Spy felt off for the first day, but no more so than he would have if he'd been drinking. He tried to target Sniper a little less this time, not wanting to frustrate him too much. Still, he couldn't seem to get near the Engineer and it was starting to annoy him. He was dying a lot more frequently than he needed to, he thought. He just couldn't figure out how he was being spotted.
Sniper felt great. Apart from the whole worrying the Spy wasn't going to come back thing. Sniper's powers of self-sabotage were incredible.
He did well during the match though, allowing him to not feel too bad about sparing the enemy Spy a couple more times than he ought to have done. Thankfully, the Spy didn't seem to be concentrating on him too much either.
He'd been doing well, Sniper wise. Sniper never seemed to hit him as often right after one of their meetings. He wondered why that was. Pity, perhaps? Guilt? Some sense of owing? Whatever it was, Spy didn't mind taking advantage of a little break to go after some of Sniper's teammates.
The week passed quickly, especially now that they were only four days between seeing each other. Spy found he dreamt of Sniper almost every night. He couldn't help but inspect the mark left on his neck in his private room. It wasn't quite a scar, but it wasn't really healing either, and it stayed through respawn. He wasn't sure what to make of it. They were tender to the touch, aching like a sore muscle. It admittedly gave him a bit of a rush to poke at them, a bit of that same feeling.
Sniper kept thinking about the Spy and it was annoying. He thought about the Spy when he was sniping, when he was eating, when he was showering and at night when he was trying to get to sleep.
The thoughts ranged from daydreams about biting him, to worrying about the chances of him turning up again, to long string of curse words over surprise backstabs.
But whatever the thoughts, they were never far from the Spy.
Bastard.
On the fourth day, Spy headed out of the BLU base quietly. It was amazing how quickly this was becoming normal. He walked through the dark towards the little camper. He was abuzz with excitement and trying to keep it contained. This couldn't last very long. He'd have to give this up. He had to keep reminding himself of that.
He knocked, briefly, but didn't wait for Sniper before stepping in.
Sniper leapt up from his perch on the edge of the bed like someone caught up to no good. 'You came!' Oops, too desperate. Oh well, no way to save it now, he's just have to stick with enthusiasm.
'Uh, do you want some wine or something? Just, I won some in a card game against Spy—against our Spy I mean, so I know it's got to be good stuff but it would probably be wasted on me.'
What Sniper failed to mention was that the card game had been snap. Everyone on RED team was bored of poker these days.
Sniper opened his mini-fridge and pulled out the wine.
'Oh, wait, you aren't supposed to keep red in a fridge, are you? Sorry.'
"We can let it sit," Spy chuckled. Sniper's greeting had been a bit more enthusiastic than he'd expected. He was pleased Sniper kept thinking of him, giving him little things. It was difficult not to find that flattering.
"I brought a treat myself," he admitted. He'd gotten a package from France with some orange chocolates, which had reminded him of Sniper. He'd brought a small package of them to share. He handed the little box to Sniper.
This time around it seemed they were both happy to spend a little time together before. Last time had been abrupt and Spy was glad Sniper was willing to wait.
'Oh, thanks!' Sniper said, taking the chocolates to inspect. More fancy European chocolates, yes! He had no idea what made them taste so good in comparison to American chocolate but the difference was astounding.
It occurred to Sniper that they'd taste extra good after he'd bitten the Spy. Then it also occurred to them that this exchanging of gifts was a far cry from the business-like arrangement he'd been trying to go for originally. He could argue with himself that it was okay for him to give stuff to the Spy because he owed him for services (or would that be goods?) rendered. Spy giving him anything in return made everything complicated.
Even Sniper was aware of how much he was trying to fool himself though. This situation had been complicated from the start.
"I thought perhaps this time we could have everything ready so afterwards neither of us have to move," Spy suggested. It seemed a shame to waste that golden afterglow on fetching water and fruit, assuming Sniper got the same high he did.
Spy undid his tie and let it hang loose about his neck for now. No reason to get undressed yet.
Sniper tracked the movement of the Spy's hand, watching them deftly undo the tie.
'I, uh, yes, that's a good idea. Very organised.'
The way the Spy phrased it made this sound, well, made it sound not quite how Sniper would have put it.
