrinks a little. The device in question is a vacuum brewer, and it's still cooling, the brewed coffee in the upper chamber trickling down the narrow stem into the lower chamber at a slow, steady pace.

"It looks like a mad scientist's experiment," you balk. "What have you done with the percolator?"

The Medic clears his throat loudly. At the table, the Engineer is the one who winces a little. "You may thank herr Ingenieur for that. His most recent upgrade..."

"Y'all hush up," hisses the Engineer, turning his chair loudly towards the crowded kitchen. "I'll have the damn thing fixed up in no time. Land sakes! Be grateful I had a replacement."

"You call this a replacement?" you shout, looking at the vacuum brewer as it finishes brewing with a loud, obvious gurgling flourish. Your face contorts at the burbling, farting contraption. Your hackles are on end and the volume of your voice grows to match, "You expect me to drink this? Why not be useful and erect a god damn espresso machine instead of breaking the kitchen appliances?!"

"Calm down, Spy." The Demoman squeezes in alongside you, edging you with his elbow out of the way as he reaches for the cabinet where the coffee mugs lay upturned, only a few of them without chips. "Coffee's coffee, innit?"

The Medic graciously ignores your outburst. He finishes what he's doing and sets a plate in front of you. "Demoman, vhould you like an egg?"

"If you're offerin'," he says, "I'll take two, hard over. Now, as for this thing..."

"Just lift the top part out," says the Engineer, stuffing himself into the close quarters of the prep counter, behind you, reaching over you to grab a mug.

It's hard to stop seething when there's no room to breathe. You take a second to glance down at the counter, at the plate, and realize the Medic had made you an egg in a basket, easy over. Your mouth floods with saliva, but what you really want is coffee.

The Demoman pulls the top chamber out and sets it aside. He pours for himself, and then the Engineer, leaving you fuming, still staring at the little plate and the piece of toast and the gleaming egg. Was that real butter?

"Thank you kindly," said the Engineer, a bit gruffly, finally leaving the tiny room to return to the table.

You feel yourself wither as you watch the Demoman take a sip of the streaming, fresh cup of joe. "Mmh. Not bad. Not bad at all. Just take it, you great dandy." He leaves a full mug sitting out for you and goes to stand on the other side of the Medic. "You need any help there?"

"Nein, but you can toast your own bread."

"Much appreciated," you grumble. You lift the mug to your nose, sniff briefly, unwinding a little at the familiar aroma, and take a sip. The calming effect on your jangling nerves is immediate. It's good. "Hm."

This scene of domestic placidity is almost too much for you. The Demoman, assisting the Medic in cooking breakfast; the Engineer seated at a table with a cup of coffee, reading the headlines next to the Scout, with dull, bovine eyes and chewing cornflakes like cud...it was altogether too reminiscent of some twisted episode of Leave It to Beaver. It was weird.

On a good day you might thank the Scout for his efforts, which led to the delivery of rations, but not today. There's no room to eat at the table with the others, and it's not really our style, so you take your mug and your plate and you leave. On the way out you bump into the Heavy, and are glad to get out of there while there is still breathing room. That left only three unaccounted for weekend cease-fire.

During a normal work week, those who had homes to return to, or who simply wanted to leave, were allowed to disembark from the base on Fridays after the cease-fire was called. But this wasn't a normal work week. On a campaign like this one, even the nightly cease-fires were canceled, and there was a night shift on rotation making sure the enemy Spy wasn't crawling up out of the sewer to stab them in their sleep. You stroll quietly to the sniper's nest on the battlements to have your breakfast, and you think about your exploits the other night, visiting the enemy base. It hadn't been throats you'd sought to slit. It hadn't even been business-related. The pit of your stomach churns, and you write it off as hunger, but the pang in your chest, well, you can't explain that one away. Your night with the other team's Engineer had been on your mind quite a bit.

You eat your breakfast and drink the coffee in the presence of nothing more than the morning sunlight and the chirping birds. The morning wanes, and your mood elevates, just slightly. The sun warms your shoulders, and you relax against the crates of your makeshift breakfast nook. After a while, you retreat indoors and exit the compound, feeling wistful. The recreation room keeps you occupied for a while, listening to the radio and playing a simple game of gin rummy with the Pyro, whose gentle, quiet nature outside of battle you found most appealing. Once the Heavy showed up and turned on the reruns of Green Acres, you made your leave. Instead of hanging around for lunch, you wander outside. You stroll about for a while, edging the opposing team's territory, but are mindful not to breach it. You've got a few more hours of daylight to waste with nothing better to do, and meander towards the railroad tracks, trying not to think about the Laborer.

There's an abandoned car on an unused track, and you stand in its shadow as you light a cigarette. You take a drag and blow the air up towards the sky, and when you let your mind traipse over the notion that there'd be only a few days more here until you'd leave, and you'd likely not see the Engineer again for quite a while, if at all. You'd been on contract for a year or two, but you'd seen a lot of mercenaries come and go in that time. You toe the gravel and snort lightly, shaking your head, but a rustling noise catches your attention. A loud whang fills your head, and behind that, there's cotton and pain.

There's a burly arm about your waist, and your knife is as heavy as lead in your hand before it drops to the ground with you quickly after it. You close your eyes, blackness claims you, and when your eyes open again, you're looking up at some kind of shitty, moth-eaten fabric.

It's hot, and there's water dripping down your face. Your head hurts worse than before, and your neck aches from being tilted in such an odd position. When you reach up to feel your head, there's a rag on your forehead, wet, and you let it slap down onto the seat. You re-assess your head, and find a welt on the back of it, but see no blood. You look down and stare hard until you being to recognize your knees, and your feet. You're sitting in the cab of a car.

The cracked leather of the bench seat, with springs and stuffing showing, is weathered, brittle. So it's not a car, it's a truck. Damned old, too. The floorboards are dirty, almost rusted through in some spots. The dash is in bad condition, and when you look across, past the long gear shift, to the ignition, there's no keys and no one in the driver's seat. Both of the windows are up, and outside there's nothing but desert wasteland for miles around. There's an outcropping on your right, and to the left, some miles off, there's a gorge. You groan and thump your head back against the bench seat. It's a firestorm of red and orange and purple outside, so you figure it must be dusk. You'd been out cold for hours.

You hear metal squeaking and feel the truck shifting, and after a moment, you hear the crunch of gravel. The enemy Engineer had been sitting on the bed of the truck, and is now making his way to your window. He smiles behind the glass. He's wearing a faded cap and sunglasses instead of his usual bump cap and goggles. You reach for your inner jacket pocket and find your knife is missing. He holds his hand up, brandishing your weapon, still smiling.

"No need for that," he says. "Are you calm, or do I need to go fetch a switch?"

His words take a few moments to make their way through the sludge in your head, and even then they don't make sense. You must be looking pretty puny and insignificant, because he opens the door, leaning his arm on the frame. He quickly takes his hat off, then thinks better of it and dons it again. He offers you his hand. You blink at it.

"C'mon now," he says, and you take his hand. He steadies you as you reach your feet, the drop from the cab to the ground being father than it looked. "Let's get you somethin' to drink."

He leads you to the bed of the truck, and on it there are two lawn chairs, unfolded, and a cooler. He climbs up first and kneels down, one hand on his knee and the other hauling you up like you weighed nothing more than a feather. He settles you down into one of the chairs, and you reel a little, head spinning.

"Sit a spell, wontcha?" He digs a bottle out of the cooler, opens it, and tips it towards you. "Ain't wine, but it's cold."

You accept the beer, feeling well outside of your element, and hold it in your lap, staring out at the barren, orange desert.

"Sorry 'bout the pistol-whippin'," he says, taking a sip of his own brown longneck.

"What is this?" you ask.

He looks over at you, and his clear blue eyes are piercing. He looks at ease, relaxed. There's not a weapon nearby that you can see, and you have no idea where you are. He's in charge, for now. "This here is a sunset," he says, smiling at you.

Your voice is flat when you ask him, "Is this your idea of a date?"

He blushes a little and chuckles. "You might call it that."

You find yourself smiling, too. You look down at the bottle and lift it up, take a swill, and try not to show your distaste of the bitter liquid. Water would be nice, but you suppose this might as well be water, it's so thin. You suppose this little date was some evidence to the fact that the Engineer had in fact enjoyed your time together.

The battle that had followed the morning after your visit to his shop had been intense, to say the least. Perhaps with some amount of playful zest, you'd gibbed him a few times, broken his toys, and gone on with your life. The next days on the battlements had been much the same. But every night since then, you'd gone to bed and thought it over, analyzing that night as if play by play, critiquing, re-living, touching yourself sometimes, trying to remember the faint aroma of his cologne, his flavor, his warmth. Having him near you, and not in the dizzying flurry of battle, was quite nice.

"I hope that kidnapping is not your normal way of wooing a woman," you say, swishing the bottle, and crossing your legs.

He seems embarrassed, and lets out a small cough, but he responds, "I figure a woman who breaks into a man's workshop, ties him up, and..." he fights for the word, "takes his dignity ain't much for traditional methods."

You give him that one. "True. Perhaps next time 'hello' might be sufficient." You rest the subject. You don't even want to know what he hit you with.

"I didn't hit you with the wrench," he said, turning to look at you. "Well, not a big one."

You lean your chin on your fist, and look over at him, meeting his convivial smile. "Well, are you going to feed me? I do believe I missed lunch. And dinner."

The Engineer is already handing you a folded sack by the time you finish asking. You accept it, and unfold the crinkled paper to look inside. There's two sandwiches, wrapped in butcher paper. You unwrap one of them to find white bread, peanut butter, and jelly. The other team hadn't gotten new rations like yours had, and this was the best he could manage, at least, for something that wouldn't go bad in the desert heat. You give him the other sandwich, and the two of you eat in silence, watching the sun disappear behind jagged rocks.

"Did you really abduct me just for this?" It was quaint, you could admit to that, but it was also rather strange, as well as being completely against the rules.

"I thought I might return the favor," he said, shrugging, "just a little bit."

You don't quite buy it, and level your gaze on him. "Oh really."

It's getting dark, and the temperature is dropping, but it feels nice. The Engineer shifts in his seat and stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. He looks down the neck of his bottle, swirls the remaining liquid, and then downs it. "I uh, I've never..."

You know you'll get more out of him if you just let him speak, so you do. The awkward silence doesn't bother you at all.

"I've never been...shoot." He thumbs the side of the bottle, picks at the paper, and then realizes he's fidgeting. He chucks the bottle, and the two of you watch it bounce, and then finally shatter on a big rock, several yards away. "Hell, I don't even know."

"Not many men are used to being submissive," you say, waving it off.

He tucks his lips into a frown and stares at the rusted floor of the pick-up. "Why'd you do it?"

"I told you," you say, shrugging dissuasively, and reaching to pat your jacket, looking for your cigarette case. You're honest when you say, "I wanted to fuck you, so I did."

He reaches into his pocket and produces the silver case. He hands it over, and you light up a cigarette, offering him one. He accepts, and the two of you puff smoke into the purple-blue haze of twilight like old friends. Your beer goes lukewarm, and you set it aside, thirsty, but not enough to drink the whole thing.

"But...why?"

You have yourself a thinking man, and you see his hands, clenched into fists on the armrest of the chair, and reach over to pat him. "Because I was attracted to you. Now tell me, why did you bring me out here?"

Perhaps it seemed too simple to him, but it was the only answer you could provide. He looks down at your hand on top of his, and when he pulls his hand away you think it's because he can't stand it, but instead, he takes your smaller hand into his and holds it, his thumb rubbing little circles into your knuckles.

"I suppose I wanted to get to know you a bit, since after tomorrow we'll be movin' out." He shrugs. "Didn't sit right with me to...well...do that and never have a real conversation."

"Engineer, we kill for a living," you say, allowing him to hold your hand, and chuckle at his simplicity. "I thought you had dragged me out to the middle of nowhere to maim, kill, or rape me considering what I did to you this week."

He looks outraged, but doesn't speak to it. He lets go of your hand and folds his own in his lap, looking out towards the large ravine, the gorge, and the horizon, bleeding into the night sky. "Well, you ain't outta luck. The bases are just over that ridge, if you wanna make a break for it."

You look off towards the ridge and then look up at the stars, slowly revealing themselves, along with lingering, puffy clouds. You stretch out. "I do not." It's good to know, however.

