As the morning rose over 2Fort, the wonderful still air was pierced by the sound of the battle sirens, the Announcer's cold and calculating voice echoing out over the battlefield. Stirring in both RED and BLU bases, both armies assembling and meeting on the front lines. A war that happened every day at 6am exactly and ended at 4pm exactly. Like the daytime working shift from hell.
The days were always bloody and the nights always spent recovering. If someone died, then it was no problem to the companies that hired them. The bodies were gotten rid of and a new man sent to replace them. Talks of a 're-spawn' system were in motion, but no one knew what that was or how effective it would.
The RED Sniper sat in his Sniper's nest as he had done for the past three weeks he'd been stationed at the fort. His predecessor had been killed some time ago, he'd seen the corpse, apparently slashed to pieces by the BLU Spy. Backstabbing scumbags.
So as he sat there, his mind filled with all thoughts of war, his scope trained on the battlefield, he was suddenly aware of someone else in the room. Someone who was laughing softly and making his way over to the sniping post. Someone who smelled of cigarettes even when cloaked and had a soft air of French about him.
Imagine the sniper's surprise when the BLU Spy suddenly appeared in his lap and kissed his nose. He'd heard that the French were a nation of over-friendly sex crazed people, but this just seemed surreal, like a ridiculous dream.
"Spy..."
"What? Zis eez what people do to greet each other, non?"
"My nose?"
"Would you rather it were your lips? I could do zat?"
"... why would you do that?"
" Why wouldn't I? Zere eez nothing wrong with exploring..." The BLU leaned in and softly wrapped his arms around the RED Sniper's neck.
"... Spy... what is... why?"
One of the Spy's gloved hands played with the Sniper's hat, "Hmm? Pardon? You are not speaking clearly..."
"I just... I'm a little confused."
"I...am not, however..." The other leaned in, dangerously close, halfway between playful and sinister - like most spies were. Breath was felt on the Sniper's ear, "...I know exactly...what I want..."
A growl rumbled through the Australian's chest, he swallowed, "... and what would that be?"
No reply. A soft laugh heard - and felt - on the delicate shell of the ear. Both arms curled around the strong shoulders, long legs dangling from the other's lap, expert hands playing with both the nape of the Sniper's neck and the back of his hat. Dangerous. A constant fear that any moment there would be the prick of the knife into a vital point, and then nothing. The fellow assassin shivered. What was this feeling? The Frenchman was so close to him he didn't know what to do, by all rights he should be dead by now.
"... Spy?"
"N?" A soft noise, vibrating against his neck now, the hand at its nape sliding down to finger along the collar of his shirt. The other gloved hand played softly with the roughly cut hair - the Spy had always suspected the Sniper cut his own hair - the thin lithe body shifting a little in his lap. Cursing himself, the Sniper knew he was hardening and he couldn't stop it. He hadn't had another warm body this close to him in months. Not since they were first posted into this mission. His eyes were unfocused as he tried not to respond.
The Spy was almost purring, his teeth gently biting at the sensitive lobe of the Sniper's ear, body pressed so tightly to the other male's.
Then he pulled back, stood up, walked over to the small look-out point of the Sniper's shack. A case was pulled out of his pocket, a cigarette lit with a hand he didn't even know was trembling.
Teasing...
The Sniper groaned, his fingers clawing against the floor. He tried to cross his legs, to hide himself from his opponent. But he couldn't bring himself to move away. The fully suited form of the Spy paced a little around the small shack. It was amazing he'd even got up here without the Sniper's keen sight picking him up, but then again, he supposed the Spy wouldn't have been as good at his job if he'd been easily seen.
This one was different from the others, too. Many Spies died, and many were sent to replace them. Same colour, same long figure, same heritage, but this one seemed to be almost playing with the Sniper. Him sneaking up here had only confirmed it. It was some time before the cigarette was discarded and the Spy cleared his throat, a little smoke curling around his head, "...Don't look so...'esitant...if I were 'ere to kill you...you would be dead by now..."
"I understand that..." the Sniper's voice was thickening. He couldn't bring his eyes to meet with the Spy. He was on edge, he couldn't understand what he was doing. "So why are you here?"
"Hn...just...curious..." The tall figure in blue looked out of the small window and sighed, observing the bird's eye view of the carnage going on below. He had no intention of becoming like his predecessors.
Another cigarette was removed from the case, the old one being stubbed out underfoot, and the lighter was fumbled with a little. A few clicks. Nothing.
"...merde."
The clicks cutting into the Sniper's ears, he rummaged in his pockets and fished through his effects to find a battered book of matches. He straightened himself up and extended an awkward hand. He might have mumbled "Here." but his word was spoken almost silently to his shoes.
