lyricalt

[lyricalt]

[destiny] for all of time

Rating: G Ship: Praedyth(/Pahanin/Kabr) Note: Vault of Glass, Canonical Character Death(s). Written for Pride Kisses 2025 - Day 8 "Almost lost you" kiss.

Summary: In all timelines, Praedyth will not exist.

Read: AO3

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 23. "I've miss you" Kiss

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

TF2 - RED Sniper/RED Spy - rated: G

Note: sort of really really really unasked for follow up to touched the ocean, fell right in. (Post-confession, post relationship negotiation)

-----

At first, Spy assumes there won’t be much to get used to after that tense morning. He already finds Sniper affectionate enough in his reserved way. They’ve been slowly going down the slippery slope of trying to maintain a casual relationship for so long that Spy suspects they had fallen into doing the tortuous motions of a partnership anyway. Having an actual discussion only feels like a formality for a place they’ve already settled at for—weeks, maybe. Months. Spy doesn’t really recall his own turning point, what with this entire situation being a classic example of a pot of cold water being put to a slow boil, with two stupid frogs being none the wiser. 

He doesn’t realize just how much Sniper had been holding back. It’s embarrassing to admit, but Spy develops small prickling stabs of guilt whenever Sniper looks at him now with such uncomplicated fondness—there’s a difference that Spy hadn’t anticipated since Sniper no longer has to be discreet about it. And they are still discreet, even when alone, but Spy can feel how Sniper doesn’t question every gesture. A touch by the elbow, a light brush at the waist. Standing close enough without intruding. For a time, it makes Spy feel like there’s an immense imbalance between them.

And then there’s times like these; Spy is smoking a cigarette, sitting on the backstep of Sniper’s campervan after paying him a visit. It’s past midnight with enough time for the adrenaline and afterglow of sex to wear off. By all accounts, Sniper should have fallen asleep straight away, and Spy should have left a long time ago to unpack from his mission.

(But the night air is nice. His luggage can stay in the Bizzarini for now.)

Spy wears so many facades that pretending to not care or want so deeply is second nature. He might indulge every once in a while like this, show physical acts or say things that might toe the line, but he’d given Sniper too much credit to be able to withstand them with the same level of practiced resilience.

(He is, of course, not blaming Sniper for this. Spy should have realized much sooner, but that’s the double-edged sword of being so skilled at pretending.)

With a smokey exhale of resignation, Spy tosses the cigarette off and crushes it under his shoe. He stands up and heads back into the camper.

Sniper is dozing in the bunk, but he stirs awake at the sound of the door closing. 

“Changed your mind?” he mumbles, the flash of a blade disappearing back under his pillow when he sees that it’s Spy.

“Not quite,” Spy says; he had told Sniper he wanted to sleep in his own bed, which still remains true. Hours on the road do not deserve the uncomfortable sleep of being crowded and overheated in a van. 

Sniper remains laying in the bunk, staring at Spy with half his face still in the pillow. After a moment, he reaches out one long arm to beckon Spy over.

“C’mon then,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “Give us another kiss. Ain’t no bother.”

Spy approaches the bunk, letting Sniper snag at his sleeve to bring him even closer. He still feels a little ridiculous, uneasy by his own desires that he’s allowed to make obvious, but that feeling soon ebbs away when he tilts his head to Sniper’s mouth. 

“I’ve missed you,” Spy says, before he forgets to mention it.

“Yeah?” Sniper says, quietly laughing, as Spy deserves.

Sniper doesn't move, waiting for Spy to follow through, though it doesn't take long. Spy can feel him grin against his lips.

No more indulgences. Spy kisses him the way he wants.

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 20. "I'm sorry" Kiss

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

TF2 - Sniper/Spy (same fraction) Rated: M Note: coworkers-with-benefits, (one-sided) angry sex

READ: ao3

[lyricalt]

[TF2] two to get ready

Rated: G Ship: RED Spy/BLU Spy, (rspy/rsniper/bspy implied) Note: Developing relationship, friendly wagers that imply more than they should.