"I was attracted to you, too," he says, his voice low. "Never thought anything like that'd ever happen, but...weird as this sounds...I'm gonna regret sayin' it, but...I did enjoy it."

"There's no shame in that," you say, feeling that familiar pinching sensation in your chest, which you try very hard to overlook. Instead of trying to deny the arousal and the desire in your gut, you make to take an advantage of it. "Was it the sex alone, or the freedom you found in being dominated that you enjoyed, hm?"

He blushes, but it's hard to see it very well in the darkness. "Oh hell..."

From his squirming, you guess it was his newfound enjoyment of submissiveness that he was so reticent to admit. "Sometimes it takes a good teacher to realize how liberating it can be." You let your eyes linger over his hunched form. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and doesn't look at you. "I can teach you. One last lesson before we part ways?"

Perhaps you don't realize it, but over the course of the week, you'd taught him a lot. He gulps down his trepidation and finds the nerve to shyly peer over his shoulder at you. You look like a snake, your most seductive gaze trained keenly on him, stripping him bare. He doesn't say anything, but you know he's already well within your coils. It's immensely arousing to know that this educated man, this philosopher in hick's clothing, this considerate thinking man, has so much to learn from you, and seems so willing.

"Tell you what, I'll teach you the most important lesson first," you say, leaning over the armrest towards him. "That is the safe word. It is like the key to a doomsday device. It is the essence of control. You say the word, and everything stops. Do you understand?"

He nods. "What is it?"

"That is up to you. You tell me, my dear, if you wish to continue. Something simple. Something you won't forget."

He thinks for a while, and presents you with a familiar word, "Dispenser."

You hold your smirk. It's best not to shatter his confidence. You're only glad he didn't choose something more hilarious, like "cream gravy."

"Very well," you say, lathering your voice with a sexy, smooth lilt. "If at any time you say that word, the scene ends. I didn't give you the option before, I do hope you'll forgive me for that." You try to find his expression, but he's hiding his face. You don't test him much. Unlike the other night, he wasn't under your sway, and you know you must tread carefully in order not to startle him. "What is it that you'd like to experiment with, dear Laborer?"

"I ain't into the pain much," he murmurs, probably remembering the nipple clamps, and the friendly backhand you'd given him.

Under the rising moon and listening to the subtle sounds of the desert at night, you ponder what exactly he must derive from the prospect of being submissive. After a while, you remember his genteel mannerisms, his politeness, and consider him as a bit of a roguish knight, and that's when you find the kernel of his interest. Perhaps it wasn't at the threat of a thrashing that he would abide by your wishes.

"Have you heard of the concept of 'courtly love'?"

He grumbles his affirmative answer, still looking between his boots at the metal of the truck bed.

"In order to win the affection of the woman you desire, you must declare your devotion by undertaking a number of deeds." He looks up at you, clearly intrigued. You test him. "Take your hat off."

He's used to hearing "please" and "thank you" at home, but he hasn't been home in a long time. Even in your own ears, the command sounds harsh compared to his sincerity and relative politeness. It takes him a bit to realize that the game has already begun, and he's reconsidering the notion of being told what to do. You raise an eyebrow, reminding him of the consequences, but alter your approach nonetheless.

"Take your hat off, please," you try, saying your command more slowly, and with a sweeter tone of voice.

He takes it off, slowly. Good.

"Now I'll have you begin by getting on your knees and removing my shoes."

You wait. You're a patient hunter, and the waiting doesn't threaten you one bit. You let a minute or two of cold, determined silence pass before he regards you. He looks you up and down, and finally settles on your feet. You're wearing Italian leather heels, dusty from wandering in the dirt, but high-heeled still, and you flex your ankle lazily. He takes a deep breath, gets up from his chair, and just when you think he's given up, is going to disembark, he kneels. It takes your best effort not to smile. You won't reward him with any kind of satisfaction for a while, but it feels amazing when his hands, calloused but warm, gently wrap around your left ankle. He carefully removes your shoe, setting it down, and repeats the motion with the other foot. You uncross your legs and let your feet rest on the still-warm metal.

"And my stockings, if you will."

He opens his mouth, then closes it, and slides his hands up your right leg first, a slight zipping sound following the movement as he follows your hosiery to its apex on your mid-thigh. His big hands push your skirt up around your hips, and he navigates his nimble fingers in the dark as well as he does in the light. He unsnaps your garters one at a time and rolls the stocking down to your ankle, peeling it off your foot, and setting it aside, with your shoes. He does this again on the other leg, and all the while, you watch him from under sooty lashes.

"Do you fancy what you see, Engineer?"

He realizes he's staring at your legs, and he nods, shyly.

"Go ahead. I give you permission to touch me. Do what you will."

The Engineer picks up your foot, rubs it, kneading tension out of your sore arches, and then places it on his knee, and slides his hands up to your calf, rubbing it softly. You lean your head back and sigh. He massages your leg, and in his shy, polite manner, leans in every so slightly, and kisses your knee, and your calf, and does the same honor on the other side. You let out a small moan.

"What did you do with the panties I left behind?"

He stops what he's doing, but only for a second. "I hid them," he answers.

You giggle, but isn't girly, it's rather evil-sounding, and he blushes hotly from it. "Take your shirt off."

One button at a time, the work shirt opens. This time he's not wearing an undershirt. You use your bare foot to graze his chest, from belly button to collarbone. On the way back down, you press your toes into his groin, feeling the burgeoning erection he's been hiding from you. Your eyes flash to his.

"What's this? Are you turned on? Show it to me."

He hesitates.

You urge him, feigning impatience. "Some time tonight, please."

He dutifully reaches for his belt, removes it, sets it aside. He takes his time. You know he's interested in being submissive, but in his own way, and you allow it. He unbuttons his jeans, and then lowers the fly, and then pulls his dick from the front opening of his boxers. His head remains lowered, not daring to look at you. You don't care, and leisurely reach your foot out to strode his cock with your toes. He hisses and groans as you rub his stiffening organ.

You don't let it go on for long, though, and tell him, "Show me how you like to get off, Engineer. Touch yourself for me."

To sweeten the deal, you slip down onto the bed of the truck in front of him, your hands on his knees. You lean up to him and lightly kiss his jaw. You slide your hands up his denim-clad thighs to find his chest, and you traverse up his shoulder to his arm, and down to his hand, guiding it to his cock, as you continue to kiss him, deftly avoiding his lips. You firmly hold his hand in place and move to tug his ear with your teeth. He sucks in a breath, and with your insistent hand on top of his, he begins to stroke himself.

His dick hardens further and his breath quickens into puffs against the cool air as he quickly brings himself close. You kiss his cheek, and run your left hand over his muscled chest, looking down at his hand as it closes over the tip of his cock and then darts back down. He starts shaking, and grunting, and you softly wrap your hand around his wrist, bringing him back down. He grits his teeth and you can feel every muscle in his body tense as he fights the urge to come.

"That's it," you coo, breathing lightly against his ear, and guide his hand away. You redirect his fingers, moving them beneath your shirt, to press against the sheer material of your panties. He moves to kiss you, but you dodge it. "Not until you've earned it, Tex."

The Engineer is quite interested in this incentive, and looks at you earnestly for guidance. You don't say anything, lying back on the hard metal pick-up bed as luxuriously as if it were a down duvet. You pull your skirt up, though, and give him an idea. His fingers graze up your hips and pull down your panties. Once they're off, he pushes your shirt up all the way, revealing your bare skin to the chill, which he quickly dispels with his warm breath. His fingers part your lips and find you moist, well-prepared. One finger slips inside, and then another, and his tongue finds your clit, making you shudder. It's not the most subtle technique, but it works.

The stubble on his chin and the movements of his tongue and the plunging of his fingers bring you to the edge, and you let yourself pool, let yourself flow over, submitting to it. A slow, easy orgasm ripples through you, and you caress his head, moaning. He follows your hand up, lying alongside you. Tracing your finger along his jaw, you smile, and since he's been good, you let him kiss you. His mouth is damp and you can taste your own arousal, vaguely, as his tongue tangles with yours.

As you feel his naked cock throbbing against your thigh, you wish you had something to tie him up, but as you begin to release the wish, you notice his tool box, wedged behind one of the chairs. Your eyes light up at the notion, and you ask the question.

"Do you have rope?"

He breathes in and out, looking a bit worried, but nods. Without having to be told, he sits up and pulls over the metal toolbox, opens it, and retrieves a looped extension cord. He hands it over, eyes lowered. You push the toolbox and the cooler well out of the way, knocking your chair against the side of the bed. It's no problem, and is light enough for you to fold up and topple over the side, to clatter to the dust. He doesn't evade your attentions for long, and you move behind him, pushing him up against the cab of the truck, thumping him against the glass. Making quick work of tying his hands behind him, you force his pants down further and spit on your hand. He's petrified, and you soothingly run your left hand down his spine, reaching around to grip his cock from behind with your right.

Feeling coy, you notice his hat lying on the remaining chair, and slip it on. "Don't come," you warn him. You dig your chin into his shoulder while you jerk him off.

You rut your hips against his ass as you slide your hand up and down his shaft, the two of you rocking in time. He groans and hisses, and spurned on by his delightful noises, you slide your hand around the thick muscle of his neck and tilt his head back. You lick his shaved head, and then trap his ear between your teeth, breathing fast with him as he gasps.

"I'm gonna...if you don't..." He bites off his blubbering before you have to shut him up, and you know he's doing it to warn you, because he can't help himself.

You back off, capturing his balls in your hand and squeezing them, along with his dick, pulling him back down from the edge. "That's it, good."

He stiffens as your hands move up his sweaty body. He moans, a long, slow one, his breath almost visible in the air, which makes you realize just how awfully cold it's gotten. And dark, too. He slumps against the cab of the truck, heaving and sweaty, and you stand up to admire him. His back is broad and well-muscled, the outlines of bone and meat all glistening in the bluish light. You loop an arm around his, hauling him with you, tugging his pants up a bit so that he doesn't trip on them.

"Come on," you say, leading him toward the back of the pick-up, steadying him. "Easy does it."

You help him sit first and then crouch and hop down from the lowered gate. You wrap your arms around him and pull him to you, until your chests touch and he's standing on solid ground. Once you get him moving again, you guide him toward the passenger door, open it, and push him onto the seat. He struggles a bit, but you help to situate him, and once he's settled, you kneel down and untie his boots.

"Another part of being submissive," you say, "is trusting that your dominant partner will take care of you."

You unlace one boot, remove it, and pull off the sock, and then repeat the process on the other, mirroring his actions on you earlier. You leave the boots on the ground with the socks tucked into them, and meet his eyes. He watches as you return halfway and pause to suck his cock, rippling your tongue over the head, stroking with your hands where your mouth doesn't cover. He spasms and groans loudly, but doesn't come. You beam at this, but hide it away, and climb in on top of him, pushing him across the bench until he's lying on his back. He bends his knees to fit, and you close the door. His head is propped on the driver side door, his eyes peeled on you.

"Are you comfortable?"

He writhes a little, but nods yes very quickly. It's not a believable response.

"Sit up, against the door," you tell him, and he does as you order. This allows his legs to stretch out, and you figure his neck won't hurt as badly in the long run. "That's better." You climb into his lap.

There's a spare condom in your jacket, and you rip it open, slide it over him. You know his erection must be aching by now, and kiss up his throat to his lips. He bites his lower lip in straining to thrust into you. You open your jacket, untuck your shirt, and undo the buttons. After a few moments you're bare from the waist up, still in your skirt, but you leave it alone. His eyes are bleary, unfocused, and pat his cheek before turning your back to him. He groans as you adjust his dick, aligning it with your entrance, and lower yourself onto him. You stay still, allowing his cock to rest deep within you. You lean back against him and take a deep breath, closing your eyes. The interior of his truck isn't the most romantic or even the oddest place you've fucked in, but it's certainly better than the dirt, and with your combined breathing and carrying on, it's warming up nicely.