"Ah..merci." Softly, the gloved hands took the matches - perhaps intentionally brushing his fingers over the other's - and lit up. Smoke soon swirled around the Spy, long fingers curling around the end of the cigarette gently. This time all attention was on the Sniper...and the smile that went across the masked face was not reassuring. Swallowing hard, the member of RED tried not to focus too much on those long, deft fingers. On the way he held a cigarette, so casual yet so controlled. "..."
"You look so...terrified, mon tireur embusqué..." The Spy seemed humoured at least, smoke blown gently from pursed lips, "...Eet eez a good look for you..."
"I just guess I ain't used to an enemy Spy strutting around my place of work."
"And what a very nice place it is..." It was hard to tell if the BLU was mocking him or not. He certainly seemed to be making himself at home, picking up various magazines and flicking through them, making the rounds around the area, stubbing his cigarette out in the correct manner once he located the ashtray. He leaned against the wooden shack's walls, arms folded, calm, focused, eye burning into his enemy, "...You 'ave been living 'ere for a few weeks, non?"
"I don't much care for goin' down to the main compound. I like it up here." The Sniper sounded defensive. He'd never had to justify his living space to anyone before...
"Zat eez good..." The Spy's voice lowered. Without warning he seemed to disappear into thin air, smoke billowing out a little, until the familiar press of the knife was felt against the Sniper's unprotected back. The breath was back upon the Australian's ear again, the voice dropping itself to a low purr, "...Eet means no one will be able to interrupt us..."
"Shi..." The Sniper cursed himself for letting his guard down so totally. He froze solid, glaring at the window. "And... what would that be?"
"Hnn...I am 'ere to just 'ave a little fun..." The tearing of clothing. A thin sharp blade slicing through material easily. "... All those others on your team are so...boring...not entertaining enough, non? But...eet is my first time meeting you, mon tireur embusqué..."
A gloved hand slid into the red clothing, gently stroking along the Sniper's hip, thumb pressing against the flesh there. The other still held the deadly weapon. The Spy sighed, "Your...predecessor was...quite ze incredible man...you 'ave ze same air about you zat 'e 'ad...but you...you are...different zen 'e..."
"Yeah?" The Sniper was obviously petrified, but determined to stay calm. He knew he was trembling, but he couldn't stop. He had never been close enough to an enemy before.
"Mm.." The Spy mumbled to himself in French, ripping and tearing at the clothing of his enemy, revealing the bare torso of the Sniper. There was a sound from behind his captive, the hands - and knife - leaving him for a few seconds, and then, softly, the bare skin of the Spy's long fingers brushed against the Sniper's stomach, tracing over it.
Trembling, the Sniper swore under his breath. "Shi... fucking... what are you doin?"
"...'as living on your own taught you nothing of this? What does it feel like I am doing?" The fingers moved upwards, ghosting over a nipple, the other hand tracing up the curve of the taller male's spine with the blade of the knife. Fuck of course the lanky Australian knew what he was doing. All he'd had was his right hand and his twisted imagination for company. And as much as he hated to admit it, the Spy's soft fingers were driving him wild, even the blade in his spine was turning him on.
"Look at zis..." One minute the hand was on the Sniper's chest, the next it had slid down fast, leaving fingertips dancing lightly over the bulge in his jeans. The Spy let out a mocking 'tut', gripping the hard length through the fabric, blade pressing harder, "...So 'ard for me..."
The sniper's head dropping back onto the Spy's shoulder he groaned under his breath. "F... fuck, don't... don't..."
"Sshhh...relax...enjoy zis...'ow long 'as it been since you 'ad zis touch? Feels good, oui?" A hand snaked round, the knife pulling at a button on the front of the jeans, snapping it off neatly, the other hand still gripping tightly around the sheathed length. Hardly thinking about the threat of the situation the assassin's hand flew to the Frenchman, gripping his shoulder. His words came out in a low, shuddered growl, "Shi... shit... oh fucking... Jesus!"
"Non, non...I fuck you, oui?" A quick snap of the wrist led to the jeans sliding down over the Sniper's thin hips, pooling around his ankles. Fingers darted over his length once more, this time flesh on flesh, gripping him, moving up and down softly. The knife was pressed flat against the navel, a few hairs taken off by accident. His hand tightening on his adversary, the Sniper's voice was a blur of curses and growling. He pushed up to meet with the Spy's delicate fingers. He couldn't believe how good this felt, getting jerked off by an enemy man shouldn't be this amazing. His hardness disturbed him.