'Nuts are good for blood loss. I mean, if you aren't allergic,' he said, getting a small mixed bag of nuts, seeds and dried fruit out of one of his cupboards. 'I've got more oranges as well, an' water of course.' Sniper filled up a glass and placed it next to the bed.
"No, no allergies," Spy assured him. Though he wasn't sure he'd have admitted it if he did have any.
Spy watched Sniper putter about, glad that he'd suggested it. Maybe this would make afterwards less awkward too. Though somehow he doubted it.
Spy was suddenly at a loss for words. They didn't really do small talk. They didn't know each other. They only really talked about vampire things. Feeling almost as awkward as his companion, Spy took a handful of nuts to crunch on while Sniper finished getting ready.
'Don't eat them all.' Sniper aimed for a joking tone but he really wasn't sure where he stood with the Spy on jokes, so it came out flatter than intended.
'Uh, so, one orange or two?' he asked quickly. As though that was important.
Really though, he hoped things might move on soon because if the Spy didn't want the wine, Sniper would rather like something himself. He was hungry.
Then again, he could cope. It wasn't like the previous times when he'd been starving. This time he could take the time to relax a little. Or at least, he would have been able to if he wasn't so terrible at socialising.
"One is fine," Spy considered the wine, feeling the outside of the bottle. It was still cold, but he was willing to drink it. "I'm going to assume you have glasses?" He was imagining drinking cold red wine out of a chipped mug. What use would Sniper have for wine glasses though? He didn't seem like the wine type.
'I do actually. Somewhere.' Sniper began searching through another cupboard.
The conversation brought up a question Spy been mulling over again. "If I were drunk, would that get you drunk too?" he asked.
Sniper paused. 'Hmm. Maybe. I think drinking it directly would have more effect, but I bet if you had enough and I bit you afterwards, it'd have some kind of effect on me.'
He drew two dusty old wine glasses out from the back of the cupboard and set about washing them, happy to have something to do.
"I thought that might be the case," Spy was glad Sniper thought the same, even if it was just a theory and wasn't important. It just seemed to make sense.
Sniper washed the glasses and Spy checked over the wine bottle quickly, assuring his paranoia that the RED Spy would hardly want to poison the RED Sniper.
Sniper used the Swiss army knife given to him by Soldier last year (a thoughtful present. Pity he apparently gave everyone the exact same thing every time. And insisted they were called 'American army knives') to uncork the bottle and handed Spy a clean glass.
"Thank you." Spy took a slow sip. It wasn't bad, a bit too cold, but a good dry red.
It was altogether unfair how poised and elegant the Spy looked holding that glass. Sniper felt clumsy in comparison, the glass too small in his hands. He tipped the glass back, taking a mouthful of wine.
Bleh.
Red wine. It was always so...winey. Still, getting a bit tipsy would be fun. There wasn't enough in the bottle to get him properly drunk though, not if he was splitting it equally with the Spy.
A tipsy Spy might be fun too.
Sniper wrinkled his nose at the taste and Spy stifled a laugh. As he'd expected, Sniper wasn't a wine person.
"I'm guessing you prefer beer?" he asked. Sniper had just gotten the wine for him. How thoughtful. Even if he'd just won it in a card game. He'd beaten the other Spy though, that was impressive. If RED was anything like BLU, the team did very little all together except drink and play poker. Sometimes they'd watch movies on the tiny television together but mostly they fought over what to watch.
'Uh, yeah, something like that,' Sniper admitted. Beer, lager and cider were his go-to drinks. No doubt the Spy looked down his nose on all three though, if the RED Spy's opinions were anything to go by.
He had another taste of the wine. Still pretty bad. Ah well. He had another.
"You make a face every time, but it's not bad enough to make you stop drinking," Spy teased. He'd drank his own glass a bit faster than he'd intended. He hadn't had wine in awhile. It wasn't easy to get good stuff here. Mann Co "wine" could also be used to clean guns and legally had to be written in quotation marks.
Sniper huffed. He hadn't realised he'd been that obvious. He tipped his head back and downed the last of the wine. God, the Spy must think him barbaric. Oh well, not everyone was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and raised in fancy French manors like the Spy probably was.
'More?' Sniper asked, reaching for the bottle.
"Definitely," Spy sighed. He felt remarkably at ease with Sniper, even without the effects of his bite as an influence. If they weren't enemies, they would have made comfortable friends.