You let your hips roll forward then back, slow, methodical, like the lunar tide. Your hands move up your stomach to your breasts, cupping them through the thin material. The Engineer's hips roil beneath you, urgently. You lean back against his firm chest and all but forget about him, pleasuring yourself with his body. The windows are fogged and the air is heavy, and the wet sounds of your fucking fill the cab to the brim with lusty music. From here you can make the slightest adjustments to make his dick rub against your g-spot, sending warmth up into your abdomen. His grunts and moans become hums, and his body trembles and shakes, and while you ride him nearer to your own orgasm, you almost lose your senses.

But you don't.

"Go ahead," you say, "go ahead and come, Engineer."

Almost at the very sound of your word, his body jerks and the vibrations of his struggle add to your pleasure. He comes, bucking into you, but you continue to fuck him harder, faster, deeper, plunging onto him until everything bleeds white.

The two of you are gasping, senseless, your bodies slicked and satisfied. Your head is resting on his shoulder, and from this vantage point you can see his neck, extended, and you thoughtlessly rub your nose along his skin. You take a few deep breaths and lift yourself off of him, removing the condom and tying a knot in it before tossing it into the driver's side floorboards. Your fingers trail through the hair on his chest, and you plant a kiss on him there, ending it with a teasing bite.

"Let me untie you before your arms fall off," you say, pulling him forward so that you can reach the knots binding him.

You pull the cord away, and, still sitting astride him, pull his hands in front to begin massaging the blood flow back into his wrists. His eyes are closed. It's already been demonstrated that he's the kind of guy who goes all out and conks out after a good lay, so you let him drift off. Your jacket will do well enough to keep your shoulders warm as you curl up on top of the dozing man, yourself feeling a bit peaked once you find how neatly your bodies mesh, lying together in the deep violet darkness. Perhaps in a bit he'll awaken and find you asleep, and he'll wrap his arms around you. Perhaps, even later than that, you'll share a kiss just before dawn, and you'll slip your PO box address in his pocket before you leave to return to base. Perhaps, after this is all over, you'll teach him more.

I'm so sorry if there are typos or weird errors in this. It's done! It's doooooone!

60 . Name: Riff Raff @ 2011-12-22 15:57

First of all, I started this thread expecting it to fail miserably thank you all for contributing so much! You guys are awesome!

Second of all, y'know what'd be hot? Cross-faction with actual romance and plot! I'm a sucker for stuff like that.

61 . Name: Riff Raff @ 2011-12-22 16:00

(Scout, preferably. Forgot that little tidbit, sorry.)

62 . Name: Mus @ 2011-12-22 23:47

>>58 >>59
Mimi, I salute you.
Thank you for a masterful (hee!) work. I loved it.

Please. Write more.

63 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-12-23 01:53

I would like to request some more male Pyro, preferably without a creepy latex fetish, if none of the writers are too busy. Some Medic would be nice too. Thanks in advance, even if nobody ends up writing it

64 . Name: Cas @ 2011-12-23 02:43

>>63

Minus anything creepy.

This thread needs more Pyro or Sniper...without pee fetishes or abuse please.

Maybe some rope bondage?

65 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-12-23 02:55

I want to see YouxMedic with a female version too. Bonus points if Medic uses a Disciplinary Action.

66 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-12-23 04:51

How about a multiple Class x You?

Protagonist sleeps with more than one class, and they find out about each other. They ambush protagonist to teach the lesson that Hiding Things From Us Is Wrong. Group sex ensues, and in the end the classes decide how they feel about the situation. Bonus points if at least one of them turns out to be polyamorous and thus okay with it all.

67 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-12-23 19:21

Holy crap, I thought this thread was going to die, but I'm so glad that it's alive and kickin'! Thanks for saving it, Mimi!

>>65
I agree, and I'd kind of like to see a MedicxYou where you're the one dominating. The Disciplinary Action idea is cool, too.

Also, I'd like to put in a request for some SniperxYou (I bet you all are crapping bricks at this request right now, seeing as I'm usually going around and preaching my Medic fangirlism.). I'm surprised that there isn't more of it, especially since he's one of the more popular classes.

68 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2011-12-23 19:36

Whoops, forgot to put my name on >>67. Oh well.

Haha! My last three posts ended in the number 7. Jackpot!

But anyway, something I forgot to mention in the last post: Y'know what, fuck it. I think I might try my hand at writing a ClassxYou. I've been wanting to do so for quite a while, and some of the requests in the last few posts are kind of inspiring me.

69 . Name: Kino @ 2011-12-24 04:35

58 59
Okay. I admit it. I really liked these. Engie's characterization is awesome. Nothing more appealing than a shy guy.

70 . Name: teejie @ 2011-12-31 21:24

Would everyone hate me if I wrote Ms. Pauling/You?

71 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-01 03:31

>>70

on the contrary! You may want to email a mod first before posting stuff with tits in 'em, though.

72 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-01 11:47

>>71
There has been plenty of stuff on afanfic with tits, its not really frowned upon on this board.

73 . Name: Kilo !H3LM3TZ @ 2012-01-01 12:03

>>70
>>71
>>72

Anon 72 has it right. Tits are fine. I'm sure there are folks out there who would love to see Miss Pauling/you.

74 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2012-01-01 16:42

>>70
I wouldn't hate you for it. In fact, I'd be interested to read it, myself. I agree with >>71 though.

I don't get why people hate on Miss Pauling so much. I don't get why female characters get such a bad rap in general, really.

75 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-02 02:44

I agree that this thread needs more Sniper action, I'm seriously surprised at the lack of it.

Also, I'm a big fan of the Scoutxyou fics that have already been posted here, keep up the good work!

76 . Name: TeratoMarty @ 2012-01-03 12:23

I've unearthed an old Sniper/You fic. I've written bupkis lately, but could really use the ego boost that the chan's admiration/disgust will bring. My Captcha is "dguilto Harvard," reminding me that I've not written bupkis on my thesis, either.
---------------------------------------------------------
Dirty Trick

Laughing like kids and leaning against each other, you and the Sniper make your way back to his van. He lets you in, and you’re both grateful for the privacy and shade it affords as you grab each other. You wrap yourselves together in the tiny space, kissing deeply.

“So, this is the infamous van of ill repute?” you tease.

“I should hope it has quite a good reputation.” He quirks an eyebrow at you behind his shooting glasses, which have been knocked askew. You pluck them off his face so that you can look into his eyes.

“Some of the stories people tell about you...” you press against him.

“Like what?” he retorts, groping your ass.

“Like you kidnap people, keep ‘em tied up out here for weeks on end as you have your wicked way with them... over, and over, and over...” You rut against him in time with your words.

“And yet you came out here anyway.” He nuzzles your neck. “You fancy that kind of thing?”

“I do,” you admit. You notice that the camper is so narrow that there’s only room for either the bed or the table to fold down at one time. The table’s unfolded now, so you sit back on it to grin at him. “I want you to tie me up.”

The Australian blinks at you. “I... I have to admit, I’ve never done that for fun before.” He steps forward, seizing your wrists to pin your hands to the table. “I suppose I’m game, though.”

“Got any rope?” You run your foot up his leg.

He digs some rope out of his gear, then tears at your clothing in between kisses. It’s hot and dusty in the van, and exposing as much skin as possible to such breeze as the little windows admit is a blessing. The Sniper bows his head to lick the sweat from your chest, and you moan.

Despite his admitted inexperience, the Sniper makes a good effort, lashing your hands to the table’s hinges, spread out behind you, looping rope around your ankles and the table legs to put your genitals on display.

“That is a sight,” he says, staring hungrily down at you.

“You’ve really never done this before?”

“Why’re you so surprised?” He crosses his arms.

“The way you whisper, the way you slope around the place... seems like you’d be into all sort of perverted things.”

“What things?” he presses his face in beside yours, using his whisper to devastating effect. He lost his shirt at some point, you can smell the warmth of his body.

“Weird things! I don’t know... bondage, torture, piss...”

“Piss.” The word has no inflection.

“Most people don’t store theirs in jars, is all.”

The Sniper’s demeanour has changed utterly from the happy man who’d been nibbling on your ear. You sense you’ve crossed some kind of line. He turns on his heel and steps out of the van. Sitting by yourself, tied to his table, you realise that nobody knows where you are. You wonder what he’s doing out there.

You get your answer about a hundred and thirty seconds later, when the Sniper lets himself back in. He’s tugging up the zip on his dungarees and carrying a jar... The jar is full of tawny, slightly murky liquid.

“Oh god,” you giggle nervously, yanking the ropes. You catch sight of his savage smile. “Oh god no!” You reef on the ropes more sincerely.

“Oh, yes,” he whispers, a sound like a kukri ripping through raw silk. He unscrews the lid of the jar.

“No! No no no no no!” You can’t stop laughing- it isn’t funny a bit, and you’re still giggling as you struggle.

“Open wide...” he positions himself between your legs, dungarees bulging over his arousal as he tilts the jar toward your face.

“Oh god! No! Please! I’m sorry!” you gasp.

“Too late.” He lets a hot droplet fall on your cheek. You write as if stung, and he snarls with laughter. He tips the entire jar over you- your face, your chest, your crotch- as you scream and moan in horror. A mad light burns in his eyes as he grabs your hair, yanks your head backward. he licks the dripping liquid up from your sternum, off your neck and jaw, and kisses it into your mouth.

Gagging, snarling, you struggle, bite his tongue, and only then taste... lemon? He lets you pull back from the kiss as you lick your lips in perplexity. His sides are shaking with suppressed snickers until you shoot him a glare, at which point he erupts with full-bore laughter.

“It’s tea!” he manages between howls. “Lemon tea! I brew it in the sun on top’a the van!”

“You asshole!” You scream, trembling with rage and the effort of not laughing at your own situation, tied down and covered in tea. “You bastard! You utter... Australian... jerk!”

“Bloody Hell, the look on your face...” he leans in again, kissing tea off your cheeks.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” You’re starting to laugh, too.

“Well, you just seemed so disappointed that I wasn’t a weird, bent bastard, I had to make it up to you. It was the work of a moment to flick the teabags out onto the sand.”

“You assho-” you begin again, but he silences you by pressing his lips against yours, probing your mouth with his tongue. You want to wrap your arms around him, at least to wipe off some of the tea, but the rope holds you securely. The Sniper advances on you, caressing your face and tweaking your nipples. You moan and struggle against the ropes on your ankles; the Sniper pushes your legs wider to stand between them.

The lanky man reaches around you, grabbing a butter dish that had gotten shoved to the back of the table in all the excitement. He opens it, revealing yellow margarine rather than butter proper. In this heat, it’s sweated a thin sheen of oil. He digs blunt-nailed fingers into the margarine, squeezes it in his fist, then opens his fly and slicks the resulting grease over his cock. Your skin burns with the desire to touch him.

“You need me to loosen you up a bit?” He toys with the delicate skin between your legs.

“No, I can take it, please, now.” Thighs quivering, you can’t help but beg.

That’s all the permission that he needs. He hauls on your thighs, bringing your ass right to the edge of the table. His cock hadn’t looked that big, but it feels huge as he forces it past the tight ring of muscle. You cry out, but press your knees against him to hold him close.

“Oh, bloody Hell,” he pants, thrusting deep into you.

“Fuck,” you reply, and it’s all you can manage as you ride the pain into pleasure. Your head is resting on the camper wall, your spine is bent unnaturally, your arms are twisted... and it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. In the throes of his passion, the Sniper lifts your ass off the rickety table, supporting you in midair. He drives deep into you, mouth open, showing off sharp, white teeth- he is a beautiful beast. You realise that he’s coming, and that sets you off, as well. you can feel your internal muscles rippling around his erection, feel him shoving back against the resistance, every movement pleasuring both of you. You scream again, fingernails digging into the scarred edge of the table.

After an almost unbearably long moment, the Sniper sets you down on the table, relaxing, draping himself over you. You sigh, and are once again thwarted in embracing him. “Please, untie me?”

He undoes the ropes, then helps you upright in an embrace. As he mops himself off with a rag, you work out how to stow the table and unship the bed.

“Hope you’re not too disappointed,” he says sheepishly, “since I’m not the great pervert you were expecting.”

“Why would I be?” you ask, flopping down to wipe tea and sweat on his sheets. “You’re every bit as much of a bastard as they say.”

77 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-03 17:45

76 I've got the warm fuzzies for this fic. Playfull Sniper and all. Sniper could use more love in this topic, he is my favorite of the tf2 men.

78 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-03 19:28

Mnmnmnmnmn I like a lot of these. Are there any with You/Engineer? Any short ones?

