I'm Luna, and welcome to this cohesive repository for my creative writing posts. Fanfic, poetry, original prose, short stories, etcetera. The majority of writings found here are Team Fortress 2. If you want to read my original work, check out my series The Conclave of Monstrous Affairs on Smashwords!
Overdue closing the requests, lol. I've got a lot on my to-do list, and I've been a bit slow lately (so busy irl it's been kinda bonkers; but not in a bad way thankfully), so I gotta catch up.
Pls remember that a request is not just "this pairing!" because that's kind of nothing, yanno? Gimme something to work off of! A jumping-off point! A gimmick! Even if it's just a word or two and vibes!
I reserve the right to refuse any requests I’m not comfortable writing, of course, but y’all know me, you have to go hard to squick me or genuinely upset me. I don't write permanent death, nor smut with underage characters, animals, body waste, or family members though. That's a hard rule.
When Demoman and Sniper stop for a nice picnic lunch in the Crosley Fish and Wildlife Area in Vernon, Indiana, it seems like a peaceful, quiet time by the lake. Until they learn they're in someone else's territory...
Ao3 Link!
Part of Monstrous Intent!
You may think these are chapters of a story about a road trip but they're actually secretly me teaching you weird bits of trivia about places I've never been to. Enjoy! XD
"Cannae believe ye came away from this wee pit stop with bite wounds on both sides o' yer neck," Demoman chuckled as he and Sniper loaded up the ute. He tossed their bags of freshly-laundered clothing into the bunk.
"To be fair, the one from Grant's almost gone," Sniper replied simply, squirreling away the sack of hotel toiletries (and stolen towels) they'd made sure to gather up. The other bag he held contained a bunch of brownies that Demoman had splurged on in the hotel gift shop. "Why so many brownies?"
"Ye didnae read the wee booklet in the room? This hotel's where they were invented, for the World's Fair," Demoman replied simply. "Besides, what's a vacation without a few wee tourist treats?"
Sniper chuckled softly and put the bag in the cabinet for later snacking. "Fair enough. Should hit a supermarket on the way out, too. Stock up so we don't 'ave to go try and hunt our food 'til we're done in Point Pleasant at least."
"Aye, dinnae want ye gettin' seduced by any other wildcats," Demoman snorted, earning himself a light shove and erupting into a full laugh.
"Wanker," Sniper huffed ruefully.
*
After a stop off for groceries on the way out of town, the mercenaries headed south, leaving Chicago and their two wild nights behind.
"Should be able to make it to Point Pleasant by evenin' with a leisurely drive," Sniper remarked as they pulled onto the highway.
"What's our route?"
"South to Indiana on I-65 for two hundred sixty miles or so, headed for a spot in the lower corner of the state in Vernon, where there's some lovely forest with plenty of camping. Figure we'll stop there, 'ave a nice lunch in nature, then make our way to route 50. Fifty miles on there 'til we cross into Ohio and keep going east. It's nearly a straight shot from Vernon to Point Pleasant for the most part," Sniper explained. "Should be arrivin' just in time for a late dinner."
"Short drive crossin' so many states," Demoman chuckled. "Ye can tell we're goin' east."
"Bloody wild 'earin' a European callin' seven or eight hours a short drive," Sniper snorted.
"Aye, but compared tae the first half o' the drive? Touchin' four states in a single workday sounds right mental."
*
"So," Sniper began, breaking the hour or so of silence that had settled in atop the background droning of the radio. Long stretches of rolling grassland spread out on either side of the interstate, broken occasionally by houses and stray trees and letting the late-morning sun gently bake the mercenaries in the ute's cab. "You think Heavy, Doc, and Soldier shagged after that gun show?"
Demoman snorted a laugh. "Figured that for a given. Good for 'em, though," he hummed. "'m glad Jane's well and truly puttin' himself back out there."
"'e's been datin' Scout since March, love."
"Aye, but they were already basically an item, ye ken? Only thing stoppin' Soldier from goin' official sooner with the lad was the whole thing with the other team's Demoman. Lad held a torch even after all o' that mess, then he comes tae the party late and the first thing he does is tell Scout he's in love with him?" Demoman shook his head.
"You think the thing Jane said he needed to figure out was all that with the RED Demo?"
"Bloody well ken it," Demoman confirmed. "I'd wager good money the lad was meetin' up with him again off hours, tryin' tae be better discrete about it." With a sigh, he turned his eye to the road ahead. "Suppose it didnae go the way he hoped. But maybe the way he needed, ye ken."
Sniper shook his head. "Shame, really. What 'appened with them. Fallin' in love across enemy lines."
"Aye, but I dinnae think it'd last. That Demoman's a drunken lout, and when I'm sayin' that, ye ken yer man's hit rock bottom," Demoman sighed. "And Jane, he's me mate, but he's nae exactly a stabilizin' influence."
"And Soldier's a bloody maniac when 'e gets worked up."
"Aye. They only encouraged the worst in each other. It was gonna go bad nae matter which way it ended, I think."
Sniper let out a long, thoughtful breath through his nose. "I try to be good for you, pup. I know I'm like to go off half-cocked on adventures sometimes, but—"
"Oi, dinnae make this about us," Demoman laughed. "Yer great for me, Mickey. Best thing that's ever happened tae me. I look at that RED bastard and there but for the grace o' Michael Mundy goes I."
"You're good for me, too," Sniper replied warmly, sparing a hand from the steering wheel to lay atop his lover's thigh and give a light squeeze.
"I ken. Otherwise ye'd never settle down, always off doin' some such nonsense and gettin' yerself intae trouble," Demoman chastised teasingly.
"Settle down?" Sniper chuckled. "Next you'll want a house and ankle biters."
"Got a house, Dee. Bloody mansion. Kids?" Demoman's nose wrinkled, not thrilled with the possibility of having to actively choose to throw away generations of abusive DeGroot child-rearing, sure that he couldn't bring himself to subject a child to it. "How about a couple o' dogs instead?"
"I mean, you're a werewolf. Couple of kids, couple of dogs, they might end up bein' the same thing, yeh?"
"MICHAEL MUNDY," Demoman howled, swatting at his husband and making him shrink away snickering, "ye great bastard!"
"No worries, love, sprogs wouldn't fit our lifestyle anyway. We'd 'ave to stop fuckin' Scout in public spaces all the time, for one."
"Aye," Demoman hummed thoughtfully, "I dinnae ken if that's a sacrifice any o' the lads would be willin' tae make."
Sniper snickered at that. "Speakin' of that little wanker and family, which one of 'is boyfriends you think 'e's gonna bring 'ome to 'is mum first? Soldier, Heavy, Medic, or Spy?"
Demoman pouted as he considered that question. "Cripe, that's a choice, innit? Does Scout's mum even ken about all... this?"
"Yeh, nah, Scout's not told 'er about any of us, at least as far as datin' and shaggin' goes."
"Probably for the best. All o' the lad's officials are basically his mum's age or older. Bloody hilarious."
"I 'ope 'e brings 'ome Spy, honestly. Imagine the absolute chaos that would cause, what with 'is mum shaggin' the RED Spy and all."
"Shite, I'd forgotten all about that! Both spooks under the same roof for bloody Smissmas dinner, snipin' at each other in French at the table and bein' prissy gits the whole time. Scout havin' tae explain his taste in men tae his mum, and how he brought home her man's double! That'd be legendary!"
"So long as Scout's mum doesn't go and try to steal Scout's Spy away from 'im to 'ave 'em all to 'erself," Sniper snorted, making Demoman whoop out a laugh.
"Fucked up," Demoman chuckled. "Though ye seen photos o' the lass? If anyone could do it, it'd be her."
"She is a deadset stunner," Sniper agreed with amusement.
*
Shortly after one o'clock, Sniper turned the ute off of the highway and into a lot in the middle of a clearing. The forest all around had been deep and dense and dark for miles, so the sudden bright, clear-cut spot of grass and concrete had Demoman perking up from his road-sleepy relaxation. A wooden sign read Crosley Fish and Wildlife Area, and a large welcome building sat beside the lot, which wound down into a few gravel access roads, one heading to a maintenance area, another to what looked like a gun range, and a third that disappeared into the trees.
"Is this yer lunch spot?" Demoman asked as they passed the lot and onto the third gravel road, the shadows of the forest canopy enveloping them once again. The road wound along for a while, eventually coming to an end as the trees opened to reveal a lake with a small boat launch built on one side and a small parking lot beside.
"Figured a picnic by the lake would be nice," Sniper replied warmly, pulling into a space and throwing the ute into park.
"How'd ye even ken this place was here?"
Sniper shut off the engine, and smiled, a bit smugly. "May have spent a bit of time here once after a job in the area. The fishin' 'ere's aces."
"O' course ye'd remember a lovely fishin' spot in the middle o' the Indiana wilderness," Demoman chuckled. "Ye file that away? Aye someday I'll take me future husband here for lunch. He'll be right charmed."
Sniper's smug smile melted into something warm and fond. "So are you charmed?"
"I am charmed, aye."
"Good on ya, younger Mick!"
Demoman laid out a picnic blanket near the water as Sniper emerged from the ute with a shopping bag full of food and a pair of cold cans of beer. As he sat down, the bushman pulled out a few packages of lunch meat and cheese, some bread, and a bottle of mustard, as well as a couple of Demoman's hotel brownies.
"Cans and sweets? Mickey ye spoil me," Demoman teased, cracking his beer loudly.
"Gotta provide for me mate like a proper hunter," Sniper agreed, popping his open in turn.
With a snicker, Demoman opened the bread and turkey, and began assembling a sandwich. "Aye, stalkin' the delicatessen like a true predator. Ye ken the way tae a wolf's heart, bringin'..." he checked the cheese, "provolone back tae the pack."
Sniper tipped his hat with a wink. "Only the best sangers for me bloke," he said, making Demoman snort a snicker.
Their banter quickly faded into comfortable silence as they finished building and eating their sandwiches, the cool breeze off of the lake keeping the sun from being too bothersome and they enjoyed the warmth of the early afternoon. Eventually Sniper put away their leftovers and came back to join Demoman on the blanket, where he had already laid down for a cozy doze with a full belly.
"Nap time?"
"Just a wee cat nap in the sun," Demoman replied, reaching out to Sniper. "Give us a cuddle."
"You sound like me," Sniper snorted, acquiescing to his husband's demand regardless, laying down beside him and letting himself be scooped into the Scot's arms and spooned comfortably on their picnic blanket.
Demoman tugged Sniper's hat off and laid it atop them to block the sun, then buried his nose in the hair at the nape of his neck, inhaling his scent contentedly. "Mine," he murmured softly.
"Yours," Sniper replied, giving his hand a squeeze as he felt the bomber smile against him.
A light slumber claimed them, the gentle sussurus of a breeze tickling the leaves of the forest canopy against one another lulling them with its wordless song. Unfortunately, after about half an hour or so they found their peaceful nap disturbed as a smell made Demoman's nostrils flare and his guts churn.
He grimaced, grumbling muzzily as he was dragged from his nap by a stench somewhere between feces and rotten meat, and he groaned, "Mickey, cripe, I'm nae lettin' ye near deli meat again! Yer sleep farts are the stuff o' Revelation!"
Sniper snorted awake and recoiled, his hands flying to his nose to cover them. "Oi, don't you blame me for that! If me farts smelled that bad we'd be going to the bloody emergency room!"
Demoman sat up, casting about, trying to find the source of the absolutely nauseating aroma rolling over them like a cloying miasma, feeling his mouth salivate in preparation to possibly vomit. "Whatever it is it's bloody honkin'," Demoman said, his whole face scrunching up.
Sniper pulled himself upright, wincing against the stench. "Something must've up and karked it and been bakin' in the sun for hours, and the wind just now shifted to give us the honour," he grumbled, looking around. Then, he froze. "There."
Across the lot, just inside the darkness of the tree line, was a pair of glowing red eyes, watching them.
"Bugger," Sniper grunted, jumping to his feet with Demoman close on his heels as the owner of the eyes emerged into the light.
It was humanoid, but ape-like. Roughly seven feet tall and built of what had to be solid, broad muscle beneath a thick, shaggy, unkempt coat of matted dark brown fur. The beast bared massive, sharp, yellowed teeth in a threat display as it gripped the trees on either side of it and shook them, rattling the canopy and cracking wood as it began to hoot and holler in a deep, bellowing voice.
"Dinnae think it wants tae play," Demoman said, backing up a bit, his fingers flying to the buttons of his shirt and popping them one by one.
"Comin' to an open clearin' at a campsite, though, that's awful bold," Sniper replied, keeping his eyes on the monster before them, a good twelve or so metres away. "Oi!" he shouted, trying not to move too suddenly. "Didn't know this was your territory, mate! Sorry to bother you, we'll just be on our wa—" he ducked as a rock the size of his head barely missed slamming into him, instead clattering into the gravel beside the dock. "Crikey, I don't think the ol' clobber's up for a convo."
The words had barely left Sniper's mouth before the beast was bounding at him, running all fours, using its knuckles to propel itself like a gorilla as it roared, violent intent on its hate-twisted face. As Sniper turned to run, a black blur burst past him toward the beast, making him stumble back and nearly trip over Demoman's clothes piled haphazardly on the blanket.
Demoman surged forward, already transformed and snarling as he charged into the beast, colliding in a flurry of fur and claws and teeth. He bowled the beast to the ground, where it landed in the lakeside gravel on its back with a breathless grunt, only to be kicked away before he found his own footing. Before the beast had time to fully rise, Demoman was back on him, sinking his fangs into the beast's shoulder a moment before its meaty fist collided with his gut. The stench was unreal, but he dug in harder, determined to protect his mate.
Sniper snatched the blanket and Demoman's clothes up and dashed to the ute, ripping its door open and chucking the bundle of fabric onto the passenger side floor for now as he climbed inside. He slammed the door shut and ripped his rifle from its rack behind the seat, using the window frame to help stabilize himself as he put his eye to the scope and lined up a shot.
A red gash opened in the wake of Demoman's claws raking over the beast's chest, but a second strike was stymied as it grabbed his wrist and yanked his arm up high. Another punch landed in his ribs, making him yelp and snap at his face, barely missing the beast's cheek. He grabbed the beast's side with his free hand and dug in, piercing his claws deep and feeling the hot blood soak its thick fur. He earned a headbutt to the good eye for his troubles, rattling him. When he shook away the dizziness, a blue dot of light appeared on the creature's shoulder.
Demoman knew what that meant. He withdrew his claws from the beast's side and wrenched himself away to clear the line, and as the loud crack of the rifle's report ripped through the quiet forest, so too did a round rip through the meat of the beast's shoulder, blasting a sizable but not likely lethal exit wound out of the other side and sending the monster tumbling to the turf in agony, screaming and bleeding, fully disengaged from the bruised and battered werewolf it had battled.
Drawing himself up to his full height to tower over the supine creature, Demoman growled, that blue dot dancing around like a threat. In a skittering spray of gravel, the beast scrambled to its feet and bolted into the forest, running for its life in abject terror, leaving a trail of blood and stink in its wake.
When he was sure it had gone, Demoman calmly trudged to the tree line and vomited, his stomach unable to handle the stench and his mouth equally displeased by the flavour. Maybe biting hadn't been the best decision, heat of the moment be damned.
He whimpered as he heard Sniper's boots crunching in the gravel lot, and wiped his arm across his muzzle, looking pitifully down at his thankfully unharmed husband.
"You alright, love?" Sniper asked, checking him over.
Bruised, sore, but the worst of it was the fucking smell, which was now soaked into his own fur and making his stomach fairly percolate with nausea. He nodded, but whimpered still, the softest creak of a sound that had Sniper smiling in sympathy at how pathetic yet adorable it was.
"Don't think the cunt's comin' back, with a hole that size in 'is shoulder," Sniper assured him with a warm clap on the back, grimacing at the stink that was now surely on his skin. "Sorry you 'ad to transform."
Demoman shrugged a shoulder. It was fine. Who knew how sapient that creature was? A simple apology and deescalation could have been just fine. Unfortunately that great bastard was just looking to pick a fight. Maybe next time he'll think twice. At least the people he decided to start trouble with this time were equipped for such an encounter. Some poor fisherman wouldn't be so lucky.
With a sigh, the adrenaline beginning to subside, Sniper rubbed a slow circle on Demoman's back, trying to soothe him. "No offense, Pup, but you smell bloody awful," he said, a bit of mirth in his voice.
This time, Demoman's whimper was fully pathetic and shameless, turning his lone, mournful eye to the human by his side. He knew. And he was suffering.
"Gonna be stuck like this for an hour, and there's no way I'm lettin' you put that stink in the ute. Need fire to get that outta upholstery," Sniper chuckled. "I've got an idea."
Suds floated atop the lake surface in a ring around Demoman, the soft disturbance of the water making it lap against his sodden fur as he sat in the shallows, a soft grumble of comfort rising in his throat as Sniper's fingers worked into the thick fur at the back of his head and neck. It would be almost luxuriant if it weren't for the fact that the man was basically giving him a dog bath in a lake, pouring the entire contents of the hotel shampoos, conditioners, and soaps into his dense fur and working it in to try and work the stink out.
He wasn't sure if the smell was still there, his senses drowned out by the artificial vanilla stink of the hotel soap, but at least he wasn't nauseated anymore, so it seemed an improvement.
It didn't hurt that Sniper was naked behind him, pressed bodily against him as he worked the cleansers into his fur, a rag thrown over his shoulder, humming 'Waltzing Matilda'. It was almost nice, being doted on, having his husband touching him all over and holding him so close. It was intimate in a way he hadn't considered before, and as Sniper's fingers reached the top of his head and gently rubbed soap onto his ears and began to carefully cross onto his face and muzzle, he sighed contentedly.
"Like this, do you?" Sniper asked warmly, pressing his forehead to the crown of Demoman's soapy head with a smile.
Demoman grumbled out an affirmative sound, wiggling a bit for emphasis.
Sniper chuckled, reaching for a mug he'd brought with him and dipping it into the lake to collect some water. "Maybe I should do this when you're not a wolf sometime."
Demoman's tail wagged, splashing the water a bit and bapping Sniper in the ankle. The assassin couldn't help but find it cute as he clung to his lover and began pouring the water on him, rinsing the soap slowly out of his fur.
It took a bit of doing, but eventually Demoman was scrubbed and rinsed from the waist up, the smell seeming to have been chased away by the assault of soaps and shampoos. "Right, time to get below the waist," Sniper announced, letting go to let Demoman stand. "Gotta get the rest of your fluffy arse nice and fresh."
Demoman climbed to his feet and turned to Sniper, both of the mercenaries' eyes drawn downward to the rather insistent erection he had been hiding just below the water line.
Sniper grinned and looked up, meeting Demoman's eye. "I mean. We can always wait a little bit to finish up, yeah?"
Demoman pushed him down on the shoreline and flipped him over, reaching for the lotions that were in the bag, laying unused beside empty shampoo bottles.
Soldier takes Spy to the bastion of American culture: Waffle House
Ao3 Link!
This one goes out to @pantspissedinreverse and @littlegrayram who gave me the idea for this silly shit. XD
---------
"And you're telling me this is a 'bastion of American culture'?" Spy asked dubiously, not exactly confident that the words 'American' and 'culture' belonged next to one another in a sentence. At least, not unless one was discussing pearl clutching, a dysfunctional relationship to food and intoxicants, and disquieting amounts of patriotism.
"It is the bastion of American culture!" Soldier assured him with disquieting amounts of patriotism. "There is nothing more American than showing up somewhere at three in the morning and ordering complicated hash browns using code words off of a laminated placemat menu!" He paused a moment, then added, "Except fighting the English."
Spy could get on board with that part, at least. All the same, he took a drag from his cigarette as he took in the sight of the building before them. It was an architecturally disinteresting building, a squat rectangle made of brick with large plate-glass windows surrounding a dining room full of booth seats. A red, metal awning hung atop the windows, and above that like a ribbon wrapped around the upper section of the building was yellow paneling, the words WAFFLE HOUSE adorning each of the building's facings in stark black sans-serif letters. The restaurant was hideous from the outside, the combination of colours deeply unappetizing when invoking the idea of waffles. Spy breathed out smoke through his nose, his lips settling into a frown.
This was going to be a miserable time. He already knew it. Americans loved heavy, greasy, filling breakfasts that made one lethargic all day. He preferred a nice pastry or a baguette with butter and jam, something light to start his day. Sure, it was basically dinner time now, so something rich and filling wouldn't destroy him, but all the same he didn't exactly feel that it boded well.
Then he looked to Soldier, who was wearing that excited grin of his, fairly bouncing in place as he finished getting out of the car and closed the door. Spy sighed and finished his cigarette, flicking the butt to the ground. He hated how cute that grin was, how precious Soldier's excitement was, like a puppy straining at a leash, bounding with every step. He hated how much that wormed its way into his chest and had gained a death grip on his heart, squeezing like a stress toy.
How dare he.
"Lead away," he bade, gesturing vaguely to the restaurant, only for Soldier to snag him by the hand and tug him inside.
*
The inside of the Waffle House was noisy, there being no back of house to drown out the sounds of cooking. Instead, the register and bar seating were all that separated the food preparation area from the rest of the restaurant. As such, the air was choked with both grease and the smell of sizzling meat and potatoes, both uncomfortable and alluring at the same time, and in spite of himself, Spy found his stomach growling. Even if he did wonder about the sanitation concerns of such a setup at restaurant scale.
From behind the register, one of the restaurant's waitresses, a matronly latina woman with a stocky frame and a warm smile, waved the mercenaries in with an air of familiarity.
Spy afforded her a polite nod, and Soldier tossed her a, "Thanks, sister!" and he steered Spy to a booth in the corner, letting Spy put his back to the wall and giving him a view of the entire restaurant.
"I prefer the bar," Soldier said as they slid into the booth opposite one another. "But I know you want good sight lines."
Spy swallowed down the way his heart leapt at that. For fuck's sake he was nearly fifty years old could he please not react like that every time someone endearing understands how he operates and accommodates that without judgement?
"Merci," he managed, schooling his expression.
Soldier grinned broadly, then slapped the placemat in front of him, a laminated rectangle. "Here's the menu. They have combo meals or you can order piecemeal."
Spy picked up his placemat, cringing at the slight stickiness of the plastic, and read the offerings in front of him. Standard fare, from the looks of it. Eggs, breakfast meat, the eponymous waffles, hash browns... wait."
"Smothered, covered, capped—what is this nonsense?" Spy asked, squinting at the hash brown portion of the menu.
"The hash brown code!" Soldier declared excitedly. "You have to order using the code! Like me! I want onions, cheese, and chili on my hash browns!"
"They put chili on them?"
"Yup! So when I order, I'll ask for 'em smothered, covered, and topped!"
"...why can't you just ask for them with onions, cheese, and chili?"
"Because this is Waffle House, missy! And at Waffle House, there's protocol!"
Spy sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I... see."
"Can I get you boys any drinks to start?" The waitress who had greeted them swooped around to their table, notepad in hand and a laugh in her voice as Spy jolted, honestly surprised. "Sorry, baby, did I startle you?"
"I am fine," Spy huffed, more affronted at being called 'baby' like this woman knew him than anything.
She answered with a soft chuckle. "I'm Isel, and I'll be your waitress today," she introduced. "So what can I start you boys with?"
"Coffee, black," Soldier said with a smile. "And a glass of milk."
"Honey, I don't think you need stronger bones. You're built like the broad side of a barn," she teased, making Soldier chuckle warmly in reply.
"Well I can't start slacking off now," Soldier said, flexing a bit for effect.
It unsettled Spy, seeing him interact with a civilian like he was almost a normal person.
"And for you, baby?" Isel asked Spy.
"Coffee as well. And water," Spy replied simply. He watched her face fall as he refused to meet her warm energy with anything but cool dispassion, and forced an earnest-looking smile to his face, turning on the false charm to appear more comfortable and genteel. "Thank you," he added, his voice soft, pretending at shyness to make up for his initial veneer of distaste.
Isel seemed to take it as intended and noted down their orders. "I'll get that right up for you boys," she said, sweeping away in an instant, leaving them alone to consider their menus.
"So, what're you thinking?" Soldier asked, lifting his placemat-cum-menu and peeking over it at Spy, his eyes barely visible in the thin strip of space between the rim of his helmet and the top of the menu.
Spy couldn't help a small, genuine smile at how impish it was. "What are the waffles here like? Are they fluffy, or thin?"
"Thin, and nice and sweet!"
Spy pursed his lips, wondering if his tastebuds could stand up to something even Soldier thought was sweet. Though he did quite like thin waffles. "I suppose I'll try one of the platters, then. Have the full Waffle House experience," he said, like he was resigning himself to the gallows.
"Attaboy!" Soldier cheered, pumping his fist.
Isel came back around with two mugs and a coffee pot, pouring each mercenary a piping hot cuppa before turning around and setting the pot down on the bar, where Soldier's milk and Spy's water awaited. She set those drinks down beside the coffee mugs and pulled out her notepad. "So what'll you boys have?"
"I'll take the All Star Special," Soldier declared, tapping his menu on the table. "Eggs scrambled, white toast, and bacon."
"Grits or hash browns?"
"Hash browns, all the way," Soldier replied with a grin, then returned his menu to placemat mode.
Spy frowned in thought. Well, he did say he'd get the full experience. "I'll have the special as well," he said. "Eggs runny—"
"Over easy?" Isel clarified.
Spy had to think a moment. It had been a long time since he'd ordered eggs at an American diner. "...yes," he settled on, hoping he was right. "Wheat toast, and sausage."
"Grits or hash browns?"
"Hash browns, and I would like them," Spy squinted at the menu, "smothered, covered, and... chunked?"
Scribbling down some shorthand, Isel nodded. "Alright boys, I'll get that in for you."
"Merci," Spy offered, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness as she left.
"Big meal for you, Crouton," Soldier chuckled. "I'm surprised you can fit that much food in you!"
"I assume you will handle anything I cannot pack away," Spy said with a roll of his eyes as he lifted his mug to his lips.
"You'd be amazed how much I can fit inside me!" Soldier declared, nearly making Spy snort his coffee.
"Yes, well," Spy sputtered, trying to regain his composure as he shooed dirty thoughts from his mind. "I must say, this place is very... familiar. Welcoming."
"It's a home away from home!" Soldier agreed, casting a look around the room.
Spy didn't follow his gaze, watching the maniac across from him instead. Soldier's smile was warm, like he truly felt at peace here. Spy wondered how many places Soldier truly felt that way.
He was a warrior by his very nature. Violence was in his blood. He had energy for days and a lust for life that found joy in every tiny thing. But outside of the Gravel War, he had nobody. Any trace of his family was long gone, and the man's only friend had betrayed him for a haunted sword.
And he came here to be called 'baby' by the waitresses and fed rib-sticking breakfasts that were designed to remind a man of home. Of mornings when his mama would fry up some eggs and serve them with a big glass of milk for her growing boy.
Something ached in Spy's heart at that. Soldier's experience of home was as transient as his own, long gone and existing only in hazy memories and gentleness purchased from strangers. For him it was quiet cafes. For Soldier it was a greaseball diner chain where Spy was pretty sure the song playing on the juke box was about the Waffle House itself.
"Come on in, you see, we'll treat you like you're family
Just come on in, we're always home
We've got good food back to keep you coming back
At the Waffle House you're always welcome back home
Look for the big yellow sign
Morning noon and night
Look for the big yellow sign
Come on in we'll treat you right
Look for the big yellow sign"
Spy watched Soldier drink his milk, a soft smile lingering on his lips, forgetting himself in favour of enjoying the weird, dangerous, frustratingly endearing man sitting opposite of him. So lost in the moment he was that he almost didn't notice it when someone from a nearby booth got up and punched a man clean off of one of the bar stools.
Silverware clinked and plastic cups slammed onto tables as the entire room's attention was dragged to two men, a pair of blue-collar white guys, who were now currently in the middle of a brawl on the grease-tacky linoleum tile floor, the initial aggressor now mounting his opponent to rain blows upon his face as the other man shielded himself with his arms and shouted epithets, daring him to beat him even as he was doing exactly that.
A scream erupted as the woman who had been sitting next to the man at the bar hopped from her stool and snatched the metal napkin dispenser from the counter. With a mighty swing, she clubbed her companion's assailant upside the head with the thing, a resounding DONK filling the room.
Wheeling around and clutching his head, the injured man slapped the now-dented napkin holder from her hand and clocked her in the jaw with a hook, sending her tumbling to the floor with a wail. At that point, several other customers took offense to his offense, and rose from their seats with ill intent.
"About time!" Soldier cackled, shifting to get out of his seat.
"About time?!" Spy barked in shock and confusion as a massive brawl broke out in the middle of the restaurant, most of the staff looking somewhere between nonplussed to mildly annoyed at the situation.
"This is the longest I've been in a Waffle House before a fight's broken out!" Soldier explained, clarifying very little. "Now here's where the real fun starts!"
Before Spy could get another word out, Soldier charged into the fray, fists flying, cackling like a madman.
Isel calmly came around with a tray full of food and set it out on the table in front of Spy. "Slow for a Thursday," she commented with a soft chuckle as she finished setting everything out. Turning, she set the tray down on the counter and waded into the melee.
Spy watched and sipped his coffee. A bastion of American culture indeed.
Getting stuck at a remote base with no access to alcohol and none provided in the company rations leads Demoman's organs to solve their own problems, leading to a rather unusual side effect that might just help the whole team out, if they're amenable.
Ao3 Link!
I blame Welperino entirely for this silliness, as a discussion about Demo having whiskey dick somehow turned into joking about Demo's weird control over his organs, and Welperino then busting out "Oh god. His balls making beer instead of cum." and then an idea hit me like lightning, lmao. Yes the whole group chat was like LUNA NO so you knew this was gonna be good XD
Warnings: Symptoms of alcohol withdrawal, mention of Demo's alcoholism and trauma and maladaptive coping using alcohol. Alcohol use, drunkenness, and technically prostitution. Well. Plans for prostitution.
---------
The transfer to Gorge shouldn't have been that big of a deal. After all, it wasn't the first time the team had been tucked away in a remote base, far from civilization and forced to subsist entirely on the iffy-at-best provisions provided by the company, given no option to supplement with trips into town to hit grocery and liquor stores. They'd done their time at Coldfront and Sawmill. But this time was far different.
There were no alcohol provisions.
Typically, the team was provided a crate or two of something low-proof, like some Red Shed beer and scrumpy, that dry cider that Demoman in particular adored. But when all of the supplies had arrived, not a single drop of booze had been unloaded from the train.
It had been demoralizing, to say the least.
With no alcohol provided and no option for local shopping, the RED team found themselves, to their great dismay, forced into having a dry month at Gorge. None of them were happy about it. There would be no beer to take the edge off after a long day. No tasty cocktails to spoil themselves when they needed a pick-me-up. No liquor to fuel weekend parties to let loose and have fun after their bloody, violent, exhausting work week.
Of course, none of the mercenaries were impacted nearly as much as Demoman.
He'd attempted to wheedle with the supply crew, to report this as a medical issue to Miss Pauling herself, even checked the toiletries to see if they'd been given any mouthwash. But to no avail, the team's resident addict would be forced to go cold turkey off of the poison that fueled his very career. The thing that served as both self-destruction and coping mechanism. Thankfully, Medic understood his plight all too well.
"Isopropanol is lethal," Medic huffed, putting his bottles of rubbing alcohol in a closed cabinet so that Demoman would stop eyeing them. "It has a completely different molecular structure, and the liver processes it into acetone."
Demoman frowned. He knew that. Of the two of them, he was the bloody chemist. Sure, he mostly worked off of vibes and instinct rather than an actual education, but it had served him well thus far in life. "Don't think I dinnae ken that," he harrumphed. "Was just starin' intae the middle distance waitin' for ye tae stop chatterin' tae yer doves and bloody help me."
"My friend, I can't synthesize alcohol from thin air, and unfortunately I have yet to devise a method of chemical or surgical detox that doesn't simply kill the patient, though I have made progress in the past several months," Medic assured him with a light titter.
Slouching over, Demoman's head fell to his hands. He had a pounding headache and felt like death warmed over. It was Thursday already, barely four days into his forced detox, and he'd developed the shakes and had thrown up several times every day since this hell began. He was too warm, and from what Medic had told him his blood pressure was through the roof. He was sure he was seeing things at the edges of his vision, phantom movement of things that weren't really there, which the doctor had assured him was normal for his level of withdrawal.
Lovely; losing the one thing that kept him sane was driving him mad. He couldn't go on like this. He'd spent more time this week in respawn than on the field.
"Then what can ye do tae help me, Doc? I cannae go on like this," he whimpered, on the edge of tears.
Medic sighed and threw an arm around his patient, his friend. "I am sorry. The best I can do is help you manage your symptoms. Pain killers, antacids, blood thinners, cold showers, and good company. You are nothing if not tenacious, my friend. I'm sure you'll slay this monster."
Demoman leaned into the embrace, then in a moment of weakness wrapped his arms around Medic and pulled him close, burying his face in the doctor's pillowy pectorals, breaking down into tears. "I'm the bloody monster here! A one-eyed monster what cannae aim his launcher he's shakin' so bad!"
Medic awkwardly pat Demoman on the back, letting the man soak his coat with tears. He'd never been one for bedside manner, let alone reassuring his deeply unwell comrade that the forced removal of the man's literal only coping mechanism for a lifetime of trauma was something he could surely overcome in a month. Medic was a natural liar and bullshit artist, but even he had limits.
"What about Scout?" he asked, trying to pass the buck. "You have him, yes? He quite likes you, so you can't be so much of a monster as you think. And I'm sure he'd be glad to help you stay distracted while you go through this," he suggested, pushing Demoman out of his chest by the shoulders and making eye contact with the weepy, shaking Scotsman.
"I dinnae ken if that's fair tae him," Demoman mumbled, wiping his face. "Put all this on him."
"Well, then I'm sure you'll come up with something, hm? After all, you're a master of extemporaneous chemistry," Medic assured him with a sparkle in his eye, watching a thoughtful expression pull at the bomber's dour grimace.
"Last time I tried tae build a still on company property they almost voided me contract," Demoman replied, deflating as quickly as the gears has begun to turn.
"I'm sure you'll come up with something," Medic repeated, stepping away to gesture for Demoman to get the hell off of his examination table. "Now, if you experience any changes in your symptoms, for better or worse, inform me immediately. Regardless, I would like to see you in one week for another examination to monitor your status."
"What the hell d'ye think this is, ye feckin' numpty?! I'm fit tae shrivel up tae dust here and yer jes' soldierin' on like it's nae danger? Get it up ye, DeGroot, I'm like tae up 'n leave ye one o' these days!"
"Please, Liver, ye cannae do this tae me! We're a team, ye and I! Ye ken I love ye, baby!"
"Well if ye cannae right this ship on yer own, I'm takin' over as captain, ye daft eedjit!"
With a snort, Demoman shot awake, the room spinning as he sat up too fast, only getting worse as he shook his head. His stomach threatened to rise, but the bomber knew the sensation well, a rictus grin spreading across his face as he gurned through the urge, doubling forward and fighting it down. Bloody hell, he hated waking up still drunk. It was so much more disorienting than just waking up with a hangover. The least the liquor could do was run its course while he was trying to sleep it off—
Wait.
Demoman cupped his palm in front of his mouth and exhaled, sniffing his breath. It smelled mostly just of the dragon breath that came with a hard night's sleep, but there was something at the edge of it. That sharp, fiery tang that he knew so very, very well.
Alcohol.
He looked around, casting about in confusion to find neither cups nor cans nor bottles by his bedside, merely Scout's nude body curled up beside him, asleep and hogging the sheets.
I'm takin' over as captain, ye daft eedjit!
What a ridiculous dream. But here he was, the spiral sway had returned; the familiar buzzing numbness was like being swaddled in a comforter, cozy and right where he was supposed to be. Tears began to roll down his cheeks in fat droplets before he even realized the emotions had welled up, and Demoman flopped back onto the bed in relief. Whatever was happening, he didn't have to suffer anymore.
*
"You seem in good spirits today, my friend," Medic chirped as Demoman swaggered into his office and hopped up onto the examination table. His lips pursed as he watched the bomber's gait with curiousity, though he quickly shook away any expression but his usual slightly smug and evil smile once Demoman was looking his way.
"I'm doin' bloody excellent, Doc," Demoman replied, slightly slurry as he wobbled a bit in his seat. "Had a right barmy dream last night, but woke up feelin' better'n I have since we got tae this blasted base!"
With a thoughtful little, "Hm," Medic gave him an acknowledging nod and got right to work checking his vitals, taking blood pressure, temperature, and auscultating him to listen to his heartbeat.
"Everything is back to your normal baseline," Medic announced once the tests were finished, almost stymied. "Your blood pressure has returned to your normal, your temperature is back down, and your heart rate is no longer elevated. Has anything happened? Did you figure out a solution for your lack of access?"
"Nae, though I'd been draftin' up some ideas. Then last night, in the middle o' the night, I wake up, and the room's spinnin', and I realize I'm off me tits," Demoman explained.
Medic frowned in confusion, then held up a pen. "Follow this." He moved it back and forth, watching the jerky motion of Demoman's eye and the way his pupil was constricted. "Mein Gott, you're completely besoffen!"
Demoman chuckled as Medic tucked his pen away. "Aye, utterly flothered," he confirmed with a grin.
"And you do not know how this happened?"
"Nae clue, woke up drunk, and kept 'er up in spite o' nae liquid but orange juice, tea with milk, and water passin' me lips today."
"What did you eat?" Medic asked, wheeling over a stool to sit upon, fascinated.
"Same breakfast as everyone else, maybe a wee bit more syrup on me pancakes than normal. Lunch was some o' that leftover pound cake Pyro baked."
"And dinner's not for another hour and a half," Medic mused. "Demo, would you terribly mind if I drew some blood for a few tests?"
"Aye, nae danger," Demoman said with a nod.
Medic pursed his lips, pressing his luck, "And perhaps do a bit of exploratory surgery, to get a good look at what is going on inside of you?" He smiled hopefully, trying his best not to look too threatening when showing his teeth.
Demoman thought about it for a moment, but sighed. "Aye, fine, but only because I'm as curious as ye are, Doc."
"Wunderbar!" Medic crowed, hopping up from his stool and sending it wheeling away. "Take off your clothes and get on the surgical table, I'll go prepare.
*
"Well, I can promise you that I have never seen anything like this in my life," Medic assured Demoman as he lay there with his torso spread open and held apart with retractors, the ceiling-mounted medigun keeping him alive and largely pain-free. The doctor was returning from checking on the blood tests he'd been running, and held one of the vials in his hand as he came back up beside Demoman with an excited smile.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Demoman asked with mild amusement, trying not to look down at his own insides splayed out before him.
"I don't trouble myself with such frivolities," Medic tittered, opening the vial. "It is a useful thing for your current situation, and a fascinating medical oddity! That is far more important a distinction."
"So what is goin' on, then?"
"It seems, my friend, that your body, in stubborn refusal to detox, has decided instead to become its own provider of poisons!"
"What?"
"Your organs have somehow become a living pot still, converting the sugars you ingest into alcohol! Which may explain your predilection for sweets today," Medic declared giddily. He held the vial beneath Demoman's nose. "Smell."
The bomber sniffed, his nose wrinkling at the scent of the same burning smell his breath had carried. Here it was even stronger, overpowering the scent of his blood like he was sniffing a jar of white dog that someone had dropped a few pennies into. "Cripe, what's me blood alcohol percentage?"
"Seventy-five!" Medic giggled. "Quite frankly, you should be beyond dead! Pickled, even! You, my friend, are medically unprecedented!"
"Yer sayin' I basically have 151 runnin' through me veins?"
"Precisely!" Medic hissed excitedly. "Your whole body is saturated with ethanol!"
"...this is probably nae healthy."
"Absolutely not," Medic assured him, setting down the sample vial so that he could remove the retractors from Demoman's open torso. "But you are alive, and it is solving your problem while we are here, and based off of the work day, is not being undone by Respawn. So for now, we will simply monitor the situation and react as we can when we need." Setting the retractors aside in a metal tray nearby, he took hold of the medigun and brought it down. "Though I may wish to do more tests as ideas come to me, you understand."
"Aye, o' course."
"Excellent," Medic grinned, dialing the medigun up to a higher setting and watching as Demoman's body knit itself back together, leaving behind no evidence that he'd been opened at all, save for a few bloody fingerprints here and there.
*
Dinner came and went with Demoman far more aware of his newfound sweet tooth, and between work and being operated on, he was knackered by the time he found his way back to his quarters. But it was fine. Thursday nights Scout stayed up a little late watching science fiction movies on telly with Sniper, so he didn't need to be a good boyfriend tonight. He could just go catch himself a good night's sleep, so he did just that.
The next morning, he took his coffee sweeter than usual, and put syrup on his potatoes, which he was surprised to find he quite liked. Maybe Soldier, who swore by the maneuver, was on to something. Regardless, it gave the still plenty of fuel to keep him properly crottle-eyed through the work day so that he could cruise through an easy Friday for the first time since they'd come to this blasted Gorge.
After the whistle blew and the team showered up, they split off to begin their usual Friday activities, celebrating after a long work week and welcoming the weekend with aplomb. Engineer went to get the level-three auto-constructing grill-smoker combo he kept stashed in the back corner of his workshop, while Medic and Heavy got out the chessboard for their weekly bout. Sniper would have been the one to make the beer run, but instead found himself helping Soldier bust out the card table and chips to get ready for the weekly poker game set for later that night. Spy and Pyro had a standing appointment for some darts. And Demoman? Well, Scout had him by the wrist pulling him to his quarters with bedroom eyes.
Scout kicked the door behind him as he finally got his hands on the bomber proper, wrapping his arms around him and tugging him down into a kiss. The familiar alcohol-tang of his tongue didn't even register to him as unusual, not as he was too busy running his own tongue against Demoman's, tilting up onto his toes as he moaned into his mouth, hands beginning to roam and grope at his lover's body through the sweats he'd thrown on after his shower.
Demoman groaned in reply, both hands coming to rest on the curve of Scout's ass and squeezing greedily. He kneaded at his muscular bottom, pulling their bodies flush together, grinding his growing erection against his lover's. A soft growl rose in Scout's throat at that, and soon enough their lips parted, both of them panting.
"What's gotten intae ye?" Demoman teased, tilting in to nip at his neck.
"Been a couple days," Scout replied with a soft gasp as the Scot's teeth met his sensitive skin. "An' you were fuckin' them BLUs up out there today. Lookin' bettern' you have in a few weeks. Was kinda hot, watchin' you kickin' ass an' takin' heads like that," he added. "Good to see you feelin' better too."