Set before three of a kind; the spies meet up before heading to Sniper's room.

Read: AO3

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 13. Kiss on the Neck

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

TF2 - RED Sniper/RED Spy - rated: G

-----

“I think maybe you’re doing this on purpose,” Sniper mutters, staring at himself in the small mirror. He tugs the collar of his shirt down.

Spy glances over, sees Sniper eyeing the bright red splotches of marks at his neck, and smiles. It’s the end of the shift, but the other men have long departed from the locker room while he and Sniper lingered. Spy stows his weapons and shuts his own locker. “Perhaps you should try knitting yourself a scarf.”

Sniper’s gaze flicks towards Spy in the mirror. “In the middle of June?”

“Or request a transfer to Coldfront,” Spy suggests. 

Judging by Sniper’s lack of expression, even a small rueful one, Spy assumes the answer is a very emphatic fuck no. What a pity. Spy is rather tired of the desert terrain and he doesn’t mind snow. He assumes Sniper isn’t much one for any weather that isn’t blindingly sunny or agonizingly sweltering.

Sniper grunts, locking away his own equipment.

“Only if you come with,” he says, against Spy’s expectations. His blank expression shifts slightly, a hint of a frown at his brow. “Unless you were joking. Then I’m just joking too. Hell, you’re so bloody hard to read.”

Kettle, meet pot. 

“I wasn’t being serious,” Spy manages to say with one hand covering the lower half of his face, likely to hold back a miffed sigh. 

“Ah,” says Sniper, turning around. He doesn’t meet Spy’s gaze while tugging his shirt collar back in place. “Alright then.”

Sniper brushes past Spy, the pinch still at his brow. As he leaves the room, Spy can honestly admit he has fumbled a vaguely important moment between them. 

He knocks his own fist against his forehead, and turns around to follow after Sniper.

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 15. Good Morning Kiss

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

TF2 - RED Sniper/RED Spy - rated: T Follow up to Day 12's Drunk/Sloppy Kiss. :)

READ: AO3

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 12. Drunk/Sloppy Kiss

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

TF2 - RED Sniper/RED Spy - rated: T

READ: ao3

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 11. Kiss on the Nose

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

Destiny - Enoch Bast/Marcus Ren - rated: G

------

The problem with being suddenly put in the spotlight is all the attention one gets. Enoch isn’t quite used to it; there’s some narrative being spun by the media, making him out to be a scrappy underdog with only a hundred Glimmer to his name, pooling all his funds to be able to compete in his first SRL tournament, and that if he hadn’t placed on the podium he would’ve been shipped off to some place beyond Saturn to work off his supposed debt. 

It’s only half true. Enoch doesn’t consider himself an underdog. He’s been making his name known in the more local tournaments. It’s not like he came out of nowhere. Also, he had five thousand Glimmer in his Vaut, thank you very much. Taking on a couple of extra Strikes for the Vanguard was more than enough to cover rent for at least three months.

So, to get to the point, Enoch is stumbling out of the ring of reporters and casters after his fifty-sixth interview for a quick break, a little annoyed, which does kind of feel ungrateful, but right now all he wants is to hop on his sparrow and race back onto the nearest track. Maybe not win so flashily next time. 

Marcus steps out from behind the curtain, a grin flashing across his face when he sees how tired Enoch looks. “Darkness consumed you yet?”

It’s not completely private. Enoch can still hear the crowd’s murmurs, their prying questions and whirling cameras. He glances down at his clipped mic, double-checking to see that it’s off. He grabs the glass of water that Marcus hands over.

“Almost,” Enoch says, returning the grin as best as he can, half strength. He takes a sip, notes the fresh iciness, and downs the entire thing. For a runner up, Marcus does have some grace about it. “I don’t know how you do it. Did you know they’re saying I’m poor? That I came from the slums? What’s that even mean? No Guardian has ever came from the slums. We get free housing for at least five years after first resurrection.”  