79 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-03 22:38

>>76
Man I've been on tf2chan too long. When you said "bupkis" my first thought was "oh god, what kind of weird sex act is that." Cute story, I laughed

80 . Name: !Deleted @ 2012-01-04 01:45

This post has been deleted.

81 . Name: Mimi @ 2012-01-04 01:48

>>76 is one of my favorites. If TeratoMarty hadn't reposted the fic, I definitely would've myself next time this thread needed to be saved. I actually find the fucking here icing on the cake to the parody of the Sniper's reputation. For people NOT turned on by Jarate (like me), this fic here's a godsend.

>>58 and >>59

...I just realized right now that I complained about tentacle rape immediately before reposting and praising a fic that had both non-con and VERY quick Stockholm Syndrome. Everyone on this thread must think I'm a hypocrite now. Sorry?

Um...in my defense, brute tentacle rape takes no talent to write, while the fic I just reposted had clever prose and featured both manipulation and psychological skill? Can I use that as my defense?

82 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2012-01-04 15:37

>>81
Hey, it's no prob. There are exceptions to every rule. I would have probably ended up doing the same, had I happened upon that story.

83 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-10 11:47

Well... hi guys.

I have a YouxClass fic right here, PWP+threesome, almost finished. But i just don't know how i can end the damn thing without make it sound strange, haha.

I'm thinking of posting it anyway. What do you guys think? Can you stand an abrupt ending?

84 . Name: Iz @ 2012-01-10 12:27

>>83 So long as it's not 'And they made love, and she felt herself almost about to climax, then a meteor crashed into the earth and they died the end'.

And even then, if the journey is good....

Post away, my friend!

85 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-11 13:06

So, here it is, my first TF2 fanfic.
MedicxYou/ HeavyxYou, female version, PWP.

I hope you guys enjoy it. And please forgive any mistake or strange sentences (i don't have a beta and english is not my first language).

___________________________________________


“So, you really are a woman, hum?” Medic chuckled, touching your face, pulling you closer to his embrace, mouth, body. You could feel, at the same time – almost putting you in the mood completely, in a sweet frenzy of skin against skin – Heavy’s hands hovering through the back of your neck and your hair, gently, and yet clumsy, starting to travel to your back, passing the brim of your fire uniform – how could a man so big and strong be so kind inside a room, in a bed, with a woman by his side?
And how came I am in such situation? You ask yourself, closing your eyes, feeling lips capturing yours (and you can just tell whose mouth it is…). Oh, you can rewind the happenings of the past two weeks inside your mind (mouth invaded by a skilled tongue; tenderly, touching smoothly the inner walls of it, liking the tissue, massaging artfully your own tongue – this is Medic). You never were one of talk; you were never one of trust. Even before accepting the job of become an assassin in that insane army, you were already a famous and good soldier inside the underworld of crime and illegal warfare (your face turned almost roughly to the back, from the right, and the lips and tongue that entered yours are demanding and conqueror, exactly like the hands running your clothed shoulders; Heavy squeezed them with force, but not enough to hurt, just the right amount for you feel his need), and already worked under the rule that no one is worth believe or trust – by principle and by personal experience. Obviously seeing yourself inside an obscure base in the middle of nowhere, trapped with other 8 people – cold-blooded killers just like you; males, all of them, unlike you –, will not make you forget that and low your guard. You went on in your new job, unfamiliar to anything else, satisfied that you could do the only two things that really bring joy to your twisted existence: burn things up and kill (oh lord, the way they massage you through the weighty fabric of your uniform, fingers going up and down your body, passing through – barely, barely – your breasts, thighs, waist, backs; mouths anywhere of your exposed face; ghostly hand touches, since you almost can’t feel their heat because of the fabric…).
But they are there. It started with a smile. From Medic. With looks. It was almost like he could feel your gaze back to him, to the others comrades, under your inhuman gas mask. (you felt Heavy’s breaths leave your cheeks, then against your ear, seconds before he started to lick at it’s contour; at the same time, Medic slide his tongue again through your lips) How came to him that you felt necessity of a man’s touch, a physical contact, you had wondered in the first days, when you realized the purpose of that smile: it was an invinting curl of lips that sign words of encouraging during battles, greetings at the morning, during lunch. It was subtle and smooth, that the others members of the team didn’t take notice. Well, except one, of course. If Heavy and Medic wasn’t confabulating to get you in their beds, them you would not know how to explain the sudden requests of Heavy to get you all the time under their gazes, to help him with something, to discuss battles, or only have a talk. You didn’t know, too, that Heavy could hold that almost unnoticeable glint of… how define it?
Stay a little more, why not? You know.
“Pyro, want to make us company, today?” Medic said once, eyeing you; Heavy by your sides looking like he was not really paying attention, like he was just waiting something to happen; chuckled lightly, in a way that was not exactly scary, sounding more like he was having fun, but it had the tinge of some madness the others – you included – credit to him. It did not scare you, though. After that, you took the invite; you stayed with them, knowing where they are leading you. And then, a few nights after that, you don’t give a single damn for what inspired the man to get near you – the fierce and mysterious incendiary.
“Pyro, let’s take clothes off.” Heavy’s voice, deeper and hotter then it already is, come to you. At this, you opened your eyes abruptly, feeling your heart frozen behind your ribs. The hands of the great man started to open the security straps and bottoms of your uniform at your neck that moments ago he was just teasing. Medic, without a word, did the same with the belts and zipper at the front.
“Putting Little Pyro more comfortable first.” He laughed a little, but you stayed quiet, as the men worked you out of your uniform and military boots, leaving you in your panties, the long-sleeved black shirt, and the bandages you put as extra shield against the fire. Like… Firewall, you thought. Stupid unfunny joke, you thought, but oh, the idiot things you think when you are scared…
“That’s a problem, I don’t have anything with me that we can use to cut this straps” Medic said. He didn’t see bothered by them, though.
“Ah, yeah…I, hm” you started saying looking at them both “well, I guess I will take them off myself but it will take a while…” you felt like you are breaking all the atmosphere you three have been weaving these past weeks. You started do undo the knot you made at the bandages.
“Don’t worry.” Medic said, looking relaxed. “Let’s just say you want to make a little strip for us”.
When you are just about to wonder how in hell you could make this flustered fight against this tangled trap look like a hot tease show or something, Heavy grunted, looking angry, stood up and hovered over you – he seemed so massive and animalistic – putting you away of Medic and making you lay against the mattress. Then, growling something that sounded like “women always wear too much”, he ripped the bandages off of your legs, abdomen and arms, turning it into little shreds with his own bare hands and nothing more, exposing you almost completely to them. Now you are just with the damn shirt and the panties …you couldn’t be more humiliated. They are going to see it.
It is there, beginning at the middle of your pale left thigh. But, fortunately for you, Heavy was too much concentrated in get on his knees in front of you, between your own knees, and lick your thighs, to notice it. At least this is what you are musing, but then you stopped every logical thinking inside your mind.
He licked your skin, which suddenly is very sensitive and responsive. You mewled softly when one hand caressed the part he just moistened with his tongue, and the mew turned into a moan while the other massaged the junction between your tight and your crotch, fingers doing circular movements, teasing the brim of your panties; again: almost, almost, Heavy is getting under it, the tip of one big finger threatening to lift the fabric; and the skin it failed to cover there. He went through one thigh to another, then to your knees, lifting your leg with not so much finesse as his tongue passed wetly at the tendons, then back again, to join his fingers at the joint of your legs.
Medic, at the same time, got behind you and embraced you from behind, breathing along your more exposed neck, giving little kisses to it, while his hands – when did he take off his gloves? – make its way through your backs. You could feel – the fabric of your shirt is blessedly fine and sticked, like a second skin – the heat coming from them, their play with the clasp of your bra and your ribs from under the shirt. His hands, then, traveled to the front, tracing the lines of your thoracic bones until it reached your breasts. You couldn’t stop a sigh even if you wanted, as his fingers immediately find the nipples, and started to pinch them through the fabric. You looked down, to see that hands – not like Heavy’s, but still big and imponent over your lithe and little body – playing with the little buds, making them stood hard and small against the shirt, the shape totally visible, and then teasing with brushes of his fingertips, contouring skillfully the upright curve of your breast with the other fingers.
“I want to put my mouth over them, suck them” Medic whispered against your ear, and you could hear his demanding tone, his desire, and even his smile. He is having fun. “I want you naked, now”. Heavy must had the same idea, because he took his hands away from your hips and touched your shirt. Your heart frozen again and, suddenly, you lifted yourself, sitting in a position that you could see them both and said:
“You guys should take your clothes off too. It’s not fair I’m the only one naked here. Besides,” you are postponing it “it will feel better, don’t you agree?” you smiled what you hoped it was an encouraging smile and, above it, confident.
“No problem at all” Heavy simply took off his shirt, working in his belts, boots and pants quickly, and you couldn’t stop yourself from notice. He was so…so huge. In any aspect. His muscled hairy arms; with great and prominent contours and arcs, looking hard and strong; rivaled with his fat and rotund belly. His broad chest, which was very muscular too, is covered with hair that thinned and gone downwards his bellybutton, but not disappearing, and went into his briefs and join the… you gulped, feeling shivers through your body, thinking anticipatively what is waiting for you beyond that poor forced fabric…
“Help me, Pyro” Medic demanded, already taking off his vest and working in his tie. You snapped off of your thoughts and urged to him, eager to see what the doctor has to offer you… you are not disappointed when you saw his great shoulders and chest, his equally hairy body looking in shape for a man you almost don’t see doing hard work like caring around great weapons and equipments at the battlefield, and is always sitting behind his desk and surgical table. Like the hands, his body is not as big as Heavy’s, but still could cover and smash you with its size, masculinity, its strength…
You trembled, couldn’t wait anymore. You are afraid of what they will see, what they will think of you, if you could give them as much pleasure as they are so tenderly giving to you… but you feel all the excitement, all your arousal, traveling through you, going from between your legs, inside the slit, wet and throbbing, to your breast, shoulder, cheeks, then back to your belly and hips. When their hands – all the four –lifted your shirt and bra, making your breasts bouncing erotically even for you, you leaned into their inviting arms, caressing their bodies, pulling out your panties and tossing it somewhere, hearing their pants, feeling the hairs and little bumps of…scars.
Scars.
More exposed than ever – literally: you hadn’t been fully naked in front of anyone for many years, since the incident –, your burn and cut scars spread painfully upon almost all the upper part of your body, more at the left side, covering all your shoulder, going mercifully just at the beginning of your left breast, not so gently at your backs and abdomen. It went all the way down your arm, not sparing your hand, which lost some of its digits, nails and phalanx. It reaches your left thigh like a claw, and had a sick shade of pale pink.
“My god” Medic whispered, his hands now free from your shirt, caressing your boobs and licking them to the point of making the nipples stand up again. “You’re so beautiful, my dear girl”.
You stopped. It can’t be. You looked right inside the man’s blue eyes, getting away of his touch, chest constricted. You almost forgot what it means to be deeply rankled, and you could tell that it felt exactly like a stab. Is it some kind of elaborated cruel trick?
“How dare you? Repeat it, and I will fucking kill you.” You surprised yourself of how much of a balance between cold rage and profound wound your voice revealed.
Medic lifted his eyebrown, looking not really surprised with your attitude. But it was Heavy who came to you abruptly, holding you by your little wrists, and pulling you to a hug. Even in your pain, you couldn’t help the tingle of arousal when your sensitive naked areas touched and brushed against Heavy’s rough body, mixed with the harm the gesture brought to you. It feels so good, in both erotical and mentally ways. You almost melt in his big arms.
“Little Pyro don’t need to be ashamed. Has hot and beautiful body, sexy too, Doctor didn’t lie.” He chuckled, not seeing threatened by your voice “Heavy has big scars like you, all of us has, so, don’t be insulted”.
“B-but…yours isn’t…they don’t look disgusting…” You can’t believe you are at the verge of tears. You fight them back, successfully.
Medic caressed the curve of your slim waist, silence you with the touch.
“He is right, Pyro. None of us is perfect. But for me…” he snatched you from the Russian “…you couldn’t be more desirable, girl, and you don’t look disgusting” he chuckled, mouth looking for your lips “at all”. He kissed you, and you three are all back to that very first scene, the very beginning: the German claiming you from the front, Heavy working you from behind. The excitement, that has not disappeared, started to build up again.
Like it was in a connection with your mind, Medic said in a commanding and husky voice:
“Spread for us, Pyro. Now.” you don’t know how you could find his tone so hot, but you did “Let us take what we have wanted so badly from you”.
You are starving to obey, submissively, but first you pulled, at the same time, their remaining boxers, and revealed their erections. Not just because you didn’t reciprocate their touches – it was not because you didn’t want, but you are in such state of hypnotic arousal that you couldn’t help them – but because of their big bulges provoking you from behind their prisons. You fisted them, with shallow and hard movements, urging them to come closer and closer to you, to cover you with the shadow of their bodies, while you spread your legs hungrily, open as wide as you can, leaning against the matress. Their groans are loud and soundly now; the heads of their cocks are touching your body, like they are willing to fuck any skin or curves and folds of your body they could reach with the tip. You eye them famished: Heavy’s cock is monstrous, large and massive, matching his owner. You could barely jerk him off with your tiny hand – its great size is hovering over your belly and crotch, teasing. Medic’s is smaller, but still, you see, it is big and thick, with a delicious curvature upward. He was pushing it against your cheek and neck, grunting, the pre-cum somewhat watering your face; you could smell it.
“Yes, yes. Please, I can’t take anymore, want it now!” with that, you guided the German’s member to your mouth and started sucking excitedly.
“Oh, what a good girl…”
“Heavy first.” the man practically grunted the phrase to you, not entirely saying it, sitting between yours thighs, holding them wide open, and lined up his more than generous cock. In a thrust, he putted the throbbing tip inside of your vagina, its size already massaging all your opening, their lips, smashing and stimulating the clitoris above without effort. With a long and masculine moan, looking to your lips around the Medic’s erection, he went further; accommodating the great shaft in a motion, opening your canal and cervix.
Even if it hurts a little, you started to buck your hips with some difficult due to your position; what you couldn’t do is wait. Fortunately, Heavy too, because he started to roughly push inside you, moving his hips too, reaching a pace that is powerful and fast. He is so strong he makes your entire body rock back and fourth, your thighs hitting his fat belly, your breasts bouncing up and down almost to the point of being sore; but Medic settle it for you. He took himself off of your mouth – you felt almost sad; its size filling it, your tongue massaging the member, being so welcomed and you wanted it so badly… – a strain of saliva doing a shining way from your mouth to your breasts. He started to rub his big cock against your boobs, and you helped him, holding then together so he can teasing both at the same time easily, the nipples touching the head of the member, then brushing through all its length. You see Medic lick his lips while appreciate the vision of your body trapped between himself and the Heavy. The scars are nothing now, just another part of yourself that just exist, and that was all...
“Oh my god” you begin, closing your eyes as the strong physical sensations at your abused slit irradiated through the sensitive spots of your body, making you feel like you are fluttering, like your skin is covered by electrical shivers. Your nipples are harder than ever, the inner walls of your vagina felt incredible heated and you couldn’t help but moaning incoherent things and mewling to make some vocal translation of your pleasure…
“I can’t hold…I will…I’m about to…fuck! I’m…!” the orgasm hit you not abruptly, as you felt the sensations boiling and growing up, then reaching its summit, making the muscles of your vagina constrict and throb; you could feel then squeeze Heavy’s cock deliciously.
“Oh, so early, little Pyro?” Heavy managed to laugh a little, teasing with effort, hips increasing the motion. He was not unaffected by your body’s reaction to your orgasm. “But Heavy’s not done…”
“Oh, oh no…me neither… I can still feel… feel so much, Heavy, don’t stop…” you signed happily, moving your hips in the same time with Heavy’s, hands clutching the fabric of the bed and a vestige of a smile forming in your lips. It is true, you could still feel the eager, and you could still feel the same stimulation from the moment before your climax. It was like it is starting over again, but from the moment your body was coated with the pleasure; not from the beginning, when it was still getting stronger.
“Let me, then.” Medic said, and you noticed that his voice slightly trembled “It is my turn”.
When you whispered “come”, with your eyes closed, you feel the great Heavy sliding out of you – so opened up, so empty – and, in a few second, being stretched again. Oh, how come you still can feel yourself small and tight around someone after the Russian? But what took you from surprise is that Medic’s cock massaged forcefully and with precision not only your clitoris, but a little spot lost above the upper wall of your cervix, with the curve of his penis. And it looked like he knows exactly what he is doing, because he hit that over and over again, with a curious motion of his hips at the same time he holds at your slender waist, rolling…
“Ah, god.”
And the Medic lost it inside of you: he suddenly is totally above you, covering, pressing you almost brutally against the bed, your tights so opened against his crotch that you feel the force upon the joints of your legs, breast swelled and smashed against his chest and abdomen and his arms wrapped around your slender form forcefully, like he wanted your body to disappear into his. His moans are loud and incoherent, sending laborious breath against your ear.
You are not different. Being pressed and dominated like that, matching with the incredible and intense amounts of pleasure the man is burying inside your body make you as strayed for the Medic as he is for you. You are practically shouting under the man, face against his strong shoulder, feeling completely his hot skin… now, you are on the verge; you can feel again and…
What is he doing? He stopped his ministrations, rolled his body a little, bringing you with him, making you both lay by your right sides at the bed, exposing your spread buttocks. You feel, then, the Heavy get behind you, his fat belly pressed to your backs. Now you are sweetly trapped in the middle of those manly and hot bodies.
Suddenly, the immense Russian’s cock threatening your behinds. He murmured:
“Need it too.” You feel him holding that great head against your fissure, brushing it “ Heavy will be inside of you from behind, them”.
“N-no”, you say softly, feeling like your voice is dying due to the sudden panic you felt, mixed with the intense pleasure. You never have done it, and you want it to remain like that “No, wait, not in there…”
For a terrible second, you thought he will just ignore you and go ahead with it. You are at their mercy, he could easily fuck you pitilessly against the body of the other man and not give a single damn. But he stands still, masturbating his cock just to not let that delicious state of arousal fade away, looking at you with impatient expectation. And just when you are about to invite them both to change their position so you could pleasure the big man with your mouth, Medic touched Heavy’s shoulder:
“Here, quick.” he withdraw his cock and lifted your left leg, making your slit more open. He trembles against you. He is nearly there, you can tell, he just has to work his member a little more inside of you and then…
Heavy do what is said to him and you feel his cock slide inside of you unceremonious, and immediately start with that rapid and powerful movement he uses, holding you tightly like Medic with one arm hand, while the other holds your hips against him and his shaft. He grunts loud against the top of your head, and you can say now that he joined you and Medic at that edge, that incredible and agonizing almost-there sensation that blank your mind and make your body weak…
“Heavy.” the German man didn’t had to murmur more than that to Heavy, and you squeal when the man rapidly take his cock off of your vagina and it is promptly and roughly filled with Medic’s eager cock, who continues with the bouncing and brutal motions Heavy was using, moaning loud. You grab at them – now you just didn’t know who exactly and which part of them you are holding yourself, you just want to feel their skin more and more while you cry out again when these men take turns inside of your thigh and abused slit, rolling your hips against their members, feeling yourself full and stimulated, then suddenly empty and famished, and then again filled with a throbbed and invasive shaft for blessed and restless seconds, then nothing one more time and –
“God, I can’t take anymore...” Medic says in a voice you can barely recognize, but you don’t care; one last movement, one little motion you would join the man in the release. You hold his shoulder vigorously, and say to him, in a most desperate tone, hips glued to his crotch and that big cocking burying deeply with your movement, opening up and touching and brushing everything inside you, in there:
“Stay inside, stay inside, don’t, I’m almost…Medic, I’m…!” you hear his mix of moan and pant at the same time you feel streams of hot liquid spilling inside your hot and sensitive walls of your cervix, bathing it; you are mewling loud while your climax take your whole body, heating all of you, making you arch your back and throw your head at heavy’s chest, and your muscles are so tense and rigid against the man’s cock in a delicious way that almost hurt.
“Me, me now” Heavy said in a demanding and husky voice that makes him almost sound furious, and even if he is not, you obeyed immediately, your orgasm still taking your body like a weave. You need the Russian badly to keep going:
“Come, oh god, come here, inside!” you take Medic off of you; a thick line of semen dripping from his cock head connecting it to your vagina is cut out by your movement, and the white substance drips from your vulva; and the Heavy impale you brutally, riding and grunting, hold your hips with his powerful hands and not caring that he is bruising you. But you don’t neither when his massive cock relight the remainder of your orgasm, making the weave that is washing your body strong and alive again, and you push your hips, your buttocks smashed against the man’s own hips, while you roll and moan, feeling the heat and the shiver again in your skin as a new gush of hot cum floods your insides.
You three stayed there, panting, while the vestige of the climax is slowly vanishing. You're about to fall sleep contented between the two man; not bothering to stay with them at the rest of the night; when Medic touched your giant scar. But you didn’t care. Not anymore:
“It still hurts?” he asked, out of the blue.
You give him a little smile.
“Sometimes, when the weather is becoming heavy. It’s sensitive to the atmosphere changes, I guess.”
“I can fix this for you, if you want. With a little surgery I developed with my Medigun, which have deep healing effects, it will not hurt anymore” he said, kissing your left shoulder carefully. Heavy did the same thing. You could feel his satisfied smile against the excessively sensitive skin of the wound “I can even make it disappear, too. What do you think? Want me to?”
You closed your eyes slowly, pulling both the men near to you.
“No,it won’t be necessary.”

