Another oldie; I've changed a few things about it, but I still couldn't come up with anything past the original ending. -------------------------------------------------------------- The Sniper is a Sneaky Bastard, News at Eleven -------------------------------------------------------------- Even now, his head still ringing and arms and legs bound in a way that made escape impossible, the Spy refused to believe that he had been bested by a Sniper. Snipers couldn't be smarter than him; Snipers were filthy creatures, cowards that laid in wait far away from the fighting and put their pee in jars who couldn't bother to check their surroundings if their lives depended on it. Snipers did not set ambushes for Spies that snuck up to his nest while cloaked, or turn and grab the knife moments before it could sink into his open, unprotected back. Above all, Snipers were not capable of knocking a Spy off his feet or punching his lights out. "YOU FAILED!" The Announcer seethed in the Spy's earpiece, and the Spy couldn't fight the sense of apprehension that overcame him. He might have had a chance for a rather undignifed rescue by his team's Pyro--who wouldn't be able to blackmail him about his most embarrassing bout of bad luck--but now any teammates who were still alive were without a doubt fleeing with their tails between their legs. His captor, still perched by the window, didn't stop watching out of his scope for a long time. Then he picked it up--the Spy swore the Sniper was cradling it between his arms--and put it away piece by piece in a fancy-looking case, taking his sweet time to disassemble the whole thing. Then he removed his aviators, folding them and tucking them into his vest before removing it, hanging it--and his hat--on a coat rack that the Spy couldn't believe he never noticed before. Then the Sniper's gaze swung onto the Spy, and he didn't look away. "So you've managed to capture me," the Spy hissed, venom lacing his voice. "Congratulations. Now put and end to this nonsense so we can go back to killing each other like civilized people." The Sniper didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the Spy's jacket, took out the disguise kit, and picked a mask, being careful to hide which one it was before he put it on the Spy. Confused, the Spy didn't react until the Sniper pulled out a cigarette and shoved it in his mouth, igniting it with his own lighter. "What the hell?" The Spy asked, getting no reply. Instead, the Sniper reached up to caress his face, crinkling the paper mask but not destroying the illusion. The confusion just kept increasing as the Sniper leaned in and all but assaulted the Spy in the mouth, tongue action so intense that the Spy didn't know whether to bite down, turn away, or go along with it. "I've missed you so much," the Sniper breathed as he pulled away from the kiss, pulling the Spy's tie free from his neck in the meantime. "Bwuh?" was all the Spy could manage before the Sniper gagged him. Quick as lightning, the Sniper loosened the layers of Spy's clothing, extricating him from them just far enough to free his family jewels. "Do you know," the Sniper asked between kisses down the Spy's exposed torso, "how long it's been?" He waited a moment for an answer, as if the Spy was in any state to give one, before he dipped his head down and ran the length of his tongue along the Spy's penis. The Spy hissed, trying to pull away, but the Sniper was relentless. He didn't know whether to feel violated or frightened. Was he being tortured, or was he being used as a substitute sex object? There were no protocols in the company handbook for this sort of encounter with the enemy. The Sniper smirked when he saw the Spy's body respond to his attentions. "Glad to see I haven't lost my touch." He licked his lips, pressing his teeth against the Spy's hardened tip before opening his mouth and taking the entire length in his throat. The Spy tried to extricate himself a second time, but his legs found no purchase against the floor. In response, the Sniper leaned even more weight on the Spy and increased his pace as well. The Spy stared up at the ceiling, trying to think of anything except what was going on. Just as the Spy was feeling pressure building up behind his balls, the Sniper stopped and sat up, still cupping the Spy in his hands. "I've got a better idea," he said when the Spy shot him a bewildered look. He unzipped his pants, revealing the bulge there. "Let's make a nice, big mess together." As if the Spy was in any position to respond either way. He closed his eyes and turned his head away as the Sniper closed the distance between them again and pressed their erections together, rubbing the both of them with one hand while the other reached up to caress his nipples. In a last, desperate attempt to take his mind off of his unwanted contact, the Spy took to cursing in French, culminating in a muffled and your mother sucks cocks in hell! just before the orgasm hit and left him an incoherent blob on the floor. There was the sound of running water, and then Sniper could be heard wiping himself clean with a wet rag--the loft had a faucet just outside the window, the Spy realized--and, after dressing with military precision, undid the Spy's bindings. "You've got two choices, spook: either you walk out of here on your own two feet or I give you a hand and pitch you out the window. So which will it be?" The Spy forced himself to stand, keeping as much of his weight pressed against the back wall as he could, making no effort to disguise the fact that he was shaking like a leaf. "I think I prefer the first option." "Good. Now don't let me catch you up here again."