Marcus laughs. “Ah, you’ll get used to it.”

“Wish they would focus on something other than some half-baked story about me,” Enoch mutters, setting the glass aside. “Like, say, my actual sparrow build.”

There’s a smirk on Marcus’ face, one that makes Enoch want to stare and beat the guy in a race all over again. The fact that Marcus doesn’t offer up any further advice causes Enoch to reconsider Marcus’ ability to lose with grace.

“Not gonna give me any tips?” he eventually asks. “C’mon. They’re eating me alive out there.”

Marcus’ eyes go up, thinking, and when he glances back at Enoch, the smirk’s still there but somehow more sharp. “Well, honestly, I only got one idea.”

“Which is?” Enoch prompts, sensing that Marcus is playing coy, and one thing he knows for sure about Marcus Ren—that Hunter hasn’t gotten an ounce of bashfulness in him. Especially not with that dangerous grin.

Marcus takes a step closer, grabbing Enoch by the neck of his armor, and pulls him down for an innocent (thoroughly fucking conniving, camera-cutesy, kid-friendly) kiss on the nose.

With a wink, Marcus whispers, “Start a better rumor.”

From behind him, Enoch hears the crowd go insane.

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 03. Kiss on the Ear

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

Hades (the game) - (Aphrodite/) Ares/Achilles (/Patroclus) - rated: G

-----

On the eve of battle, the servant girl who dresses Achilles is beautiful. There is a softness to her that glows warm, a pink brightness to her cheeks and bare breasts. When she touches Achilles, her fingers feel like Patroclus brushing down his side and arm. Achilles would have loved for her to stay the night, but she leaves him with only low teasing words in his ear that make his thoughts as insubstantial as mist.

He stands in the middle of his tent with adoration in his eyes. The servant girl lets out a breathy laugh as she throws one last look over her shoulder.

Even the sharpness of her gaze reminds him of Patroclus. Pointed like his sword, his teeth and nails and wit. Achilles’ heart flutters, but before he can beg for more of her time, she’s gone.

In the morning, the quartermaster comes into his tent without being ordered, dressing Achilles in gleaming robes and armor. His skin is dark and there is a striking redness in his eyes that Achilles can't help but stare at.

The quartermaster dresses him for war, but Achilles swears there’s a softness to his touch. A burning hand runs down Achilles’ side and up his arm, stopping at his shoulder to rest there. The weight is as heavy and consuming as gravity itself, and when the quartermaster leans his head close, Achilles can see himself in the man’s eyes, the morning sunlight reflecting the image of him as a glowing, bright spark of pink.

“Patroclus,” Achilles murmurs, because the man’s touch and smile reminds him so.

“Even now, you think of him,” the quartermaster tuts, but his voice is fond. “She’s certainly had her way with you.”

Somehow, Achilles knows he means the beautiful servant girl. He shakes his head, as if trying to clear it, and words tumble inelegantly from his mouth, “She left before-”

The quartermaster stops him with a kiss at his ear. It sears like a flame licking upon Achilles’ skin, stealing his thoughts away—though, he thinks, perhaps not his thoughts but someone else’s light and breathy, teasing words.

The quartermaster inhales, a rumbling satisfaction in his throat.

“She has given me a gift, I see. And you were her messenger,” he says, amused, and then his voice lowers with unmistakable hunger, “I owe you a boon.”

The hand on Achilles’ shoulder drops down to his spear, though Achilles doesn’t remember ever picking it up.

“A boon?” Achilles repeats, the blood beginning to thrum in his veins.

The quartermaster doesn’t tease like the servant girl. They kiss, and Achilles abruptly hears the sound of battle preparations; horses neighing, marching footfalls, a beating drum. It sounds just like the satisfied rumble of the quartermaster. 