86 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-11 13:12

I knew it. I knew i shouldn't have chosen that art-something formating type option. DDD>

I'm so stupid

87 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-12 19:08

A couple of little spelling mistakes, but I did very much enjoy your work. You have made a fantastic start and I hope you continue! Maybe getting yourself a beta reader will help with the little errors, but other then that, very effective. Thank you.

88 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-12 22:52

I am H.A.P.P.Y

Glad to see that you enjoyed my style...and yeah, i'm considering ask someone around here to be my beta, although i'm too shy for it.

I'm working in three more fanfics, but they aren't one-shots, so its going to be a while until i post something more again. Its going to be yaoi, i promise!

89 . Name: Mimi @ 2012-01-15 16:21

>>88

I think you made a lot of people very H.A.P.P.Y with your fic, Anon. I spent late December hoping the next few stories would have a Heavy/Medic/Threesome to match the Sniper/Spy/Threesome earlier in the thread, and voila! My wishing apparently worked!

I'd suggest using less clinical words like "cervix," but the creative sex and genuine tenderness more than makes up for the occasional odd word choice. All-in-all a very hot fic, and I hope you keep writing.

90 . Name: Mimi @ 2012-01-23 20:20

(Oh god, real life is giving me such a migraine. Fuck preparing for organic chemistry. I need to do something happy, like saving one of my favorite threads! This repost is written by Auemm. Consider it the sweet counterbalance to the last Engie/You fic I reposted.)


"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."

91 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-24 18:01

>>90

This one was beautiful and so sad. I know her feeling, or I guess... My feeling? Hmm. Whatever, I can relate to this story almost perfectly is the point. Thank you for reposting it!

92 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-01-25 12:28

>>90

Oh my God, get out of my head. I have wanted this for sooo long, without even making a prompt or anything, and here you go fulfilling my deepest, darkest secret desires.
DAMN YOU.

93 . Name: Mimi @ 2012-01-25 20:14

Just so everyone knows, I don't know how many more reposts I can make to keep saving this thread. Just off the top of my head, I remember only one more that I really like. Just a warning.

>>91

That's so sweet~ I'm glad you could relate to this. I'd argue that this fic is the most relatable because anyone who's ever been in a long distance relationship should be able to understand it. Whereas most people have never tied someone to a chair or walked in on the Sniper and Spy and had a sudden threesome.

...not that either of those are bad things.

>>92

Eep! Don't blame me! Blame Auemm! S/he's the one with the psychic powers who apparently got into your head! I'm innocent, I swear! ;)

94 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-02-06 03:56

I actually really like this story. I'm usually Not for the whole rape/non-con what ever you want to call it but I like it for the character. One thing that would be interesting to see (though this may Already be planned out) is pyro's struggle with gender since he sees himself as a man, but the others only view him as a female to exploit.