Demoman smiled against his neck. It was good to be feeling better, too. "Now ye ken how I always feel, watchin' ye runnin' around like ye do."
"That only gets you goin' 'cause you know what my ass looks like under my uniform," Scout laughed.
"Aye, and I wish I could get ye tae requisition some wee shorts."
Scout shoved Demoman back onto the bed, the wobbly bomber falling with a dirty laugh. "Then you'd be fightin' all the other guys for a piece 'a me, instead 'a havin' me all to yourself, pally."
"Aye, but ye cannae blame me for wantin' tae brag about what I've got," Demoman reasoned.
Scout looked over his lover's body, and the way the outline of his erection stood absolutely lewdly against his baggy sweatpants. "You got enough to brag about already," he teased, sinking to his knees and tugging the bomber's sweats down, eyeing up Demoman's cock and licking his lips.
Demoman barely had time to sit up and look at Scout before he was swallowing him down to the root, making him bark out a moan and go stiff from the shock before flopping back onto the bed, melting into a warbling moan. Good God was Scout amazing with his mouth, all of that talking he did all day doing nothing to tire his nimble tongue, which set to work driving him wild in an instant.
Reaching out with a shaky hand, already so lost in pleasure, Demoman laid it atop Scout's head, fingers sifting through his short hair as he began to bob. Wet slurps filled the room as Scout did his damnedest to maintain suction as his tongue undulated against Demoman. One hand wrapped around the base of his shaft to steady him as the other gathered his balls into his palm, rolling them gently with his fingers as he worked. Demoman's hand fell away as he lay there supine and powerless under the skillful assault of Scout's oral attentions.
It wasn't long before Demoman jerked with a grunt, coming a bit earlier than he might have liked. Like Scout had said, it had been a few days, so he tried not to overthink it as he emptied himself into Scout's mouth, only for that delightful warm, wet embrace to leave him midway through his orgasm.
"JESUS!" Scout barked, flinching. Pulling away, the final spurt of seed caught the bridge of his nose. "WHY DOES IT BURN?!" he asked, after he swallowed.
"Burn?" Demoman asked, pitching up onto his elbows. His cock twitched at the sight of his own seed on Scout's face, but he found himself more concerned at the look of horror that he also wore.
"Your jizz!" Scout clarified, sitting back in shock. "It burned! It tasted like—" he stopped a moment as a familiar feeling washed over him: the slight tingle in his legs that always came with the constriction of his blood vessels when doing shots. He met Demoman's eye in confusion. He swiped a finger through the come on his nose and gave it a sniff. "Alcohol?"
Demoman's eye widened in realization. "Cripe, I didnae think—"
"The hell's goin' on, Tav?"
"Ye ken how I'm back in form, nae feelin' like shite anymore, back tae me old self?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, Doc says me body's turned itself intae a still, and me blood alcohol percentage is seventy five percent."
Scout squinted. "You should be dead."
"That's what I said! Medically unprecedented, he said. Me whole body is practically pickled."
"So your jizz is basically moonshine?"
"It really tastes that strong?"
Scout lifted his come-smeared finger to Demoman, who—after a moment's deliberation—licked his own seed from it. He smacked his lips, looking with surprise down to his lover. "Aye, basically moonshine," he confirmed, almost in wonder.
"So what you're sayin' is there is a source of hooch on base, and it's in your nuts?" Scout asked, laughter in his voice.
"Well if ye wannae phrase it like tha—" Demoman didn't finish his sentence before Scout's mouth was back around his cock.
*
Scout stumbled into the base's rec room, swaying and laughing as he had to prop himself up using the door frame to stay steady. "What's up, losers?" he slurred, making a show of just how drunk he was.
Slowly all eyes turned to him, expressions of surprise and confusion crossing his teammates' faces one after another. Spy strode up to him, darts in hand. He looked Scout up and down, eyes narrowed. "You're stinking drunk! Where did you find alcohol?"
"In Demo's nuts," Scout laughed, making Spy roll his eyes and scoff. "No, but seriously. I dunno how, but Demo's raunch dressin's basically moonshine."
"What a load of bollocks," Sniper grunted.
"Actually," Medic began, instantly dragging everyone's attention to him, startling him a bit. He recoiled with a giggle. "I examined Demoman yesterday, and, well, you all have seen how he's improved in the past few days, ja? His body has begun producing its own alcohol by fermenting and distilling the sugars he eats."
"That makes absolutely zero sense," Spy huffed.
"Right?!" Medic chirped with an exaggerated shrug. "And yet, when I tested his blood, it was quite alcoholic, moreso than any human should be able to survive. It's fascinating to learn that his semen is similar!"
"So Demo's got a goon bag swingin' 'neath 'is old mate? And 'is spoof's fairly grog?" Sniper asked in wonder.
"Land's sake, the boy's so excited he's gone full Aussie," Engineer mumbled.
"That's what I'm tellin' you," Scout assured him with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Door's unlocked, if you wanna go get yourself a shot. Or two. Or thre—"
Before Scout was finished Sniper charged past him and down the hall.
*
The sound of panting breaths and moans in a throaty Scottish brogue resounded out of Demoman's open door and down the hallway where the mercenaries' quarters lay. A line of men stretched out of the room and down the hall, each wobbling drunkenly in place and waiting patiently for their next turn.
Demoman lay on his back at the edge of his bed, flopped prone in mindless, overwrought pleasure as Heavy knelt between his spread legs and suckled at his cock, the giant's tongue laving over the head as he held him shallowly in his mouth, drinking down the trickle of precome that dribbled out of his whimpering teammate.
Medic peered over the shoulder of Engineer, who was next in line, taking in the sight of Heavy on his knees fellating Demoman with the care of a man taking his time to do his task correctly, regardless of how many men were waiting behind him. "You know, I bet we could not only get Demo to orgasm more quickly, but milk some additional pre-ejaculate from him with some prostate stimulation." He giggled, raising a gloved hand as if volunteering. "Oh Demo, would you like some fingers to help? I can show you when it's my turn!"
Demoman heaved out a hoarse cry as he came in Heavy's mouth, the giant swallowing greedily and sucking him down to the root to get every last drop, escalating the bomber's voice into a wail. He pulled off simply, and with a smile and a pat on Demoman's thigh, offered a, "Thank you," before standing and tottering out of the room, making room for Engineer to take his spot as next in line.
"Fingers," Demoman mumbled, addled and barely coherent in the face of having been blown more times than he could count, almost a little terrified that he had anything left in his balls for his teammates to swallow. He chalked it up to whatever chaos was going on with the state of his organs in the few hazy thoughts he could muster. "Doc."
"Don't you worry, he's next," Engineer chuckled easily, taking hold of Demoman's flagging erection at the root and giving him a lick, tasting the alcohol burn at his tip. "Then we can get 'im milkin' you good, 'n' really get this party started." With a soft hum of amusement at the pathetic whimper of overstimulation Demoman replied with, he took him into his mouth fully and set to work.
"Will you all quit romancing his dick and hurry up?" Soldier barked, impatient and trying not to lose his buzz.
*
At the ragged wail of yet another orgasm echoing from the hall, Scout sauntered back into the rec room and flopped down on the couch, looking like the cat who'd got the cream. Spy sat at the other end, trying and failing to have a moment's peace, watching a movie on the television.
"Not gonna get in line?" Scout asked.
Spy narrowed his eyes. No, he was not going to get in line to suck his son's boyfriend's dick. "I'm not interested in siphoning my intoxicants out of a Scotsman's scrotum."
"Psh, alright, but you're missin' out while it's still free."
Spy raised an eyebrow, actually turning to Scout. "What do you mean?"
"You think I stumbled out 'ere to tell you guys instead 'a keepin' it to myself without a plan? First, had a couple gos myself, 'course. But then me an' Demo worked it out. Today? Everyone gets a free taste. Gauge interest, see if anyone would really do it. Get 'em tempted. Does everyone really wanna go dry again after this? Bet they don't. That's why next weekend, we're chargin' a tenner a suck."
Spy smirked, shaking his head. "A homophile, a pimp, and a bootlegger all at once." He pulled his cigarette case from his jacket, pausing to add, "I'm almost impressed."
Scout grinned. "Flattery ain't gettin' you any discounts."
After being kicked out of the club and leaving Ruddy beaten in the street, Demoman and Sniper retire to their hotel suite to finish the night on a high note and a heart to heart, and spend the rest of the next day lounging around and enjoying one another to their heart's content. That is, until dinner's late.
Ao3 Link!
Part of Monstrous Intent!
Warnings: Crying during sex, cuckolding, consensual blood drinking
---------
Demoman moaned, clutching the sheets with one hand as the other lay at the back of Sniper's head, fingers twitching with each breath that hitched out of him. His cock was in the bushman's hot mouth, his tongue undulating against its underside as he sucked slowly, lazily, savoring the taste of his beloved and the sounds spilling forth over those beautiful, oh-so-kissable lips.
Sniper lay between Demoman's legs, one arm around the bomber's thigh, the other hand two fingers deep inside of him and making come-hither motions that had his hips juddering, barely holding back the urge to buck up into Sniper's warm, welcoming mouth. Not that Sniper would have minded.
When they arrived back in their suite at the Palmer House, Demoman hadn't had time to do anything more than kick his shoes off before Sniper was gently bullying him into the bedroom with light, teasing shoves, making him laugh from the insistence of it all. Soon enough their clothes had been shed, scattered haphazardly around the room as they kept pausing to wrap their arms around one another and kiss like they were trying to devour one another's lips, laughing each time they parted and peeled away another garment. It had felt like forever when Sniper finally rolled Demoman onto the bed and climbed atop him, kissing him silly before moving in a line of smooches southward, doubly so when the ever-so-patient assassin had set to his task proper.
He'd been sucking his dick for nearly an hour, and Demoman felt like he was losing his mind. He was weak with pleasure, barely able to squirm in place and shiver with need, his voice rolling out of his mouth in a near-drone of constant breathy nonsense. He'd long since tossed his pillow aside, lying flat atop the sheets and clutching at them with one hand as Sniper set to gently killing him with his tongue and hand.
It was bliss, floating on a cloud of sensory delight, his cock wrapped in the warm, wet embrace of his husband's mouth, fingers stretching him open and beckoning hot throbs of pleasure through him, all thoughts banished from his mind as he just lay there and luxuriated. He could tell that Sniper was drawing it out, going slow and steady enough to keep him teetering, not letting him build toward a proper climax and forcing him to just flounder in the moment and drown in the pleasure. He could barely breathe, his body so overwhelmed.
He felt his thoughts return abruptly as Sniper gently moved his hand from atop his head, threading their fingers together and giving him a squeeze. He looked down to see his husband holding his hand, cock in his mouth, those blue eyes looking up at him with such naked adoration that Demoman had to look away, feeling heat at the corners of his eyes.
"Mickey," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, dragging his eye back down to the man between his thighs, to that face he found so enchanting. "I love ye."
Sniper pulled off with a quiet slurp, trying not to ruin the moment with a funny sound as he squeezed that hand again. "Love you too, Pup," he hummed, and pressed a kiss to the tip of his husband's cock. "Feelin' good?"
"Christ," Demoman huffed. "Good's an understatement."
"Aces," Sniper chuckled, peppering Demoman's cock with more kisses.
"Want ye up here," the bomber admitted, tugging at Sniper's hand a bit. "Want ye on me. Want ye in me. Need tae hold ye."
Sniper smiled warmly, placing another kiss on the bomber's tip before letting go of him and slowly working his fingers out of him. Climbing to his knees and snatching up the tube of lube, he squeezed some onto his hand and slicked up his cock generously before tossing the bottle aside. He groped around for the closest piece of clothing and wiped the lube from his hand. Soon enough he was scooting up between his husband's legs again, smiling as the supine Scotsman lifted his legs for a better angle. He guided himself into Demoman, pushing inside him with little resistance and a sigh, relishing both the tight heat of his body and the groan that left the man as he was breached.
"Mickey," Demoman moaned, reaching out to his husband needily, impatient to have him as close as possible.
Sniper was only happy to oblige, sliding in to the hilt and settling into a comfortable position before he bent forward to lay atop his lover, a soft chuckle leaving him as Demoman immediately wrapped his arms tightly around the slim assassin and caught his lips in a kiss.
Demoman couldn't help but be grateful for the time they'd taken to stop at the train station bathroom so that Sniper could wash his face before they headed back to the hotel. He'd hate to smell anyone else but his husband right now, nosing in against each other between pressing of warm lips, the slide of tongues, the tasting of one another and the sharing of breaths. Their voices mingled together, swallowing soft moans as Sniper began to thrust, slowly rocking into his husband, embraced inside and out by him, wrapped in the man he loved.
Whimpers chased every slide back, Demoman wordlessly begging for him to return, barely able to stand not being as full of him as possible at every moment. He held him tight, close, together. He needed him, needed him, and could feel heat welling again in his face as tears threatened to gather.
Mick Mundy was his everything, this gangly, sun-baked, deeply sexy man with a voice as warm as the desert sands and eyes like a cloudless sky. And here he was, making him feel so good, taking his time and holding him close and treating him with adoration and reverence as he slowly, methodically, intentionally made his pleasure last as long and blissfully as possible. Even inside of him, he was taking his time, not chasing his own release but instead rolling his hips in an easy glide that let his lover feel every single movement, every last millimetre of thrust and retreat, every slow grind against that spot inside that had his legs quaking as they hung uselessly at either side of the assassin's slim hips.
He was in heaven, spoiled and treasured by a man he could scarcely believe he was so fortunate as to share his life with, and Demoman couldn't help the tears that began to roll down the sides of his face, even as his mouth fell open in wordless moans. He clutched at Sniper with hands and hole, pulling him so close he may as well have tried to merge the two of them together into one entity, losing the sense to be able to keep kissing, jawing uselessly, too addled to remember how to pucker his lips or lick his lover's tongue. He merely moaned into Sniper's mouth, crushing him to his chest as he sobbed in pleasure.
Sniper smiled, kissing at his lip anyway, murmuring sweet nothings, so enamored with the way his husband fell into overwhelming emotion as pleasure took him away from sense. It was charming, the way the man felt everything so much, and it only made Sniper want to spoil him sexually all the more. Even so, he could tell it was also the beginning of the end, the ascent, the height of pleasure from which there was only one way down, so after a while longer of just slowly fucking him into a puddle on the bed, he finally picked up a bit of speed, rutting into the bomber with a bit more force, chasing him to the edge.
It didn't hurt that he was losing the ability to bite back his own climax, seeing his husband so sweet and vulnerable in his arms. There was something so attractive at seeing the man completely emotionally bared to him, a kind of trust that Sniper knew was a treasure.
It wasn't much longer before Demoman came with a sob and a moan, his cock trapped between their bellies and messing the both of them as he squeezed around Sniper inside of him, dragging him over the edge in turn. He shivered as he felt his husband's cock throb, filling him with his seed, his heat, the evidence of their lovemaking. When it was over he threw an arm across his own face to cover his eyes, his expression finally settling into a grimace as he fought back the urge to fully break down crying.
Sniper knew this well, too. Demoman felt everything so much, and sometimes one kind of vulnerability combined with just being so overwhelmed brought everything out. And that was fine. He peeled the bomber's arm from across his eyes and kissed his cheeks and nose, wrapping his arms around the other man and holding him close, still inside of him. "Shh, shh, it's okay, love. I'm 'ere."
"Dee," Demoman gulped out as the dam burst, fat tears rolling down the sides of his head and into his ears, his belly hitching as full sobs hiccuped out of him. "Mickey..."
"You're aces, Pup. Let it out, it's fine," Sniper soothed, letting Demoman bury his face in the crook of his neck as he wept, hands pawing at him to hold him close like he'd disappear if he didn't have him in a death grip.
Demoman always felt ridiculous when this happened, how sometimes being overwhelmed physically would cross wires and make any and all emotions that needed a release jump out of him, always at the worst times. Sniper always indulged him, told him it was fine, that he understood, but it didn't make Demoman feel any less pathetic that he would sometimes suddenly start sobbing into his husband's embrace during or after sex.
It didn't help that his surface emotions were still so tumultuous after the club, making it so much easier to tip over into tears.
"I'm sorry, Mickey," he hiccuped, petting at the back of Sniper's head, fingers threading into his short hair.
"It's okay, Tav, you can just let it out. I understand," Sniper soothed, coaxing his husband out of the crook of his neck to look at him and press a soft kiss to the closed eyelid of his missing eye.
"Nae, I mean for tonight. I started a fight, pummeled yer mate, cut ye off from yer group—"
"Oi, none of that," Sniper barked, his expression hardening. "You didn't do a bloody thing wrong, Tavish. "No man who disrespects me husband like that is a mate of mine, reckon?"
Demoman met his eyes, the steely intensity of the man's gaze almost startling. "...reckon," he replied, almost meekly.
"Ruddy punched 'is own ticket when 'e talked to you like you were some bloody trophy, and talked about your husband like that to your face." He pressed a kiss to the tip of Demoman's nose. "That cunt's always been a loud-mouthed prick, but I wager 'e got 'is knickers in a twist, jealous like you'd stolen me away from the lads or some bollocks. 'e can rack off, I've no time for that kind of petulance. And even less for anyone who mistreats me husband."
Demoman sniffled, nosing in against Sniper's cheek. "I could've told him off before I swung on him, though."
"I won't lie, I'm a little surprised that was your first move. Usually you fire back before you throw 'ands," Sniper admitted with a soft smooch.
"I was already deep in me own heid," Demoman explained, not meeting Sniper's eye. "Thinkin' too hard. Realizin' I wasnae comfortable."
"Ruddy talkin' like that, I don't blame you."
"Nae just that. I just—I think I dinnae have it in me tae sleep around like ye do. Thought I'd try, that I could do it, but it didnae feel right. Especially as the wolf, I didnae shag anyone before ye, and since, the only people I've shagged without ye bein' part o' it's been lads on the team, and..." Demoman let out a soft sigh, hesitating, "I think that's all I want. All I can do. Ye, and our mates." He looked up into Sniper's eye, blurry from being so close. "Me mates," he added, the meaning clear in his emphasis.
Sniper huffed out a soft laugh and kissed him again. "No wuckas, Pup. You don't 'ave to root anyone you don't want to, ever. I'll never ask you do to somethin' that makes you uncomfortable, yeh? Keep it in this big group relationship thing we've got with the team; that's aces."
"Thank ye," Demoman sighed, a little soothed. "Leave the whorin' up tae ye," he added, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
Sniper propped himself up on his hands to put enough distance between their faces to focus their eyes, locking his gaze on the bomber's with utmost seriousness. "If you want me to stop fuckin' around outside, Pup, you tell me. I'll stop in a heartbeat."
"What? Nae, I'm nae—"
"I know you're not. But I want you to know, that if you want it, I will. Decided that before we were official, really."
"Nae!" Demoman barked in reply, almost offended. "I want ye tae do what makes ye happy! And I'll do what makes me happy! I like what we have, Dee. Ye dinnae think I love watchin' ye gettin' shagged til ye cannae think straight? Ye dinnae think I get a thrill out o' touchin' meself, seein' ye in the throes of pleasure? Ye dinnae think I love gettin' tae have ye after that?" He slid a hand down to squeeze at Sniper's meager ass. "Just because I dinnae wanna shag outside the team without ye bein' part o' the proceedings disnae mean I dinnae wanna see ye do it, or at least hear the dirty stories afterward," he assured him.
Sniper grinned at that and pressed his forehead against Demoman's, a soft growl welling in his throat. "See? The fuck do I need a group of blokes in some fuckoff opium den for? I've got a rapt audience for me stories right 'ere in me bed! One that wants to shag me rotten after I finish me story, no less. Much better bargain, really."
*
The next morning had nearly passed them by the time Sniper awoke, tangled up with Demoman amid the sheets. The sun's light had finally reached their faces, streaming in through curtains left wide open as promised to provide anyone canny enough to peek through their window a view of two naked men in bed together. Even so, the warm light of late morning wasn't yet enough to rouse the notoriously heavy sleeper in his arms, so Sniper took a moment to just enjoy the sight of his husband in repose.
Lush lashes rimmed each eyelid, black turned brown gold where the light caught them. One lid twitched lightly, his eye moving about as he dreamed, while the other lay closed with nothing behind it. Much the same as his lashes, his moustache and muttonchops seemed to glow where the sun filtered through them, and in addition to the hair atop his head, formed a golden halo atop warm, dark brown skin that was still so soft and youthful, it made him look positively angelic. Sniper was awed by the beauty before him, with his strong cheekbones, wide nose, and full, pillowy lips. Lips he longed to kiss but restrained himself for fear of waking the sleeping Scotsman. He wanted to savor this moment of quiet where he could just appreciate the man without making him feel self-conscious by staring.
Sniper couldn't help that he loved to take in every little detail. Like the way he could see the bare beginnings of laugh lines around his eyes, or the way those lovely lips parted just slightly when he exhaled, but he breathed in through his nose exclusively. His eyes followed the line of the bomber's body, past his muscular shoulders to his broad chest and the sparse curls that dusted its centre, such a counterpoint to the near-forest of the bushman's own fluffy torso. His nipples, slightly peaked in the cool air of their air-conditioned room, looked wonderfully biteable, though Sniper resisted. Instead he let his eyes continue to rove, taking in the way his belly rose and fell with each breath, the muscles flexing beneath his skin in soft ripples.
The blanket was rucked up around Demoman's hips, stealing from him the chance at a cheeky peek at what lay beneath, but Sniper knew those parts of him just as thoroughly and as intimately.
Now that would be a lovely way to wake up, wouldn't it?
With a smile, Sniper slowly disentangled himself from his husband's arms and shimmied down the bed to where he lay the night before, slipping beneath the blanket to take up a spot between Demoman's thighs.
At the feeling of his mouth's hot, wet embrace, Demoman awoke with a snort and a gasp. "Oh, Mickey..."
*
Stepping out of the shower, Demoman was greeted by the aroma of coffee wafting through the suite. Snatching up a towel, he gave himself a once-over then wrapped the thing around his hips, then left the steamy bathroom to hear Sniper puttering around in the kitchenette. Two mugs of coffee sat at the modest dining table there, along with a set of plates bearing an almost daunting amount of breakfast.
One plate was a full American breakfast of eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, and hash, with another plate bearing a short stack of pancakes next to it. The other held a double order of eggs benedict, practically drowned in hollandaise, which spilled over onto the hash beside it. It was accompanied by a small plate bearing two fluffy pieces of french toast. A small bottle of syrup sat between the plates.
With a grunt of victory, Sniper found which drawer the knives and forks were kept in, and gathering his supplies turned to the table to see his husband standing there in naught but a towel, appraising the meal before them.
"Bugger, you're out already? Figured I 'ad another minute or two to get brekky lookin' nice before you sat down to it," he admitted warmly, rounding the table to set down the utensils. "Room service just brought it up. Sent the clothes out for laundry service, too."
"Still a lovely surprise," Demoman assured him, "and a fine spread. Ye remembered me favourite breakfast!"
"'Course. Lucky thing you like eggs benedict more than black pudding and tattie scones. Much easier to find in the States," Sniper chuckled, wrapping his arms around the moist mercenary in front of him.
"Careful now, I love tattie scones. But even I ken how to temper me expectations," Demoman warned teasingly, pecking Sniper's lips with a kiss. "This is lovely, Dee. Ye spoil me."
"Might be tryin' to," Sniper admitted with a smile, swaying with Demoman a little as they embraced. "C'mon, let's 'ave our tucker 'fore it gets cold."
*
Demoman moaned, his face grinding into the mattress as his eye rolled back in pleasure. He lay there bonelessly, completely given over to sensation, to the ministrations of his husband atop him, who was content to work him into a puddle atop the bed. Sniper's strong, dexterous hands kneaded at the thick, strong muscle of his trapezius, working tension out of him with pleasant touches just this side of painful, and making him melt.
"Good?" Sniper teased as his husband moaned almost whorishly at the attention, gladly massaging the man he loved as he straddled his thighs. It was both adorable and hot, and he didn't mind how hard his dick was, laying against the curve of the bomber's underwear-clad ass as he worked, heedless of his body's own reaction to Demoman's wanton wailing and beautiful body.
"Ye tell me," Demoman asked, wiggling his butt, having noticed the insistent, hot press against him. He chuckled, not bothering to look back as he luxuriated in his husband's touch. "I'm just lovely," he assured him, "but what're yer intentions with me, aye?"
"What's that mean?" Sniper asked with amusement.
"D'ye plan tae spend the whole day shaggin' me?"
"I did say I'm tryin' to spoil you," Sniper said plainly, moving down to rub at the middle of the bomber's broad back.
"Ye spoil me enough bein' married tae me," Demoman assured him warmly, a soft moan following.
"Yeh, nah, you deserve the royal treatment, Prince Tavish."
Demoman snorted. "Aye, I'll need ye tae assassinate all o' the Windsors and win Scotland back her freedom, then."
"Beatin' up a pom yesterday really got your bloodlust for the English up, hasn't it?"
"Well ye did say royal treatment for me."
"Ah, bugger. I did, didn't I?" Sniper sighed, climbing off of Demoman and the bed.
"Oi, where're ye going?"
"Back in a few. Royal family isn't gonna shoot itself in the head."
"Ye get back here, ye tit," Demoman laughed, grabbing Sniper around the waist and rolling onto his back as he pulled him down atop himself to capture him in a warm, smiling kiss. "Ye stay right here with me." He arched his hips, grinding against Sniper's erection with a grin. "Ye're all I could ever want, and I'm so bloody spoiled for that."
*
The day passed by at a leisurely pace, the married mercenaries spending their time moving from lounging in bed and making love to lounging on the couch watching telly to lounging in the kitchenette and snacking after calling room service for some treats or wine. True to his word, Sniper doted on his darling Demoman, doing everything for him and making sure he was well and truly satisfied at every whim.
He'd sucked him, fucked him, eaten him out, ridden him, and now with the bomber's cock in his mouth, straddled the man's head to let him blow him in turn. Both of them sucked lazily, each content to enjoy the taste and feel of his husband in his mouth, moaning around heated flesh as the other stoked the coals of pleasure within him.
Demoman wrapped his arms around Sniper's waist, pulling him down, the bushman's balls resting on his eyes as he took him as deep as he could without hitting his throat. Soft lips clamped around his shaft, nearly to the root as he suckled, his tongue undulating slowly against him. He sighed through his nose, the scent of his husband enthralling and arousing, the warmth of his body atop him comforting even as Sniper's tongue probed and teased and traced sparks over every shape of his cock, making him quiver with need.
That demon tongue was too skilled, too powerful. Demoman could feel himself coming undone as Sniper groaned around him, his deep, resonant voice humming into sensitive flesh. It fairly sounded this side of a growl, like a beast with a bone warning an intruder not to try and touch his prize.
There was a boner joke in there somewhere, Demoman was sure, but as he rapidly lost his ability to focus on anything more than pleasure, the desire and ability to try and suss out a clever way to phrase it in his mind quickly evaporated.
They came together, drinking down one another amid breathy moans and pleasant shudders. Sniper rolled off of Demoman onto his back, puffing heavy breaths and staring blankly up at the ceiling as his head swam with pleasant chemicals and he felt his pulse in his dick. "Crikey."
"Love when we finish at the same time," Demoman hummed, wiping spit from his lips and chin with a dopey grin.
Sniper smiled, dragging himself around to face the right way around, collapsing with his head on his husband's chest and throwing an arm and leg over him to cuddle him close. "Me too, Pup."
Demoman squeezed him close, threading their fingers together with a contented sigh. "A wee snug, then I suppose we should figure out dinner. I'm startin' tae get hungry for more'n just semen."
"Yeh," Sniper mumbled, pressing a kiss to Demoman's chest. "We'd need the whole team 'ere to make a proper meal for you."
In spite of himself, Demoman's slowly flagging erection twitched, and Sniper could hear the little hitch of breath that accompanied it, grinning.
"Lad, ye cannae do that tae me, I'm nae a machine! I cannae recover that fast!" Demoman protested, flustered.
Blood in the water. Sniper kept his sharp grin turned from Demoman's sight as he began to make it worse. "What's wrong, love?" he teased, voice dipping low, to that fried growl that turned dirty talk into something truly, cruelly lurid. "The thought of givin' every man on the team a gobby and swallowin' 'im down get you all bothered? Thinkin' maybe we put a toy in your arse, get you on your knees, and circle up 'round you, takin' turns between those beautiful lips of yours? Lettin' you taste all of us, pettin' your hair, your cheek, your chin, tellin' you 'ow lovely your mouth is, 'ow good you make us feel? Eight cocks at eye level all waitin' for you? All of us makin' sure we finish on your tongue, so you can swallow us down and fill your belly with come?"
Demoman's face grew hot at the thought, and he had to cover it, too flustered to muster a proper reply other than letting out a horny little nonsense sound in reply.
"Think we should work that toy outta you, lay you down nice'n gentle, take turns 'oldin' you close and makin' love to you? Kissin' you silly and tastin' each other on your tongue?"
Demoman imagined it, wrapped in the arms of eight men, petting at him, caressing him, cherishing him, kissing him and making slow, easy love to him as he lay in a puddle among their number. His cheeks burned, and he could feel a soft whimper trying to rise in his throat as he suddenly longed for it. Instead, he shoved Sniper off of the bed for winding him up so much. "Right, that's it, I'm gonnae go wash."
The bushman hit the carpeted floor with a thump and a laugh.
*
The sun had set and dinner was nearly an hour late by the time Demoman and Sniper had grown concerned. At the sound of a soft growl from Sniper's belly, Demoman frowned. "Maybe we should've just gone down tae the restaurant in the lobby."
"Dunno 'bout you, Pup, but I sure didn't bring clothes what'd meet the dress code for that."
"Ye were the one who planned this!"
"'course, but you didn't know we were comin'. Wasn't like I could pack nice dinner jackets for us both without ye catchin' on 'fore we even left," Sniper reasoned with a shrug.
"Oh, aye, that way ye couldnae spring a detour all the way tae Chicago on me when ye already had me at yer mercy hundreds o' miles from base," Demoman teased.
Sniper smirked. "Well, yeah. You'd've absolutely cottoned on way before the point of no return."
"Cheeky shite," Demoman snorted, making Sniper laugh.
"Let me see what's goin' on," Sniper offered, ambling into the bedroom phone to go call the front desk.
Demoman sighed, laying back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. Oh well, not everything can be perfect, and Sniper had done his damnedest to make sure today was just that, so this would be the exception that proved the rule. He couldn't help but wonder though if Sniper had planned more for this second day, and that what had happened last night had convinced him to abandon those plans and pamper him instead. He hoped not, but he couldn't help a smile at the thought that he had. It was terribly sweet either way.
When Sniper returned, he sat down on Demoman's belly with a sigh. "Front desk says room service was sent up about forty minutes ago."
A soft oof left the bomber as his husband sat on him. "Cripe, that long? Hotel's big but nae that big, did they get lost?"
"Right? This rate, I'm thinkin' it's not worth the trouble waitin', or orderin' again for that matter. Wanna hoof it down to the street and grab some tucker at the closest spot with an open table?"
"Aye, nae danger. Wouldn't mind a chance tae stretch me legs after havin' 'em in the air all day."
*
After getting properly dressed, the mercenaries exited their room to find a room service cart sitting five feet from their door, with no sign of anyone around. A pair of cloches covered plates atop it, and an ice bucket containing a bottle of wine sat beside them, though the bottle was by then mostly resting in water.
"The hell?" Sniper murmured, walking over to the cart to inspect it. He lifted a cloche, revealing Demoman's ribeye steak, asparagus, and baked potato, mostly tepid after so long unattended, and slightly wet from condensation dripping from the cloche back down onto the plate.
"Me steak..." Demoman lamented.
With a frown, Sniper looked closer around the area. He knelt, squinting down at the carpet. "There was a struggle 'ere." "What?"
"Carpet's kicked up," Sniper pointed out, gesturing to a spot on the floor where, indeed, the hotel carpeting was bunched a little bit. "These carpets're 'eavy duty commercial stuff, installed wall-to-wall. They don't bloody move unless a lot of force is applied. Made the backin' underneath stretch out. That's one hell of a kick, probably from the heel. Someone was fightin' like mad, or gettin' dragged or doin' the draggin'."
"Bloody hell."
Looking around a bit more, the bushman zeroed in on the wall, where a few thin white lines were scratched into the wallpaper. "This was definitely violence, no two ways about it. He frowned, turning back to Demoman. "Not much trackin' can be done on floors like this in a hotel, though. 'Least, not bush trackin'. Any chance you can get a scent?"
Demoman frowned a moment, sniffing the air. All he could smell was lukewarm steak and asparagus. "Nae so close tae the food," he sighed, covering the food back up with the cloche.
Sniper snatched a room service menu from the cart and started fanning the scent away the other direction, trying to freshen the air a bit as Demoman crouched by the signs of violence and tried to get a whiff of something. His nose was stronger than any human's to be sure, but without transforming he was still rather limited by comparison. And even though a scuffle didn't get noticed in the hall, an entire werewolf absolutely would before too long.
The amount of smells in the hall was a broad variety, but mostly trace. Carpet shampoo, perfume, dust, dirt, gravel, leather, rubber, all kinds of aromas of a floor well-travelled and regularly cleaned. But above it all, just barely noticeable, was something that didn't belong. Copper—no, iron. Blood.
Demoman's face crinkled in momentary confusion, looking around. There were no traces of blood at the scene, nor anywhere in the hall from what he could tell, though the burgundy carpets made that a bit more challenging.
"Get somethin'?"
"Blood, but it's faint. Nae any around here, so it's somewhere a ways off."
"Bugger. Can you follow it?"
"I mean tae try," Demoman assured him, rising to his feet. "Follow me."
Demoman sniffed at the air, slowly creeping down the hall, alert and craning to try and figure out the direction the scent came from. Soon enough it grew a little stronger as they approached the stairs closest to them. The scent filtered in through the crack beneath the door, the cool air of the stairwell pushing into the warmer hallway and bringing with it that bloody aroma.
He threw open the door, Sniper hot on his heels, to find a woman in a hotel uniform slumped against the wall of the landing, a splash of blood dripping down her neck and staining her jacket. "Ah, cripe!"
Sniper slipped around him, kneeling down beside her and moving to check her pulse, but recoiling as he found a pair of puncture wounds in her neck, fresh but clotted. She was breathing, and not shallowly, so he let out a sigh of relief. "She's alive. But get a squiz at this."
Demoman frowned. "Vampires."
"Chicago's crawlin' with 'em," Sniper confirmed.
"She gonnae be okay?"
"Nah, yeh, she's not pale, breathin' steady. Might be down a pint but she'll be right. Let's get 'er to the hallway so someone can actually find 'er and get some 'elp."
"We're nae gonnae?"
"Don't wanna lose the trail. Blood on 'er jacket's still fresh."
"But the bite's clotted."
"Vampire bites clot over instantly, heal in a few hours. Based on the mess, I'm willin' to bet she passed out 'fore the vamp even got fangs in 'er, maybe from fear, and they 'ad to try and drink from a floppy unconscious sheila." He pursed his lips in thought. "Amateur work. Same as grabbin' the staff randomly in the upper floors of a luxury 'otel in the city. Strange."
"Aye," Demoman agreed. He threaded his arms behind the woman's back and under her knees and lifted her slowly. He carried her into the hall and laid her gently against the wall beside the stairwell door, then returned.
The scent trail led down the stairwell, eventually leading out into the hallway two floors down. Demoman and Sniper followed the scent, trying their best not to look too conspicuous in case anyone saw them pacing about. They eventually came to the stairwell at the far end of that hall.
"Scent goes... up?" Demoman mused, stroking his chin.
"Tryin' to lose any pursuers?"
"Possibly," the bomber replied, heading back upstairs with Sniper at his heels.
They emerged two floors higher, back in the hallway where they'd begun, but at its furthest end. "Right, now this is rubbish," Sniper groused.
Demoman shushed him, sniffing, and continued down the hall, following his nose.
"If this brings us right back round to that sheila I'll be takin' the piss the rest of this trip," Sniper teased.
"Well good bloody thing it's nae because it's leadin' right here," Demoman replied smugly, stopping in front of a room and gesturing to it as if showcasing a prize on a television game show.
"Ah, too bad. Coulda used somethin' to wag me jaw about on the road," Sniper chuckled, stepping up to the door.
"So what's the plan, then?"
Wordlessly, Sniper knocked, making Demoman flinch in surprise.
"O—oi!"
"Do not disturb!" came a voice from the other side of the door, masculine and American, but sounding more than a little startled.
Sniper, undaunted, knocked again.
"Do not disturb!" the voice repeated, more annoyed this time.
Sniper smiled, began knocking, and did not stop. His knuckles rapped against the door over and over and over, a constant barrage of noise until finally the door swung open. A man stood there in a pink polo shirt stained with blood and grey slacks, his blond hair disheveled and his lips red. He was white and deathly pale, and his eyes were red.
"WHAT?!" he bellowed, fangs on display.
Demoman startled, taken aback at the outburst, but in front of him, Sniper was unmoved.
Jerking a thumb down the hall toward their room and the stairwell beside, he simply replied, "Mate, you really shouldn't leave food layin' 'round like that."
Sudden anxiety washed across the man's features, and he looked in the direction Sniper was pointing, then back to him. "I—I have no idea what you're—"
Sniper looked the man over, ignoring the stammering denial coming out of his mouth. "You're bloody starvin', aren't you?" he asked, interrupting.
The man froze. "I—what?"
"Look at you, mate. You can't retract your fangs, can you? You're all red-eyed and white as a sheet and shakin' like a leaf. Was she your first meal? Good on you for keepin' 'er alive. Not easy for a freshie."
"How... How did you know?" the vampire asked, lowering his voice to a hush, casting nervous glances down the hall and back.
"I'm a tracker," Sniper explained, then stepped aside and gestured to Demoman. "And this bloke's got a sniffer that can suss out blood on the air. And mate, you reek of it."
"Why're you here?"
"We were waitin' for room service to bring us our food. And, well, lo and behold turns out our dinner plans were at odds with one another. 'Course we're hungry, but it looks like you're still more'n a mite peckish. Couldn't've actually drank much off 'er, did you?"
The vampire drew himself up as much as he could, like he was afraid of the answer as he asked, "Are you here to kill me?
"Yeh, nah, not unless you're about to start killin' people first. Wanted to find out what kind of situation we were dealin' with. And now, concerned you need a hand, mate."
Staring Sniper down for a moment, gears churned in the vampire's head. He looked between the mercenaries at the door before letting out a sigh and stepping aside. "Come in. We shouldn't be talking about this in the open."
As his husband looked back to make sure he was on board, Demoman merely met him with a look of mild apprehension. Sniper nodded firmly, hoping to quell his worries, and they entered, closing the door behind them.
The vampire stomped over to his room's kitchenette table and slumped into a chair, looking positively agonized. He scrubbed his hands over his face, then turned back to his guests. "You've got it right. I'm new to this. Brand new. That woman wasn't my first meal, but I haven't had many. I—I have no idea how much is too much to take when I... when I drink. I don't wanna kill people!" he explained, as though pleading his case. "But I'm just. So. Hungry. And I feel less and less like a Person the hungrier I get. I was going to try to go out and hunt, find some darkened alley and some hapless victim and hope I didn't make myself a murderer, but then I saw that hotel employee pushing the cart down the hall, and how there was nobody around, and I just couldn't stop myself. Then she passed out when I dragged her into the stairwell, and I didn't know what to do! And I lost my grip when I bit and made a mess and panicked, so I ran."
The vampire locked eyes with Sniper. "Is she okay? I didn't..."
"She'll be right," Sniper assured him. "She might feel a bit like arse when she comes to, but those bites clot fast, so it's not like you left the poor sheila to bleed out on the stairs."
"Oh thank God," the vampire sighed, his head sinking into his hands. "I just got... turned, last week. Here. In this room. Was invited up by this guy, an exec for a company I'd been trying to get into for a few months now. Said he wanted to do some final interview before any papers got signed but I know how the game's played sometimes. Figured I'd have to come here and Do What I Have To to land this job, if you understand."
"Ye were gonnae sleep yer way intae the job?"
"It'd be my ladder out of upper management into the c-suite. What's a little blowjob or anal if it means I never have to worry about money for the rest of my life? ...unlife now, I guess." The vampire sighed even though he had no need to breathe, the motions of drawing and exhaling breath seeming to soothe him. "Instead, after some talk, some cigars, and getting a few drinks in me to loosen up, he takes me into the bedroom and sinks his teeth into my neck. Drinks me dry then makes me a vampire like him. When I came to, he told me to come find him once I had my feet back under me and figured all of this out, and we'd talk business opportunities now that I'm 'part of the ruling class'. Then fucks off, lets me have the room for a week."
Demoman's nose wrinkled. "Ruling class. Vampires. What a pretentious way tae talk about yerselves."
"Right?!" the vampire agreed, slumping back against his chair. "So now I'm dead, undead, and completely lost."
Sniper sighed. "Vampires in positions of power are just as bad as humans in positions of power. But at least they're honest about being monsters." He turned to Demoman. "No offense."
"Aye nae danger, I ken the difference between literal and metaphorical."
Looking back to the vampire, Sniper approached, coming up along side him to lay a hand on the top of the chairback. "Look, you're clearly still very hungry, and a hungry vampire is a dangerous vampire." He smiled warmly. "Want we should sort that?"
The vampire's eyes snapped to Sniper. "What?"
"What?" Demoman echoed.
"I've been fed on before, no worries."
"The lad said he doesn't ken how far is too far," Demoman reasoned.
"This'll be a good way to teach 'im," Sniper countered amiably. "You and I know what bleedin' out is like, both from the perspective of the one causin' the bleedin' and the one doin' the bleedin'. So I'll be able to tell, and with you keepin' watch, that's the safety measure right there. When you're gettin' fed on, you can't much do anythin', but you can look around. So how 'bout I make direct eye contact, and that's my sign I think somethin's wrong?"
Demoman grumbled, grabbing Sniper by the arm to pull him aside, the mercenaries turning away from their companion to convene in a huddle. "How is this in any way a good idea?" he asked.
"We can't leave this bloke hungry in a hotel fulla people, and we can't just kill 'im for bein' what 'e is. Especially when he clearly doesn't wanna hurt anyone."
With a deep breath, Demoman nodded, conceding the point.
"Plus, you've got your cameo, yeh?" "Aye," Demoman confirmed, tugging it out from under his shirt.
"You can take a vampire in a fight."
"Aye, and ye can take a vampire other ways," Demoman replied with a roll of his eyes.
