Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Here's the prompt list I'll be following! I will try and incorporate multiple prompts, even all three if the inspiration strikes, but I can't and won't promise I'll hold to that for every day lol. And I won't make any claims about length, either; some fills may be a few hundred words, others over a thousand. Just depends on how the cookie crumbles

Day 1: Spy/Scout (Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Incest)

Day 2: Medic/Pyro (Coming Untouched, Ageplay)

Day 3: Engie/Medic/Spy, ft. Bread Monster (Threesome, Nipple Clamps, Alien Abduction)

Day 4: Sniper/Spy (Voyeurism, Sounding, Hypnosis)

Day 5: Pyro/Scout (Finger Sucking, Wax Play, Dacryphilia)

Day 6: Demo/Sniper (Outdoor Sex, Humiliation, Intoxication)

Day 7: Medic/Spy (Blindfolds, Chastity, Bloodplay)

Day 8: Engie/Spy (Photography, Figging)

Day 9: Medic (Exhibitionism, Shibari, Tentacles)

Day 10: Engie/Spy--cross-faction (Oral Sex, Punishment, CNC)

Day 11: Heavy/Medic (Come Licking, Handcuffs, Somnophilia)

Day 12: Medic/OMC (Sex Work, Kneeling, Sissification)

Day 13: Soldier/Medic (Power Bottom, Medical Play)

Day 14: Sniper/Scout (Omergaverse, Posessive Sex)

Day 15: Sniper (Semi-Public Sex, Object Insertion, Sex Pollen)

Day 16: ???

Day 17: ???

Day 18: ???

Day 19: ???

Day 20: ???

Day 21: ???

Day 22: ???

Day 23: ???

Day 24: ???

Day 25: ???

Day 26: ???

Day 27: ???

Day 28: ???

Day 29: ???

Day 30: ???

Day 31: ???

Chapter Text

There was nothing more beautiful, Spy thought, than the sound of Scout's desperate, wobbling voice.

"Please." The word fell so wonderfully from his lips, his whining music to Spy's ears. He let his hand slow again, just to hear more of it. Scout bit his lip. His cock was nearly purple with how long he'd been waiting to come.

"Bon garçon, mon petit lapin..." Spy crooned, knowing Scout didn't understand a word and not particularly caring. He could still see the way it made the hair raise on the back of his neck, how a shiver crawled down his spine. "Tell me, how long has it been this time? I can't recall."

"You--you mean for t-tonight, or--or for the whole time...?" The poor thing could barely speak.

"Oh, what a clever boy," Spy cooed, slipping his thumb over the tip of Scout's cock just so, in that perfect way that had his thighs trembling with restraint. He wanted so badly to thrust into Spy's hand. It was a delicious sight to behold. "The whole while, I should say. Of course I know how long we've been here tonight," he clarified with a soft chuckle.

It was true; he'd drawn the boy to his smoking room to play with shortly after dinner, and the clock had struck nine some time ago. A remarkable display of his endurance, really--though Spy supposed he shouldn't be surprised, given his day job.

A quiet breath hissed over Scout's tongue. His cheeks were such a bright red, as red as that horrendous energy drink he so enjoyed. "Nnn--two weeks, almost," he grunted.

"Really? I suppose I lost track of time, didn't I?" Spy's tone was musing, idle, almost, gaze drifting to the ceiling. His hand slowed its stroking, and Scout whimpered, a pathetic little noise that Spy cherished so dearly.

Scout's eyes glimmered with unnatural brightness. His only response was another whine. God, how gorgeous.

Spy brought his lips close to Scout's ear, even as he squeezed at the head of his cock, just barely, just enough to torment him further. "But I can hardly help myself, mon petit lapin. You are so very sweet when you deny yourself for me."

Scout's breath rattled in his lungs; his eyelids fluttered.

"Tell me, who do you belong to?"

Scout swallowed, a vague attempt to summon moisture to his tongue. The word stuck in his mouth like cotton, nonetheless. "Y-you."

Hmm. Not quite what he'd been looking for. But Spy was merciful. He'd give the boy another chance.

"And tell me, when you come, who is it you come for?" Spy inquired further.

"For... for you," Scout panted.

Spy's hand paused, abruptly. A strangled noise choked itself off in Scout's throat.

"Where are your manners tonight, boy?" he murmured, narrow gaze sharp as flint.

Scout gulped again. "Sorry, Sir."

Spy's hand tightened. Scout's teeth clamped down on his tongue; tears sprung to his eyes. God, he was beautiful like this, wasn't he? Spy almost wished he were more of a brat, on days like this, just to see him suffer so sweetly in recompense for it. But after this long, Scout was desperate enough to do damn near anything for him. Spy had been itching to push that boundary lately, in fact. See just how far he would go.

But not today. No, today Spy was a merciful man.

"Try again," he hummed, a sneering grin drawing its way across his face.

Scout blushed a vivid red. He glanced down and sideways, unable to meet Spy's eyes when he spoke. Mumbled something, under his breath.

"I'm afraid I didn't quite hear that." Spy grasped his chin in his other hand, tilted it back to face him fully, forced Scout to meet his eyes. "One more time, for me."

Scout drew another shuddering breath. "Sorry, Daddy," he bit out, the words dragged from his chest even as they sent a lurch through Spy's own.

"There you are," he whispered, hand returning to its earlier pace on Scout's dick. Scout gasped with relief. "I made you, and so you are mine. Your body, your cock, your pleasure, your release. All of them, only for me. Never forget that."

Scout whimpered, a sound that would have had Spy's erection roaring back to life, if only he hadn't spent himself down Scout's throat only a short while ago. "Ne-never, Daddy. Yours, just yours."

No, instead he sped up his stroking, cherishing the positively feverish expression on Scout's flushed face. He bent low, rested his chin on Scout's shoulder, just at the base of his neck, a blasphemous mockery of familial intimacy. "Then come for Papa."

And Scout could do naught but oblige.

Chapter Text

Pyro squirmed on the spot. It was rather difficult, staying seated on Medic's lap--they wished, yet again, that they were smaller, could fit better--but the doctor was remarkably patient with them, shifting subtly to help them stay balanced. He rested his chin over their shoulder, eyes still fixed on his paperwork. "Patience, Kleine, or you won't be allowed to sit with me anymore," he murmured.

Pyro made a disgruntled sort of sound. The pair of them were at Medic's desk, the latter filling out some series of forms Pyro didn't care about or bother to read. Their only concern was the man whose arm draped over their waist, shifting minutely to scrawl something across the page. He'd been like this for ages. Well, probably more like twenty minutes, but ages. Barely paying attention to them this whole time. That was the point of all of this! If Pyro were in his lap, he couldn't possibly ignore them, could he? But his concentration proved more difficult to break than that, unfortunately.

"Hush, little one. I'll be done here soon."

Pyro almost wished they weren't quite so attached to their mask; if they could, they'd blow him a raspberry.

Instead they wriggled again, more out of spite than to keep their balance. And Medic's breath hitched, ever so slightly.

Pyro's brow furrowed. What...

Oh. They'd accidentally squashed his dick a little bit. Whoops.

Medic's knee twitched under them, but he refrained from speaking.

Well, there was an idea. Probably not a good one, honestly, but...

They'd have to be careful, though. If they were too forward with it, too obvious, Medic would shoo them away and their fun would be ruined.

And so they shifted again, but this time more cautiously. Not enough to hurt him, just enough for a little bit of pressure. Just enough to see how he'd react.

Medic's jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. His writing paused for a moment.

Oh, he was--oh, he wanted it. He kept his conscious movements under tight control, but the swelling of his cock gave him away. Maybe he was hoping Pyro couldn't tell through their thick suit, but they totally could. He just needed a little persuading to get the rest of him on board.