Again I like the story though it's very dark and makes me want to kick some major ass. I hope in future chapters something good happens to little pyro

95 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-02-06 05:53

85
If you would like, OP, I would love to have a go at beta reading your fic. That is, if you actually would WANT a beta.

It's so fantastic-o that I can't keep my mouth shut to avoid volunteering. Email me if you're interested.
If you would prefer a named person to beta instead though, that's completely understandable!

96 . Name: Mimi @ 2012-02-21 20:42

Today was actually a good creative writing day for me! I think I'll round off the day with a repost to save one of my favorite threads!

Since this thread has zero voyeur fics, might as well add one.

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

(Written by Pen Name)

Sniper was bored.

Sure, he could have been downstairs, yucking it up with the rest of the team, but Sniper wasn't a very social guy. The man was painfully awkward. He much preferred to hole up in his nest and practice his aim on small nocturnal animals roaming about the dusty courtyard. Sniper's elevated nest was on the far east side of the L shaped building, giving him a good view of both the enemies base and his own. The only light from either came from the main halls. All the windows for the bedrooms were dark. 10:30 was still far too early for bed for most of the team.

Sniper clipped a rabbit as it darted from one shrub to another.

This is were you came in. Having never been much of a party person yourself, you excused yourself after a few drinks. You were no where near drunk, only a little light headed, and you figured you would fall asleep easily. A short, quiet walk brought you to your room in the west wing of the building. You opened the door, flicked on the light, and stepped inside.

Sniper took notice. He lifted his scope to your window, out of curiosity, and watched your close your bedroom door and shuffle about your room. He was immediately fascinated, and, as such, felt a little guilty. He really shouldn't be spying... at least not on a teammate...

But Sniper didn't lower his scope. He reassured himself that watching did no harm. He convinced himself that he was doing nothing wrong, even as you took off your shirt.

You casually tossed your shirt to the pile of laundry against the wall. You yawned and stretched, and Sniper, on the other side of the base, made careful observation of the contours of your body as you did so. He bit his lip gently as another pang of guilt struck him. You hooked your hands onto your waistband, lowering it just slightly before pausing. You were pausing almost as though to give Sniper a chance to think, but really, you were looking intently at the wall beside you, distracted by a chip in the paint or some such nonsense.

Sniper bit his lip a little harder, his thoughts battling. He stared again at your torso, watching your soft breathing, until his eyes traveled down to your partially exposed hips. He felt a small rush of heat in his cheeks.

/Hurry it up, wankah..../

Practically on cue, you continued to undress. You bent over, tugging your pants to your ankles and kicking them off into the laundry pile. Sniper's face flushed and he decided that, guilty or not, he was enjoying himself. One hand held his rifle steady while the other tugged at the buttons of his shirt. He felt very warm.

Meanwhile, you need pajamas. A dresser, in view of the window, sat against the wall. PJ's were in the bottom drawer.

Sniper had unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down just enough. His hand touched cautiously while his brain still debated slightly as to the morality, though, to be honest, the element of guilt was only getting him more excited.

You were having trouble finding a top to go with your pajama pants.

Sniper found a slow, steady rhythm, more caressing than jerking. He was careful not to shake his view through your window. A warm up, really. His focus was more on watching you at the moment. He observed how your ass moved when you shifted your weight. He admired the smooth back of your legs, one bent, one locked. And when you finally stood up, placing the set of fabric on top of the dresser, he relished the movement and the fact that he could see it without your knowledge.

You turned around and leaned against the dresser, facing the window. You smiled, making Sniper's heart jump. He was suddenly very grateful that the light in his own room was turned off.

And what you did next made him twice as glad he was hidden.

Your hand was in your underpants, setting to work very quickly. You were biting down tightly on your lip. Sniper's eye's widened and his mouth hung ajar. You free hand braced yourself against the dresser, curling and uncurling into a fist. You managed to shimmy your undies out of the way; they now stretched between your thighs. You fingers were soon slick and damp as they alternated between almost violent movements and soft, tantalizing touches.

Sniper couldn't believe his damn eyes. He quickly matched his own pace to yours, struggling to keep his view steady. Your mouth would open to into moans that his ears strained in vain to hear. You face was painted red and it was clear you were panting and muttering. Sniper saw your body begin to tense. You were getting close.

His heart raced. His breathing was ragged and it was all he could do to keep watching and not double over into his own climax. He wanted to time it just right.

You squeezed your eyes shut into an expression of determined concentration. Your hips drew forward into your hand. Your spine tried it's hardest to arch against the dresser at you back. You threw your head back. Sniper jerked his eyes away from the scope, shutting them tightly. His hand moved at a furious pace.

You took in a sharp breathe.

Sniper choked out your name.

The timing was almost exact, although neither of you would know that.


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

The next morning, you caught Sniper off his guard, kissing him smartly on the lips. The huntsman's look of shock, bliss, confusion, and terror was ungodly satisfying. He stammered out a question or two, but none of them were coherent enough to be answered so you slapped on another kiss to shut him up.

"I saw the dot, stupid." You laughed, curling your arms around his neck. "Glad you approve."

97 . Name: Mimi @ 2012-02-21 20:50

But seriously, we need new fanfics to keep saving this thread. There's really only one more I've saved that I'd like to repost.

...maybe I should write a Class/You fic!

>>66's request gave me some weird ideas, but I honestly have more confidence and experience writing original material than I do fanfic porn...

98 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-02-22 01:31

97
I'm deeply tempted to go back to this HeavyxYou fic I've been fiddling around with for some time now. I'm not much of a skilled writer at all, but writing porn sure beats writing term papers.

99 . Name: Soda Pop @ 2012-02-23 04:15

>>97

I would totally want to see a You/Medic fic! Just add a female version as well. Bonus points if Medic uses a Disciplinary Action. I can't seem to get enough of that.

I'd write one, but I can barely write well enough to even post on Marysuetopia.

100 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-02-23 14:10

I absolutely love these class/you fictions, especially the Medic/You ones.

They have been a guilty pleasure of mine for a very long time and would shamefully love to see more

101 . Name: Cyan @ 2012-02-29 21:23

I have been posting some small Scout x You / You x Scout ficlets on my tumblr (writingcyan.tumblr.com) that I didn’t think were large enough to share in this thread. But I was asked to do so anyway by a dear friend of mine, so here’s a collection of my current pieces. Some are explicit, others not, and the formats and gender vary. I hope this is okay.

-----

Pancakes
Inspired by a sketch by Jannelle-o of Scout eating pancakes.

Watching Scout eat pancakes is more appealing than perhaps it should be.

You can tell how much he enjoys every bite, folding his mouth carefully around the still-warm vanilla-and-honey pieces, catching the drops of golden maple syrup with his lower lip and wiping them off his chin with a finger. He licks it clean, slowly, makes sure he gets all of the sweet sticky residue, even spreads two fingers in a V to let his tongue dart between them. It looks obscene, makes you writhe on your chair, and you wonder how Scout, who has mastered the single-entendre and turns everything into an innuendo without even knowing the word, doesn’t realise what he’s doing.

“You really like pancakes, huh?” you ask him. He looks up, startled, so lost in sugary bliss that he’s forgotten your presence.

“Oh yeah!” he says, muffled, then swallows and flashes you a smile. “You want some?”

The offer surprises you; he usually doesn’t share with anyone. He’s more surprised still, when you reach over to grab the fork and its speared gold-dripping treat out of his hand—and bring the hand, not the fork, to your lips. You brush against his fingertips, featherlight, taste the syrup still clinging to the skin, sweetness and salt. You want more.

He stares at you, wide-eyed, wild-eyed, as your lips part fully and you suck in two of his fingers, swirl your tongue around them, swallow down until his knuckles are past your front teeth and there can be absolutely no doubt about your meaning. When you finally let him go he’s panting, and there’s a thin string of spit still connecting you until he pulls back and snaps it.

“Yeah, I want some,” you breathe, looking him straight in the eyes, and for once he’s completely, utterly speechless. It makes you smile slyly to see the slack-jawed look on his face. When you stand up and start walking towards his room, it takes a second for him to scramble enough coherency to push back his chair, and even then he almost tips himself over backwards in his urgency.

“Don’t forget the syrup!” you purr. He doesn’t.

The half-eaten pancakes cool on the table, unfinished.

-----

Outscouting
I got into a TMI Scout war with a friend on tumblr; basically we ended up sending each other more and more outrageous snippets of Scout porn. He made a line about being ‘outscouted’, so I sent him this.

He likes outscouting you. He likes fucking you. Every time he tells you he ain’t no fag and it’s only cuz you’re both stuck out here away from all the pretty girls he has in Boston, only cuz his hand gets so fuckin’ boring, only cuz it’s you, and that last off-hand remark makes you turn away so he doesn’t see the heated blush in your cheeks.

It shouldn’t mean anything to you, either of you, just a quick rut and a fuck you for goodbye, but it says something that he’s the one with the tube of lube in his pocket.

Sometimes, when it’s been a while, he doesn’t even bother with the posturing; he presses you back, into an unused room, behind a stack of crates out of the way of the fighting, presses against you, his face buried in the crook of your neck and his arms tight around you, and when he finally presses up into you there’s a desperation in him not born of horniness. There’s no swearing, no grabbing your hair as he fucks you, no do you like that, bitch, just soft sounds, a breathy yeah, yeah, yeah, just him curled around you almost protectively, rocking you in his lap.

On those days you always let him come first so you can watch the expression on his face when he does, and it’s a matter of a minute to get yourself off after, with his breathing still heavy in your ear and his legs still trembling under you.

You like it when he fucks you every day, when it’s more than once during a battle, when you can still feel the stickiness of him as you make off with their intel, but sometimes it’s worth holding out just so you can get this gentleness too, his way of saying I missed you.

-----

Scout Porn Torture
Sometimes when I chat with male TF2 gamers on Steam, I like to tease them about the whole fandom thing. Most are pretty gracious about it... others have the most hilarious reactions. Here’s an excerpt from a chat that apparently should be banned under the Geneva Convention. (I hope the mods won't take offence to the chat format; the reactions are half the fun.)

Anon: BUT I HATE SCOUT.

Cyan: I’m sure Scout has a very talented mouth, though. He talks all the time. He could put it to better use, I think…

Anon: AWUSHNFGMDFPL;GFH

Cyan: I think he would love to, too. He seems like the kind of guy who’d love to lick all the way down your body, under the covers, going all quiet…

Cyan: And very hands-on too. Touching everywhere, then gripping your thighs and spreading them so he could get down there, fit his shoulders between your legs, your feet against the small of his back…

Anon: What

Anon: He’d get kicked

Cyan: No, I think you’d be in no position to be kicking when he got his mouth on you. Writhing, maybe, fisting your hands in the sheets, jerking when he took you all in…

Anon: I do NOT like it!

Cyan: Aw, but you would. Think about it, grabbing his hair and pulling him against you, fucking his face…

Anon: No.

Cyan: Oh yeah? What could be better than coming with Scout’s mouth on you, letting him taste you and lap it all up with that talented tongue of his?

Cyan: It wouldn’t take much to drive him crazy anyway. He’d love it, anything you’d care to do to him. He’d be a little slut for you.

Anon: I would ONLY beat him up…

Cyan: You wouldn’t be tempted at all? With him lying under you, held down by your weight and the grip of your fists around his wrists, bloody-lipped and black-eyed, you wouldn’t be tempted to slide down his pant a couple of centimetres and fuck him slowly on the floor until you could feel the carpet-burns on your knees and elbows and he was clenching hard around you…?

Anon: … No.

Anon: *Not amused look on his face*

Cyan: You have to answer. Or I’ll write you more Scout porn

Anon: Who says I will READ

Cyan: Oh, you will… Lovely, detailed descriptions of him licking you, gently spreading your legs while you bury your face in a pillow so he can run his tongue over your ass, teasing it, maybe trying to lick his way inside before rubbing a finger over you and sliding it in, slick with spit…

Anon: Gahhhhhh!!!

Cyan: You’d love his hands, so strong, callused from gripping the rough wood of a bat and the hard, worn leather of baseballs, now rubbing a thumb slowly over your own balls before sucking them into his warm, wet, willing mouth…

Anon: Stay away scout

Cyan: Oh, but his fingers inside your ass, think of that. Slowly stretching you open, that hot burn where it’s almost too much, but he needs to prepare you because he’s so, so hard and he wants to fuck you, you can hear it in his breathing, the way he gasps against your skin…

Anon: But I already answered you.