The quartermaster’s hand rests over Achilles’, and Achilles’ grip on his spear tightens.

“Grant me a boon that will lead me to victory,” Achilles says, suddenly bold, but the quartermaster seems to find pleasure in it.

“Such guarantees will not satisfy the Fates,” the man laughs, and gives Achilles’ ear one last kiss and a whisper, “I will grant you a boon that will keep you fighting.”

The quartermaster is gone before Achilles can refuse.

He stands frozen until the tent flaps open, morning sunlight pouring, and Patroclus walks in to check his armor.

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 07. Kiss on the Back

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

TF2 - BLU Sniper/RED Sniper(/RED Spy/BLU Spy - mentioned) - rated: G

-----

“Lay around like that, mate, a spy’s gonna getcha,” Reddy tells Sniper.

Sniper doesn’t move from his spot on the ground. He’s laying prone in a proper sniping position, rifle propped on a tripod, the whole kit and caboodle on a rooftop. The sound of Reddy’s footsteps are directly behind him, meaning the dumbfuck is standing, which means anyone can look up and see them chatting. He lets out a silent exhale and adjusts his lens. Still doesn’t move though. Vantage’s too good to give up.

“Doubt a spy’s gonna get me, seeing as the two of them are flirting down the way,” he mutters. 

“Yeah?” Reddy asks, kneeling down next to him. He should be really getting out his own damn scope, but he only tries to peer through Sniper’s. “They really flirting, or are they-”

“Arguing,” Sniper says, waving him off. “‘Bout the coffee, it seems.”

Not surprising, considering Rouge and Bleu can manage to provoke debates about any minuscule thing, including highly recommended local cafes with tiny coffee cups. Reddy snorts. 

They lapse into comfortable silence. Sniper watches the spies swap their coffees no less than seven times. He thinks he sort of understands their kind of flirting now. It’s maddening, but Bleu hasn’t stopped with that half-smile of his, and Rouge has been steadily scooting his chair closer over the course of the hour.

Meanwhile, Reddy’s hand settles between Sniper’s shoulder blades, almost like having a spotter, except spotters don’t often lean into their gunner’s spaces. Sniper twitches. Reddy’s just out of his periphery, and the only way Sniper can see him is to look over his shoulder.

Sniper keeps his eye to the scope, content to keep quiet, and considers it a small victory when Reddy is the first to speak.

“You plan on chaperoning their entire date, or can we do our own thing?” Reddy asks, the weight of his hand growing heavy at Sniper’s back as he hunkers down.

Sniper doesn’t turn around, but he does smirk. 

“Maybe I don’t need to worry about spies,” he says. “Maybe I should be watchin’ my back for other snipers, eh?”

There’s a lighter touch at his back, the feel of Reddy’s forehead pressing at the center of Sniper’s back. Both spies would’ve been tripping over themselves for the chance to have that specific spot left open for so long.

But Rouge and Bleu are enjoying their coffees. They don’t need to know.

“Should’ve,” Reddy agrees, and kisses him again.

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 06. Giggly Kiss

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

The Old Guard - Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicolò di Genova - rated: G

------

It is weeks into the start of the first battle. By then Nicolò has died fifty-seven times. Of those fifty-seven deaths, the infidel with the dark skin and snarling white teeth has been responsible for twenty-four. 

Almost half. For some reason, the knowledge makes Nicolò near mad with rage.

He has not abandoned religion nor God, though the slithering dark idea of it festers in the back of his mind, each time he is cut to ribbons or pierced by arrows, always deaths full of pain. When he wakes up for the fifty-eighth time on a smoking, lifeless battlefield full of corpses, the breath strong in his lungs despite the stench, Nicolò takes a moment to will himself to believe that this is only a test, like in the stories of old. He is being tested—for what, he doesn’t even pretend to know the ways of God.