Pyro had this in the bag.

They scooted sideways a bit; they'd been centered on one thigh, but that wouldn't do for their plans. No, they settled into place directly over his crotch, curving their spine to rest their elbows on the desk in front of them, pressing the plushness of their ass right back into him. Ooh, that felt nice. Medic clearly agreed, throbbing within the confines of his trousers.

Medic huffed a breath from his nose, but still, he refused to comment.

Pyro let their cheek fall to their palm, and kicked their legs back and forth, letting out an exaggerated sigh. A show of boredom, of course, no ulterior motives. Nothing to do with how the motion jostled them back against the hardness waking at the join of Medic's legs.

Medic drew a gentle hand back over their waist, only for a moment. "I promise you, Liebchen, I am nearly done." His voice wavered, just the tiniest bit, on that final word.

Pyro grinned to themself behind the mask, glad their expression wouldn't give them away. Instead they schooled their voice, making a frustrated noise muffled by the air filter in front of their mouth. They let their heels bounce against his shins.

"Hush," Medic repeated, his own voice turning stern. "The more you distract me, the longer this takes, you know."

Hmm. That's too bad.

They sighed again, scooching back against him further to rest their head upon their forearms. And if that just so happened to lean more pressure right onto Medic's cock--he had to know, had to know they could tell, could feel it twitching and hot against them...

Medic grunted, and now it was his turn to shift on the spot, but he was utterly trapped beneath Pyro's weight.

"Careful, little one," he hissed.

They made a questioning sound, then, completely innocent.

Medic rumbled something exasperated under his breath, stabbing the tip of his pen into the paper with rather more force than was necessary.

Pyro had him right where they wanted him. They just needed a little more...

They set to kicking their legs again, back and forth, back and forth, a swaying rhythm that had them rubbing up against Medic's erection in a mocking facsimile of what they knew he really wanted.

Medic put his pen down, then. Placed his hands upon their hips.

"Pyro..." His voice creaked in his chest.

Hmm?

They could practically hear his teeth grinding in his jaw. The conflict warring in his head.

His fingers tightened around them, sending a wave of arousal washing south--true for the both of them, evidently, Medic's length giving a powerful throb against their backside.

"My darling, you distract me so... Why don't we play a little game, then? So long as you promise not to tell anyone else about it. A secret game."

Pyro nodded eagerly, still swinging their legs. Yes, perfect.

Medic rolled his chair back a bit, giving the both of them more room to maneuver before he started moving, as well. Not much, given his position, but Pyro could feel the way his muscles flexed in tandem, how his pelvis rose to grind up against them. Pyro rolled their own hips back, too, this time with more purpose, seeking out pleasure rather than oh-so-naively stumbling into it by accident. They made a pleased little noise from behind their mask, and Medic huffed out a little chuckle in response.

"That's it, there you go... You're very good at this game, Kleine."

Hot, it was so hot trapped inside their suit, between their legs, against their ass, the points of contact between them practically searing. Part of them wished they could feel him directly, strip off the suit and his pants alike, touch flesh to burning flesh, but another part relished the friction of rough, heavy fabric, how they could still feel the pressure of his erection even through so many layers of obfuscation, the power of the arousal they'd awakened in him impossible to deny. A whine broke off in the back of Medic's throat; Pyro moaned their own arousal aloud, made certain the man could hear them.

"There you are," he panted, "mein braves Liebchen."

God, they could feel the entire outline of his cock poking into them, he was so ragingly hard. He was desperate, wasn't he? Pyro almost wanted to tease him further, if not for their own desperation in turn.

Indeed, the doctor planted his feet upon the floor, head lolling over the back of his chair, lips parted and eyelids fluttering shut as he undulated against them again and again. He was pulling them back with each movement, too, they realized, as though they were naught but a toy for him to manipulate, to chase his own pleasure. And oh, Pyro did so love being used.

They tucked their hands beneath his thighs, partly to stabilize themself, and partly out of a need to touch more of him, to feel him.

"Scheisse," he muttered, his thrusts becoming shorter, more powerful. "Keep going--"

But an evil little idea had popped into Pyro's head, and when that happened, they could never let it go. And so instead they slid from his grasp quicker than he could register, and fell to their knees on the floor in front of him, turning to face him in the process.

Medic let out a grunt, and then a groan of exasperation, pleasure pulled out from under him (or on top of him, rather). "Kleine..."

He only watched, though, as Pyro scooted in close between his knees. Gulped as they laid their head upon his leg, tilted it to rest against his inner thigh. Trembled as they drew a hand over the bulge in his trousers, obscene in its obviousness. They could feel it pulsing and hot, even through the thickness of their glove. There was even a little wet spot over it that they hadn't noticed until now--the suit was a far more effective barrier against moisture, ironically enough. They made a questioning sort of sound, almost curious in tone.

Medic drew a shuddering breath as they grasped his length and squeezed, just a bit. "Yes, that's--my--you're a very good child, Pyro." He reached down to caress their cheek, even as he gripped at an armrest with his other hand.

Pyro made a pleased noise, then, drawing a thumb over his clothed tip.

"Would you--would you like to play with it...?" There was an almost feverish light in his eyes.

His brow furrowed, though, when they shook their head, and their hand withdrew. "That's--that's alright," he breathed, hips twitching just a bit, as though to chase their touch.

No, instead Pyro scooched in to situate themself over top of one of his feet, and pressed in close. Instead they wrapped their arms behind his knee in a loving embrace, and propped their chin upon his thigh, gazing up at him with what they hoped he interpreted as adoration. And they began to undulate again, humping at his leg with little pants and groans they hoped he could hear through the mask.

It was as though a bolt of lightning shot through him, when he realized what was happening. Pyro rubbing against him so desperately, looking up at him with such desire, so eager to please themself upon him. His hand flew to his mouth, biting down before he even had a chance to stop himself--he drew in a shuddering gasp, pelvis jerking up into the air of its own volition--

And a much larger stain spread across the fabric of his trousers, cock throbbing as it pumped out its release.

God, that's so hot. Pyro moaned, too, their hips speeding up on his leg. They knew how much he loved it when they were like this, a sweet little thing chasing pleasure, delighting in it, heedless of implication. They loved it, too.

They stopped, though, when Medic laid a hand upon their head, tilting it back to meet his eyes once he'd recovered.

"You are insufferable," he chuckled.

Pyro giggled, too. As long as they got what they wanted, who cared?

"I suppose you've succeeded in distracting me," he continued with a rueful shake of his head and a smile. "Come on, then. I'll change out of these, and then we can see to you, yes?"

And they nodded happily, taking him by the hand to pull him away to bed.

Chapter Text

Every passing second made Spy more and more certain of his plans for tomorrow: he was going to kill Medic. Slowly and excruciatingly.

Unfortunately, he was rather indisposed at the moment. But the instant they were freed--

The tendril up his ass jostled once more against his prostate, wiping his mind clean and forcing a moan past his lips.

There was an answering whimper somewhere off to his left, muffled but no less distinctively the Engineer's voice. Spy might kill him, too, honestly; this was all at least partially his fault. But he didn't tend to invite trouble, not like the mad doctor did. Or, at the very least, any trouble he brought generally fell upon his shoulders only. This time, though...

The three of them were currently entangled in a mass of prehensile vines, slimy limbs emerging from sickly green pustules that dotted the surface of a great big ugly bread monster. Medic and his damnable experiments. This one, contrary to its predecessor's predilection for human predation, seemed to have inherited its creator's curiosity. No, this one wasn't eating them (though at this point, Spy almost wished it would). This one wanted to explore.

It wasn't fair! Spy had just been passing by. At least the other two had a hand in bringing this monstrosity to life. Spy was but an innocent bystander caught up in the resulting mess.

