typingatlightspeed

[typingatlightspeed]

Anon who sent me the request ask: Got your message and gladly added to my to-do list! That's a fun one. :D I wanna keep the ask in my box so I don't forget about it, hence posting this not as a direct reply. Just wanted to let you know since I got several other requests, one of which is going to be... an undertaking (but a fun/funny one) so I don't want you to think it got lost in tumblr's pipes or is being ignored. <3

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Nice

Some banter, some romance, some 69ing. Nice.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

Since MI has so much of it that's been written outta order and also I can't fucking count apparently I'm calling this baby part 69 of MI, even though it's the 70th piece written. Not as monstery as it could be either but sometimes you just wanna write two husbands bantering and making love. <3

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Sniper regarded his supine lover with a warm smile, eyes roving the man as he reclined, half-sitting against a pile of their pillows, on their creaky BLU-issue bed, arms tucked behind his head to support it as he craned forward, watching his husband watching him. The warm light of sunset filtered through the blinds, lighting the rolling hills of muscle that made up the Scot's highlands and lowlands, dusted gently with dark curls to add texture to his topography. His single dark eye rested half-lidded, a smile on his lips as he watched the other man's eyes dart hither and thither, unable to alight upon a single place, hungry to take in every detail in its totality. Always, they were drawn back between his thighs, where his cock was hard and wanting.

Demoman's smile was an easy thing, pleased and flattered by the attention of the naked man standing before him, gawking at him dumbly like it were the first time he'd ever seen a dick. Mind, he looked at him like that every time he saw him naked, and the mixture of wonder and adoration on his features never lost its novelty. Demoman could understand. Honestly, he felt the same way every time he saw Sniper in the nude.

How in the hell could he be so lucky as to be married to this man?

"Ye good, Dee?"

Sniper huffed out a soft little laugh, caught goggling at him like a teenager with his first nudie magazine. "Yeh. Just—you're bloody gorgeous." He climbed onto the bed, onto Demoman, and straddled his lap with a contented little sigh, looking down at the adonis he called his husband. "Don't know 'ow you ended up with a piece of beef jerky like me," he chuckled, hands coming to rest on Demoman's chest, groping idly at him.

"Ah ye ken," Demoman hummed, his hands settling on Sniper's hips and sinking down to cup his ass. "I like a good chew." He squeezed generously, pulling a laugh from the other man. "Now shut yer gob. Yer right braw and ye ken it."

"Sure," Sniper replied with a grin. He certainly got around enough to justify confidence in his own looks. "But I like when you say it."

Demoman chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss into the fluff at the centre of Sniper's chest. He inhaled deeply, utterly entranced by his scent, and nuzzled at him, enjoying the sensation of soft hair tickling at his nose and cheeks. "Yer braw. Yer gorgeous. Yer dead sexy. Yer devastatin'ly handsome. Yer the finest piece o' arse on two legs," he teased, giving his meager ass another generous grope.

Sniper huffed out a little laugh. "And I'm yours."

He could feel Demoman smiling against him. "And yer mine."

"And you're mine," Sniper rejoined, coaxing him out of his fuzzy chest to tilt up for a kiss.

"And I'm yers," Demoman sighed, closing the distance and claiming his lips.

Sniper's arms slipped around the bomber's shoulders, holding him close. His lips parted, tongue seeking Demoman's, a gentle caress only to retreat and find him again, tenderly wrestling not for dominance, but to taste. Each man wanted all of his senses filled with the other, and as strong hands squeezed Sniper's ass, and it pushed a soft laugh from his nose.

"Want somethin'?" he teased, lips moving against Demoman's as he spoke, one eye cracking open to meet his husband's with a devilish sparkle.

"Nae anythin' in particular. Just ye. Always ye. However ye'll let me."

"Let you," Sniper echoed, leaning back with a wry smirk. "Like you need any more permission than I've already given you."

"Still dinnae believe I have it," Demoman sighed, a little dreamily. "That I'm worthy."

Sniper frowned. "Don't you start with that, Tavish."

"I'm nae!" Regretfully wrenching his hands from Sniper's cheeks, he held them up in mock-defense. "Promise. I just—I cannae help meself. Yer just so amazin', it's hard tae believe."

With a roll of his eyes, Sniper clasped his hands to Demoman's, threading their fingers together. "And yet I married you."

"Aye, well no accountin' for taste."

Sniper leaned in and bit Demoman's nose.

"Ow! Alright, alright, I'm worthy! I'm worthy!" the bomber capitulated, wrenching his face away from Sniper's with a laugh.

"Bloody well right you are!" Sniper growled, snapping at the air with a loud clack . "Now stop that. I'll gut any cunt who insults me 'usband, even if it's the man 'imself!"

"See, that's what's so attractive about ye, Mickey. Ye stick tae yer principles."

Sniper nodded, considering that. He shrugged one shoulder, squeezing at Demoman's hands. "And here I thought it was me arse that was so attractive about me."

"And yer voice. Yer sense o' humour. Those long legs. How hairy ye are..."

"Not me face?"

"I mean if yer intae horses."

Sniper grinned. "You'd know, bein' a horse's arse and all."

Demoman barked out a laugh as Sniper shoved him back onto the bed, off of the pillows that held him up until he lay flat, awkwardly diagonal across the mattress. A stray pillow flopped onto his face, making him laugh all the harder as Sniper kept their fingers laced, preventing him from easily pitching the thing away. He bat at it ineffectively until finally giving up and biting it so that he could chuck it aside with a toss of his head. When he turned back, Sniper was already closing in on him, claiming his lips in another kiss as he pinned his hands to the bed and pressed his weight down against him.

He was hard, and doing his best to grind against Demoman's cock, also trapped between them. It was difficult, neither wanting to let go of the other's hands to situate themselves comfortably, or hold them together for easy strokes. Instead, Demoman rolled his hips, rutting up against Sniper, both men clumsily humping as their breaths puffed between them, lips and tongues tangled in a kiss.

"Wanna suck your cock," Sniper gasped, pulling out of the kiss, his eyes glassy with lust. "You're so bloody gorgeous I need your cock in me mouth."

That made Demoman's breath catch. Sure, it was deeply sexy when Sniper talked dirty. With a voice like his, how could it not be? But this wasn't dirty talk. This was plain-spoken desire. Intent. Need. And he felt the same way. "I need ye. Wannae swallow ye down, make yer voice crack the way it does when ye cannae handle how good ye feel."

Sniper pecked Demoman on the lips one last time before letting go of his hands. "You first, though. I can't wait."

A grin crossed the bomber's lips as his hands shot down to Sniper's hips, grabbing hold. "Nae. I'm nae waitin'."

"Wh—"

Reminding Sniper who the stronger of the two of them was, Demoman rolled Sniper off of him, then grabbed one leg and yanked him sideways, nearly pulling him off of the bed. Quickly, Sniper understood what was going on and let himself be rotated, his hips grabbed once again as Demoman pulled him back atop himself, now facing the opposite direction, straddling his husband's face.

"Yer too lovely a treat tae wait for," Demoman teased, tilting up to kiss the tip of Sniper's cock and making him shiver. He turned his head, kissing gently at the taller man's thigh, relishing the soft skin and its soft hair. He took a deep breath, a sigh leaving him at the scent of his lover. He wondered what it was like for humans. He knew they could smell their lovers' aromas, the pheromones gathered in dense hair and upon their skin, the musk of their genitals, but how potent was it? Could they tell people's scents apart like he could? Did the scent of a lover make them feel so at peace, like that person, their beloved, was their home? Swaddled in warmth and peace just by mere aroma alone?

He lifted himself up, kissing up his thigh to the crux of his hip, and down his balls, feeling them draw up a little at the attention. His grin softened into a gentle smile as he lipped at the loose flesh a bit, feeling Sniper's breathing grow a little deeper atop him.

"Coulda warned me," Sniper grumbled, but there was no real displeasure in it. Not as those warm lips paid such gentle attention to his sensitive skin.

"Aye," Demoman replied noncommittally, letting go of his hips to take hold of the base of the cock above him and gently stroke.

Sniper groaned softly, not caring about further banter once he'd been touched properly, turning his attention to the lovely sight before him: Demoman's spread legs and hard cock before him. He lowered himself, letting his body weight rest on his chest and knees atop Demoman as he settled his arms on the man's muscular thighs and set to pawing at him. One hand scooped his balls into his palm, his fingers kneading gently at him, feeling them tighten a bit in his loose grasp. He nearly missed the sigh that answered him—muffled as it was between his own legs—but a second, louder one ensured he'd hear it as he took hold of Demoman's cock and gave it an appreciative squeeze.

"C'mere," Demoman urged, his free hand grasping Sniper's hip and urging him downward. "Put yer weight on me; it's fine, love."

"Want you to be able to breathe," Sniper chuckled softly.

"Dee, yer seventy kilos soakin' wet."

"Oi, you cunt, I'm seventy five and you bloody know it!"

Demoman snickered at the sheer indignance in Sniper's voice. "And I can handle that, nae danger," he soothed, giving Sniper's hip a squeeze. "Now come down here and let me have a taste o' ye."

Giving in, Sniper stretched his legs out, easing his weight on top of Demoman to no noticeable difficulty for the other man. He didn't even flinch. Sniper tried not to let being a gangly scarecrow of a man bruise his ego too much.

The warm lips that wrapped around his cock helped in that endeavour, distracting him quite nicely. "Crikey!"

Demoman merely hummed his contentment as he sucked in more of his lover's length, the hand on his hip urging him down to meet him, to bury him in that slick, wet hot bliss. He let out a groan that reverberated through Sniper's sensitive flesh as the bushman took his cock into his mouth in turn, mouthing wetly at the head as his tongue teased back his foreskin.

Soft sighs of pleasure filled the quiet space of their room, the smacking of lips and slurping of saliva accompanying pursed lips and undulating tongues, quivering thighs and groping hands. Skilled, supplicant mouths worked in tandem, coaxing bliss from heated flesh, writing words of love and desire with clever tongues and careful suction, each man's brow furrowed in a mix of pleasure and concentration.

It was the one thing Sniper was sort of iffy on, regarding sixty-nining. He paid so much attention to making Demoman feel good, to the way his tongue sought out the right spots, the way his hand worked the base of his shaft, the way he cradled and played with his balls, that it was hard to make sure he was giving a good blowjob while he was also being deeply distracted by receiving one. He had to focus both places at once, or either his skill would suffer or Demoman's would be going to waste, him too focused to appreciate the pleasure.

It was a ridiculous circumstance, one that seemed so much less pressing with other positions. Even when he was sandwiched between multiple partners, the expectation of skill from the man in the middle was diminished. It was clear and obvious he was going to be overwhelmed from the get-go. But here, sucking his husband's cock while the gorgeous Scot returned the gesture, he felt a sort of pressure to perform that didn't exist in other, similar scenarios.

He was probably overthinking it.

When Demoman yanked his hips down and took him into his throat, he stopped thinking at all.

Sniper howled around his husband's cock, the maddeningly tight heat around him stealing the sense from his mind. He mirrored the action, taking Demoman to the root in turn, his eyes clamped shut as he forced back the urge to gag and let his voice pinch out around the obstruction, his hips stuttering and trying desperately not to blindly rut into that glorious throat lest he choke the amazing man beneath him.

Demoman held him there for moments unending, his own sounds of pleasure blocked by the intrusion, his own hips shivering with desire. Heat shocked through both men, rippling through their bellies and up their spines. The bomber wrapped one arm around Sniper's waist, holding him down, holding him in his throat as his free hand wandered up to squeeze at his meager, fuzzy ass.

Sniper pulled back, gasping for air, almost worried for Demoman's complete lack of breath but unable to will himself to do anything but moan as clever fingers found their way between his cheeks and began to tease at his hole with rubbed circles. "Fuck, Tav!"

Finally, Demoman relented, let go of him long enough to let him pull out, and heaved a deep breath. He was a little dizzy, but by the gods did it make him shudder to watch a line of thick, mucousy saliva trail from Sniper's cock to his lips. "More," he croaked, grabbing again at his husband's slim waist. "Wannae swallow ye down," he rejoined, desperate for more.

"Gonna put those fingers in me?" Sniper asked, lips pressed to the crown of Demoman's cock, his voice thick with lust.

Demoman grinned and popped his fingers into his mouth, sucking at them, letting the thick saliva pulled from his abused throat coat them before returning them between his cheeks, pressed with purpose against the man's entrance. "Only if ye come back down."

Sniper did not need to be told twice, and urged by the bomber's insistent grasp, lowered back down into his mouth, into his throat, pushing as deep as he could as his balls came to rest over the bridge of Demoman's nose. Heat, searing and choking, enveloped him, and true to his words, Demoman pushed his fingers slowly into him, opening him up around the spit-slick intrusion and making him wail.

Sniper laid like that for a long moment, his hole breached, his cock in Demoman's throat, his eyes crossed, electricity arcing through his body and sparking out. He barely touched the bomber's cock before him, but when those fingers set to motion and began to curl come-hither taps against his prostate, he needed him in his mouth. He gulped him down greedily, desperately, his voice muffled around the bomber's thick length, and when Demoman began swallowing around him, he lost himself.

Sniper sucked without skill, without guile, without thought, needing his mouth full of his husband's hard cock. His arms wrapped around Demoman's thighs, holding them tight, the idea of performing gone, replaced with merely animal need and hunger.

All too soon, that throat was gone, his hips lifted by one strong hand as Demoman gulped down great breaths, woozy and fuzzy-headed but needing more. His fingers never stopped teasing inside of him, never ceased drumming out pleasure as they flicked against his prostate, just erratically enough to keep him guessing, just steady enough to keep pushing him closer to the edge, and if he had the presence of mind, Sniper might have wondered if the man were performing perverse morse code, tapping tender messages of 'I love you' on his bliss button.

The recess didn't last long, however, Demoman taking a deep breath and pulling Sniper back down, taking him back into his throat, swallowing him down and making him shudder and twitch. He could tell Sniper was close, his rangy body all tension and desperation, the way he sucked at him like it was a primal need, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality making his own body grow tighter, his own balls draw up, his own belly fill with lava and brain begin to melt in his skull.

Whatever worries about skill Sniper had were gone, passion and hunger taking their place as he guttered and shook, tilting dangerously close to the edge. His breaths puffed hotly through his nose, his head swimming, his hips juttering and humping as shallowly as he could. But with his cock so deep, he could feel the flexing of Demoman's gag reflex teetering on too much. He could feel the man's throat ripple and clench around him, just as his hole rippled and clenched around his busy fingers.

