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a-fluffer-nutter · 3 months ago

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The Mechanist's Quest: Chapter 2

A/N - I see Chapter 1 went well! Thank you all for giving it the love I had hoped for. This chapter is longer than the previous and will feature another one of our favorite support mercs: Spy. I based this chapter on a few headcanons and some art I have seen in the community. While I don't ship any of the mercs together (sans RedOktoberfest, that shit is canon let's be honest) I do love the parallels between Demo and Spy and would happily write a whole ass fic just exploring them with a similar dynamic I have here. Anyway, I'm rambling. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2,709

Days passed by and Pyro was starting to think this idea might be a bust. The two people they were trailing were the least sociable of the entire nine-man team, and for Pyro’s idea to work, they needed at least one other person to be around either Sniper or Spy. The two men were usually the first to hide away after a loss, not only because they wanted to be alone to sulk, but also to get away from Soldier.

Soldier always had critiques for those two, for everyone really, but he always seemed to really drill into those two whenever he could catch one of them. Sniper would just roll his eyes and walk off, hoping Soldier wouldn’t follow him like a dog begging for attention; while Spy would also try to ignore him, but when the losses stacked up, Spy would comment on how poor Soldier had been doing, which always ended up in an argument that would either be split up by someone else or Soldier suddenly appearing in the Respawn Room after Spy put a bullet between the American’s eyes.

Today was a good day, the midst of a winning streak for the team; the last three days they have been on fire, both figuratively and literally: Scout being the sacrifice to the BLU Pyro for each match. With the mood uplifted just a bit, the base buzzed with activity.

Whilst still not having luck with Sniper, Pyro lucked out with Spy being social that evening. After an hour in the smoking room, which Spy had just started expecting to see Pyro follow him in there at this point, Spy left to eat dinner with some of the others. Heavy made beef stroganoff, a favorite dish of Zhanna apparently, and a general favorite amongst the team, which could be shown by Engie being out of his workshop for more than two seconds to eat.

Pyro kept glancing at Engie, hoping to catch his eyes. Horrendous at distinguishing different forms of body language, Engie just smiled at the younger mercenary while trying to follow along with whatever Scout and Heavy were discussing. Acknowledging their loss, Pyro frowned and began to stare at Spy once again, as was the theme of the last week.

Once Pyro helped Soldier with the dishes, they quickly found Spy sitting on the couch, tired eyes attentively watching the movie he had just put on for himself. Despite being a man with refined tastes in film and drink, Soldier’s and Engie’s influences had rubbed off on Spy; thus, the man now had an interest and fondness for westerns. John Wayne would unironically grace the screen in front of the Frenchman more often than not anymore and nobody questioned it. Some of the films were inherently good and Spy did find amusement in the accent all the actors had. Having been exposed to Engie’s own southern drawl for as long as he had, Spy found that he could go through an entire film without mocking their ways of speech. If in a specific mood, Spy would go into the workshop after watching one of the movies and mimic the accent until Engie kicked him out; though the Texan had to admit that it was usually hilarious.

Plopping down into one of the armchairs next to the couch, Pyro tucked their legs up underneath them and watched along, occasionally glancing over at Spy to see his general reactions of the film. As John Wayne and James Stewart walked around on screen and monologued about sheriffs and Liberty Valance, Pyro imagined Sniper and Engie in all the scenes which made the movie much more enjoyable.

As John Wayne/Sniper rode his horse through town with a pistol in hand, the door into the room swung open and Demo stumbled into the room, bottle of Macallan in hand.

“There ye are,” Demo beamed, holding up the bottle as he closed the door, now no longer silhouetted by the outside light. Glancing up, Pyro could see Spy rolling his eyes but not give Demo the satisfaction of looking away from the screen. “Now c’mon, mate. Whatcha watchin’ one of these movies fer?”

Frown deepening, Spy bit the inside of his cheek to prevent him from saying something as Demo practically waltzed over to the couch and staggered onto the cushion next to Spy. Smile wide enough to brighten the room, Demo wrapped his arm around Spy’s shoulder and pulled him into a side hug, resting his head on the older man’s shoulder as he looked up at him; eyes wide with a playful curiosity that Spy was all too familiar with.

“No,” is all Spy said, feeling Demo’s tousled hair against his cheek, the black beanie he typically wore discarded long ago.

“I’ve nay said a single thing, mate. What’re ye saying nay to?” the man teased, sliding the hand from Spy’s shoulder down his back, eliciting a small shiver.

