Fool In The Shower * It happened on a Sunday, because Sundays were cleaning days. The chores roster, first instated by Medic once upon a time, had had few items at its inception. Mostly each man was responsible for his own quarters. As time passed, however, more creative tasks began cropping up, and – somewhere after 'Empty gibs bucket' (Scout) and 'Rearrange headgear collection' (Spy) but before 'Feed/train attack doves' (Medic) – the item 'Personal hygiene inspection' prompted Soldier to insert himself randomly into his fellows' personal space and give them a thorough sniffing. So it was that this particular Sunday Soldier decided that he had had enough of Pyro's absence from the showers, and resolved to do something about it. As Soldier was a firm follower of Sun Tzu, and therefore aware that knowledge was the key to victory, he timed his assault for the point at which Pyro would be most vulnerable: breakfast time. He waited until Pyro was busy negotiating the mechanics of mask, straw and coffee cup before he sprung. "Son, you are a disgrace to your country, and I will not have you befouling our kitchen and private quarters with your unwashed self!" And with that, Soldier seized Pyro by the armpits from behind and dragged him from his seat. For a moment, his teammates turned to look, but quickly resumed their previous tasks – Heavy taunting Scout with the last strip of bacon while Sniper watched, Medic and Demoman portioning out the last of the oatmeal, and Engineer filling out the crossword as Spy made helpful comments. Many a mercenary had been hosed down forcibly by Soldier before; it had taken a couple of cracked skulls, but they knew better than to interfere with his process anymore, and so Soldier hauled Pyro down to the privies undisturbed, though Pyro mumbled protest. Not five minutes later, Soldier dumped Pyro onto one of the benches in the locker area. "Strip," he demanded. "Mmph hmmph," said Pyro, crossing his arms over his chest and steadfastly refusing to move. "You will strip or I will do it for you." Soldier tipped his helmet back to fix Pyro with a threatening glare. "Hmph huddah hah," Pyro replied, tone mocking, making a rude gesture with his hand. "As you wish then!" Soldier barked, and lunged. For the first few seconds Pyro attempted to wiggle out of his hold, but Soldier was strong and also tactically-minded. The gloves went first, then the belt. The rubber suit, he found, consisted of two pieces; he removed the top piece halfway, leaving his teammate choked in a rubber stranglehold, and while Pyro struggled he divested Pyro of his boots and bottoms. Pyro finally managed to wriggle out of the rest, somehow without disturbing his mask. Crossed arms and a tapping foot conveyed his displeasure. Soldier stood back to check his handiwork. As long as he had had an objective, it had been easy to separate mind from body; undressing Pyro was not a sensual act, or even a fun one, because although he hadn't put up much of a fight he hadn't exactly been helpful, either. But once Soldier was done, much though he wanted to, he could no longer dissociate from the sight in front of him. Pyro was, quite simply put, magnificent. And, to Soldier's horror, that knowledge was doing things him. Every inch of Pyro was pure male. Under the suit he had nothing on but a liberal all-over dusting of talcum powder. Soldier fought to keep his focus above waist-level: Pyro's shoulders were less wide than Soldier's, but better muscled, and his broad chest tapered into a hard, trim waist. He was quite badly scarred. Most of them looked like burns, but a few interesting ones – a ragged snarl of flesh that wrapped around his wrist, raised strips of skin that stretched across his back – were definitely not. Soldier touched his blunt fingers to a series of small puncture marks that ran up the length of Pyro's arm. "Your own, or... someone else's?" he asked quietly, suddenly afraid to shatter the new mood that had fallen upon them. Pyro shook his head. Soldier's hands moved towards Pyro's face, but before he could get his fingers under the mask, Pyro shoved him, hard. Soldier stumbled back, his helm slipping off his head entirely and clattering loudly against the floor. Both men were breathing hard, standing off like a pair of Old West gunslingers before a duel. Soldier broke the silence first. "Come on," he whispered, as he might to a cornered animal. "We can't get you completely clean with that thing still on your head." But Soldier had hardly even gotten the sentence out before Pyro was shaking his head. "Pyro, come on – " but again, the emphatic head-shake was answer enough. "Fine," Soldier snapped, regaining some of his earlier aplomb. "You are getting washed whether or not you want it, and if you want to keep that mask on I will – I will – I don't know what I'll do but it'll be something, you watch!" And with that, Soldier shoved Pyro into the showers before him and, stepping fully clothed into the stall with Pyro, turned the water on. The water was freezing, as it always was as first, but warmed quickly. Casting an eye about the shower caddy, Soldier selected the plainest bar soap he could find, and in brisk, businesslike motions, began working up a lather against Pyro's body. He was acutely aware of the delineation of scars across Pyro's skin, charting every burn and cut and mark by the change in texture, the absence of hair. In the sanctity of his own mind, Soldier could admit that he'd always been curious about what lay beneath the suit. Pyro took his showers alone, and most of his meals as well. Until today, Soldier hadn't even been 100% sure that Pyro was male, let alone such a prime specimen. He had known, in an intellectual sense, that Pyro must have been quite strong to carry around such heavy equipment tirelessly, but it was another thing to take that strength and translate it to the feel of his thighs, hard