It was so much, it was too much; he needed Demoman. He wanted Demoman. He was under him and inside him and all he could smell was him and all he could taste was him but all he could hear was himself fraying further and further as his cock silenced the man's moans around him, and soon those flicking fingers began to thrust, and it was all over.

Sniper gathered his knees beneath himself, hiking himself up, out of Demoman's throat, nearly out of his mouth in a bid not to fully choke him as his voice left him in hoarse, cracking keen. His lips snapped shut around Demoman's cock as he wailed around it and came, his hole clamping down in fluttering waves around the bomber's fingers, which shoved in to the last knuckle to fill him. He shuddered and shook, his whole body jerking with the force of his climax, and he felt himself slip free of those warm, soft lips, spending himself partly between them before the rest of his load splattered onto Demoman's face, the man moaning beneath him, just barely loud enough for Sniper to hear over himself.

And then he was sucking and sucking, one hand grasping the base to work it as Sniper chased the high of his orgasm, the heights of his pleasure, hungry for his husband's seed, the taste on his tongue, before the ecstasy faded and he sagged in sated exhaustion.

It didn't take long at all, the desperate need too sexy to ignore, that hungry mouth, the suction, the lashing of his hot, soft tongue, and Demoman groaned his release, filling Sniper's mouth with a warm, thick load that he swallowed down greedily and sucked until there was no more, the bomber's voice pinching out in overstimulated yowls of protest.

Finally, they were done, and both men flopped together, panting and sweaty. Slowly, Demoman freed his fingers from Sniper's ass and went boneless atop the bed, gulping down air. A small headache from lack of air teased angrily at his temples. It was worth it.

Sniper slid off of his husband, flopping to his side, still half-thrown over him as he let his face come to rest on the man's thigh. "Crikey."

"Aye."

"You're too good at that," Sniper huffed with a chuckle.

Demoman grinned. His tongue darted out to taste the semen cooling on his lips. "I can dial it back if ye need."

"Don't you fuckin' dare."

They both chuckled breathlessly.

"Ye gonnae come up here for a cuddle, then?"

"Yeh. Lemme get my legs to work." Awkwardly, Sniper gathered himself together and shifted around, so that he was laying face-to-face with Demoman, a sharp-toothed grin crossing his face as he saw the stripes of come the bomber wore. "Lookit you." "Wear it well, aye?"

"Aye," Sniper agreed, tilting in to lick a drop of his own seed from Demoman's nose.

It sent a shudder through the bomber. "Christ, Dee. Eatin' yer own come off o' me."

"Like that, then?"

"Gimme a wee bit and I'll show ye just how much," Demoman purred, threading an arm under Sniper's waist and tugging him flush to his body.

"Alright, but next time I wanna watch when I give you a face full, yeh?"

"Aye, it's a deal."

Sniper found himself being hauled into a kiss, his own semen smearing from his husband's face across his own.

[typingatlightspeed]

any fics you post are bound to be a treat, and these delicious cupcakes are no exception!

scout could've played bongo with sniper's legs, but instead he decided to give sniper a handjob. it's amazing how sniper's dick itself hasn't turned into a puddle after an hour! i guess sniper's "rifle" is just built different. at least scout knows sniper's paying attention to him, if not to his infodump, lol.

the dubcon is real with this one. it's ironic how spy is worried about being a rapist when bidwell is the one just about coercing spy into it. i agree with spy that bidwell basically needs to, as a gamer might say, "git gud". hopefully spy demonstrating how direct communication takes you places encourages bidwell to partake in it in the future. but who knows if bidwell will do that lol

i hope you stay safe from nasty "pranks" this april first!

Aww thank you, anon! :D

Sniper was fighting for his life, lmao! Just enough touching to feel good, not enough to bring him off, keeping him in fuckin' agony! Meanwhile Scout's as focused as he's ever been in his life. Get that boy a fidget toy lmao. Or not; more fun for the mercs that way. XD

I mean, to be fair to Bidwell, Spy could also just take the job without getting the blowjob. Like, that was totally an option he had, lol. He just decided to ALSO go along with the blowjob part because he, like the rest of BLU team, is still a horny idiot. (He just likes to pretend he's not.) But yeah, it's still not nice tidy enthusiastic consent all around becuase they're both messy bitches.

The irony of Spy of all people telling someone to be straightforward and not bother with subterfuge is really funny to me, ngl. The man is allergic to direct communication but even he knows Australian culture well enough to know when the direct approach is necessary, lol. Bidwell needs to nut up. XD

Ty for this lovely ask, and for the well wishes! Thankfully no pranks came my way. I've been spending about 80% of my free time this week last-minute building shit for my larp's upcoming event this weekend, but thankfully it hasn't been too stressful. Except on my aching back from hunching over projects, lol.

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Pleasure Doing Business Chapter 5 FINAL

Bidwell's hired Spy's services, time for him to do the job. Luckily, Spy knows a thing or two about dealing with Australians, and how much more painless this should be for Bidwell than he was making it.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

No warnings, enjoy! <3 Happy 69th Monstrous Intent story! :D

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With a loud kerchunk, Saxton Hale slammed his signatory stamp on a final piece of paperwork and handed it to Bidwell, who calmly tucked it into a manila envelope he held under one arm. "That's the last one, right?" he asked. The day had been filled with paperwork and meetings, and Hale was early vibrating out of his skin, ready to be done with it and go do something physical and ideally violent.

"Yes sir, I should be able to handle the rest from here," Bidwell assured him with a nod.

"Bloody hell, finally! Goin' out of me mind today! There anythin' else needs doin' before I take a smoko?"

"Yes, sir, there's actually one final thing."

Hale deflated. "Fuckin'—"

"It's—it's not work-related. I..." Bidwell took a deep breath, as if his courage were a physical force he had to summon up, the motion catching Hale's attention. "Mr. Hale, what are we?"

"Bidwell?"

"I mean, we've been flirting and having sex for a few months now, but it's only ever been professional otherwise. Is that all this is? Or is there potential for something... more? Because if there is, I want it."

Hale leaned back as if pushed, more than a little bowled over by his assistant's sudden boldness. "Bidwell, this is rather upfront of you."

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"Don't be," Hale interrupted, taking Bidwell's hand. "It's rare that you're this straightforward. I like it, wish I could see it more, really. Wish I'd've known this is 'ow you feel sooner. Fuck, I've wanted you since that night at the gala when you beat the piss outta that frog! You beat a man bloody because you thought 'e stood between you and me! That's aces! And dead sexy, hence that root we 'ad in the plane," he explained, grinning at the memory. "But then at work Monday it's back to Mr. Hale this, Sir that. But you still wanted to shag. So I figured that's what it was."

"So. All I had to do was tell you I wanted a relationship?"

"Nah, yeh!"

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted one?"

"I'm your boss, Bidwell. Wouldn't be right to approach you like that. Abuse of power and all," Hale huffed, ruffling his knuckles through his chest hair idly.

Bidwell's eyes watched the motion with rapt attention.

"But if you're sayin' you want one, nah, yeh, I'm interested, mate," Hale rejoined, redirecting Bidwell's attention. "How about we talk this over tonight? At my place, eight o'clock? I was plannin' to chase down some venison to fight for dinner anyway. I can take down two bucks instead of just one."

His eyes lighting up, Bidwell couldn't help but smile. "I'd love that, Mr. Hale." He paused. "Two whole bucks?"

"What, you don't think that's enough? Crikey, Bidwell, you're a big eater! Right, I'll make it three. Only the best for me boyfriend."

"Boyfriend," Bidwell hummed, dazzled by the word. "S-sure, Mr. Hale. I'll be there."

"Right, off you go then," Hale chuckled, waving Bidwell off. "I'm gonna go take me smoko and you've got all that," he pointed to the envelope, "to finish today. We'll talk more about this tonight. More than just talk, I suspect." He waggled his eyebrows.

Bidwell nodded, a goofy smile plastered across his face. "Yes sir, Mr. Hale." He turned and headed for the door, his steps almost clumsy with how spry they were.

"Oh, and one more thing, Bidwell!"

"Yes, sir?"

"When we're off the clock, call me Sax, right?"

"Sure, Sax."

"When we're off the clock, Bidwell! Crikey!"

"O-oh! Sorry, sir!" Bidwell stammered, fairly diving out the door to the office, slamming it closed in his rush.

*

Outside of the office door, Bidwell stood waiting, arms crossed over his chest, trying to look like he wasn't on the verge of hyperventilating. "So?"

Spy chuckled, tugging off the mask of Bidwell he wore and tucking it into his disguise kit. He slapped the envelope against the other man's chest for him to grab and tugged a cigarette from his case, lighting it and taking a puff as he made Bidwell wait on tenterhooks for his answer. He took his time, enjoying watching the man unraveling in front of him. "You have a date, tonight at eight at his home. He will be killing venison for dinner. Come hungry."

"A date?!" Bidwell blurted out, gawping as Spy began walking down the hall. He quickly fell in step behind him, no less anxious than when he had watched Spy take on his face and walk into his boss' office. "Seriously? What did you say?"

"Exactly what I told you to. Just more in your usual stammering, terrified prey animal fashion." Spy took a drag, not bothering to hide his smirk. "He's an Australian, Bidwell. They don't do subtlety."

"What about your team's sniper? He's Australian, isn't he?"

"Quiet and subtle are two very different things, I assure you. Do you want to know how I ended up regularly finding my way into his bed?"

"You asked?"

"I asked." Spy reached the elevator and pressed the call button, settling into a comfortably casual smoking stance. "I've already received the rest of the payment; pleasure doing business with you, Bidwell." As the door opened, he stepped inside, turning back as he pressed one of the buttons inside. "But if you were to add of those lovely Japanese whiskeys you're so fond of to Fortress' next shipment, well, know that I'm quite fond of Karuizawa." He smiled pleasantly as the doors closed.

Bidwell let out a long, shaky breath. He'd done it. A date with Saxton Hale. A real date, not just a hookup. At his home, no less.

Dinner.

Eight o'clock.

The warmth left Bidwell's smile as he stared into the middle distance.

"But... I hate the taste of venison."

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Pleasure Doing Business Chapter 4

Bidwell arrives at Spy's smoking room, and if Spy weren't already livid with him, the interruption certainly wouldn't help. Bidwell want Spy's help to find out just what the hell he and Hale really are, and he's willing to do anything do get it. Much to Spy's chagrin.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Warnings: Mildly dubious consent, since Bidwell is using a blowjob as basically payment/a bargaining chip, but absolutely isn't being forced into it. He just thinks it's his best bet at getting what he wants.

(Within Monstrous Intent BLU Spy and BLU Scout are not related in any way. They are in fact different species.)

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As Bidwell strode through the halls of the Granary base with affected casualness, he felt his stomach begin to tie itself into knots. It was one thing to face the sort of dangers he did every day as Saxton Hale's right hand. It was another thing to face the sort of negotiations he did every day as assistant to the CEO of his company and de facto fixer.

It was an entirely different thing to walk into Spy's personal turf to try and wrangle a favour out of him, two months after he'd tackled the man in front of a room full of people and beaten him bloody over a misunderstanding involving getting caught being fucked by Soldier in the men's room by the object of his affections. Bidwell let out a long, heavy breath. There was no easy his way out of this situation. At least, not without eating significant amounts of crow for his outrageous trespass. Spy had tried to give him good advice and genuinely cheered him on, only for Bidwell, in his alcohol-heightened shame and rage, to accuse him of sabotage and pummel the poor man, someone he'd considered as much of a friend as he would allow himself to.

This was going to suck so much.

He came to a halt in front of the smoking room door, a small plaque attached denoting it as simply: Private. Taking a deep breath, Bidwell straightened his tie and jacket, then smoothed a hand through his hair to try and calm his nerves. Finally, he knocked.

"Entrez!" came Spy's voice from within, though Bidwell was at first unsure it was even him. It sounded so warm, almost bubbly. It was unsettling.

All the same, Bidwell opened the door and stepped inside, recoiling in shock at the sight that greeted him.

Spy sat on a leather armchair, his jacket and tie cast away to the floor without care, his neck arching away as he panted, soft sounds of pleasure leaving him. Scout straddled his lap, shirtless and wearing his uniform pants rucked down his hips below his tail, the waistband of his jock strap sitting above it. He was lifting Spy's mask away from his neck and nibbling at the exposed skin there, along the faint line that remained from the week he'd spent decapitated in the RED Medic's refrigerator during their first year of the Gravel War. Scout hummed soft little sounds of encouragement, the soft smooching of his lips interspersing little bites and licks, one hand slowly opening the buttons of Spy's shirt as his other arm wrapped around the man's shoulders, holding him close as he teased him. His tail wagged lazily.

His eyes slowly opening, Spy craned a little further—partly to encourage Scout, partly to see around him at his visitor—only for those eyes to snap open wide in horror.

It was not another member of the team at the door.

Bidwell was at the door.

Bidwell was in the base.

Bidwell was in his smoking room.

"Oh!" Bidwell yelped on reflex.

Scout turned to look over his shoulder, letting out a cervine cry as he bolted off of Spy, leaping behind the chair as though to make to hide, peeking over its back anyway, his antlers poking up a foot above it.

In the time it took the faun to scurry off of him, Spy journeyed through all five stages of grief, his entire body untensing by the time he reached acceptance and leveled a cool, deeply accusatory glare at Bidwell, crossing his legs to perhaps help disguise the raging erection tenting his trousers. His reaching to the end table beside his chair and snatching up his lighter and cigarette case further distracted the eye. Though whether tapping out a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a long, languid drag, was misdirection or merely the last line of control Spy had in holding himself back from launching at the man in his doorway, neither he nor Bidwell could be sure. Regardless, he exhaled a plume of smoke, never breaking eye contact.

His blue eyes felt like ice as they bored into Bidwell's very soul.

"Did you not see the sign on the door?  This room is private," Spy snapped.

"You told me to enter," Bidwell replied meekly, hand still on the doorknob. This had already started amazingly poorly. The urge to just bolt from the base and never interact with Fortress again bubbled up at the back of his mind. Whether the fact that his knees had locked and his legs refused to move was lucky or unlucky had yet to be determined.