Amusement filled Pyro as they watched from their perch, with all interest on the film switching to the two men in front of them. They knew that Demo had a keen fascination with Spy, something to do with his stoicism or his ability to hold his liquor better than most of the men in the team. Pyro didn’t know what it was, but they sure enjoyed it whenever the two were together; the duo acting more like siblings than coworkers.

“We’re not watching it again,” huffed Spy, resenting his body as it slightly twitched beneath Demo’s touch, the offending hand finally meeting the hem of Spy’s jacket to find sanctuary between it and the white dress shirt.

“And why’s that?” Demo’s voice was sickeningly sweet, a cocktail with too much syrup and not enough gin.

“You know why,” hissed Spy, his tone darkening once he glanced back and noticed Pyro was still sitting there. Having made eye contact with him, Pyro quickly moved their head, so it looked like they had drawn their attention back to the movie, though through the mask, Pyro stared directly at the two men.

“I know yer just afraid,” Demo scoffed, his fingers gently scratching between Spy’s shoulder blades. “Aye. Ye know, I never took ye as one to be scared of a wee movie, mate. Ye acting like a wee laddie.”

“Am not,” Spy snapped, glad it was only Pyro in the room to watch this madness. Spy’s entire identity was professionalism, and he despised when he let others see that wall slip, even if it was just meaningless jesting from other merc. One on one, he was fine, but with Pyro here, Spy was glad he had the mask on, even in the darkness of the room.

“T’en why don’tcha wanna watch the movie with me?”

Spy knew this game well; a metaphorical standoff where they talk in circles until one of them give up. Just as a toddler would say “but why,” Demo was going to provoke Spy until he either left the room or replied with the desired answer. While Spy had avoided this phase with his own son as a toddler, he was cursed to endure it from the adult men he resided and worked with every day.

“I already told you,” Spy sighed, then let out a sharp gasp as Demo shifted around so he was wrapped around Spy. One leg hooked around his lower back and one around his waist, Demo leaned in, staring directly at the man with a devilish smile.

“An’ why’s that?” Demo emphasized the last ‘t,’ left hand sliding down Spy’s spine with a specific gentleness he reserved for only a few people, most of which he worked with.

“You know why,” the sternness of Spy’s voice was wavering, and in most other situations he would hate it.

“Do I now?”

Hand tugging at the tucked in dress shirt, Spy bit his lip to hold back the anticipatory anxiety from affecting his expression. Eyes staring at the screen, the character’s reflections shone off his blue-grey irises; though his ears were completely deaf to the words John Wayne was saying as he climbed his horse to ride off from one town to the next, just as Spy wished he could do in that very moment. Mind trying to focus on the movie, though the narrative lost at this point, all attempts to shift his concentration away from Demo’s calloused fingers grazing up his spine were being made.

“Mhm,” keeping his mouth closed, Spy nodded as his heart pounded.

“Use yer words.”

“Va te faire foutre.”

Pyro couldn’t help but laugh, absolutely loving the dialogue between the two.

Demo looked up at Pyro with an eyebrow cocked up, then dropped his eyes back down to Spy.

“Our wee firebug here seems to think yer funny,” Demo mused, his other hand dropping the bottle onto the floor with a thunk, both Pyro and Spy thankful that it had been empty this entire time. Hand now free, Demo used it to jab at Spy’s sternum in an accusatory fashion while the other hand drifted upward to finally still between the two shoulder blades, this time without anything blocking the skin-on-skin contact. “I have nae an idea what ye said, though I’m sure ye were being a proper prick. An’ ye know what that means?”

“Enculé,” Spy replied, looking Demo right in the eyes as he did whilst wearing a wide, unamused smile.

Biting down on their bottom lip, Pyro watched as Spy sealed his fate; throwing away the metaphorical key the moment Demo’s brows rose, lips twitching upward.

“That one, I do know,” Demo leaned forward, lips nearly grazing the fabric of the balaclava.

Biting back a strangled noise attempting to lurch out of his throat, Spy growled as he curled into himself; Demo’s frozen fingers now dethawed and gently scratching against the rarely touched skin. Breathing only out of his nose, Spy’s nostrils flared as he measured each inhale and exhale. Every neuron in his brain switched focus to just keeping his breathing even and his body under complete control, a statuesque stillness.

Excited by the prospect of a challenge, Demo’s free hand that was unconsciously gripping Spy’s shoulder made the move that Spy had hoped it wouldn’t. Slipping beneath the mask, each fingertip grazed Spy’s neck delicately, as if petting a small animal. Thumb on one side of the neck and the other four fingers on the other, Demo felt Spy swallow, his palm resting against the older man’s throat. Every micro-quiver of the vocal cords could be felt and Demo relished in the power he now held.