Sniper's eyebrow flicked up as a grin crossed his face. "That a suggestion?"
Demoman pursed his lips in thought. "Wasnae the intent, but..."
Straightening up, the mercenaries turned back to their host, and Sniper smiled warmly. "What's your name, mate?"
"Grant," the vampire replied, a little nervously. The offer of a meal had him trembling in a mix of need and anticipation, and he dearly hoped it wasn't about to be rescinded.
"I'm Mundy, this is me husband, Tavish," Sniper replied, gesturing between himself and his husband. "Cards on the table, I've an offer for you. A hungry vampire in a hotel is a recipe for disaster, especially one who doesn't know 'is limits yet. I'm willing to 'elp you figure that out, but on two conditions."
"And what are they?"
"First, after we're done, you call room service and order us a new dinner since it's your fault our tucker went cold. Plus, I'll need a good meal after givin' you yours anyway," Sniper chuckled affably.
"Done. What's the second?"
"Second, you take a request into consideration. Request itself ain't the condition, just that you consider it. A 'no' is a perfectly fine answer, and won't deny you your meal. I'm tryin' to 'elp you first."
Grant's brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concern. "And your request is?"
"I want you to shag me while you drink from me."
"WHAT?"
Demoman whooped a laugh, and Sniper couldn't help but crack a snicker at it himself.
"Done it once before, and it's a unique experience. Bonzer one at that, and I'd love to 'ave it again, if you're amenable."
Grant turned to Demoman, "Is this not your husband?"
"Aye, but I enjoy the show."
Grant gawped, stunned at the two brazen men before him. "You're serious."
"Nah, yeh, but like I said: I'm just 'opin'. No worries if not."
Grant licked his lips in thought, looking back to Demoman who wore a smile of pure amusement at the situation. Swallowing hard, he said, "I don't even know if I can get it up anymore. I don't... it doesn't...," he sighed settling on the delicate explanation of, "I don't use it for anything else anymore."
"Since you're not completely ravenous after your light snack of that sheila who works 'ere, you'll be able to rise to the occasion, no worries. Strewth, with enough blood in your belly you can even shoot, but it won't be able to get anyone preggo anymore. Not like there's danger of that with me, 'course," Sniper chuckled.
With a nod, Grant said, "Okay."
"You sure, mate? Don't sound too excited about the idea."
"I'm just... a little overwhelmed, you know? An Australian and a Scotsman show up at my door, understand more about vampirism than me, tell me you'll let me feed on you, then ask me to fuck you while I do. It's... it's a lot. What even are you?"
"Ah, I'm just—"
"A great whore with a thing for monsters," Demoman interrupted, dodging a smack with the bushman's hat and laughing.
"Read me for bloody filth why don't you?"
A laugh finally broke through Grant's malaise, dispelling the tension in the room. He rose from his seat. "To the bedroom?"
*
As the trio entered the bedroom, Demoman immediately made a beeline for the room's chair and brought it closer to the bed, giving himself a good vantage point for both the show and for Sniper's planned safe gesture, just in case. Once he was satisfied with its positioning, he stripped down and sat down, settling in to watch as Sniper and Grant stripped, clothes quickly dropped to the floor with little ceremony.
Sniper was a lovely sight as always, tanned skin and soft, fluffy hair and scars here and there, particularly around his hips and shoulders. And while Grant paled in comparison to Demoman's gorgeous husband, he was quite braw himself. He had an athletic build, not built particularly but definitely nicely toned, his pale skin dusted lightly here and there with golden hair that would have been practically invisible on peachy skin flush with life. As he finished undressing, Demoman noted with approval that the man had more than a bit to brag about between his thighs, if his size while flaccid was anything to go by. It was going to be a treat watching Sniper take it.
Gently, Sniper cupped Grant's cheek, bringing him in for a kiss. Nerves melted away as lips touched and parted, tongues chasing one another almost immediately as Grant's arms wrapped around Sniper and pulled him close, his skin so warm against the vampire's undead flesh. Sniper chuckled into the kiss and threw his arms around Grant, matching the man's enthusiasm with his own.
The poor bloke was going through a lot right now, his entire existence changed in a bare moment and left to flounder alone, afraid, and utterly lost for a week. A bit of kindness and tenderness probably felt like coming up for air, the warmth of skin against his own like a life raft.
Sniper slipped a hand between them, gathering their hardening cocks into his hand and relishing the difference in temperature. Slowly, he stroked them, drawing more moans for him to swallow, and offering his own breathy grunts in reply.
"Aye, lovely," Demoman hummed, lazily running his fingers up and down his cock as he watched. They were taking their sweet time, but that was fine. He was in no rush, and the more he got to watch Sniper in pleasure, the hotter he got.
Grant broke from Sniper's mouth, kissing down his jaw, kissing to his neck. His tongue ran along the bushman's artery, a soft, needful sound rising in the vampire's throat as he felt his pulse there. "Mundy, I need—"
Sniper's hand sped, making him gasp. "You ready, then?" he asked, giving them both a squeeze. He was sure Grant was, and he himself was hard as diamonds just at the threat of the vampire at his neck. It was dizzyingly arousing, and he was panting a little already just from anticipation.
"Yes, please."
"On the bed, on our side. We face Tav," Sniper instructed, letting go.
Grant did as he was told, climbing onto the bed and taking up the position. Sniper calmly laid down and rolled to face away, scooting over until they were flush, back to belly, Grant's cock hard against the curve of his ass.
"Got lube in 'ere?" Sniper asked.
"Got lotion," Grant offered, gesturing to a little squeeze-bottle of hotel lotion on the nightstand.
"Good enough," Sniper shrugged, snatching up the bottle and handing it back to Grant. "Slick up, mate."
"Do you need fingers?"
"Tav's been back there not too long ago, so I should be able to relax just fine," Sniper assured him warmly, waggling his eyebrows at his husband who smiled in reply breaking into a grin as he lifted his leg to allow the vampire access.
Grant squirted the whole bottle onto his cock and spread it around the head with two fingers and a shiver, until he was satisfied. Then, taking hold of himself, he guided the tip to Sniper's hole, hissing as his cool, undead cock pressed against the human's hot flesh. "Oh my God," he hissed.
"Go on," Sniper urged, his voice pinching out into a groan as Grant did as he was told and pushed in, spreading him wide around his thick cock. He bore down as best he could, breathy and needful as Grant slid in to the hilt, sheathed entirely within Sniper's warm, welcoming depths. "Crikey," he moaned, letting his leg go and hitching it forward as he assembled himself into a comfortable position to lay there and get fucked.
"You good?" Grant asked, petting down Sniper's flank as he savored just how hot Sniper felt inside, the temperature difference nearly drowning out the hungry clenches of the bushman's eager hole.
"So bloody good," Sniper moaned, his hips rolling a bit. He tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck, and made final eye contact with Demoman before the gesture became something less intimate and more immediate. "Ready when you are."
With a needful sound, Grant wrapped his arms around Sniper, pulling their bodies flush together, and dove for Sniper's neck. There was no foreplay, no teasing, no preamble as he sank his teeth into his artery and clamped his mouth down around it, a creaking, desperate moan leaving him at the taste of the bushman's blood.
It was ecstatic, the liquid heaven on his tongue, filling his mouth, and with a gulp, warming him all the way down his throat into his belly. He shuddered and resisted the urge to suck, to force the blood out of the man, instead letting him just bleed into his mouth and drinking it down.
Sniper went limp in Grant's arms, his limbs and neck slack, his lips parted, his cock twitching. Still, his eyes darted around the room in slow, obvious sweeps to show Demoman that he was still in control of that. As Demoman took proper hold of his cock and began to stroke, he gave him acknowledging nod to let him know he'd been seen.
Those eyes rolled back as Grant's hips began to move.
Slowly, with languid rolls of his body, Grant filled Sniper, chasing the heat in his depths even as he drank that heat from him, whorish moans spilling out against Sniper's warm neck. Feeding and fucking, he took his pleasure from Sniper and found it all-consuming, even as the bushman lay motionless and silent in his arms.
It was almost masturbatory, almost somnophilic, almost something darker, and even though Sniper had been the one to ask for it and the one to tell him to begin, Grant couldn't help but feel that this was terribly perverted on his part, like he was some kind of monster fucking a man who couldn't even moan in response, paralyzed by the teeth in his neck as he drank the blood from his body.
Well, he was some kind of monster, he supposed, and that was what Sniper found so hot, apparently.
And Sniper was quite hot himself.
Grant looked to Demoman, who reclined in the chair, stroking his own cock, watching them with rapt attention. Terribly perverted, indeed. If he weren't so hungry he'd consider some sort of flourish to entertain the bomber, like a different, more lewd position or something, but he wasn't about to let go of Sniper's neck. Though he wasn't sure he could right now even if he wanted to make the attempt.
Pleasure filled his mouth and choked his cock, the motionless man still so tight around him and so hot inside, his living body welcoming him and refusing to let him leave. Grant snapped his hips, slowly building speed and force as he rutted into Sniper, his strength returning to him with each swallow.
Sniper lay there silent, still, and salivating, his body wracked with pleasure indescribable as the vampire's fangs in his neck sent throb after throb of pure sensory bliss through every nerve as though the sensation of hammering into his prostate could be transferred to his entire body. The fact that Grant was also now hammering into his prostate, bucking up into him aggressively, only served to heighten the experience. His cock throbbed, ached, untouched yet overwhelmed as it bounced and bobbed with Grant's motions. Heat and pressure and electricity coursed through his whole body even as the chill of the grave cooled his skin and pierced his insides, beckoning shivers that could not come, and making his senses go haywire with energy that couldn't be directed even as it built and built, unable to bubble over.
Grant grunted, drinking deeper, deeper, fucking harder, harder, energized by Sniper's blood in his belly and spending that back into the bushman's ass, clutching him close to his body and humping into him with force and need, driving deep inside of him with every pass. Soon, his hand strayed to Sniper's cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.
Sniper wanted to scream, wanted to cry out, to beg, to curse, to come, but could do nothing but lay there immobile, limp and useless and completely at Grant's mercy. He was food and fun, a toy and a treat all at once, and it was driving him mad as he could do nothing but take it and love every single moment.
Demoman tugged back his foreskin and let his fingers dance along the crown of his cock, hissing at the sensitive touch. His eyes were locked on Sniper, laying there completely boneless as Grant railed him, his cock flopping obscenely with every thrust. A trickle of blood had escaped the corner of the vampire's mouth and run down Sniper's neck onto the pillow, leaving a red line over his throat that Demoman found he wanted to lick up.
Fuck, he wanted to lick him all over.
Phantom shivers caught in muscles that couldn't even twitch, Sniper's limp body wracked with pleasure as Grant luxuriated in the taste of him, in the tight heat of his ass, the hot iron tang of his blood, and how good it felt to have both. With Demoman watching him, touching himself, soft needful sounds puffing out with his breaths as they grew deeper with his lust, it was bliss.
Demoman stroked himself in earnest, now fully grasping himself and jerking off to the undulating bodies on the bed, to his beloved husband laying boneless at another man's mercy, being fucked out of his mind. He tried to keep his strokes slow, careful not to bring himself off. Not yet.
Grant reached a hand down to take hold of Sniper's cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts as they slowly grew faster, more intent, the vampire finally chasing his release in the human in his arms. Sniper could've cried, every nerve alight, the loss of control combined with just how fucking good the bite felt, the prickle of pain and hot throbs of pleasure there matching the lovely stretch and pounding of his hole, the cold hand on his cock tugging him toward a release that could not come.
It was maddening. He would have come by now, he knew it, but like a cork in a bottle, the fangs in his neck kept everything stoppered up, and he felt like a swollen lake desperate for the dam to give.
With a shuddering moan, Grant bucked up into Sniper a final time and came, pumping cool undead seed into the bushman as he gulped down a large mouthful from his artery, crooning his pleasure against the heated flesh of his neck.
The effort was nearly monumental in the face of such overwhelming sensation, but Sniper's eyes rolled down to make contact with Demoman.
Demoman locked eyes with his husband and nodded. "Right, lad, that's enough. Yer meal's done."
Grant hesitated, looking at Demoman with furrowed brows. The Scot met his eye, ready to abandon the lurid scene to fight him at a moment's notice. With one last swallow, Grant nodded subtly and pulled his mouth from Sniper's neck, a line of red-tinged saliva trailing from his lips.
Immediately and abruptly Sniper screamed, his whole body wracked with paroxysms as the sensation and strain and pleasure and pain all slammed into him at once and he bucked up and bore down and nearly fucked himself on the man inside of him as he jerked and cried out in hoarse ecstasy. He came over Grant's hand, bucking between it and the cock filling him, his hole clamping down around it desperately as a tsunami of sexual furor crashed down onto him.
Grant rode it out as best he could, fucking him through it as he wailed and convulsed, slowly petering out into juddering shudders and whimpers, the bushman in his bed gulping down air, utterly spent.
When it was finally over the men on the bed sagged, Grant slowly pulling out of Sniper, leaving him trembling and quivering in the aftermath.
"Holy dooley," he mumbled.
Demoman chuckled and stood, his still-hard cock bobbing as he strolled over to the bed. He reached over, rolling Sniper off of Grant to allow the vampire to extricate himself from the sticky, sweaty mess of the human against him. "Mickey, yer bloody gorgeous."
"Get off on me helpless, eh?" Sniper teased breathlessly, limply wrapping a hand around the bomber's erection.
"Ye already ken that," Demoman huffed, leaning into his grasp regardless. He looked to Grant, who sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and just idling there for a moment. "Ye good, lad?"
"That was..." Grant murmured, his voice quiet, reverent, "wow."
"Aces," Sniper agreed muzzily.
"Right, well, how about that dinner, aye?"
"Sure thing, I'll call down," Grant said, reaching for the phone.
"Ye may wannae take that call outside the room, lad," Demoman cautioned, climbing onto the bed and atop Sniper, settling between his legs and lifting them. "There's somethin' I need tae do right now."
Grant chuckled and shook his head. "I think the kitchenette has a phone, too," he said and stood, sauntering out of the room as Demoman pushed into Sniper with a moan, driving a hoarse whine from his fucked-out husband.
Heading into St. Louis, the boys hear of another strange local legend, then divert up to Chicago to meet up with an old mate of Sniper's to reconnect and have a night at the club. Things go a little sideways when it turns out that not every monsterfucker approaches the act from the same mindset.
Ao3 Link!
Part of Monstrous Intent!
This baby took entirely too long, but here it is! Lots of research for this baby, and a lil nod to Six Flags Over Mid-America (now Six Flags St. Louis) which opened in 1971, lol. Also, fun fact: Palmer House is where the brownie was invented! And Zombie Road is a real legend that I wanted to reference, btw. :3
Additional notes on the Ao3 version identifying all of the various named and unnamed monsters referenced in this baby.
---------
"Alright, last stop before we need to figure out which way we're gettin' through St. Louis," Sniper sighed as he pulled to a stop in the parking lot of a gas station at the edge of Eureka, Missouri.
"A final chance tae stretch our legs before city traffic," Demoman replied, adding a bit of ghoulish tone to those final words, wiggling his fingers sinisterly to the man beside him and leaning in, making him laugh and swat him away.
"Fair dinkum the most terrifyin' thing we're like to encounter this whole holiday," Sniper snorted, shutting down the ute and snatching the keys before sliding smoothly out of the driver's side door as he opened it.
Demoman chuckled and hopped out the other side, coming around the ute just as an attendant jogged out to meet them at the pump. "Nae scarier ghost nor beastie than drivin' through the heart of a city, tae be sure."
Sniper greeted the attendant with a tip of his hat and a pleasant, "G'day. Fill 'er up, mate."
"Sure thing, sir," the attendant replied, pulling the nozzle from the pump. "'S'cuse me for overhearing, but you guys like scary stuff?"
Demoman and Sniper shared a knowing look before the bushman turned his attention back to the attendant. He was a young man in his late teens, probably fresh out of high school from the look of him, and a conspiratorial smile had crossed his face. "Maybe, what's your story, mate?" he asked.
"Folks talk a lot about a haunted road 'bout ten minutes outta here, in the woods."
"Back up 44?" Sniper asked, jerking his thumb westward. "Looked like they were buildin' a roller coaster and some train tracks."
"Think there were some o' those pylons for skybuckets," Demoman added with amusement.
"Wh—no! I don't mean the amusement park off the highway! I'm talking like ten minutes north of here, near Old State Road," the attendant sputtered, a little annoyed. "Though you gotta hike a-ways from the roads to get to where things get weird."
Sniper leaned in, unable to help himself from being at least a little intrigued. A good story's a good story and all. "Weird, you say?" Demoman chuckled and nicked the cigarettes and lighter from his vest and wandered off to go smoke away from the gasoline.
The attendant grinned. "Deep in the woods, past the creek and where the trees make everything dark, even in the middle of the day. The road's only accessible on foot, and travels over the creek and along the river. There, the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead grows thin. Some folks say it's an old native burial ground. Others say it's the mass grave from some industrial accident. Important thing is: it's haunted to hell, and in the dead of night it's choked with ghosts. Following you, tracking you down on the edges of your vision. On the books it's Lawler Ford Road, but everyone calls it Zombie Road," he said, adding a spooky edge to the name for good measure.
"Did he say bloody 'Zombie Road'?" Demoman called from across the lot, cigarette in hand.
The attendant sighed, giving up the hope of being taken seriously.
"Yes he said bloody 'Zombie Road'," Sniper called back. "And I don't recall me sayin' you could nick a dart off me!"
Demoman lifted the cigarette as if in toast, "Aye, cheers!" He then went back to smoking and ignoring the conversation with a chuckle.
"Cheeky cunt," Sniper huffed, watching the attendant's eyes widen in shock at the curse. "So, ghosts, yeh?"
"Y-yeah," the attendant replied, a little unsure.
"Think I'll pass, mate. Think you can give me some other directions, though?"
"Where to?"
"Tryin' to get to 55 without spendin' 'alf the day in traffic."
The young man hefted out a soft laugh. "Just follow 44 until you hit 55. Traffic in the city's not bad at all, really. It'll take you an hour to get through starting here."
"Well fuck me dead, I was worried for nothin'. Some good news for once! Thanks, mate," Sniper chuckled, pushing off of the ute. "Oi, Tav! Won't be bad gettin' through the city!"
"That's grand! We're still nae goin' tae Zombie Road!" Demoman called back with a laugh, dropping butt of his cigarette and grinding it out on the pavement with his boot.
"Didn't say we were," Sniper pouted as the bomber trotted back over and handed back his smokes and lighter. "Besides, it's still four more hours on top to get to Chicago."
"Ye should do some walkin' about before we get on the road, then," Demoman chided, posting up against the side of the ute.
Sniper did just that as the tank topped up and Demoman paid and tipped the attendant, and soon enough they were back underway.
"Zombie Road and it's all bloody ghosts," Sniper pouted as they pulled out of the service station.
"Dee, I swear tae Christ if ye were hopin' tae shag a zombie."
"What? No!" Sniper sputtered, looking with horror to his snickering husband. "A zombie can't think let alone tell you it's down for a root! I'm not a bloody necrophile!"
"Alright, alright, steady on," Demoman teased.
Sniper huffed, "What I meant is it would just be interestin'. Be a right corker to see one in the flesh."
"Aye, flesh. Just what it'd be ready tae peel off ye!"
Sniper waved Demoman off with a, "Pssh, details," only to have his hand swatted out of the air with a laugh.
*
True to form, the drive through the city proved unproblematic, however the rest of the drive to Chicago still crossed the majority of Illinois diagonally, leaving the mercenaries with another four hour span of nothing for their drive, save a short stop for lunch.
Sniper was used to long trips, living on the road and spinning slowly in his own head as he took in the world around him from the driver's seat. He was almost super-humanly patient, having built his entire career and by extension a massive part of his very life on staying still in one spot for hours, possibly days on end and watching intently with unfaltering attention for the opportunity to strike. A long drive through forests and cities and varied terrain was little trouble for the assassin.
Demoman could not claim the same. They were on the fifth day of their drive and Demoman was growing more than a little exhausted with the near-unending highways before and behind them. On their last cross-country trek he'd been able to spend damn near the whole time chewing on his anger and frustration to keep his mind occupied. The fact that they'd been driving a near straight-shot had made matters far simpler in addition. Now, they were taking a scenic route, stopping to see interesting things and having little adventures along the way. It was almost making things harder, and in spite of the novelty of each day he found himself running out of things to talk about, and yet grew more desperate to talk to fill the quiet.
"So, Mickey," Demoman began, his eye cracking open as he leaned against the passenger side door, his legs stretched across the bench seat and feet in his husband's lap. His boots, thankfully, were sitting on the floor beside him. "What's the plan once we hit the city, anyway? Ye ken where tae find this mate o' yers?"
"Gave me the address of a club 'e frequents, said to ask for 'im there. If 'e's not in, the bartender knows to call 'im."
"Bloody vague," Demoman snorted. "This lad a spy?"
"Know 'e's not workin' above board, whatever 'e does," Sniper chuckled. "Group's always vague on purpose talkin' about what we do for money."
"Nae surprisin'. The kind o' men trottin' the globe, trackin' down and shaggin' monsters, meetin' in opium dens tae tell the stories? Nae exactly like tae be pillars o' morality and legality."
"Reckon," Sniper chuckled. "Anyway, I figure we'll drive into the city, get dinner, get ourselves set up in the hotel, clean up from the road, and 'ead down to the club then."
"A hotel in the city? At those prices?! Michael Mundy are ye feelin' alright?!" Demoman sat up straight, almost alarmed.
"The one big expenditure I factored into this trip," Sniper explained affably, tugging the bomber's feet back into his lap and giving one a light squeeze. "Set it aside from the dosh Spy paid me for that Japan job. Figured it was only fair, what with me leavin' you behind while I went off and mostly sat around on me arse in hot springs eatin' wagashi."
A warm smile crossed Demoman's lips at that. "Aye, I suppose ye do owe me one, don't ye? Short o' a trip tae Japan meself, a night in a fancy hotel—" he paused, eyebrow lifted as he awaited confirmation on his assumption.
Sniper nodded.
"—a fancy hotel seems like a solid apology," Demoman finished with a grin.
"We'll go 'ave some fun with me mate, then come back and enjoy some luxury. Make love in a king-sized bed with fresh sheets in a room with a view across the city all the way to Lake Michigan. Lights twinklin' away in the dark of night while I shag you rotten."
Demoman barked out a laugh. "Ye've a way with words, Mr. Mundy."
"Could give Heavy's poetry a run for its money," Sniper joked, straightening up and puffing out his chest.
*
Four hours out of St. Louis, Demoman and Sniper parked in the garage of one of the more grand hotels in downtown Chicago: an elderly (by the city's standards) building standing twenty-five storeys, called Palmer House. It had taken more than a bit of assurance to the valets that no, thank you, they did not need their parking done for them, and yes, the two road-weary men and their camper van were in the right place.
Walking into the massive lobby with their bags over their shoulders, they were sincerely doubting their own words.
Golden filigree and travertine floors stretched out in every direction, elaborate electric candelabras in the shape of angular angels casting the room in a warm glow that made the red and gold of its lush, heavy carpets feel dark and deep as the ocean. Staff buzzed around dressed in neat, old-fashioned uniforms while other hotel guests headed out for the evening in suits and dresses of make and price tag approaching what Spy would consider Acceptable. In the middle of it all were Sniper and Demoman, dressed in their normal civilian clothes and carrying duffel bags, feeling almost like intruders upon the space.
"Yer sure this is the place, Mickey? This is... palatial."
"You've no idea 'ow much Spy paid me for that week," Sniper chuckled, heading for the front desk. "Sucker. I'd 'ave done it for free. Especially if I'd known ahead I'd get to shag both 'is siblings."
Demoman snorted a laugh. "Ye great whore."
"'Sides, it wasn't that exy. In the grand scheme." Sniper coughed a little, trying not to think about how much he'd paid.
"Wasn't? Ye paid already? How? When?"
"'ad the money wired last week," Sniper admitted sheepishly.
"Wait, ye said I'd have the call on whether we bothered even comin' to Chicago or nae! Or was that all bollocks?"
"'Course not. But I was confident you'd say yes. You're usually game for most anythin'."
"Tae me great detriment," Demoman sighed. "But that's some wager, Mickey. And what if I had said nae?"
"You wouldn't've."
"But what if I had?"
"...I'd've needed some time alone to cry over all that lost dosh," Sniper chuckled grimly.
"Yer mad," Demoman teased warmly, "spendin' all that money on the chance I'd say yes, all tae take me tae some luxury hotel.
"Worth it for the chance to treat you like the prince you are," Sniper replied, turning to him with a smile that made Demoman melt a little. How dare he be so charming.
"How dare ye be so charmin'."
Sniper snickered at that. "Just wait 'til I've got you for two nights in a king suite. I'll show you charmin', mate."
"Two nights? Dee, I already married ye I dinnae ken what else ye could be fishin' for," Demoman laughed.
*
"Mickey, there's a feckin' wet bar! Are ye kiddin' me?!" Demoman's voice rang through the huge suite.
Sniper wandered over from the sitting room to see his husband behind the bar, fishing out the ice bucket from beneath and popping it onto the bartop ceremoniously. "Thinkin' about entertainin'?" he teased.
"Have tae get more liquor than just the minibar for that," Demoman replied matter-of-factly. "What, didnae spring tae stock it with all yer filthy Spy lucre?"
"Money's tight, you know," Sniper replied with a smirk.
"Ach, aye. Cost o' livin' skyrocketin' and all."
"Strewth," Sniper snickered.
"Everythin' how ye wanted?"
"I expected bigger windows for a high-end suite. Somethin' where other skyscrapers'd get front-row seats to us shaggin'," Sniper admitted which amusement.
Demoman barked out a laugh. "Aye, treat some office worker tae the sight o' yer balls biffin' off me cheeks."
"Look out the window and you just see my hairy arse bobbin' up and down with your feet in the air," Sniper added with a grin.
"Take that, Chicago!"
After their laughter died down, Sniper leaned across the bar top to capture Demoman in a soft, slow kiss, breaking with a loopy smile. "Gonna go call that club, see if we can get 'hold of me mate tonight."
"And if ye cannae?"
"Part of why I got us two nights. Two chances. And the other night for just us to enjoy ourselves."
"Yer gonnae have one hell o' a time gettin' me back on the road after this," Demoman threatened fondly.
"I'll 'ave to do somethin' nice to persuade you." Sniper waggled his eyebrows and left for the bedroom, where the phone lay.
Demoman grinned mischievously, watching him leave, imagining several rather nice things Sniper could do to persuade him.
*
A phone call, some freshening up, and a ride on one of the city's elevated trains later, the mercenaries strolled into the heart of Chinatown to arrive at a set of concrete stairs leading down to the unremarkable entrance of Sniper's mate's usual hangout spot.
A dark blue door without any windows sat beneath a small Chinese bakery, bearing the phrase 怪欲望 hand-written in white paint. No other indications of the door being anything but a basement entrance existed.
"What's that say?" Demoman asked, squinting in the night, the ambient glow from signs and windows on the street above providing barely enough illumination to make the characters out.
"Guàiyùwàng," Sniper replied, trying to temper the excitement in his voice. "Means 'strange desire'. But 'desire' as in 'lust'. First character's the same as guàiwu, 'monster'."
"Sums ye up nicely."
Sniper huffed a soft laugh as he opened the door and walked inside, holding the door behind himself as Demoman followed.
A short, dimly-lit hallway welcomed them, the cement walls smattered here and there with graffiti, mostly in Chinese, but not entirely. Most of them included phone numbers. From the English examples, Demoman could surmise that it was all largely variations on 'for a good time call' from various parties searching for hookups. Business cards were pasted to the walls here and there, obviously advertising local escorts. He chuckled. Some things never changed, no matter where you were.
The staccato guitar and drums of James Brown's "Get Up I Feel Like Being A Sex Machine" pumped through the door at the end of the hall. A much more welcoming wooden affair, its window was made of glass with swirling patterns to obscure all but the lighting behind, which seemed dark-if-colourful. Reaching the door, Sniper grasped the handle and looked to Demoman, who smiled in permission. With a nod, Sniper opened the door and allowed him in first, following after.
The club itself was small, a bar dominating one wall while a few booth-style tables ringed two of the walls around a dance floor that would have seemed tragic were it not for the fact that the final wall contained a series of doors to side rooms that were clearly the club's actual attraction, based on their lack of windows and signs in Chinese and English denoting whether they were occupied or not.
The main area of the club was lightly occupied with a mix of patrons between the bar, tables, and dance floor. A handful of monsters, mostly various yaoguai, found themselves flocked with humans, and even the club's single waitress—a pretty húli jīng with huge tits and five tails—had her own set of admirers in the form of a few human men holding out money to get her attention as she passed. Behind the bar, an ape-like monster with straw-yellow fur that faded to white at his ears tended to patrons as he chatted with them, his overlong, orangutan-like arms easily reaching the top shelf while he barely turned from his conversations. For every two drinks he poured, he'd pour one for himself to drink with his customers.
Sniper and Demoman took in the room with curiousity and surprise, respectively. For his part, the bomber couldn't tear his eye away from a small creature barely four feet tall and looking like a macaque who seemed to be terrorizing the dance floor by trying to look under skirts. As they watched, a quadrupedal monster in the shape of a small ox with a single, long horn on its forehead and shaggy, dark fur ambled over to the scene. It wore a vest identifying it as security in both Chinese and English, and prodded the monkey creature with a huff. Neither mercenary could make out what it said to the troublesome simian, but it was enough to get him to quit the dance floor entirely and slink over to the bar for a drink and some sulking.
"Mundy! Oi, it is you!" a reedy voice with a slightly posh English accent called over the din, snatching both men's attention from a booth tucked into a corner near the bar.
Waving to them was a lean white man in his late twenties, his sideburns—threatening to become muttonchops if left unattended for much longer—seemingly in a battle with his wavy shoulder-length red hair over whether to make his youthful face look less or more boyish, fighting it out almost with every shift in his posture and expression. He was dressed for a night at the club, with his black dress shirt unbuttoned a bit to show a tasteful amount of skin, and a watch on his wrist that flagged as expensive even from across the room.
"Ruddy!" Sniper called back, nudging Demoman to follow as he sauntered over with a smile to greet him.
Ruddy sat in the corner of the booth, a pair of monstrous women seated with him, watching their guests expectantly. At one side sat a large, muscular, ogre-like Korean woman wearing a loud, orange jeogori with floral designs in black and white on it and a black miniskirt underneath, barely peeking out from underneath. She had red skin for the most part, with a splash of yellow over her short, almost leonine nose and around her eyes. Short, black horns poked out of her black hair, which hung loosely in long curls and spilled over her shoulders. Sharp fangs and tusks poked out from behind her lips even with a neutral expression. At the other side reclined a petite Chinese woman with ghostly pale skin and a slim, lithe frame. Her long, black hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she wore a flowing blue dress that wouldn't look out of place on any woman in the city, were it not for the long, white-scaled snake tail that emerged from it instead of legs, coiling across the rest of the bench seat upon which she perched, its tip flicking idly this way and that like the tapping of a restless foot.
"Mundy, I've not seen you for yonks!" Ruddy greeted, standing to extend a hand across the table as Sniper reached his little trio.
Sniper accepted the handshake gladly. "Sorry to be such a stranger, mate. 'ope you lot 'aven't missed me too much. Most of me free time lately's been a bit occupied by this beauty," he chuckled, letting to of Ruddy's hand to present Demoman with a small flourish. "Charles Rudford, meet me husband, Tavish DeGroot."
Demoman startled for a short moment at being openly referred to as Sniper's husband, but recovered quickly enough to see that Ruddy was far more bewildered by the news. He grinned, offering a bow. "Pleasure."
"Husband?!" Ruddy barked in surprise, looking between the two mercenaries in shock. "You're taking the piss."
"Fair dinkum, mate," Sniper assured him, holding out his hand to show Ruddy the tattoo on his ring finger. Demoman followed the gesture with his own, then took Sniper's hand with a light squeeze once the startled Englishman had a moment to register what he was looking at. "Since April."
"I can't believe it! You, of all people! I never thought I'd see the day Mick Mundy settled down, with a human no less!" he gestured broadly to Demoman as he sat down.
"I can tell ye two things, lad," Demoman said, taking a seat. "Mickey's nae settled, and nae with a human," he corrected, looking with amusement to Sniper.
"Honestly, Tav's the one settlin' for me," Sniper chucked, sitting down.
"So if you're not human, what are you, if you don't mind me asking?" Ruddy ventured.
"Werewolf," Demoman said simply. It felt strange just saying it like that in a public place, out and plain as saying he preferred rum to whiskey or enjoyed a good game of darts now and again. But seated at the table were two beautiful monstrous women, and not a single member of the club's staff that he'd glimpsed had been human or even attempting to pass as one. He hadn't felt so comparatively normal outside of base since the company gala, and that was still very much under BLU's roof as it were.
"You're the werewolf Mundy told us about?" Ruddy asked, turning to Sniper. "Mate, you didn't say you were datin' the man, just shaggin' him! What, were you afraid we'd figure out you were leavin' before you could give us the Irish goodbye proper?"
"I didn't give you lot any Irish goodbye, you git. I've been goin' flat out like a lizard drinkin' between the day job and side contracts. One of which is the reason I'm willin' to fork out the dosh to be 'ere in Chicago tonight. Between that and bein' a married man now, I've not 'ad time to catch up with you cunts," Sniper groused, folding his arms on the table.
"Ye told them about me, aye?" Demoman teased, bumping Sniper with his shoulder.
"I may 'ave bragged a bit about the gorgeous bloke I work with what turns into a werewolf and shags me rotten once a month, maybe," Sniper teased, then upon seeing the snake woman giggle, realized he was being terribly rude, and Ruddy even moreso. He turned to the snake woman and asked her point-blank, in Chinese, "How awful is my friend being, here? Just forgetting to introduce his lovely companions, or leaving you out entirely with a language barrier?"
The snake woman recoiled in surprise for a moment, giggling. "I speak English fine," she assured him warmly, the relatively quiet din of the bar thankfully not too loud to drown out her soft voice. "Ruddy's just being normally rude."
"Oi!" Ruddy barked, a little offended, setting the ogre woman on his other side to laughing, her fist hitting the table as she snuffled back a guffaw.
"What you get for not introducing these two lovely sheilas, mate," Sniper shot with a smirk. He bowed in his seat to both women. "I'm Mundy."
"Bái Lìjuān," the snake woman replied with a nod and a smile.
"I'm Yu-mi," the other woman added, jerking a thumb at herself with a grin, her sharp fangs on full display, her voice throaty and deep. "I wanted to see how long Ruddy would go without saying something, the jackass."
"Oi! Why am I under attack?! I invite you two to meet my old mate, and this is what I get?"
"You didn't even introduce us; you were too busy being rude to his husband," Lìjuān observed with amusement.
"Invite us to the club to be scenery to make you look like some kind of player, more like," Yu-mi added with a snort.
"Rude?!" Ruddy barked.
"That's what I'd call talking about the man like he stole your friend from you," Lìjuān said dismissively, plucking the remains of a cocktail from the table—now merely slowly melting crushed ice in a collins glass—and sipped at its stir-straw as if to punctuate her statement.
"Nae danger," Demoman said, waving the whole thing off. "I'm nae too greedy tae share him."
"Maybe you're not a liar after all," Yu-mi teased, elbowing Ruddy.
"A liar?" Demoman asked.
Straightening in his seat, Ruddy huffed and shot Yu-mi a look before turning back to his guests. "I didn't know Mundy was married, let alone bringing his husband with him, so I may have invited these two under the pretense of them getting to meet my mate who has more conquests under his belt than even me. And, y'know," he lifted his beer to his lips, muttering around the rim, "shag him."
Sniper snorted, shaking his head. "Mate, you invited me to your favourite night spot to get me laid?"
"It's why I come here," Ruddy chuckled. "In case you've not picked up on what kind of club this is, yet." He gestured to the rooms on the other side of the bar, where one of the doors was opening and the room's occupants were leaving in different directions. One was a freshly-disheveled human man, while the other was quadrupedal, with the body of a horse, the tail of a snake, bird wings, and the head of a man, and was merrily trotting over to the bar. "Figured it was only polite to save you the trouble of spending the night mingling."
Sniper huffed a soft laugh. "No worries."
Yu-mi finished her drink and clacked the glass onto the table with authority. "Before all that, I'm sure you boys wanna catch up, and I dunno about you all, but I need another drink."
"You're four beers in," Lìjuān said, amused.
"And I don't feel shit yet. Let's get some soju at the table. Nothin' breaks the ice faster than that." She lifted her arm and waved to the busty fox woman threading between tables. "Oi! Yǎtíng! We need some drinks!"
The waitress sighed, rolling her eyes as she continued serving the table she was at, telling Yu-mi to wait by flashing a raised index finger without looking over.
"You're lucky she likes you so much," Ruddy chuckled as Yu-mi snorted a laugh.
*
"I cannae believe ye've been tellin' yer mates stories about me," Demoman said, shaking his head in amazement and enjoying the gentle blur brought by the buzz he was carefully nursing to keep from tipping over into proper drunkenness.
Smiling sheepishly against the rim of his pint glass, Sniper oscillated between looking guiltily to his husband and accusatorily to Ruddy across from him, who only laughed at his friend's fate. "Can't blame me for yabberin' on about you, can ya? Always wanted to meet a werewolf, and then 'e turns out to be me stunner of a coworker on top of it?" he tried to defend, shrinking away just a bit like he'd been caught misbehaving.
"You should've seen this bastard! 'e sauntered into the place chuffed to bits, sits down, takes off 'is sunglasses and says, 'Mates, I've a whopper story for you lot! Met meself a werewolf!' Mad lad looked ready to run a bloody victory lap!"
"That right?" Demoman teased, lifting his eyebrow and leaning accusatorily to Sniper. He remembered full well how Sniper had told him their first night together had been the culmination of a longstanding dream, but to hear it from someone else was a bit of an ego boost, for sure. "What else did he say?"
"Oh fuck me dead..."
"Mundy treated us to a pretty thorough description of yourself—well, your 'ybrid form, I mean. 'e was courteous enough to leave out much in the way of identifying information, aside from you being coworkers, though 'e waited 'til the end to mention that part. And a very detailed retelling of your first shag, completely with, ahem, measurements," Ruddy explained with amusement, watching the normally unflappable Sniper turn red as his husband leaned further into his personal space, enjoying how embarrassed he was getting.
Demoman stopped, turning his attention back to Ruddy. "Wait, measurements?"
"We were all very impressed," Ruddy assured him with a flirty smile, leaning back in his seat. "With you and Mundy, honestly. Still don't know 'ow 'e can walk, especially now I know 'e's gone and married you!"
Demoman snorted. "Well, he usually cannae the next day," he admitted, earning a laugh from Sniper.
"You felt so guilty the first time," Sniper rejoined, clapping his husband on the shoulder. "I 'ad to keep tellin' you it was fine, that I'd literally asked for it, and that I loved every second, the whole bloody day!" He turned to Ruddy with a grin. "Wouldn't leave me ute, dotin' on me like I was 'is responsibility, like 'e was the one takin' liberties with me and not like I'd not gone out lookin' to get rooted by a monster."
Demoman huffed, only to find Sniper's fingers intertwining with his own.
"Was so bloody cute, I think right then's when I started fallin' in love," Sniper admitted warmly, his attention focused solely on Demoman now.
"Ach, Mickey..."
Lìjuān giggled, a soft, "Aww," leaving her at the loving display.
"Oh my gods that's so fucking ADORABLE," Yu-mi fairly roared in cuteness aggression, slamming down her empty soju cup.
"Christ, Mundy being soft. Bloody surreal, is what it is," Ruddy muttered with a shake of his head. A smirk crossed his lips, and he narrowed his eyes conspiratorially. "Never thought you'd tie yourself down, what with you shagging the other monsters you work with too."
"Other monsters you work with?" Lìjuān asked, sufficiently baited.
"I mean, it's not like I've stopped, mate," Sniper shrugged, his husband nodding knowingly beside him. "You think Tav's not rootin' those blokes too? I've told you about the faun on the team, yeh? Takes the whole team to keep that little bugger satisfied."
Demoman laughed at that, "Aye, insatiable, that one. Nae that any of us are complainin'."
"Oh, so you're not exclusive?" Yu-mi asked, a grin crossing her sharp teeth.
"Ach, nae. I've watched this wee slattern shagged by any number o' things that go hump in the night," Demoman chuckled, elbowing Sniper into snickering with him.
Ruddy pursed his lips, his attempt at sewing a bit of discord roundly defeated. Even so: "Sounds like you ladies might not end up disappointed tonight after all, then," he said with a flick of his eyebrows to Sniper.
Sniper rolled his eyes. Ruddy could be so fucking smug sometimes. "Nah, yeh, I'm game."
"Hell yeah!" Yu-mi barked, slamming her fist on the table and making Lìjuān giggle. "Nae watched ye with two lassies before," Demoman hummed. "Sounds a right treat."
"It's too bad it's not a full moon, or I'd ask to steal you away for a bit," Ruddy shrugged. At least Sniper would owe 'im one, right?
"Oh, right, I 'aven't seen him since Doc gave you the necklace," Sniper said, turning to his husband.
"So he disnae ken?"
"Yeh, nah."
"Know what?" Ruddy asked, lifting an eyebrow
Demoman weighed that thought for a moment. Ruddy was a braw lad, if a bit of a tit. And it wasn't like he hadn't shagged other men without Sniper around before, though usually it was confined to just Scout, who occupied a nebulous role as not quite a third to their relationship. And by Ruddy's phrasing and how big he estimated the rooms to be based on how far apart the doors on the side wall were, he doubted this would be a "same room" situation for all five people present.
Sniper shagged strangers without him often enough, right? What danger would there be for him to try?
"Actually, Ruddy," he ventured, tugging the magic cameo from under the button-down he wore, its chain glinting in the low light. "I've a wee bauble that lets me transform when I want, within a few limits."
Ruddy's eyes widened, and instantly Demoman could smell his interest from across the table, pheromones blooming from the man strong enough to outweigh the general haze of lustful olfactory information clouding the club. "I'd love to see that," he ventured, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Demoman necked the last of his soju and set the cup down on the table with a soft clack. He grinned. "Might even let ye touch."
Sniper chuckled at that. "Steady on, pup. Unless you wanna give this bloke the curse."
"What, you'll not lend me your fang?" Ruddy asked, tugging at his collar to mime the chain of a necklace. "Don't think I've forgotten you telling us about that little charm."
"Bold of you to assume I'll lend you me husband and me magic," Sniper teased.