And now here he was, suspended in the air, expensive suit torn from his body like it was nothing (on the floor covered in slime, now, how on earth was he supposed to clean that), squirming tendrils doing their very best to invade every single orifice they possibly could. Yes, every orifice. One had jabbed into his ear before retreating upon meeting his eardrum (ow), one had picked at his nose until he was certain he could feel it in his sinuses, and--

A strangled noise choked off in his lungs as the vine in his rectum forced itself ever deeper. At this rate, he was convinced it was trying to make its way to his stomach. Maybe it wanted to make the journey through his entire digestive system, force itself from his mouth, his body skewered upon it. He dearly hoped it wouldn't.

The beleaguered Engineer was himself skewered, somewhat--Spy was (mostly) sure the tendril in his mouth wasn't the same as the one up his ass, but he was trapped between them all the same. He pulled panicked breaths in through his nose, but the hardness of his cock betrayed the pleasure he found in it. Or maybe that was simply because another long, thin tendril had made its way down his urethra.

(Spy, of course, was not enjoying himself one bit, before you ask. Yes, he was hard as well, but this was purely a physical reaction to the pressure against his prostate, when the vine inside him writhed and squirmed and pressed in ever deeper. He was not having fun here. Not at all.)

And Medic, of course, was having the time of his life. The monster had left his mouth alone, and so he was free to gasp and whine his arousal aloud when those vines wound themselves around his chest, squeezed and pulled at his nipples. Maybe it knew, somehow, that there was a duct there, however tiny, and wanted to make its way inside, too? Spy was (mostly) sure that was a losing battle, but the bread monster seemed to be having fun playing with its most willing prey. Medic was practically bouncing on the vine up his ass, spine curving and hips straining for more. Another tendril had wrapped itself around his cock, and he thrust erratically into it even as he tried to rock back onto the one behind him.

Spy wished it had taken his mouth, too; the doctor was quite vocal about his pleasure. Even now, he let out another breathy moan, and Spy's gaze couldn't help but flick to his face, flushed and lips parted and eyelids fluttering, and an answering lurch shot through his own gut. Or maybe that was the vine digging around his intestines. Spy chose to believe it was the latter.

The Engineer, by contrast, was quiet as a mouse, albeit one under rather significant duress. Spy couldn't blame him--if he had a vine up there, there'd be tears welling in his eyes, too. Poor bastard. He shivered, unwilling to struggle much for fear of harming something important.

Spy himself had put up a mighty struggle, of course. It was simple exhaustion keeping him from doing so now. He'd thrashed until he could no more, but the monster held them fast. They would just have to withstand this until it became bored of them. Spy was a strong man, though. This was a trivial task. He'd withstood far worse than this. He wouldn't break.

Merde, it wasn't easy, though, with how that thing writhed within him. He almost wished it would wrap itself around his cock, too, bring him to the edge and finish him off, if only to end the torment of his ongoing arousal. This was not fun. It did not feel good. Not one bit.

No, Medic was undeniably the pervert here, gasping as the tendrils squeezed and groped his chest, swirled around his nipples, by now bright red and slick with slime and pulled up into stiff, swollen peaks. The vine about his cock slid enticingly over his tip, threatening to slip inside there, as well, but it refrained. Drool oozed from the corner of his mouth, precum welling from him to mix with the slime. What a picture he painted. A disgusting one, of course. Not attractive in the slightest.

And then as though it had read his thoughts, another tendril slipped around Spy's length, too, coating it in goop and squirming about in a clumsy imitation of a lover's grasp. Spy gritted his teeth, trapping a strangled noise in his throat. He feared if he let it loose, he'd be embarrassed for life. Alright, he'd changed his mind. He did not want to come here and now. At the very least, not before Medic, the degenerate.

The monster paid that thought no heed, though, pulsing as it settled into a cruel rhythm, stroking and sliding up and down and up again. God, this was---he was--no--

The Engineer whimpered again through his impromptu gag, made a valiant attempt to snap his knees together, some vine somewhere evidently having hit something sensitive. And he couldn't even find his own release, could he, with that tendril plugging him so, no matter how much the monster wound him up. Spy really did pity the man.

He tried to hold onto that thought, tried to keep himself distracted, think of anything but the way the limb wrapped around his cock sped up its movements, anything but the slick warmth hugging so perfectly along his length, anything but the tendril up his ass thrusting yet deeper, shifting to brush just right there--

Bordel de merde--

His orgasm was upon him before he'd even had time to suppress it, only just managing to bite down on a truly shameful sound before it burst from him, instead painting the bread monster white with the evidence of his embarrassment.

God, he was going to kill that doctor.

And as though in response, Medic loosed a loud wail of his own, come arcing through the air in a way Spy could only describe as artful.

Well. At least someone was having fun.

Chapter Text

When Sniper first proposed the idea, Spy had admittedly been a bit skeptical. Now, though? Now he wholeheartedly agreed. This was very entertaining, indeed.

He watched, utterly enraptured, as the sharpshooter peeled his foreskin back, exposed the head of his cock fat and swollen and desperate. Brought the thin steel rod to its tip, perfectly smooth and lubricated.

Sniper had confessed to him a while back, he'd long had an interest in this particular activity. But he found it utterly impossible to initiate; his hands balked at the idea of sticking something down his urethra, understandably so, from Spy's point of view. They'd tried placing the rod in Spy's hands instead, tried restraining him to keep him from recoiling, but he always tapped out before they could actually get to it. Nothing worked; that is, not until Spy mentioned one evening he'd taken up a particular area of study, a while back. The works of one Franz Anton Mesmer, later inspiring James Braid, were... dubiously scientific at best, but one could not deny their allure. Spy found it a fun little trick to play at high-society parties, to sway the wine-soaked minds of aristocrats to squawk like chickens or perform silly dances to uproarious laughter. Now, though, he put his skills to rather different use.

It worked best on those who wanted to be persuaded, Spy found. And thankfully, Sniper made for a perfect subject in this regard. Though he was a skeptic by nature, he did want it to work. All he really needed was a removal of mental barriers, a relinquishing of control, but still to be the one carrying it out.

And so the pair of them sat down that evening, and with careful application of a soft voice, the pendulous swing of a pocket watch, a manipulation of focus and consciousness, Spy brought the sharpshooter's mind to a low, fuzzy place. Pliant. Suggestible.

And slowly, deliberately, Spy had crooned to him each and every instruction, and Sniper acquiesced without hesitation. To remove the rod from its case, to disinfect it, to lubricate it. Spy never lifted a finger for any of it himself. Sniper needed this, need to be the one physically responsible.

"There you are," he murmured. "So close already, aren't you? Just a little motion and it'll be in. You can do that so easily."

It took a long moment for Sniper to respond, but he nodded, the movement a bit sideways, as though he were only just remembering how to do it.

"On the count of three, you will insert the rod. You are ready for it, I promise you this. One... two..."

And on cue, the very tip of the rod, rounded and smooth, slipped into his cock. Sniper drew a sharp breath, swaying on the spot, but his eyes remained glazed.

"There you are," Spy repeated. "And you will lower it further before I wake you. Slowly, carefully. Follow the motion of my finger." And he held one up, tracing a steady deliberate line straight down through the air. Sniper complied, gaze trained on that fingertip the whole time. He groaned deep in his chest at the movement, but still, still, he stayed under.

Spy halted him before the rod sank all the way in, down to the larger ball at the end that would keep it from getting lost. No, Sniper could enjoy that privilege when he was more awake to process it. He'd said before, the issue really was just getting started. Once it was in, he wasn't afraid anymore.

"There. Now, you will hold very still. And when I wake you, you will not startle or hurt yourself."