as brick, beneath Soldier's hands. Although he was trying – honest, he was – to keep his touch professional, he was finding the experience... intimate. Moving. Arousing. And if Pyro's cock, thickening lazily against his thigh, was any indication, he was also not unaffected. Breathing hard through his nose, Soldier was caught between two desires. And, even if he were given a million years, he never could have described what prompted him to reach out and touch the other man. A noise that could have been a groan or a gasp from Pyro, and Soldier looked up, almost fearful – but no, Pyro's head was tipped back against the tiles, the image of a man in pleasure. Curling his hand around Pyro's cock, he gave a tentative squeeze and Pyro made another noise. His other hand was resting low at the dip of Pyro's back, rubbing the skin there in mindless circles. Wetting lips suddenly gone dry, Soldier gave Pyro a firm upstroke, the way he liked it himself. He got a quivery sound in response. Again he repeated the motion, and again, and again, until Pyro slowed his hand with a touch to his wrist. It was instinct for Soldier to look up into his face, the way he would with anyone else – but the blank rubber betrayed nothing. A sharp emotion shot through him, and it took a minute for Soldier to identify it as disappointment. "Christ," Soldier muttered. "I wish I could – I just – " But it was useless, and stupid, and insane, because Pyro never ever took off his mask. For a long while, Soldier's hands on Pyro were the only things still moving in a tableau gone completely still. Then Pyro's hands flew up to his face. "If you look," came Pyro's voice, dropped low in a whisper, "if you even peek, I swear Respawn won't ever able to find all the missing pieces of you," and before Soldier could answer, before he could even think, Pyro's mouth was on his. If Soldier had ever thought to imagine this – and he hadn't ever, of course; unlike some members of his team who would remain anonymous, he wasn't some kind of fairy princess fruit, no sir – but if he had, he would not have imagined it like this. For one thing, there was no shyness or hesitation on Pyro's part; from the first second in, his assault of Soldier's mouth was sure and swift, the casual invasion of someone assured of his welcome. For another, Pyro did not taste like smoke or ashes: he tasted a little bit like the hot sauce Engineer was fond of putting on his eggs, and a little bit like the strong, sweet coffee Medic favoured. And for a third, Soldier was simply not in control of the situation – even though he was fully clothed and Pyro almost fully nude, Pyro had one forearm laid just under Soldier's throat, and had shoved Soldier up against the cold slippery tiles until only the very tippy toes of his boots were touching the floor. Soldier could feel rubber against his cheek and knew Pyro had only pushed the mask up enough to free his mouth. And if that made a slow hot curl of arousal uncoil in the pit of Soldier's stomach, well, that was no one's business but his own. If his hands came up to cup Pyro's face, that wasn't tenderness, it was an inquiry (one cheek burn-scarred; the other lightly stubbled). If he dropped his hands to stroke across Pyro's chest, that wasn't a caress, it was an investigation (light scattering of hair, deep scar bisecting the torso). And if he decided to give Pyro's nipples a pinch, well, he just wanted to check his teammate's reaction, like a doctor might (nothing wrong there). It wasn't a kiss so much as it was a mutual devouring, and with every hot stroke of Pyro's tongue against his, Soldier's neglected cock throbbed with a pleasant ache. He was almost too far gone to notice that Pyro was undoing his fly until Pyro was touching him. It felt electric, felt hot and urgent and so good after so long without anyone's hand on him but his own. Pyro's skin was ridiculously warm. Soldier was barely aware of the other hand undressing him, of his own hands moving to help. It felt like he was swimming in and out of lucidity, like a television drowning in static; he'd tune in right as Pyro was biting down on his collarbone, or tugging on what little hair he had, or grinding their dicks together in the mutually slick cradle of their hips. Hunting through the shower caddy again, this time he found a bottle of Spy's fancy French shaving oil. It would do for his purposes. His insides were a hot squirming mess, which he covered with a sneer. Slapping the bottle of oil into Pyro's hands, he jerked his chin in the universal symbol of 'Get on with it, then'. A brief moment of hesitation, then understanding. "Turn around," Pyro whispered. Obeying, Soldier braced his forearms against the shower walls and resolved to stare straight ahead. His stomach had coalesced into a leaden weight, composed of – something – nervousness, maybe, and anticipation, and something else he couldn't define. As Pyro dropped into a crouch behind him, Soldier couldn't help it if his face flamed, especially when he felt himself being spread open. Clenching his teeth and setting his jaw, he willed his nerves to steady, taking deep even breaths and closing his eyes. The first touch against his entrance was gentle, but assured, and Soldier nearly bit through his lip. He hadn't known the skin back there was so sensitive. He could feel Pyro's finger working its way inside him, pushing gently past the guardian muscle. It felt... not bad, but weird, at least until the finger began to quest in search of... something, and he must have found it because not two seconds later Soldier felt like sparks were racing up his spine. He could feel himself clenching against Pyro's finger, entirely involuntarily, as Pyro insistently worked at that spot. "Too much," he gasped, almost choking on it, and Pyro eased, rubbing around in a way that sent loose, bright waves of pleasure washing through him. His legs would