He both relieved and disappointed that it hadn’t been the infidel that had cut him down this time. Their armies have finally taken them away to different battles. He hasn’t seen that demon in a week, which means all of Nicolò’s spare thoughts have centered around him in the tedium of killing and dying and waking up.

There are times when Nicolò thinks he’s been given the task of hunting down this unkillable man. That maybe if he succeeds, the war would end or he’ll be granted the privilege of resting as mortal men do.

Perhaps he will be given Sainthood after all this. Or maybe he has already failed and this is Hell. 

(He’s allowed to think this. Only God thinks in absolutes. Despite his current immortality, Nicolò takes desperate comfort in the belief that Man is allowed to doubt and have weaknesses so, therefore, he is still part of humanity. He hopes. He prays.)

Nicolò slowly sits up. He thinks about the long walk he’ll have to take back to camp. Any camp.

A clanging noise beside him causes him to turn quickly.

And there, not two bodies away, the unkillable demon infidel also sits up, groaning.

Nicolò is so startled by the coincidence he can only blink stupidly. 

For weeks, he hasn’t seen the man. And now it’s back to habit, reaching for his sword.

The infidel also starts, but he doesn’t stare as Nicolò does. Instead, he bursts out in incredulous laughter, shakily getting to his feet. He mutters in his language, the words clipped and exasperated, and gestures to Nicolò. 

For some reason, Nicolò can nearly understand him. Or, at least, the general emotion. 

“Yes? And where have you been?” he huffs.

The infidel grins, the sunlight highlighting the dried blood on his face and glittering white teeth. He replies, rapidly, answering Nicolò in tones of sarcasm as he stumbles over.

Nicolò doesn’t know why he stays still when the infidel’s hand lands on his shoulder. He doesn’t know why he becomes entranced as the other man bows over, still laughing, and nudges a friendly kiss at Nicolò’s cheek and even pats the other side of Nicolò’s face.  

Nicolò stares. He stares until the infidel bids him farewell, and starts walking away. When the infidel is out of sight, Nicolò stands with a lightness in his chest, pulse fluttering.

There is doubt in his heart, and Nicolò has never felt more better for it.

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 01. First Kiss

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

TF2 - same fraction sniperspy - rated: M

----

You can tell a lot about a person from the way they approach a first kiss. Spy might have some assumptions about Sniper, but he’s experienced enough to not have any solid theories on what might happen. It can go either way—Sniper has a certain methodical air about him most of the time, but Spy can also account for the fact that Sniper is a bit of a brutish man, often out of polite society and well into the wilderness where kissing something might mean having your face bitten off.

And on that note…

Spy hasn’t actually thought extensively about Sniper kissing him. To be honest, most of Spy’s thoughts had been about fucking the man; where to fuck him, how to fuck him, and asking if he’d be even willing to fuck. Fortunately, after some circling and testing the waters, Sniper agrees, as casually as one might expect. Better than some spur of the moment ordeal while drunk, in any case.

They don’t kiss at all during their first tryst. Well, not in the traditional sense. Spy, being the one to have brought up the proposition, does the polite thing and sucks Sniper off first. Then, Sniper returns the favor. And on their next encounter, weeks later, it was only hands and some rutting, though Spy had pressed his face against Sniper’s shoulder as they both came.

Fine enough. But Spy can admit he has always been a man of slightly romantic inclinations and gestures. He can separate the two, otherwise he’d be no good at his job. The act of kissing physically excites him as much as a handjob, blowjob, or cock in the ass. Spy can always do without, but the play at intimacy is what gets him to have some real thrilling fun.

“... Oi, Spy. Got a question; am I boring you?” 

Spy’s mind snaps back to the present. He looks down.

Sniper is on his knees, mouth wet with spit and precome. He looks a bit annoyed, though Spy doesn’t see the problem; Spy is hard, and his cock is leaking appropriately. He clearly isn't bored. 

“I was only thinking,” Spy says. 