Spy almost wished he could keep Sniper like this a while longer, though. He was a gorgeous sight like this, so soft and vulnerable, so unlike the hard lines and sharp angles he normally projected. But perhaps that could be arranged another time. He hadn't expected this to be quite so arousing on his end of the deal... But it was nice to be pleasantly surprised.

"When I snap my fingers, you will return to normal, on the count of three. One, two..."

And on cue, Sniper blinked, eyes widening even as he swam back to full awareness. His breathing quickened.

"Fuck," he hissed, grip on the rod tightening. He looked down to observe his handiwork, flushing a violent red at the sight.

"You did so well for me, mon amour," Spy purred. "Beautifully done."

"...Thanks," Sniper breathed, gaze still transfixed by the rod disappearing into him.

Spy let a hand draw down to his crotch, tracing a lazy finger over the bulge in his trousers. "Why don't you play with it, then," he prompted.

Sniper bit his lip, and slowly, he began to shift the rod, just a little bit. In and out and in and out, just barely fucking himself on the thing. His thighs trembled, even that small of a motion overstimulating to such sensitive flesh.

He needed it. He needed more.

Spy settled back in his seat, listening to the sound of Sniper's desperate whimpering, and unzipped his pants. Pulled his own throbbing cock from its confines, gave it an indulgent stroke as he watched Sniper pleasure himself with the rod. They'd have to do this again sometime, he'd already decided. This was quite an entertaining show.

Chapter Text

When Pyro asked him earlier if he wanted to play a game with them, this wasn't exactly what he had in mind.

Scout knew they could be kind of... weird, like that. Had some interesting ideas about what constituted "fun". But he'd been thinking more along the lines of a tea party, or coloring books. Hell, a few times he'd joined them in burning scrap out back, or destroying evidence for Miss Pauling. He was no stranger to enacting violence for a good time.

It's just--usually it wasn't directed at him.

Though Pyro wasn't being overly rough; they were downright gentle with the candles, in fact. Burning hot wax is painful when applied directly to bare skin, however, no matter how carefully one goes about it.

And he knew they meant well, really. They weren't doing this because they hated him or wanted him to suffer. They just... thought this was what fun was. They probably thought he was having fun, too, honestly. He'd feel like a real jerk, shutting them down and telling them to screw off. He'd just--he could put up with this. He'd be fine. Even if it really freakin' hurt.

He hissed, grip tightening on the headrest of his bed when Pyro dipped a finger into the wax pooling on his chest. For once, he was glad not to be particularly blessed in the body hair department. It would be such a huge pain to get it all off of him later otherwise. They traced an idle path across his torso, meandering this way and that, seemingly only to get a reaction out of him rather than to write or draw anything meaningful. Just exploring. Playful, really. And Scout could do naught but oblige them, groaning when the burn of it spread along their touch, gradually cooling as the wax ran dry along their finger. They giggled at the sound, delighted.

See? They were having fun. Scout wasn't gonna deny them a good time. That'd just be mean.

That didn't make it any easier to bear, though, when they lifted the candle again. He watched with trepidation as it tilted, and when the droplets spattered on his chest once more--

Owowow, Fucking shitting God in heaven, that hurt. Tears sprung to his eyes unbidden, spilling over his cheeks as a pathetic little whimper curled in his throat. Hit him right in the nipple, son of a bitch--

Pyro made a questioning sort of sound, head cocked to one side.

Shit. He hoped he hadn't made them feel bad, with that. He didn't wanna ruin the moment for them, or anything.

"Sorry," he grunted, "Didn't mean to--"

Then he yelped when Pyro stuck a finger into the freshly-poured wax, scooped up a great glob of it. Lifted it to their face, as though to inspect it closely.

And then they placed that finger upon his face instead, and Scout had to grit his teeth to keep from wailing aloud, their touch searing against sensitive flesh. As it was, an ugly noise ground through his lungs like broken glass. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying the wax wouldn't run into them; that would be a nightmare.

They made another curious noise, observing their work when they withdrew. Jeez, his tears didn't even help with the pain; instead their saltiness only stung him further. He hiccupped, biting at his tongue to keep from sobbing openly.

"Sorry," he repeated, "sorry--"

And Pyro made a sound to cut him off, a two-toned "nuh-uh" of denial. What they meant by that, Scout hadn't the faintest clue. Stop apologizing? I'm sorry instead? Quit ruining the fun?

In any case, Scout got the impression he should keep his mouth shut, regardless.

No, Pyro's finger swiped over his cheek again. He winced when they passed over the burnt area. He could see his own tears wetting their fingertip, when they lifted it.

And then, without further adieu, that fingertip landed on his lips, and they parted in surprise, and it slipped into his mouth before he even registered what they'd done.

He could taste it, now, the salt in his wounds, and accompanying it, the last subtle traces of the wax. And behind those, the warm rubber of their glove. It tickled against his tongue when they shifted it about, tingling, almost itching when it brushed against the inside of his cheek.

Alright, this was getting weird. Not that it wasn't weird before, but it was getting actually weird now. Scout had half a mind to bite down on that finger, in fact, not hard, just to get them to take it out. It swirled around his tongue nearly in imitation of a lover's kiss.

Wait, scratch that last part. That was really weird. Wasn't it?

Right?

A sudden image came to mind, then, of how he must look right now. Laying shirtless in bed, clutching at the headrest with an iron grip, wax splattered all over his torso, red and raw and sensitive. Face flushed, crying and whimpering, Pyro shoving a finger in his mouth. Him not spitting it out. Welcoming it, even.

Licking at it cautiously. Sucking on it like a cock.

Alright, fuck, that was actually really hot.

Like, in a sexy way, not in a temperature way. (Also kind of in a temperature way, though. The wax did burn.)

Maybe... Maybe Pyro was right. Kind of. In a weird way. Maybe this was sort of fun, if not in the way he'd originally imagined. A wave of arousal washed south, his dick twitching in his pants.

Scout let his eyelids flutter shut, let his body relax. Pyro practically cooed at him when he did, thrusting their finger in place when his lips pursed around it.

Later, he could only hope no one would make any comments about the big, red mark on his cheek in the shape of a heart.

Chapter Text

"Fffuck, you're tight--never done this before, have you?"

Demo's eye rolled back in his head, biting back a pathetic moan. Sniper wasn't having it, though; he smacked the man's bare ass hard, hunched over him like a feral dog. Demo howled in response, overwhelmed.

Sniper had challenged him to a drinking competition earlier, and like the damn fool he was, he'd agreed. He assumed Sniper would be sensible, tap out when it became clear Demo could drink him under the table any day of the week, but apparently he'd underestimated just how stubbornly competitive the sharpshooter could be.

And now Sniper was wildly, uproariously drunk, and Demo wasn't feeling too sober, himself. How on earth either of them were maintaining an erection at this point was anyone's guess. But oh, they most certainly were. How they'd gotten to this point, he didn't quite remember, but they were out back behind Sniper's camper and he was railing Demo like there was no tomorrow.

"How'd'ye like that?" Sniper spat, nails digging into Demo's hips as he yanked him back onto his cock. Demo scrabbled at the ground, knees scraped raw by the rough gravel beneath them. "Teach-hh you to try an' beat me at... anything, bloody bastard." His speech slurred into itself, like listening to a tape played too slowly.

The only reply that made it out of Demo's mouth was a drawn-out "buhh," words so far beyond him he wasn't convinced they existed.

"Drinkin's practically your job an' you still lost. To a bloody Aussie!" Sniper rested an elbow on his back, letting out a harsh bark of laughter between pants. "What kind'e Scot are you, mate?"

One that lost at drinking competitions and took it up the ass, apparently. Was that why he'd ended up like this...? Lost the bet, and loser had to bottom? That probably made sense. He wasn't in any state to tell, anymore. But then, why were they outside...?