"I had thought one of my teammates was at my door," Spy snapped, quickly shedding acceptance and sinking backward into simmering anger. He did not have the patience to play cool and collected with Bidwell of all people. "Civilians are forbidden from stepping on Builder's League United property without permission, in case you've forgotten."

"MannCo personnel have permission, when making supply deliveries," Bidwell countered.

"And what do you have to deliver me, then?" Spy leapt to his feet, jabbing a finger at Bidwell. "Another unwarranted pummeling, you gay little Judas? You'll have a much smaller audience for this one, I fear."

Scout's eyes widened as his presence was referenced, and he sank slowly behind the chair until he and his antlers were out of sight, only to peer around the side of the chair to watch, instead. He hid again as Bidwell leveled a look at him.

"It's not like that, Spy." He looked between Spy and Scout's antlers poking out from behind the chair. "Can we talk in private?"

"We are in private," Spy seethed, memories of his broken nose and the murmuring of scandalized party guests drifting in and out of his train of thought.

"Alone, then," Bidwell clarified. "Without your..."

Spy's glare upon Bidwell didn't waver. "Mon petit cerf."

Scout's fingers alighted upon the top of the chair's back, and he peeked over it. "Yeah, babe?"

"Please, give us some space. We'll resume this later."

Scout pouted, shooting Bidwell a viciously dirty look. "Seriously? You're killin' me!"

"I'm not happy about it either," Spy huffed. "I will make it up to you, cher. Depending on how long this may take, you may wish to find someone else in the meanwhile."

"Yeah, sure. But we're finishin' what we started later, okay?" Scout complained, stepping out from behind the chair and tugging his trousers back up. He fiddled with his fly before giving up and giving Spy a final longing look.

"I promise," Spy soothed, taking his hand and finally breaking eye contact with Bidwell to press a kiss to the faun's knuckles."

Scout smiled at that, charmed by the gesture. "Okay. You need anythin', I got my radio on me."

"But of course."

The faun snatched his shirt and headset from the floor before sparing Bidwell another dirty look and pushing past him, slamming his shoulder into the taller man's before slipping out the door and closing it behind him.

"Charming," Bidwell muttered, smoothing out his jacket.

"Far more than you," Spy spat, crossing one arm over his chest to support his elbow as he smoked. "Showing up unannounced to my smoking room and interrupting my afternoon with my paramour and demanding my attention?"

"How else was I supposed to get ahold of you? You've ignored every phone call I've tried to make for the past month. I know you know they're me; I sold you that Australian caller identification machine myself."

"It did take you an entire month to muster the courage to call me, didn't it? Perhaps if you'd been more proactive..."

"Proactive?!" Bidwell barked, balling his hands into fists. He slammed his eyes shut, his mouth drawing up into a straight line as he forced himself to resist rising to the obvious bait. Spy was pissed with him, rightly so. But getting into another fight with him was stupid and childish. Besides, he wasn't so sure he'd win against the man without the elements of surprise and betrayal in his corner. "Look." He took another breath, finally looking back to Spy, who was smirking, pleased with how easily his words had riled him. "Maybe it did take me that long to muster the courage. Maybe I thought it would be a good idea to give you space. Doubt you'd be any more interested in speaking with me the day after the Gala and all."

"Yes, well, the day after would have seen you sitting by the phone with no response. I had a late night. Much like yourself, I found myself in the arms of another. However, to accomplish it I didn't have to make a fool of myself, fuck a stranger in a bathroom stall, and pummel someone I called a friend bloody in front of the entirety of Builder's League United." Spy harrumphed and turned his back on Bidwell, as though daring him to make a move. He rounded the chair and made a lazy beeline for his bar. "I merely asked, like an adult." He plucked a decanter from the shelf and clacked a rocks glass onto the bartop, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey.

Wincing, Bidwell approached slowly, like he was rounding on a cornered wild animal, having no idea how accurate a description that was. All the same, he pressed on, noticing quite pointedly that Spy had only poured one drink for himself and put away the decanter. "I deserve that."

"You deserve far worse. It is only by the terms of my contract and not wanting to deal with your employer-cum-lover that I haven't put a bullet between your eyes, putain." Spy took a swig of his whiskey, thoroughly not in the mood for this.

"I know," Bidwell sighed, deflating a bit. "But I wanted to talk to you. To apologize for what I did. For making a scene and attacking you. You didn't deserve any of it. I was being a jackass."

"The bruising to my face and ego were severe. The bruising of my reputation in front of a room full of my peers, however?"

"Spy, I'm sorry. I truly am. What I did was... was unconscionable."

"Go on," Spy bade, unimpressed. He knew Bidwell well enough to know the man didn't grovel to anyone but Saxton Hale, and he certainly didn't beg forgiveness. He was a cutthroat versed in espionage and wetwork, much like a corporate iteration of Spy himself. Even their friendship had always been some form of transactional. It was how things went in their line of work.

So what was this actually about?

Bidwell's eyes narrowed the slightest bit. It was becoming very clear that Spy had clocked him already, and that the remorseful act wasn't going to cut it. Did he feel bad about his behaviour at the gala? Of course he did. He was acting like a fucking teenager. He was spiteful, liquored-up and angry, and took it out on the wrongest man he could have. It had damaged—likely destroyed—a perfectly good working relationship. But he had ulterior motives for his apology, plain as day, and Spy wasn't about to be caught off-guard by him again.

With a sigh, Bidwell scratched through his hair, fingers carding through carefully to avoid messing it up. "Fine. Honestly, I'd be content to never see one another again, just forget the whole thing and leave it alone. But I need your help."

"Ah, there it is. Of course you do. I shouldn't be surprised, of course. That's what it's always been."

"Spy—"

"Mais oui! When Mr. Bidwell needs something done and can't make time to leave his darling Saxton Hale's side long enough to do the work himself, he outsources it. Why dirty his nails when Monsieur Spy is always a phone call and a briefcase full of money away?" Spy interrupted, swirling the whiskey in his cup before drinking the entire rest in a single gulp, slamming the empty glass on the bartop with a sharp clack.

Bidwell sighed, suffering in a bitchy hell of his own making. "Spy, listen. I need—"

"I think you've already gotten what you needed, yes? Saxton Hale's girthy Australian snag up your ass?" Spy crossed his arms over his chest.

With a scoff of disgust, Bidwell mirrored the motion, crossing his arms in return. "Fuck's sake—that's exactly my problem!"

That had caught Spy's attention. His eyebrow arched up, lips quirking just so. "Oh? Trouble in paradise, Bidwell? Don't tell me you're both bottoms."

Bidwell hated it here. "No! No. I just," he sighed, "we've been hooking up since that night. Pretty regularly."

"So what's the problem?"

"That's all we've been doing. Just fucking. I just—I don't know what Mr. Hale and I are, and it's driving me insane!"

"Mr. Hale," Spy purred, sauntering over to lean his arms atop the back of his chair, an impish grin crossing his teeth. If there was one thing that could distract him from his wounded pride, it was drama. "Still calling him that? Or is it part of your little arrangement? Not quite 'master' but still so taboo."

"Tch," Bidwell shook his head. He should know better. He should say to hell with all of this, turn on his heel, and leave. He'd already given Spy enough ammunition to make his life miserable, and lord knew the man already had the motive. Instead, he slunk over to the leather sofa that sat against one wall, sinking onto it with a loud creak. "He's my boss, Spy. But we're screwing around. But other than that he still treats me the same. Yeah, he flirts with me now, gets handsy when we're alone, but unless it's sexual, it's the same as before. Bidwell do this. Bidwell do that. Bidwell bribe this guy. Bidwell steal that information. Bidwell grab me an angus ribeye and a VB longneck for lunch, I'll sizzle it up at me desk."

"Your impression is startlingly accurate."

"Thanks." Bidwell sighed. "Even after sex, we clean up and it's right back to business. And the whole time he calls me Bidwell. I'm starting to wonder if he even knows my first name."

"What is your first name?"

"And I just don't know what this all is to him!" Bidwell continued, ignoring the question. "Am I anything to him? After the gala, I thought there was something there! The way he grabbed me and carried me off to the plane! The way he tore off my clothes! The way he—"

Spy loudly cleared his throat.

Bidwell froze for a moment, and cleared his in turn, a blush crossing his cheeks. "A-anyway, it was passionate! I thought it was the start of something! And ever since, aside from the sex, nothing's changed, and I'm losing my mind trying to figure out what we are! Is it just a workplace affair? Or is there something more?"

"Have you tried asking him?"

"What, just up front like that?" Bidwell pouted. "That would be so awkward I'd crawl out of my own skin. I'd rather chew my own leg off like an animal caught in a bear trap."

Spy frowned at that imagery. "Mon ami, it sounds like you've been caught in a bear trap of your very own," he chuckled, all too pleased with himself as Bidwell crumpled in on himself in exasperation.

"Ughhhhhhhh!"

"So you've come here, hoping to prostrate yourself before me for what? Advice? Really now, Bidwell."

"I don't want advice, Spy, I want espionage. I need you to get the information I need. Tap his phone lines, eavesdrop conversations with his other CEO buddies. Hell, disguise as one and bait him into talking about it! I bet they like to brag about how they're fucking their secretaries; Mr. Hale can't be any different."

"Their secretaries are usually busty young women, not twinks with large noses."

"Do you really think Mr. Hale would grasp the distinction?"

"Hm. Touché."

"Is my nose really that big?"

"Bidwell," Spy sighed, ignoring the question, "you're truly prepared to hire me to spy on your boss in order to find out if he's your boyfriend or not? To hire me, a man you attacked and embarrassed in a room full of his peers?"

"I know it's not the wisest decision..."

"It's downright idiotic, even for you," Spy scoffed.

"It's desperate," Bidwell corrected, leaning his elbows on his knees with a slouch. "Which is why I'm here on my knees asking your forgiveness enough to take this job."

"I don't see you on your knees."

Spy locked eyes with Bidwell, ice blue searing into dark brown. Bidwell's tongue darted out to wet his lip, thoughtful. Finally, with a weary sigh, he slid from the couch to the floor, to his knees. "I'm sorry."

A thin smirk crossed Spy's lips as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray beside his chair. What a wonderful sight. He made a mental note to ask Miss Pauling for some stills from the surveillance footage. He tilted his head a bit, eyes warming, chin canting up in appreciation. "No."

"Oh come on, Spy! I have a briefcase full of hundreds in the truck ready for you. I can get you dossiers, shipping logs, guns, tech, more cash! Anything you want, you just say the word and I'll pay you whatever you want to do this job."

"A briefcase full of money, indeed," Spy chuckled, turning away. "No. Now get out of my smoking room."

"You're turning down an offer of anything you want? Seriously? Spy, I don't think you realize what kind of carte blanche I'm offering you here."

"And yet all I wanted was to see you grovel and squirm. I've got what I wanted. You can get what you want just as easily; just don't outsource the problem. You mustered up the courage to speak to him before. What happened to that Bidwell, I wonder?"

"That Bidwell got drunk and kicked your ass; is that a Bidwell you really want to deal with?"

"Frankly, I don't care to deal with any Bidwells."

"Jesus fuck, Spy, what do I have to do? Suck your dick?"

Spy cackled. "Yes, that's exactly what I want. A coerced blowjob from a desperate man in exchange for services rendered. Bidwell, have some self-respect. There are literally eight other men on this base I could request the same act from and receive it with enthusiasm. And skill. In fact, when you arrived, you chased off a man who was intending on doing exactly that."

Bidwell recoiled. He'd been speaking hyperbolically, but...

The reputation of Team Fortress wasn't a secret to anyone who worked with BLU. Word got around, especially about a team of mercenaries living as a polycule. The salaciousness and scandal were too exciting not to be spoken about in hushed whispers and off-colour jokes. And Spy had basically confirmed as much just now.

He looked Spy up and down. The man wasn't his type, but even he couldn't deny that he was handsome. Maybe...

"So let me make it up to you. I screwed you out of a blowjob, I can give you one. Show you how much I mean this apology. Spy, you know me well enough to know I don't get down on my knees for just anybody, and I sure as hell don't suck dick for just anybody either."

"And you'll suck dick for me?" Spy sighed, turning back to Bidwell with a roll of his eyes.

"If it proves to you how serious I am."

"You're not leaving until I take this job, are you?"

"No," Bidwell challenged. "And I know that if anything happens to me, your handler'll have you in a shallow grave within half a day."

"So it seems we're at an impasse, then."

"It seems so."

Spy scowled, glaring daggers at the younger man. His pleasant afternoon plan of sensual lovemaking with Scout had been thoroughly derailed by a presumptuous corporate drone barging in, demanding work, pretending at apologies two months too late, and offering—of all things—oral sex to prove his resolve. If he weren't so petty he might take him up on it. After all, he was left wanting, his erection flagging through the force of his fury, but the feeling of phantom teeth on his neck still haunting him. The sooner he was rid of Bidwell, the sooner he could seek Scout out and hopefully continue where they'd left off. Assuming Scout wasn't busy with somebody else already.

Turning away from Bidwell, Spy checked his radio, flicking the device in his pocket on. Merely tuning it to Scout's usual channel revealed the answer. As usual, the faun had left the channel open on his headset, and through his earpiece, Spy was treated to the dulcet tones of Scout wailing in pleasure amid the dull sound of flesh clapping to fur and Medic's coos of encouragement. Scowling all the harder, Spy lingered, listening to his boyfriend and his casual lay making rough, frenzied love for the whole team to tune in to. He wished he could be there, muffling the faun's cries of ecstasy with his cock between his lips, grinning to Medic as the doctor took him, sharing their mutual lover between them.

Spy snapped the radio off with a jolt. Fuck's sake he was hard again. And behind him, Bidwell knelt, demanding permission to do something about it.

Spy sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. Why couldn't Bidwell have just showed up for a rematch? Frankly, he'd much rather just fist-fight the man and call it even, regardless of who won. That impulse alone had him realizing he spent entirely too much time with the rest of the team and their ways of settling disputes—a thought he tucked away for later examination. Instead he was fighting a battle between his aggression and his sexual frustration, and horrified to learn that he was beginning to lose ground to his own dick. Hormones were clouding his judgement, far more than they rightfully should be, and he was galled to discover that perhaps he'd grown too comfortable with such ready and indulgent access to pleasures of the flesh, basically on-demand. He'd been seduced by his own hedonism, lust battling his pride in a duel to la petite mort. He was trapped, stuck between a cock and a hard place.