Ruddy rolled his eyes. "So what can I offer you in return for not catching lycanthropy?"
"Maybe it's your shout and we'll see 'ow things go, yeh?"
Ruddy sighed and waved for the waitress, "Yǎtíng! 'Nother round!"
*
It had actually been two more rounds of drinks before the assembled group finally rented a pair of rooms and split off to occupy them. Sniper and Demoman had shared a final kiss when they parted, the bushman entrusting his wolf-fang necklace to his husband before being pulled merrily away by two giggling women.
As Lìjuān shut the door, Yu-mi swept Sniper into her arms like a bride with barely any effort, easily hefting the gangly human off of his feet. She leaned in, invading what little personal space he still had left with a fanged grin. "So, Mundy, what're your limits?"
"Keep me alive, keep me human, and don't make me anyone's father," Sniper replied simply, his voice dipping low and sultry as he added, "and you can do whatever you want with me."
"Oh wow," Lìjuān whispered from beside them, slit-pupiled eyes wide as a blush spread over her pale cheeks. "Ruddy wasn't kidding."
Sniper broke into a laugh at that, his attempt at being seductive a bit ruined. "I 'ope the bastard hasn't talked me up too much. Don't wanna disappoint you lovely sheilas." He shrugged a shoulder. "In my defense, I've never rooted 'im, so it's all second-hand details in 'is stories."
"One way to find out," Yu-mi said, abruptly claiming Sniper in a kiss, her tongue pushing into his mouth.
Sniper moaned, wrapping his arms around the dokkaebi's shoulders as his tongue wrestled hers, letting her take charge. She tasted like beer and soju and a growl rose in her throat as he let her swallow a light moan, confirming just how much control she wanted in the proceedings. He was happy to give it to her.
He heard the rustling of fabric beside him, and when at last Yu-mi broke the kiss with panting breaths, he turned to see Lìjuān's dress already draped across the room's only chair and her bra coming free, soon joining it as the snake demon bared her body in full.
Her skin was so pale that the transition between flesh and milky-white scales at her waist was more a matter of texture than anything. She was almost ghostly, save for the dusky pink of her nipples upon small, perky breasts. Her black hair and dark eyes formed a strong contrast that reinforced her supernatural nature as much as the fact that she was a snake from the waist-down, her long tail coiled beneath her on the room's tiled floor, the tip flicking impatiently.
Behind her was the room's bed, a full-sized mattress with an obvious plastic protector under its cheap fitted sheet. A thin blanket was thrown over the whole thing, and a pair of pillows sat against the metal bar-style headboard, reminding Sniper of the beds on base.
They were great for handcuffs and the like.
The rest of the room itself was plain, with a single nightstand, cement walls painted landlord white, and a drain at the centre of the tiled floor for the easiest possible cleanup. Hooks were embedded in the ceiling and a few spots on the walls as anchor points for kink equipment, however, which actually helped Sniper feel a little less like the room was more prison cell than love hotel. It was definitely a very practical setup made to be low-maintenance, and he couldn't exactly blame the tiny hole-in-the-wall sex club for its efficiency, even if it made the threesome feel a bit less like an exciting dalliance and more like an appointment for something clinical.
Yu-mi tromping over and tossing him onto the bed helped dismiss that feeling quickly, especially as she untied her jeogori and tossed it to the floor. She quickly shed her bra and miniskirt, revealing to her companions a complete lack of underwear that made Sniper's breath catch. The entire time they'd been sitting there drinking, she'd been wearing nothing between her thighs.
Seemed almost a shame nobody had been taking advantage at the time.
Swallowing hard, Sniper let his eyes linger on Yu-mi's body, red flesh encasing a mountain of rippling muscle that accentuated an ample bosom, wide hips, and thick, powerful thighs. She and Lìjuān couldn't be more opposites in body types, and Sniper found himself feeling a bit spoiled as these beautiful, monstrous, naked women looked down at him with lust in their eyes.
He must have been more dumbfounded than he'd thought, as he abruptly found himself being shoved upright, Lìjuān slotting in behind him on the bed and wrapping her arms around him, nimble fingers busily working open the buttons of his shirt. "Er, sorry," he mumbled, his face flushed red, as he set about joining her in the task. At least, until Yu-mi bent forward to loom over him, snatching his hands away and forcing them onto her tits, leaving Lìjuān to giggle and continue her task.
Oh. Oh, they were completely taking charge. Sniper let out a shaky breath and grinned, relaxing into it as he fondled Yu-mi, squeezing her soft breasts and running his thumbs over her nipples, urging soft sounds from her as Lìjuān nosed past the collar of his shirt and began to press soft kisses to his neck.
"You said we could do whatever we wanted with you, right?" Yu-mi teased.
"I did," Sniper moaned as Lìjuān bit down lightly, fangs threatening to break skin if she weren't careful. "I'm pretty sturdy, don't worry." With that, teeth punched into his neck, the serpent woman biting down properly as she finished unbuttoning his shirt and guided it open to his shoulders, blood welling around her fangs. Sniper gasped, a soft whimper chasing the sound as he dropped his arms and let Lìjuān pull his shirt off of them and toss it aside, wrapping her arms around his bare torso and sifting her fingers through his fluffy chest hair.
"Good to know," Yu-mi chuckled, yanking off his shoes and tossing them aside, following with his socks.
Lìjuān let go of his neck and licked at the blood trickling from four small puncture wounds. "Don't worry, I won't hit anything vital. You said to keep you alive, after all," she teased.
"You drink blood, or?" Sniper asked, genuine.
"No, just like biting. Though I don't mind the taste," Lìjuān giggled, pressing a smooch to the weeping bite mark. "That okay?"
"It'd be fine if you did," Sniper assured her, turning to capture her lips in a kiss, tasting iron on her tongue.
Yu-mi chuckled, opening Sniper's belt and fly. She took hold of the cuffs of his pants and yanked them off in a single sharp tug, a broad grin crossing her face as she saw that he, too, elected not to wear undergarments. "No underwear? You sure you weren't expecting to come here and get laid?"
"Was expecting to get laid after I got me husband back to the hotel room," Sniper chuckled. "What about you?"
"Was hoping to get tail-fucked at the table but then Ruddy had to sit his stupid ass between us," Yu-mi laughed, tossing Lìjuān a look as she climbed onto the bed, straddling Sniper's lap and dwarfing the man, his already-hard cock pressing against the soft curls on her pubic mound. He could feel the heat pouring off of her pussy, and swallowed hard as the animal desire to push into her began to claw at his brain. Her breasts hung just in front of and just above his face, the massive woman not quite closing the distance that would smother him in that crimson soft heaven.
"I told you, you have to get me drunk first if you want me to do that kind of stuff in public," Lìjuān sighed, murmuring against the skin of Sniper's neck, which was growing hot from injury.
Sniper took a breath to keep his brain functioning. "Tail-fucked, eh? Got some good dexterity with it, then?"
"Oh, you have no idea," Lìjuān teased, kissing up to the back of Sniper's ear before gently biting at the shell of it.
Yu-mi finally leaned into Sniper, burying his face between her breasts and chuckling at his muffled moan as she craned over him to tilt Lìjuān's face up for her to kiss. "Maybe you should show him."
As their lips parted, Lìjuān smirked, her wandering fingers finding their way to his nipples to pinch them. "You want to show him what you're best at?"
A bright, toothy grin crossed Yu-mi's face, and instantly, she was off the bed, off of Sniper, and lifting him out of the serpent demon's arms. Sniper barely had a moment to squawk in surprise before he was being stood up and spun around, his head pillowed against Yu-mi's ample chest. Muscular arms slipped under his own and lifted them, threading between his elbows and clasping strong hands behind his head, pulling him effortlessly into a full nelson. He grunted, forced to bend forward a bit, and looked to Lìjuān on the bed casually watching the show, her tail curled in loose loops to allow her to reach the cloaca near its tip, fingers teasing at the slit in her scales that marked its opening.
"How flexible are you, little man?" Yu-mi growled into Sniper's ear, her breath hot against his skin.
Sniper licked his lips, his cock twitching with his heartbeat. He knew Yu-mi's people, cham dokkaebi, were known for being wrestlers of great skill and enthusiasm. "More than you'd expect for a bloke my height."
With a laugh, Yu-mi released the hold only to bend down and snatch him up behind his thighs, wrapping her arms under his knees and forcing him to double-over as she cinched her hands back together behind his head, exposing him to Lìjuān before them.
Sniper knew the hold well; Heavy had employed it on Scout when he fucked him for the team's amusement at Engineer's ranch back in early spring. All the same, being put in the lock was quite different from getting to watch his smaller, slimmer teammate in the same predicament. His breath wheezed out of him, and he found it hard to catch a fresh one, his torso gathered up and then crushed by his own thighs, his hips fairly screaming at the extreme angle they were forced into. Even so, he salivated, his whole underside on forced display for the snake demon's perusal. He watched her eyes drift down, past his straining cock and his balls drawn up in anticipation, to his exposed hole, which twitched reflexively under her inspection.
Lìjuān smiled up at him, a short waggle of her eyebrows all he needed to know what was coming next. She opened the night stand, which came pre-packed with a few different lubricants and some condoms. She didn't bother with the latter, instead electing for a thicker gel and squirting some onto the tip of her tail, using her hand to spread it over her scales. "Bring him over here, Yu-mi."
The ogress did as she was asked, a few steps bringing Sniper to bear in front of her, dangling over the bed in her arms. "Wish I had a strap," she chuckled, nosing into Sniper's hair. "We could really stretch him out."
"Gods," Sniper moaned, making both women giggle.
"I suppose a guy who can take a werewolf would love that, huh?" Lìjuān teased, reclining on her side, head upon the pillows, as her tail slithered up to tease just behind Sniper's balls with its cool, slippery tip.
"You've no idea," Sniper replied breathlessly, excitement building to a fever pitch. "Love gettin' stuffed nice and full by a gorgeous monster. Put it in me, please."
The ladies shared a look, and Lìjuān pushed her tail into Sniper's waiting hole, spearing in deep with lube-slick ease. Sniper groaned, unable to throw his head back as doubled-over as he was. Instead, he quivered in Yu-mi's grasp, thighs shaking as he began to squeeze at the intrusion.
Her scales were smooth and cool, and though the tip was thin, it tapered quickly into something thicker, more girthy, opening him up with the familiar, delicious tingling burn of stretching around her. Thankfully, the urging of his hole was enough to tell her to keep going, and Lìjuān pushed deeper, wrenching a gasp and a warbling moan from the horny human.
"Fuck," he hissed, red-faced and beginning to sweat. "Aces..."
"Is it now?" Lìjuān asked, smirking as she watched her hemiclitorides peek just barely out of the slit in her scales, swollen and pink as her lust truly began to blaze. Sniper's face was red from a mix of pleasure and the strain of his position, and the way he quivered in Yu-mi's grasp like a prey animal had Lìjuān salivating.
"You look ready to eat him up," Yu-mi hummed.
"You should see him from my angle. You would too."
"Wish there were a mirror in here."
"Something to suggest to the owners," Lìjuān chuckled. She took a breath, reclining back against the pillows as she slowly withdrew from Sniper and pushed her tail back inside, wrenching a cry from the grappled human.
Sniper faded into a breathy moan, the way his body was forced to curl in on itself making it just a little hard to breathe, which made the strain even stronger, heightened the discomfort and pleasure now wracking his body as Yu-mi held him completely immobile for Lìjuān to fuck at her leisure. It was electric; trembling potential burning in every muscle and joint as he panted shallow breaths, the snake demon withdrawing her tail only to push in again, and again, and again, each ingress stretching him a little more, driving a little deeper, filling him a little more. The delicious sparks of sensation crackling and arcing from his hole to his balls and cock and belly forcing wordless whines of pleasure to spill over his parted lips.
Lìjuān teased at her breasts, her hands free to play with herself as she slowly worked more and more of her tail into the suspended assassin. With each pass she watched her cloaca come closer to Sniper's hole, watched her hemiclitorides headed for that hot, tight ring of muscle and the warm body beyond, and the tension of anticipation and desire built higher and higher. She pinched her nipples—things on her serpentine body useful only for pleasure and to mimic human form—and gasped, her body undulating a bit as she teased herself.
"Killing me, making me watch all this," Yu-mi grunted, only half-complaining.
"Am I, now?" Lìjuān teased, and with a final thrust, pushed her tail into Sniper as deep as she could go without hurting the man, her cloaca passing inside of him as he wailed. She arched, hissing into a breathy moan as twin throbs of heat and bliss shot through her tail, the fingers pinching her nipples tweaking hard at them in concert.
Yu-mi let out a shaky, horny breath. "Gods damn."
Sniper's cry faded into a whimper, the sight before him utterly entrancing. Lìjuān's paper-white cheeks were flushed pink in her ardor, her black hair spilling over the pillows like a river in the night, and as she writhed in place she pawed at herself, her mouth open around moans that showed her sharp needle-like fangs.
"Okay, that's it, I can't wait anymore," Yu-mi grunted, depositing Sniper on the bed with a huff. Ignoring Lìjuān's giggle of amusement, she cast a glance around at the room they had to work with. "Both of you, up. This mattress is hittin' the floor."
Gulping down air, Sniper whimpered a little as Lìjuān slipped out of him and slithered off of the bed, keeping the tip of her tail aloft awkwardly as she crossed her arms and watched whatever Yu-mi had planned. He didn't even have time to properly move and get his feet under him before the dokkaebi snatched the end of the mattress and jerked it off of the box spring and frame onto the floor, taking Sniper with it, landing with an 'oof'.
Yu-mi shoved the head of the mattress up against the wall and gestured to Lìjuān, who gathered the scattered pillows and propped them up like she'd done against the headboard and slithered back into place expectantly. She watched with amusement as Yu-mi arranged Sniper, his legs toward the serpent woman and laying on his back, then planted a foot on either side of his head, giving him a fantastic view of the now-slick black curls between her thighs. She spared a grin down at him before sinking to her knees and sitting back on his chest, keeping his face a tantalizing distance away from her.
Sniper inhaled deeply, the scent of her arousal mouthwatering. He didn't have much chance to simply appreciate the sensory experience of a horny giant woman sitting on him before she reached back and grabbed his legs behind the knees and hooked them under her arms, yanking his ass off of the bed. His back stretched, legs spread wide and cock poking insistently at her back as she rocked forward and pulled him up, curling him again nearly in half, all of his weight on his shoulders and upper back as she buried his face in her pussy.
His tongue snaked out immediately, tasting the slickness collected there, a soft moan leaving him as he relished her taste. Then Lìjuān sank her tail back into his exposed and waiting hole, and he cried out into Yu-mi. He dimly heard her laugh, his hearing muffled by the muscular thighs around his head.
Lìjuān's thrusts resumed with renewed fervor, no longer playful but properly fucking him with even, purposeful strokes. Each ingress he could feel the slight bumps of her hemiclitorides pushing past the ring of muscle of his entrance, and even with Yu-mi's thighs at his ears, he could hear her moans grow louder, breathier, needier. She was chasing her own pleasure, and how amazing it felt to Sniper was now firmly secondary.
And amazing it certainly felt, driving heat and pressure into his belly and balls in equal measure. He imagined his belly bulging out with each deep thrust, pushing out with the tip of her tail inside of him, and wished he could see it.
Not that he minded the view he was afforded, the crimson of Yu-mi's thighs, the black fluff of her pubic hair, the dark pink that lay between her lips as they parted for his tongue. He pushed it into her, fucking her with it a bit, luxuriating in drinking her down and teasing her before he finally moved to her clit and got to work.
Her clit was large, much like the rest of her, but proportionally a bit larger than average. Sniper found it made her a little extra fun to play with, taking it fully between his lips to tease the hood back with his tongue and feel her legs tense at the intensity of the sensation, a hissing groan coming from above. He lapped at the exposed glans, laving his tongue over the sensitive spot to feel her shiver.
"Oh fuck, yes," Yu-mi hissed, her big voice growing quiet as pleasure wracked her, making her slouch forward and bending Sniper further in half. A spot of chill on her back told her that Sniper was dripping precome, cooling on her skin in the open air. When he went off it was going to be a mess, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Not when he clamped his lips down around her clit and began to suckle at her, making her throw her head back with a cry.
It was so much, bordering on too much, but that hot tongue laving over her under the pressure of suction kept her teetering on the edge of overstimulation. Her hips began to shake of their own accord, bucking against his face, fucking his lips.
Sniper responded by wrapping his arms around Yu-mi's thighs and digging his nails in, redoubling his efforts. He could barely breathe with the way she was crushing his face into her pussy, snatching gasps of air through his nose when he could, moaning into her as Lìjuān's pace sped to something ruthless, punching in deep and wriggling inside of him with each stroke, milking more and more precome out of him and onto Yu-mi as she fucked him rapidly toward the edge.
Lìjuān panted, writhing and arching as she plunged into Sniper over and over, her clits dragging over the hot walls of his body and driving her mad. She squeezed at her breasts, pinched at her nipples, her forked tongue lolling out of her mouth as she panted and fucked harder, faster, so close she could taste it.
It was a surprise to everyone when Yu-mi threw her head back with a whine and came first, riding Sniper's face as she ground down against him, starving him of air. Between being shoved nose-deep in the dokkaebi' pussy and filled to capacity by the snake demon's tail, Sniper tipped over the edge, his cry muffled by Yu-mi's body as he came, paroxysms wracking his overwrought body as he tensed and shot his load over Yu-mi's back, clamping down desperately around Lìjuān in rippling waves.
Lìjuān thrust in as deep as she could go, tail thrashing inside of him for consistent friction as his hole clenched and fluttered around her, and as she sat up, curling forward, she finished with a throaty groan, her own flurry of cloacal clenches sparking pleasure up and down her tail.
The three of them sagged, and after a long moment where the women caught their breath, Sniper finally lightly slapped Yu-mi's thigh. She knelt up off of his face, a soft laugh leaving her as he gasped for air, suffocating between her thighs. Slowly, she let Sniper's legs down and climbed wobbily off of him, leaving him laying there panting and red, his face completely smeared with pussy juice and Lìjuān's tail still buried in his ass.
Slowly, Lìjuān pulled out, giggling a little as he whimpered at the sensation, and curled up in tight, contented coils, laying atop her own piled tail to look down at the utterly fucked-out human splayed out before her.
Sniper was a mess, but all the same he was grinning like a madman, shivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm and licking Yu-mi's taste from his lips.
"So," Yu-mi ventured, turning back away from her companions to show the trail of semen slowly rolling down her back. "Can someone help me take care of this?"
Lìjuān giggled and beckoned her over to sit beside her on the mattress. "I've got you," she assured her, and set about lapping Sniper's come off of her heated skin, casting a glance to the bushman to be sure he was watching.
Sniper puffed out a horny little sound, at that, his spent cock twitching in spite of himself. "Crikey."
*
Sitting on the foot of the bed, Demoman found himself running his thumb over the fang necklace in his hand, a sudden swell of nerves filling the space where the easy camaraderie of some good company and craic over drinks had comfortably resided over the course of the night. The sterile yet seedy nature of the rented room did nothing to dispel the butterflies that had begun hatching in the bomber's belly, and he almost didn't notice as Ruddy settled on the bed beside him, the mattress grunting with the additional weight.
"Smoke?" Ruddy asked, holding up an open pack of cigarettes to his companion.
"Aye, thanks," Demoman replied, coming back to Earth and plucking a cig free.
Ruddy tapped out one for himself and snapped open a lighter, setting his and Demoman's smokes to smouldering in turn before he loudly clapped it shut and pocketed it. "Nothing like a fag to relax before and after."
"Prefer me fags tae be relaxed durin', too," Demoman chuckled around a drag, smoke chasing his words. To his own ears it felt a terribly forced joke, but Ruddy humoured him with a laugh regardless, so it couldn't have been too obvious how off-kilter he was feeling.
After all, it was hardly like he was some blushing virgin, and even as a married man, he'd been casually screwing seven other men with varying frequency over the past year or so. Demoman took a long drag and let the smoke seep from his nose in silence, trying to puzzle out what felt so different.
Seven men. Scout, Soldier, Pyro, Heavy, Engineer, Medic, and Spy. He hadn't exactly personally gotten off with every one of them, but all of them had done some sexual act that he was involved in. Even if it was just gangbanging Scout, it still counted. At least, to him it did. You see a man's face as he comes right in front of you, that's intimate.
Intimate.
That thought rung in his head for a long moment. Intimate. Was that what it was? Sure there was Scout, and they had something a little more than just being mates, but not quite boyfriends. That was intimate to be sure. But the others? The way Spy drools a little when you have him boneless and lost in bliss. The way Medic practically screams when he finishes, or the way Heavy roars, those loud bastards. The way Pyro spreads out and just the touch of him when he's like that is the most pleasant, safe, comforting sensation a grown man could feel, much less in the heat of coitus. The way Engineer goes from affable and teasing to dangerous and dirty like hitting a switch the moment he gets his dick out. The way Soldier always seems so eager to please, even at the delay of his own satisfaction.
It was all intimate. Bonding. A connection between all of them well past coworkers or even casual friendship at this point. A comfort and a feeling of belonging Demoman had never understood could exist until now, until he really, literally sat down and thought about it.
He'd never done this with a stranger.
"I'm sure a man's gotta be awful relaxed, if what Mundy's told us is to be believed," Ruddy teased, breaking Demoman from his train of thought, which had gone so far in a bare moment.
"Yer nae wrong," the bomber had to admit, taking another drag, hoping the familiar embrace of nicotine crossfading with the alcohol in his system would get him to chill the fuck out.
"I think I'll be just fine getting relaxed around a 'andsome bloke like yourself," Ruddy added, either oblivious or ignorant to the tension gripping the man beside him. He opened the top buttons of his shirt, adding, "Though I'm sure I'll be even more relaxed once I get a good look at that wolf form of yours."
Demoman raised a skeptical eyebrow as he took a drag, but said nothing. That was some serious bravado, considering being in a small room with a seven foot tall wolfman would not likely contribute to a relaxed state, sexual intent or not. Even Sniper needed a little extra work sometimes after the transformation, because the anticipation would have his body tense up in excitement.
His shirt open, Ruddy shrugged it off of his shoulders, bearing himself to his companion. His skin was pale with freckles at his shoulders, and the sparsest dusting of hair at the middle of his mostly bald chest. Demoman has clocked him as scrawny even with his clothes on, and the slightly visible ribs and general flatness of his torso confirmed the assessment, leaving Ruddy a bit skinnier than even Scout or Spy to the bomber's recollection. It was almost surprising he'd survived his encounters with monsters, as Demoman half-believed he'd break the man in half if he handled him too roughly.
"I must say, I am rather looking forward to checking this off my list. A werewolf, I mean," Ruddy chuckled, remembering to take off his hat and tossing it onto the room's lone chair. "Can't let Mundy hog all that glory forever, eh?"
Something about that made Demoman's tongue go sour. "Glory?" he asked, stilling the urge to begin unbuttoning his own shirt.
"Of course! Quite a few bragging rights, bagging a dangerous monster like yourself," Ruddy chuckled affably, gesturing to the man seated beside him.
Demoman's nose crinkled as he took a deep drag from the cigarette. "Oh, aye?" he asked, in a tone that immediately made him think of how his mum sounded when he was in trouble and making flimsy excuses in his defense.
"Indeed," Ruddy chuckled, none the wiser. "If you can even call it bragging, really. At least I know what I'm in for, since when Mundy tells the story, it's the lurid details of the experience. What it felt like, 'ow gorgeous you were all fur and fangs, 'ow tender you were with 'im in spite of what you could've done to him. Makes for a semi hearing it all, but not a particularly thrilling story sitting around with the lads. It's always like that; 'e'd not downplay the danger, but we'd get none of the good stuff. 'e'd be there talking about their personalities and what they're like in pleasure, not 'ow 'e bagged these dangerous creatures! Where's the mortal peril? Takes all the adventure right out of the story, really. Lad doesn't even know 'ow to brag right, even when 'e usually has the most interesting conquests at the table, and the highest body count on top of it."
A small smile crossed Demoman's lips as he listened to the Englishman digging his own grave.
"Far as I recall, Mundy said 'e just headed out into the woods, threw a hock of meat on the fire, 'ad 'imself a dinner, then fingered 'imself until you showed up. Next thing you're shagging. No details of the hunt, of trackin' you down, of the danger 'e was in, you stalking up on him with monstrous intent."
Demoman's nose wrinkled at that, the thought that he'd had any intentions at all other than wanting to know what all of those lovely smells were about. As though he'd been planning to devour the vulnerable human like it was a plan he'd decided on. Or worse, that he would've pinned him and raped him, bestial and impossible to resist or escape, simply by virtue of being a monster.
"Intent?" Demoman huffed, plainly offended. If there was one thing in his chaotic, traumatic life he had some modicum of control over when so much of his agency had been stolen from him in so many ways, it was his behaviour when the wolf took shape, battling that greasy film from the cracks of his brain to maintain the man beneath.
"That instinct to feed or mate," Ruddy elaborated with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Demoman knew those instincts well, and remembered firmly how even in the throes of need, he gave Sniper time to both realize who he was and not just consent but actively ask for the act. He was no animal, no beast, and found his hackles rising at the suggestion to the contrary.
"Must be impossible to resist, that lust for blood or otherwise," Ruddy continued with a chuckle. Caught between taking 'im or tearing 'im to shreds. Mundy doesn't bother with those details, and it's not exactly boring, but it certainly isn't particularly gripping. 'ardly realistic, either. The way 'e laid it out, it sounded like you 'ad a whole conversation before 'e laid 'ands on your bell-end."
Because they basically had done exactly that, Demoman thought. He could feel himself gaining a greater appreciation for the kind of man his husband was, talking about monsters like the people they are, taking thrill in the danger but detailing the pleasure they shared and how that was more notable to him than any idea of a hunt, or treating them like trophies.
Unlike Ruddy, and his talk of conquests, bagging, and body count. Calling Demoman a dangerous monster to his face and alleging that he couldn't control himself. That he was just some kind of beast. Hell, it didn't even seem like he liked or respected Sniper very much, on top of it.
What the hell was he even doing here?
He pocketed the fang necklace and took a final, long drag from the cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray on the night stand. Exhaling, he pulled himself to his feet.
"Time to get down to it, then?" Ruddy asked, and promptly caught a right cross to the mouth.
Shock and force yanked Ruddy from the bed to the floor beside it, crumpling him in surprise as he yelped. Hollering and sputtering, he had no time to right himself before Demoman was on him, pinning him to the floor, a wide grin crossing his teeth, the sharp points of his canines drawing Ruddy's eyes, which widened in terror.
"Oh, ye wannae thrillin' story, lad? Wannae be in mortal peril? Wannae see a dangerous monster? Yer in a room with a man who murders people for money." He knelt up, and decked Ruddy again, this time a short jab to the eye, not hard enough to break anything. Not yet. "O' course, I'm happy tae do this one pro bono." Another punch, this time hard enough to feel a crack.
*
Sniper shrugged his shirt on, the rest of his clothes back in place, and began to fiddle with the buttons. "Real bonzer time," he hummed, looking fondly to Yu-mi and Lìjuān, who were finished dressing and were fixing their hair.
"No worries," Lìjuān replied, apeing Sniper's accent teasingly. "Ruddy wasn't kidding about you."
"Speakin' of Ruddy, 'ope Tav isn't givin' 'im too much trouble. Bloke always 'ad a habit of bitin' off more'n 'e could chew," Sniper chuckled, jerking a thumb at the room adjacent to theirs.
Right then, the sound of a door slamming open and a scuffle outside was met with shrieks and shouts of surprise and alarm. The three occupants of the room shared a look, and Sniper snatched his hat from the chair and bolted out the door.
A small crowd had formed a circle around Demoman and Ruddy, the latter of whom had been thrown over a table, his eye swollen and bruised, his lip split and bloody. Demoman raised his fist, fire in his eye as he pinned the struggling Englishman down.
"Thought ye were all for body counts!" he barked, towering over the shirtless Englishman.
"You're fucking mad!" Ruddy spat in response, flailing, trying to push his assailant away.
"I'm mad?!" Demoman snarled. "Thinkin' ye'll get intae me knickers by disrespectin' me, disrespectin' me husband?! Yer the one who's mad; I'm bloody furious."
"Tavish!" Sniper yelped, rushing to his husband, trying to pull him back. "What the fuck is going on?!"
Demoman turned to Sniper, a flash of regret crossing his face. "Mickey..."
The slam of a hoof on the concrete floor boomed with supernatural volume, bringing a hush over the bar. All eyes turned to the bouncer entering the circle: the ox-like creature in a security vest that the mercenaries had seen earlier, policing the dance floor. "All three of you, leave now before I make you leave," it demanded.
"Listen here, I was attacked by this—" Ruddy sputtered, using the distraction to shove Demoman away and peel himself off of the table.
A white light began to softly glow upon the ox creature's horn. "Have I developed a stutter?"
"R-right," Ruddy mumbled, cowed.
All three men were marched to the exit and ejected into the alley, followed up the stairs to street level before being told not to come back.
"What about my shirt?"
The metal door slammed shut.
"To hell with your bloody shirt, what the fuck is going on?" Sniper barked, looking between Demoman and Ruddy in complete bafflement.
"I'll tell you what the fuck is going on!" Ruddy spat, pointing dramatically to Demoman. "This bloody animal attacked me out of nowhere!"
Any attempts to elaborate were cut short as Ruddy caught another punch to the mouth, sending him staggering back with a cry.
"You watch the way you speak about me bloody husband," Sniper snapped as he set to rolling up the sleeves of his open shirt. "Out of nowhere my arse. If Tav laid into you like that, 'e 'ad good fuckin' reason to."
"Wee prick talkin' about me like I was a trophy for his feckin' wall. Nae a man, just a dangerous monster tae conquer. Worse, he talked about ye like ye were some kind o' rube. And I took offense tae that."
Sniper narrowed his eyes as he looked back to Ruddy. "You disrespect me 'usband like that, mate?"
"How was I supposed to know 'e'd get offen—" Sniper decked him again, laying him out on the sidewalk, clutching his abused face. "CHRIST!"
"You little back-stabbin' loud-mouthed yobbo! Bloody disrespectful dog cunt! Bigoted absolute drongo! I shoulda known but I'd 'oped better of you, you fuckin' chaser!"
"Fuck you, you bleeding 'eart down-under degenerate!" Ruddy spat back, sitting up. "When the lads 'ear about this, it'll be you out on your arse, you know! They'll believe me over the wanker who never shows up anymore!"
Sniper's nostrils flared as he stepped up to Ruddy, towering over the seated, bleeding Englishman. "Fine by me," he said, voice cold. "You lot think you're some old-time great white hunters or some bollocks. I'm tellin' stories about people and you're talkin' about trophies. Get fucked, and if I ever see you even look at me husband again, I'm puttin' a bullet between your eyes." He punctuated the sentiment with a short, swift kick to Ruddy's stomach, making him crumple into a heap.
"Dee..."
Taking a deep breath through his nose, Sniper turned to Demoman and offered his arm, smiling warmly as if he hadn't just ended several friendships at once and pummeled a man in the street. "Shall we, love? I believe I owe you a night of lovemakin' in a fancy luxury hotel."
With a soft laugh, Demoman took his husband's arm and allowed himself to be led away, not bothering to look back at Ruddy, whimpering in a heap in the dark of night.
That feels pretty reasonable 😆 we barely got to see anything of him in the comics but Demo!Greg absolutely seems like the type who wouldn’t be able to keep a secret if his life depended on it lol
My idea for it is some kind of game of telephone. Maybe it began by Fred and Virgil finding out Greg and Ross are together and agreeing to keep it secret, then c!Spy figures it out because spy, then through shenanigans eventually everyone knows while still agreeing to keep it secret, but everyone now knows that everyone knows, so at some point someone (I’m gonna go with Bea, she does not seem like the most patient person) eventually just breaks the ice like “Alright, everyone knows all about everyone else’s bullshit! Can we stop being all hush-hush about it now!? We’re mercenaries for crying out loud!”
Hehehe the game of mutual secret-keeping and pussyfooting around the subject and nobody wants to be the one to address it and Bea is just so over these fucking faggots (nonderogatory) being afraid of each other lmao! God I love her.
Then they all (including Bea) threaten Demo!Greg if he opens his big fat yap to anyone outside the team. XD
Hello, it’s TFC anon again! I loved your latest fic so much (not my request) and I loved how much personality and character you manage to put into such a short fic!!! (I’m pretty sure I’ve said something similar before but it bears repeating because it continues to be true) It makes me curious though, how do you imagine they first got together? Like who confessed and in what context? And on a similar note, was there fear of homophobia from the team, and if not how did the team all come to the conclusion no one was gonna be homophobic? Sorry for ranting in your ask box again, your fics just get my headcanon gears turning lol
Hello again TFC Anon! I'm glad you liked my fic! :D I tried to really give those boys a lot of oomph, since the requester wanted to see more of their personalities. I'm still dialing Greg and Ross in to where I like them, but I think I have a better idea of what I'm doing with them now. Ross being less of a risk-taker and more reserved in general and easily embarrassed versus Greg who's more bold and impulsive and is perhaps a bit of a troublemaker (Scouts, amirite?). Their voices are harder to pin down (the comics giving very little accent to their speech and the game audio just being one guy makes it a LOT more headcanon-y to give them variation) but I feel like I'm getting there. <3 It's a challenge for a guy who likes to try very hard to keep to if not canon then at least as based in canon as I can. <3
And ooooooh good questions, speaking of headcanons, lol! I haven't really considered it too much, so now you have my gears spinning. I imagine Fred and Virgil were ofc the first queer relationship on the team, and I imagine they kept a tight lid on it, well-practiced at hiding their relationship behind the very real friendship they also had, even if living in close quarters with the rest of their team made it harder.
Ross and Greg were probably the ones who broached the whole topic, but how? Ooh such thoughts to think! I imagine they're not nearly as good at being discreet and sneaky as Fred and Virgil are, and Fred and Virgil would likely show solidarity and keep quiet about what they know, so whoever found out probably wasn't those two, lol.
Maybe DemoGreg? He's kind of a blabbermouth, after all. Maybe he tried so hard to keep it secret too, but ended up letting it slip around the rest of the team? (If we're keeping to Barracks Bunnies continuity which I kind of seem to be lol maybe he lets it slip when they're all pissing and moaning about Cheavy's stupid fraternization rules?) And everyone just kind of realizes nobody actually seems particularly scandalized about it so nobody has to pretend they are either, and they can just be cool about it. I imagine Bea lighting up a cigar and being like "We all seen Greg in the showers. That don't make Ross gay that makes him smart." The takes a puff then lets it out as she adds, " The fact that he turned me down when I offered to throw him a bone last week is what makes him gay."
Cue someone giving her a, "Jesus Christ, Bea."
As for how Ross and Greg got together in the first place? That I don't know. Developing so much about these idiots wholecloth makes it hard to just pull something out of the aether, yanno? I gotta rotate that. Honestly, I wanna sit down and play some TFC sometime, as getting a feel for the game, its gameplay, and its vibes is important to writing it for me. Especially since it's kind of all we have other than the fits and gasps with them as villains, yanno?
I'd love to hear others' headcanons, to be honest. <3 Or even requests lol
hello if you're still doing requests could you do something with ross/greg you write them real cute and their so underrated. i would love some thing slice of lifey. fluff or smut i just need them to interact more and their day to day. who are these men and are they as adorable as the current scout/soldier
Anon I am so so so deeply sorry that it has taken me so outrageously long to get to your request. I hope you're still around to see it at this point! And if you are, I hope you enjoy this!
TFC Fanfic - Daddy Hack
Scout lures Soldier away from cleaning his guns for some sex, and finds himself a little disarmed by how romantic it ended up being. They end up talking about the past and the future, and their feelings on fatherhood. Scout's got a very stupid but very passionate dream, and Soldier can't help but get on board.
Ao3 Link!
My lighthearted take on the infamous "endless supply" line, since while I read it as nefarious, my first thought wasn't quite as... vile as a lot of people's were. And still my brain likes to spin out outlandish scenarios to finish that sentence instead. This is the most persistent one, that always makes me laugh.
Also: A "daddy hack" is apparently baseball slang for a big swing you put everything into, to the point that it can knock you on your ass. Seemed a good pun for the title. :3
---------
The door to the armory opened with a loud squeal, dragging Soldier's attention from cleaning the pieces of his shotgun with no small amount of annoyance. At least, until he saw who was interrupting him.
"Really need to get Fred to oil these hinges," Scout groused, closing the door behind him as he entered, an easy smile quirking his moustache just so.
Soldier shook his head and resumed oiling his gun's barrels. "You try tellin' a guy with that many doctorates under his belt that he's s'posed to play handyman 'round the base. Bettin' it'll go as well as the last time the Bossman tried it."
"That was one hell of a dressing down," Scout mused, remembering the sight of short ol' Fred Conagher jabbing his finger into the chest of a man almost a foot taller than him and sternly explaining that he wasn't the damned maintenance man, and unless the major machinery required for their day to day living or battlefield survival was on the fritz, he wasn't repairing a damn thing.
'Knock out your own damn 'honey-do' list, you big ape,' had been quite the statement.
Soldier snickered. "Thought for sure Chev was gonna lay Fred out after he got done chewin' him out. Instead, don't think I ever seen Boss respect someone more, 'cept for Bea of course."
"Of course," Scout agreed, rounding on the workbench and leaning his hip against it. "So, how long you thinking of staying cooped up in here playing with your gun?"
Soldier set down his barrel and brush and looked up at Scout beside him ruefully. "Why, you offerin' to play with my gun instead?"
With a snicker, Scout slid into Soldier's lap, kicking up his legs to cross them knee-over-knee dramatically as he slung his arm around the broader man's shoulders. "When aren't I, big boy?"
Soldier wheezed out a laugh at that, wrapping his arms around Scout and pressing a slow, soft kiss to his lips, smiling gently when they parted. "You make it awful hard to get anythin' done, you know that?"
"I'm tryin' to make you awful hard so I get done," Scout chirped back with an impish grin.
Soldier huffed out a horny little sound in reply, giving his lover a squeeze. "Meet me in my quarters in five. I just gotta clean up in here."
Scout hopped up with a spring in his step, clearly delighted to be getting his way. "Don't be late, Ross," he teased, wiggling his hips as he walked away, turning back to shoot Soldier a smoldering look as he opened the squealy door.
Soldier was watching him intently, like a hunting dog spotting a bird.
Scout's moustache quirked up with his smirk, and he slid out the door with a victorious chuckle, closing it behind him.
"Aw man," Soldier huffed, hard in his pants and faced with still having to reassemble and put away his gun.
*
Scout was gorgeous beneath him, slim and athletic, muscle and sinew and warm freckled skin. He arched and groaned as he was filled over and over, grabbing for Soldier, petting at him, panting out his pleasure and desire as he rocked back to meet him, eager for more. His cock twitched between them, hard and curving up toward his belly, and Soldier couldn't resist the urge to tilt up onto his knees and look down the line of his lover's body to watch the almost cartoonishly large organ bounce obscenely with each thrust.
"Ross," Scout gasped, reaching up for Soldier, mouthing dumbly at the air in blind need for him.
Taking hold of Scout's cock, Soldier leaned back in to kiss him, drinking down his moans as he stroked him in time with the quickening pace of his hips, relishing the way grasping hands quickly turned to nails digging into skin as he ushered his lover toward the edge. It didn't take long for Scout to buck up, squeezing him tight and howling down his throat as he came, clamping down around him and messing their bellies with his seed.
God, Soldier loved that sound. It didn't take much longer before he was coming too, fucking his load into Scout, riding out the last few clenches of the smaller man around him until both were sated and sagging in each other's arms.
Scout's head fell back to the pillow as he gulped down air. "Shit," he panted, his eyes rolling back a moment before listing back up to Soldier, glassy and unfocused. "Wow."
"Wow?" Soldier asked with a snicker, pressing a short kiss to Scout's lips. "That's all you got?"
"All I got right now," Scout admitted with a smile. "Kind of took my breath away, screwing me all romantic-like."
Soldier's cheeks were already red with arousal and effort, but his whole face quickly matched, and he had to avert his eyes. "Took your breath away? Quit fuckin' around, Greg."
Scout grinned. God, Soldier was cute when he was embarrassed. He pecked his cheek with a kiss. "We just finished fuckin' around, Ross. And I'm not playing with you, I'm just saying you laid me down and made love to me just now. It was nice. Hell, add some candlelight, a bearskin rug by a nice roaring fireplace, I might come away pregnant," he chuckled.
"Made love to you," Soldier mused, still beet-red as he looked back down to his lover's dreamy smile. "S'pose I did." All the same, he huffed a little as he pulled out and rolled off of Scout. "Good thing I can't get you pregnant then, ain't it?"
"I dunno, being a dad doesn't sound too bad," Scout teased, rolling onto his hip to keep from leaking onto the bed, throwing an arm over Soldier's middle and tugging him close. "Maybe the whole pregnancy thing less so, based on the horror stories my sister's told me."
"Good thing, I was worried you were gonna go talk to Medic for a second there," Soldier replied, curling his arm around Scout.
"Nah, he's too busy tooling around with his custom-tailored viruses and shit. I don't think reproductive science is exactly his thing, so you're safe for now."
With a soft laugh in reply, quiet settled between the two men as they lounged in the afterglow, the cool air of the desert evening urging Scout to snuggle just a little closer against his warm, burly lover.
As their breathing slowed, evening out in the relative silence, Soldier couldn't help but keep turning that thought over and over in his mind. A father. He'd probably get laughed at if he brought the idea up in earnest, and he didn't know how it could ever happen, but—
"Did you mean that, though? 'Bout being a dad?"
Scout flinched a little, halfway to sleep by the time Soldier spoke, his voice quiet, almost timid. "Why? You wanna be a dad?"
Soldier pouted a little. "I can't say as I've thought about it as much since I started fuckin' men, but I've always liked the idea of raisin' kids. Teachin' 'em what I know. Passin' down skills and knowledge. Someone lookin' up to me."
Scout watched Soldier's face as he spoke, the guarded honesty on his features belying what was almost surely a more passionate feeling than his tone conveyed. He did clearly want kids, but had also written it off as an impossibility. Gay men didn't get to adopt children. And he wasn't about to go make some the old-fashioned way.
"How 'bout you?"
Scout hummed in thought for a little bit. "Honestly, don't know if I ever considered it. Going into mercenary work kind of young put that kind of thing out of mind, you know?"
"You like kids?"