But Sniper smacked right into his prostate, then, and that sluggish train of thought was very handily derailed as an undignified squeal let itself out of his mouth. Sniper shifted on the spot, adjusting his position to hammer into that spot again and again, and Demo saw stars, and Sniper moaned above him, too.

"God, you're good," Sniper muttered. "Better at this than drinkin', eh? Should just... keep y'around for this, instead."

And though part of him rankled mightily at the idea, another part of him reeled wildly as arousal surged through his body. Fuck, there was something about it, though, wasn't there? Losing. Especially at something he so prided himself on. He'd been so utterly convinced he had it in the bag, hadn't he? And Sniper had to go and show him up.

Hell, maybe he'd even lost the bet on purpose. He didn't remember if he had, but he would've done it, just to get a taste of this. Of being brought low, having his nose rubbed in it (literally, in a sense; there was dust up his nostrils, his face having been shoved into the ground so firmly).

"Wonder if anyone'll hear us out here," Sniper growled, "Come lookin' t'find you, belly down'n arse up, cryin' for more... all b'cause you couldn't--haah--handle a bit o'liquor, right? Bloody shameful."

Demo bit his lip, a whimper welling in his throat at the thought. God, what if, though--what if someone did come looking? What if everyone did? Gathered in a circle to watch the show, join in the jeering and sneering. Everyone seeing how pathetic he was, not only losing but getting off on it, too, what a sorry bastard.

Drool oozed from his mouth as surely as precum oozed from his dick, mixing with the dirt beneath him in a slurry he utterly refused to think too hard on. He wondered, idly, if a beetle wandering by might get drunk just from walking through it.

And then Sniper gripped at his cock far too forcefully, and Demo yelped, abdominal muscles tightening; it was all he could do to keep from coming right then and there.

"Lookit this, then," the sharpshooter snickered. "You like it like this, yeah? Bein' told how shit you are."

Demo shook his head, rubbing his brow against the ground, but it was no use--he could feel his face burning with the shame, even as his dick throbbed fiercely for it.

"Go on, then, do it," Sniper cackled like a hyena, moving to stroke him clumsily but very enthusiastically. "Y'know you wanna. Come an' you admit it, that I won fair an' square, an' you're a pathetic bloody loser."

He spoke like Demo had a choice in the matter, as though he wasn't already spasming uncontrollably in the man's grasp, as though he wasn't already painting the ground white beneath him, sparks flying in his head and pelvic muscles seizing around the hard length in his ass. And Sniper swore under his breath, burying himself to the hilt and jerking erratically as he filled him up, too.

Demo deflated like a balloon as he recovered, muscles falling slack and groaning when Sniper pulled out of him. Cum dripped from his hole, ran down his thighs in his wake. Sniper grumbled to himself, and there was a heavy thump off to Demo's side when he plopped himself down onto the ground as well, gazing up at the nigh sky and propping his head up on his forearms.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled, rubbing at his temples. "Y'alright?"

Demo snorted. "Yeah, yeah, ye right bastard," he replied, though there was no real animosity behind it. "Remind me never to challenge you again, when you're drunk, eh?"

Sniper scratched at the back of his neck, apparently thoroughly cowed by now; something about having just orgasmed knocking some sense into his head, perhaps. "Err, sorry."

"Ahh, s'alright," Demo chuckled, though he grimaced when he moved to sit up. "Ruddy vicious, but I like it, honest."

"Still." Sniper gulped, face by now thoroughly red. "Oughta get you cleaned up, an' all."

Demo thought he should probably follow suit when Sniper hauled himself to his feet, wobbling around to the door to his camper. He winced again, rubbing at his behind when he did. That wasn't going to feel good to sit on tomorrow.

The pair of them recoiled, however, when the door opened, and smoke billowed out into their faces, along with an acrid stink that made their eyes water. Sniper coughed, waving a hand in front of his face. "Ahh, hell, forgot about the microwave."

Ohh, right, that was why they were outside.

Chapter Text

God, what sublime pain this was. How beautiful he must look right now. Pity he couldn't see at the moment, but the moment the blindfold came off, he was certain he'd be enraptured by the sight in the mirror for ages.

He pulled in a sharp breath when the scalpel withdrew from his chest. A low chuckle sounded from somewhere off to his left.

"You suffer so exquisitely, mein Liebling," Medic crooned in his ear. The doctor's own breath warmed Spy's cheek, a harsh contrast to the frigid air in the lab raising goosebumps over the rest of his body. "Do you feel it? How the blade dances across your skin? What a magnificent stage you make for me."

Yes, he could feel it very well. Without his sight, Spy's mind latched onto his sense of touch, instead, and he could feel a warm, fat drop of blood rolling along his ribcage, down to the surface of the table beneath him. He could feel that delightful sting of cuts across his flesh, a prickling, gnawing sensation as his body worked to scab them over. Medic would make sure that didn't happen, though. When their sessions drew long, he at times needed to revisit his work to keep the wounds open and bleeding. It was a marvelous display of his medical prowess, really; to not only heal, but also to harm to the exact degree he desired. A surgeon's skills are a double-edged blade, indeed.

He wondered what image the mad doctor had made of him, tonight. Sometimes he cared more for the process than the result, leaving Spy's body a wild mess of cuts and slashes, flushed and feverish with frenzied bloodlust. Tonight, though, Medic's energy was precise, methodical. When he got like this, he liked to inscribe something more thoughtful upon such a willing subject. Sometimes Spy would even leave it there until his next trip through Respawn, carrying a secret map of Medic's madness upon himself for up to a few days. Sometimes Medic even got to him again before they'd had the chance to disappear, layering scars upon scars in truly delicious fashion, an old, sore ache beneath his skin joined by the fresh sear of opening flesh. Those nights were his very favorite. He went to bed very satisfied, on those nights.

For now, though, he could only wonder what a picture he painted for the doctor. Medic would show him eventually, no doubt, but the anticipation throbbed low in his belly, regardless.

Frankly, it was only the blood loss at this point that kept him from developing a raging erection. His head spun with it, both the arousal and the emptying of his veins.

He could hear the grin in Medic's voice when he spoke. "Much as I love watching you bleed, Schatz, I think I'll leave your wounds to close tonight. I've a different idea in mind."

Oh? Spy's curiosity found itself piqued. He listened intently as Medic's footsteps retreated, not far, likely only to his desk and back. There was a soft clanking sound as he approached, almost like a belt buckle. Did Medic intend to flog him, then? That sounded like a lovely time. His muscles twitched in anticipation, already imagining such magnificent agony.

He flinched, however, when instead something brushed softly against his cock, not overly swollen but still quite sensitive.

"The idea came upon me a while back," Medic said, grasping his length gently. "Since you do so enjoy being restrained on my table... I wonder if perhaps you'd enjoy being restrained in other ways?"

Ahh. That made sense, now, yes. Medic could hardly torture him with a caged erection if he had no erection to cage.

Did he want that, though? It seemed an enticing idea. He hummed, shifting on the spot a bit. "Perhaps."

The steel of the cage bit frigid into his cock; his leg twitched sideways with the shock of it. Medic laid a gloved hand on his thigh, warning him to keep still, only for a moment before returning to his task. Spy's toes curled, though, once it was fastened in place. He could've at least warmed it up a bit before putting it on.

"Now, then," Medic chirped, "You are an awful mess, aren't you? I suppose I should clean you up."

And Spy opened his mouth, brow furrowed, to ask what, exactly, Medic was doing--they weren't done here yet, surely!--but then a broad, flat tongue pressed directly against the partially-scabbed wound in the center of his chest, and he gasped and jerked up at the touch.