He half-turned, regarding Bidwell out of the corner of his eye. He knelt there still, sitting back on his heels, hands on his thighs, awaiting an answer. How the man managed to look comfortable while sitting seiza style, Spy couldn't begin to fathom, though a small part of him respected the stamina in his knees if nothing else.

"Spy, I'm not kidding when I say I'll do anything," Bidwell rejoined upon seeing the rogue glance at him once again.

"I'm not going to force a man to blow me," Spy hissed, feeling his resolve growing shakier and shakier. "I am not a rapist."

"Rapist?!" Bidwell gawped, trying and failing to stifle an absolute guffaw. "Fuck's sake, I'm asking you for services rendered and offering sex as payment! You're not taking advantage of me, Spy, I'm offering it as a transaction."

"For a service you're desperate to obtain."

"I know other spies. I can hire any one of them. I came to you because of your expertise, and because you know me well enough to be able to impersonate me if you need to." Bidwell shook his head ruefully. "I'm desperate, but I'm not without options, for fuck's sake. Do you really think I'd debase myself like that?"

"Bidwell, you're offering to suck my dick to prove how serious you are about an apology you gave to convince me to spy on a man who may or may not be your boyfriend." Spy turned to fully face the other man, but did not move from behind the chair. "You realize exactly how debased this comes across, I imagine?"

"Would you prefer it as part of your payment package, then?" Bidwell chirped smugly.

"So you're a prostitute now?"

"Prostitution is sex for payment. This is sex as payment. An advance on your compensation, if you will."

Spy hated the fact that they were discussing the job as if his involvement was already a done deal. That it wasn't the thing up for debate, but whether Bidwell would blow him or not. Hated more, however, was the fact that he was running out of reasons to say no.

Well. At least the surveillance footage would be excellent blackmail to hold over the man's head. Spy had that, at least.

"Fine," he huffed, giving in.

Bidwell's tongue poked out to wet his lips, the gravity of what he'd talked himself into talking Spy into doing suddenly putting its weight upon his shoulders. "Good."

His mouth drawn into a displeased line, Spy finally stepped out from behind the chair, his trousers tented out in spite of himself, looking positively obscene as he slowly approached the kneeling man.

"For all of your protesting, you seem a lot more interested than I'd thought," Bidwell mused, eyes glued to the sight as a smirk tugged at his lip.

"Don't flatter yourself," Spy grumbled, coming to a stop in front of him and looking down the line of his body at the younger man. "I turned on my radio to see if I could get Scout in here to throw you out."

"And?"

"And he's currently being fucked—loudly and thoroughly—by our medic. So you've cheated me out of my plans for a relaxing afternoon of passion with my lover. That is the only reason I'm acquiescing to your ridiculous offer." Spy opened his belt and fly, looking up from Bidwell and setting his gaze squarely at the wall. "Go."

"So sexy," Bidwell sneered. All the same he rucked Spy's trousers down his thighs a bit and tugged his shirttails out of place, exposing his underwear. Bidwell's eyebrow couldn't help but tick upward at the distinctly French style: a low-slung, hip-hugging waistband with a panel that ran up the centre of its front, its fly artfully hidden in one of the panel's seams rather than called out with an obvious y-front. The navy cotton did well to showcase the older man's slim hips and the way his body tapered in a way that his suit's trendy, boxy tailoring did not, even as it tented out aggressively, cruelly restraining Spy's hard cock.

So sexy, Bidwell thought.

He licked his lips, hands coming to rest on Spy's thighs as he briefly considered his next move. The scent of him, of cologne and smoke and musk, the warm skin under his palms, the lewd sight of his briefs straining to contain him; it all had begun to make Bidwell's mouth water, to make heat begin pooling between his own thighs. Sure, this was transactional, a bid to get what he wanted, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself, right?

Spy might not be his type, but he was very handsome. What he could tell with that mask on, anyway.

After a moment's debate as to how impersonal he wanted to keep this—whether he wanted to just tug his cock through the fly of his underwear, the minimum amount of nudity required—Bidwell's fingers crept under the waistband of Spy's briefs and curled inside, slowly tugging the garment down his hips until they pooled around his thighs with his trousers, rucked down just enough to access all of him. Above him, he heard Spy's breath hitch at the bold move. Clearly, the man had been expecting the impersonal approach.

Spy watched Bidwell appraising him, lips parted around heavy-yet-shallow breaths, fresh lust flooding his nervous system at the sight of a handsome younger man knelt before him, inspecting him with hunger in his eyes. His cock stood proudly from dark pubic hair that had been trimmed and maintenanced, its foreskin already partially retracted, clinging to the crown's ridge as its tip poked out, pink nearing purple with renewed arousal. It was average in size, curving upward a bit at its final third, and his balls were drawing up a bit in anticipation. He had no anxiety about the size and shape of his genitals—after all, he'd specifically chosen to make them look the way they did—but he almost regretted not shifting to something a little bigger, a little intimidating, if only as a power play, a challenge to Bidwell's abilities.

It was probably immature.

That rarely stopped Spy.

What did stop Spy was Bidwell's warm fingers tracing a line up the underside of his cock, tickling around the head and urging his foreskin back, and him licking his lips again as he finally took hold of the base to steady it. He looked up to Spy—his warm, dark brown eyes locking onto his own, pupils blown wide—and took him into his mouth in a single smooth motion, down to the root.

Spy jolted, barking out a curse as searing, wet heat enveloped him in an instant, his hips bucking forward on their own. Bidwell seemed utterly unperturbed by the motion, and Spy gasped as he pushed into the man's throat for a bare moment, curling forward and nearly losing his balance. With a smug little huff through his nose, Bidwell pulled back, completely off, and came to rest with his lips pressed to the tip, mischief in his eyes.

"Problem?"

Spy hissed in a breath to steady himself. "Bit of a dramatic opening volley."

"I wanted to make sure I had your attention," Bidwell teased, his voice humming through Spy's oversensitive flesh as he spoke against it like a deeply ineffective microphone.

"Where else would my attention be? There's a man on his knees in front of me intent on sucking my dick!"

Bidwell chuckled a little. "It's always funny when you're crass, Spy."

"You don't get to speak so fondly of me. We are not friends. That ship has sailed." Spy looked up, fixing his eyes on the wall, refusing to offer any further banter. A stern look settled on his face. It absolutely wasn't a pout. Not even slightly.

Bidwell ignored Spy's pouting and set back to work, soft licks assailing the underside of Spy's cock, lapping gently at the head, just the tip of his tongue teasing little sparks into the older man. He could hear it in how his breaths picked back up, in how his posture settled, in how his fingers twitched like he wanted to grab Bidwell by the head and force himself back into his mouth. He kept at it.

He typically paid handsomely for services rendered, and Bidwell would have this compensation be no less lavish.

Spy's eyes slid closed, his head tilting back as he focused on the sensation, those licks growing a little longer, lingered a little more. The texture of his tastebuds rasping wetly at him, pebbly smooth and slippery against his hypersensitive flesh had Spy practically seeing the tiny bumps of his tongue in his mind's eye, the contact of each and every one a miniature shock of pleasure firing hundreds at a time, building into a bright and shining bliss with every pass. He reserved his moans, pride refusing to give Bidwell the satisfaction so early into the proceedings, but all the same his breaths grew heavy and strained in his throat, seeking his voice to bring out with them.

He quickly found his resolve unraveling as those lingering licks segued into warm lips wrapped around his head, bobbing up just a bit, and inching downward, taking the first third or so of him into Bidwell's clever mouth. Heat, soft and scorching, enveloped him, wet and welcoming. Bidwell's tongue cupped the underside of his cock, pressing against it in lazy undulations, a mild, calculated amount of suction keeping it close and in constant contact. He remained there for a long moment unmoving, as if simply relishing the weight and feel of Spy's cock in his mouth.

He moaned, just slightly, the sound living mostly in his throat, the barest vibration against Spy's most sensitive spots. It made his breath hitch. How dare he play dirty like this, taking this transaction and making it sound like a cherished treat? It was a naked appeal to Spy's ego, and damn it, it was working amazingly.

Spy echoed him; softly, barely a sound at all, but it was clearly what Bidwell had been looking for. His free hand came up to cup Spy's balls, rolling them gently in his palm and feeling them tighten a bit at the sudden contact. It earned him another sound, one slightly closer to a groan, and he set to work.

Spy had to grit his teeth at the sudden increase in stimulation, Bidwell beginning to bob his head shallowly and properly suck in earnest. It made his eyes cross in spite of being closed. His tongue pressed into him on every outstroke, like it was pushing him away only to come back with vigor, taking him slowly deeper with each ingress, filling his mouth more and more with Spy's length, plunging him further into that slick, torrid paradise between his parted lips.

It burned and bloomed, pure bliss throbbing out into his body from that single point of pleasure, and before he realized what he was doing, one gloved hand came to rest in Bidwell's hair, threading through and scratching encouragingly at his scalp, following the movements of his bobbing head. Soon saliva pooled in Bidwell's mouth, each stroke a slurp of increasing volume, and it made Spy's balls ache with each vulgar sound he made as he sucked.

Spy considered himself well-versed in the art of fellatio, a journeyman in the field with hundreds of years of experience. His standards were high, and impressing him took considerable skill.

Bidwell had quite a bit of skill, it turned out.

In spite of himself, Spy couldn't stay silent. He cursed, biting out strained gasps of, "Merde, fuck," as Bidwell's tongue stroked him, lips tight around his shaft as he was thrust in and out between them.

He kept his speed even, clearly in no rush, content to savor the taste of Spy's cock and coax him gradually and inexorably toward completion. When Spy's other hand cupped his cheek, he knew he'd won.

"How dare you," Spy grunted, tension threading rapidly through every muscle, his arms, legs, back tightening as he could feel himself approaching the edge, heat and pressure filling him and threatening to spill over. "Fuck."

He jolted as he felt Bidwell's laughter vibrate around him, the hot puffs of air from his nose ruffling his pubic hair. The little bastard was too fucking smug with a cock in his mouth.

It reminded Spy of himself in a way he both disliked and found himself impressed by. Perhaps it was narcissism, perhaps it was the way he pulled nearly all the way off with a long, slow suck and plunged back down to the root, but Spy couldn't hold back any longer, and with a strained groan emptied himself into Bidwell's waiting mouth. Hot throbs pushed his seed onto the younger man's tongue, pulsing between his lips as his hips fought and juttered to not fully thrust in and take his throat. His hand at the back of his head held him in place until he was done, though even through the haze and rush as pleasure took him like a kick, Spy knew he was barely trying to recoil, the backward pressure against his hand a mere formality, a play at succumbing to power that wasn't truly being used.

When at last Spy was done, he hefted a heavy breath and pulled himself from between Bidwell's lips, stepping back only to watch him exaggeratedly swallow, making eye contact all the while. It was terribly sexy, and quite the power move.

Spy had to respect it.

"So, do we have a deal, then?" Bidwell asked, slowly climbing to his feet as he fussed with his hair.

Spy huffed, red-faced beneath his mask, nearly panting as his head swam with pleasant chemistry. He hiked up his underwear and trousers, tucking himself away and closing up his fly. "Fine," he finally grumbled, fiddling with his belt. "Give me his schedule and your schedule for the next week and I will get you my invoice. I will get the information you need."

"Of course," Bidwell chuckled, finally fixing his hair. "Pleasure doing business with you, Spy." He extended a hand for a shake.

Spy hefted out a laugh. Spies really were all awful, weren't they? "I can't believe you thought I would sabotage your chances with that moustachioed side of beef."

"Him walking in on me fucking your Soldier did seem too coincidental to be coincidental, don't you think?" Bidwell replied, retracting his hand to put them both on his hips.

"From what Soldier told me, he did all the fucking." "That bitch," Bidwell hissed, but there was mirth in it.

Spy snorted. "I hope you don't think I've forgiven you for tackling me and breaking my nose in a deeply stupid, jealous rage in public."

"I hope you at least forgive me for tackling you and breaking your nose in a deeply stupid, jealous rage. The public part is unforgivable; I understand."

Spy elected not to mention that the most unforgivable part was interrupting the spell he'd been maintaining to disguise Pyro. The last thing he wanted was for Bidwell to mistake him for a soft touch. "But of course. What's a little violence between friends?"

"Is that what we are?"

Spy chuckled softly, withdrawing a cigarette from his case and lighting it. He took a few puffs before offering a half-shrug. "Who can say?"

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Pleasure Doing Business Chapter 3

A MannCo shipment to Fortress stationed at Granary ends up including Bidwell along for the ride. His minor business on behalf of MannCo however is nothing compared to the personal business he's there to settle. But mostly this chapter is dick jokes.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

No warnings just lots of bad jokes.

---------

Engineer held his hands up as he slowly beckoned the truck backing into the garage of the base. It had been a while since Granary had been stocked up, and with Fortress being the latest transfer there, they'd been responsible for getting ahold of MannCo and ordering a new shipment of supplies to keep the base churning. In addition to the extra supplies their team always tended to require.

"Little more, little more," Engineer called, finally turning his palms out to halt the truck when it had gotten inside the building, close enough to easily unload. He approached as workers in MannCo branded coveralls climbed out of the truck and rolled up the back shutter door of the vehicle to begin unloading. He looked to Medic, who was finishing propping the doors to the interior of the base open, a clipboard in one hand. "You got the order, Doc?"

"Of course! I will direct where the crates go," he announced, coming to join his companion as the workers unrolled a ramp from the back of the truck and loaded a crate onto a hand truck.

"What's this fella?" Engineer asked, peering at the markings on the crate.

"Manifest says," the worker snatched a clipboard from his companion and squinted at the words printed on it, "this crate's all one item. Economy pack of... personal lubricant." His eyes widened a bit as his mouth drew into a line. He purposely did not make eye contact with either of the mercenaries.

Engineer's face grew pink as he waited for the man to say a damned word, ready to challenge him. Medic merely tittered.

"Aheh, that one can go to the infirmary. Down that way, take a left, end of the hallway, danke."

"Yessir," the worker mumbled, handing the clipboard back to his companion and making a quick egress.

"Your team is our number one buyer of the economy pack, you know," came a voice from the cab, stealing the mercenaries' attention as a slim man in a suit slid off of the truck's bench seat and carefully climbed out of the open door, reaching back in to snatch a briefcase out before closing the door.

Both of them knew that big nose and boyish haircut anywhere.