Knowing that Spy was an expert in resisting interrogation - his level of pain regulation and abilities to escape into his mind were exceptional - Demo also knew that Spy was allowing this engagement to occur as it was. If he had the slightest inclination to get away from Demo, Spy would have turned the tables faster than Demo could say “haggis,” with the younger man being pinned to the couch with a knife blade menacingly pressed against his throat. All actions here were calculated; all actions about to happen had full consent, and with it, Demo made his move.

Giddily, Spy felt the dam inside him cracking. With most anyone else to have ever graced his presence, Spy would have sealed it back up with super glue and duct tape, but Demo was not just anyone, nor were any of the others on the team, really. But Demo; Spy liked Demo a lot. He never really knew what it was; perhaps it was the level of control Demo had over his craft, in and out of the field, or it was a form of pity, that whilst Spy and Demo did not lead lives too dissimilar, Spy sees what he could have been if he let the bottle take over his life like it did the younger Scotsman. Perhaps it was the good that Demo saw in everyone he met despite living through hell in his childhood and having to experience the horrors of a capitalist war over and over again every day because he feels that he has to. Either or, Spy had a certain indescribable fondness for Demo which allowed him to experience playful moments he rarely remembered having as a child.

The second Demo’s dull nails arrived at their destination right behind Spy’s ear, the drawbridge lifted, and Spy’s laugh bubbled out from beneath.

Hands around the only one of Demo’s wrists he could reach, Spy tipped his head back; his laugh low at first before switching to a higher register as Demo’s fingers quickened in both places. Smile wide, Spy still tried to hold his laughter back just a smidge. He knew what Demo wanted, and he wasn’t too keen on giving it to him. As his laugh switched between two pitches, Spy scrunched his eyes shut and forgot that Pyro was in the room, and to Pyro’s credit, they had been entirely silent for a while, awestruck by the adorable noises seeping from Spy, a melody that they had never heard before.

“Someone’s bein’ stubborn, now aren’t ye?” Demo teased, radiating pure delight. Spy simply replied with a shake of the head, arching his back as those five fingers were giving him the most trouble.

Suddenly, as if bored of the positioning, Demo twisted them both around. Now on his back, Spy’s head laid against the arm of the couch as Demo’s larger body straddled his thighs. Devious grin adorned Demo’s face as he looked down at Spy, a cat satisfyingly looking down at its prey before delivering the killing bite.

“Adorable,” Demo thought before unbuttoning the front of dress shirt, playfully pretending to struggle with one of them which earned him a soft chuckle. The moment the final button was undone, Demo attacked.

“Merde!” Spy yelped, now fully laughing.

Demo had slunk forward so his arms were tucked beneath Spy’s body, snaking their way back up the shirt to drag his nails all along Spy’s shoulder blades and upper spine. Once in position, Demo pressed his face into Spy’s belly, nuzzling and blowing short raspberries all over his abdomen.

On top of Spy’s back being stupidly ticklish if caught off guard or permission is granted to touch the area, Demo’s facial hair was a straight up war crime, and the bastard knew it. As one of the resident hyperactive dumbasses, Demo used this knowledge for evil with a few of the mercs he was closest too. Soldier knew that getting into an argument with Demo could lead to a different kind of fight if the Scotsman was not in the mood or couldn’t use his words.

Heels digging into the couch the best they could, Spy frantically grabbed Demo’s broad shoulders and pushed; his laughter now hysterical and between every other peal of laughter was a snort, much to Demo’s and Pyro’s delight and Spy’s own chagrin. It was adorable and Pyro could not wait to write down every little detail they were seeing.

This activity may have been unusual to Pyro, but it was not too atypical for the duo. The movie he had been referring to earlier was Psycho and watching that movie with Spy was how he learned Spy was ticklish.

While the two watched the movie, Scout having left early on because he hated movies “without color because they suck,” Demo was hyping up the infamous shower scene. Both men had seen the film before, so knew when it was going to happen, but Spy had not anticipated Demo pretending to backstab him, just as Spy would do in the field, while the scene played out. The startled yelp and faint smile were enough of a catalyst for Demo to explore further. Now, if Demo was ever lucky enough to catch Spy watching something, jokingly begging Spy to watch Psycho became his running joke and way of hinting to Spy that he wanted attention.

Laughter clouded Spy’s thoughts and filled Demo’s ears as Pyro quietly got up, having got all the evidence they needed that their plan might work. Slinking out of the room, Pyro then scurried toward the offense wing to jot down all the notes they needed for their conversation with Engie tomorrow.

#tickle fic #rose writes #tf2 tickles #nonbinary pyro

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