Continuing my homage to Rosso and her art I bring you this; my first foray into smut romance (for this arc, at least. Much more to come). Although, it is a part one of two. It cuts off before the really good part, sorry. I'll finish it when my writing bug comes back.

Apologies, as always and for forever, for the written Aussie accent in this. I can't help myself.

There was only so much moping he could stand. It was a horrible, contemptible habit, for not only did the moper suffer but so too did anyone who came in contact with them. Sniper was moping again, and team morale was flagging. They could see him alone in his nest, they felt his presence missing during meals, and more importantly they were being ground into the dust by the opposition for their lack of spirit.

Spy took a moment to himself outside, letting the smoke trickle upwards from his lips while he enjoyed the soothing rush of nicotine. He imagined a dragon, lone and contemplative, and then snorted. He crushed the end of the cigarette with one elegant leather-toed shoe before he scaled the silvered wooden rungs to Sniper's nest. Since it seemed his talk did not get through the first time, now he must play maid and clean up. The things he did for his team.

Sniper barely stirred at the creak of his ladder, at the groan of his trapdoor opening, choosing to stay draped over the crates. The possibility of the enemy Spy visiting him after ceasefire was slim. And even if it was, a trip to the respawn was little inconvenience. He couldn't bring himself to care. The smell of cigarettes wafted to his nose while he studied the moon, and the soft tch-chak of a balisong only confirmed his suspicions. Slim chance, but not impossible.

The moment and silence stretched on and on. Sniper's gazed had flicked from the moon to his kukri, to his ashtray, to his bed and still there was nothing from the Spy. No taunting quip, no cold steel, no hot blood. Maybe his dark mind had conjured the sound. But even his mind could not fabricate that sharp scent of cigarettes and Cologne that now permeated the air. Sullen he threw a look over his shoulder, to find his Spy behind him, looking up at the moon. Well. That was why he was still alive. But as to why the Spy was here...

He didn't care. The black book sat like a dead weight in his hands. A dead weight, a weight of the dead. The dead that would not stay that way, who came back to scream and cry and laugh in his face as they took their revenge with cheshire grins and groping hands-

"It is gratifying to know that it is your hearing that has gone," Sniper could feel Spy shifting behind him, the soft tch-chak of the butterfly knife added to the sharp reproach in that voice. "If it was simply your reticence to listen then you would have no excuse for why you are dead now."

Cold metal pressed into the back of his neck, between vertebrae. It was the tang, thankfully dull, but it was a reminder that he was weak, vulnerable. That he had failed in his metamorphosis from man to weapon. That he was unfit for service and duty. That he was unprofessional.

The blunt tang moved from the back of his neck and around, until it nudged under his chin and force him to look up into dark eyes. Sniper stared back with growing irritation. This was his nest, his space, and given that he wasn't about to be slit from ear to ear he resented this intrusion.

"An' it's yer nose needing t' be stuck where it don't belong that dragged ya up here, righ'?"

"Actually," Spy tilted Sniper's chin higher, until the tendons were stretched and stark under his moonlit skin "My nose is exactly where it needs to be. You have been moping."

"So?"

"So, mon ami, your moping has lead to demoralizing of our team, and thus our losing streak."

Rage bloomed on Sniper's face, covering the shamed flush that rose at that accusation. He growled low in his throat and his lip curled, showing sharp canines.

"An' that's it. Yer blamin' me fer th' team's losses. Ya jus' waltz in here an' pin th' whole bloody farce on my head, 's that it."

"Non."

A cool glove stoked at his jaw and he had to fight to keep from flinching. A gentle thumb ran over his cheek as if to wipe away tears. It was comforting, calming and kind. And it was completely at odds to the implication in Spy's words. The sympathetic gaze cooled his anger and the confusion kept him docile. The knife left his chin and another hand came to cup the other side of his face.

"Then what're ya..."

Warm lips covered his and Sniper did jump then, wide eyes flicking up to the Spy's. Was this a strange sort of punishment? Something to build him up before he was broken down into... Two thumbs were swiping over his cheeks this time, and they dashed away the tears that had begun to roll down his cheeks.

"Do you know... your eyes are so blue when you are sad. A dull and stormy blue."

Sniper stared up at Spy, stared into warm eyes and at soft smile and felt something stirring. He did care... he wanted to care. A hand was reaching out. He was being pulled from apathy and darkness and into a caring embrace.

When Spy's lips descended to his again he did not fight them. He leaned into that warm press and let Spy guide him. The gloved hands moved to his shoulder and the back of his neck, pulled him closer, deeper into the kiss. The soft leather left goosebumps in their wake and he swayed, feeling a plaintive moan escaping. It echoed in the too-still air, and was answered by a light chuckle.

"Come, let me brighten those eyes..."