"Mr. Bidwell, ja? To what do we owe the pleasure?" Medic asked, immediately turning on the charm. It was very abnormal for Saxton Hale's right hand to be anywhere near the battlefields of the Gravel Wars, let alone riding along on a delivery. It had the doctor's hackles immediately raised. His wings fluffed up a bit unconsciously.

Bidwell adjusted his jacket as he casually sauntered over, proper and uptight as ever. "Since you gentlemen clearly have a vested interest in our... intimate product line, Mr. Hale has asked me to offer you one of our newest catalogs. We've been exploring branching out into a new market, and thought your team would perhaps be a good... test market for those products," he explained, clearly a little uncomfortable based on how his ears were growing pink.

He opened his briefcase and withdrew a catalog with bare-bones graphic design, handing it to Medic. It read MannCo Adult Toys And Novelties: We Sell Products And Like It Rough, which felt almost like an afterthought compared to how the page was dominated by a photograph of Saxton Hale in a leatherman's cap, chaps, and ridiculously tiny leather shorts barely restraining a raging erection, brandishing a riding crop. A speech balloon emanated from him, proclaiming, "No returns or exchanges!"

"We're still very much in the testing and product design phase with the catalog, as you can clearly see," he quickly added, trying not to look at the cover.

Medic smirked and showed it to Engineer, who lifted an eyebrow. "I think you wear it better," he teased, earning a wheezy chuckle from his friend.

"Well thank you, I s'pose," Engineer ventured, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. "All the trouble of a house call for that, though?"

Medic opened the catalog and began flipping through it curiously, immediately tuning out the conversation.

"No, no, not just that," Bidwell said, waving a hand in front of his face. "I have some other business, too, but this was a good opportunity to deliver the catalog. Or, the catalog is a good opportunity to do the other thing," he rambled a bit, the nerves that had been simmering quietly under the surface finally beginning to bubble up.

Engineer smirked. "You here to see Spy?"

"Is he around?" Bidwell blurted out, his voice cracking a bit. "I do have something to talk to him about," he rejoined, trying to school his expression and salvage some of his dignity.

Shaking his head, Engineer clapped the skinny man on the back, gesturing broadly to the door into the base. "Spy's smokin' room is on the way to the infirmary. You'll be able to tell because it's the door that says, 'private,' on it."

Bidwell jolted at the impact, forced forward a few steps by his own momentum, then turned, regarding Engineer with a sour pucker of his lips. "Thank you, Mr. Conagher," he harrumphed, and set off into the base, his briefcase clutched in a white-knuckle grip.

"Almost wanna follow the kid and watch the fireworks," Engineer chuckled, shaking his head. He turned back to Medic as the other porter in the truck unfolded another hand truck and began wheeling down the next crate. "You wanna keep helpin', Doc? Or are you gonna stare at MannCo brand butt plugs all day?"

"It's not just butt plugs," Medic replied, rolling his eyes. "See? They have novelties too! Look! Penis-shaped pasta!" He hooted out a little laugh as he showed the item to his companion.

"Could whip up a pretty good cockcio e pepe with that," Engineer nodded, struggling to keep a straight face.

Medic giggled. "Or penis alla vodka?"

"Maybe just a classic pasta e fagioli?" Engineer asked, mangling the pronunciation for the sake of the slur.

A squawk of a laugh left Medic, fading into a fit of giggles in reply, making Engineer the victor.

"What're they called anyway?" he asked around a chuckle, peering at the catalog, only to find it entry marked as, 'Dickaroni and Cheese'. He frowned. "They didn't even try."

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Pleasure Doing Business Chapter 2

Bidwell's not sure where he and Saxton stand, and Hale doesn't make it any easier on the poor guy on the set of a rather... illicitly-themed photoshoot.

Ao3 Link Part of Monstrous Intent!

Chapter 1!

No warnings, just some light public dry humping.

---------

"You sure this looks alright?" Hale asked, tugging at the too-tight leather shorts he wore, a little concerned with the silhouette they presented. Typically, he never found himself self-conscious about the size of his cock. He was on the upper end of average for an Australian, rather large by American standards, and had certainly never had a complaint in bed. The problem was, that only counted for when he was hard.

And he wasn't hard, he was standing in front of a camera crew wearing nothing but leather short shorts, chaps, boots, and a little leather hat with metal studs on it. They'd tried to sell him on a harness too, until they realized there were none on hand that would fit around his broad chest. He looked down the line of his own body, wearing more clothing than he normally did, but he couldn't help but feel naked.

Especially as a grower, not a shower, the tight shorts left more up to the imagination than he'd actually prefer for a photo shoot like this. He couldn't let people go around thinking the great Saxton Hale wasn't a physically impressive specimen from every angle!

"You look amazing, Mr. Hale," Bidwell assured him, trying desperately to maintain eye contact even as his face flushed bright pink. He stood off to the side of the set, which was dressed to look like some kind of sex dungeon, bondage cross and a matte painting of a wall lined with shackles behind the CEO.

"Don't bloody feel amazin'," Hale huffed, fussing with his tiny shorts again. He shot a look to the photographer, who was hashing out details with his lighting technician. "Oi, you!"

"Sir?"

"When're you gonna be bloody ready to take these photos?"

The photographer looked to the tech, who held up a few fingers and waved his hand side-to-side. She turned back to Hale. "About five minutes, sir!"

"Aces, I'll be back."

"Wh-where are you going, sir?"

"To make meself look good in these fuckin' pants," he groused, stomping off. "Come on, Bidwell." He made for the restrooms in a huff, his assistant startled and chasing on his heels.

"Mr. Hale, wh—" as the door to the men's room closed behind Bidwell he found himself slammed against it. Hale's body pressed close to his, dominating his space, and before he could register what was happening, his boss' tongue was in his mouth. The paperwork and clipboard under his arm clattered to the floor as he reached up to wrap his arms around Hale's neck, urging him onward.

Hale's hands followed the slim curves of Bidwell's sides down to his hips, grabbing at him, squeezing, sliding around back to grasp his meager ass and lift him up with a groan as the smaller man kissed back in turn. His little hat plopped down on top of the scattered papers as Bidwell's fingers threaded through his hair, the smaller man's long legs wrapping around his waist.

It was so sudden! It was so passionate! Bidwell's head spun as Hale tasted and groped him, giddy butterflies fighting the heat in his groin for attention within his own body, both losing to the hot, slick tongue invading his mouth.

They grunted, moans swallowed between them as Hale began to grind against Bidwell, humping at him amid heated breaths and the soft thumping of bodies against the wooden door. Hale felt those too-tight shorts grow even tighter, his cock straining against the leather, the zipper barely holding him back as he rubbed himself against his assistant's own eager erection tenting his trousers.

When their lips finally parted, Bidwell gasped. "Mr. Hale!" he whined, fingers digging into the thick muscles of the larger man's back, a whimper following as Hale took the opportunity to bite at his neck.

"Mmm, thanks, mate," Hale hummed, making sure to suck in just the barest hickey below his collar before pulling away and setting him down.

Bidwell blinked up at him in confusion, doubly so as he stepped away and picked up their dropped things. "Sir?"

Hale set the little leather hat back atop his head and palmed at his cock, now starkly outlined in utterly lewd fashion by the tiny short he wore. "There we are. Aces. Much better visual for the catalog cover. Can't 'ave the masses thinkin' Saxton Hale's got a wee willy, eh?" He chuckled, taking a deep breath as he looked over his disheveled assistant and handed him back his paperwork. "Great work, Bidwell," he said with a grin, and ushered the man aside before opening the restroom door with a brave but wholly unnecessary kick and striding back to the set.

"Right, let's get these photos!"

Bidwell turned and watched him leave, the door—which was hinged to open inward—hanging half off of its hinges and wide open.

It was so sudden. It was so passionate. It was to get Hale hard so that he'd look good posing in those criminally tiny shorts to preserve his ego for the camera.

So why did it have to be with him? Like this? Couldn't he just have jerked off for a bit and come back unfinished?

Why him?

With a heavy sigh through his nose, Bidwell straightened his papers and adjusted himself in his trousers, and dutifully followed, holding his clipboard perhaps a bit lower than usual.

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Pleasure Doing Business Chapter 1

It's been a couple of months since the Builder's League United company gala, and Bidwell and Saxton Hale have been shagging regularly ever since. But that's all they've been doing. And Bidwell doesn't know what that means. Fortunately, he does know someone who can find out without putting himself through the mortifying ordeal of emotional vulnerability. Unfortunately he beat the tar out of that someone a couple of months ago at the Builder's League United company gala.

Luckily, anyone can be bribed. Anyone.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

Lbr Saxton Hale might not have a monster dick but he fucks like a damn monster. No warnings on this chapter other than Bidwell being OBLITERATED lmao.

---------

Bidwell gasped for air, each breath punched from his body as Saxton Hale's hips slammed against him, as his cock slammed into him, as he was filled so aggressively and thoroughly it chased the air from his lungs with each deafening crash of flesh. Breathing in was a struggle, both from the sheer unrelenting pace of Hale's thrusts and the way the giant Australian's body pinned him to the floor, his chest and its wiry hair grinding into Bidwell's back and crushing him as he balanced on the toes of his boots and hammered home with ruthless force.

His vision had long gone blurry, his mouth hanging open, spit pooling under his face as it pressed to the floor, all of what little sense Bidwell had left in his mind dedicated entirely on trying to find enough air to stay conscious. The rest of his thoughts were long gone, cooked down into a slurry by the vicious ramming of Hale's fat cock into his quivering body, the relentless hammering at his prostate, spearing violent bursts of agonizing pleasure into his body until all he was was pure electricity, sparking and bright, melting his physical form into slag beneath the mighty mass of muscle. All Bidwell could do was breathe and feel, the sheer power of Hale's cock inside of him the only thing keeping his hips in the air, the rest of his body completely boneless.

Hale grunted with his efforts, the clap of skin on skin filling the room along with his pants of exertion. Bidwell had long since gone silent, his moans pinching out as his voice first went ragged, then disappeared, the sensory onslaught too much to bear, to maintain use of his own body. Hale considered it an accomplishment, a sign that he was on the right track, and had redoubled his efforts in turn.

A good root wasn't a good root unless you both came away from it sweaty, messy, and sore. And it took a lot to leave the mighty Saxton Hale sore.

He was getting there, though. Time to bring this home. His morning break was almost up and he did have meetings later in the day.

Hale reached under Bidwell, taking rough hold of his cock in one massive hand, engulfing the oversensitive organ in his warm, calloused grasp. He grinned upon hearing Bidwell gasp in reply, finally catching enough air, and proceeded to pound it back out of him, picking up speed the smaller man didn't even know he could achieve.

"You gonna blow for me, mate?" Hale asked, running his thumb over the head. He could feel Bidwell's hole attempting little clenches, grasping at him with muscles that had been overpowered fifteen long minutes ago and battered into submission.

Then there was the squeeze he sought, Bidwell's body suddenly tensing every part at once, his voice returning in a ragged, mindless, animal wail of absolute overload as he came, filling Hale's hand with his release. He shuddered and shook, paroxysms of pleasure rocking his entire body as Hale's cock continued to punish his prostate, milking his climax out of him cruelly.

Bidwell collapsed, his legs finally fully giving out, flopping to the floor with Hale's hand still around his cock, and let himself be used as a hole for the giant to fuck, pounding hard and deep and growing sloppier as he closed in on the edge.

"Crikey!" Hale grit out, arching up as he came, stalling out inside of Bidwell as he pumped his load deep into the smaller man.

Bidwell felt the pulse of Hale's cock against his rim, the push of come flooding his body, and wasn't sure whether the lightheadedness was from his own climax, the sensation of Hale filling him with his seed, or asphyxiation.

White spots began to prickle at his vision.

Okay, more than a little bit was asphyxiation.

When Hale pulled out and rolled off of him, Bidwell gasped in a deep breath, coughing with the suddenness and shocking an ache through his abused pelvic floor. He did not move from where he lay, face-down on the floor of Hale's office, however.

Hale sprawled onto his back, sweaty and grinning like a maniac. "Proper root, that."

Bidwell made a sound that might be agreement.

Checking his watch, Hale reached around to find his hat. "Right, me smoko's up. You're on lunch, yeh?"

Another possible affirmative sound.

"Aces. Enjoy the rest of your break, mate. I'll get us some tea." With that, Hale stood and tucked himself back into his shorts with little ado. He stretched a bit and looked down at the utter mess of a man that lay crumpled on his office floor with a grin. He had to give it to Bidwell. For such a small American bloke, he took it like a bloody champion.

Bidwell huffed out a breath with a final noise of confirmation before he dimly listened to Hale's bootfalls tracking away, and the office door opening and closing.

He shivered, wishing that instead of a hot tea to look forward to, he had Hale's arm around him, his head resting on the Australian's massive bicep as he quivered and recovered. Would Hale grant him that if he asked? Would that be too personal? With a sigh, he tried to push himself off of the floor to clean up.

His arms gave out and left him flopping face-first to the office carpet.

Well, he did have fifteen minutes left on his lunch, at least.

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Think About Baseball

Scout loves him some baseball, but also needs to have something to do with his hands while he watches. Luckily, Sniper is something he can do with his hands.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

An UNREASONABLE amount of baseball research done for a short funny haha fanfic about handjobs I s2g. Also shoutout to @beepiesheepie for shootin' the shit with me about this gag MONTHS ago lol this has been on the to-do list for too long.

I realized too late that this easily could've NOT been an MI fic but then I was like fuck it.

"Long belt to left side of field, hopin' for it, and... unable to get it," the announcer on the television droned over the sounds of a roaring crowd and a cheering Scout, the camera following the flight of a baseball as it sailed over the left-centerfield fence, much to the ineffectual jumping of an outfielder.

"Yes! Hell yeah! Freakin' beautiful! You see that shit, Snipes?"

"It's a home run!" the announcer on the television added.

"Fuckin' A it is! Conigliaro creamed that!" Scout crowed, gesturing broadly to the television, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Freakin' beautiful."

"Y-yeh, sure, mate," Sniper finally replied, his voice pinched, breathy. He couldn't bring himself to care about the game if he tried.

He'd been relaxing on the couch, half-in, half-out of a nap when Scout had arrived and plunked down beside him to watch the day's baseball game. Sniper had simply stretched his legs out over the faun's lap and tugged his hat down over his eyes, no worries. The day's game was Scout's beloved Boston Red Sox up against the Detroit Tigers, after all, so Sniper didn't mind.