have buckled; only years of bending his body to his will kept his knees locked and his back straight. "Another," he panted, shame and arousal washing over him in equal measure. Arousal won out when he heard Pyro huff out a laugh, and a second finger joined the first. Arching his back, breathing into the sensation, Soldier was helpless not to moan. His hands were clenching and unclenching into fists as Pyro began to scissor his fingers. Another laugh from Pyro, and the addition of a third finger, working Soldier in earnest now, and if it made him less of a man to beg for more of that, then he did not care anymore. "Please, God, Pyro, please – " He didn't think the human body was made to teeter so long along the edge of pleasure without relief. Actually, he didn't think at all right now, not with whatever scraps of control he still had left fraying. An indeterminate amount of time later, Soldier watched over his shoulder as Pyro slicked himself up liberally and slowly eased into him, pausing every once in a while to let Soldier adjust. It felt weird, by God it did, but it felt good too; and each second that passed the balance tipped more heavily in pleasure's favour, until Pyro was fully seated and Soldier was just drawing breath through his teeth, until the ache subsided. A noise that could have been inquiry, or reassurance – Soldier wasn't sure which. "Yeah, go on," he muttered as Pyro made a small movement. Soldier half-turned to glare at Pyro. "That all you got, soldier?" Pyro thrust again, a little deeper this time, giving a slow, comfortable roll of his hips. Soldier made a derisive noise. "If I had wanted a pansy – " he began, but then Pyro cut him off with a hard snap of his hips and began fucking him in earnest. It was not gentle. It was not tender. Soldier did not want it to be. He wanted it rough, and he wanted it hard, and he wanted it now. Every thrust was exquisite, touched with just enough pain to help him from going off right away as a teenager might. Rising onto the balls of his feet for better leverage, Soldier gave as good as he got, moans and mixed obscenities spilling out of his mouth of their own accord. Distantly Soldier thought he should feel embarrassed, but all he felt now was desperate, over-hot in his own skin, which now felt too small to contain him. Pyro wrapped a hand around Soldier's dick, working it in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations were driving him insane, and he couldn't decide whether he wanted more to buck forward into Pyro's slick grip or backwards onto his cock. He could feel pressure building low in his belly – his legs were burning like he'd just run a marathon and a half, his clenched teeth were grinding almost painfully and his held breath was scalding his lungs but if he breathed he'd lose that focus and he was almost – almost – there – A bright flare of pain on his shoulder – it took him half a second to realize Pyro had bitten him and he was coming like a shot, a wrecked and trembling mess. He could feel Pyro pick up his pace, prick twitching and hard enough to cut stone, hands sliding on his sweat-slick skin, hips snapping one, two, three, four, five more times before he slammed home one final time, tipping over the edge after him, making no other sound but a harsh, heartfelt groan. They disengaged slowly, breathing slowing, heart rates evening out. "We should," Soldier said quietly, "finish up that shower." A nod from the masked head, and they both claimed separate stalls this time. They soaped themselves in silence, only the sound of water smacking against the tiles audible. "Turn around," came that whispered voice, and Soldier obeyed. He could hear Pyro pulling off the rubber mask and scrubbing his hair, could smell shampoo and hear soap-thick water sluicing down the drain. A sigh rebounded softly off the wet walls; it could have come from either of them, and was quickly lost under the spray. "Stay there," Pyro said a little while later, and Soldier could hear him stepping out of the stall. From the corner of his eye he watched as the broad, now-familiar hands reached for a towel. A touch on his shoulder roused him from his contemplation, and when he turned Pyro was fully masked once again. He shut off the water at his own stall and stood there, dripping wet, naked as the day he was born. Pyro handed him a towel. He shook his head quickly, sending droplets of water flying everywhere, and wrapped the offering around his waist. Gathering up his pile of sopping clothes, he went into the locker area. Slowly, unhurriedly, Pyro was assembling his getup, reconstructing himself right before Soldier's eyes. He tugged bottom half of his suit on first, then the top; sitting on the bench, he pulled his left leg to his right knee to tug on his boot, and repeated the action with his other leg. Standing up, he fastened his belt firmly. His gloves went on last of all, and then he was the same faceless, nameless entity Soldier had always known on the battlefield. Unknown, unknowable. "Pyro – " he began, but then faltered. Pyro turned towards Soldier, head cocked as if to convey polite interest. If Soldier were the imaginative type, he might have pretended that the round lenses and filtering apparatus of Pyro's mask all combined to form a gently smiling face, but Soldier was not, and so the mask looked only like a mask. He pressed his gloved hand to Soldier's shoulder, squeezed, then left without a backward glance. Soldier touched his fingers to the bite mark Pyro had left. It was still sore. Shaking his head, Soldier dumped his laundry in the designated bin. His task was complete. Pyro was clean. There was nothing else to say. "Mission accomplished," he muttered to himself, and left, shutting the lights off behind him. ----- Prompt: Soldier gets fed up with Pyro's refusal to shower, Pyro turns out to be a manly man of manliness. Gratuitous Soldier Bottom.