"Well enough. I'm the oldest of my siblings, and it's nearly eight years between me and my sister, so I kind of half-raised the little ones. Her and two brothers. I ended up somewhere between third parent and ringleader."
"Bet you four were a terror."
"Absolutely," Scout laughed. "What I really liked doing, though, was coaching my brothers' baseball team. That was a hell of a time."
"Baseball?"
"Yup! I played when I was little, too. When I hit sixteen, I started coaching the little kids' teams, and it felt like my calling, you know? One of the few things that kept me on the straight and narrow, too. Can't coach if you're in juvie, so I had to keep my nose clean for the sake of the team. Or, at least, cleaner than I would've otherwise." Scout chuckled. "I coached right up until I was twenty, when I caught my first larceny conviction. Didn't do prison for it, but a lot of the parents didn't like seeing their kids' coach picking up garbage on the side of the road for community service. Uptight fucks."
"What happened to keeping your nose clean?"
"What happened was the crew I ran with fucked up the job and ran off to let me take the fall, the bastards. They ended up being the reason for my first assault conviction after that," Scout replied, laughing ruefully.
Soldier smiled, imagining a twenty year-old Scout with bloody gums and knuckles laughing as he was loaded into the back of a police car. He'd always been a menace. "Would you go back to it if you could? The coachin'?"
"Oh, in a heartbeat. I've got an idea for a whole league, too. Like the major leagues, all formalized and shit. But with age brackets so the teams are roughly close in level of what they can do. Not like my brothers' team where the first graders were playing with the sixth graders and didn't get to do anything. Or worse, cost the big kids the game and got picked on for it."
"Aw man, didn't they just start something like that out in Pennsylvania?"
Scout sat up, heedless of the mess he made in doing so. "You serious?!"
"Yeah, I heard it's called the Little League or something. Saw a thing about it in the paper the other day."
"Son of a bitch, they stole my idea! That was my dream!"
Soldier sat up to wrap an arm around Scout. "Now hold on a minute. You thought parents didn't like seein' their coach doin' community service; how you think they're gonna react to an ex-mercenary ex-felon startin' a league, Greg?"
"I don't know, I didn't think that far. But I'm gonna find a way. I'm gonna find some kids who don't have such uppity parents. Hell, I'll find some kids who don't have parents! Run the league off orphans! It'll be a perfect training ground for the majors, and those kids'll go from having nothing to having trading cards with their faces on them!" Scout slammed his fist into his palm, resolve strengthened for his outlandish plan.
"Orphans? How're you plannin' to do that? Start your own orphanage?"
Scout turned to Soldier, eyes sparkling. "And why not? You want to raise kids, don't you?"
Soldier supposed he had just admitted that, yes. "Sure, but—"
"But what? Ross, we have something to shoot for! We don't have to be doing this until we die. We have a retirement plan ready to go! When we get out of mercenary work, we'll open up an orphanage, and then we'll have an endless supply of kids to fill out a whole baseball league! One where where you came from or what you've done in your past doesn't matter! Just your love of the game! We'll be bigger and better than the Little League ever could be, and drive those fucks out of business!"
It was utterly stupid. It was completely unhinged. But Scout's passion was infectious. And even if it was more sports-focused than anything else, Soldier didn't exactly hate the idea of raising kids with Scout. "Sure thing, Greg," he chuckled, squeezing his lover close. "It'll be our big dream. We'll swing for the fences."
After a rough night, the boys get out late in the morning, and after a long drive decide to end their day with a spot of camping in the forests of Missouri. Everything seems to be going fine until Sniper hears something he's never heard before, and has to investigate.
Ao3 Link!
Part of Monstrous Intent!
That's right, after a hiatus for a different fic I'm back on this bullshit with some fun! :D Enjoy the fruits of my research on US Rt 66, and the boys learning a number of valuable lessons.
---------
"Are ye out yet?" Demoman called in the direction of the bathroom as he laced up his boots.
The sound of running water shut off as Sniper's voice came through the closed door. "I'm finished, relax! We've fifteen minutes, yet!"
"Fifteen minutes in which ye still have tae dry off, brush yer teeth, get dressed, and get yer shite together and out o' the room so we can turn in our key!" the Scot groused, finishing with his boots and dragging himself to his feet. He'd been up for an hour already, showered and dressed and drinking the awful coffee provided for the little coffee pot in the room without cream or sugar.
"We can't all wake up fresh as a bloody daisy after last night," Sniper complained, the last of his words garbled as he thrust a toothbrush in his mouth. After a moment of quiet, he spat and added, "Some of us spent an hour and a half gettin' shagged rotten by two different werewolves and another half hour stuck on one of the longest knots you've had in a while."
Demoman grinned at that, thinking fondly back to cradling Sniper in his arms, the two of them joined together, his cock buried deep within him stoppering a frankly massive amount of come as he licked the bushman's sweaty face and made him hum out contented sounds, his fingers sifting through his husband's thick, soft fur. "Dinnae complain, it was lovely."
"Who's complainin'?" Sniper replied with a laugh. He rinsed his mouth and opened the door, striding out naked with his toothbrush and tube of toothpaste in one hand, a towel in the other fluffing through his hair. "I'll get dressed and pack up. Can you go turn in the key?"
With a sigh, Demoman dutifully took the room key and strode out, his own duffel over his shoulder.
*
A little bell above the door rang as Demoman walked into the motel office, making him look up at it before turning his attention to the clerk. A young woman sat behind the desk, her feet propped up on the counter, watching a small television beside her. She looked tired, lost to the world, and probably ready to be done with her shift, judging by how she occasionally looked between the screen and a clock on the wall.
The girl turned to look at Demoman, squinting at first before her brows lifted in surprise to see a man with a Scottish accent wearing an eyepatch. She pulled her feet down and sat up. "Need a room?"
"Nae, nae, just turnin' in the key tae check out," Demoman assured her warmly, hoping a friendly smile would help smooth over his generally rough appearance. He set the key ring down on the counter between them. "107."
"107," she confirmed, turning and grabbing her paperwork, paging through a few things before finding the one she was looking for. "Single queen. ...Mick Mundy? Was that the skinny Australian guy?"
Demoman tensed. Oh yeah. Sniper had gone for the key, and they only had one bed. "Aye, that's him," he said, a bit stiffly.
The girl eyed Demoman for a long moment, looking him over. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she simply set about noting down the checkout information. When she was done, she took the key and hung it back on its hook. Turning back, she regarded Demoman with lidded eyes and an impish smile. "I gotta know."
Here it comes.
"Is he really Australian?"
Demoman snorted. "Aye, he is."
"Really? 'Cause I always heard Australians are huge, you know?"
It was Demoman's turn for an impish smile to cross his lips. "Oh, he is. In the right places."
*
"Got the food," Demoman declared as he entered the back of the ute, which was parked at a gas station not far out of the city. He set down a foil-wrapped sandwich and a coffee on the dinette table where Sniper was sat, a map laid out in front of him. Unpacking a second bag, he pulled out two sixpacks of beer and deposited them in the mini fridge, then slipped behind his husband's seat and craned over his shoulder. "Find the route?" he asked against the lip of his own coffee cup.
Sniper snatched up his coffee and took a long sip. "We're not too far off track. Looks like when I tore us outta Amarillo I hit route 287. When you took over and got us headed east again, that's route 62, which is what took us into Lawton. We can hit I-44 to take us up to Oklahoma City, and get back on route 66 from there."
Demoman squinted at the map for a long moment. "I dinnae see a 66 comin' out o' Oklahoma City."
"That's 'cause it's mostly not route 66 anymore. Interstate Act's been replacin' it and bypassin' it piecemeal for years now. Technically we'll be followin' I-44 all the way through to St. Louis before switchin' to I-55 to 'ead north from there."
"So yer followin' a defunct highway?"
"Basically. It's sort of a historical route in the States. Lots of pop culture around it, songs from the forties and the like. Found it on old maps all the time, started drivin' it when I could when I was 'ere. It's a pleasant drive, and there's a lot of little weird towns and tourist traps along the way between cities. Great places to make yourself scarce if people are lookin' for you, too," Sniper chuckled.
Demoman reached over and traced the route Sniper had outlined, seeing how I-55 turned them sharply north at St. Louis. "Why go north from here? Could we nae just take I-64 straight east tae West Virginia?"
"We could," Sniper conceded. "But I wanted to surprise you a bit."
Leaning back and perching his elbows on the back of Sniper's seat, Demoman leveled a skeptical glare at his husband. "Ye shite, what did ye have in mind now that ye got me captive?"
Sniper snickered. "Was plannin' on tellin' you when we got round St. Louis and givin' you the option, don't worry, love. But the idea is Chicago." "Chicago?!"
"An old mate of mine sent a letter to the post office box I keep in Teufort recently."
"Nae direct tae base?"
"I don't give out that information readily. Seems a bad idea, aside from me family."
"Fair enough. Scout does get a mountain o' junk mail every week."
"Was thinkin' more keepin' it separate from the company, but that's a good point," Sniper laughed. "Not like I doubt Miss Pauling's got a way to spy on me mail there too, 'course."
"O' course."
"Anyway, me mate, 'e said 'e's livin stateside right now. Company 'e works for 'as 'im set up in Chicago, so if I ever found meself shootin' blokes 'round that part of the country, I should come 'round for a proper piss up."
"Proper piss up with one o' your mates; I can only imagine," Demoman chuckled. He considered the idea. "Might be nice tae meet me husband's actual social circle, eh?"
"What little of a social circle you can call a group of blokes sittin' round, gettin' high off our tits and tellin' each other about monsters we've shagged."
Demoman pouted exaggeratedly and swatted Sniper's hat off of his head. "Och, aye, is that what this is? Takin' me round tae yer monster fucker mates tae show me off like some prized show dog?"
Sniper snickered and leaned his head back to look up at Demoman, smiling warmly. "More like brag about the bloody amazin' bloke what decided my worn-out arse was worth settlin' down with."
Demoman rolled his eye with a chuckle. "Excellent recovery, Mundy. Flattery gets ye everywhere."
Sniper's smile spread into a rakish grin. "It's served me well so far."
Demoman barked a laugh out at that and pressed an upside-down kiss to his husband's lips. "Ye wee shite."
*
Demoman took the first leg of the day's drive, putting them just over the Missouri border near Joplin when they pulled into a campground near the base of some mountains to stop and stretch. The parking area was a small, flat affair surrounded by forest with a picnic pavilion and a metal camp grill driven into the grass beside it for public use. An office sat just up a small trail, a sign posted on it about rental spots for motor home hookups and additional amenities.
"Bloody late in the day already," Sniper grumbled as he tucked into some beef jerky they'd brought with them, pacing idly in the grass to get the tightness out of his legs.
Demoman had laid himself out atop one of the picnic tables under the pavilion, letting all of his limbs flop comfortably for the first time in hours. "Aye, we got out late. Wonder why that is."
Sniper huffed. "Again I direct you to the fact that somebody needed to knot me past sunrise because 'e got all jealous."
"Like ye didnae literally ask me tae do it," Demoman shot back with amusement.
With a scoff, Sniper waved him off. "Love, if you give me everything I ask for you're gonna spend the rest of your life tellin' me 'I told you so.' You'll get sick of it eventually, and then where'll you be?"
Demoman chuckled. "If current trends are anythin' tae go by, I'll probably be knot deep in yer arse as usual."
Sniper grinned dreamily. "Gods I bloody hope so."
After a bit of relaxation, the mercenaries began to run out of reasons not to get back into the ute and get back underway, a task neither of them was particularly excited about doing. A soft growl rose from Demoman's belly, and the two of them shared a soft laugh.
"Should probably start worryin' about dinner soon," Sniper said thoughtfully. He looked over to the camp office's signs, one of which pointed the way to the camp's canteen, listing its hours and advertising hot meals. He frowned, scoffing at the mere idea of going camping in the bounty of nature only to go to a damned cafeteria for your dinner. "Got some frozen veg in the ute. Could rustle us up some rabbits or squirrels or a bird or two and throw together a stew, just call today done and camp 'ere for the night."
Demoman hummed a bit, thoughtfully. It sounded rather nice, actually. "Aye, but I dinnae plan tae pay for a space when ye dinnae even have sewage tae hook the ute up tae anyway. Head intae the woods a bit."
Sniper nodded approvingly at his husband's thriftiness. "No worries."
*
It took a bit more driving to find a good turn-off where they could park and set up camp, but soon enough both men were clearing brush and gathering rocks and wood and assembling a little campfire near the parked ute. Demoman set about unfolding the camp chairs and setting up the cooking tripod, while Sniper headed into the deeper woods to go scrounge up some game.
Demoman had offered to lend his nose to the task, but Sniper's outdoorsman pride won out in the end. Which was fine by him; he had the easy job of hanging out, tending the fire, and just relaxing. He'd grabbed one of the sixpacks of beer from the ute to assist with that task.
He took a long sip from a cold beer and sighed contentedly, the sounds and scents of nature all around him, the bright summer evening's light filtering through the trees in sunny dapples cast over the ground and the camper, the dancing flames warming his shins as he slouched in a camp chair and soaked in the moment. The only way this could be better is if Sniper were by his side.
Hopefully he wouldn't take too long getting back.
*
Sniper crept slowly through the shadows of the forest, his steps careful, his eyes alert. He didn't exactly have ample time to rig traps or set up a blind, so he had to be quick to spot prey and quicker on the draw. He'd left his sniper rifle at camp, electing to bring the smaller hunting rifle he kept in his ute for ease of use. He didn't need a scope in these woods, nor the calibre his trusty sniper rifle was chambered for. He was trying to kill animals intact, not turn them into paste.
The ute itself was parked not far from the road, so it made sense to travel away from it to ensure the animals around were less skittish. The smell of the werewolf by the fire would also probably disincentivize prey from approaching in that direction. So Sniper carefully picked his way deeper and deeper into the woods, making notes of little points of interest to keep his bearings.
A good twenty minutes of picking his way through the forest found the bushman's elevation slowly rising, the mountains growing closer with every step. He hopped up onto a log and settled into a crouch, taking a moment of stillness to inspect his surroundings.
There.
A pheasant moved through the underbrush, pecking around at things. It was more than big enough for an easy meal for the two men, and completely oblivious to Sniper's presence. The assassin readied his rifle, taking careful aim. The report of the gun would be loud enough to scare any other game away, so he needed to make this count.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled. He squeezed the trig—
A scream ripped through the woods.
Sniper's shot went wide. The pheasant dashed out of sight, other birds took wing, and everything else disappeared as quickly as their feet could carry them, leaving the mighty hunter alone and annoyed.
Another scream followed. It was horrible and strange, guttural, alien. It sounded somewhere between the bellow of an elk, the howl of a hound, and a woman screeching while inhaling. There were several more screams in short succession, the last holding its note before going silent. It curled Sniper's insides to hear it, and he froze, eyes wide, straining his ears for its direction.
Some sort of monster was in this forest.
The scream cut through the air once more, and Sniper turned to follow its echo, leading up the mountain, deeper and deeper into the trees.
Some sort of monster was in this forest, and he needed to know what kind.
*
A strange sound echoed through the trees, making Demoman lift an eyebrow and look behind him over the back of the camp chair. He wasn't an expert on wildlife by any means—let alone North American wildlife—but he wasn't sure he'd ever heard that sound before. He turned back to the fire and finished his beer with a frown.
He'd also heard the report of a rifle. So either whatever Sniper was hunting down for dinner didn't take kindly to catching a bullet, or the two sounds were unrelated. Though they were sure to become entangled soon enough. Sniper was going to go find out what it was, guaranteed.
Demoman sighed and cracked another beer. He was not going to entertain Sniper's literal lust for danger every single day. Hell, that was already the plan for West Virginia. His husband was a grown-ass man who survived his own horny whims perfectly fine before he came into his life, after all.
Surely he could go one day without something dramatic happening, right?
*
Sniper kept low, his footsteps slow and quiet as he picked his way through the brush, climbing the slowly steepening grade of the wooded mountainside toward where he'd heard the unearthly scream coming from. Another horrible series of screeches had confirmed he was on the right trail, and set his heart thumping in his chest.
What in the world could it have been? It sounded like no animal he'd ever heard before, something new and awful and thrilling. It had to be supernatural; monstrous, even. He couldn't help the thrill of possibility from tickling up his spine as he crept quietly through the forest.
Its pitch wasn't deep, so whatever it was probably wasn't huge. Not something like a werewolf or similar lumbering beast. Thoughts of some dark-furred mass of muscle and terror leaked away as he tried to analyze the sound. It was rough, throaty, but had a low whine to it like a power drill without enough charge struggling to turn its bit. There was almost something rhotic to the sound, and Sniper considered that it could speak. Something fully intelligent, articulate. Something he could bargain and barter with.
Something he could flirt with.
If it wasn't large, what could it be? Spindly and narrow? Short and squat? He considered small folk of legend. Here in the Americas it would be something like nimerigar, though they generally ranged in the rockies, and he was too far east for that. Pukwudgies? No, that was too far east. It could simply be a legend he hadn't yet heard. After all, the knowledge of the first nations of the continent was vast and many and disparate.
Or maybe it was something heretofore unseen. Some creature so elusive that humans rarely if ever even encountered them, let alone passed along their legend. It could be anything. He might be the first human to meet this strange, screaming creature. He might be the first human to fuck it, if he were lucky.
Would it be small? How small? Would it be human-sized? What size human? What would it look like? Hairy? Smooth? Scaly? Feathery? Chitinous? Something else entirely? Would it have recognizable genitals or something completely alien? Would it be able to top? Would it be able to bottom? Good gods, he hoped it had a concept of sexual intercourse in the first place.
Though if it could converse, he could explain if he had to. Wouldn't be the most awkward conversation he'd had pre-coitus, impressively.
Sniper imagined himself, face-down in the leaf litter of the forest floor, fingers digging into the loam and pebbles, his ass in the air as he rocked in the dirt, some hoarse-voiced creature behind him, filling him furiously. He had no idea what to imagine putting it to him, so instead he imagined the kind of rough voice those screams betrayed, grunting with the strain of effort as Sniper's panting breaths hitched around moans, his cock dripping onto the ground below as his prostate was pounded to putty from the frenzied fucking.
Swallowing hard, Sniper pursed his lips and reached down his trousers to adjust himself, his own imagination getting him already half-hard in anticipation. It was foolhardy, letting his libido decide that it wasn't a matter of if, but when.
The series of screeches was close now, and Sniper froze for a moment to steady himself. He took a deep breath, and with more than a little spring in his step, scrabbled up a rocky outcropping to the ground above, ready to come face to face with his mysterious quarry.
*
Tossing a fresh log onto the fire, Demoman watched the embers climb from the disturbed ashes and wink away into the sky. It was always so satisfying, watching them dance in the hot rush of air, the thump of the new fuel making the old, burnt-out wood begin to collapse a little, its structures carved away by flames and flaking away in cool greys.
He picked up the nice big stick he'd found for poking, and prodded the logs into a satisfying arrangement before sitting back down on his camp chair and taking up his beer—the third of six available. If Sniper didn't move his ass he was going to miss out on the booze still being cold, the August temperatures combined with the heat from the fire doing the cans no favours.
With a snicker, Demoman let his head loll back, turning his eye to the early evening sky ringed by trees on all sides. It was nice to have a relaxing, uneventful day at some point on this trip, though he'd prefer his husband at his side for it. It wasn't the same relaxing by a fire without a bit of banter, but he supposed they'd have enough of that while dinner cooked.
He hoped that would be soon. Without the mind-numbing effect of the road, the gears were turning in his mind, and he found himself thinking about the possible Chicago detour Sniper had cheekily sprung on him that morning.
Sniper's mates. Though from what the man had said, they sounded more like acquaintances than true friends. Blokes he hung out with from time to time because they shared a mutual interest. Even so, it was probably as close to regular mates as the globetrotting assassin had, with how mobile and elusive a life he tended to live.
Until the Gravel War, his parents were the closest thing to any roots he had. Until the Team. Until Demoman. Sniper had more consistent attachments than he'd probably ever had in his adult life, content to lose and regain contact with friendly faces every once in a great while, lost in the wind as far as anyone knew until he showed up in their periphery with a tip of his hat and a casual, "G'day."
Demoman wondered how many of those people were terrified that one of those times he made his way back into their lives, it was because he was planning to kill them. He wondered how many times exactly that had happened. Sniper did always say he had a plan to kill everyone he meets. It's just how things are when you're an assassin. Business often gets in the way of pleasure.
How fortunate, then, that Business led him to a contract that gets him so much Pleasure.
Demoman snorted at that thought. It was still barmy what kind of ties their rowdy band of coworkers had formed, and the thought of it someday ending was almost too sad to bear. Sure, it would be an end to the War, a chance for him and Sniper to begin their new lives together, but what was life like after Fortress?
It was staggering to even conceive of.
Demoman took a loud slurp from his beer and huffed out a thoughtful sound as he watched the flames dance.
*
Hefting himself up the short cliff, Sniper rose on all fours and turned his gaze up only to meet a pair of large yellow eyes with slit pupils ringed in black. White fur around that gave way to a sandy tan speckled with black spots covering a short muzzle ending in a pinkish nose. With the creaking rumble of a feline warning growl, the creature bore sharp teeth. Sniper froze.
He was nose to nose with a bobcat.
The cat reared back, lifting a paw in warning as it let out a throaty snarl. It sounded almost canine, almost cervine, almost like a human voice imitating the sound a beast might make in the back of their throat.
Sniper would have sighed and dumped his head into his hands were he not faced with an imminent mauling by an eighty centimetre tall wildcat. The strange screams he'd heard weren't some mythological creature, some elusive monster, some legendary thing hidden in the mountains of Missouri.
It was the mating call of a fucking bobcat.
Demoman was never going to let him live this down.
Assuming Sniper lived, full stop.
Swallowing thickly, Sniper gathered his legs under himself, holding eye contact with the beast in front of him. Bobcats hunted small mammals usually, and stayed out of the way of larger predators. They could take down deer, but usually didn't bother unless it was easy pickings. Any predator avoids confrontations when they can, saving precious calories for the hunt rather than altercations. So he needed to prove to this predator that the juice wasn't worth the squeeze. The easiest way to do that is make himself look bigger.
His feet under him, he shifted into a crouch and pushed off with his hands, rising to his full height and throwing his arms wide, trying to present as much surface area as possible to the comparatively diminutive cat. It came up to his knees, but he knew its teeth and claws could do some serious damage to him if it got the chance.
The bobcat looked up at him, holding his gaze, and grew tense. It was clearly weighing its options.
Sniper bellowed, letting out a full-chested yell with as much volume as his voice could muster, and stomped his foot in challenge. It was enough to get the cat to decide this strange, lanky ape wasn't worth the hassle, and peel off, bounding into the brush and away.
Catching his breath, Sniper felt his knees wobble under him, and he folded to the ground in relief, adrenaline leaving his heart racing.
Gods, he was so fucking stupid.
With a sigh, he scrubbed at his face with both hands then hefted himself back down the short cliff he'd just climbed. Demoman was probably wondering where the hell he was, and he still needed to get some kind of dinner.
*
The golden light of dusk began to filter through the trees, gilding every leaf in a warm halo that made the little camp and its crackling fire feel positively dreamlike. Demoman lined up his latest empty beer can alongside the others beside him, frowning as the task of looking down brought with it a slight vertigo, his vision bearing blurry afterimages with motion, the soft spin of intoxication making him feel like he was moving even as he slouched drowsily in his camp chair and reached for the final beer in the six pack. He cracked it open with one hand—a practiced motion he knew well—and took a noisy slurp from it.
The beer was tepid by this point, long warmed by sitting beside him by the fire in the late-summer heat. Also tepid was his attitude, boredom having long since overtaken the quiet, introspective peace of being alone by the fire. Now he was hungry and a little annoyed at how long Sniper had been gone, wishing his husband would just come back already.
After all, he'd fired a shot. Either he'd killed something already and was wasting time dragging it around, or missed and still hadn't found something else, too distracted by his own dick.
Demoman took another loud slurp and belched, staring into the fire.
Unless that gunshot had been for a different reason.
Unless that scream wasn't something Sniper had gone off chasing, but something he had fired at and missed.
Unless Sniper had been attacked and was laying there in the woods, bleeding to death and unable to scream for help, to call out to his husband sitting so close by getting drunk and waiting for a return that will never happen.
Unless he was already dead, slain by whatever was making those horrible sounds, and Demoman was sitting here, inebriated and oblivious to the fate that had befallen the most important person in his world.
Demoman sat up, his head spinning. What if his husband was dead?
His eye grew watery at the mere thought. No, not his Mickey. Not his precious Dee.
"No!" he surged to his feet, the familiar wobbliness of alcohol in his veins doing little to knock him off balance. He chugged the remaining can and spiked it to the ground, then took hold of the cameo dangling from around his neck.
He was going to find his mate.
*
A slow, steady breath left Sniper in a quiet growl as he lay in the brush, his rifle's barrel poking out as he watched the bait of jerky he'd laid out, hoping for something—anything—to take interest and bumble into his line of sight. It was getting darker by the minute, and once the sun was down he was basically screwed.
The idea of having sleep for dinner and having to drive on an empty stomach for who knew how long in the morning didn't exactly seem appealing, so he crossed his fingers, tucked his sunnies up onto his hat, and waited.
Demoman was probably wondering where the fuck he was, atop it. Guaranteed there wouldn't be any beer left for him at camp by now. Hopefully that meant the Scot would at least kip a nice nap as he tended to do when flothered, and not sit there chewing his nails worried about what his husband was up to for so long in the woods.
Sniper frowned. He'd been thoughtless, hadn't he? He'd spent the early evening following his dick while his heart waited patiently at camp for him to return, trusting him to provide and oblivious to the danger he'd put himself in for what turned out to be no reason. Sniper felt like a true heel, a prize asshole. He'd thought himself better than that, past the selfish impulsiveness that a life spent largely solitary had let him indulge with impunity. Demoman was always on his mind, was the centre of his world, was his best friend and his confidant and the sun in his bloody sky.
Until there was the chance he could go fuck some random monster in the woods, so he had thought.
What rotten fucking behaviour. Demoman was waiting for him to bring back dinner, trusting him to feed them both, and he'd gone off climbing into the forest for the chance to fuck someone else.
It didn't matter how open their sexual relationship was; that was fucking shameful.
Sniper clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to pummel himself about it further. He had a duty to his husband, and he was going to fulfill it, late as he was.
Then, movement.
A large shape with brown fur—grey in the dying light—caught Sniper's half-focused eyes and drew him to stark attention. It was a deer; a young buck, based on the four short points of its velveted antlers. It had come up to sniff at the jerky Sniper had left atop a tree root, and began licking at it to sample its taste. While normally herbivorous, deer were opportunistic omnivores, so it didn't particularly surprise Sniper, even if it was a little unusual for a deer to be the first thing attracted to the bait rather than a smaller carnivore like a fox or weasel.
Honestly, this would be far better eating anyway, and a much easier shot, so Sniper wasn't about to snub a gift.
He lined up his shot, dialing in on the deer's skull, and took a breath to steady his aim.
He squeezed the trig—
The crashing of brush alerted the deer, and its head snapped up to look in the direction from which it came, a bare moment before a bullet embedded itself into the tree beside it and the rifle's report filled the forest. Between the noise behind and the crack of the gun, it bounded off into the trees in a panic.
Sniper cursed, turning his attention to all of the noise. Whatever was tromping through the brush was catching the next bullet. He was getting dinner no matter what.
At the sight of black fur, he took quick aim, finger on the trigger stuttering as the true shape of the creature came into view, and he jerked in surprise, another shot going wide as a one-eyed werewolf pushed through the trees, sniffling at the air in what seemed like a panic. At the sound, and the slam of lead into wood beside him, the wolf froze and sniffed, then immediately locked his eye on Sniper, still hidden in the brush. He whimpered, ears back, looking utterly heartbroken.
Sniper recoiled sheepishly. Oh, he was in trouble.
*
It had taken a bit for the aggressive hugs and whining and wet, licking kisses to die down and for Sniper to assure his werewolf husband that he was perfectly fine, just incredibly stupid, and that he was sorry for almost shooting him, and by the time the transformation had worn out its hour-long timer, they were most of the way back to camp.
"Feckin' hell," Demoman cursed as the fur receded, leaving him standing naked and barefoot in the Missouri woods.
"Sling this 'round you," Sniper offered, giving Demoman his rifle. Once the gun was securely across the bomber's back, Sniper turned and squatted down a bit. "Come on, up you go."
"On yer back?"
"Yeh."
"Yer gonnae carry me?"
"That's the plan, yeh."
Demoman smiled softly. Sniper was going to fold like a deck of cards trying to lift his weight. But gods the offer was cute. "Yer sure, Dee?"
"Look," Sniper huffed, knowing exactly what his husband was thinking, "it's my fault you wolfed out and came out 'ere to find me, it's the least I can do is carry you the rest of the way 'ome. I'm not gonna make you walk barefoot in the woods like a bloody caveman."
"Ye could just give me yer boots," Demoman teased.
"Quit bein' a cunt and get on me back already," Sniper grumbled, pouting as Demoman laughed in reply.
"Aye, sure. Might be nice, gettin' carried by me man. Ye get that treatment from me all the time; I'd love tae see if it's as nice as ye say." He threaded arms around Sniper's shoulders and hopped onto his back, wrapping his legs around his middle.
Sniper let out an undignified oof as the bomber's weight settled on him, and wrapped his arms around his legs to support him, slowly standing up—if still quite hunched forward. Demoman wasn't exactly a small, light man. "Probably not as nice as 'ow you do it," he grunted jovially, and began slowly tromping back to camp with his husband on his back.
Demoman plucked off Sniper's hat and laid his cheek atop his head, smiling. "Still quite nice," he hummed, trying not to let the vindictive part of him get too loud about calling this the man's just desserts. He popped Sniper's hat atop his own head. "So a bobcat, aye?"
Sniper sighed. "Yes."
The annoyance and dismay was so thick in that one word it nearly had Demoman whooping out a laugh, but he'd rather not get dropped unceremoniously to the forest floor for being a shit. "Nae even a magical, talkin' bobcat?"
"Just a regular bobcat. Pretty sure that scream was its matin' call."
"Lad's got a good call then! Maybe needs tae calibrate it better if it's pullin' humans and nae other bobcats, though," Demoman snickered.
"Laugh it up," Sniper groused.
"Hope ye learned a lesson today, Michael Mundy," Demoman harrumphed, squeezing at his waist with his thighs.
"Learned three, actually."
"Three, aye? And what are those?"
"One: Stick to the bloody mission. We don't have dinner now because I 'ad to go chasin' what I thought might be a monster to shag. Stupid, and nearly got me mauled."
"Two?"
"Two: I'm a selfish cunt what needs to remember I'm not operatin' solo anymore and I need to bloody act like it. We depend on each other. This is a partnership. I'm sorry, Pup."
Demoman smiled at that. "Nae danger," he replied warmly, pressing a kiss to the crown of Sniper's head. "Thank ye."
"And three: just pay for the bloody campsite," Sniper snorted as they arrived at their own camp. He carefully set Demoman down by the pile of clothes atop the camp chair, then stretched his own back. "And the stupid canteen."
Demoman whooped out a laugh at that, taking hold of his shirt. "Maybe just this once, aye?"
"Come on, let's break camp. That place should be open another two hours so if we hurry we can make it before they stop servin' dinner."
Snickering, Demoman tugged his shirt over his head. "Ye ken I learned a lesson too, then?"
"Yeh? What's that?"
Demoman grinned mischievously. "I learned what a bobcat sounds like."
"Real bloody learnin' experience for everyone," Sniper spat, picking up the water pail beside fire and dousing the embers.
I really like your reasons for why Herbert fits Medic.
Thank you! :D I know a lot of people wanted something more stereotypically German-sounding or at least something cooler, but I think it fits him perfectly. <3
Finally got to reading each others skin. Why Herbert medic canon now 😭
The answer is fourfold:
1. Word of God. Jay Pinkerton said so when someone asked him, so why not? I know that it's a "grain of salt" thing whenever the writer of something says stuff like that outside of canonical examples but at the same time we have such loose canon to work with as it is, I don't mind taking it at face value. Plus, because it's from Pinkerton it's technically more canon than Sniper's name of Mick, which iirc came from the box of a piece of merch, and the fans have largely accepted that just fine.
2. Herbert West: Re-animator. I'm very sure that's why Herbert was chosen, and it's a perfect reference for the doc, especially the movie version. Campy, a little queer, a lot of hubris, a dark sense of humour ("Cat dead, details later."). Plus I could totally see mid-40s Jeffrey Combs playing Medic live action. Also it's my favourite horror movie. <3
3. It's a German name without being too stereotypical. It's not Fritz or Wolfgang or something. And that tracks with other merc names. Tavish is Scottish but isn't, like, Angus or something. Mick yes is the same first name as Crocodile Dundee but it also isn't Bruce. Mihail is stereotypically Russian but it isn't Ivan or Vladimir, and Heavy's also only ever called by its diminutive: Misha. And diminutives don't often get used in American media, particularly not ones for masc names. So Herbert fits right in the pocket for the way the mercs tend to be named.
4. It's a fucking dorky name and in spite of how the fandom loves to make him into some memitic kinky sex god, Medic is a huge fucking dork. Is he a hot piece of ass? Absolutely. Is he a giggly fruitcake who stage whispers to his birds? Also yes.
Bonus answer: "Bertie" sounds like "birdie" and is thus the perfect pet name for him. :3 ESPECIALLY for Monstrous Intent bird-man-ass Medic lol
Following Medic's rampage, the mercenaries awaken in the morning back in their normal bodies and have to deal with the fallout of everything they went through the day before, good and bad. And one additional curse that got picked up along the way.
Ao3 Link!
Part of Monstrous Intent!
Warnings: Vague descriptions of gore, discussion of cannibalism
It's finally done! Holy shit what a ride! :D Big McThankies again to my boy @beepiesheepie for being my co-conspirator on all of this, and if you want to see the art he's been doing for this fic, make sure to check it out on Ao3! And for his regular art, make sure to check out his art blog at @beepartcollection!!!
---------
Medic awoke to the chirping of birds and the sun shining against his eyelids, rousing him from what had to be the most restful sleep he could remember. He stretched a little, scratching at his belly—which felt comfortably full—and quickly realized he was lying on the floor.
Not just any floor, but the tile floor of a respawn room. It was then that he also noticed that he was quite wet and sticky. Blinking away the bleariness of sleep, he looked down at himself to see that he was covered in a not-insignificant amount of blood and viscera. Some relatively fresh, some dried and stuck to him, but none so recent as to be warm from anything but his own body heat. Sitting up, he looked around himself and squinted, a bit confused.
It was difficult to see past the blurriness of nearsightedness, but Medic could tell the room was filled with body parts, both identifiable and otherwise. Pieces of men were strewn everywhere in an orgy of violence that had no place anywhere in the doctor's sleep-addled memory. Chunks of meat, puddles of gore, and shards of bone littered the tiles and clogged the drain at the middle of the floor. It looked less like an abattoir and more like the inside of an industrial livestock grinder.
Medic blinked owlishly. Why was he waking up here, in such a mess? And where were his spectacles?
No matter. With a shrug he climbed carefully to his feet so as not to slip and arched back, stretching his arms, legs, back and wings satisfyingly. He flapped his wings idly, noticing that they were indeed back where they belonged, and grinned brightly at the development. His snowy white feathers would be a bit stained, but blood washes out eventually. He cast about, realizing he was also quite naked, but upon finding nothing readily available to cover himself with, shrugged and strode out of the respawn room merrily.
As he exited the structure, he noticed that he was surrounded by red buildings. "Am I on the RED side of the field? Hoo, what ever did I get up to last night?" he mused to himself with a giggle. Smiling up at the warm morning light, Medic began whistling a tune as he strode sunnily back to the BLU base, feeling fresh as a daisy.
Behind him, the remaining sea of biomass in the respawn room disappeared in a flash of red light as the RED respawn system began processing and constructing nine fresh bodies.
*
Warm, soft lips peppered Sniper's face with kisses, and he grunted and squirmed at being roused from his slumber. He felt as if he'd been run over by a bus, then the bus had turned around, grabbed a baseball bat, and clobbered him with it several times before shoving the entire thing up his ass. Pain throbbed from every part of his body, two parts in particular: one being the aforementioned orifice while the other was his right shoulder. Bright light filtered in through a nearby window, not shining in his eyes but still luminous enough to make them hurt as he finally cracked them open in a squint that took up his whole face.
The kisses ceased as a soft, mellifluous laugh caressed his ears, a gasp of gentleness that made him swiftly realize that in spite of how every muscle in his body ached like he was one big bruise and had spent the past twenty four hours at a full sprint, the strong arms of his beloved husband were wrapped around him, warm and safe. When Sniper's eyes finally focused, he saw Demoman smiling gently at him.
Gods, Sniper had missed that handsome face.
"Mornin' sunshine," Demoman soothed, giving him a measured squeeze. He cradled Sniper in his lap as he sat on the floor, his back against the wall of the team's locker room. He was careful to hold the bushman so that he lay on his hip, keeping pressure away from his bottom, which was throbbing with pain from the previous day and night's abuses. "Sleep well?"
"Feel 'alf like I wanna ask for a trip through respawn," Sniper admitted muzzily, nosing down into his husband's chest with a wince. "Everythin' hurts."
"Aye, that'll happen. Especially without the Doc around tae patch ye up. We did the best we could with the medkit," Demoman chuckled.
Sniper looked to his shoulder, expecting to see the gauze and tape he could feel, but instead found blue fabric. Looking down at himself, he realized he was wearing Demoman's uniform jumpsuit, though it was just a bit short at the ankles, where the fabric gave way to show his own human feet. He wiggled his toes for good measure.
It must have been easier than trying to dress him in his own clothing, the bomber's jumpsuit a bit baggier and less difficult to put on than a proper shirt and trousers. It was almost sweet, considering he'd been naked when they'd dragged him in, cleaned him up, and dressed his wound. He didn't need the modesty, but was given that courtesy anyway, and Sniper found his heart aflutter over how thoughtful a gesture it was.
With a sniff he replied, "Doc got me good."
"Aye, that he did, ye numpty," Demoman huffed, gently bonking his forehead against Sniper's.
Sniper recoiled, a low simmering headache throbbing out from the soft impact. "Oi, no more of that," he grumbled, rubbing at his face. "No more horns, no more headbutts."
With a snicker, Demoman gave him another squeeze. "Aye, aye. Nae danger."
Still bleary, his eyes having trouble focusing if he moved them too quickly, Sniper scanned the room. "Where's the lads?"
"Just left a bit ago. We kipped in here the night, figured it's an easier defense. Engie said somethin' about breakfast, and Heavy went tae look for Medic."
Medic. Sniper winced a little at the memory of the previous night—of what Medic had done to him—and in spite of himself felt his cock stir. He was a little horrified to realize that it hurt, his genitals actually sore from overuse. He must be one big bruise under that jumpsuit. "Speakin' of. Sorry about sneakin' out after 'im. I dunno what came over me. Like I wasn't in control of meself."
Demoman snickered. "Scared me half tae bloody death, which is nae mean feat when I was already undead," he chastised. "Ye ken he dragged ye around by the arse after he knotted ye? Slaughterin' REDs with ye trailin' on the ground still stuck on his prick! I'm surprised ye didnae prolapse yer arsehole, ye daft cunt!" All the same, he gave Sniper a gentle squeeze, mindful of his particularly sore spots. "But... in the end, I'm just glad yer safe, ye great whore. All o' this should give us a better appreciation o' Scout's self-control, eh?" With a grin, Demoman nosed into Sniper's temple, whispering beside his ear, "So. Was it everything ye wanted and more?"
Sniper winced a bit more at the husky sound of his husband's warm whisper. Oh yes, definitely bruised down there. All the same, he turned to nose in at Demoman's cheek. "Yeh, nah. Not really."
"Really?!" Demoman asked, reeling back in surprise.
Sniper shrugged his good shoulder. "Wasn't with you," he said plainly, meeting his husband's eye with a warm smile.
Demoman scoffed and shoved him out of his lap with a laugh. "Aye, sure, ye great liar! Get it up ye, flatterin' me like it'll get ye out o' trouble!"
With a groan, Sniper tumbled to the floor in a heap, laughing in spite of how much it hurt. "Did it almost work?"
"Aye," Demoman chuckled, reaching over to take Sniper's hand, threading their fingers together. "Almost."
*
Glowing yellow eyes reflected in the bathroom mirror, set in a face made of solid, smokeless fire. Blue eyeshadow, now smudged, coated flaming eyelids and faded as it approached eyebrows burning darker, but still wrought of the same fire. Foundation, bronzer, blush—all for the warm tones of tawny skin that no longer existed—clung to features they had once accentuated, now instead looking clownish; face paint, a parody of beauty. Curls burning in blacks and deep ashen reds hung about that face, spilling over fiery shoulders even as they were still partially held in a pair of now-lopsided buns with fraying braids around them and tied with blue ribbons, which dangled disheveled from sleep.
Pyro stared at himself. It felt good to be himself again. It felt right. The world was bright and beautiful and multilayered again, and his body danced in place and hummed with magic.
Still, he stared at the art upon his face, in his hair, his body the canvas of those sweet ladies at the salon, who showed him such kindness. He would never go back there. He could never tell them how his man had reacted to his makeover.
His lip quivered as he wet a washcloth the sink and added soap, lathering it up between his hands—where the periwinkle of his nail polish stood in stark, ugly contrast to the red, orange, and yellow of his hands. Making eye contact with himself again, he tried to ignore the tears that welled in his eyes as he began to wipe away his makeup.
Pyro tried not to let the isolation get to him most of the time. He'd grown used to it, after all. It had been a few thousand years since the wedge had been driven between the people he'd watched grow up from a fresh species, emerging from its predecessors more clever and dexterous, using those advantages to build ever more intricate societies and bonds, and increase their footprint on the red earth of their youth. Since the wind god with aspirations had, enraged by their dismissal of His demand for recognition, declared his own people unlawful, and demanded His children no longer consort with them. Since the vivacious creatures Pyro so loved to make music and art and love with turned away from him, called him and those like him evil, and lumped the horns and flames of their former friends in with actual fiends.
Since he'd learned that horns and flames were indeed marks of evil in so many places the world over. Even outside His influence. Even among monsters.
He missed the songs and dancing. He missed the drawing, the painting, the pottery and sculpting. He missed the stories told around campfires and meals, the spinning of legend and embellished tales of mundane life; the jokes and laughter.