Yes, it meant that Scout would invariably be yelling at the telly and get up in arms about some play or another, but his friend's hooting and hollering had grown pretty easy to ignore over time. Sniper found himself resoundingly Used To It, and able to doze in spite of the faun's volume.

At least until Scout had gotten understimulated.

Normally, he would bounce his leg or fiddle with something as he watched, spending out his energy through some sort of fidgeting, some motion to let his mind stay engaged, but Scout had neglected to bring anything with him, and with the other man's legs laying across him, he couldn't tuck one leg up to bounce, and without proper heels or toes, he couldn't perform the motion with his feet on the floor as easily as he used to. So he was stuck.

"Hey Snipes," the faun had said, about five minutes into the first inning. "You want a handy?"

"What, right now?"

"Yeah, I need somethin' to do with my hands, I'm all antsy."

"Worried your team's gonna lose?"

"Against the Tigers? Ain't no way. Look, you want a handy or no?"

Sniper hadn't taken long to weigh his options. Sure, they were in a public space, but frankly worse had been gotten up to in the BLU rec room with regular frequency. "Alright."

And it had been settled. Scout had opened his fly, tugged his cock free of his trousers, and slowly stroked him until he'd gotten hard and comfortable in his grip, then set about idly teasing him as he watched the game, paying no attention to the near-automatic motion of his nimble fingers.

That had been three innings ago, and now, near the top of the fourth, Scout had been playing with Sniper's dick for a good fifty minutes or so. The bushman had melted into a puddle atop the couch, unable to do little more but shiver and hiss, staring blindly up at the ceiling and gripping the cushions for dear life. His hat had fallen to the floor unnoticed. Scout's fingers traced the ridge of the crown of Sniper's cock, circling, circling, circling, making the other man's head spin as his hips shuddered and jerked.

"Conigliaro's somethin' else, man. You know 'e only got one eye? Not like Demo or nothin'; it's still in 'is head an' stuff, but 'e's blind in that eye. Got hit by a real nasty pitch, right in the face. Sox still won the pennant that year," Scout rambled, his fingers pausing their circling to begin a series of come-hither swipes from frenulum to tip over and over, making Sniper's hips jerk up into each motion, the man's soft sounds turning to throaty gasps. "Saw that game live, too! It was at Fenway; Sox versus the Angels. Hamilton beaned 'im somethin' wicked. Cracked 'is cheekbone, dislocated 'is jaw, fucked up 'is retina. You knew right away that it was bad 'cause you could hear it hit 'im. It was brutal."

"Uh... uh huh..."

"Took 'im outta the rest 'a the season, an' the next year. Lost the Series to the Cardinals, an' I guarantee you if that fucker Hamilton hadn't beaned Tony C, we'd've gone all the way. The two chuckleheads they replaced 'im with—an' it took two guys to replace just him—couldn't hit the broad side of a damn barn! Twenty-four RBI in three hundred twenty-seven at bats between 'em! Rookie fuckin' numbers, man."

"Scout," Sniper gasped, white-knuckling the couch cushion with one hand, fingers threading through his own hair as he clutched at his head with the other, heat and pressure boiling over inside him. His face was bright red, his whole body trembling, his balls aching for release. Scout's voice washed over him in a torrent of noise, joined by the announcers, the crowd, the sound of his own laboured, panting breaths, a slurry of sensation that melted together around him as those calloused fingers wrapped around his shaft for a few lazy strokes before coming back to just teasing at the head, tracing repetitive motions on his hot, sensitive flesh. The tip was purple and weeping, and Sniper thought that he might be weeping too, his eyes watery with overstimulation as he struggled to breathe, to exist under the onslaught of Scout's feather-light touches. "Mate... please..."

"Tony C's a fuckin' contender though, I'll tell you that. Came back last year, knocked out twenty homers, eighty-two runs. For a guy with two eyes, that's a good season. For a guy with one, that's freakin' magic, man."

"Mate..." Sniper whimpered, hips stuttering into Scout's grasp, a whine leaving his throat as he began rubbing his thumb over the top side of his cockhead, slow circles accented by his index knuckle brushing the other side. He was going mad, tormented, tortured by Scout's idle, unfocused touches, feeling like he could barely breathe.

"Havin' a real good year this year, too. But that's to be expected. Guy's always been good, an' tough. Five years ago Conigliaro led the league in homers, an' played a hundred thirty-eight games, with a cracked freakin' wrist! Hit by a pitch for that one too."

"Scout, please..."

"I ain't sayin' opposin' pitchers had it out for the guy, but 'e got 'is arm broke by a pitch in 'is rookie season, too! They knew this guy had the juice an' they needed to take 'im out!" Scout chuckled. He pointed at the television. "Oh that guy who was just up, that was Billy Conigliaro, Tony's little brother. I think 'e's gonna be a guy to watch out for too. Havin' a great season. Not a homer champ like Tony, but 'e ain't no slouch, either. A real slugger, this kid. That groundout notwithstandin'."

Sniper bit his lip, trying to hold back a torrent of pathetic noise as Scout's fingertips traced fire across his skin and boiled his brain in his skull. "Scout..."

"Moses walks and... ugh, another groundout. Damn fine top 'a the innin', though, huh?" Scout said, turning to look at his companion as the Sox took the field and the Tigers came in to begin their turn at bat.

Sniper was sweating, wet-eyed, and panting, writhing on the couch in a pathetic mess as Scout toyed with his cock. He couldn't muster the presence of mind to respond, too far gone into maddening, agonizing pleasure.

"Oh, shit, it has been like four innings, hasn't it?" Scout laughed sheepishly. With a shrug of one shoulder, he shimmied out from under Sniper's legs and straddled them. The game could wait, the changeover took a little bit, and judging from the bushman's state, this wouldn't take long. Taking hold of the base of Sniper's cock, he wrapped his lips around it, enveloping him in wet heat with a little moan.

The reaction was instant, Scout's tongue stroking his oversensitive flesh, and Sniper came with a howl and a jerk, nearly bucking into the faun's throat from the sheer sudden force of it, both hands snapping down to grab his antlers as he filled his mouth with his long-delayed climax. He hissed, he cursed, he shuddered as bone-deep throbs of agonizing pleasure rippled through him, leaving him light-headed as he emptied himself onto his friend's tongue, and when it was finally over, he flopped bonelessly back down, shuddering with aftershocks, his breath hitching with each jolt.

Scout swallowed gladly and pulled off slowly, leaving Sniper to whimper with overstimulation. "Sorry 'bout that," Scout chuckled, looking down at his utterly wrecked friend. "Kinda forgot I was jerkin' you off, just kinda became somethin' my hand was just doin' idly."

Sniper made some kind of sound, possibly positive. It mostly just sounded like he was deflating.

With a grin, Scout settled back under Sniper's legs and pulled them onto his lap as he turned back to the television to watch the rest of the game.

"What the hell happened tae him?" Demoman asked as he walked into the room to see his husband slowly losing his corporeal form on the couch.

"Real good handy," Scout shrugged, eyes glued to the screen. He began to tap his fingers on Sniper's leg, fidgety energy already beginning to well back up in him. "Hey Demo, you wanna shove 'im over an' sit next to me? I need somethin' to do with my hands."

[typingatlightspeed]

poor pauling… i feel bad for her being emotionally manipulated by the administrator but holy shit and zoo wee mama. you may think you suck at writing vaginal sex, but i beg to disagree: you knocked it out of the park with that yuri!

also, a lot of mentions of smelling pheromones. i wonder how administrator even smells those! i certainly bet that makes it easier to manipulate people, though.

Poor Miss P, the most pathetic drowned rat of a woman stuck in the most toxic yuri situationship. RIP Miss P you deserve so much better lol.

Ngl it hurts a little to write it lol but knowing that after the DEVASTATION of everything in canon she'll be okay. <3 I like to think she found herself a lady who treats her right AND steps on her when she asks for it and will live happily ever after. As for MI, who the fuck knows (I mean I do but I ain't tellin' yet obv lol)

And thank you so much orz I'm deeply flattered and really appreciate the compliment! It means a lot, I always doubt the fuck outta myself when writing vaginal sex, since I don't do it as much.

Hm hm wonder indeed! >:3c And yeah being able to sense that kinda shit probably definitely gives her an edge on getting her way lol

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - These Violet Delights

Miss Pauling stops by The Administrator's office to report on Medic's most recent magical beakthroughs and what they can mean for the company. While she's there, The Administrator decides to conduct a "performance evaluation" to keep morale up. That is exactly as much a double entendre as you think it is.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

Hoo boy this took me forever to write because I suck at writing vaginal sex lmaoooo enjoy Miss P's pathetic praise kink party time! Woo! It's about time I write some goddamn Purple Pros ffs.

Part of this fic is directly inspired by this gorgeous Purple Pros piece by scarred-bartender (nsfw link)

"I'm sorry, miss, I can't let you in without an appoint—"

"It's alright, Miss Krauthammer, she'll be expecting me!" Miss Pauling assured, charging past the reception desk and the bespectacled woman sitting behind it. Krauthammer's calls after her fell on deaf ears as Pauling ducked behind her into the elevator down to the lower levels.

She clutched her clipboard to her chest as the doors closed, a frown on her face. She'd been working for the Administrator for years now, her assistant, her right hand! And yet Miss Krauthammer had somehow yet to bother to learn her face, let alone her name. How she kept her job was beyond Pauling, but perhaps the woman's propensity for turning away anyone with business was precisely why the Administrator saw value in her. After all, the Administrator didn't like to be bothered with frivolous things.

It only served to remind Pauling of why she usually took the back entrance down the tracks and rode the freight elevator rather than go through the offices. Guard dogs be damned, at least she didn't have to deal with the disrespect of that desk jockey.

Pauling let out a long sigh as the elevator came to a stop, letting her out into the large, circular underbelly of the TFI base, servers and data cables stretching down for storeys, thousands of tiny lights blinking in the gloom. The air conditioning blasted the massive chamber to near-freezing, working overtime to cool the mass of machinery collecting and cataloging information from every mercenary team on every battlefield, data from every shell company and interest TFI controlled, and so, so much more. In the open space between servers, Pauling knew it would be fairly balmy from the sheer amount of heat each computer put out. But up at the top, where the vents were unobscured, it made her breaths puff out visibly, condensing in the chilly air. Her shoes clicking on the scuffed metal floor, she headed for the elevator down to the heart of the data centre: the control room.

*

The Administrator frowned, more than usual. On the panoply of screens before her, mercenaries fought, bled, died, and awoke again to resume the cycle, staining the ground in crimson glory with every bullet, every bomb, every blade. Screams rang out through the tinny speakers on her switchboard console. Her eyes were focused instead on her arm, where the Life Extender Mark Four burrowed into her veins, its soft golden glow pumping a steady trickle of liquefied Australium into her body. She opened a hatch on the metal box, pulling free an empty glass vial, and replaced it with a fresh one, its golden glow filling the room for a bare moment before she plugged it in and shut the hatch. She took a deep breath and let out a longer one before rolling her sleeve back down and reaching for a cigarette.

More time added to the clock.

All she needed was more time.

And blood.

A gurgle bubbled through the speakers as on screen, the BLU Battery's spy sliced open the throat of RED Battery's medic, an arc of blood spraying across the grass as laughter danced in the spy's overlarge, metallic eyes.

More blood.

The door swung slowly open as the Administrator lit a cigarette and took a drag, Pauling slowly entering, cautious as ever. "Administrator?" she asked, unsure if she was actually intruding.

"Miss Pauling," the Administrator said, her voice a phlegmy purr. "Do come in."

Pauling slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

The Administrator's control room was dimly lit, the majority of illumination provided by the monitors stacked and arranged in a giant wall of video information that filled an entire side of the room. Before it sat the u-shaped switchboard console that was the Administrator's work station, a microphone jutting from it for her to speak into and make announcements across various battlefields.

Pauling wondered how she could stand to watch those monitors, day in and day out, bathed in shadow, without it making her eyes ache. Maybe it did, and she merely powered through it through sheer force of will. Maybe she simply refused the pain access, and would not deign to acknowledge its existence. Or maybe she was just used to it.

She crossed the largely empty office until she stood a few feet in front of the imposing woman in the swivel chair, almost afraid to come any closer. The light of the monitors behind her bathed her in a cold glow, making her grey hair glitter silver in the dim light. "Thank you, ma'am," she said, a bit meekly. It didn't matter how many times she'd stood in the Administrator's presence. The imperious gaze of the tall, gaunt, severe woman cowed her the instant it fell upon her. It made her nearly tremble from the sheer power in those eyes, a primal need to freeze or flee gripping her mind even as her pulse raced for entirely different reasons, her body responding in a far different manner to the steely glare of the old woman before her.

She felt her palms begin to sweat, and her eyes locked onto the cigarette cradled between her purple-painted lips. Onto the way her lipstick stained the paper. The way her mouth half-puckered around it. The Administrator took a drag and exhaled through her nose, smoke curling from her nostrils like some ancient dragon ready to burn her to cinders with a single breath, poised to strike for the slightest misstep.

Pauling swallowed hard.

The Administrator scoffed quietly. She could smell the woman's pheromones from there. It was pathetic how unsubtle she was. It was useful for keeping her obedient, however. "I'm not expecting you in office today, Miss Pauling. Don't you have assassinations to do?"

"A-actually, ma'am, I managed to get lucky and one of the targets changed his routine, so I was able to intercept him an hour earlier. I finished up ahead of schedule, so I did some extra scrying as I handled today's paperwork. And, well, I found something I thought I should bring to your attention. It's about BLU Fortress."

The Administrator rolled her eyes. "What now? Did they discover some new, novel way to pump their scout full of semen?"

Pauling, in spite of herself, snorted a laugh at that, a smile lingering on her lips as the Administrator lifted an eyebrow in reply, clearly at least a little amused, herself. "Nope," she laughed wobbily, "still doing that the old-fashioned way." When a barely audible scoff rewarded her, Pauling continued, emboldened. "But their Medic's been putting his nose to the grindstone on that magical research of his, and finally figured out that the medigun's casting spells."

"Staggering that it took this long," the Administrator replied with a shake of her head. "He's been studying magic for a year now."

"He's mostly been self-teaching," Pauling offered, a bit sympathetically. "So it's not like he has a rock-solid foundation to build on. I can only offer short lessons and pointers here and there, since I'm too busy to give him a full-on education or anything."

