Title: Peaceful Breathing
Category: Games » Team Fortress 2
Language: English, Rating: Fiction Rated: T
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Sniper X Spy
Disclaimer: Team Fortess 2 belongs to the utterly fabulous Valve, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
N: That is a gay-ass title. These ideas just smack me in the face sometimes. This is a really short one; I scrunched it all onto one page in my notebook, as I usually do, and when my friend tried to read it she couldn't. It was amusing. Also, BLU is my team of choice, and I love writing about them, especially since I so rarely see them represented in fanworks, but you can imagine them as RED or BLU or a combo of the two in this.
Spy brushed his hand through Sniper's hair, smiling gently. He'd never had described himself as sentimental, but there was just something within him that compelled him to reach out the instant he awoke. His body held none of the familiar aches of a night spent tossing alone; there was, however, a soreness between his thighs that could be attributed only to his companion.
Sniper's breaths had remained steady as ever when Spy had first stirred, but he'd tightened his grip around Spy's middle when the man tried to move, unwilling to let go. It had taken long moments for him to relax, but Spy was a man of patience. He'd waited, and when Sniper's grip had slackened just enough, he'd slowly moved into a sitting position and laid Sniper's head across his lap.
Something about Sniper's peaceful slumber struck Spy to the core, made him feel warm and wanting. The air was chill and wet with the morning's tears, the sky still dark with night. Spy's internal clock made him sure of the sun's approach, and the feeling of Sniper shifting confirmed it — he was always up by dawn. He curled his fingers, lightly brushing Sniper's scalp with his nails.
"Ngh... Mornin', love," Sniper groaned, sleep still in his voice. He brought up a hand to cover his mouth as he yawned widely. "Sleep well?"
Spy's hand moved to stroke Sniper's cheek through no conscious prompting of his own. "Ouais," he said quietly. "I slept very... soundly."
Sniper pressed his face into Spy's hand just a bit. "'S'good."
Spy felt a rush of affection as Sniper yawned once again. "You can still sleep for a few more hours, mon cher. There is no rush." He trailed a fingertip lightly over Sniper's neck. "I will make sure no one slits your throat in your sleep..."
Spy felt Sniper's shiver, as well as his deep, gritty chuckle, which rumbled in his throat. "Oh, I'm sure you will. Don't want to keep you up unfairly, though. 'S'gotta be boring, watching somebody sleep for however long."
"Mon cœur, I could never be bored watching you, even in your sleep. I consider it a privilege."
Sniper chuckled again, letting his eyes fall shut. "That's awfully romantic. Do they teach you that over in France, just how to be romantic and suave and whatnot?"
"Oh, oui," Spy said dryly, "it's one of the first lessons we are given, along with how to read and write. Very important in France." He reflected silently that what he'd truly learned in Paris was far from romantic, one of his lessons having been that he hated coffee with cream, and another having been that arterial spray is very, very messy. "Yes, it's practically printed onto our very bones, in France."
"No wonder you're so..." Sniper drifted to sleep.
Spy brushed his hand through Sniper's hair.
N: So there's that.