The pads of Medic's fingertips dug into his abdomen, bidding him to lie down and still; Spy complied to the best to his abilities, but damn, was it difficult when Medic's tongue laved over his torso, up and down and around and around, and Spy knew he was licking up every last drop of blood smeared there. His cock immediately pulsed within its confines, desperate for more.

It was even better with the blindfold on, not knowing when or where the next touch was coming, focused entirely on the sensation rather than watching it happen. Medic ran over the junction between two overlapping cuts, rasping gently and yet still bringing newfound fire to them as he opened them back up to bleed once more. Spy bit back a moan, breathing heavily.

And then there was a shuffling beside him, and Medic practically shoved his tongue into Spy's mouth, telling him in all but words don't you dare hush yourself, your pleasure is mine. Spy could taste his own blood upon Medic's lips, and when he moaned this time, the sound of it poured into Medic's lungs, and he drank it in greedily, determined to swallow down every last drop of Spy that he possibly could.

But the ache of his cock only increased, and Spy's jaw tightened, tears springing to his eyes as his heartbeat throbbed against the unyielding metal. It was... It was something new, certainly. Perhaps he just needed to get used to it...?

Medic lowered his head once more, this time bathing one nipple in his saliva; at the same time, he swiped a finger over Spy's torso, coating it in an ungodly mixture of blood and drool before bringing it to his ass, teasing at the rim of his hole. Spy tried his best to spread his legs further, eager to invite it inside.

When it plunged into him, though, his dick gave another mighty twitch against the bars of its cage, and he cringed even as that finger honed in on his prostate, pressing into it again and again with no mercy at all, even as Medic latched his mouth over one of his deeper cuts, practically sucking at it like a vampire. He cried out, knees knocking in a vain attempt to snap his legs together. No, no, this was definitely not a good pain, in fact--anxiety lurched in his chest, ill-defined but no less frightening for it. He tossed his head to one side, and then the other, fingers curling into fists--this needed to stop, now--

"Viceroy," he gasped, and Medic practically sprang away from him like a startled rabbit.

"What's wrong?" The doctor's voice had lost all of its charm, now, short and clipped.

Spy ground his teeth. "The cage."

And immediately, a hand snaked around the object in question, and with a second of fumbling and the click of a latch he was free of the thing. He breathed a sigh of relief, muscles falling slack onto the table. "Thank you."

"Of course." Medic's tone hadn't changed. "Do you wish to continue?"

Spy hummed. "In a moment, perhaps."

Something touched the side of his head; he jolted, just a bit. "May I take this off, as well, then?"

"Please."

Spy blinked once, and then again, as the medbay came into view, and when his gaze fell upon Medic, the doctor's eyes were wide with concern. "Are you alright?"

"I believe so. I think... we simply ran into a new boundary, I'm afraid." Spy chuckled ruefully to himself. "An unfortunate way to do so."

Medic seemed somewhat mollified, then, giving him a little smile in response. "Quite. My apologies, Liebling."

Spy only shook his head. "None necessary. I was as surprised as you, honestly."

"Still." Medic drew a soft thumb over Spy's bound wrist. "I find myself quite out of the mood for this, now, I'm afraid. Would you be opposed to retiring to bed for the evening?"

"Mmm. Not at all. But on one condition."

Medic cocked his head, curious.

"I want to see what you've made of me tonight first, mon amour," Spy murmured, lidded eyes gazing up at his lover.

Medic's own eyes flashed with arousal in response. "Of course, mein Schatz."

And if after a steamy shower, Spy fell asleep in Medic's arms with the outline of a circled cross carved into his chest, the doctor's emblem embedded in his flesh, then no one else needed to be any the wiser.

Chapter Text

"Hold still so I can get a good picture, hon, that's it."

Well, it wasn't like he was going anywhere anytime soon, was it, given his position. Trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, the Engineer had said, as he recalled. The man knew his way around a bit of rope work, evidently. Add that to the list of his skills Spy was aware of.

He was halfway tempted to wriggle, regardless, more out of spite than anything, but he refrained. He was curious to see the resulting picture, too. And moving too much would only make the burning worse. For now, it had abated to merely a tingling sting, but if the root shifted about too much, it would come into contact with nerve endings not yet numbed to the sensation, and set fire anew within him.

Instead he twisted his head around, making eye contact with the camera lens. Glaring into it, though he couldn't make much noise with the length of rope running across his mouth.

"Ooh, that's gorgeous right there, keep lookin' like that." Engie grinned down at him, kneeling to get a better angle.

There was another snap, and a mechanical whir, and he took the Polaroid out of the camera, scrutinizing the resulting picture. Another of his marvelous little works, there--he'd fiddled with the thing to automate the entire process of capturing the image, rather than fussing about with timing or adjustments or anything like that. What a man. How lucky Spy was, to have him like this.

Engie set the camera aside, scooted in close to show him the pictures. "Ain't that a sight?"

A sight, indeed. Spy's heart (and cock) pulsed as he looked upon himself.

The Engineer hadn't gone too very fancy with the ropes, really; Spy's wrists were bound behind his back, and his legs bound at the ankles, and there was a loop around his head to keep him gagged. The rough concrete floor of Engie's workshop scraped at his knees and his chest, spine curving to expose his ass perfectly for the camera, the centerpiece of the whole presentation.

Yes, this particular practice wasn't well-known even within the very particular circles the pair of them moved within, but Spy had caught wind of it not long ago, and been intrigued by the concept ever since. Ginger root, as it turned out, made for quite an irritant to the mucous membranes when skinned and inserted into--well. Spy had never claimed not to be a masochist. And the Engineer, delightedly sadistic for him in turn, obliged.

And looking at himself now stole the breath from his lungs. He was so red around the root, so swollen, flesh inflamed and angry at whatever chemical it exuded. Was this healthy...? Probably not, but Spy was far too aroused to care. Instead, his mind turned on new ideas. Could he persuade the Engineer to fuck him like this, so inflamed and sensitive? How rapturous that would be, the man's cock a balm to his insides after the fury of the ginger root.

And then Engie showed him the next picture, and Spy's eyes fell upon his face--and oh, what a perfect expression. Teary and sweaty and flushed, clearly in pain, but meeting the camera's gaze with defiance, nonetheless. He could see a bit of redness at the corners of his lips, too, where the rope had rubbed, and drool oozing down his chin. He was a wreck.

He was beautiful.

Spy squirmed on the spot, and he could feel the fire in his ass starting again as the root made contact with parts yet untouched, and it only made his cock pulse even harder. He whined, gazing beseechingly up at the Engineer. Worked his jaw around the rope in his mouth.

"Aww, what's that, sweetheart?" Engie reached behind his head, tugging at the end of the rope, and it fell away in one easy motion.

Spy pulled in a ragged breath, eyes glazed with desire. "Fuck me."

And Engie's own eyes flashed in response, a wide smile drawing across his face.

"Honey, you ain't gonna be able to sit right for the next week straight."

Chapter Text

The Engineer buried his face in his hands. "Doc, I'm startin' to think you might just be doin' this on purpose, y'know."

"I--hooh--don't know what you're talking about!" Medic let out a breathless giggle, squirming in his monster's grasp.

He'd promised to get rid of the thing, after what happened last week, but apparently that promise held no assumption of timeliness on his part. Engie supposed he could at least be grateful that Medic was the only one in its grasp... at least for now. He frowned at that thought, and took a substantial step back from the scene before him, thoroughly uninterested in a repeat experience.

Why, in the rec room, of all places... It was like he wanted to get caught in the act. (He probably did, now that Dell thought about it.)

He shook his head, heaving an exasperated sigh. "You are somethin' else, Doc, I tell you what."

Medic only gasped in response, the bread monster evidently having hit something sensitive. His dick twitched, rock hard and furiously red, an obvious sign of his enjoyment of the situation.

