Any chance of a DemoSniper drabble of them on a date (whatever that means to them?)
If not, how about Qifrey making Olruggio practice some self-care for once? :D
Also happy baking! What are you making?
I'm gonna be light on the accents!
I made two loaves of bread, crackers, and tortillas! My hubs helped a bit!
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"Lemme know if you see a driver, mate, I got stuff for spiders on the way out here!"
"Spiders? Like, yer keepin' pet crawlies now, luv? In yer van? Where we bang??"
"Nah, nah, like the- Actually, well, I got somethin' planned, so meet me for dinner at th' van. An' no peekin in the delivery, darlin'."
"There better not be any lil' creepy crawleys for dinner, Mundy!"
Demoman's boots scraped against the skin of the New Mexico desert, gravel and lizards alike skittering out of his way. The sun was setting and still ablaze, the evening hour offering no relief from her golden gaze. The Mann Co brand cooler that the delivery boy passed to him was heavy, and Demo wonder if the surprise was worth melting into his boots for.
The burro trail he took wound down into a nearby canyon, and he wished he were drunker with how much he stumbled down the incline. At least it'd be more in character for him. But dipping below the rim was a bliss as he passed into the canyon's cooling shadow. It wasn't quite as nice as dipping into a lake, but the relief was welcome all the same. It was even marginally cooler at the bottom! He trekked along the canyon wall by the dusty remains of a creek bed drunk dry by a thirsty Summer.
Demo came around the curve of the canyon and was greeted by a burst of warm light amongst the shadow. Sniper's van, normally dusty and dim in the shade, held twinkling little lights in the canopy. It was unfurled over what appeared to be a stolen picnic table, a green and white checked cloth over it. It was set with candles, a single droopy rose, and what appeared to be Engineer's tool box. That may have been borrowed, or it could have been stolen, and Demo would assume he'd find out during dinner.
Mick sat on the steps of the open van door, and Demo's irritation at stumbling through a hot desert evaporated. Snipes looked clean to Demo's eye, hair combed back, stubble trimmed, and he even caught a hint of aftershave on the slight canyon breeze. He was wearing civvies too!
The gangly Aussie stood quickly and crossed the scant distance, relieving Demo of his mystery burden and giving him a peck on the cheek. He tilted his head towards the van and said "Thanks, darlin'. Get cleaned up, I got spares for ya. I'll have food ready in a tick."
Demo obliged. He'd been here enough times in a similar sorry state and knew the process of living in Sniper's van well at this point.
~ ~ ~
Demo stepped out of the van in much more comfortable, light clothing, thankful his boyfriend knew how to dress in this dry hell ho- thriving and diverse ecosystem. He felt like a 50% off refurbished man now!
"Thanks, luv, I needed that after carryin' yer heavy box here," Demo said as he took a seat at the table, eyeing the cooler with a slightly personal grudge.
"I know, I know, an' I'm sorry, darlin'," Sniper replied, flashing his lover an apologetic smile, "But, I hope it's worth it!"
With a flourish, he opens the tool box and produces two plates: two giant steaming burgers, topped with glistening veggies, melted cheese, and dripping sauce, and crispy, golden french fries piled high like bars of precious metal around the meat mountains. He placed one with a heavy thunk in front of Demoman, then opened the Mann Co branded cooler. Out of this box, Sniper pulls out two chilled glasses, half filled with thick, creamy vanilla ice cream. The outside of the glass is coated in opaque frost, ensuring the ice cream hadn't turned to slurry the second it hit the New Mexico air.
"Surprise! Desert diner dinner date, spiders an' burgers!" Sniper exclaims, "Th' yanks call 'em 'ice cream floats', I think? Or soda floats? An' I got both fizzy drinks. You like it traditional or yank style, Tav?"
Tavish couldn't help but grin at his lover holding out bottles of root beer and lime soda pop like they were vintage wines for inspection. If the heat hadn't gotten him, Mick's love for him was certainly going to make him melt. But there was one important question first.
"Fuckin 'spiders'?? Ya call 'em 'spiders', you bloody, lovely Australian??"