For just a little while, he got to have it back. Inspiring those ladies to use him as their canvas, telling stories together, joking and sharing joy. He didn't have to worry about someone finding out what he was. He didn't have to worry about the wrong person walking in. He didn't have to worry about being rejected and persecuted if he stepped out of line. He got to just be a person again, making art and happiness with humans, like he always loved.
He wiped tears from his cheeks along with blush, scrubbing slowly at his face unblinkingly.
"It's a shame when you find a good stylist and end up not being able to return, isn't it?"
Pyro sighed, setting down the washcloth as he stared into the mirror. "Oh. Hey, Spy."
With the soft hiss of an invis-watch deactivating, Spy faded into view in the mirror, leaning against the wall behind Pyro. He smiled softly, watching his friend's sullen face. "Bonjour. My apologies for intruding, but I had a feeling you might want some company this morning."
"Not really," Pyro replied, wetting the cloth and resuming wiping his face, trying not to think about how long the rogue may have been there watching him. "I'm just cleaning up."
Spy's smile grew sad, his eyes soft as they locked on Pyro's in the mirror. "I'm sorry you have to lose what you had yesterday," he said simply.
With a deep breath, Pyro blinked away tears. "Yeah, me too." As he finished washing his face, he set down the cloth and turned his attention to his hair. It was messy and rumpled from where he'd laid his head on Engineer's chest as the team had slept in the locker room, hiding from Medic overnight. He began to untie one of his ribbons.
"You know," Spy began, pushing off of the wall to round on his friend and pluck the ribbon from his fingers. "It's been about a hundred years or so now, but I was once a geisha in Kyoto. Though in those days it was just called Kyo."
"Really?" Pyro asked, looking to Spy in surprise. The rogue rarely spoke of his past to anyone.
"Oui. It was before I moved to Europe. In fact, getting to meet Dutch traders was why I took the apprenticeship in the first place. Europe sounded like a fantasy, beautiful and exotic. Paris and her lights lived in my mind and my heart long before I even set foot on her streets." He chuckled softly, and set the ribbon beside the sink, then untied the other and placed it with its twin. Stepping behind Pyro, he tugged his gloves off and pocketed them, bare hands busying themselves with undoing Pyro's braids and buns as he spoke. "My apprenticeship was relatively short, all things considered. Most girls take far longer and start far younger, but most girls didn't have almost two centuries of experience in manipulating people as a foundation to work from." He hummed smugly as Pyro's hair fell loose once again, and smoothed his hands through the djinni's hair.
A genuine smile briefly alighted upon his lips as Pyro's eyes fell closed and he relaxed into the sensation. It gave Spy a chance to withdraw the combs he'd brought in his jacket pocket. Pyro jolted a little at the sensation of the wider-toothed comb dragging through his fiery locks, eyes snapping open to see the kitsune behind him busily focused on the flames in his hands.
They didn't quite behave like actual hair, dancing about in his grasp and blending back together into one mass at any opportunity, but it didn't tangle, which was all that Spy was particularly concerned about. If it could maintain the shapes of curls, it could maintain other shapes, and that was enough for him.
"Once I was allowed to become a maiko—a working geisha in training—I spent two years doing my own makeup and hair in the most time-consuming manner every day, in addition to wearing flashy, elaborate clothing that required assistance to don and ridiculously tall shoes," Spy explained. "You know, once a geisha graduates to geiko, the final rank, they're allowed to wear wigs. No need to do such elaborate styles with your own hair every day once you've earned the right, thankfully. But until then I had to style my own hair in ware-shinobu and later ofuku every day. As such, I did get quite handy with combs, ribbons, and pins."
Spy parted Pyro's hair and separated out two large strips of curls at the front of his head, gathered the rest at the back and combed it up into a high ponytail. He held it in one hand, sliding the comb into his breast pocket. Making eye contact with Pyro in the mirror, he fanned his fingers out and in a flourish, seemed to pull a large hair tie from nowhere. He used it to secure the ponytail, and set about wrapping it around the base of the tie into a messy, fluffy, curly bun.
"My okami ended up putting me in charge of teaching the other girls at the okiya how to style their hair. I think she wanted to keep me humble, since I was excelling so quickly," Spy snorted. "Which: fair enough, really."
Pyro smiled, giggling softly at that. "Keeping you humble would require you to be humble in the first place. I can't imagine that."
"Don't worry, mon ami. I haven't changed that much. I wasn't humble then, either. I was just incentivized to pretend I was."
That had Pyro barking a laugh. "I bet you were a beautiful geisha."
"Quite a few men seemed to think so," Spy mused, thinking fondly of one in particular. With another flourish he held up a few bobby pins from what seemed like nowhere and secured Pyro's messy bun, fiery curls spilling out around it playfully. Gentle hands on the djinni's shoulders turned him around, and Spy grabbed the ribbons from the sink and set to work braiding them into the curls he'd combed away before, nimble fingers working quickly.
"So, no different from now," Pyro said, catching Spy's eyes with a grin.
"You're a shameless flirt," Spy snorted, taking one of the bands that held Pyro's buns to tie off the braid and begin on the other side.
"And you're an incredibly thoughtful, sweet one," Pyro replied warmly.
Spy's fingers faltered for a moment, and he dropped the braid with a curse, snatching it back up and fussing to keep it from unweaving. "Such a shame, you're delirious from getting so little sleep."
Pyro smirked, saying nothing as Spy finished his task and tied off the braid, then brought them both back to pin the ends into his bun. He stepped back, regarding his handiwork for a moment, then reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a pin and tucked it into Pyro's bun, nodding with satisfaction.
"The pain of losing the chance to walk among humans again must be great, and even the monstrous world can be fraught for someone so rare and beautiful as yourself," Spy said, tilting the djinni's chin up with a gentle finger. "But despair doesn't suit you. Now, take a look."
Spy gestured to the mirror, and Pyro turned to look at himself, tears springing to his eyes in spite of himself. Blue ribbons threaded through black and dark red flames, braids that circled his head like a crown and joined the messy bun that sat atop the back of his head, stray curls bouncing with his movements and dancing in their own fiery way. A decorative hairpin stuck out from the side of his bun, bearing a glass cherry blossom at its end with a few delicate silver chains ending in lilac-coloured beads dangling from the flower. "Spy..."
"We may be few, but you have community here. In monsters and men. All of whom would and do gladly take you as you are. And none of us is unique. Where there are few, there surely are more. After all, you met several at the company gala, did you not?"
"Yeah," Pyro replied softly, sniffling as he rubbed the tears from his eyes. "You're right."
"If only everyone would realize that," Spy chuckled, his hands still on Pyro's shoulders. He gave him a squeeze as Pyro broke down in a laugh, grinning along with him.
"But then how would you brag when you get proven right after everyone tells you you're wrong? I think you'd die without being able to give out I Told You Sos."
Pursing his lips in mock offense, Spy squinted down at the grinning djinni, both amused and bemused at being read so efficiently for filth. "Much like you'd die without being able to needle somebody about something during your day."
"See? We get each other," Pyro laughed.
Spy let out an exaggerated sigh to accompany an even more exaggerated eyeroll. "Tragically so, it seems."
With a grin, Pyro tilted up onto his toes, wrapping his arms around the taller man's neck and tugging him down for a kiss. Spy met him comfortably, his arms slipping around the djinni's sides to pull him into a warm embrace. When their lips parted, Pyro nosed in against Spy with a contented sigh. "Thanks, Spy."
"Think nothing of it, Hotaru," Spy hummed, his hand coming to rest at the small of Pyro's back. "It wouldn't do to let such a beautiful man cry. Smiles suit you far better."
Pyro couldn't help but smile at that, and kissed Spy again, hugging him tightly before finally letting go.
"Come, now. Your dear lover should have breakfast ready by now," Spy hummed, releasing the djinni in turn.
Pyro nodded and turned, heading for the door. "You think we wasted enough time to dodge having to help move the rest of the furniture back inside?"
"Hopefully, though it may still be best for you to use your cleaning spell on the couch. I'd rather not accidentally sit in dried semen."
"Kinda feel like that's always a risk with our couches."
"Touché."
*
Engineer took a deep sniff of the mug in his hand, the warm aroma of coffee filling his nose and making everything feel like it was gonna be right as rain. His other hand held the handle of a spatula, which he was using to wrassle around a pan full of breakfast potatoes atop the stove, flanked by a pan of frying eggs with another sizzling up some bacon on the back burner. Things were finally back to normal, and he couldn't be happier. While the experience had certainly been novel—and helped him understand a little more about Pyro's side of the world—he was glad that it had been temporary. Permanently being a fluffy, stumpy little three-tailed talking fox who had to put effort into being man-shaped would be a hell of an annoying fate, and he'd found it more than a little challenging while it had lasted.
It was nice of the fellas to step up and help him figure it out, though. Even if that had been a pain in the ass of its own. Magic was interesting, but it was definitely something he wouldn't just be able to feel his way through. It wasn't something he found himself particularly driven to pursue in the same vein as Medic, though now that he understood it at least a little better, maybe it helped him understand the prosthetics he'd been building a little better too.
Either way, it was nice to be a self-made man again. Engineer set the spatula aside and used the Gunslinger to grab his cast iron pan from the stove and move it to a trivet, not worried about a pot holder in his metal grip.
He'd swap hands to something more fashionable later. Maybe show Sniper what that hand's vibrate function could do.
He snickered and took a sip of coffee, then set it down beside the potatoes.
Poor Sniper, the man probably couldn't walk. He'd have to get some jokes at the former faun's expense primed now so that they'd be ready to go when he had the chance to roast him.
"Hey Sol, can you start gettin' these taters plated up? Bacon n' eggs'll be up in a jiff."
Soldier looked up from where he sat at the table, his neck twisted in the general direction of the battlefield even though there was no way to see outside from back in mess. He'd been waiting expectantly since Heavy had left, almost eerily silent.
The dullahan hadn't awakened with a head. After all, he hadn't removed it with his collar before going to bed the night this all began, so it came with him when he'd become a djinni. So this morning he awoke in his natural form: headless and undead. He'd seemed ill at ease about the whole thing.
When Soldier didn't reply, Engineer ventured again, "Sol? Partner?"
Soldier's neck swayed to and fro as though he were shaking his head and turned toward the Texan. "What's taking him so long?"
"Who?"
"Heavy. I asked him to bring me a head if there's anything left of the REDs. I need one. Everything's too numb."
Engineer's brow furrowed. "Too numb? Yesterday weren't everythin' too much?"
"It was," Soldier confirmed. "Pyro's body's always moving, and colours are more and lights are more and everything is more. Sounds have more depth to them and if you use your eyes wrong you can see into other layers of reality." He shrugged. "Or at least that's what Pyro said I was seeing. Felt like I was hallucinating half the time."
"Pyro's explained that to me. Sometimes he likes to do that when he's upset. Sorta... check outta this reality for a spell. You didn't do that at all yesterday."
"No. I do not run from my problems. Pyro should not either."
Engineer sighed a little. "Wish it were always that easy."
"It is when you're not a coward, and I know Pyro is not a coward. He just needs to realize it!"
"Sure 'nough," Engineer admitted with half a shrug. "So bein' a djinni was all kinds o' sound n' fury, n' now it's the opposite?"
"Everything's a lot... quieter. Cooler. More numb. More dead. I feel the big things, which is fine because I do big things. But when I've got a head on, things are a little closer to what you feel because my body fakes being human then, so it feels more human."
"And right now goin' from one extreme to the other's throwin' you for a loop."
"Affirmative."
"Well, hopefully the big guy's got a new noggin for you, 'cause I'm just realizin' I made a servin' for you too n' I'd hate it to go to waste," Engineer said, scratching his stubbly scalp in realization.
"Enough coffee for me too?"
"You betcha."
Soldier hopped up from his seat and grabbed the pan of potatoes and a serving spoon, and set to doling out portions on the nine plates set out on the counter. "Oorah."
*
Trotting down from the porch of the RED farmhouse, Medic stopped, arching an eyebrow at a large swath of soil stained a deep, blackish red with quite a bit of dried blood. Judging by the colour it had been oxidizing there for hours. The RED respawn machine had to have been working overtime to have not picked up biomass this old.
He crouched down to inspect the dirt, clumped together into bloody mud, though long dry by this point. It crumbled between his fingers as he picked some up, making him pout in thought.
He remembered the blood here, pooling in the dust, black in the dark, red under moonlight, and tasted iron. The echoes of screams rang in his head, and the wet crunching and slurping of a visceral feast. Somewhere in his mind, Sniper's whimpers accompanied it.
He bit his lip, staring now into the middle distance as everything came back to him in waves, fresh ripples across the still water of his mind washing fresh memory onto the shores of his consciousness. He remembered gunfire, wide eyes and wild screams, terror and horror and unrestrained violence and manic glee.
Medic laid a hand on his belly as he stood back up, suddenly feeling very queasy as the contents of his stomach ceased to agree with him. "Hm. Well. That's probably not good," he tittered as more and more detail of the previous night came back to him, piercing the haze of morning. "Hopefully I avoided any brain matter. Though I wonder how different the species gap is between werewolf and human. Are spongiform encephalopathies transmissible between them?" he mused aloud. "Seems poor design for a creature almost guaranteed to eat people every now and again."
"Doktor!" Heavy's voice cut across the quiet battlefield, catching Medic's ear and attention.
"Heavy!" he chirped, jogging toward the sound to find the giant just about to round the control point shack.
"Doktor! There you are! You are hurt!" Heavy gasped, seeing his lover covered in blood and little bits of viscera still clinging to him.
Medic waved him off with a chuckle, "Ach, nein, nein. I am fine, Schatz. This blood isn't mine, I assure you."
With a sigh of relief, Heavy wrapped his arms around Medic in a crushing hug. "Glad you are okay. I was worried when you did not return at dawn."
"What time is it?" Medic asked, returning the hug and casting a glance to the sky, where the sun was still low in the sky.
"Sun has been up for maybe an hour," Heavy replied. "It is around six. But you have not missed breakfast."
Medic nosed into Heavy's neck and placed a kiss there. "I think I'll skip breakfast," he said with a soft chuckle. "I'm quite full, though my stomach is feeling a bit tender."
With a roll of his eyes, Heavy shook his head. "I wonder why this is."
"Who could say?" Medic chirped.
A soft sigh left Heavy's nose, but he was honestly just glad to have Medic back safe, sound, and back to normal, stained as his wings may be. "Come along, Doktor. We get you cleaned up and dressed. Your glasses are in quarters, on night stand. Can get medicine for stomach. Should also use medigun on Sniper."
"Oh! Oh yes, is he alright? I was quite rough with him, wasn't I? Though I'm sure he liked it well enough."
The sight of Sniper's limp body, bleeding and leaking semen, being brought back to base in Scout's arms popped into Heavy's mind along with the runner's radio commentary about the bushman being dragged across the battlefield by the knotted cock in his ass. Heavy sniffed thoughtfully. "He is fine."
*
"Hey, look what the wolf dragged in!" Scout teased, he finishing putting the furniture back into place as Demoman carried Sniper into the rec room and gingerly deposited him on the couch to lay on his side. "How you feelin', Snipes?"
"Didn't know it was possible to bruise your prick from overuse but here we are," Sniper grumbled, feeling worse the longer he was awake.
"Ye'll live," Demoman teased warmly. "I'll go get ye a blanket tae cozy up with. Brekkie should be up soon, and I'll bring yer plate in here tae eat, so ye dinnae need tae sit." He pressed a kiss to Sniper's forehead and ruffled his hair lovingly before he left.
"Couldn't sit if I tried," Sniper mumbled once Demoman had gone, rolling onto his belly and planting his face in the couch cushion.
"You good?" Scout asked, plopping down on the couch beside his friend's head. "'Cause you don't look so good."
"Been worse. Been a lot better, too," Sniper grumbled into the cushion. "Woke up okay aside from the bite wound and the sore arse and the aching dick and the bruised rest of me, but more and more I'm feelin'... 'opless, like. Like nothin'll ever compare to yesterday, like what's the point? Like I wanna crawl into me ute and hide from everythin' like a wounded bloody animal."
"Oh, you're droppin'!" Scout replied brightly. "That makes sense, I mean you basically spent all 'a yesterday in a horny haze an' all. Faun senses, combined with faun sex drive, combined with faun wait time between orgasms—which is to say basically none—combined with rut heightenin' all that, plus gettin' railed stupid by a werewolf on top 'a that, yeah that's gonna drain you freakin' dry, man."
"Might be a few days before I can even think about comin', sure."
"Not your nuts, asshole," Scout snorted. "I'm talkin' your brain! Engie explained it to me one time, since e's usually a little rough with me. An' especially after somethin' real intense, like that time 'e put me out for free use, after it's all said an' done I kinda get real freakin' sad an' overwhelmed an' I dunno why, since I'd just had the best time 'a my life an' all. It's called Drop, an' it's part 'a why 'e's real good about all that aftercare stuff. Basically your brain's makin' all kinds 'a good chemicals to make you feel good an' react to how good your body's feelin' an' stuff. That high you get when you're just in heaven gettin' fucked or doin' the fuckin'. An' if it's real intense or goes on for real long or whatever your brain gets a little addicted. So when you're done and you're comin' down an' it ain't makin' those chemicals like crazy anymore, your brain don't like that an' makes you feel like shit until it levels out."
Sniper huffed out a soft sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. He wasn't sure whether he was impressed or depressed that Scout of all people was explaining this to him. "So I spent all yesterday floodin' me brain with good chemicals and now I'm payin' the price."
"Like a horniness hangover," Scout chuckled, patting Sniper's head gently.
Sniper sighed, turning his head to the side to free his face of the cushion. "Crikey."
"C'mon, dummy," Scout bade, patting his furry thigh. "Lay your head on me. A little tenderness'll help 'til Demo gets back."
With some wriggling and wincing as his body fought him every step of the way, Sniper did as he was asked, pitching onto his undamaged shoulder to lay his head in Scout's lap. When the faun's nimble fingers began to sift through his hair and scratch gently at his scalp, a sigh left his nose, his lips curling into the barest half-smile.
"So, how was it?"
"Bein' a faun?"
"Yeah! Bein' a garuda was pretty neat. The third eyelids were weird an' I ain't used to havin' feet let alone freakin' talons, but flyin' was tons 'a fun! It was wicked easy too, dunno what Doc's problem was."
"Don't let him hear you say that."
"Fuckin' A," Scout laughed. "But the whole time I ended up really missin' bein' a faun. I mean, this is me now. I'm used to it. And I like it. It feels right, especially now that I got it all figured out. So I'm glad to be back in my own skin. Havin' all my senses back an' bein' horny all the time feels like comin' home."
"You were awful sulky at the party."
"Can you blame me? That was supposed to be me gettin' sandwiched between everybody an' gettin' casual handies while we're sittin' around shootin' the shit! I'd been lookin' forward to it all month! You'd be pissy too if you weren't the one gettin' all that play."
"Fair," Sniper chuckled.
"So did you like it?"
Sniper thought about the previous day, about all of his sexual escapades, about how powerfully he felt every bit of pleasure, and when pain mingled with it how mind-blowingly potent it had all been. "Mate, it was bloody aces. Strewth, up there among the best days of me life," he replied finally, dreamily.
Scout snickered at that, teasing through Sniper's hair. "Think you got a new retirement plan lined up?"
"Yeh, nah."
"For real? Why not?"
"What about Tavish?"
"What about Tavish?" Scout asked, squinting in confusion down at him.
Sniper looked up at Scout, squinting in return, looking downright offended. "What, you expect me to just decide to outlive 'im like it's nothin'? Just become immortal and watch the love of me life grow old and die?"
"Man, you are out of it," Scout mused. "Why couldn't he do it too?"
"First, that's a lot, expectin' a bloke to change what 'e is for you like it's nothin'. Second, I don't even know if 'e could. He's a werewolf. Doubt there's precedent for that ritual changin' anyone but a human. And we know 'e can't curse you since only humans can get the curse."
"Okay, fair, but we don't know shit about the ritual anyway except that it requires a lotta fuckin' an' some fancy magic wine, right? For all we know if I found out what to do an' got the right stuff I could turn everyone into weirdass fauns. Spy might be stuck all foxy from the waist down or some shit, who knows." Scout snickered. "Man, he'd straight up murder me, boyfriend or no."
"Fair dinkum," Sniper agreed. "Besides, why're you askin' me this heavy shit? You don't know thing one about that ritual, and aren't you tryin' to help me relax and rest and feel better, not stress me out makin' me think about me boyfriend's mortality?"
"Okay, yeah, good point," Scout conceded, going back to scratching Sniper's scalp. "Sorry."
"No worries," Sniper grunted, settling back down. They settled into silence for a few moments, thoughts eating at Sniper's mind until he finally rejoined, "D'you think he'd go for it?"
Scout barked a laugh. "Man, he goes for every other cockamamie scheme you come up with, don't 'e? I'm pretty sure 'e's signed on for life, pal. Honestly I'm surprised a big dumb romantic like Demo ain't already popped the question or somethin', the way you two lovebirds are."
A soft laugh huffed out of Sniper as he rubbed his pinky against the tattoo on his ring finger. "Strewth."
*
Fresh from the locker room and a hot shower, Medic giggled as Heavy held the door to the base open for him, hooting out a little yelp of surprise as the giant swatted at his towel-covered bottom on the way.
"I'm going to get dressed and go find something to settle my stomach," Medic said, rubbing his backside with a smile.
"Will get breakfast. You want coffee?"
"Ja, bitte. Thank you, Schatz," Medic replied warmly, giving the giant a peck on the cheek and making for the dormitory hallway, his talons clicking on the creaky wooden floor as he went.
As Heavy entered mess, Soldier immediately dropped the empty potato pan in the sink and charged over to him. "Did you get me a head?!"
"No," Heavy replied with a shake of his head. "Found Doktor in middle of field. Probably no parts left too."
"Dammit. Well, time for plan B." Soldier rushed past Heavy, headed for the rec room. "Scout! I will pay you twenty dollars to let me behead you!"
Heavy sighed as he heard a counter offer of, "Fifty!" from the other room.
"Guess there won't be leftovers after all," Engineer chuckled, plating up the eggs. "Doc doin' alright?"
"Doktor is fine," Heavy replied with a half-shrug. "Found him walking across field naked and covered in blood."
"Ah, so in his natural element."
"Yes," Heavy chuckled. "He is clean now and dressing. Say he has upset stomach."
"Get the feelin' from what Scout said the feller treated the REDs like an all-you-can-maul buffet," Engineer chuckled. "Dunno how to feel about that, if I'm honest."
"It is Herbert," Heavy reasoned. "This is how he is."
"Fair, but bein' that he's a man o' medicine 'n all, I think sometimes it might be a little too easy to forget just how bloodthirsty our dear doctor can be."
Heavy grinned. "Maybe you forget."
Engineer chuckled at that. "Shoot, it's what made you fall for the feller, ain't it?"
"This and his perfect ass."
"He does have a great ass, don't he?"
*
Once Medic had returned and Demoman had pestered him to heal Sniper, the team sat down to breakfast at the mess table, plates heaped with food and mugs steaming with coffee soothing what remaining aches and sleepless grumpiness had remained from the night prior. The room filled with the bright chatter of nine mercenaries relieved to be back to what they considered to be normal.
"So, Doc, I take it ye had fun?" Demoman teased, a strip of bacon between pinched fingers to aid in some light gesticulating.
"Yes, it was a fascinating experience! The raw power at my disposal, the wildly enhanced senses, the complete lack of impulse control!"
"Think that's more you than the werewolf," Scout muttered under his breath, fresh from respawn with a crumpled fifty dollar bill in his pocket. Soldier snickered beside him, nearly snorting coffee into the nose of his freshly donned head.
"I know I had a bloody great time with it," Sniper added with a self-satisfied smirk, giving the doctor a short waggle of his eyebrows.
"I can definitely say the same, mein Freund," Medic agreed with a sultry grin in reply. "Ach, thank goodness you weren't human at the time, what with me biting you, though."
"I've got me magic necklace to prevent that anyway, so no worries," Sniper said, tugging his wolf fang necklace out from under the jumpsuit he wore.
"Ah, does Demoman bite you often then?"
Blushing, Demoman tried to ignore a few grins thrown his way by the other mercenaries and focused on buttering his toast.
"Sometimes, not quite like that, though," Sniper chuckled. "But since the curse's sexually transmitted too, I gotta 'ave it 'n all."
Heavy dropped his fork in surprise. "Curse is sexually transmitted?"
"Nah, yeh, but seein' as I'm the only 'uman Tav's shagged like tha—" Sniper stopped as he remembered hearing Heavy's wails of pleasure and pain through the wall the night before, followed by a fully werewolf Medic bursting out of the base. "Ah, bugger."
"But wait, you're only half-human, right?" Scout asked.
Demoman sighed, "Let us see yer teeth, lad."
Eyes wide in a mixture of fear and confusion, Heavy obeyed, parting his lips to show his teeth, looking almost like some form of simian threat display as he revealed a set of much sharper and larger canine teeth than normal. "Hnn?"
Sniper sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Fuck me dead, why didn't I give someone else the bloody necklace for the night?"
"So Heavy is going to be a werewolf?" Medic asked, trying and failing to show his excitement at the prospect.
"Do not want to be werewolf!"
"Ye said it, lad."
"Calm down, you lot!" Sniper sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "It's curable so long as you get it handled before the first transformation."
"How do we do this?"
"Well, when I caught it—" "You caught it?" Medic asked, surprised.
"When Tav and I shagged that first time. Got the necklace after that."
"Ah yes, and do tell us where you obtained that cure and necklace?" Spy asked, lips against the rim of his coffee cup as he watched the commotion with amusement.
"Er... I bought 'em from Merasmus."
"I'm sure he'll be delighted to see his favourite customer again so soon."
*
"Yes, yes, Merasmus is coming!" Merasmus hollered as he stormed through the still-trashed foyer of his castle, yet another volley of loud, forceful knocks echoing through the stone structure and exacerbating the wizard's stress headache.
It had taken him all night to just get the library back in order and calm Monoculus down, and now some noisy nincompoop had started pounding on his door the moment he'd finally taken a break to sit down with some tea. It had better not be cold by the time he got back, or so help him, Merasmus would wreak havoc upon the insufferable interloper insistently intruding upon his domicile!
When at last he reached the door, he threw it open with a flourish, robes fluttering in the breeze it created, bellowing, "What is it you demand of Merasmus the Magician?!" only to deflate upon laying eyes upon his callers with a flat, muttered, "Oh."
Upon his doorstep stood Sniper and Heavy, the former slouching with infuriating casualness, the other glaring flatly with the placid disdain of a man who did not want to deal with this almost as much as Merasmus himself.
With his most affable smile, Sniper tugged at the brim of his hat with a bright, "G'day, Meras—"
The door slammed shut.
"Ah, bugger," Sniper huffed, his voice muffled from behind the door.
Merasmus scowled, his gut nearly wrenching as he fought back the urge to vomit his soul from his body and rain Hell upon the presumptuous mercenaries at his door. He couldn't escape these miserable cretins! Couldn't they just leave him in peace for one blasted day?! "Begone! Merasmus has no time for you jackanapes!" The wizard turned and began stalking back the way he came, his already poor mood gone from sour to curdled.
"This is stupid. Hold my boots," Heavy grunted.
Merasmus paused as he felt a sudden wash of magic and turned to the door in horror to see a green glow seeping through its cracks for a long moment before it disappeared and the door promptly flew off of its hinges with a thump and a crash. It slammed to the floor, punched out of its frame by a now fully-jotun Heavy, who stood on the porch mostly naked, his clothing shredded to tatters by the sudden jump in size. Sniper whooped out a laugh beside him, the giant's boots dangling from his fingers by their laces.
With a shriek, Merasmus recoiled, half shielding his sight from the giant's startlingly disproportionate lower anatomy, half preparing to fight or flee even as he mostly just froze in shock and fear. "My door!" he sputtered out lamely.
"Sell me magic potion," Heavy demanded, trudging inside with Sniper ambling after him.
"Er, after all, it does seem like you might be in a bit of a need of a cash injection, based on what 'appened last night, mate," the bushman added.
"What in the Hells are you talking about?!" Merasmus barked, a green glow overtaking his eyes as he floated off of the floor to meet Heavy's height, if not his size.
"Sniper tell me you can cure werewolf," Heavy clarified, coming to a halt and staring the wizard down. "I want to buy this cure."
"The curse is done," Merasmus dismissed. "Your Medic is no longer a werewolf, just as you are no longer human with machine parts. And even if the curse remained on him, it would be incurable, like for Mundy's... mate." He afforded the bushman a quick sneer. "Once a werewolf transforms the curse is permanent."
"Not Doktor. Me," Heavy replied, baring his teeth in a snarl.
Merasmus recoiled, eyes widening as he realized that, indeed, this jotun had unusually large and sharp canine teeth. "How—no. Spare me the lurid details. I'm sure I know exactly how. Unsurprising that Mundy's team behaves the same as he does." His face pinched up in disgust. "Like a troop of bonobos, I'm sure."
"I am not here to be judged by wizard who lets himself be kidnapped by human gangsters," Heavy shot back, his nostrils flaring.
"If you want my assistance you'll be judged as harshly as—GHK!" Merasmus' retort was cut off as Heavy calmly reached forward and snatched him by the neck in one massive hand, dragging him over until their noses touched, glowing blue eyes meeting glowing green.
"Sell me werewolf cure. Or I break all of your ribs one by one, leave you on floor alive, and come back on full moon to tear the pieces out of your body with teeth."
Merasmus held Heavy's gaze for a long moment before a sheepish smile spread across his face. "Well, why didn't you say so?" he croaked. "If you'll just accompany me to my library we can get you sorted, my fine, massive friend!"
*
"Here, drink this," Merasmus huffed, stirring a bottle full of liquid and powdered silver with an animal bone. He set the bone aside and thrust the bottle into Heavy's hand in annoyance, looking in frustration to where Sniper reclined in one of his library's large green leather chairs, sipping on his cup of tea.
With a frown, Heavy did as instructed, upending the bottle and chugging down its contents, swallowing every drop and trying not to gag at the metallic taste. When it was done, he handed the bottle back briskly. "This will cure me?"
"Open your mouth."
Heavy did as instructed, and watched warily as Merasmus inspected his teeth. Before the wizard's eyes they shrank back down to reasonable size and shape, making the jotun's gums itch as his teeth shifted back to their normal place.
"You're going to be fine," Merasmus replied with a nod, turning to put the bottle down on a table. "Before you ask, I don't have any more amulets like Mundy has, so if you want to continue... dalliances like this, I'd advise using that magic ring you have to protect yourself by not being human for it."
"Being jotun will protect me?"
"Only humans can contract lycanthropy. Or half-humans in your case, I suppose," Merasmus explained with distaste.
Heavy's lip twisted in annoyance, and Sniper hopped to his feet as he watched the giant's fists clench to prepare for another outburst. He pulled out his wallet and dug out a fistful of bills, holding them out to the wizard. "Right, well, that's all we needed today, I think. Five thousand enough for an emergency call, Merasmus?"
"Five thousand. After what I've suffered this weekend five million wouldn't suffice!"
"If you don't want me money that's fi—"
Merasmus snatched the money from Sniper's hand. "Five thousand is fine, Mundy. Now if you'll excuse me, I have places to be. So kindly get out of my library and out of my castle," he urged, rushing them to the exit of the extradimensional space.
As they stepped out into the castle hall, Sniper turned, "Places to be? Dodgin' someone else, now?"
"Yes!" Merasmus hissed. "You nine! Now leave my castle!!!" He huffed, "You know the way out," and slammed the door to the library. His voice came muffled from behind the door. "I cast Teleport to Cancún!"
Medic's werewolf rampage continues, and poor RED Scout has managed to set the beast's sights on him! Things don't look good, and they're about to get even worse! Meanwhile, Sniper is still knotted, and taken along for the ride, but he's so far gone it's probably not that big a deal for him at this point.
Ao3 Link!
Part of Monstrous Intent!
Warnings: Violence, Gore, Cannibalism
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"INCOMING!"
Scout's sneakers dug into the dusty gravel of the battlefield as he turned and ran, his legs feeling like they were falling out from under him as he bolted past the shack at the centre of the field where the inactive control point lay. He barely registered his voice as his own as he screamed again and again, half trying to alert his team, half crying out in terror. Behind him, he could hear the wolf's approach, waltzing thumps gaining with startling speed.
Thump thump thump
Thump thump thump
Thump thump thump
Running on two feet and one hand, hunched over and clutching the boneless faun still speared upon his knotted phallus, the black wolf dashed out of the farmhouse and gave chase, hot on the human's heels. Growling, the great beast snuffled out sounds like laughter between his panting breaths, bloody saliva dripping from his tongue as it lolled from his mouth.
Thump thump thump
Thump thump thump
Thump thump thump
Scout could feel the hammering of his heart in his chest stutter, as if trying to match the rhythm of the monster's fell footfalls. If he could just get through his own team's farmhouse, he'd be surrounded by his comrades, who had damned well better be armed by this point. They could put up a defense, blast the creature with enough ordinance to put anything down. Sure, the BLU Sniper—whatever he was now—would be cut down in the ensuing chaos, but surely that had to be a better fate than what he endured now, right?
Scout had interrupted the beast in the middle of both eating and, oh God, mating with him! And even now he was still there, still impaled on the creature's cock even as it pursued him! Not even a reprieve from his suffering, bleeding and ravaged! Even for a team full of fruits, that had to be some kind of horror beyond comprehension, right?
He just had to get there. He just had to make it to the porch. He just had to—
Pain, sharp and hot ripped in an arc across his back as claws raked through his skin with little effort. He tried to push through, but the wolf was on him. That same hand shot out and caught his ankle, stopping him dead as he slammed face-first to the ground with a thud. Scout cried out, rolling to see the wolf approach slowly, his bloody maw grinning, pale eyes too-wide with sheer excitement, as it yanked him closer across the dirt, grinding gravel into his fresh wounds.
In his arm, still knotted, Sniper moaned out gibberish, slack in his grasp. Blood seeped from his shoulder, dripping onto Scout as the wolf towered over him. With a grunt, Medic dropped Sniper to the ground beside Scout, the faun's legs spread wide, his hole still twitching as it held onto the wolf inside of it.
Scout looked in horror to the man beside him, then back at the wolf, whimpering as he brought his hands up to shield his face. But with both of his hands free, Medic snatched him by the wrists and pulled them away, pinning the younger man to the ground. With more of that horrible, snuffling laughter, he sniffed at Scout's neck and laid a lick there. He could feel his pulse pounding under his skin. Tears began to well in Scout's eyes. Was he going to have the same fate as that Sniper?
"HELP!" he screamed, kicking, struggling, arching away from the wolf and trying anything he could to break free. "GUYS! HELP! HELP ME, PLEASE!"
The wolf opened his jaws and closed them around Scout's neck.
"No, please, nonononono—"
Teeth pierced skin, then muscle, and more. Medic bit down, and with a jerk of his head, tore Scout's throat out, silencing the young man.
Scout gurgled, eyes wide as tears spilled down the sides of his face. He gawped, trying to breathe but failing as the only thing he accomplished was a soft wet burbling, his lungs filled with blood and nothing else, arterial spray and the black of the beast's fur filling his rapidly blurring vision. The pain was almost too much to register, nerves firing while his brain stopped trying to decode them, terror and panic already dominating the last of its failing reserves of oxygen. Before consciousness truly left Scout, he felt those teeth at his belly, and the searing heat of it being ripped open, his organs spilling out, and the wolf beginning to feast.
Medic grumbled contentedly between growls of aggression as he took hold of Scout's limp body and began to tear pieces out of it. Hunched over the corpse, he tore out a coil of intestine with his hand, only to dig in with his muzzle to gnaw and rip at the soft liver, pancreas, and kidneys within. Both hands cracked open the ribcage, letting him snack on lungs and heart, blood caking and staining his fur as he indulged in his visceral feast.
Sniper lay beside the dead Scout, the warm blood pooling atop the saturated soil slowly spreading to him, to soak into his white wool and stick to his sweaty skin. The meandering coils of Scout's discarded intestines piled beside him, wet and caked with dirt. His eyes tracked to the side, watching dazedly as Medic peeled the diaphragm from the inside of Scout's ribcage and ripped into the fibrous muscle messily. The anatomical knowledge of a surgeon met the brutality and hunger of a ravening beast, made manifest in the wolf thoroughly and efficiently butchering the young man with his claws and teeth and picking his bones clean with startling speed.
Well, startling if Sniper had any thoughts left in his mind beyond how full of come he was, and how Medic's fat knot plugged it up inside of him. His eyes seemed to slide right off of the gory display as they roved back down the beast's body to where they were joined, to the swell of his own belly, bloated with the wolf's seed, to the way he could feel that enormous phallus inside of him, still spearing him so deep and stretching his quivering hole so wide. All that mattered to him was that. It was the only thing that existed to him, all other thoughts banished. He was made for this.
He shuddered, moaning, clenching around that knot, making a growl rise in Medic's throat as he continued ignoring him and set about tearing apart Scout's trousers to get at the thick muscle of the runner's legs, sharp claws and gnashing teeth digging open strong thighs to harvest their meat.
"Scout!"
Medic's attention snapped away from his meal to RED farmhouse in front of him. Scout had been so close. A mere ten feet from the porch, thirty from the back door of the house and thus: salvation. But his screams had done the trick, as—too late to save his fallen friend—another mercenary wearing red began to mount the porch on the other side.
But just in time for Medic to get bored of gorging on this one.
"Scout! We are coming to—sweet mother of mercy!" RED Soldier's steps slowed as he came upon the sight: the massive black beast covered in blood, Scout lying dead in a pool of blood with his throat and torso torn open and gutted, the creature gnawing at his legs, another bleeding man laying on the ground impaled on the wolf's monstrous member.
Medic grinned, laughing. Pieces of Scout, ragged chunks of meat and viscera, clung to his bloodied teeth.
Soldier raised his shotgun.
Heedless of dragging Sniper's limp body by the knot inside of him, Medic leapt.
*
"I lost sight 'a them," BLU Scout reported into his headset. "But I'm pretty sure Medic bit 'im."
"Bit him?!" Demoman cried, leaping from his seat only to be grabbed and forced back down by Heavy. "Me Mickey!"
"Somethin' happened though, 'cause I heard a scream—not Snipes—an' Doc ran off. I'm gonna head over for a closer look." After a few flaps to stretch, Scout leapt from the roof of the base, fluttering between it and the roof of the farmhouse, where he landed at its peak. His talons dug into old shingles as he settled into a crouch to take stock of what was going on.
He barely had time to glimpse the RED Scout's retreat before Medic was on him, and then, his double was screaming, bawling for his life in a blind panic before being silenced as a spray of red pelted the wolf and the desert dust around them.
"Oh, jeez," Scout grimaced, gagging a little as Medic began to eat the dying mercenary. "Bad news about that non-aggression agreement, Spy."
"Merde."
"Also, uh, hey Demo? I know people get sick if they eat other humans, right? Does that—does that transfer if you're a werewolf when you do it?"
"MICKEY!"
"No! No, Snipes is fine. Well. I mean. 'e's knotted an' just kinda layin' there on the ground while Doc's chowin' down. Their scout, by the way. Poor guy."
"Doktor is eating RED Scout?"
"Ohh yeah, 'e's really gettin' in there, too." Scout shuddered.
"What should we do?" Pyro asked, looking worriedly between the panicking Scot and the window Sniper had climbed out of.
"We have two options, it seems," Spy mused. "We could arm ourselves, charge out there to attack one of our own in the hopes of putting him through respawn with enough frequency for the rest of the night to mitigate any further damage. It could save face with the RED team." He took a long drag from his cigarette. "Or we arm ourselves, abscond to the respawn building, close and lock the outer doors, close and lock the shutter door, and let Medic have his fun with our enemies, far away from him and his rampage until morning comes." He smirked. "After Scout retrieves what's left of Sniper, of course."
The assembled mercenaries looked to one another, each trying to abdicate the decision to another as Demoman stood there simmering at Spy's callous phrasing.
Screams erupted in the distance, accompanied by gunfire and the crash of explosions. A wolf's howl echoed above it all. Scout's voice crackled back across the comms. "I don't think we're savin' face with the REDs after this. Oh! Aw jeez, that's—that's a lot 'a blood! Doc just ripped off 'is—OH JESUS!"
"Looks like our decision is made," Spy chuckled.
"Scout, what about Mickey?!"
"Well the good news is 'e's still alive, I think. Bad news is 'e's also still knotted, an' Doc's draggin' 'im around by 'is asshole. That cannot be comfortable, ooh. Guy's leavin' a big smear 'a blood on the ground an'—oop! Hey, he just popped off! Wow, that's a lot 'a jizz. Just gushin' outta 'im." A soft, shaky breath puffed over the comms. "Okay, that's wicked hot, not gonna lie—"
"Tiny Scout, please bring Sniper back," Heavy sighed, keeping a hand firmly on Demoman's shoulder so that the dullahan didn't go tear down the door to get out.
"Roger," Scout chirped. He loosened his grasp on the shingles and tipped forward onto his fingertips, wings open and ready to bolt the moment he saw an opening. "See you guys in respawn, one way or another!"
As the clock strikes midnight, Medic transforms and Heavy bears the brunt of his lover's sudden change into a massive monster of malevolent mischief. Thankfully he'd already been prepared for such girth. The boys make a plan to survive the night, but Sniper, lust-drunk and driven by rut, has his own plans for how to spend the rest of his Halloween. RED team notices there's suddenly a *lot* of screaming going on.
Ao3 Link!
Part of Monstrous Intent!
Sorry for the delay, but I hope the sheer size of this chapter helps make up for the wait! The holiday season is a genuine asskicker for a guy who works mostly fish these days, plus I got super sick on top of it all. Ugh.
Warnings: Some dubious consent vibes, even though everyone involved is on board, just not exactly communicating that in the moment. Huge insertions, belly bulge, knotting, tons of jizz, and some blood and violence during the course of intercourse (biting, speficially).
---------
Medic doubled over with a groan, his laughter unabated as his body was at once flooded with pain so potent and all-consuming that he couldn't imagine trying to articulate it. It coursed in a short, sharp shock from his ribs up and down his spine and out along every bone in his arms, legs, and skull before prickling out with a static buzz of growing discomfort through his skin to the tips of every hair then back in. It was exquisite, hot throbs of hurt pulsing through his every cell as his body remade itself where it stood, meat and bone rearranging itself beneath stretching, stinging skin, and Medic felt like he was too much to contain within himself. He felt like he was being pulled, stretched, wrenched in strange new directions, a pressure forcing itself against his every structure. He gasped, his giggles growing breathy with agonized arousal as the pain became pleasure, and erupted into full cackling as he threw his head back and arched his transforming body.
