I just recently wrote this for a DA fic contest. It involves an OC of mine who is the cook and housekeeper and the RED Spy torturing the BLU Spy. No sex, but torture, which is why i am putting it here, in the adult section. If this is the wrong place, let me know, and I'll move it. Also, the fic was done for a picture, which shows the BLU Spy being younger than the RED, and the person running the contest said BLU Spy was RED's former student. In my normal headcanon, both spies are the same apparent age, being clones of each other Warnings: Torture, pretty graphic torture, both shown and implied in the aftermath. I wasn't sure how far to go to avoid squicking people out, so... we have this. __________________________________________________________________________________ Payback The RED Spy smirked to himself as his BLU counterpart entered the room, humming to himself. Had this been happening in reverse, his opposite number would probably have been unable to resist letting out a small chuckle of mirth. But the RED Spy, older and more experienced in the ways of espionage, had learned the value of control, and of holding oneself back, all the better to slide a knife just so between the ribs, or to get off the perfect shot that the target would never see coming. He simply watched, silent and unmoving, hidden by his cloak, as the BLU Spy sighed, stretched, and took off his coat, throwing it onto the bed in the corner of the room. Despite the way his own lungs burned for a calming burn of nicotine, he watched as the younger Spy withdrew a Gitanes Brunes from the cigarette case and lit it, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke trickle back out through mouth and nose before heading to the battered wooden desk along the middle of the wall. BLU Spy opened one of the side drawers, pulled out a leather-bound book, a journal, and opening the bottle of ink, he took up the pen there, dipped the nib and stared off into space for a moment, as if deciding how to begin. The sound and movement covered the RED Spy's own preparation of a Gauloise Blonde, and the smell of smoke permeating the small room would cover the evidence of his own small vice. Clenching the lit cigarette between his teeth, he stepped forward and touched the edge of his Balisong to the softness of the skin over his former student's jugular. The BLU Spy stiffened, his free hand clutching reflexively, as if reaching for his own knife, but the older Spy was quick to dissuade him. "Non, non, m'sieu," he crooned into the ear of his opposite number. "You don't want to do that." The disdain was evident in his tone. If the situation had been reversed, he'd not have been so utterly unaware of his surroundings, nor blind to the possibility of just such a scenario. Another reason why his former apprentice was the inferior Spy, and thus, the inferior man. He had to admit, though, that the other man, after his initial startlement, reacted with remarkable sangfroid. "And to what do I owe the ... pleasure ... of your visit?" he asked calmly. "Pleasure?" The RED Spy said with a grim smile. "You assume too many things, mon ami." He sucked in a deep breath of smoke and let it out again. "I am here to discuss certain nocturnal visits you have been making to my base." "Nocturnal ...?" The BLU Spy said, and laughed. "Ah, so she has been whining about it, has she?" "Not at all," the RED Spy informed him in a silky voice. "She laughs at you. I wouldn't even have believed it myself if it weren't for all the broken gadgets that keep turning up in her collection." Chuckling, he leaned in closer, digging his knife just a little bit deeper into the younger man's jugular. "That is rather sloppy of you." The simmering laughter in his voice made his true feelings clear. The BLU Spy's face flushed an unhealthy shade of red. "She caught me off guard once. Rest assured, it won't happen again." "Just once? Why, m'sieu, that would be ever so much easier to believe if I hadn't seen the evidence for myself." Fuming, the BLU Spy remained silent, his bright crimson eroding into a more ... mottled color. "Unnatural female," he muttered. "Why yes, or so our Doctor keeps calling her. But really, m'sieu. A woman?" The RED Spy kept his face relaxed, while inside, he was chortling with glee. All right, not so much inside as he hoped, and the BLU Spy was turning alternately bright red again and stark white. Really, how much of a professional could you call yourself when you kept getting defeated by, of all people, the cook and housekeeper? How humiliating it must have been! And then, not just once (for chance or bad luck put everyone down once in a while), but multiple times? The RED Spy felt a deliciously wicked laugh bubbling in his chest. Just another reason to brand this man his inferior. He bared his teeth in a thin-lipped grin and twisted the knife slightly. "What I want to know is ... why." He eased the pressure on the knife slightly. "Why this woman? It is not as if she is a threat to you on the battlefield. She can't even fire a gun to hit the side of a barn! What threat could she possibly be to you?" The BLU Spy made a sound suspiciously like a harrumph. "She is no threat to me at all!" he spat. "Then why?" the RED Spy pressed. His counterpart simply clamped his lips together and said nothing, staring ahead and maintaining his silence. Lips set in a thin, straight