Engie wasn't entirely clear on how intelligent the bread monster was, but whatever was running through its mind (if indeed it had a mind), it certainly had an eye for composition. Medic was suspended by its tendrils, crisscrossing and weaving in and out in a fascinating imitation of a harness tie. Dell had some experience with the practice, himself, and he recognized the intricate pattern it was replicating; an odd one, but one of his favorites. There was a length of rope (or vine, in this circumstance) running directly from a loop about the neck to one around Medic's cock, so that any struggle would tug at him cruelly. Normally Dell utilized a collar and a ring for it, rather than relying on the rope directly--he didn't trust his knotwork not to slip too tight, in such delicate areas--but the concept was very much the same. He'd used this very tie on Medic himself in the past, in fact. How the monster had figured it out, he hadn't the faintest clue. Maybe it could read minds...?

Aside from the centerpiece, though, the creature's vines had woven themselves into a more traditional pattern around his torso, binding his arms behind his back to better expose his chest, framed brilliantly by yet more loops of the tendrils. And of course, his cock stood out throbbing and desperate, pelvis jerking uselessly in the air when the tendril up his ass writhed about. His ankles were pulled back and away, thighs spread wide to show him off to any (un?)fortunate passers-by.

"Thing did a damn good job on you, though, I gotta say," Engie murmured, eye wandering appreciatively over its work.

Medic gulped, eyelids fluttering. "Tha--ahh--at is... good to hear," he panted.

It was at that moment Scout decided to walk through the door, however, and he yelped and covered his eyes. "Jeez, man, can't you do your weird shit somewhere else!?"

Medic giggled again, trembling in the monster's grip. "I'm s--sssorry, Scout, it's got me... rather trapped, at the moment!"

"Yeah, an' you sound real bent outta shape about it, don't'cha," Scout replied in a flat tone.

"What's all this, then?" Demo had been following behind him, apparently, budging past the runner to get inside; he groaned and rolled his eye upon greeting the sight before them. "Mate, get a bloody room!"

Medic huffed, though he couldn't muster any true animosity in his voice. "I am--indisposed!"

"You weren't bloody indisposed when you brought that thing in here, were you?"

Whatever the mad doctor's reply would have been, it was cut off when the monster shifted about to rub at his prostate more insistently, and he instead moaned and bit his lip, toes curling and cock twitching once more.

"Aww, c'mon, fellas, can't y'all appreciate a good show?" The Engineer teased.

Scout groaned again. "Don't tell me you're in on this too."

"Well, naww. But the Doc goes to all this effort, I figure he deserves some appreciation for it." The Engineer crossed his arms, leaned against the wall. Tilted his head, narrowed his eyes at them in that challenging way. "Ain't he a pretty surprise?"

"He's a surprise, for sure," Demo grumbled.

"Well, when life surprises you, sometimes you've gotta learn to appreciate it." Engie's gaze slid back toward Medic, and the doctor whined, his own eyes unnaturally bright as the monster thrust merrily away into his hole.

Scout shook his head. "You guys are gross, c'mon."

The Engineer lifted an eyebrow. "S'that a teleporter in your pocket, or are you just happy to see 'im, then?"

"Shut up!" Scout's face flushed a vibrant red as he scrambled to cover his shame. Demo only snorted beside him.

"Mate, ye might as well admit it, he's practically askin' for it." He elbowed Scout in the ribcage, and the runner practically leapt away from him, diving into the couch to hide his face.

"It ain't nothin'!"

"Right, and me mum's still got both her eyes in her head."

Chapter Text

The Engineer counted himself lucky, really, that he'd happened upon the enemy Spy in the midst of a furious firefight. The sound of gunshots and explosions served to hide the sound of his whimpering.

"I said quiet down," he snarled regardless, grip tightening on the back of the man's head. Spy gagged as Engie's cock slid deeper into his throat. "You want everyone to hear you? Come runnin' to find you like this?"

Spy jittered his head from side to side, just barely, too trapped against Engie's groin for anything else. His eyes were wide and teary, lips puffy and red around him, and the sight only turned him on more.

"Little--goddamn shit," The Engineer continued, hips snapping against Spy's face, heedless of how it made his eyes squeeze shut in pain. Oh, he wouldn't be able to talk without rasping for a week after this. "My sentry's one thing, but you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to keep rebuildin' dispensers? Recalibrate the teleporters?"

It was then that he noticed the man knelt before him squirming, legs pressed together to generate a bit of friction on his own cock, and a flash of anger flared in his chest; he kicked a foot between Spy's knees to force them apart. "Don't you goddamn dare," he spat.

Instead, he shoved himself deep, deep into Spy's throat, all the way down to the hilt, Spy's nose buried in his pubic hair. Spy gagged again, but Engie paid him no mind. He held him there for an interminably long moment, time stretching even as Spy began to warble his complaint, even as he began to wriggle, hands tightening on Engie's legs, even as his panic grew from lack of air. No, there would be no mercy from the Engineer at all.

"Maybe you'll learn your lesson about messin' with my work," Engie hissed, lowering his own head as much as he was able, hunched over Spy's prostrate form. "Quit wreckin' my shit, y'hear?"

Spy whined, more tears spilling over his eyelids--he couldn't breathe--

The Engineer shook him, then, jerking his head in place for emphasis. "Y'hear?"

Spy nodded as well as he was able, chin brushing against Engie's balls, lungs screaming for relief, and finally, the Engineer released him, and he fell back onto his haunches, panting hard. He got hardly a second of peace, however, before the Engineer replaced Spy's mouth with his hand, stroking himself furiously, and then he was coming all over Spy's face, splattering onto his mask impossible to plausibly deny. Spy flinched when it nearly hit him in the eye.

"Don't you forget it," Engie said once he'd recovered somewhat.

"I won't," Spy croaked, rubbing at his neck.

Engie poked his head around the corner, checking to make sure they hadn't been caught. Indeed, the battle seemed to have moved on without them; all was silent and still. "Got me all distracted here, too, don't you. I oughta punish you more."

"Please don't."

"Naww. You're lucky I'm spent."

Spy gulped, trying and failing to banish the soreness the Engineer had left behind. He'd be feeling that for a while. "I don't suppose I could trouble you to return the favor...?" His knees slid further apart, exposing the obvious bulge in his trousers.

But Engie only rolled his eyes, nudging the man with his foot--gently this time, but no less insistent for it. "Git."

And Spy scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off as best as he was able before vanishing into the shadows.

Chapter Text

Something... something felt very good. Heavy couldn't possibly put a finger on what, but something felt very nice, indeed.

Oh, wait, he could, actually. Pleasure throbbed deep in the pit of his belly, its own fingers reaching out to wrap themselves about his cock, and he rumbled absently to himself, pelvis straining into the sensation.

Or no, rather. It felt more like a hole, something wet and hot and encasing him all around. Some burning appendage writhing and flicking at the tip--a mouth? Yes, a mouth, it must be.

Yes, this was a feeling he knew well, wasn't it? Medic did so love to have him like this. He could picture it now, laying in bed on some lazy morning, Medic there when he lifted his head, swallowing him down like he'd die for the lack of it. A moment of searing eye contact, when he realized Heavy was awake. Heavy trying very hard to keep from coming right then and there. Not always succeeding.

Sometimes they were in his room, sometimes Medic's. More than once he remembered it in a hotel room somewhere, or at the cabin they liked to visit at times when they had a few weeks off work. Those instances all blurred together, now, the details overlapping, the room around them a jumbled amalgam of memory. That window was from his bedroom, certainly, but the bedside table... Heavy didn't care where they were, regardless. As long as he was with Medic, he was home.

Medic gave a gratuitous moan, his voice vibrating along Heavy's shaft as he bobbed his head, and Heavy moaned too, a clumsy hand moving to rest on his scalp--but no, he couldn't move, in fact. How strange. But it was no great matter. He was with his doctor, and that was all he needed.

