So I was coerced (Read; forced) to write a few 100 word bits. They were challenging, to say the least. I tend to want to describe everything. And the TF2 fandom just have me a wonderful base.
Some of these you can insert whom it is. Some of these it is hinted at whom they are. And some are specific classes.
As always I give my apologies. And if you enjoy then so much the better.
Hot, too hot. Friction in the darkness. Dark room and dark mind. Stuttered gasps and pleading whines, spoken only to the ears of a silent room. Breath coming out in gasps as the mental image is held and melded to dark desires. Suddenly a hand reaches out, someone alongside interrupting the solitary rights. A restraining hand, and one foreign hand picks up where the familiar one left off. An explosion of desire that is an inner damn breaking and in the bliss of the moment a name cried aloud. Stuttered questions silenced by a soft finger.
Because I love you.
He was drunk. They were both drunk, actually. He knew this because he could taste the horrible swill that passed for beer in America on his lips. His lips. Demo's. He'd invited him up to his nest for beer, and to complain about their common enemy; England. Bloody Pommy bastards and their tea and their crumpets and regal ways and loyalty to the queen. Fuck the queen, they didn't need her. No, as Sniper feels his stubble rasping against Demo's and marvels at the contrast of their skin against each other's that all he really needed was this right here.
"Hit me." Heavy pauses in his undressing of Medic and looked at him with confusion.
"What?"
"Vas I not clear enough? Hit me!"
Heavy took this in his ponderous stride and one meaty hand gives Medic a love-tap.
"No, Dummkopf! HIT me!"
The hand descends again, knocking the breath from him and making him groan in delight.
"Doktor okay?" Heavy brushes his hand over Medic's hair, concern radiating from him. Medic slaps the hand away.
"Again!" Heavy complies, as always. Messing the doctor up until he's pulled into a bloody, searing kiss.
"Ich liebe Dich, mein Kuschelbär."
What was love?
He was an abomination. A mumbling monstrosity. One that should have been taken out back and shot instead of being hired. Whatever was human was long buried under psychosis and pyromania. He told Pyro this as he gasped and cursed and writhed and rutted against the asbestos suit, revelled in the feeling of rubber against his dick. He was a horrible monster that shouldn't be alive. And it's not because I'm scared of you, he said while he held his balisong to the air hose and held the Pyro down while he fucked against him. I'm not afraid. I'm not.
"Fuck man let me go, you sick fuck!" He was strapped onto an examination table.
"Nein. You have behaviour issues zhat must be corrected." Scout struggled, but the restraints were expertly made.
"Fuck you kraut! Ain't nothin' wrong with my behaviour."
"I disagree." Medic straddles Scout's chest and he could see the unzipped fly and unmistakable bulge.
"You sick fuck! Get off of me!" Medic grips scout's face.
"You will take the correction fluid, Junge. ALL of it." Scout shut his mouth but in the end he's forced to open and swallow the bitter salty semen.
He never disobeyed again.
"Hey cucklenuts, get a load of this." The scout bragged as he thrust "Yeah you like that dontcha, tough guy." His counterpart underneath him rolled his eyes and faked a yawn.
"Actually it's starting to bore me how much you suck."
"Fuck you man, like you could get any better than this." The scout on top gives an expert thrust, making the one underneath moan.
"Damn right you couldn't. You ain't got nothing!" The top scout grinned. The scout on the bottom couldn't do much more except moan until the both of them came. Then they flipped.
"My turn, asshole."