He caught sight of the mirror, grinning in abject delight to see himself growing taller, broader, his face pushing rapidly out into the shape of a muzzle as his ears grew pointed and slid up the sides of his head, changing shape to something more triangular as they rose. He saw his teeth—parted around manic laughter—elongating into points, his canines becoming fangs as his maw pushed out further and further, his laughter growing deep, husky, and horrible as it grew more and more wild. His coccyx changed shape, giving rise to new vertebrae spawning into being inside his flesh as skin and sinew stretched around each new addition to his spine, extending past his pelvis, downward and outward in the swoop of a tail. His feet elongated, heels rising, calves shortening as he gained a digitigrade stance, sharp claws emerging from toes and fingers where nails once grew. His skin itched as—like a wave of shadow—black fur erupted out of it until he was covered toe to tip in a thick, dark coat dusted with grey at his muzzle, ears, and along his belly. And from that fur the doctor's cock stood proudly, harder than before he had transformed, now emerging from a sheath and tapering to a soft point at its tip.
When it had finished, Medic sagged, the pain gone, and in an instant the void it left was filled by a flood of sensory input and pure energy. He could smell like he never had before, the scent of lubricant, of Heavy's body, his genitals, his arousal and fear, the sweat dried on their sheets, the dust on the hardwood floor, the food and bodies outside, the lube, the semen, the stench of sex lingering in the air and mingling with wood smoke and desert soil. So many more aromas he couldn't place filled his nose, all new, never before sensed nor understood. It was fascinating, but he didn't have time to be lost in it. His whole body trembled with barely-contained urges. He felt like a coiled spring, like a trigger with a warm finger curled around it and beginning to squeeze, like a match dragging across sandpaper. He was at a cusp, ready to leap to action, every muscle tight and eager to move.
He needed to run. He needed to chase. He needed to hunt. He needed to eat. He needed to mate. The urges of the wolf sank into the creases of his brain and filled them to overflowing, and where Demoman might take hold, snatch the reins, and demand his own humanity in the face of such overwhelming and consuming desire, Medic found himself with little interest in putting in such an effort.
After all, unless something quite dire happened, this was almost guaranteed to be his only chance to be a werewolf. Giddy with a mixture of curiosity and chaos, he instead let his own thoughts metaphorically kick back and enjoy the show, giving over control to his base instincts to see where they would take him. It was sure to be fun.
Medic turned to Heavy and grinned, all sharp teeth and dark fur, his cock hard and twitching with his pulse. The wolf's icy blue eyes—full of bad intent—met Heavy's, shocking the giant to action. He had frozen in place, watching the transformation with a mix of fear and awe. As Medic's attention landed on him, he scrambled to try and climb off of the bed, his legs sluggish and his asshole sore.
A massive hand slammed down on Heavy's back between his shoulderblades and pinned him down. Claws pricked into his skin as Medic was upon him in an instant.
He was fast. So fast.
"Doktor..." he huffed, planting his hands on the mattress to try and shove himself up, to power out from under Medic, to absolutely no avail. The doctor was two hundred fourteen centimetres and one hundred fifty kilograms of muscle and menace bearing down on him with as much strength as he cared to use, and it was enough to pin Heavy to the bed, his cheek pressed into the sheets as terror bubbled behind his eyes.
Heavy reached for the headboard, panic hammering in his chest as he scrabbled at the bed, reached for any purchase, trying to get away from the wild beast in the room. He dragged himself up the bed in defiance of the wolf's immense strength, only to be caught by the Gunslinger and viciously yanked away from the bars of the headboard, one bending as his metal grasp faltered and his grip slipped away. Medic slammed the artificial hand against the wall beside them, a crackle of electronics snapping and the low hum of something powering up filling the air. Heavy's fingers spasmed for a moment before he regained control, and then suddenly the whole machine began to vibrate powerfully. Hot breath rolled against Heavy's neck as he felt the heat and weight of the werewolf that was Medic atop him, pinning that rattling hand to the bed as he leaned everything onto him.
Never before in his life had Heavy been so easily overpowered, casually pressed down without even a grunt of effort from the monster bearing down atop him. Hot drool dripped onto his shoulders as Medic climbed atop him, as he heard the soft growls of the massive beast. Medic was holding him prone like it was nothing, and Heavy gasped softly as he felt the hot length of the werewolf's cock nestle into the cleft of his ass.
Medic was going to fuck him. He was going to hold him down and fuck him, and there was nothing Heavy could do to stop him.
Terror and arousal wove together in the giant's gut, his flagging erection betraying him as it sprang back to life, saliva pooling in his mouth. Being fucked by his lover in the form of a werewolf was no terrible thing, save for the sheer girth he'd be enduring. (Thankfully Medic's fist had prepared him for that.) But not having the choice? The giant overpowered and held down by superior physical might? It stirred something within Heavy that had him reeling at how potent an aphrodisiac it provided.
Nobody, nothing had ever proved superior to Heavy's strength. He'd fist-fought Kamchatka bears; massive, powerful creatures weighing double what Medic did now! But here the great wolf had him pinned with obscene strength and an even more obscene cock rutting against the hairy flesh of his raised bottom, and Heavy wasn't sure he'd ever been more aroused by something that didn't involve lace.
And even then, he was feeling less and less sure by the moment about that, the way Medic growled in his ear and leaned atop him, making it hard to breathe as he pressed him into the mattress.
Heavy had given up control to Medic more times than he could count, but every one of those times it had been an exchange of power; pre-negotiated and mutual, with Heavy ceding to the smaller man out of a desire to obey and be subservient. Medic couldn't simply take him without Heavy giving him the ability. But now, Heavy wasn't giving him anything, not an exchange of control, a gesture of mutual trust, but a one-sided show of power, and it was leaving Heavy both metaphorically and physically breathless.
He could use his words, say something, withdraw consent. Surely even in the throes of lupine instinct, Medic would respect that. The man had to still be in there somewhere.
Heavy stayed silent. He wanted this. He arched his ass up against Medic.
He swallowed hard, gripping the bed as Medic pushed between his cheeks and prodded his lube-slick entrance, a soft, canine grumble leaving the wolf in anticipation. The beast's voice was guttural and animal, and the only thing that made Heavy so sure the doctor was still in there was the soft puffs of laughter that broke up his lurid growls.
It was a matter of moments, even though the tumult of his mind and body felt like Heavy had been teetering for minutes on end, and without any proper ado, Medic pushed into him, sliding to the hilt in one hard shove that forced Heavy's breath out in a warbling cry somewhere between shock and pleasure. Medic filled him fully, the space that had once been occupied by his fist now stuffed with the werewolf's overlarge cock, the prickling burn of being forced back open so suddenly making spots dance in Heavy's vision.
Furry hips met his ass, and Medic let out a snuffling, lupine chuckle as he felt Heavy's hole spasming, clenching and twitching around him. His mate welcomed him eagerly if with some difficulty, and he wasted no time in claiming him. Heavy barely had a moment to get used to the sensation, to the sheer size of firm flesh filling him, spreading him open wide and spearing so deep. The dull throb of such pressure was almost dizzying, but as he struggled to adjust, he was robbed of the chance as Medic pulled out almost entirely and slammed back in to the hilt, his animal grunt lost in Heavy's wail.
Medic bore down on him, all of his weight atop Heavy's back and arm, holding him down as he pulled back and punched in again, and again, and again, slamming into Heavy with force enough to jolt him up the bed were he not held so firmly in place. Instead, each thrust speared deep into Heavy, the dull clap of fur to flesh accompanying the giant's ragged cries of pain amid pleasure and the animalistic grunts of the werewolf assaulting him. Heavy clawed at the bed, unable to get away, but not sure if he was even truly trying.
Not as his cock hung heavy beneath him, leaking precome in haphazard drips onto his thighs and the sheets as he was rocked with each thrust. Not as he drooled into the mattress, his mouth open around gasping cries and eyes squeezed shut to keep their growing wateriness from building into tears. Not as Medic battered his prostate with every pass, hot pulses of pleasure making his thighs tremble and his balls draw up even through the prickling of pain in his wide-stretched hole. Heavy's body felt tight, wrought to its limits as Medic took him, fucking him with force and fury as he drove deep into him and pulled back so far only to slam home again with long, luxuriant strokes.
Medic wasn't just taking him, he was mating him, savoring the feeling of his lover's hot, slick hole even as he gradually sped his pace. He nosed in against Heavy's neck and licked the sweat that gathered there, soft canine laughs puffing out of him between growling grunts. Heavy's body welcomed him like his home, tight and inviting, twitching around him, but all the same he knew well how Heavy's cries of duress differed between revelry and harm. As much as he whimpered and gasped, wailing with each rough thrust, he loved every moment of it. The scent of him told him just as much, and it only made him want to fuck Heavy harder.
Heavy's eyes rolled back in his head as Medic sped still further, his legs ready to give out on him as Medic railed him into a puddle atop the bed, restricting his breath with his body weight, overpowering him and taking him and stuffing him full of far too much cock. Each thrust punched sparks up his spine and lava into his gut, burning his insides in different, brilliant ways as he floundered and clutched the sheets for dear life. It was so much, it was too much. It hurt and it felt amazing. He wasn't sure whether he wanted it to stop or go on forever. Dimly, he wanted Medic to grab hold of him, to lift him up and fuck up into him, to tug his arms behind his back and lean atop them, pinning them in place as he fucked him ruthlessly, to lift his arms above his head and dangle him from them as he pumped him full of his seed. Heavy had never imagined himself being manhandled in bed before, very content to be the one doing the holding and lifting and taking, but now, here...
Heavy needed it.
He shoved his free hand down against the mattress, trying to push himself up, trying to overpower Medic, and gasped deeply as he managed to lift up by a few inches, the wolf too preoccupied with fucking him to fight him. Medic snarled and buried himself in to the root, then shoved Heavy back down with ease. He grinned and grabbed hold of the giant's shoulders with both clawed hands, nails pricking into skin, and put all of his weight there, doubling over Heavy to force him to the bed and shove his face into the sheets. Heavy moaned in reply, his voice coming in wanton cries as Medic returned to fucking him, his thrusts harder, faster, sloppier as he braced himself by digging the claws of his toes into the mattress.
Gods, yes, Heavy thought as his cheek ground into the bed, drooling openly around his wails of pleasure. Medic held him down, overpowered him, and put all of his strength into fucking him. Heavy was powerless to stop him, helpless under his might, and he couldn't reach a hand beneath himself to touch his cock, which was agonizingly hard under the werewolf's assault. But gods, would the Gunslinger feel good, vibrating away against oversensitive flesh.
Soon he felt Medic's thrusts grow shorter, faster, and with a groan, the wolf pushed in to the hilt and began grinding into him. Heavy's breath caught as he felt the girth inside of him grow even thicker, a knot of muscle tying at the base of Medic's cock, just inside of his abused hole. Medic pulled back, tugging at Heavy from within and testing the tie, making the giant cry out. A lupine chuckle left the wolf, satisfied that he had knotted his mate. He stopped trying to pull back and instead, simply kept bucking forward.
Rough, shallow strokes assaulted Heavy's hole as Medic raced for the edge, chasing his release inside of his mate's hot depths. The giant wailed without sense, the fat knot tugging at him with every retreat, thick inside of him and locking him together with the monster that held him down. It made him dizzy, teetering on the edge as Medic humped him for all he was worth.
With a howl, Medic found completion deep inside Heavy, bucking into him and flooding him with gout after gout of hot seed, fucking it into him desperately. Heavy could feel the volume within him, bloating him, swelling his insides, the wolf shoving him down to pump him full, and it was all he could take. His face buried in the sheets, he screamed as he came, cock throbbing untouched as he spilled out onto the bed beneath him, his hole clamping down around the gargantuan cock inside of him and milking every last drop out of Medic into him.
When he came down, Heavy sagged, boneless atop the bed with a belly full of come and drool on his face, the Gunslinger still buzzing away unceasingly. He gasped, gulping down as much air as Medic's weight on him would allow, and when a warm, wet tongue began to softly lap at his cheek, his soft laughter made his hole twitch around the enormous phallus still trapped inside of him, making both of them groan at the sensation.
"Think I understand Sniper now," Heavy mumbled muzzily.
A snicker left Medic, and he found himself pulling back, testing the tie that held him inside of Heavy. It felt amazing, but he didn't want to linger. There was so much to do, so much to see, so little time he would have for this experience! The afterglow was a beautiful thing, but he had claimed his mate, so now he had other things to explore!
Plus, he was ravenously hungry.
"Doktor," Heavy grunted as Medic tried to pull back.
Medic huffed, a soft grumble leaving his throat as he gave up and resumed lapping at Heavy's cheek, resigning himself to just a little more sweetness.
*
Outside, the rest of BLU team had taken to relaxing around the fire, the washtub of beers and melted ice having been dragged over and set on the ground beside the somewhat soiled couch, all but Demoman with a bottle in hand. Spy had claimed the couch to lounge, tired of uncomfortable crates and folding chairs too small for him, but had to suffer the indignity of Sniper crawling atop him as penance for taking the entire piece of furniture for himself. One of his hands was currently occupied lazily stroking Sniper's cock as he lay whimpering and panting atop him. It was keeping the rutting faun calm at the very least.
Demoman sat on a folding chair beside the couch, deeply amused at how pathetic Sniper was under the jotun's touch. It was too adorable, and he couldn't wait to tease him about it once they were past all of this.
"...an' that's why Spy taught me the Receive Lover spell," Scout said, finishing a long explanation that could have been two sentences.
Soldier nodded, rubbing his chin. "I see. So because Spy dated this oni guy, you get to have a stretchy, lubed-up butt on command. It all makes sense now," he said with a nod. "You know, Engie cut out the middle man! I found out with Heavy earlier that he puts lube in a little compartment in his robot leg!"
"Isnae both o' them robot legs?" Demoman asked.
"Yes."
"Wonder what other kinds 'a tricks an' treats 'e's got in there," Scout mused. "Hey, Eng!"
Engineer looked up from where he sat on the ground, leaning back against a crate as Pyro sat between his legs and leaned back against him, the kitsune's three tails curled up around them, his lover petting through his fur contentedly. "Yeah?"
"Do you got any other things in them robot legs 'a yours? Or just lube?"
"What's the difference? Ain't you turnin' yourself into a robot?"
Engineer sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as Pyro snickered. "No, I'm replacin' my body with cybernetic prosthetics. Goal's a fully synthetic body," he clarified. "Not a damn robot."
"What's the difference?" Soldier asked.
"Well for one a robot ain't a person," Engineer huffed. "It's a machine, a tool. Somethin' elegant an' impressive, for sure, but not capable o' independent thought or genuine emotion. Ain't complex enough for that sort o' thing. That besides, they ain't got human brains."
"Aren't you planning to make that into a computer too, eventually?" Pyro asked.
"I mean, eventually, yes, but that'll be a synthetic upload of my brain, complete with the capacity for neuroplasticity. Ain't the same. Plus, my tech ain't even close to there for that sort o' thing yet."
"I've heard of wizards doing that to their minds and souls, with magic. Not to computers, but to items of power," Spy hummed, slowing his hand down as he heard Sniper's soft mewls of pleasure pick up intensity, bringing him back away from the edge with a smirk. "From what Pyro tells me you're already melding magic and machinery rather thoroughly."
"I got a long time before I get to that part o' the process anyway," Engineer replied noncommittally. He didn't want to bring more magic in than he already had. After all, the idea was to be fully self-maintenanced post-installation. He wasn't about to use fancy arcane stuff that he didn't understand. If he couldn't fix it, it wasn't part of the schematic.
From within the base, the sounds of Heavy's wails of pleasure grew loud enough to be noticeable, and the mercenaries shared a knowing smirk before returning to their conversation.
"Okay, so you ain't makin' a robot outta yourself, but could you build a robot?" Scout asked against the mouth of his bottle.
"Technically the sentries are a form o' robotics."
"You know what I mean, man! Can you make a mechanical guy? Like Twiki from Buck Rogers or some shit?"
"'Course I could," Engineer replied with swig of his beer. "But it ain't practical to do humanoid shapes most o' the time. Not when other form factors're better suited for the work you're buildin' it for. Most o' the time the kinda things you actually need robots for ain't stuff like havin' a metal feller you can chat with around." He chuckled a bit. "It ain't efficient. Plus bipedal locomotion's real tough to get right. The amount o' work our spines 'n cores do keepin' us upright's actually wild, once you know how it all stacks up."
"The way Engie builds robots, I'd nae wannae go up against one if he did build a fully mechanical man. He'd specifically create a machine tae thrash me arse, nae doubt."
"That's true, I would."
"You wouldn't fight a robot?" Soldier gawped, scandalized.
"Never said that. I said I'd nae wannae fight one Engie built. At least, nae a fair fight," Demoman chuckled. "I'd fight a robot, though, absolutely! Bet they'd explode right grand! Make their own shrapnel!"
"Guess it depends what kinda weapons 'e gives it, though," Scout mused. "If it's got all kinds 'a sentry weapons, yeah, no, I'm out."
"But if it's just a robot with a bat like you have?" Soldier asked.
"Oh, I'd fight that, yeah."
"What about you, Spy?"
"I try to avoid fights to begin with," Spy mused with a shake of his head. "Besides, I have my sapper for such contingencies."
"Ooh, a sapper would fuck a robot up, I bet!" Scout agreed.
The conversation froze in an instant as the sound of a wolf's howl rattled against the windows of Heavy and Medic's shared quarters.
Sniper checked his watch. "Bugger." It was after midnight. They'd completely lost track of time.
"Gentlemen," Spy said simply, letting go of Sniper and urging him off to stand on wobbly hooves, each of them slowly rising as if afraid to spook an animal among them. "It seems we know who the werewolf among us is."
"Heavy," Soldier said, slamming his fist into his palm.
"Medic," Demoman corrected, patting the djinni on the shoulder.
"Medic," Soldier said, slamming his fist into his palm.
"Poor Heavy," Engineer mumbled, realizing what all of the screaming was about.
"'ope 'e was lubed up," Sniper said with a horny little huff. "A werewolf's no small challenge."
Scout gulped. "So what do we do?"
Demoman looked to the assembled mercenaries. "Pyro, ye ken where the cooler o' meat is?"
"Yeah, it's inside the mess fridge."
"Go. Fetch it." He grabbed Sniper and looked at his watch. "If doc transformed at midnight, that howl's probably him finishin' up in Heavy."
Sniper couldn't help a soft sound at the thought. Oh, he envied Heavy. Getting fucked within an inch of his life and pumped full of the werewolf's seed, anchored in place on a knot and full beyond capacity for rational thought. It was a heady experience he could never get enough of, near religious in the sheer ecstasy it inspired. He salivated, his still-hard cock twitching with want. And with Medic, no less! Demoman had experience as a werewolf, he'd lived with the curse's effects since puberty. He'd learned to control the wolf, to metre out his impulses, to keep himself amid all of the instinct and base animal desire that threatened to overtake him. Medic had no such practice, no training from family on how to tamp down the wolf and take control. Instead, he was being thrown to the wolves, with the sudden onset of all of that need and desire all at once mingling with the doctor's own legendary lack of impulse control.
Heavy must be a wreck.
Sniper felt his knees grow weak imagining it.
"On it!" Pyro called, dashing into the base and making a beeline for mess.
Outside, the rest of the team looked to Demoman for instruction. If anyone knew what to do, it would be him.
"Right, we need tae make sure that when Medic leaves that base, all o' his needs are satisfied. He's handled a shag, so he's gonnae be hungry. Pyro's meat should help, but the hunger is fierce, so we may need tae be careful it disnae get looped intae his huntin' instinct. Hunger, matin', and the hunt are the big three right after ye transform, and the third is mostly just a drive tae run and chase. Can be spent out givin' him a target tae run after." Demoman looked to Scout. "Scout, think ye can outmaneuver him?"
"I outran you back in June for a good mile 'a woodland, up until I tripped."
"Aye, but ye had faun legs then."
"Yeah, but I got garuda wings now," Scout replied with a grin, jerking his thumb at himself as he spread his wings wide for emphasis, nearly bowling Soldier over with one. "An' the doc can't fly."
"Dinnae underestimate his vertical leap. It'll be better than ye expect."
"Got it."
"Right, so we need tae make ourselves scarce when he's done with Heavy tae give him fewer targets. The average length o' time a knot stays tied is about fifteen to twenty min—"
Heavy's voice cut across the din, muffled through the glass of the window to his and Medic's quarters. He cried out in what sounded like distress, pleading, "Doktor! Wait! Please, is still too big!" until he loosed another sharp cry.
A scratching, tapping sound like an excited dog running on a hardwood floor filled the air, and accompanied a loud series of stomping footsteps until with a crash and a clatter the door to the base burst open, slamming against the outer wall with a sharp BANG! In its wake, a great, black wolf-man barreled out of the base with a glorious howl.
The mercenaries outside screamed and froze, eyes wide as they fell upon Medic's massive lupine form, his cock still hard if slowly wilting, knot still mostly tied if shrinking. Sniper's eyes wouldn't leave it, and he salivated, making to approach before Demoman looped an arm around him to hold him in place.
"Hey Doc," Scout ventured, smiling nervously as he looked into the eyes of the massive beast, which were a blue as pale as shadowed snow, giving an alien otherworldliness to the already quite mystical monster. "You, uh, you look good! How... you feelin'? You, uh, you alright?"
Medic sniffed at the air, a million points of interest lighting up to him as his nose was flooded with information. Food, sex, alcohol, smoke, fire, soil, dust, wood, lubricant, men. Pheromones bled into the air off of Sniper like steam from a boiling pot. The radio in the window played some inoffensively spooky songs, and in the distance the sounds of chatter and more music could be heard across the battlefield. Medic's lupine ears twitched this way and that as he took in all of the sounds around him. Behind him he heard footsteps. He didn't care. He sniffed again. Food. Pizza. Chips. Cheese curls. His maw fell open, tongue lolling out as the greasy aroma of melted cheese and pepperoni overtook everything else.
Heedless of the rest of the team and Pyro behind him, Medic charged out of the base. The mercenaries staggered back only to see him juke hard to the right and immediately dive for the snack table beside the door and tear into the pizza with animal abandon.
"Get inside! Go, go, go!" Demoman called, waving to the door once the wolf was distracted.
Pyro yelped, wheeling to the side as the team charged through the door in a panic, then peeked outside once only Demoman and Sniper remained, the bomber helping his lover stumble toward the base on shaky hooves. "What about the meat?"
Scout scooped the cooler from Pyro's arms and opened the lid. Taking hold of the thing by its handle, he spun, hammer-tossing the cooler and its contents past Medic, catching the wolf's attention with the scent of blood instantly. Medic's eyes snapped to follow the cooler's arc, and after gulping down the last of the pizza, his jaws fell open, salivating openly. With a growl, he charged after the cooler, which tumbled to a stop near the edge of the field, giving the team the space they needed to get inside and bar the door, pushing tables from the mess hall in to block it for extra measure.
The sound of a mechanical rattling filled the room as slowly, sorely, Heavy limped in from the hallway. He was naked, semen dripping down his thighs, The Gunslinger still vibrating away at the end of his arm. "Is Doktor outside?"
"For now, aye," Demoman confirmed with a peek out the window.
"You good, Big Guy?" Scout asked, looking the red-faced giant over in surprise.
"Will be fine," Heavy harrumphed. He held up his vibrating hand. "Where is Engineer?"
The team looked around, suddenly very concerned not to see Engineer's face among them, until the sound of a throat clearing at their feet made them look down. Engineer sat there on his haunches in fox form, three tails lashing in annoyance. "The hell did you do to my hand, son?"
"Doktor smash against wall. It start buzzing. Cannot get it to stop."
"You try that white button?" the kitsune asked.
"Try every button," Heavy confirmed.
"Dangit, that ol' queen did a number on 'er, then. I got some tools in my quarters, can probably fix 'er up quick. Pyro, go grab somethin' to clean the poor guy up with."
Sniper licked his lips, watching Heavy's massive metal hand vibrating away loudly and forcefully. "Wait. Before you do..."
*
"You guys hear that?" RED Scout asked, half-turning from where he sat by the team's bonfire, a beer in his hand.
"Hear what?" RED Sniper asked against the lip of his own beer bottle, cocking an eyebrow at his friend.
"Somethin' like a howlin'? Like a wolf or somethin', then a loud bang," Scout replied, turning back to Sniper with a frown.
"Worried about things goin' bump in the night?" Sniper teased.
"It is the witchin' hour, lad!" Demoman called out with a drunken whoop. "Best be careful nae spooks or beasties gobble ye up!"
"Yeah yeah, yuck it up, you guys," Scout grumbled, pouting. "Like there ain't a whole team 'a actual factual monsters on the other side 'a the field or nothin'."
"Relax, mate. They'll 'old up their end of the ceasefire if they're smart. Worst we'll 'ave to worry about is hearin' 'em rootin' too loud," Sniper snickered.
*
BLU Sniper slouched in a chair against the window of the rec room, staring blearily out into the night in the post-orgasm haze of a vibrating handjob. Pleasant chemicals flooded his brain, fighting with the hormones crashing against his grey matter in waves of need and urges. Sitting still couldn't last long, and he knew that out there, on the other side of that door, was Medic. The werewolf. All dark, greying fur and thick, powerful muscle. Sharp teeth, sharper claws, and a thick, tantalizing cock with a big fat knot. Sniper felt like he couldn't breathe just at the thought, of the great beast bearing down on him in the desert dust, teeth at his neck, pumping him gravid with his hot seed.
He wanted it. He needed it. He couldn't let the opportunity to have that experience as a faun pass him up. He was built for this. Made for this. Every atom of his being for this one magical day constructed purely for the pursuit of pleasure. He had to. He couldn't go the rest of his life wondering what if. He couldn't go on living! He felt like he was dying of thirst, the thought circling over and over in his mind and driving him mad, making him feel like an animal pacing in a cage, gnawing at the bars, desperate to escape.
He was as hard as diamonds again already, and he knew that just out of eyeshot, Medic was tearing into the mutton in that cooler, powerful jaws ripping meat asunder, blood on his muzzle.
Sniper looked over to the one couch that hadn't been used to brace the door to the base, where Heavy sat, his arm and the now-still Gunslinger resting on the coffee table where Engineer stood with a wrench gripped in his vulpine mouth, reassembling the machine after fixing what Medic had broken. The others were either busy watching or shutting the shutter door at the end of the dormitory hallway, locking the building down as best they could.
Nobody was focused on him. It would be so easy. All he had to do was open the window and punch out the screen, then he could get to Medic. It would be so simple. Nevermind that he had barely learned to walk on his own two hooves. He didn't need to. He just needed to be able to present himself and lift his tail.
Sniper flopped out the window onto the ground outside in a heap, blinking as he realized he'd been going through the very motions he was planning out, mostly without even noticing. It was fine. He needed this. There was no going back. There was no stopping it. He needed to make sure they wouldn't stop him.
He climbed to his hooves and slowly began to totter over to the farmhouse that served as the perimeter of the ceasefire, his tail wagging in anticipation.
Medic took his time with the mutton, tearing pieces slowly, relishing the sensation of his teeth piercing meat, ripping flesh, ovine ichor filling his mouth with each crushed muscle and ruptured cell wall. Liquid, red and running, dripped from his maw and claws as he savored his meal. The man excitedly observing from within his own mind knew that the fluid was a mixture of body waters and myoglobin, oxygen turning the stuff a bright vivid red as he exposed it to the air with each luxuriant bite. He was sure anyone observing would think it to be blood, but in context, the difference mattered very little.
What mattered was the satisfaction. The iron tang of raw meat, the grassy game flavour of the mutton, the sensation of ripping through muscle tissue and tearing off pieces to sloppily half-chew in a mouth not meant to grind and tenderize before swallowing mostly-whole. It fulfilled something primal within Medic, stimulation that he found pleasant combined with sating the hunger that had left him ravenous upon transforming. The caloric toll of such bodily trauma must be immense, and Medic finally felt the gnawing hunger abate, full of pizza and sheep as he now was.
Which was good, as he snapped up the last bite of meat in the cooler and tossed it aside, the grey fur of his muzzle stained red. He looked around to see the team had disappeared, but a few sniffs told him they hadn't gone far. Likely indoors, which was a shame. It made it much harder to play with his packmates that way. Another sniff and his eyes widened as he caught scent of something potent.
Pheromones. Lust. More powerful than even Heavy in the throes of their mating. It hung in the wind nearly as a cloud, filling his nose and making his body respond almost immediately, his cock peeking out of its sheath. The smell was as if the sheer concept of sexual need were made manifest, desperate, thirsty, longing, wanting. He smelled semen, sweat, lubricant, desire, and under it all, more mutton. It was coming from inside the farmhouse.
Medic climbed to his feet and trudged over, harder by the moment as he followed that enthralling scent.
*
"Right, so if 'e comes sniffin' back around the base, I'll climb out one 'a the upper windows, get 'is attention an' give 'im somethin' to chase. I figure I can lead 'im off the grounds, out into the fields around the base an' lose 'im, let 'im run loose in the corn an' scarf down field mice or whatever's out there," Scout reasoned as he and Demoman emerged from the dormitory hall, the steel shutter door firmly in place to lock off that entrance to the base.
"Aye, that should be enough tae keep 'im away from us and the REDs, though ye might need tae go back and round him up every so often. Doc can get bored easy unless his interest's piqued, and we dinnae ken how that'll translate tae his wolf," the bomber said, turning in to the rec room. A quick scan of the room made him freeze, Scout nearly blundering into him from behind. "Lads?"
A few other mercenaries looked over in response.
"Where the fuck is Mickey?" Demoman asked, a mixture of concern and annoyance creeping into his voice.
That got the whole team's attention, each mercenary casting looks around the room in realization. Sniper wasn't there.
"Shit. Demo, the window," Scout pointed to the open window, the screen ripped up from the bottom of its frame.
"Shite!" Demoman barked. Charging over and looking out, he caught sight of Sniper slowly toddling into the farm house. Behind him and quickly gaining was Medic, his claws and maw still dripping with juice from the mutton he'd devoured. "Mickey ye daft whore!"
The bomber hefted his upper body out of the window, feet leaving the floor as he made to shimmy out after his husband, only to be grabbed and hauled back inside cursing and fighting. Wrestled to the floor by Scout and Soldier, he saw Spy lean over and shut the window with dismay.
"Mickey! Me Mickey!" Demoman blurted out in a panic. "Why—"
"If you go out there, you'll be torn to shreds," Spy explained plainly.
"And Mickey won't?"
Spy rolled his eyes. "Of all of us, Mundy has the most experience both in dealing with dangerous monsters and surviving the attempt."
"Aye, when he's a bloody human, nae a sex-crazed faun!" Demoman looked to Scout. "Nae offense."
"None taken."
"He also has more experience having sex with monsters than all of us, possibly combined!"
"Even Pyro?" Scout asked. "He's literally ancient!" "Yeah but I'm mostly into humans."
"Huh."
Spy sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "The point being that Mundy is a grown man and can handle himself, and he made the stupid decision to go out and find trouble. I however am not going to allow anyone else to attract his attention back to the base where if he gets in, we have no easy egress!"
"Spy, we just fed Doc a whole cooler of bloody mutton! What do ye think Mickey—who presently has a sheep's arse—smells like right now, eh?"
Pyro winced at that. "Hm. Maybe not the best choice of meat now that you put it like that."
"Look, Tavish, if Mundy does get torn limb from limb, then the price of one off-hours respawn fee is better than all of us having to pay up, likely multiple times each once Medic claws back out of the base and into respawn right next door," Spy reasoned.
Demoman looked down at the black band tattooed on his finger, then back up to Spy. His voice quavered as though he would cry if he could, "I cannae just leave him. He's me hus—"
"He's a grown man," Spy interrupted, not about to let Demoman spill his own secret in the throes of emotion. "I understand you feel it's your duty to protect him. But let him make his own mistakes. At least tonight, they won't be permanent."
Demoman let out a long, shaky breath. "Fine. But if we've an opportunity tae get him tae safety..."
Spy nodded, satisfied. "Scout, get to the roof, keep watch. If you have an opening, take it."
Scout grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "I got an opening you could take—"
"Scout."
Pouting, Scout deflated and shuffled out of the room to head for the stairs. "Sheesh, alright, jeez."
*
Shakily, slowly, Sniper walked into the farmhouse, the tiptoe gait of his faun hooves slowly feeling more comfortable, if not necessarily stable. He'd always been a gangly fellow, with long thin legs that shot up well before the rest of him did when puberty had first hit. He could still remember the growing pains, and how sore his very bones felt in that first year or two of growth spurts. And now, with his feet rearranged and his stance completely altered, Sniper once again felt as unsteady on two legs as he had as an old boy on the cusp of becoming a young man.
Seemed almost appropriate considering he'd spent the day hornier than he'd been since puberty, to boot. Only this time a quiet wank in his room couldn't fix the problem. No, this would only be satisfied one way, and one way only.
He needed to shag that werewolf.
Every step was a thump of impact, a click of hoof, a creak of wood all booming in his pointed ears. The scents of wood smoke and raw meat filled his nose amid the lingering stench of sex in the air and on his own body. He could smell the semen of his teammates between his cheeks and clinging to the wool of his ass, thighs, and taint. He could smell the wolf growing closer, and he knew he had Medic's attention. The taste of Pyro lingered on his tongue, and the slippery squish of lube and come in his sore, used hole was maddening, making him salivate for still more. His senses were going wild, arousal so potent his dick actually hurt from being so hard in anticipation. It would be almost pathetic if he were in any right state of mind for that level of self-reflection. Instead, Sniper stroked his cock as he carefully picked his way into the creaky old building, the open doorway opposite leading to the front porch allowing in the distant sounds of the RED team's gathering across the battlefield.
His scent preceding him, Medic's arrival was no surprise. What did catch Sniper off-guard however was the speed with which the wolf came upon him. Barely a few steps into the farmhouse, he heard a growl. He had no time to react before he was seized by a horn, jerked backward and nearly off of his hooves as his body collided with a wall of fur and muscle and a second massive hand took hold of him, wrapping around his waist and pricking sharp claws into his tanned skin. A gigantic, hard cock slipped between his woolly legs, standing out from between them.
Sniper gasped, nearly going slack in Medic's grasp as he pulled his horn to tilt his head to the side and expose his neck. The wolf's hot, flat tongue licked a stripe up it. His pulse was pounding. Sniper shivered at the sensation. He could smell blood on Medic's muzzle.
What must he smell like? What must he taste like? Part-sheep, just like the meat the great beast had taken his time tearing to shreds and gobbling down mere moments ago. Sniper swallowed hard, realizing in the moment that, perhaps, mutton hadn't been the wisest choice on Pyro's part.
He must smell like food. Would Medic deflower him, or devour him?
Sniper's cock twitched at the mere question.
Medic sniffed, and Sniper knew the wolf could smell his arousal, just how open and willing and desperate he was. How wanton and pathetic and needful his raw desire had become. A lupine chuckle rumbled in the wolf's throat as he released Sniper's horn and took hold of his waist with both hands. With startlingly little effort, Medic lifted him up and pushed his cock between the faun's woolly, come-slick cheeks, its hot tip pressing against his hole.
Sniper didn't have time to react beyond a gasp. Medic paused not to litigate the faun's obvious ardor but merely to savor the moment before pushing Sniper down onto his cock, sliding deep after breaching him with little consideration for the scream that ripped out of the faun in his hands.
Sniper threw his head back with a cry, spread wide in an instant around the wolf's enormous girth and filled, filled, sliding deeper and deeper inside of him until he reached the hilt, Medic's cock fully sheathed within his trembling, quivering body. It hurt beautifully, the muscles of his hole electric with shocks of pain at being forced to open so violently. He was well-used, fucked constantly and thoroughly over a full day and fully relaxed if sore from so much traffic, and the mess of lubricant and semen that soiled him inside and out slicked the way expertly, slippery for Medic's use and ready for more. But all the same, nothing, not even taking multiple cocks simultaneously, could truly prepare his body to accept a werewolf's oversized phallus, and as his voice spent out, Sniper panted and hissed, struggling to accept what was being forced into him, his hands scrabbling at his thighs for something to do as his hooves dangled above the floor, Medic's hands still wrapped around his waist.
The wolf groaned his pleasure, the hot, tight depths of Sniper's body squeezing at him, his hole twitching and fluttering in a panic as it struggled to adjust. And yet, even as he screamed and gulped down air, clutching at himself and shivering in his grasp, Sniper's tail wagged away, betraying the faun's sheer elation at his predicament. More lupine chuckles rumbled up in Medic's throat as Sniper struggled on his cock, and as he nosed in at the side of his neck, he could feel the blood rushing through his carotid artery, pumping beneath his skin. He licked softly there, pulling whimpers from Sniper amid his heavy, panting breaths.
Sniper whined as that soft, hot tongue laved at his neck. Medic could take the entire thing between those massive jaws like it was nothing. He thought of those sharp, sharp teeth against his vulnerable skin. It would be so easy for him to bite down, tear into him and rip his throat out. Blood would spay from him and he would die gurgling for breath, the great beast's cock still deep in his belly.
A shudder rippled through him, fear and lust intertwined as the twitching of his hole gradually went from trying to adjust to clenching in need. His breaths stuttered as they rattled out of him, and soon enough, he found himself going limp and pliant in Medic's grasp, giving up control he never had. Medic moved one hand from his waist to his horn once again. Arching his hips back, he lifted Sniper upward, pulling out to the head, and with a cruel laugh, pushed him down and bucked up, slamming back in and punching out another scream.
Then he did it again. And again. And again. With his nose at Sniper's neck, he built speed as he hammered up into Sniper and dragged him down onto his cock, using him like a toy as the faun wailed in shameless, ragged, delicious agony.
Sniper reached up with one arm, wrapping it around Medic's head and fisting his fingers in the thick fur of the wolf's dark mane, finding some purchase to hold onto as his other hand drifted to his belly, where he could feel it bulge outward, distending with each slam of that massive cock deep inside of him. Gods, it was amazing, the way this enormous monster could lift him up and use his hole, distend his guts, and drive the voice from his throat and the sense from his mind. Screams trailed out into wordless, nonsense warbling cries. Tremors rippled through him as he felt Medic in his belly, his eyes watering in reverence, the staggering eroticism of his plight making him weak mind and body.
Heat blazed deep with every ingress, throbbing out through him like ripples in a pond; pure pleasure somehow both sharp and rumbling, thrumming through every nerve like an electrical current traveling the full extent of his quivering body. From the tips of his horns to the soles of his hooves, ecstasy coursed through him to the very cells, every mere sensation amplified to the point that Sniper felt like he was ablaze in pleasure. Not like the warm, constant, ambient embrace of Soldier's fiery body, but hot, burning, consuming him and destroying him, stealing the air from his lungs and the sense from his mind to float way into the air like ashes in the desert breeze.
It was everything he could have hoped for and more.
Medic growled as licked between Sniper's neck and shoulder, the thick trapezius muscle there flexing as he clung to the wolf's fur in desperation, woolly legs dangling uselessly and body limp in his mighty grip. Sniper was so pliant, so vulnerable, stuffed overfull of cock and beginning to weep as he was overwhelmed, fat tears rolling down his face as he wailed out his pleasure. He was entirely at Medic's mercy, the wolf's mercy, and the great beast salivated as the man inside—already content to let his baser instincts take the wheel and see what came of it—truly let go of any remaining semblance of control.
Sniper's scent was a staggering mix of conflicting smells, and as the beast fully took over, Medic found it harder to disentangle them. Particularly as his furor in fucking the faun grew. He smelled like sex, like a mate, and it drove him to fuck harder, faster, as deep as he could, clapping fur to wool in a frenzy of pleasure. But that wool, that horn he gripped, the smell of him, was like prey. Like food. Drool ran from the corners of Sniper's mouth as his head tilted back and he cried out to the ceiling, his jaw slack, his tongue lolling out. Medic's tongue snaked out too, swirling over that thick, meaty muscle. He brought his teeth to it, holding Sniper's shoulder in his jaws, and tugged his head to the side by his horn for easier access.
His teeth pressed just a little, enough pressure to feel.
Sniper came suddenly with a sob and a ragged howl, spilling his seed out onto the floor as his hole clamped down around Medic, squeezing greedily at him as though begging him to follow, urging him to come with Sniper over the edge, pleading for a load to fill his belly. He shuddered bodily, jolting and wailing as Medic's thrusts didn't slow, as the great wolf didn't hesitate to continue slamming him down onto his cock with vicious abandon.
Sniper whimpered, his chest heaving as he began to cry, overstimulation fully taking hold and breaking him.
Medic bit down.
*
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You guys cannot tell me you didn't hear that!" RED Scout barked as a scream ripped across the battlefield.
"Nah, yeh, definitely heard that one, mate."
"Cripe!"
"Shh, shh!" Scout shushed, craning to hear as the air went silent for a long moment.
"What d'ye think that wa—"
Another scream. And another. And another, over and over, wailing in agony, ragged and tormented, a voice that could only be the BLU Sniper's carried across the battlefield over chatter, over the crackling of the fire, over the radio, over everything, sending a hush over the RED team as they all turned in the direction of the sound.
"Good lord, they're killin' the poor feller," Engineer mumbled.
"What happen?" Heavy asked, confused. There was no gunfire, no explosions, no sounds of battle, so it couldn't be some sort of Monoculus-type situation again, and the constant nature of the other man's cries made seeing one of the ghosts known to haunt Harvest deeply unlikely to be the culprit.
"Some sort o' dark ritual, maybe," Demoman growled, sneering in the direction of the sound. "Who kens what evil that lot are up tae on All Hallows' Eve? Maybe that's why they wanted the ceasefire? Sacrificin' their own tae summon demons or some such!"
The rest of the team frowned at Demoman, each of them thinking but unwilling to say that his opinions about his ex's team weren't exactly unbiased.
"Bloody 'ell it sounds awful," Sniper said, a little disturbed to hear his own voice in such distress.
Scout set down his beer and hopped to his feet. "That's it, I'm goin' over there."
"You're what, mate?"
"Look, that guy sounds like 'e's gettin' turned inside out or somethin' over there! Yeah we're enemies an' stuff but holy shit, man! Plus, what if whatever's doin' that comes over 'ere when it gets bored?!"
"So you just wanna meet it 'alfway?"
"I wanna find out what it is we might gotta be dealin' with! I'm a scout, right?"
"Just don't bring trouble back with you, yeh?"