"Yes, magic lessons that take time away from your duties." The Administrator leveled a bemused look at her subordinate, making her shrink a little.

Pauling combed her fingers through her hair, a bit shaky. "I only use my breaks, ma'am. I wouldn't dream of wasting your time on anything but your needs," she assured her, eyes locking onto the floor. "I just don't want him doing something stupid that would cut into that time I should be using for your needs in order to clean up after him," she hastily added.

"Mm." The Administrator swiveled her chair halfway back to the monitors, sparing them a glance for a moment. "Is that all, then? He knows how his own invention works?" she hummed. "How is this not a waste of my time?"

"T-that's not all," Pauling stammered. "He's mastered replicating the effect without the use of a medigun, including the soul tethering required."

"So he no longer needs a medigun," the Administrator said evenly.

"Yes ma'am. I've drafted provisions for the next contract to expressly forbid its use, even though the current contract already has language banning the use of spells not specifically allowed in the text of the contract, just to make sure. Fortress' medics tend to be very picky about the wording of their contracts, and like to try and weasel around them if they can."

A smile crossed the Administrator's thin lips. "Good. Let him know he can continue his research, but make sure the contract notes the company's right of first refusal extends to magical innovations while under the terms of the contract, and any items crafted using these innovations must be distributed through MannCo, as with mundane innovations, like usual." She took a drag from her cigarette. "Add it to the terms of the nondisclosure agreement, as well. As long as he works for us, those spells and anything based on them belong to us."

"Yes ma'am," Pauling said, scribbling down notes on her clipboard dutifully.

"Is there anything else?"

"No ma'am. I'm also increasing surveillance on that magician BLU Medic meets with too, just in case. He doesn't seem to care, but he also knows how the medigun works now, so if he makes any moves with that knowledge he'll be taken care of."

"Why wait?"

"He may be useful for assisting with future innovations BLU Medic may come up with, which can be monetized through MannCo. I thought it prudent to merely make sure he stays in line rather than interrupt a possible R&D process," Pauling replied, checking her own notes.

The Administrator nodded, pursing her lips in thought. "Well done."

The way the tiny woman brightened up, the Administrator imagined she could practically see a tail wagging behind her, faithful hound that she was. She regarded her through the corner of her eye for a long moment. Training a dog required positive reinforcement, treats as rewards for desirable behaviour. "Miss Pauling, when was your last performance review?"

At the words 'performance review', Pauling felt a bolt of heat hit her straight between the thighs. Those words meant one thing to her.

The bloom of pheromones into the room was immediate and pathetic. The Administrator schooled her expression to not laugh as she sensed the instant arousal of the petite woman in her presence.

"Um, it was three months ago," Pauling replied, salivating in anticipation.

"It's time for another," the Administrator said, reaching over to her console and stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray that sat there. "Come here."

Pauling didn't need to be told twice. She was in front of the Administrator's chair in an instant, on her knees, glasses sitting atop her clipboard on the floor nearby. When the older woman uncrossed her legs and spread her thighs, a soft gasp escaped her, making the Administrator sneer.

She truly was pitifully enthralled with her.

How useful.

"Get to it," she spat, her eyes narrow as she glared down at her supplicant assistant. "I don't have all day."

"Yes, Administrator," Pauling fairly whimpered, snapping from her reverie and into action. Nimble hands reached up the older woman's skirt, reaching higher, higher, making her lean between the Administrator's thighs, so close to her. She smelled of smoke and perfume, and just dimly, just barely, Miss Pauling could catch the scent of her arousal, sparked to life by the contact, by anticipation, and she could feel her own panties already clinging to her, just this small bit of hope, this barest nothing being enough to soak her. She took hold of the waistbands of the Administrator's pantyhose and underwear together and slowly tugged them down, allowing her to adjust to allow for the garments to slide away, to just past her knees so that she could spread her thighs.

Gods, the scent of her.

Miss Pauling ducked under the clothes, into the space between the Administrator's thighs, and shuddered with excitement as the older woman leaned back in her seat, presenting herself for Pauling, who hiked her skirt up for access, unable to proceed without taking a moment to admire the sight.

Thin thighs with thin skin, pale with a spiderweb network of veins visible beneath the surface, spread wide for her, revealing an untrimmed thatch of salt-and-pepper hair, split up the middle as her lips spread a bit with the position, welcoming her with a glimpse of warm pink. With a moan, she finally dove in, taking a deep breath as her nose came to rest in the Administrator's pubic hair, her tongue licking a long stripe up from vag to clit, desperate to taste all of her.

The Administrator lit another cigarette and took a deep drag, exhaling around a soft moan. "Miss Pauling," she cautioned, reminding the younger woman of her job here. This wasn't for her, after all. This wasn't leisure time. This was part of her job.

Miss Pauling could always be depended on to do her job, and do it well.

As Pauling set to lapping at the Administrator's clit, coaxing it to swell against her tastebuds, she earned more soft hums of pleasure for her efforts. Her breaths came shuddering, hungry, needful as she licked her like a favourite treat (which she very much was), her hands flexing and fisting in the fabric of her own skirt, resisting the urge to grab her thighs, to slide her fingers inside of the Administrator, to touch and tease and pleasure her with every part of her that she could.

She did not have permission to put her hands on the Administrator. Gods, did she dream of it, though. Of being given access to her, fully naked, and touching her everywhere, kissing her everywhere, licking every inch of her beautiful body and making her moan in ecstasy. Of hearing that smoky voice tell her how good a job she was doing, how good she made her feel, how good she was.

The Administrator afforded her precious few sounds, soft sighs and heavy breaths the barest instruction to work from, holding her voice back as Miss Pauling warmed her up. She took a deep drag and exhaled long and slow, smoke curling from her violet lips. "Miss Pauling," she cautioned, and the smaller woman already knew what she meant. Her clit was nice and filled out, it was time to move on from the opening volley of lapping.

She afforded herself a brief lick down to her opening, to taste her musky slickness, pushing her tongue inside of her and drinking deep of her. She moaned into the Administrator, shoving her face between her lips to push her tongue in as deep as it could go, fucking her with it, shuddering with the mere thought of being inside of her. She let a hand slip under her own skirt, pressing against her wet panties as her hips began to rock, rubbing against herself as she slurped at the Administrator's pussy with desperate need.

A soft moan rewarded her, and it was beautiful. She kept it up, bobbing her head to push in deep, lashing with her tongue, licking at her walls, crushing her nose against her clit, rubbing at herself and moaning into her hungrily. She felt her clenching, those walls clamping around her tongue, rippling with encouragement. Soon, bony fingers threaded into her hair and sharp nails grazed her scalp, and the Administrator's hand fisted in her hair, making her whine as she dragged her up, pulling her tongue from inside and back to her clit. She held her there, grasp tight, pulling at her hair painfully and making Pauling's hips snap against her hand.

"You've had your fun. Finish me off, Miss Pauling. I have things to do today."

Miss Pauling didn't bother with words, merely set to work. She lapped at the Administrator's clit, then latched on to suckle at it gently, earning a grunt, which faded into an actual, true moan as she transitioned to teasing at it with the tip of her tongue. She poked beneath the hood at the hypersensitive glans it hit, setting her tongue against it and drawing shapes there, sparking sharp, potent pleasure through the older woman. The Administrator's grip tightened, and Pauling gasped, redoubling her efforts.

The Administrator stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and let her head loll back against the chair, gripping its arm with her free hand. Miss Pauling's tongue drew out pure bliss upon her, finally forcing husky groans from her open mouth, her thighs beginning to quake. She shuddered, a wordless, "Hnnnnnnn," leaving her as her hips squirmed a bit, urging herself forward as she grew closer to the edge.

She came with a throaty cry, fluttering around Pauling's fingers and yanking her by the hair against herself to hold her in place, to bury the other woman in her pussy and hold her there until she was finished, hips stuttering and humping her face. She could feel Miss Pauling's moans against her, her mouth curving into a grin as her climax subsided.

Miss Pauling whimpered as the Administrator forced her face down and shoved her against her pussy fully, burying her between her lips and wiping her slickness all over her nose, mouth, and cheeks. All the same, she could feel Pauling's tongue lapping at her, snaking inside, cleaning her up and swallowing her down. When she was sure her assistant's lungs must be burning, she pulled her away roughly and let go, sending her falling backward onto the floor gasping for air, her face shiny and red.

The Administrator hummed with satisfaction and pulled her underwear and pantyhose up, then fixed her skirt, settling back down into her seat comfortably. A bit of flush to her cheeks was the only sign anything had transpired, save for her assistant on the floor. She crossed her legs and regarded the small woman coolly.

"How was my performance, ma'am?" Miss Pauling asked, panting.

The Administrator scoffed. "Meets expectations."

"Thank you, ma'am," Miss Pauling replied, lighting up as she climbed slowly, shakily to her feet, grabbing her things on the way up, settling her glasses back on her nose.

"Enough to earn you a bonus, I'd say," the Administrator added, as coy as someone so dispassionate could be.

Pauling's legs nearly gave out on her. "Ma'am?"

The Administrator pointed to her lap wordlessly. "Pantyhose to your knees. Panties around your thighs. Now." Miss Pauling reached under her dress and yanked down the offending garments, possibly faster than she ever had. As commanded, she took a seat on the Administrator's lap, and was quickly accosted by a hand fisting in her hair once again, yanking her back over one arm of the chair as the Administrator's other hand sank between her thighs, even as her panties held them mostly closed, her legs draped over the other chair arm.

The Administrator sank her middle and ring fingers into her, pushing inside in a single, easy motion, a smirk crossing her lips as Pauling cried out and tensed in her grasp. Immediately, she clenched around the invasion.

"You're soaked," the Administrator observed, sliding her fingers out and pulling her hand away a bit. She watch with affected distaste as a line of fluid arced between her fingers and Pauling's pussy, sagging as the distance increased but not breaking.

"I—"

"You enjoy licking me that much, Miss Pauling?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," Pauling whimpered, half wishing she could look the Administrator in the face, to read her expression. The hand gripping her hair tightened and pulled her further back, arching her over the arm and forcing her hips up.

"You're a mess," the Administrator hummed, venom in her voice as she pressed her slick fingers to the lips of Pauling's pussy and swept along them, feeling how her wetness had spread and covered her as she'd serviced her superior. "Sopping wet," she fairly spat.

"Yes, ma'am," Miss Pauling gasped, trying to keep her hips still, to let the Administrator play with her as she wished. If she tried to spur her to more action, got pushy, she was sure she'd be dumped to the floor and told to leave. She clutched her clipboard to her chest and trembled as those slippery fingers began rubbing idly at her clit, just the barest contact, the slightest friction, slick and wet and not enough but so, so much. She whimpered, her chest heaving with hurried breaths of anticipation as slow throbs of pleasure began to gradually ripple through her.

"Good," the Administrator chuckled, husky and dark. "Job satisfaction is important in a career as important as yours." She slipped her fingers back down and into Pauling, filling her suddenly and making her jolt. "And your work is very important, Miss Pauling." She flicked her fingers inside of her, making the little woman jerk with a gasp. "Without your diligence, I would not be able to run this organization the way I do." She kept flicking; hard, sharp taps against the smooth wall of her g-spot, morse code spelling pure pleasure making her tremble and shake and moan, her voice coming out in choked struggles to stay quiet enough to hear the Administrator's smoky words of praise.

The heel of the Administrator's hand ground against Pauling's clit, and her legs began to shake. She was already obviously close, and it was almost pathetic how easy it was to push the correct buttons. Might as well finish up and get back to work. The Administrator wrenched Pauling's head up, bringing their faces close, looking into the younger woman's big, green eyes that were watery with ecstasy. "You're important to TFI, Miss Pauling," the Administrator purred, leaning in. Her lips barely brushed Pauling's, the ghost of contact. "You're important to me," she lied.

Miss Pauling came with a wail, her eyes squinting hard but not closing, desperate to maintain contact with the Administrator's as her brows furrowed and she cried out her release, her whole body going taut, her walls clamping rhythmically around those bony fingers.

When she faded into whimpers, her orgasm spent, the Administrator withdrew her fingers from Miss Pauling and regarded her hand with a frown. With a wiggle of her fingers and a soft purple glow, her hand was magically clean, and she unwrapped her fist from Pauling's hair. She urged her off of her lap, leaving Pauling to wobble to her feet on unsteady legs, looking like a newborn deer as she stumbled away to tug her underwear and pantyhose back into place.

"Th-thank you, Administrator," Pauling ventured. She was utterly disheveled, her face covered in pussy juice and flushed red. Her hair had half-pulled from its bun and her glasses sat crooked on her nose. "I—"

"Go clean yourself up, Miss Pauling," the Administrator simply replied, lighting a cigarette. She took a long drag. "Don't you have corpses to burn the fingerprints off of this afternoon?"

Swallowing hard, Pauling took a deep breath. "Y-yes, ma'am. I'll get right on it," she said, unable to hide the longing in her voice. She bit down on her clipboard to hold it as she began undoing her bun to retie it, turning to head for the door.

"Miss Pauling?"

Pauling stopped, turning back, her hair sweeping down her back as she yanked the clipboard from her mouth. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You're Fortress' handler. Not their friend. Try not to get too attached, RED or BLU." The Administrator took a deep drag, slowly exhaling smoke through her nose. "You know full well how we look upon friendship at TFI."

Her heart already pounding, Pauling feared it would leap up her throat and out of her mouth. She swallowed hard. "Yes, Administrator."

"That's all."

With a nod, Pauling left, closing the door behind her. She fell back against the doorjamb, sliding down it to the floor with a long exhale. She knew she was doing the right thing. She knew it. She'd been rewarded for it.

But still.

Something about the look in the old woman's eye when she said, 'friendship.'

It wasn't the stern, authoritative, deeply attractive kind of scary that made Pauling weak in the knees.

This made her blood run cold.

Pauling dropped her clipboard to the floor and her cunt-smeared face into her hands.

Why the fuck was that even hotter?