Cyan: He just likes it. It feels good to him, that gentle suction on his fingers when you moan and clench around his knuckles.

Anon: Stop mentally and physically torturing me I answered you!

-----

Anon Scout Porn
One late night I was bored. A person I follow on tumblr made a comment that was a perfect setup for teasing her, and so over the next two nights I kept sending her these anon Scout porn messages. She found me out in the end, though.

”I heard ya talkin’ to your friends.” It isn’t the opening you expected, but then you didn’t expect him to come over at all, and… oh god. Oh god no. You hide your blushing face in your hands as he continues, in a mad dash for words like he’s nervous too: ”Shit gets lonely out here, and… let’s just say I know everythin’ about jerkin’ off. And yeah, I know what it’s like. If I couldn’t get myself off I’d be climbin’ the fuckin’ walls by now! So I wanted to ask… would ya like me to teach ya?”

Scout’s room is small and cramped, and smells like unwashed socks, but you don’t care when he pulls the bedcovers up around you both. You’re still dressed, and so is he, but this close you can feel the heat of him, feel how fast his heart is hammering, and his hand shakes a little when he slides it over and unbuttons your jeans. “Relax,” he says, feeling you tense, “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ but this…” His hand closes around yours, rough gauze on sensitive skin, and guides it downwards…

But it’s difficult to relax when you feel the soft satin of your panties under your own fingertips. His hand is still on yours, but he spreads his fingers, longer than yours, stronger, and brushes them over the delicate lace edging, like he wants to feel that. His breath is hot in your ear where he leans against you, so close. You’re both going by feel, together, sliding your hands into the narrow gap between smooth silk and coarse denim, and it’s a tight fit, almost too tight, but oh… oh…

It’s so warm there, as he guides your hand to follow the soft curve under your jeans to where you suddenly know you want it to go, like the core of you is blazing, blushing, burning with this strange desire for the gentle touch of fingertips through your panties. He goes slow, his hand enveloping yours, one of his fingers urging one of yours to press down through the thin fabric and feel the way you part around it, a shallow dip. He rolls his finger and you do too, and moan into his shoulder…

He’s breathing with you like this is getting to him too, like he’s been running a four-minute mile, but all he’s moving is that one finger. It’s all you can feel too, his arm around you, holding you close, holding you down when your legs jerk and your back tries to arch away from the mattress. “Yeah,” he’s whispering, panting, “yeah, that’s fuckin’ it, you’re fuckin’ doin’ it now, Christ that’s good…” and there’s almost a whine in his voice, a note of desperation to match your ragged gasps…

It’s almost too much, too intense, like you can’t breathe with that constant pressure against the most sensitive part of you, the hard, fast pace of your fingers on yourself and his on yours. He’s merciless too, won’t let you stop, or slow, or shift away. You know your hair is a mess, your cheeks blushing furiously, your lips sore from where you’re biting them hard to keep from screaming, but he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re here, with him, in his bed, moaning his name…

It would be cute, but you’re too far gone to appreciate it now, clenching your legs around his hand and yours, writhing on his sheets, fisting your other hand into the Red Sox bed blanket to hold onto your sanity just a moment longer, because oh, oh, oh, you can’t, you can’t, it’s too much, you can’t breathe, and Scout’s voice is a rasp like he’s struggling too, a ceaseless mantra of ‘fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah, come on, do it’, and you don’t even know who’s clinging to who anymore…

And there it is, the breathless moment, the eternity outside of time balancing on that precipice, that knife’s edge of oblivion, all agony and orgiastic pleasure intermingling, undoing, and orgasm washes over you, roars in your ears, pounds in your blood. You think you might be screaming, every muscle trembling from tension, and it’s everything you never imagined, pure raw physicality. Nothing could have prepared you for this… or for Scout’s awestruck ‘wow’ in the quiet after.

He holds you close as you come down, still shaking, relaxing into bonelessness in his embrace. All you can hear in the room is the both of you breathing and the rustle of linen as he snuggles closer, burying his face against your neck. He’s so close he can probably taste the salt sweat on your skin, but you don’t mind. His hand is still down your pants, still holding yours, a strangely innocent gesture after all you’ve just done, and you can’t help but smile.

“That was… pretty fuckin’ awesome,” Scout says, muffled, his lips brushing over the pulse point of your throat. “Mm,” you reply, not even a real answer, just a content hum. The bed is warm, and soft, and you’re not sure your legs are working just yet, and it’s so tempting to curl up against him that you don’t bother fighting the impulse. His other arm slips around you, pulling you against him, and oh… It’s suddenly hard not to notice that he’s not as cool about this as he’s pretending to be.

He presses against you, hard through his pants, before realising what he’s doing, and the expression of embarrassment on his face as he shifts back is just too adorable. You laugh, a soft sound of amusement that makes him blush even harder, and stroke his hand on your panties. “I didn’t know there’d be a test,” you say, keeping your voice low. “Wanna find out if I’ve learned anything today?” You’re trying for sultry, but you can’t help laughing again as his mouth drops open in utter disbelief.

“Ya’d do that?” he asks, and it comes out as a high-pitched squeak. He looks away, coughs, then continues in what he probably imagines to be a manlier tone. “I mean, yeah, that’d be cool. If you wanna.” He’s trying so hard to sound casual, to pretend he’s totally not pressing the hardness between you against your hip, but you can tell how desperate he is by the way he keeps swallowing dryly and licking his lips, how he’s holding your hand just a little bit tighter, his palm sweaty against yours.

“Yeah, I wanna,” you tell him, turning your head to steal a kiss just as his tongue darts out again, and it’s flattering to see him so flustered. You fold your fingers around his and lift his hand away, and for a moment you miss the contact, the warmth and weight of him there. He’s warm where you touch him too, slipping your fingers inside his waistband, under his belt, feeling smooth skin over flat, toned muscles and coarse hair when you delve further down to bury your fingers through it.

“Fuck,” Scout says, breathless, struggling to undo the button with your hand in the way. He fumbles it open, finally, but you’re the one who inch down his zipper from inside. He’s wearing briefs, white, and the thin cotton does little to hide the bulge it barely contains. He sighs in relief as you open his fly, but it turns into a choked gasp when your thumb stroke the full length of him on the return, lingering at the top. “So,” you say, looking coyly up at him, “wanna show me how it’s done?”

He nods, for once lost for words, and guides your hand to close around him. The angle is awkward and the fabric between your palm and his skin is too rough to slide smoothly, but you can feel how hard he is, how he fits into your hand perfectly. His hand is on top of yours again, urging you to move. You do, slowly at first, and he draws in a sharp breath and twitches against you, bites his lip with those cute buckteeth of his to keep from making embarrassing noises and still can’t help doing it.

“Oh yeah,” he moans, sucking lightly on the sensitive spot just below your ear and making you shiver, “yeah, that’s it, you’re a freakin’ natural.” Encouraged, you start playing with him, tightening on the upstroke, running your thumb over the top of his erection and nuzzling the slight dip in the fabric there. He’s rolling his hips ever so slightly, pushing himself into your grasp, fucking the embrace of your hand, and he so, so lost in you, holding on to you like he’s never letting go again.

Touching yourself for the first time felt good, amazing, but touching him is, to your surprise, just as mind-blowing. To feel him tremble against you, knowing you’re the one doing this to him, making him feel this, the cause of those sharp gasps against your neck, that’s a new kind of pleasure you never knew before. You wonder if he did. Maybe he does know everything about masturbating, but your hand might be the first on him that isn’t his own. It’s a thought that makes your heart skip a beat.

His breathing is so loud in your ear that you can’t hear anything else. Maybe you’re moaning too, but you don’t care. He’s making you move faster now, thrusting into your hand as you clutch him tightly through his briefs, and then, fuck it, you don’t care anymore… your hand slips away from his, up and under the elastic, inside. The heat of his bare skin on yours is shocking, slick with sweat, and the noise he makes in your ear now is nothing more than a strangled whine, so soft and desperate.

He chokes on it, the sweetest sound, and then he’s coming into your hand and oh, oh yeah, fuck if that isn’t the best feeling ever, warm and wet and all over you, and he’s almost sobbing into your shoulder, overcome, undone by you. You let him ride out that wave of mindless ecstasy, feel the last of his completion drip down you wrist with syrupy slowness, gluing you together. It’s weird, the stickiness of it, unfamiliar, but so worth it when he lifts your chin and locks your lips together.

The kiss starts out hot and desperate, your teeth clicking against his awkwardly at first, but then you both find the rhythm of it and relax into each other. He licks your lower lip, worries it lightly with his teeth, pull you close with his hands smoothing the mess of your hair. It’s a long time before he lets you go again, and when he does the smile on his face could light up a room and it’s all for you. “That was…” he whispers, and you finish for him, smiling too: “…fuckin’ amazing.”

He grins and kisses you again. “Yeah.” You both really need to get cleaned up, you’re filthy, sweaty and sticky, but this is a perfect moment. He leans over you to grab a tissue out of the box on his nightstand, and, well, maybe he really is an expert at jerking off, keeping that there. It’s handy now, though. He wipes off your hand for you, then just holds it, his fingers slowly entwining with yours. He’s smiling, and you are too, and neither of you leave the bed for a long, long time. /END.

-----

I hope this ficlet/chat dump isn’t against the ‘chan rules. Mods, please let me know if it is. And I’ll be posting more when I write it; the Class/You format has certainly grown on me recently, so I doubt these will be my last submissions to this thread. Thanks for reading!

102 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-01 02:11

Oh wow. Cyan, you have an amazing talent. Seriously, those were hot. Never stop.

103 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-02 18:04

>>101

...you. You just won the entire internet... Well played, damn you, well played.

104 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-04 03:05

fic from the old "<class> and you

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.
-----------------------------------------

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.

________________________________________
"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.

________________________________________
"'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.

________________________________________
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.

________________________________________
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!"

________________________________________
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.

________________________________________
"'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.

105 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-10 21:43

Anyone know of a certain Engineer and You fic?
I think it might of been the first class and you fic to be made, i'm not quite sure...

106 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-11 19:15

I DEMAND MORE SOLDIE X YOU.

107 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-12 03:47

We need some more you and class fics. Especially youxmedic or youxpyro.

108 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-12 15:23

>>105
I think the one you are thinking of is called "sweet dreams".

