NOTE: As said in the description, this is just a lot of me getting random words from friends and using them to write little TF2 mini-fics. They aren't all directly related to each other, but they are all in the same little universe in ze game. I'm going to try to keep set pairings, but please don't be too made if I lose track and throw together two people when one of them has already had fluffy moments with someone else. :P Also, IF YOU ARE AGAINST GUYS LOVING GUYS FOR WHATEVER REASON, THIS MAY NOT BE THE FIC FOR YOU! Quick warning there, because I love guys who love guys. Since the chapters aren't all directly connected, at least you can skip one if there's a pairing you really don't want anything to do with and you probably won't be missing much. Whoo. If there's a random word you want to see, feel free to review or pm me and let me know. I'll get to it when I can, yeah? Great! Sorry if I'm not so good with typing the accents. . Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy! :D

Pairing: BSpy/BSniper

Disclaimer: I don't own Team Fortress 2 or the characters/world therein, silly! I'd be a lot less poor if that were the case. xD

~DANCE~

There was no music playing in the bowels of the BLU base at Tuefort, but that didn't stop the drunken stumbling of the team's resident Scottish cyclops. With all the grace one would expect from an inebriated Scott, the man was prancing and spinning and making a complete ass of himself, but damn did he look happy doing it. They had finished the day's battles and had thoroughly defeated the REDs, with the demolitions expert being the last the retrieve the enemy intel. He was dancing to celebrate.

Around the room, the others were all sharing in the excitement of a day well spent against their adversaries. The Scout was more than happy to take a few swigs of Scrumpy and took it upon himself to 'show the one-eyed wonder how its done' while the Pyro laughed in the psychotic way he, she, it usually does before joining in with some air guitar, as though that would provide some background music for the others to dance to. The Heavy and Engineer were both watching their team mates with amused expressions, one offering up encouraging words to his team in broken English and the other tapping a steady beat with his foot for the others to fallow. Even the Medic was trying to enjoy the festivities with stories about similar jovial behavior when he was young in Germany, but this sparked an argument between him and the Soldier that involved a lengthy discussion about what did and didn't qualify as "spineless Nazi scum".

The Sniper stood away from the rest of his team. He was watching them from a safe distance, much like his habits during battle. Being part of the group had never really been his thing and he wasn't about to start now. Especially if it meant the rest of the team finding out that he really did have two left feet. Standing still was something he could do. He could spend days in a single position, just waiting for the right moment to strike or move. It was part of hunting in the Outback. Still, he enjoyed standing away from the others, back against the wall, keen eyes hidden behind yellow aviators as he watched his team make fools of themselves for the sake of having fun and secretly envying them their ability to be so... unprofessional.

It didn't take more than a couple of hours before the men of Builder's League United started out of the intelligence room and up to the bed, or the kitchen area for a snack before bed. It was almost unnerving how abruptly the change from loud and happy to silent and alone was. The Sniper was the last one in the room with his back still against the wall. He wanted to leave with the rest of them, but it wasn't exactly his style. He hated being as shy as he was. It almost helped that he told himself it was because he liked to keep an air of professionalism with the team and that joining in wouldn't help that. He wasn't really fooling himself.

He was about to push away from the wall and head to his van when the air in front of him shifted and wavered. With a hint of smoke, the team's spy appeared before him, with his trademark cigarette hanging from his lips.

He lifted a gloved hand to his face and removed the gently burning stick before speaking, "'ow fitting that you and I do not partake in zese little team building exercises, mon tireur isole."

"We ain't exactly team players," The Australian shrugged. He was well aware that the rest of the team didn't think he did as much as they did, but their inability to appreciate the skill it takes to bag a moving target from a small window without being seen wasn't something that bothered him. Much. Usually. Sometimes, it did. He tried not to think about it.

It didn't take much movement for the cigarette to be tossed at their feet and put out by the toe of the Spy's expensive shoe. He smirked, "We are both team players in our own way, are we not? Even if the rest of zem do not acknowledge it."

The Sniper shrugged, somewhat uncomfortable. He wasn't used to anyone bothering to speak more than a few words to him, especially not the allusive Spy who didn't say much of anything beyond insults to anyone- team or no. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Zen we deserve to dance as well, non?" The Spy murmured, with a smirk.

The Sniper didn't have time to protest before a gloved hand grabbed his own and pulled him away from the wall. The Spy held one of the Sniper's hands in his own, the other coming to rest on the small of the taller man's back. He gently lead the Aussie away from the wall he had been watching from and through the room with careful movements. Dancing was, after all, something at which the Spy excelled. He was a man of class; it came with the job description.

Being lead by someone who was a good three inches shorter than himself wasn't too bad, but the part where it was a -man- a good three inches shorter than himself that bothered the Sniper. Still, he tried to keep pace with the spook's movements, his other hand awkwardly around the Frenchman's shoulders. His movements weren't the easy gliding of his dance partner. He was clumsy and unsure of himself at the beginning. Interacting with people made him some kind of uneasy, and dancing made him nervous. The combination of the two seemed like something designed specifically to humiliate the Sniper and remind him of his inadequacies in dealing with other human beings. It made him hold the other man closer to himself that what was necessary. Somehow, that was comforting. It might have been the Spy's cologne. Yeah, he'd blame that.

The longer they danced, the more used to it the Sniper got. He may not have been the best, but he was a quick enough study when he put his mind to it, and the Spy was keeping their pace slow enough that he could fall into the rhythm of their movements. With each step, the bushman's apprehension slid away and his stiff movements thawed into something that flowed better with the other.

"You are doing good, mon tireur," The Spy murmured as he lead the pair of them through the room in slow circles. He couldn't resist adding, "For a filthy jar man."

Once again, sounds of the room changed dramatically as the Sniper pushed away from his dance partner and stalked away, muttering to himself about bloody useless spies as he retreated to his van. The only noise left was the sound of the Spy's laughter as he watched his team mate leave.

The Sniper made it halfway to his room before he calmed down enough to realize that the Spy hadn't called him isolated and what the dance had meant.