[typingatlightspeed]

i wonder how hard the cogs are working in scout's brain to understand all of the High-Quality Lightspeed-Brand Magic Mumbo Jumbo medic's talking about, in the middle of the night, no less. what medic's talking about isn't that unfamiliar to him, but i'm guessing his brain is working overtime to understand it all, huh?

also, i got to the end of the bullet point list, and the brisk "that little gay judas" had me roflmaool (rolling on the floor laughing my ass off out loud). like. yeah bidwell really messed up. That Little Gay Judas

I imagine half of it is just washing over him until Medic says Important Words, lol. Like yup yup okay doc sure yeah whatever wait what do you mean Archie has the same lifespan as you that is FOREVER??? (Aka I imagine it's a lot like when my players get High-Quality GM Luna-Brand Magic Bullshit at 2am at larp lol)

Ehehehe I'm glad you found it as funny as I did writing it. I just had to. Spy is clearly still salty lmao

[typingatlightspeed]

you should make a monstrous intent relationships chart lol

This has been EATING at me, Anon! I couldn't figure out a good way to visualize this that wouldn't be SO CLUTTERED and also I am not an artist, lol! So I did the next best thing: a bullet-pointed list!

Then I got a quarter of the way through the thing, realized the bullet points were way too long and in-depth and got bored and made a second, much more succinct bullet-pointed list! Enjoy!

This baby is current as of Silver Thread, btw. So yanno, card subject to change as future fics come out. :3

Scout

Soldier - Boyfriends

Pyro - Friends, fucking regularly, in love with him

Demoman - Romantic friends, fucking regularly, in love with him

Heavy - Boyfriends

Engineer - Friends, fucking regularly, in love with him

Medic - Boyfriends

Sniper - Best friends, fucking regularly, in love with him

Spy - Boyfriends, slowly learning to respect his boundaries and have patience but knows Spy is worth it

Soldier

Scout - Boyfriends

Pyro - Friends, thinks he's cute

BLU Demoman - Kinda distant friends. Used to be closer friends, but the whole RED Demoman made things awkward for a long time

RED Demoman - Exes. MESSY. Finally starting to get over him

Heavy - Friends

Engineer - Friends

Medic - Friends

Sniper - Friends, fucking occasionally

Spy - Friends

Pyro

Scout - Friends, fucking regularly, trying to figure out exactly how he feels

Soldier - Friends, developing a crush

Demoman - Friends, wants him to socialize more

Heavy - Friends, flirty

Engineer - Boyfriends, may as well be fucking married tbh

Medic - Friends

Sniper - Friends

Spy - Besties

Demoman

Scout - Romantic friendship, fucking regularly, loves him but not ready to commit to relationship

Soldier - Distant friends, misses his buddy and glad he's coming around

Pyro - Friends, appreciates how much he cares

Heavy - Friends, curious about how jotun v werewolf would stack up (fight or sexually but really both)

Engineer - Friends

Medic - Friends, thinks he's hot and a great lay

Sniper - Husbands, his heart, his sun, his moon, his stars in the sky, makes him a better person, he's perfect

Spy - Friends, fucking regularly (with Sniper), canid solidarity

Heavy

Scout - Boyfriends

Soldier - Friends, likes how well he treats Scout

Pyro - Friends, flirty, thinks he's cute

Demoman - Friends, REALLY enjoyed watching him plow Medic, would love some jotun v werewolf (fighting and fucking)

Engineer - Friends

Medic - Boyfriends, may as well be fucking married tbh, nested primary partner, they go together

Sniper - Friends, wants to hit that again ngl

Spy - Friends, fucking regularly, has developed feelings but unsure what to do with them yet

Engineer

Scout - Friends, fucking regularly, still trying to figure out exactly how he feels before committing to anything

Soldier - Friends

Pyro - Boyfriends, may as well be fucking married tbh

Demoman - Friends

Heavy - Friends, thinks he's sexy

Medic - Besties, has the hots for him more than a little

Sniper - Friends, lowkey using how flirty he is as the measuring stick for when he'll finally tip over from human to not human

Spy - Friends, fucking regularly, great pain pig sub

The Administrator - Boss, scares the piss outta him, has to stay on her good side to keep the Australium coming, family legacy tied up with her is... complicated

Medic

Scout - Boyfriends

Soldier - Friends, fascinated by his biology (wants to run tests on that neck void of his)

Pyro - Friends, respects his magical knowledge, fascinated by his biology (and stymied that Pyro hasn't let him study it)

Demoman - Friends, finds him attractive, finds his werewolf form even more attractive, wants to get railed again

Heavy - Boyfriends, may as well be fucking married tbh

Engineer - Besties, has the hots for him more than a little

Sniper - Friends, has the hots for him more than a little

Spy - Friends, fucking regularly, has developed feelings but unsure what to do with them yet

Sniper

Scout - Besties, fucking regularly, loves him but not ready to commit to a relationship

Soldier - Friends, fucking occasionally

Pyro - Friends, thinks he's hot, wants to shag proper not just as part of a threesome

Demoman - Husbands, his sun, his moon, his stars in the sky, loves the whole werewolf thing, he's perfect

Heavy - Friends, thinks he's hot, wants to take that jotun dick again

Engineer - Friends, thinks he's a looker, wonders what else that robot hand can do

Medic - Friends, monsterfucker accomplice, thinks he's hot, wants to shag again

Spy - Friends, fucking regularly (with Demo), might be developing a crush, can't stop himself from teasing and messing with him sometimes

Spy

Scout - Boyfriends, slowly learning to really let him in and be comfortable with that

Soldier - Friends, vacillates between being done with him and finding him charming, not immune to that broad chest

Pyro - Besties, curious about his nature and loves how much he likes to fuck with him, maybe a little crush

Demoman - Friends, fucking regularly (with Sniper), has noticed how good Sniper is for him which has also helped him see just how charming Demo can be, maybe a little crush

Heavy - Friends, fucking regularly, has absolutely developed feelings but unsure what to do with them yet

Engineer - Friends, fucking regularly, trying to ignore the fact that he's developed feelings and just tells himself the rimjobs are just that good (I mean they are but still)

Medic - Friends, fucking regularly, has absolutely developed feelings but unsure what to do with them yet

Sniper - Friends, fucking regularly (with Demo), drives him crazy but he'd be stupid to deny how attractive he is which only drives him craier, maybe a little crush

Bidwell - That little gay Judas

[typingatlightspeed]

i am a big fan of magic worldbuilding and yours is no exception! it is 4am and i have no words to describe how much i love it. just know that i do.

also, the scout and pyro sex was actually so cute. it's so adorable i could squeal. it's nice how everyone revels (heh) in the scout's presence, even if he can be a little shit sometimes

also merasmus being somewhat jealous of medic's magical talent is so funny. good thing medic doesn't know everything, so merasmus can at least squeeze some bucks out of him as redress

Ehehe thank you! I'm having a lot of fun with it, ngl. Silver Thread in particular has forced me to figure out a lot of my worldbuilding, which already has the gears turning for future events! That oh ho ho delightfully devilish feeling of pieces clicking into place lol.

I haven't given Pyro and Scout growing closer enough screen time, and they deserve some, so I wanted that scene to show it. Pyro's still figuring things out, but they've definitely gotten more into each other lol. And yes! They all care about Scout, even if he's a little shit. But he's a charming little shit in his way. <3

I'm glad Merasmus getting so fed up with Medic being a magic wunderkind turned out as funny as I'd hoped. XD He's just such a petty bitch lmao

[typingatlightspeed]

you write in a way that is so compelling. like, even your smut fics that are centered around kinks that don't really interest me are compelling. you just write so well and it really shows through

AWUH ANON YOU'RE SO SWEET!

Thank you so much, I'm so deeply flattered!!! I can't express enough how touched I am!

[typingatlightspeed]

the valentine's ficlets are super cute!!

Aww thank you anon! <3

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Silver Thread Chapter 4 FINAL

Flush with new information and new research, Medic burns the midnight oil without realizing it, leading Scout to go looking for him. They discuss the implications of using the silver thread, familiar binding, souls, and lifespans. Medic finds yet more purpose in his magical research.

Also Scout has tapetum lucidum now. Or did he always have it? *shrug*

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

Chapter 1! Chapter 2! Chapter 3!

Was that enough magic worldbuilding for you guys? Hot damn this one became a WHOLE ASS THING that was only supposed to be a SMALL ASS THING but then I got on a real roll about it lol. BUT honestly the stuff I figured out writing this is going to influence so much going forward, and helped me answer a lot of my own questions as to how I was going to handle stuff for later on. I love it when a plan comes together. :3

---------

"Fuck's sake," Scout grumbled, the infirmary office door squeaking loudly as he opened it. They really needed to get Engineer up here to grease the damn hinge already. It had been like this since the last time they'd been stationed here. All the same, he poked his head into the office, the rest of him slowly following as he snuck in from the hallway into near-darkness.

The lights were off and night had long-since fallen, the only illumination in the office coming from the moonlight streaming through the high windows and flashes of azure light as Medic's hands swept through the air in calculated arcs with precise flicks and jerks of his fingers, tugging threads of magical energy from the aether and weaving them together into half-begun spells before dropping away and beginning again. The light shone off of Medic's glasses as it swept into then out of existence, making spots dance before Scout's eyes as he gingerly approached, enshrouded in shadow.

"Doc?"

Medic yelped, jolting in sudden alarm as a voice from the darkness pulled him from his focus, the only thing his eyes could lock onto in the gloom a pair of green dots that seemed to glow. He blinked owlishly, the phantom trails in his vision from the bright magical light making it hard to adjust. "Scout?" he finally ventured, realizing whose voice he'd heard. "Is that you?" He frowned, seeing those green glows blink in the inky void of his office. "Have you always had tapetum lucidum and I just hadn't noticed? Or is that new?"

"Tape-what?" Scout waved him off as he approached, finally stepping into what little moonlight illuminated the area near Medic's desk. He was naked, unsurprisingly. He had a habit of not bothering to make himself decent on his way to and from the bathroom at night. "You okay, Doc? Why're you sittin' around in the dark?"

Medic tittered, a bit embarrassed. "I may have lost track of time and sort of... not noticed."

"I'll say," Scout huffed. "Me an' Heavy hit the sack hours ago, man! We figured you'd catch up, but when I got up to piss an' you still weren't there, I figured I knew where I'd find you. But in the dark?" He shook his head, a little dismayed at just how wrapped up Medic had gotten. "How're you even gettin' anythin' done like this?"

"Ach, it's mostly weaving work at this point," Medic sighed, flopping back into his chair. "I'm sure I have what I need to do down, I'm just trying to figure out how to adjust my somatics and pull the right energies in the right directions to get the results I want. I need to meld a few elements of the familiar binding spell into my ranged healing spell, and I'll finally have the effect I'm trying to achieve."

"Familiar binding?"

"Ja, it turns out the way the medigun grasps the silver thread is by mimicking the opening moves of an archaic version of a familiar binding spell, the part that separates out and takes hold of the target's silver thread. Typically a familiar binding spell, like what I performed on Archimedes, will take that thread and permanently bond it to the fully intact silver thread of the caster, binding their souls together. It's how Archimedes now shares my unlimited lifespan. Though other aspects of that spell bind our minds and senses and elevate his sapience. Those, I don't need to mimic—"

"Wait, so because you attached Archie's soul to yours, he's immortal?"

"He has a functionally unlimited lifespan, just as I do, and just as you do. He is not immortal, and can very much die. Which is why it's important that he's registered in Respawn."

"Okay, yeah, but Doc don't you get it? Fuck a healin' spell; ain't this the solution to Misha's whole agin' problem? The whole 'he's gonna grow old an' die and we ain't gonna' thing? You could just make the big guy your familiar an' then—"

"If it were that easy, every wizard would make their beloved their familiar. But it doesn't work that way," Medic sighed, clicking on his desk lamp and bathing the area in dim light. Sitting atop the desk was a large, dense magical tome bound in human skin with steel fittings, Medic's disheveled composition book containing all of his magical studies and theories open beside it and covered in notes and diagrams scrawled in blue ballpoint pen. Scout couldn't read it, but he wasn't sure whether the notes were in German, or simply illegible due to Medic's nightmarish penmanship. Either way, he squinted in the sudden light and peered at the book all the same.

"The entire familiar spell requires an animal of lesser sapience than the caster," Medic explained, pointing to a callout on the tome itself. "I've spent most of the evening going over the second volume of Codex Principium. I bought it from Merasmus, and it details the familiarization process in great detail. Unfortunately, only the soul binding is relevant to my uses, as the spell also melds the minds and senses of caster and familiar, which is why Archimedes and I can understand one another perfectly. I can also scry through his eyes with minimal effort, should I choose."

"So Misha's too smart?"

"In essence. Trying to bind two minds of comparable sapience creates a feedback loop that actually disrupts the spell and causes it to fail entirely. The minds are too complex for the spell to function, for all intents and purposes."

"Okay, but it's the soul bond thing that makes the lifespan thing work, right?"

"Yes."

Scout fairly danced from hoof to hoof in excitement. "Well that's the solution, right? If you can figure that part out, then you can bind Meesh's soul to yours without changing who or what he is. Does that make sense?"

Medic grinned. "It does. But outside of familiar binding or the creation of specific undead, I'm unsure of a way to actually attach the souls together permanently. The addition to the spell I'm devising right now simply teases out the thread, allowing the temporary grasping of it to channel the spell. The actual soul binding is tied into the psychic link in both the archaic and modern iterations of the spell, in spite of their comparatively different orders of operation."

"Meanin'..."

"Meaning this spell can help me figure out how to grasp another creature's silver thread, but it cannot tell me how to bind it to my own in any way that will be useful for Misha. Or any other person, really. Only animals, and even then it can get iffy depending on what sort of animal one is working with, down to the individual animal, if they are intelligent enough."

Scout's face fell. He looked ready to cry, looking up from Medic's notes to the doctor, whose face wore the shadows of the room heavily. "So there's no way?"

Medic looked over his notes, rubbing at his chin with his thumb and forefinger for a moment. "I didn't say that." He laid a hand on Scout's back, sliding to his shoulder and giving him a gentle squeeze. "It will merely be incredibly difficult. But once I master teasing out the thread and taking hold of it, and adapting that into this healing spell, I can work outward from there. Once I have a firm grasp on the thread and manipulating it, I can research and experiment from there." A grin crossed his face, and Scout could see the resolve building in his eyes. "It will take time, Spatz, but I will take hold of Misha's thread, and I will stitch it onto my own soul," he shot up, standing from his chair and sending it rolling backward, flaring his wings wide, galvanized with purpose, "binding us together for as long as I live!"

As soon as it arrived, Medic's manic grin fled, softening into something gentle, something thoughtful. A soft laugh hefted out of him.

As long as he lived.

Heavy was right.

Til death do they part.