Sniper proceeds to look offended. He gives Spy’s erection a pointed tug, making it twitch. “Thinking about what? The quarterly payroll? C’mon, mate.”

“I haven’t said a word. You may continue,” Spy says, patting Sniper’s sweaty hair. His condescending touch makes Sniper blush a little, which is an interesting detail that Spy files away for later.

“That’s the bit—you haven’t said a word,” Sniper mutters.

“Oh! So you wanted a conversation,” Spy says, feigning guilt, “I apologize, I’ve been too preoccupied with having my cock in your mouth.” 

He hadn’t known it possible to mock a person while still complimenting their sexual oral skills while getting insulted about his own non-sexual oral skills, but Sniper seems to bring out the most preposterous situations. 

“You can give me some direction here, you know,” Sniper says, exasperated. 

“Well, I enjoy being kissed,” Spy says, since it’s fresh in his mind. It’s not every day he has the opportunity to give a simple and straightforward answer.

A look of surprise flashes across Sniper’s face. His eyes briefly go to Spy’s mouth, a small frown in the process of forming, but Sniper seems to reconsider his line of thought and instead leans forward to give Spy’s cock a perfunctory kiss along the sensitive underside.

Spy shivers from the unexpected contact, but he also wonders about the odds of Sniper storming out of the closet if he happens to let out a snort of laughter. He barely manages to choke it back.

“The mouth,” Spy clarifies. “I meant my…”

“I did use my mouth,” Sniper says, speaking over Spy, but apparently he was still half-listening. He stops again.

His lips part, most likely in surprise. Just as well, since Spy has always been an opportunist. He bends down and presses a firm kiss against Sniper’s mouth.

Sniper immediately puts his hand around Spy’s neck, drawing him in. “Ugh, bloody hell,” he mumbles against Spy’s mouth, and pushes his tongue between Spy’s teeth.

Spy shudders, a quiet moan escaping from his throat, even before Sniper reaches between his legs and jerks Spy off the rest of the way. All Spy can do is rock into Sniper’s hand, more shakily than he wants to admit to while Sniper determinedly kisses him through it.

And then, when he’s in a boneless and satisfied heap on the ground, Sniper prods the middle of Spy’s forehead, finger still slick and sticky. 

“Shoulda told me,” Sniper grumbles and kisses Spy again; this time, with a little more assurance and a lot more annoyance.

Like Spy has always thought—you can tell a lot about a person from a second kiss.

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 05. Kiss on the Palm

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

TF2 - same fraction sniperspy - rated: T

----

It’s the second time that they’ve fallen asleep in each other’s beds. The first time happened on accident in Sniper’s camper, where the sex had apparently been fantastic enough Spy had simply dozed off until morning, woke up looking slightly annoyed, and detangled himself from Sniper’s koala hold with impressive grace and nonchalance. Ultimately, Spy didn’t have too much to say on it. Sniper, following Spy’s lead, didn’t see any reason to point it out either, and so Spy had left after a brief good-bye, leaving Sniper to feel some type of way about how things were between them—a fractional shift, a little puzzling but not too troubling. It was an accident, neither good nor bad, but shouldn’t really be repeated.

And now, in their typical tit-for-tat manner, Sniper wakes up in Spy’s overly plush bed, similarly annoyed, and then more miffed at the fact that apparently he’s got a habit of clinging and snuggling if he’s got an extra body sleeping next to him. Spy is laying under Sniper’s arm and leg on his side, facing away from Sniper. His breathing is even and he isn’t wiggling, but that doesn’t really mean anything when it comes to spies being truly asleep.

Sniper’s got none of Spy’s slinky finesse, but he clearly can’t stay here now that he’s awake. He knows the value of waiting and patience, and this isn’t one of those times where he can wait out the next move. It’d be worse if he doesn’t take his own initiative, as embarrassing as the entire thing is, and if Spy wakes up knowing Sniper had just laid there like an idiot then the embarrassment will turn straight into floor-swallowing mortification.