109 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-21 06:13

104 It's called Lovely Hazel by EatingClouds
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5717539/1/

110 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-21 06:17

Another one by EatingClouds called Secret Waltz. With author's notes
~~~~~


Rawr. Im back with vengence, and a knife!

Yes, a Spy and You story. I already had started typing this then stopped and thought "Why the hell not?" and finished it...

And yes, I have nothing better to do...

Team Fortress is property of Valve, and this is just a mere fan made story.

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 your 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 havent 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 your stunned to know how much it effects 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 contiunes 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 sqeak 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 plaer. A door with a tiny window near it's 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; amost new. Across from it was an extremely old table with it's corners chipped and eveything. 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 there 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 your gonna make it until you hit an unseen wall. You let out a grunt and suddenly your rammed into the wall with a hand on your shoulder. Your 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 wont tell..." It's all you could let out, being interrogated by someone as cool and suductive 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 wont 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 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 mimick 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 to..." 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 the 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 your 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 ambles 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. Conitinuing down the hallway, you dream of the possibilities of tomorrow.

There it was. The door thats lead 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 would'nt 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 your 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 alot 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 facepalm your head; your sober and your 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 comrads. 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 thats 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 to occupied with their lives to notice you two leaving the table together. You've already fallen head over heels for him but your 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 lets out laugh and you 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 flungs 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.

"Lets move zhe table." He said in a husky accent before picking you up and gently lying you ontop of the table. Returning back to your mouth, he feel 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 you begin to play with the head.

"No. No, I dont recall. Want to remind me?" Your snarky reply earns your 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 vail. Before pulling back out he begins to grind into you, causing you both to growl out in extasy. 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, foreigh 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 your gonna cum soon. That prickly sensation down south was becoming more intense then 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 cant 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 pratice will always be like this.

(1) Let me show you...

(2)Commoner

(3)Would you allow me, to take you?

Jeez, I'm glad this is done...I go sleep. REVIEW PLEASE?

111 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-03-22 22:07

I am requesting for either more class/you threesome fics or
more Sniper/You fics with bondage.
Bonus if it includes Sniper using some of his skills as a tracker for dangerous game.

112 . Name: Icetigris @ 2012-04-08 09:47

>>4

Me and Buuk wrote that a while back. Glad to see it's still relevant to people's interests.

I've been trying to write something with Sniper, but it keeps coming out crappy. I would love to see something involving him being hurt or something.

113 . Name: kittie @ 2012-04-12 02:05

I'm thinking of writing a sniperx you, with bondage like everyone is asking for (cuz, you know thats really hot) but I kinda want a plot to comes down to it. I don't have any ideas. Suggestions?

114 . Name: Froggy @ 2012-04-12 06:03

>>113

Why not take the idea from >>111 and have the person caught in a snare normally reserved for trapping game? And you have to make a...bargain, per se, in order to get loose, with our favorite bushman.

115 . Name: hey nonny moose @ 2012-04-13 14:53

>>114

This has merit.

116 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2012-04-18 17:20

>>114

That is a wonderful idea - I would love to see someone write that!

There's just not enough SniperxYou out there. I'd write some myself, but I'm afraid I'd do a horrible job of it.

117 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-04-18 20:29

Love all the fics so far. The latest Soldier x You one is probably my favorite so far.
So I have a bit of an odd request...does anybody have any noncon, dominant, or reluctance class x you fics? I know they're probably pretty hard to write, so I won't be surprised if nobody knows of any.
(Oh, and to clear up any confusion, I'm looking for one where you're the nonconsenting one. There are some ones that are pretty close on here, but not completely)

118 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2012-04-19 18:52

>>117 I have one that I retrieved from the old ClassxYou thread. This one's a SniperxYou in 1st person P.O.V. by Red Nurse.

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

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."

119 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-04-19 21:27

>>118
This...wow. Exactly my type of fic. Thanks so much for posting!
Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be in my bunk.

120 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-04-25 13:24

That Sniper fic. Hot damn, son. So, first time posting on this thread, and i'm requesting a threesome/you fic, particularly
Spy/Pyro/You, or Spy/Medic/You, maybe?

121 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-04-29 14:39

I'm gonna humbly request more Heavy/You and Demo/You stuff. Pretty please? c:

122 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-04-29 15:44

>>121

Heavy/You over here as well.
Poker Night-themed, maybe...?

123 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-04-29 19:22

Agree with 121 and 122 - there is not enough of Demo/you and Heavy/you fics! We need more of those.

124 . Name: teejie @ 2012-05-03 22:08

Aaand I lose my porn-writing virginity.

Miss Pauling/You
__

“Hello?” You push the door to the Administrator’s office open.

“Oh, come in,” someone calls back. You step in, half expecting to have a cigarette butt thrown at you. You’re surprised to see that the Administrator isn’t here. All her things are, but at her paper-covered desk there’s a petite brunette woman.

“Uh, hi. I’m looking for Miss Administrator?”

“Oh, ah, she’s not here, I’m sorry,” she says, shuffling through a file folder and pulling something out. “You’ll have to come back later.”

“Ah.” You watch her write something down and stuff the paper back in. You just bet the Administrator has her working like a slave. “Do you know when she’ll be back? She asked to see me.”

This gets her attention. She looks up at you and appears to remember something. “Oh, yes, that’s right.” She drops the notebook she’s holding and grabs a piece of paper from the corner of the desk. “Right. Um, here: BLU team member, disciplinary measures.”

You cock you eyebrow. “Really. For what, may I ask?” You would never talk back to the Administrator, but she’s so flustered it’s cute.

“It says here you, ah, got into a fight?” She pushes her glasses up her nose and glances up at you warily.

“It’s my job to fight,” you point out.

“With your own scout? In the kitchen?”

She makes a good point. “Ah, that. He took the last of the coffee; I was just defending what’s mine.” You need your morning caffeine fix, especially if massacring REDs is on the agenda.

She frowns. “Right. Well, ah, I’m supposed to punish you for undermining camaraderie.”

You can’t help but smirk. She’s clearly sneaking glances at the note from the Administrator. “You would have beaten him up too,” you tell her.

This gets a smile from her. “Ha, probably. He’s an obnoxious little guy.”

You step closer to her desk. She’s not too bad, for one of your crummy employers. “What’s my punishment?”

She straightens up. “No paid leave next week.”

You frown. It’s your friend’s birthday back home and you promised you’d be there. Shit.
She’s looking at you expectantly. Clearly this woman is used to waiting for orders.

“Hmm,” you say, “Is there any other punishment I can take instead?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Do you think Miss Administrator would give you a choice?”

“No, but I think you would.” You step closer to the desk and put on your best winning smile. “How about it?”

“I…no, I couldn’t. She would kill me.”

You bite your lip. Fair point, you wouldn’t want to disobey the announcer so obviously either. But at the same time you really need to be home next week.

“Please? You try to look as convincing as possible. You could just tell her that I’m here but let me leave.”

“I’m sorry, really. But I just can’t.”

This getting you nowhere, but you haven’t exhausted your arsenal yet.

“How about I give you something? In return?”

She rests her hand on her palm. “Like what?”

You eye the Mann Co. Gun Catalog perched on the corner of the desk. “I could let you into our armory.”

“That...” she trails off wistfully, “That would be fun…but no. Sorry”

“Please Miss? I really have to go home. It’s my friend’s birthday and I promised I would be there.”

She sighs.

“You must understand, right? What it’s like to be out here in the desert, surrounded with nobody but bloodthirsty mercenaries, missing your friends and family?”

She nods slightly. “I would love to go skating with Annie and Tess right about now…”

You seize this and rest your fingertips on the edge of the desk. “You know how I feel, alone out here, deprived of any close human contact from-” And then you get an idea so amazingly brilliant you resist the urge to give yourself a high-five.

“Alright,” you say, switching from wheedling to cocky certainty so abruptly she looks confused, “I have on offer you can’t refuse.”
Her puzzled look fades fast when you lean in towards her and lick your lips. “I… this is… is it okay?” she stammers.

“Of course,” you grin and say, “I’ll do /anything/.”

Her eyes widening at your blatancy is the last thing you see before you close yours and lean in to kiss her. Her lips are soft and coated with light lipstick. She recovers from the shock and kisses you back, slowly. She’s clearly inexperienced. You can imagine that working for the Administrator doesn’t involve much free time to get squinted with life’s pleasures.

Poor thing, you’ll just have to give her a break.

You pull back and step around the desk. She’s sitting on a swivel chair that’s patched up and has clearly seen better days. You drop to you knees at her feet and hook your finger under the hem of her purple dress.

“Care to help me out here?”

She nods and pulls the skirt up past her waist. She’s flushing as dark as the RED logo.

You rest one hand on her thigh and reach for her panties with your thumb. She gasps when you begin to rub her clit through the thin fabric. You sigh inwardly with relief that she’s enjoying this as much as you are; you can feel wetness through the cloth. You grin up at her.

“Can you do me another favor, Miss…Miss?”

She’s short of breath when she whispers, “Pauling.” You’re about to tell her your name, but realize she probably knows it already.

“Miss Pauling, can you lift your hips?”

She does and you pull her panties down past her knees. You shift as you feel yourself stirring with excitement.

Her pussy is a light pink, with thick lips. You reach forward and stroke her with your thumb, gliding up to her clit with ease. You circle the nub and glance up at her.
She’s staring down at you with rapt anticipation. She’s so quiet.

You slow down and sit back on your heel with a grin.

She squeezes her eyes shut and whispers, “Please?”

How could you refuse? You lean in and rest your hands next to her thighs, leaning in. You swirl your tongue around her inner lips, getting it wet. You close your eyes and enjoy the taste. She gasps as you move upwards and approach her clit slowly. You take your time getting there, enjoying the sound of her heavy breathing. When you flick your tongue against it, she groans and grabs your hair.

You grin. You press your tongue flat against the swollen nub and begin to lick it slowly.

“Mmh, ah,” she moans and pushes your hair out of your face. You stop and smile up at her.

“Thanks,” you say before getting back to work. You speed up your tongue against her clit. Still licking, you reach down for her right leg. You slip your hand under her thigh and lift, shifting her hips toward you.

You look up at her, but her eyes are closed. The look on her face is simply adorable. You move down, pressing your tongue against her opening so your nose is rubbing her clit. You push your tongue in slowly.

“Oh!” She sounds surprised, in a good way. You rub your tongue around in side her and push your nose against her. You keep this up, enjoying the sounds of her breathing and soft groans.

Man, you’re good.

She gets wetter and wetter against you. You’re reaching out with your tongue inside her when she pulls your hair and sits up.

“Ah!” she yells and you speed up, feeling her convulse around you. She moans loudly and her stomach tenses under the thin fabric of her dress.

When she comes down she relaxes and slumps against the back of the chair. You pull away and grin at her.

“That was, that was...” she pants.

“I’m glad,” you finish for her.

She sits up and pulls her dress down modestly. “I’ll tell the Administrator you’re here all week. You’ll be back after that, right?”

“Right. I’m really grateful,” you look her in the eyes.

“Maybe I’ll have to thank you again after.”

125 . Name: Obvious etc. @ 2012-05-03 22:47

I suppose the hypothetical "you" in this is a mercenary and, thus, probably a male, but... I like how that's left sort of ambiguous. Hehehe....

126 . Name: TeratoMarty @ 2012-05-03 23:22

Yes, good. This is how you do sex with a lady.

127 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-05-05 06:05

>>120
I would kill for a spy/pyro/you threesome fic.

128 . Name: shades and spades @ 2012-05-07 01:03

>>118
Surprised someone re-post this with out editing it or something. I was kinda appalled when I saw "girl hood", we are all over 18 here. There is no reason for that term to ever be used seriously in this context. I'm not trying to start a flame war, I'm just saying that on a site that tries to enforce its 18+ rule I'm surprised that no one has said anything about this.

129 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-05-07 01:57

This thread needs more Soldier x you. Also,currently working on a Sniper x you, hope it turns out okay.

130 . Name: KaptainKritrawket @ 2012-05-09 18:49

>>128

I think that word choice was more to do with the character's personality than age. The use of "girlhood" was supposed to imply that the "you" in the story was a more innocent character than Sniper, who acted and spoke in a crude manner. I actually liked that way of showing the different personalities of the characters.

>>129

Awesome! I can't wait to read it when it's done!

131 . Name: Anon @ 2013-01-22 05:12

Aw, please don't let this thread be dead, it's too awesome to be discontinued!

132 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-01-22 21:20

Well I guess now it's been bumped, anyone feel confident enough to write a Merasmus x you fic? I'd really like to but I'm not that great...but I'd really love to read one!

133 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-01-24 08:32

That'd be interesting to read; seconding!

134 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-01-27 16:59

>>104

"Your eyes shit tightly"

That will be all

135 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-01-29 02:41

Soooo someone bumped an almost year old thread even though there's a more recent one floating around... I got excited when I saw a thread of this topic finally bumped only to be let down by someone who carelessly forgot to sage.

136 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-01-29 06:46

>>135
Would it be possible to link us up to the new one? It's kind of difficult finding a specific thread here at times.
>>132 I guess I could give that pairing a try, but it's the smut that's hard to write in my case.

137 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-01-30 02:11

>>136
Mind saging next time? Please?
Since I'm not sure how to link to other threads (or if there's even a way), /res/12946.html is what you want. It was only on the second page.

(Unrelated, but Captcha: Contributo ifesov... I guess that's a hint for what to do now?)

138 . Name: Oh no, not another anon @ 2013-01-30 02:38

>>136
and here's the link
http://tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/12946.html

139 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-02-08 06:53

>>137 >>138
Thanks.

140 . Name: RANDOMINATION @ 2013-02-08 23:09

>>139
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ja06DJrFe5E

Sage for fucks sake. Please read up on site rules. Unless you are the author, please just type SAGE into the Email box. THANK YOU.
Delete Post:  
Report Post:  
More...
Captcha
141


- kusaba x 0.9 + Took 0.05s -
Copyright © 2007-2013 TF2chan. All rights reserved.
All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.