*
Sniper's chest heaved with shallow, laboured breaths. Pain surged through his shoulder, Medic's teeth digging into the meat of his muscle, hot searing agony throbbing around each puncture. In the same moment conflicting sensations fought for dominance as the wolf's hips never stilled, the hands on his horn and waist holding him in place as he pounded up into Sniper, plunging deep into his hole unceasingly, wracking the faun's overstimulated body with rapturous pleasure on every cruel ingress.
His body hung there in Medic's grasp, blood welling around the monster's fangs, dribbling out and rolling down his naked body in thick, fat drops, leaving livid red trails in their wake. He sobbed, he shuddered, but he was already hard again, his cock twitching with the hurried beating of his racing heart.
The bite wasn't deep enough to truly wound him. Not unless Medic clamped down and tore in. But he didn't. Instead, he held him there in the grip of his hands and mouth, his tongue lashing against his heated, hurting skin, swiping up what blood he could taste and groaning in revelry.
He fucked him, he tasted him, and between that, Sniper dangled here and took it, no longer wailing but choking out desperate sounds of distress and duress, never once letting go of his mane, or his own belly, where he could still feel Medic's cock punch against it from inside. Never once ceasing the wagging of his woolly little tail.
A soft bleat escaped Sniper amidst one of his sobs, and it was enough to make Medic's knees shake. He needed to mate him. He needed to claim him. He released his horn to shift his grip, snatching Sniper underneath his thighs and spreading them as he began pounding in earnest, chasing the edge, chasing his release, chasing his need deep into the bleeding faun's sore, aching hole.
Sniper whined, mindless, thoughtless, adrift in pleasure and pain and need and hunger and sex, a body built to fuck, to be fucked, to feel. As Medic slammed in to the root and ground in, a pathetic mewl left him as he felt the wolf's knot swell inside of him. Yes, this was it. It was what he needed. Where he needed to be. Impaled on a cock big enough to make his belly bulge, deep to the root, held there, locked together by the thick tie of muscle, where he belonged. It was his nature, his purpose, his everything.
With a cry and a shudder, he came again, his hole squeezing hungrily at Medic and begging for more.
Medic was happy to give it. He bucked up in rough, shallow strokes, gripping those woolly thighs tight enough to bruise as he fucked the faun with all he had, pulling at him from the inside on every attempted egress only to slam in again and force mindless bleats from Sniper's slack mouth.
He wasn't sure whether he wanted to mate him or eat him, the sound of his prey driving the wolf into a frenzy. Finally, it was too much, and Medic had to let go of Sniper's shoulder, bloody mess that it was. He fell to his knees, dropping the faun to the floor only to lift his legs and roll him over to face him, still speared on his length. He folded Sniper nearly in half as he spread his legs and released them, planting his palms on the floor for purchase as his hips began to pump in frenzied overdrive.
Sniper sobbed and bleated, his arms limp above his head, his legs dangling in the air on either side of Medic, completely gone, just a creature of sensation and nothing more as again his cock rose before even fully flagging, each thrust milking precome from him to dribble onto his belly as Medic ravaged him with lupine grunts of effort.
To Medic it felt like forever, to Sniper it should have been forever, until finally the great wolf threw his head back with a howl and slammed home, pumping the supine faun full of his seed in hot, voluminous gouts. He humped into him, milking every last drop he could deep into Sniper's belly, making it swell with the sheer volume of semen filling his insides and stoppered there by the knot that held them together.
With a scream, Sniper came a final time, adding one last rope of come to the mess of body fluids soiling him, splattering his belly with his own hot seed.
Neither had time for any afterglow, however, at the sound of sneakers on the porch. Medic's ears pricked up, but there was no time to react before the RED Scout's face poked into the doorway and the young man's eyes went wide, his jaw dropping open in horror.
Scout saw a massive creature, wolf and man clad in dark fur and piercing blue eyes, claws and muzzle stained red, crouched on all fours atop what looked like the BLU Sniper, but with strange new monstrous features. The beast had his prey's legs in the air, body bent in half, fucking him and howling as the poor man lay there limp and sobbing on the floor, blood seeping from a bite wound in his shoulder.
Jawing at the air dumbly for a moment, Scout fought to catch his breath. He stumbled backward, the sound fully alerting the great wolf, its pale eyes turned on him and meeting his own, piercing straight through him. In that moment, he found his voice, screaming in abject terror.
Medic grinned, teeth and maw bloody, tail wagging. He jerked to dash after the shrieking human, only to stop as the weight around his cock impeded him. He was still firmly and freshly knotted inside of Sniper, who whined at the sudden movement but otherwise lay there boneless on the floor, gulping down air and drooling. He looked between his mindless mate and the RED shaking in fear and growled, then merely scooped an arm under Sniper to pull him to his chest, lifting him near-effortlessly.
With a yelp, Scout backpedaled, stumbling off of the porch and tripping, barely catching himself with his hands before he went tumbling into the dust, and scrambled back onto two feet. With all he had, he took off for the RED base, screaming, "INCOMING!"
Medic leapt after him, Sniper still knotted on his cock, and gave chase.
The orgy continues after a short break for snacks and drinks. Medic and Heavy sneak away for some private time involving some gloves and a lot of lube. Engie and Pyro have a romantic moment of their own. Sniper gets to have a good stretch. Demo and Scout both really like to watch. All the while, the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight.
Ao3 Link!
Part of Monstrous Intent!
How the FUCK did I never post this here?! Omg I'm so sorry guys! Better late than never but YEESH wtf Luna?! December was kind of a hell month ngl.
Warnings: FISTING, baybee!
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"Liebling, mein sußer Bärchen," Medic cooed, pressing gentle kisses to Heavy's shoulder, nosing through the soft, fluffy hair there. The giant lay before him on his side, one leg hitched up to allow him access as his gloved fingers slowly slid in and out of him, slippery with lube. "You're so beautiful like this, naked and in pleasure," he soothed, smiling against warm skin.
Soft moans rumbled in Heavy's throat as Medic took his time teasing him open, two fingers inside of him with no signs of more any time soon. Typically the doctor had little patience to take things slow in bed, but when it came to working Heavy open properly, he was willing to take the time. Unlike himself, Heavy wasn't nearly so practiced with taking large things, and Medic was firmly of the stance that a sweet, fuzzy little ass like Heavy's deserved gentleness and a soft touch to work him up to the rather challenging penetration to come.
Not that Heavy was complaining. Medic had big hands, and it was nice to be pleasured and pampered with sweet nothings and soft kisses before the man pushed his fist inside of him.
"Moy golubchik," Heavy sighed, reaching back to touch his lover, to pull him close against his back.
"I'm afraid I'm not your dove right now, am I?" Medic said, a bit sadly. He shifted his shoulders a bit, missing the now-familiar weight on his back and the movement of extra limbs.
"You have always been my dove, little Bertie," Heavy soothed. "Does not matter what you look like."
Medic giggled at that, nosing into the middle of Heavy's back with a contented sigh. "I do look forward to being back to my old self tomorrow, though," he admitted. "I've grown so accustomed to my new body."
"It does suit you," Heavy admitted.
"You like it?"
"I love you."
"That's not what I asked."
Heavy chuckled as Medic's fingers went still. "I do," Heavy said, a sigh leaving him as Medic's fingers resumed their slow come-hither thrusts. "You look beautiful with wings, and with scaly arms, like fancy opera gloves. Clawed feet, dangerous like you always are. Scaly legs, like knee-high stockings."
"Of course you'd enjoy the lingerie-adjacent aspects of my appearance," Medic tittered. He gently lipped at Heavy's back hair, sliding his fingers deeper and enjoying the moans it summoned.
"My doktor is beautiful. Looking like bird man only make him more beautiful," Heavy assured him between sighs of pleasure.
"Thank you, mein Kuschelbär," Medic hummed. He pressed a soft kiss over Heavy's spine. "You are beautiful too, you know."
"Am giant man. Not beautiful."
"Oh, but you are," Medic assured him, flicking his fingers to press against the giant's prostate and make him jerk with a gasp. "Giant, muscular, powerful, but soft, with so much fluffy hair all over you. Intimidating and cuddly at once, and with your proud nose and sharp eyes, and your rumbling, warm voice. You're a feast for the senses."
"Spacibo," Heavy hummed, smiling gently at the compliments, genuinely flattered. Heavy knew he was a decent looking man, but to hear Medic tell him how beautiful he found him made his heart soar. "I am sure you look forward to having both of my hands back."
Medic chuckled. "Both of your hands and the ring you wear's power," he said, voice dipping low into something more lurid. "I want my big, strong Bär back in all of his glory."
Heavy snickered at that. "I think you like me as jotun more than as regular Misha."
Medic thrust both fingers in to the hilt and curled them into Heavy's prostate, making the giant jump with a cry as a rough bolt of pleasure shot through him. "Oh, Mishenka, you are beautiful no matter what. But I like both for different reasons."
Heavy huffed out a soft laugh through the haze of sensation at the cutesy way Medic said his name. "I think you like both for same reason, just different strength."
With a snicker, Medic nosed into the fluff at Heavy's shoulder blade. "Maybe," he admitted. "Maybe."
*
"Get your filthy paws off of the booze, you damn dirty sheep!" Soldier barked, palming the pitcher of jungle juice in an effort to pull it out of Sniper's grasp, halting the bushman from pouring out the last of it into his cup.
"Rack off, mate! This turp's the only shit strong enough to bloody feel with this faun's liver!" Sniper groused, keeping his grip firm on the pitcher's handle and leveling a glare at the djinni.
"And I've been burning through it faster, so I wanna get drunker to stay buzzed longer!" Soldier argued back, yanking and setting Sniper off-balance.
Both of them were mostly drunk, words slurring and postures swaying, their post-orgy alcohol consumption bolstered with the excitement of more chaos to come.
"Listen, mate, I'm 'alf-convinced I'm in rut on toppa everythin' today. Now I suggest you let go of this grog, because I'm not gettin' fucked right now which means I'm ready to fight," Sniper warned, his voice sinking into low, simmering tones.
Soldier grinned, feeling himself growing more defined and solid with each passing moment. He leaned in. "Son, I've seen you fight up close. I'll have you sheared, spun, and crochet you up a blanket of your own ass-wool before you could even land a punch on me."
Sniper had to admit it was a pretty funny insult even as he reared back and cracked Soldier with a headbutt, horns colliding with the djinni's helmet in a clatter and a ring of metal. Soldier whooped out a laugh in reply as he staggered back then returned fire, surging forward to headbutt Sniper in turn, making the faun stagger back in surprise.
"Good hustle, private!" Soldier laughed, getting into a ready stance in anticipation of another headbutt coming his way. "Use every weapon at your disposal, including all of your body!"
"What is this, a CQC lession?" Sniper asked, disbelieving.
"It can be if you want it to be," Soldier replied with a grin. He rushed into Sniper's personal space, surprising him with the ease with which he captured his arms and darted behind him, yanking them above his head in a full-nelson, clasping his hands together against the back of Sniper's neck. The bushman had to hold his wrist at an awkward angle to keep from spilling the booze, and let out a disappointed sound as Spy arrived to pluck the container from his grasp and set it down.
"Me booze!"
"Worry less about your booze and more about your ass, private!" Soldier barked. He dropped his legs out from under himself, falling back to the ground with Sniper atop him, and wrapped his legs around the faun's, spreading them and immobilizing him. Sniper yelped, struggling against the shorter man's superior strength, writhing in his grasp.
"You fuckin' cunt, I'm not—" Sniper's senses expanded as he wriggled in Soldier's iron grip, his legs spread, his body at the stronger man's mercy, his back pressed to his warm chest and belly. He was hard in nearly an instant, and felt Soldier's own erection beginning to press against his woolly backside. "You, er, you got plans for me in this position, mate?" he asked, abandoning any prior train of thought.
"I got one I think you'll like," Soldier chuckled. He unwrapped his legs to stabilize himself, a few sloppy humps getting him between Sniper's furry cheeks, and a final buck pushing him inside, making the faun gasp in delight.
Spy looked down at the two drunken idiots on the ground, Soldier thrusting up into Sniper while holding him in a full-nelson and grunting with the effort, the bushman's cock bobbing with the motion. He shook his head and proceeded to pour himself the final cup of jungle juice and return to the fire with Scout and Demoman, who were discussing the possibilities of filling the dullahan's extradimensional space with dry ice to see if it would make him into an improvised fog machine.
He sipped the concoction with a grimace, the juice trying its best and failing to overpower the combination of boozes from the table and what was obviously his everclear, something he would have a terse discussion with Medic about later. He should have never invited that unrepentant thief over for that one coffee date with intent to impress. It had shown him exactly where he kept his stash hidden.
The sheer brazenness of the theft forced him to have to respect it, and he hated that.
"Aye, but if time disnae move in there, would the vapors even come out, lad?" Demoman asked, rubbing at his chin.
"Ah, yeah, I forgot about that. Wait, so if time doesn't move in there, and Bombinomicon loaded Soldier up like a damn payload wagon until Merasmus shook it all outta 'im, does that mean we can just load that sucker up with whatever we want ten square feet 'a an' have it at the ready whenever? Does the temperature stay the same? Could we throw a few cases 'a beer in the fridge, get 'em all frosty, then shove 'em in bottle by bottle then pull 'em out later on a nice hot day, an' they'd still be cold? Does that mean all the jizz you got floatin' around in there is still all fresh an' warm an' straight out the dick? Oh man you could give the biggest fuckin' facial there ever was with the right positionin'!"
Demoman reached up to scratch a chin that wasn't there, then swatted his hand at the air in frustration before busying it with his bottle of beer, scraping at the edge of the label. "O' course ye'd think 'o that," he snorted. "But aye, now we ken a bit o' how it works, we should do some experimentin' once we're sorted back tae normal. I bet Soldier'd be game for that."
"Absolutely! Especially if it involves booze or guns. It's not big enough around an openin' to get a rocket launcher inside, but I bet you could wedge a shotgun in there dependin' on the shape 'a the stock."
"The circumference is really the limiter, isnae it?"
"Ain't it always?" Scout chuckled, elbowing the former werewolf meaningfully and earning a snort of laughter in response.
"I'd say tae ask Mickey but he's a bit distracted, ye ken," Demoman said, gesturing to the moaning pile of men on the ground, Soldier's hands having moved from clasped behind Sniper's neck to holding him by the horns, making the faun go boneless atop him.
"Smuggling," Spy finally said, leveling a look at the men beside him.
"Eh?"
"Huh?"
"Smuggling. If you want a perfect use of an extradimensional space that's part of your body, smuggling. Once you put on a head it cannot be accessed, and as long as the head isn't noticably rotting during any security checks, there's no way to detect that you're undead and would have access to a space like that. So long as they could pass through the neck, you could move any number of illicit and illegal goods anywhere in the world," Spy explained. He took a long sip. "If you wanted to."
Scout and Demoman shared a look and a grin, then turned back to Spy, the bomber asking, "Aye, and what would ye smuggle, then? Drugs? Guns? Counterfeit bills?"
"Inelegant and messy. The amount of paper one could fill that space with is nearly endless. Intelligence, mon ami. Documents roll up nicely to slide into that space. ...possibly small objets d'art, as well."
"You've thought about this," Scout hummed, squinting at his lover.
"I have contingencies in mind for how I would utilize the skills and abilities of every man on this team in most tactical and/or espionage situations, yes."
"Aye, but we only just learned about how the void works yesterday."
"I didn't say it took me a long time to come up with them," Spy purred against the rim of his cup. He took another sip and grimaced.
"Oh, Delly," Pyro sighed, looking up as his sweet teddybear in adoration. Engineer was on his hands and knees, over him, inside him, perched just a bit awkwardly as they lay on the couch together but with enough places to find purchase and allow him to roll his hips languidly, making slow love to him by the fire. "You feel so good, Babybear."
Engineer smiled, pressing their bodies together as he wrapped his arms around Pyro and pulled him close, their lips brushing as he replied, "You feel even better'n that, Firefly. Always do."
Pyro giggled a little at that, "You're always so sweet with me."
"And you're sweet as candy," Engineer replied warmly, punctuating the thought with a soft kiss. "I know today's been a lot, so I think you deserve a lil extra sweetness on top o' that. And I know you didn't get all gussied up for me, but I figured that effort means you wanna feel beautiful, not just look it like you usually do."
A sad smile settled in Pyro's eyes for a moment, and he squeezed Engineer close. "Thanks, Babybear."
"I love you so much," Engineer murmured, his thrusts speeding up just a little, enough to make his lover gasp against his lips.
"I love you too," Pyro moaned around breathy sighs of pleasure, then claimed the kitsune's lips in a kiss.
"Fuuuuuuck!" Sniper warbled, boneless atop Soldier and quivering with overstimulation as he thrust up into him. Getting fucked with the powerful senses of a faun was already so much, and adding to it the increased stimulation of Soldier's djinni body had him seeing stars, staring blindly up at the night sky and letting himself be manhandled. His arms were half-numb and he couldn't bring himself to care, legs spread wide and cock bobbing with every thrust, painfully hard and untouched.
"Lookit that," Scout said with a laugh, pointing over to the men fucking on the ground. "Snipes lost in it. Whenever Pyro fucks me I get that look. It's so much. That guy's in heaven right now."
"He's gorgeous," Demoman hummed wistfully, watching his husband in the throes of pleasure.
"Yanno, it'd be a shame if we let 'im go a whole day as a faun an' didn't really stretch 'is ass out," Scout said, thoughtfully.
"Lad's had his hooves in the air all day. He's gettin' a workout, dinnae ye worry."
"No, I mean stuff 'im with dick! DP! Gettin' opened up like that's next level, I swear."
"Aye, fair enough."
Spy looked over at the two, then looked at his half-empty cup, and frowned. Mentally, he weighed his options for a long moment before ceasing to care. He downed the last of his drink and tossed the cup into the fire, then turned to the mercenaries on the ground. "Soldier!" he called from his seat on a crate.
Soldier craned around Sniper to look at Spy with curiousity, grinning as he saw the rogue had tugged aside the bedsheet he wore and was stroking himself to hardness. "Yes?"
"Bring him here. We can share Mundy."
"Oh gods," Sniper moaned at hearing that, only to yelp as Soldier shoved him off to climb up from the ground. Any complaints were quickly silenced as the djinni grabbed him by the horns and pulled him to his feet to drag him over to Spy.
Sniper stumbled after Soldier, barely able to hold himself up but unable to let himself stop until he was in front of Spy, the jotun's purple-crowned cock growing tantalizingly before his eyes. He salivated, wanting nothing more than to swallow it as deep as he could and see if he'd picked up Scout's lack of a gag reflex along with the rest of his changes.
God, it was long enough to reach the bottom of his neck. Sniper swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, only to let out a sound that was pathetic even to him: a desperate little mewl as Spy's massive hand wrapped around his horn and tugged him closer, Soldier's grasp falling away.
"You're quite excited for this, are you?" Spy teased, unwilling to let that little sound go unremarked upon.
Sniper tried to summon a snappy comeback, but found nothing there. His head was empty, his only thoughts of need and hunger, pleasure and desire. All he could think about was Spy's mouth, his cock, his big hands, his warm body, and Soldier beside him, his cock still slippery with lube and come from Sniper's well-used hole, wishing he would go back to his task. He looked up at Spy with watery, lustful eyes.
"Oh, he's fuckin' gone," Scout chuckled, watching with amusement.
With a smirk, Spy reached out for the ambient magic around him with a flourish of his hand. He found it a little easier than last time, but still strangely distant. All the same, he shaped it into his familiar spell and grabbed Sniper's ass, cupping its narrow entirety with one oversized hand. "Koibito Uketoru," he murmured, chuckling as Sniper shuddered at the sensation of the spell taking effect.
"Enjoy the ride, Snipes!" Scout said, watching eagerly as Spy lifted the bushman into his lap.
What little werewithal Sniper had left was put to use settling into place with his knees on the crate, hefting himself up and taking hold of Spy's cock. Lining himself up, he sank smoothly down onto Spy with a stuttering groan, bowing forward against the rogue's chest as he took him to the root.
Spy hissed at the tight, slippery warmth engulfing him, letting himself relish Sniper's depths as he tilted his head back and let his eyes fall closed, both huge hands coming to rest on the faun's hips, holding him steady as the smaller man shuddered and gasped. He was speared deep, and Spy could feel the tip of his cock pressing firmly at the man's limit, where the sharp bend of his intestines meant he could go no further without physical harm. The realization did funny things to Spy's gut at the thought, disgust and arousal fighting each other in the clenching of his own insides in sympathy and horror.
If Sniper was thinking about it, it didn't seem to bother him at all, the faun's forehead pressed to Spy's chest, hot breaths puffing out of him and ruffling the sparse hair there as he struggled to recover. He felt like he was on fire, so small in Spy's lap, so full of his too-long cock, his woolly legs trembling. He tried to find a place to put his hands, sliding them up Spy's narrow sides. He tried to wrap them around the man, but the positioning felt awkward, and he didn't have the werewithal to consult Spy himself.
With a soft chuckle, Spy looked down to the struggling faun in his lap and plucked his hands from around him. He directed them up, to encircle around his neck, and bent forward to make it easier for Sniper, who gratefully grasped at him to give himself a bit of purchase, leaning back to look up into Spy's softly glowing eyes.
"Soldier, if you would?" Spy asked, gaze flicking to the djinni and his quickly-crumbling patience at watching the man he'd been fucking climb on a different cock.
Soldier grinned, not bothering with words when action would speak loudly enough, and settled himself in behind Sniper. He took hold of the faun's woolly cheeks and spread them, looking with hunger at his pink hole speared on the grey-purple length of Spy's jotun dick, and pressed the head of his own cock against it, making Spy hiss at the strange sensation. He let go enough to grab the base of his length to stabilize himself, then pushed in alongside Spy, spreading Sniper open around both of them.
Sniper arched back, a bleat of pleasure forcing its way out of him as he was stretched wider around both men, those beautiful thrumming djinni flames back inside of him at last. The heat and crackle of electric pleasure that raced through him made him shake, soft paroxysms of sensory bliss rocking him and making him crave more. "Jane," he barely grit out, panting and squeezing around the cocks deep inside of him, nonsense moans chasing the single word as Soldier slid in to the hilt and Sniper was full of them.
Soldier pressed a kiss between Sniper's shoulderblades, a soft groan escaping him as the faun clenched at the cocks inside of him, nearly stealing his breath with his body's tight embrace. "You good, Mundy?"
"Aces," Sniper barely managed to choke out, trembling between them.
"Good. Because I am not done fucking your ass yet," Soldier grunted. He grabbed hold of Sniper's horns again, forcing him to bow backwards as he yanked him into a brutal arch and bucked in, forcing a wail from the faun.
Spy chuckled, hands settling back on Sniper's hips. He bent forward over him, making sure they stayed in eye contact as Soldier began to set a rhythm, thrusting into Sniper and against Spy, pulling sounds of pleasure from both men. Sniper's eyes were watery and unfocused, his pupils blown wide and his mouth hanging open around nonsense moans, overwhelmed and entraptured, his whole body alight and ablaze as Soldier took him eagerly. "Mon ami, you wear pleasure so well," Spy soothed. "I wonder if being a faun simply does that to a man, or if some men are just so well suited to being a faun."
Scout lifted an eyebrow at that, a small smirk crossing his lips as Spy sweet-talked his friend while Soldier railed him. Spy had a point, but more than that, he had a look on his face that Scout knew well. That kind of look he got when he was too turned on for guile, and was simply speaking earnestly. It was so cute, and Scout hoped the man's deeply-hidden but utterly obvious sentimentality would get the best of him. Sniper looked like he might start crying if Spy kissed him, and Scout couldn't help but find it simultaneously adorable and hot.
It seemed he wasn't the only one, judging by the way Demoman's hand came to rest on Scout's thigh, beggaring his attention. Scout turned back to the headless Scot, following the line of his body down to the obvious bulge in his trousers. "You wanna fuck?" the former faun asked plainly, grabbing Demonan's thigh and giving it a squeeze. "I'll even let you get me from behind so we can both watch those three. I know you love watchin' Snipes get it."
"Lad, remind me tae kiss ye when I've got lips again," Demoman chuckled, rising from his seat to open his fly and tug his cock out.
"You could stand to kiss me more anyway," Scout teased, climbing to his feet and dropping his trousers. He bent over the crate upon which he sat, presenting his ass for the older man with a wiggle.
Demoman cast about for some lube, only to spy a bottle sitting nearby on one of the folding chairs and snatch it up. He took up his spot behind Scout and slapped his cock against the crest of the garuda's ass, watching the way his wings shuddered a little in anticipation. "Aye, yer a fine bird," he teased, popping the cap and squirting a more-than-healthy amount of lube onto himself. He pulled back, then spread Scout's cheeks with his free hand, squirting more between them and making the runner jolt at the cold.
"Yikes! You dumpin' the whole bottle on me?!"
"Wannae make sure yer sloppy, lad. I dinnae plan tae worry about fingers, or goin' easy."
Scout grinned at that, his cock twitching in anticipation. "Then don't go easy," he replied, grabbing the crate and taking a long, deep breath, concentrating on trying to relax.
Demoman tossed the empty bottle and took hold of Scout's ass. Spreading him open, he slowly pushed in. He hesitated as Scout cursed, his breath hissing and his head bowing under the strain, but he didn't tell him to stop, so he didn't. Slowly, letting the younger man ease into it, Demoman slid in to the root. If he'd had any eyes they'd be rolling back at the maddening tightness, his guts clenching up at the feel of his balls against the garuda's lube-slippery taint and the way he whined and hissed as his hole twitched and clenched around him.
"Jesus," Scout gasped, realizing that perhaps he'd gotten too used to how easily his faun's body relaxed and accepted penetration. It was so much, the burn and prickle of being forced open around Demoman's girth throwing sparks through his whole lower body, making his thighs quiver as his legs struggled to hold him up. His wings quaked and shuddered, feathers fluffing up a bit in his duress, his black nails digging into the wood of the crate as his talons did the same for the soil upon which he stood. Gratefully, he was very aware of the fact that Demoman was not moving, allowing him a chance to adjust in spite of saying he wouldn't go easy, and in the moment he treasured the man for that.
Looking up at Sniper sandwiched between Spy and Soldier, the jotun having finally claimed his mouth in a sloppy, hungry kiss as the djinn hammered roughly into him, Scout felt that jealousy bubble up again. The strain of being stretched out was so very good, but he couldn't help but grudge his friend for what he had anticipated as being his role, his pleasure, his evening of getting fucked by his team and passed around like a sex toy, a party favour.
"Dinnae be jealous," Demoman soothed, following Scout's line of sight. He bent over the smaller man, pressing his belly to Scout's back, enjoying the feeling of feathers against his undead skin, and laid his hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently. "That'll be ye again tomorrow. And I'm sure we'll all give ye the dick ye didnae get tonight, with interest. Be happy for the lad for now, aye?"
"I am, but it don't mean I ain't jealous too," Scout huffed, his voice pinched as he tried to force himself to relax, more tension in his body than he'd realized.
"I ken, but at least yer still as braw as ever, with these lovely wings tae boot," Demoman teased, rubbing down to where Scout's wings emerged from his back and massaging him there a bit.
Scout gasped, pleasure thrumming through him where the bomber's fingers pressed in at the border of feather and flesh. He'd entirely forgotten about how that was an erogenous zone for Medic, so it stood to reason it would be for him. "Shit," he hissed.
"Feels good?" Demoman hummed, knowing the obvious answer. "Dinnae worry, love. I'll give ye a good time."
Love. The sound of it resonated in Scout's mind and made his breath catch. Demoman might not have realized how powerful the little term of endearment was, but it made Scout's heart flutter, his jealousy forgotten as he relaxed under the Scot's warm voice and strong hands.
"Call me that again," Scout fairly whispered, partly wishing but half-afraid of Demoman actually hearing it.
He hadn't accounted for the strange supernatural senses of the dullahan. "Love?" Demoman asked, half-realizing that he'd said it at all. He would've smiled if he could. It might have been cruel, possibly misleading. But Scout had asked for more romance, and he'd said he'd give it to him. And right now, Scout could definitely use a bit more romance. "Aye, love. I can do that," he said, feeling him relaxing around him. "Me wee lovey dove."
Scout took a deep breath at that, eyebrows pinched, face twisting into a grimace somewhere between joy and regret. Fuck, he wanted that. He wanted it more. He wanted it forever. He wanted it for real. He let out his breath long and heavy through his nose and looked up at the trio fucking beside them. Three men he loved, two who openly loved him back, just a few feet away. He looked to Spy's face, the tender expression there as he kissed Sniper, and smiled.
The old man was just as bad as he was.
Taking another deep breath, Scout relaxed, letting it all roll away. Tonight wasn't the time or the place for so much complicated shit. Not when the team was fucking like a bunch of animals outside in front of their base, not when they were all cursed and in the wrong bodies and he was already bent out of shape about it, and not when Demoman was balls-deep in his ass and patiently waiting for him to handle his shit so he could fuck the living hell out of him.
"Demo?"
"Aye?"
"Go. Rail the shit outta me."
"Aye-aye!" the bomber chuckled, moments before the slapping of flesh and Scout's wails of pleasure filled the air.
"I'm close," Pyro gasped, arching his head back as Engineer's teeth closed on the side of his neck, careful with his fangs not to bite too hard at the soft, sensitive skin there.
"Me too, darlin'," Engineer murmured against him.
"You gonna knot me like you did Spy?" Pyro asked breathlessly, a little titter in his voice.
Engineer couldn't hide his amusement. "You want that, Firefly?"
"Lock us together, have to stay inside a little while longer? It's romantic, isn't it? I think I'd be a little jealous if Spy got that and not me."
That made Engineer flush red, sputtering a bit, "I-it was an accident with Spy. I-I didn't—"
"Shhh shh, relax, Sandwich. I'm not actually jealous," Pyro soothed, curling back in to kiss Engineer's cheeks and nose. "I think it's sweet."
"Sweet?"
Pyro merely smiled, mirth in his eyes. "You two've seen some really intimate sides of one another with the play you do," he explained. "It makes sense."
"Pyro, I ain't—"
"I don't care," Pyro interrupted, before Engineer could work himself up, the man's thrusts already slowing. "And I'm just teasing. It doesn't matter. What matters is this. Us. Right now." He kissed Engineer, glad to be kissed back just as sweetly. "And I want you to knot in me, so you can stay in me a little longer."
Engineer sighed, letting the rest slide away. "You're a little shit, you know that?"
"I know it's one of the things you like so much about me," Pyro teased with a grin.
With a chuckle, Engineer picked up his pace, redoubling his chase to the finish. "Sure is. Dunno what that says about me."
Pyro elected not to point out that it was obviously one of the things he liked about Spy, too. Instead flopping back with a moan as Engineer's thrusts pulled him toward the edge all the faster, pounding into his prostate with short, strong strokes. He looked up at his lover, seeing orange bleed into and overtake the blues of his eyes as he carefully let his shape slip. His teeth had already grown sharper, but now his nails were growing as well, pricking at his hip as he squeezed at his softness there. The tips of his ears grew black and began to just slightly point, and then there it was: a shift inside of him.
Pyro moaned as he felt Engineer's cock begin to swell, growing thick and fat at the root and preventing him from pulling back much at all, the short thrusts now enforced by the pull at his rim from within at each attempted egress. It made his eyes cross for a moment, the way the girth of the knot tugged at him, threatening to spread him open and sitting fat and heavy just inside of him. It was almost luxuriously lurid, and he watched Engineer's face, his fangs in his open, panting mouth as he bucked his way to the edge, feeling the pressure in his own belly reach a fevered pitch.
"Come with me," Pyro moaned as his orgasm hit, squeezing tightly around the cock inside of him in a flurry of fluttering clenches as he spilled his seed between their bellies. Engineer doubled over him, tucking his face in the crook of Pyro's neck as he came with a ragged groan, his cock throbbing inside of Pyro as he filled him, the knot keeping their bodies intertwined as they rode out their release together.
"Goddamn," Engineer huffed against Pyro's neck, gulping down air.
Pyro chuckled breathlessly, petting at Engineer's back. "Mmm, love you."
"Love you too, you little terror."
*
Heavy's face ground into the sheets as his body slowly rocked atop the bed. His ass was in the air, legs quaking and quivering as he moaned mindlessly in senseless pleasure as his hands clutched at the foot of the bed. The pain and strain mingled with bodily bliss to have him coasting on pure sensation, his body spread open so wide to welcome Medic into its depths, his cock hanging heavy and untouched beneath him. If he took hold of it he knew it would be over in moments, and he refused to cut short the assault of agonising ecstasy he was undergoing.
Medic knelt behind him, his fist fully inside of Heavy, the man's hole twitching as it closed around his wrist. It had taken a full hour of gradual work, gently and carefully opening Heavy and getting him used to a new neutral before going further, going deeper, opening him wider and wider until the doctor's hand had slipped inside of him. His joints ached, thumb tucked tightly into his palm to work it inside, but the beautiful sounds of pleasure he recieved with each gentle push of his whole hand into the giant, soothed it all away. At least as much as it could. He was feeling achy everywhere, and in the back of his mind reminded himself to drink some water after they were done. He probably hadn't adequately hydrated all day, between the excitement, action, food, and booze.
It didn't matter much, though. Not as Heavy lay moaning and shuddering before him, beautiful to behold as his massive, fuzzy body trembled under the strain of the doctor's entire hand inside of him. He didn't get to engage in the pleasure of giving Heavy something so large nearly as often as the other man got to do it to him, but then Heavy wasn't even in the competiton when it came to the crown of Size Queen. Especially not when Medic was involved. The doctor much preferred to be the one stretched to his limits, braying in blinding animal pleasure and pain in so equal a measure that they became one and the same.
But even so, Heavy was so cute on the bottom, that sometimes Medic simply had to indulge, and the giant was glad to let him.
"Mein süßer Mann, mein liebes Bärchen," Medic soothed, pressing a kiss to Heavy's fluffy shoulderblade, nuzzling into the soft hair there. "You take me so well."
"Herbert," Heavy moaned, finding himself at a loss for any further words. All he needed was his beloved's name. He was all there was in his world. Just Medic, all Medic, always Medic.
Medic tittered, kissing his side. "Misha," he sighed with adoration.
Beside him on the night stand, ignored, their alarm clock read 11:45.
*
Sniper's cries came out half as ovine bleats, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he bent in a harsh arc backward, Soldier folding him nearly in half as he used his horns less for control and more for leverage as he hammered ruthlessly into the faun's overstuffed ass, frotting furiously against Spy inside of him in the process. Spy was curled over Sniper, biting his neck, sucking hickeys into his flesh for something to do with his mouth as he moaned shamelessly against his heated skin. He gripped Sniper's hips tightly, urging him to motion in turn, rocking him on his own cock, shoving him back to meet Soldier's thrusts with the dull clap of fiery flesh on the faun's woolly ass, his tail wagging furiously as both men manhandled him.
Without warning, Soldier slammed in deep and came, burning a near-blinding white as he emptied himself into Sniper with a growling groan, his hips stuttering to milk out every drop until he was done. Sniper moaned with him, the heat of his release warming him inside, making his eyes cross as he arched back in the djinni's grasp. He pulled out quickly, stepping back and flopping into a folding chair, spent and sated.
Sniper tugged himself blearily upright as his horns were released, dizzy and red-faced, only to find himself further manhandled. Spy leaned back on the crate, so close he felt like he was going mad, and gripped Sniper's hips hard enough to startle the faun with the power those long, thin fingers could muster. Without much ado, he resumed moving Sniper, pulling him up and shoving him down, fucking him on his cock like a toy as hot, desperate breaths puffed between clenched teeth.
Spy bowed backward, planting his feet to buck up with each slam down, making him hit deep with each push, punching as far as anything could inside of Sniper and making him see stars. It was gruesome in how good it felt, and it kicked Sniper over the edge, a ragged wail leaving him as he came untouched, his cock bobbing with all of the motion as he shot in an arc, come splattering Spy's chest and belly as he arched and fucked up into him. With a hoarse cry, Spy joined him, the hot seed hitting his skin and the tight squeeze around him enough to drag him over the edge alongside Sniper, pumping full of yet another load.
Beside them, Scout whimpered, his hand slipping under himself to tug at his own cock at the sight, suddenly very much wanting to add to the mess on Spy's slim chest and mat down the sparse hair there with hot, sticky come. He was beautiful like that, arched back and glassy-eyed and overcome with pleasure, sullied and sated and messy, so unlike the carefully put-together man he normally was. It sent a pang of need right to Scout's gut, and he wanted to get the whole team together to just jerk off onto him, covering him in their seed and watching him luxuriate in the filthiness of it all.
Demoman slammed into Scout, now merciless in his strokes and chasing his release with equal vigor, both enamoured with the slim, beautiful body beneath him and the one atop Spy, overwhelmed with pleasure from every angle and crying his release to the heavens. He'd spent nearly all day fucking the man and still wanted to add to the mess of semen inside of him, to kiss him and mark him and grab his narrow ass and squeeze it as he filled him up. Sniper was absolutely gorgeous mid-coitus, the man wearing the act of sex like it were lingerie, as tantalizing to watch as to touch.
The moans beneath him, increasing in volume, brought back his attention to Scout's shuddering wings and bowed, flexing back as Spy and Sniper began disentangling from one another. The runner had a glorious, round, shapely ass that took his cock like it was made to do it. Even without being a faun, Scout was in his element, squeezing tightly around him to make each thrust steal the bomber's non-existent breath, make him chase his pleasure deep within him with hurried need.
Demoman thought himself spoiled. Married to the most amazing man he'd ever met, friends with and loved by an absolutely gorgeous bloke whose body was tantalizing, ethralling even, as he clenched so hard it felt like he was trying to keep him from withdrawing to thrust again. His hands on Scout's hips had to hurt, gripping him hard enough to be yanking himself forward with each thrust, moving Scout bodily atop the crate with each slap of flesh and grunt of pleasure, the slick, tight heat of the runner's hole nearly too much to bear.
Scout's hand flew over his cock, his moans breathy and desperate, and with a nasal keen he came, jerking himself out against the side of the crate and clamping down around Demoman in vicious, hungry flutters that milked the dullahan over the edge after him. Demoman's voice seemed to come from all angles as he cried out and emptied himself into Scout, burying himself deep and grinding until he couldn't stand it any longer, going still and flopping on top of him, panting without need.
"Cripe," Demoman groaned, petting at Scout's wing muzzily.
"Goddamn, Demo. I gotta get you to fuck me while you watch Snipes get railed more often," Scout moaned, squeezing at him for emphasis. "You fucked me like you were tryin' to get through me to get at 'im!"
Demoman laughed at that. Scout had summed up the impulse surprisingly well. "Aye, fair enough."
From the drink table, Engineer called out, "Y'all want some beers?"
Most of the team mumbled out breathless affirmatives. Spy merely lifted one too-long arm and with his too-large hand gave a weak thumbs-up.
*
The context in which Heavy's voice was loosed in pleasure presented such a lovely dichotomy. On top or when dominant he was triumphant, rough, booming and larger than life. He growled with his thrusts and roared when he came. But subservient or on the bottom, and he was so delightfully different. His voice came out in soft gasps and hisses, little moans and whimpers to urge his beloved doktor to continue, to do as he pleased, to know that he loved it too, and was enjoying it all. He shuddered and quivered, supplicant and docile, gently quiet in his strain and bliss.
Those soft panting breaths and whispy whines were music to Medic's ears, the mighty bear of a man brought low by a fist in his ass, praising his beloved Bertie and begging for more in bare whispers.
It was a shame, then, that Medic's aches were beginning to actively bother him. Certainly, it had been almost an hour of simply playing with the man and making him squirm as he stretched wide around his admittedly large hand, but an overall malaise was beginning to sweep over Medic as he tried to enjoy himself, and his discomfort was rapidly starting to outpace his arousal. He took a deep breath and shook his head, feeling a tension in his temples as though he'd been clenching his jaw too tight for too long, and a pain begin to throb up at the bridge of his nose, spreading across the front of his face and into his skull. He grunted, his hand slowing to a stop, and pinched at that spot in annoyance. "Ach."
"You are alright?" Heavy asked, half-turning to look over his shoulder at Medic, who plucked his glasses off to set them on the night stand beside him.
"I'm fine, Schatz," Medic assured him, giving him a dismissing wave of his hand. "Just a headache. Give me a moment, bitte."
"Of course, my dove," Heavy assured him warmly.
As the pain began to creep into his mouth, his gums, his teeth, he feared that perhaps, it was not just a headache. He slowly worked his hand out of Heavy, flexing his fingers once they were free and the giant sagged on the bed. It was at that point that he realized that his other hand hurt as well, pain flowing through the knuckles of all of his fingers, and that the discomfort there wasn't merely the result of having his fist inside of a man for so long.
His toes soon felt the same pangs, tight prickles of pain that spiked in waves out from each joint into the surrounding bone and muscle, and all of its connecting tissues. His knees and elbows came next, followed by hips and shoulders, extending up to his pelvis and the lower half of his spine. Medic grunted, curling in on himself a bit as the pain increased, discomfort like the joint pain that came with a particularly bad flu.
A soft laugh hefted out of him. This was no flu.
It made so much sense, really. After all, why would a curse designed for summary punishment be used to return him to his previous normal? Why would he become the human, when Pyro could be tormented with that fate, giving him a body he'd never known and wouldn't have enough time to understand, let alone acclimate to.
All along, Medic really was the only candidate, wasn't he? A wheeze of laughter bubbled up within him, exiting him as a low chuckle. Yes, it made all of the sense in the world. The constant, niggling hunger. The excitement during the chase. The way he wanted to fill his mate with something big and thick. It added up splendidly.
And here, now, Medic watched the hairs on his arms stand on end as pain prickled through his whole body, his skull and spine nearly agonizing with the potency of the ache within his very bones. He looked to the clock, squinting without his spectacles on, and read the time. 11:59pm.
"Dokor, you are alright?" Heavy asked again, regarding his lover with concern. Medic was... laughing?
Medic grinned, his teeth too-white, too sharp, suddenly wrong in ways that made some deep, animal terror flair to life within Heavy's gut. Medic laughed, excitement overriding the discomfort, his chuckles rising higher as his hands shook with the strain of growing agony. How fascinating! How exciting! Soon, he would get to learn so much from first-hand experience! He fairly giggled, looking with wild eyes to his lover.
"Misha," he said, voice strained, "we may have... lost track of time." His eyes were alight with pure manic delight. He hunched forward, near-yelling in a mixture of pain and giddy glee. "And I have reason to believe that Pyro is in fact not the werewolf!" he crowed, rising into an outright cackle.
Okay the holidays are over, I have a few days off and life is returning to normal. Perfect to settle in and finally wri--*wakes up with ear infection and runny nose* COME ONNNNN