Sniper sits up. He’d spent so much time committing to the act of leaving, he forgets the details of where his limbs ought to go and in what order. The movement startles Spy into turning to face him—so Spy had been awake all this time—which leaves Sniper awkwardly braced on one elbow while his other hand is over Spy’s chest, hovering over Spy. 

Spy blinks. 

Sniper quickly slides his leg off from Spy’s hip. (One other extremity he’s forgotten to remove from Spy.) Just his luck it gets tangled in Spy’s stupid silk sheets—shouldn’t they be slippery enough to not have that problem? And the sheet pulls down, exposing Spy’s bare chest to the waist, not to mention falling off from Sniper completely.

“You slept well,” Spy says, completely unbothered, or making the deliberate choice to look unbothered. He even stretches, right under Sniper, though maybe he’s due for a quick stretch after being under Sniper for half the night. His chest is littered with bite marks and hickies.

Sniper grunts. It doesn’t seem right to apologize for overstaying. After all, Spy hadn’t made any excuses when he’d done it. With a sigh, he lightly smacks Spy’s shoulder. “You didn’t wake me.”

Spy shrugs and catches Sniper’s hand before a second smack can be initiated. He pecks a small kiss under Sniper’s palm.

“How flattering that you think I can also wake up with all my faculties intact, ready to kick you out,” Spy mumbles against Sniper’s skin. He drops Sniper’s hand. Despite his statement, he looks more alert than ever. “You look like you are in a hurry.”

Sniper probably looks like a lot of things in the moment, which might read to Spy that he’s in a hurry. His palm tingles, and he hadn’t realized his hand had curled into a nervous fist, like somehow he wants to keep the feel of Spy’s mouth inside his palm. 

“Uh, yeah. I’m starved,” he says, scooting off the bed. The fucking bedsheet’s got a mind of its own, following his feet to the floor. Now Spy’s completely exposed, but Sniper ain’t looking. His clothes are scattered but he only needs to pull on the trousers and shirt. “Y’want anything?”

Spy’s leering at him, watching him dress, which actually makes Sniper feel better. “No. I’ll likely waste away in bed for a while longer.”

Sniper scoffs as Spy settles back into the bed, now comfortably sprawled with the extra space. Still naked. “Suit yourself.”

Spy makes a noise of indifference, though he glances over at Sniper again, eyes now assessing. “Something wrong with your firing hand, by the way?”

Sniper realizes he’s still making a fist, fingers growing sweaty. He shakes out his hand, like he’s got a cramp. 

“Nah, nothing to worry about,” Sniper says, as casually as he can, and flees the room.

[lyricalt]

[TF2] neutral gear

Rated: T Ship: RED Sniper/RED Spy Note: Slice of Life, Flirting, Coworkers with Benefits (Spy-is-a-car-guy headcanon but more importantly he's unionized.)

Read: AO3

[lyricalt]

psa: locking fics on ao3

Unfortunately, I've been getting hit with weird spam comments and emails for password resets over on AO3. Along with the AI content scraping, I've decided to temporarily lock the majority of my fics. I will work on getting my newer stuff on dreamwidth so guests/anons can still read them.

In the meantime, anon is on for this tumblr, so if you want to have an old fic reposted on dreamwidth, I'll be more than happy to prioritize specific requests.

Thanks!

[lyricalt]

[TF2] cutthroat

Rated: M Ship: RED Sniper/BLU Spy Note: Facial Shaving, Trust Kink, Fear Play

Summary: How to skin a rat.

Read: AO3

[lyricalt]

[tf2] get 'em squared

Rating: T (implied sex) Ship: BLU Sniper <- (RED Sniper/RED Spy/BLU Spy), sniper²spy² Note: Polyamory Negotiations, Established Relationships, Implied Sex

Summary: In hindsight, Sniper should have came to the conclusion that Bluey would obviously mind very much having his privacy and home invaded.

Read: [AO3]