He held his glass out for Sniper, letting him pour them both some more. He didn't even like getting tipsy around some of his teammates, yet he was well on the way there with the RED Sniper.
Sniper poured him another, sloshing the wine over the side of the glass slightly. 'Oh, shit, sorry.' He grabbed the kitchen towel.
Well done, he told himself. Well done.
Spy shrugged, not concerned. There were a few drops of wine on his glove now and he put down the wine and took the towel from Sniper.
"No harm done," he assured him, "these gloves see worse than wine every day. Usually blood."
Once the glove was dry, he passed the towel back and pulled out his cigarette case, shedding his suit jacket as he did. It was hot in the little camper. He lit a cigarette for himself, then offered one to Sniper.
'Thanks,' Sniper said, accepting it. Cigarettes were fine. He could do cigarettes. He didn't smoke often, finding it left him feeling short of breath if he had too many, but the occasional smoke was fine.
A glass of red wine and a cigarette and Spy was practically in heaven. He made himself as comfortable as he dared on Sniper's small bed, finishing a second glass while they smoked and drank in silence for awhile.
That damn Spy looked so damn at home. He was like the elegant stray cat that wanders in, twines itself between your legs and then jumps onto your bed and settles in.
In comparison, Sniper felt like some gangly, over-sized dog that knew it wasn't really allowed on the bed and was waiting to be shouted at for it.
He took another sip of the wine, waiting for the buzz to hit him.
Spy was already feeling pleasantly loose, his guard as down as it ever got. He poured the last bit of the wine evenly between their glasses and relished the last few mouthfuls, along with the last of his cigarette.
"That was good," he sighed, licking the last drop from the rim on his glass.
Yeah, so, no, the Spy should definitely not do that. It was- yeah, no.
Sniper downed the last of his wine to distract himself and put the cigarette back in his mouth.
Ah, there it was, the buzz he'd been waiting for, the feeling of the world around him mellowing out and growing slightly distant.
"I suppose I should have confirmed before we drank so much... you're still capable of restraining yourself?" Spy asked. He began unbuttoning his dress shirt, frowning a little at his gloves. There were very few things that they prevented. Buttons were one of the trickier things.
Sniper snickered as he stubbed out his cigarette. 'No one's ever said they need me to restrain myself in bed before,' he said, pointing down at the bed to make it clear that he really did just mean in bed.
He kind of felt like he should be taking off clothes too but there wasn't really anything he needed to get rid of. He was indoors, so the glasses, hat and sleeveless jacket were already off.
Spy laughed, "Then I'll trust you to behave yourself," he teased. "If you come so highly recommended."
Once his shirt was off and tucked safely away, Spy tugged up his mask and shifted over into Sniper's space, looping an arm around his neck and tilting his head a little as an invitation.
'Christ,' Sniper muttered, because if that wasn't one hell of an appealing invitation, he didn't know what was. As he leaned forward he could tell that yep, he was definitely tipsy. It was a freeing sensation, one that allowed himself to take a step back from his responsibilities and worries for a while and just enjoy himself in the moment. And he pretty sure he was going to be enjoying himself in a moment.
He tried to keep the initial bite quick and clean, ignoring the urge to bite down deeper.
Sniper was careful with the venom this time, using a little less than four nights ago. If the Spy was feeling the affects of the alcohol too (and probably more so than Sniper, since he was smaller), it was probably best not to leave him a completely muddled wreck.
Sniper pulled his teeth away again, hands shaking slightly in anticipation of the second bite.
Spy's fingernails dug into Sniper through his gloves and his breath caught in his throat. The uncomfortable pinch of the bite and the initial tingling was over quickly and the venom hit him hard. His pupils were blown wide, his muscles relaxed in increments and he slowly leaned his head against Sniper's shoulder.
"Mon dieu," he murmured. The alcohol and the bite together were even more wonderful than he could have imagined. His head was spinning a little, but not unpleasantly. His skin felt tight and hot, every nerve lit up like a light.
Sniper sunk his teeth back in and pressed his tongue against the marks left by the initial bite, letting out a relieved sigh after the first swallow. He let his eyelids flutter shut, his whole world narrowing down to the warm body leaning against him and the taste of blood on his tongue. It made his skin prickle pleasantly down his spine and at the nape of his neck.
Sniper put his arms around the Spy, pulling him closer, letting out a small, muffled sigh as he did so.