The Spy worked at the other with a certain air of expertise that his class showed in everything. His long fingers curled around the thickness in front of him, stroking, moving at a gentle pace. He growled softly behind the other, soft murmurs in his native language, teeth occasionally meeting the Sniper's warm flesh - either his shoulder or the delicate skin along his spine. Gritting his teeth fiercely, the Sniper wished it didn't feel so good. He wished it hadn't been so long since anyone had touched him like this. More than anything he wished his body wasn't responding to the Frenchman so willingly. But there was no denying the skill in his hands.
Then there was the issue of the knife that was slowly working its way upwards. From the Bushman's navel, softly, gently, up to the chest. Occasionally taking out a few hairs as it did, showing exactly how sharp the enemy kept his weapon, how precise his skilled hands had to be in order to not even leave a scratch or a line on his victim. Upwards further until it rested on the gently pulsating artery of the Sniper's neck, the Spy even letting out a low groan of pleasure himself, despite his still clothed state. His enemies heartbeat...under his knife...
Such a beautiful sight...
The Australian snarled in response, he hated how helpless he was. The adrenaline that coursed through him was only making his harder. He could see no way out, all he could do was writhe and growl and not get his throat slit.
"Such a beautiful feeling, non?" The sudden gentle use of English. The Spy's voice seemed strained, yet still so calm and calculating. His hand gripped tighter, whether out of reassurance or threat or both, and the knife followed the trail of the vital area up and down; almost teasingly, "Your life...in my 'ands...and yet...you grow 'arder still...you understand, don't you? Where I'm coming from...you know...what I am...'ow you say?...'getting at' with zis..."
"I don't try and understand Spies," the Sniper spat, tensing at the Frenchman's words. "You're all the same; twisted sadists."
He remembered seeing his predecessor's body carted out, sliced to pieces. He shuddered, this man's hands were on him now, teasing him. Was this what he did, jerked Snipers to within an inch of their self control, make them beg and moan, then slit their throats.
"Tch..." A noise from the Spy. An irritated, agitated noise. The knife pressed harder, a small thin trail of red dripping down the Australian's neck. Yet it did not seem to have been intentional. The Spy seemed to catch himself, his hand slowing on the Sniper's length, then stopping completely, cursing in French under his breath. The knife was removed, a pocket handkerchief dabbing softly at the blood flow until he was satisfied, and then returned to his pocket. It seemed like an eternity before his hand started moving again, stroking along the thick hard flesh, determined to see the other through to his release. The knife returned also, yet it wasn't touching the flesh this time. The Spy didn't trust his trembling hand. He was silent as he continued.
He... actually cared about making him bleed?
The Sniper froze even more so than before. The pain didn't much bother him, but the texture of the fabric and the sound of the Spy irritated, he didn't know what to make of it, "S... Spy?"
The hand gripped harder around the Bushman's length. The other hand flicking the blade around his own fingers. A warning. It seemed the Spy was no longer in the mood for breathless conversations. He hadn't even uttered one groan in so long, seemingly content with just focusing on his task at hand. In fact, the whole act just seemed like the pleasure only came from the Sniper's end now. The sudden change of mood was not lost on the Sniper. Without the blade at his throat he felt able to move more. He tried to move away from the assassin's grip, frowning quietly.
"Ah! Non, non, non!" At least that had got both a reaction and a few words out of his captor. The reaction being the return of the cold steel around his throat. The Spy behind him, "Eez very rude to refuse zis pleasure..."
"Is very rude to give it without askin'." The Australian was gruff, defensive. Was there even a hint of outrage in his voice.
"Ah...I see..." The Spy seemed to trail off, sighing. Both hands were removed, although not before the Spy lightly pulled the book of matches out of the Sniper's discarded trousers. He sat back, lighting up another cigarette, thoughtful. He glanced at the cloaking device on his wrist. Obviously contemplating using it before the Sniper could ask questions.
"Oi..." the Sniper said it before really thinking. Before he started to look like an idiot he was pulling his trousers up, wincing at the raw flesh at his throat, "What was that? Spy..."
"Eet was an accident." The Spy obviously misunderstood what he was talking about. His gaze was elsewhere. Sat down on the sniper's chair, long legs crossed over, cigarette in one hand, eyes gazing at the various weapons in the Sniper's arsenal, "My 'and slipped. It'll 'eal though."
Fists clenched and trembling, the standing man glared at him, "That's not what I meant."
"Hn?" Glancing up, almost innocently, the Spy cocked his head to one side, "Pardon?"
"You know..." Finding his voice failing him, the Sniper resorted to wild gesticulation. At himself, the Spy, his untended erection.