line; he refused to speak at all. It was quite obvious he would remain silent, not wanting to share his reasons for wanting the cook dead. The RED Spy leaned in closer, his lips practically brushing the younger Spy's ear through his Balaclava. "Well," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Let's see if I can't persuade you to talk. Or scream. And screaming, I'm afraid, is going to be so much more likely." He removed the now much-diminished cigarette from his lips and ground it out on the back of his former student's neck. The BLU Spy winced in pain as the lit end seared into his skin, but managed to hold himself still as the other's Balisong bit into his cheek, moving smoothly through skin and muscle from his jaw and arcing slowly upwards, the motion long and leisurely, leaving behind a thin red line that began to ooze crimson, dripping blood onto the desktop like tears. The drops landed with soft splats, like bubbles popping, or rain, and the scent of copper wove up between the two men, filling their lungs with its thick, cloying scent. The knife continued to carve its way upwards, over the sharp cheekbone and heading towards the eye, the cut shallower now to work with the paper-fineness of the skin. He dragged the tip to the edge of the younger man's eyelid, and made a dissatisfied noise when the BLU Spy suddenly jerked back. "Oh, no, no, my boy," he said with a low laugh, pulling the blade back and away. "Not yet. There will be plenty of time for that later. All things in good time." A drop of sweat oozed from under the BLU Spy's balaclava, dampening the material. "Relax, mon ami," The RED Spy assured him. "We have all the time in the world to get to the bottom of your behavior, non?" He touched the knife to the BLU Spy's cheek again, carving downwards this time, creating a parallel line to the first as more blood dripped onto the top of the desk, and sadly, onto the pristine page of the journal. "You will remember this for a long, long time, mon ami. No journal needed." he promised as he continued to carve the younger man's face. The older Spy relished the feeling of power and control of doing all the work merely by touch. He didn't need to look to see what he was doing, or to know where his knife and hand were at any time. He relied on his own skill not to go too deep, or cut a major artery, which would cut this object lesson sadly short, and let his young opponent go to Respawn too early. He felt more than saw the aborted twitch as the BLU Spy went for the revolver he'd concealed, in its holster, beneath the desk, not knowing that the RED Spy had found and removed it earlier. "Tsk, tsk." The RED Spy said, his knife hand moving like lightning, pinning the BLU Spy's hand to the desk with the Balisong, the sharp point piercing the center of his palm and biting deep into the wood of the desk beneath. "You truly are a disappointment to me, mon ami. I thought I had taught you to be effective. Did you honestly learn anything of what I tried to teach you, or were you simply mouthing empty phrases to gain my approval?" The BLU Spy choked out a laugh. "Perhaps you are simply a bad teacher," he suggested with a poisonous little smile. "Now, you can hardly continue this charade with your knife buried in my hand ... and my desk." His laugh suggested he was trying to ignore his pain. "Go now and we shall forget ..." "Nothing." The RED Spy maintained. He laughed. "Did you really think it was going to be that easy? Unlike you, I prepare myself for ... every eventuality." He slid his free hand into his jacket and pulled out a second Balisong, flashing it open with an easy economy of movement. The younger Spy wilted against the desk. "How many did you bring?" he asked, his voice filled with dread, an actual tear ... or was it merely more sweat? joining the blood on his desk. "Oh my dear boy, that would be telling," The RED Spy admonished him in a hearty voice. "But rest assured, I have more than enough to carve you like a prized poisson." With his free hand, he reached around and captured the BLU's free hand and twisted it hard at the wrist, using his leverage and position to keep him and it, locked in place. "Now. Let us begin again, shall we?" The BLU Spy's expression changed to one of apprehension and then horror as the RED Spy aimed his Balisong at the BLU's trapped hand. The metal gleamed in the overhead light, suddenly menacing out of all proportion to its size, and through the hours that followed, only sound that issued from the BLU Spy's throat were groan, sobs, and muffled screams as the older man methodically sliced his fingers and other parts of his body, each cut slow and precise, exercised with an almost delicate touch, paring away skin, fat, muscles, tendons and ligaments until the shining bone showed through a coating of blood. And yet he worked with such exquisite care that the BLU Spy remained alive, not to mention awake and aware, for every second of it. As the blood continued to ooze from his still alive body, every nerve exposed, raw and screaming, the BLU Spy looked up at his former mentor with his one remaining eye. He had no choice any more- his eyelid was just one of the things which had been cut away, and his breath came in deep, harsh pants as he tried to contain the agony of his mutilated body. The RED Spy shrugged back into his jacket, abandoned somewhere during the