"Oh!" Realisation dawning and then a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, the gesture looking almost awkward on one who was usually so poised and perfect, "...Ah. Thought it would be much more fun zen killing you. It was. Congratulations."
"But..." He didn't want to say, 'Why did you stop' that would sound childish, needy, almost as if he wanted it.
"'Owever...it seems I outstayed my welcome...more so than ze moment I set foot in 'ere." Already standing up to leave, the Spy checked himself in a slightly cracked mirror, straightening out his suit and double checking his equipment. The knife was pocketed. The half-naked form of the Red Sniper did not seem to shake his casual attitude.
"But..." the Sniper repeated, feeling like that was all he could say. He was protesting, but what was he protesting? He frowned, buttoning himself up. The hell was this Spy's game?
"Next time I am 'ere, it will be to kill you, understand?" The Spy seemed to ignore any kind of noise from behind him, straightening out his tie in the mirror and checking his mask hadn't slipped away. When he turned to look at the Sniper, there was a darkness in his eyes, "Show you what...'ow did you put eet?...a 'zadistic fucker' I am, oui?"
Silence, the Sniper's mouth was moving, but no words would come out. This couldn't actually be happening to him. What was the Spy's game? What was he playing at?
"And just for ze record, we are not all ze same!" The Sniper hadn't realised up until now that the Spy had somehow got a hold of his hunting knife. He was tossing it in his hands, feeling the size and weight of the blade, almost judging it in every single way. It was thrown at the RED's feet, splintering the wooden floor of the shack, digging in deep. Something had clearly rattled the usually calm one. Never underestimate a Spy. They all had their own tricks that they liked to play and they certainly were not all the same.
"Never thought you were, Mate." The Sniper sounded decidedly awkward... nervous?
"Ah...but you did...what was eet you said? 'I don' try and understand Spies...you're all ze same, twisted zadists'? Was that not eet?" The Spy straightened himself, sighing and trying to compose himself, as though he never really lost it before, "...well, sir...we are not ze same! I 'ave never once killed for ze sake of eet, nor 'ave I ever stabbed someone without knowing zem inside and out...knowing 'ow far ze corruption spreads..."
"That why you thought you'd play about we me, eh?" His hand rested on his tender throat, "I'm sorry if I insulted y'professionally or something...I respect you as an adversary... just, I never expected that."
"Zees battlefield...eez pointless. We wake, we kill, we ceasefire, we start again ze next morning. One person dies, eez replaced, eet continues..." Another cigarette. Did he ever stop? "...I grow...bored of zees. I grow bored of ze routine..."
"Yeah... I getcha..." he really did. The Sniper was, more than anything, sick of this war. But he knew there was no way out, kill or be killed.
"So...I crave ze flesh..." Casual. Like talking his sexual fantasies out over a cup of coffee. "...I crave ze closeness. Ze heat, oui? You are understanding?" The Spy didn't wait for a reply. He continued, "Your predecessor...'e understood..."
"He..." the lanky assassin paled, his eyes fixed on the man before him. "You and... he? But..."
But he'd seen what the Spy did to him!
"Of course...every day…during every battle..." A smile crossed the Spies face. Recalling a fond memory. "Eez funny really! I came with ze intent to keel, and instead...ah...magnificent..."
"But... y'killed him."
"Pardon?" The Spy came back down to earth. Almost heavily.
"I saw him. Y'sliced him to pieces." His jaw was set, the Sniper glared at him. How could he be off dreaming about the man he replaced and not even consider how he died?
"I damn well did not!" Anger flashed across the Spy's face. His teeth were bared. Gloves fingers curled into tight fists. "Your own Spy did zat!"
"... ... ... what?" Utter disbelief rested on the Australian's face.
"'E did zat! 'E found out about us and confronted us. Eet got violent. 'E determined 'e would finish us both off. When ze Sniper realised zat we both might die, 'e pushed me from 'ere." The Spy motioned to the small stream running below the outpost, "I survived with only a few stab wounds...and a lot of water in my lungs...but ze Sniper..."
He trailed off.
No.. no no no no... that didn't... make sense. The Sniper's brain had gone into overdrive, "We... don't kill our own... what!"
"Well...I suppose exceptions can be found to zis...rule of yours..." The Spy seemed like he didn't want to talk much about the matter. He was already waving slightly as he sauntered lightly over to the hatch.
"W... wait! No... don't... don't go."
"Hm?" The Spy stopped, head cocking to one side, "Ze ceasefire 'as been called. Eez lucky no one was 'urt zis time. Per'aps I see you on ze battlefield tomorrow, non? Per'aps not. We see."
And with that, he was gone.