job. "I trust we will not need to have this ... conversation again. Behave yourself, mon ami. I do hate having to repeat myself. Leave the woman alone. She is not to be touched." The BLU hacked out something that was probably a laugh, expelling a frothy mix of blood and air across the desk. "Or else?" he mumbled through a mouth missing most of its teeth, his words barely audible, or understandable. "Or else this will be the first of many visits," the RED Spy warned. "Making war on non-combatants, on women or children, is unconscionable. You will not be allowed to continue." A sudden cruel smile animated his face. "Or I shall turn you over to her. Make no mistake, she is creative in ways you would not like to experience ... or so I can tell from what she says." He smiled again, even colder and more cruel, a shark's baring of teeth. "And I would watch." Whistling, he ignored the body of his former student and opened the door, engaging his cloak and moving through the BLU base as if he owned it. It was only the work of a few minutes to exit the underground portion of the base and make his way back across No Man's Land to his own base. Downstairs, in the hidden portion of the RED Base, he inhaled the comforting smell of well-cooked meat, and headed straight for the Mess Hall. The rest of the mercenaries were watching a football game on their small black and white TV, which fuzzed and crackled despite the Engineer's fiddling with the Rabbit ears and clumps of tin foil. The Cook and Housekeeper, dark haired and dark eyed, better known as simply "Support" was sitting in a bentwood chair in the corner under a stick lamp, reading a book. She looked up occasionally at the other mercenaries for a moment or two before going back to her book. The Spy stole up beside her, looking down at the book she was reading- some trashy romance, it looked like. Her nostrils flared. "Hello, Antoine. Yes, I know you're there. You missed dinner again." Her tone was conversational, even bored, and this time, she didn't even have the grace to look up from her book. Frustrated, he let the cloak drop and this time she did look up. "I waded into the fray and made a plate for you before Boris could drop everything into that garbage can he calls a belly." She made a moue with her lips, expressing her opinion of the Heavy's ability to pack away food. "It'll be cold, so be glad I made Fried Chicken tonight." She'd never trusted him after he drugged her with truth serum and questioned her in front of everyone the first night she'd been on the base, and it showed. " I am always exquisitely glad for anything you choose to make." He assured her. And he was, too, because they hadn't always survived cooking for each other. She pushed herself to her feet and walked to the kitchen. "By the way, your opposite number was here again today, poking his oversized nose into everything. You tell him that if he comes here again when he's supposed to be in battle, I am going to have to stick his face in the Deep Fat Fryer." He chuckled. "And why would I want to do that?" he asked her, arching his eyebrow. Let her think him untrustworthy. Let her even despise him. Her opinion meant nothing to him. And that was the way he liked it. She shook her head. "Typical," she accused without heat. "You are such a bastard."
I liked his attitude at the end. Hiding his good (?) side.
Thank you. :)
I actually really, really liked this story. Besides being well-written technically, I think you also did a fine job of giving the two spies unique personalities, which in turn led to a very interesting scenario. It's a given fact that mercenaries have a certain fearlessness when it comes to death, and respawn would make it even easier to consider dying more of an inconvenience than anything else. BLU Spy showed this very clearly in his actions and attitude; he expected to be lectured, killed, and go about his day in peace. This is where you really won me over, because RED Spy understood very well that to get his point across, he would have to surprise his counterpart by going beyond the extreme when delivering punishment. He gave him something that would stick in his mind and body even after respawning. What is even better for the readers is that we can feel he was justified in doing this, because the BLU Spy did need to be taught a lesson, and that he couldn't be allowed to keep doing as he pleased. I think that you did a commendable job with your OC Support, giving her just enough screen time for us to get a grasp of her character, but not so much that she started to steal the show. You struck just about the perfect balance with that, and I tip my hat to you. Thank you for sharing this story with us. 9/10, would read again.
>>4 Thank you. Yes, RED Spy is more angry about the BLU Spy targeting a non-combatant woman than the actual person it is. Like the RED Sniper, RED spy is more about being a professional than using your position and ability to mess around with people as you please, in my mind, at least. I was unsure how far to go with the torture. I could have put a lot more of it out in the open, but friends of mine were starting to get squicked when reading the story, so I cut more of it out. It's almost made me feel abnormal, that I can go so far with torture and not find it troublesome- while my (more normal) friends got super-uncomfortable with it very quickly.