Instead his head fell back onto the pillows, glutes flexing and toes curling when Medic sank further onto his cock. Heavy had expressed, once, his confusion over Medic's affinity for the act; though he enjoyed pleasuring his partner orally for their sake, he never found much arousal in it for his own. Medic, on the other hand, absolutely loved it. He wanted his beloved inside him, he said, cherished the sensation, and he didn't care how it happened. And, he admitted, it was rather a point of pride for him--he was very good at it, after all, and nothing if not a self-professed egotist.

Steadily, the world swam into sharper focus around him. Heavy could hear the tiny hitch of Medic's breath as he fucked his own face onto his lover's cock, could feel cool air against his bare legs, could feel the pads of Medic's fingers pressing into his thighs. Part of him resisted it, wanting to float a bit longer in this dreamy state... Yes, he was dreaming, wasn't he? That made sense.

But the realization snapped something in his head, and his eyes popped open as the half-forgotten fragments of the room coalesced into something more solid, and Medic swallowed him directly to the hilt at nearly the same exact moment--

His belly clenched and he groaned when he came, buried in that plush, wet heat--

And then Medic jolted off of him abruptly, and that groan turned into an awkward, strangled sort of sound as Heavy's hips jerked up in vain, chasing his pleasure even as the remainder of his orgasm instead coated his abdomen.

Medic chuckled, wiping at his chin with the back of a hand. "I didn't think you were quite that close, goodness."

Heavy only panted in response, not quite awake enough for speech yet.

"And now you've made a mess of yourself, haven't you," he continued with a tsk, entirely heedless of his own contribution to the situation.

Heavy tried to lower his arms, to reach for his doctor, to pull him up for a kiss--but no, he was in fact restrained. He glanced up to see handcuffs around his wrists, trapping them against the bedframe. Ahh, so that part hadn't been a dream. He rumbled a questioning note.

Medic hummed, too. "Oh, consider that payback for Tuesday," he lilted.

Right. Tuesday... He'd been a bit rough with Medic on Tuesday, hadn't he? Pressed him against the wall and held him by the wrists while they... Well.

Heavy knew him, though. He called it payback, but it was really more of a reward. Or a thanks, perhaps. Medic knew him, too. Knew they both liked it like this, being restrained. Knew this jockeying little game they played at times.

"Kiss me?" he asked instead, hoping the doctor would be swayed by his most precious of puppy-dog eyes.

And Medic smiled and indulged him, of course, pressing their lips together to let Heavy taste himself on his lover's tongue, caressing his jaw. He was in no mood for real punishment.

"I simply must clean you up, however," the doctor said as he pulled back. "We can't have you like this, can we?"

Heavy chuckled. He thought he might know where this was going. "Of course not."

And indeed, Medic pressed his tongue to Heavy's belly, lapping up the man's cum like a favorite snack. Heavy's cock twitched again at the sight. Perhaps the morning held yet more pleasure to be discovered.

Chapter Text

Herbert Ludwig would be the first to admit, he had never been the most conventionally masculine of men. He had tried at one point, of course, as so many of his sort did, but traditional gender roles simply slid off him like water off a duck's back. No, he had done his experimentation, and discovered he was, in fact, queer as July snow, and that was all there was to it.

One should not mistake this, however, for an assumption of a feminine identity, instead. Though he carried himself with a certain flamboyance often ascribed to femininity, it was of an altogether separate sort from the femininity ascribed to actual women. One would struggle to call him a twink (though that could be at least partially attributed to his size; he was rather too tall and bulky for that moniker), let alone anything approaching genuine womanhood.

No, Herbert was no twink, no transvestite and certainly no transsexual, nothing of that sort, though he held no ill will toward his cousins in the community. Herbert Ludwig was a faggot, very comfortably and proudly so, thank you very much.

All of this is to say, the lacy brassiere chafed uncomfortably against his chest. He shifted on the spot, wishing he could scratch the itch, but he didn't want to ruin the mood.

He didn't mind the getup, really, frilly panties and bright lipstick, though he wished he hadn't had to shave so fastidiously. He'd itch like hell all over while it grew back. Make a note of that for later--clients would not be allowed to ask for that, anymore. But it was just as much performance to him as anything else, as it had been for him to attempt a facade of heterosexuality. And much as he enjoyed performance for his own sake, performing at the demand of others had never held much appeal to him. In fact, his pride rankled at the thought.

But there was nothing for it, now. He was an openly queer man in Europe in 1939, and sex work was one of the few avenues left to men like him. His doctorate made no difference--no legitimate institution would hire him anymore. Once more, he cursed the blasted Reich, though only in the safety of his own mind; he'd made that mistake before, assuming any who patronized him would hold the same views, and it was not a mistake he intended to make twice.

Especially not with this client. He'd paid up front and paid well, and so Herbert had little to complain about, but he sensed this man had a bone to pick. Not with him in particular--it was never personal, a thing like this--but men like him needed a face to put to the chip on their shoulder, and people like Herbert made for the perfect such face. Perhaps he repressed homosexuality of his own, perhaps he'd estranged a family member over the subject. Herbert hardly knew, and cared even less. He was only here for the job.

And many of his ilk would balk at taking a job like this, and he hardly blamed them--in fact, this one had been sent on to him by someone else he knew of in the business--but... Well. His clients may get away with rather a lot, but he could get away with worse. They didn't know that, of course. It'd be bad business. But he wasn't above letting them know, in quite drastic fashion, that he was not a wastrel to be abused without consequence.

And so he knelt before an angry man, a man who saw him not as a fellow human but a concept, the idea of something that repulsed him just as much as it attracted him. And he fluttered his lashes, and pursed his lips, and crooned sweet nothings into the air between them. The hardness of the man's cock made for an interesting contrast with the derisive sneer upon his face. It was amusing, really.

"Ty cholerna niemiecka suko," the man snarled, and Herbert's Polish wasn't quite up to snuff but he rather thought he got the gist of it, at least. "They should have got rid of you when they had the chance. Instead you escape, and spread your filth across Europe like plague rats."

Herbert would have rolled his eyes, if he could. Yes, yes, I'm a blight upon humanity. Let me suck you off so we can get this over with.

And blessedly, the man did as he wished, only a brief fumble with his belt before jamming his erection directly down Herbert's throat. He gagged unbidden, struggling to adjust to the sudden intrusion, but the man paid him no mind. Rude. He was perfectly capable of handling such things, if given a moment to prepare.

But Herbert supposed the rudeness was the point, wasn't it. He'd have gone elsewhere if he wanted to play nice.

The man didn't even last long, a pity--whether that be down to Herbert's prowess or his own neurosis, Herbert hardly knew and cared even less. But soon enough cum pumped down his gullet, the man growling multilingual insults the whole while, and he swallowed diligently, mind already wandering off--

And then something cold and sharp pressed against his neck as the man pulled out, and he froze.

"Beg for it," the man hissed. "Beg for my mercy, degenerate."

Oh, no, no, no. This wouldn't do. This was not in the agreement.

Herbert wasn't above begging, really, ever the pragmatist, but he suspected he wouldn't receive mercy even if he did.

Hmm. What a shame.

For the man, of course, not for Hebert. His family would miss him dearly.

Now, where was that scalpel...

The little blade dug a deep gash into the man's leg, and he gasped and fell to his own knees, a bloody mirror of Herbert's posture before him. Herbert wasted no time at all in disarming him, the other knife significantly larger and sturdier. How kind of the man, to provide the means for his own execution. The scalpel was serviceable, but difficult to kill with, and messy. He'd nicked it from his last professional workplace, and it had proved itself time and time again, by now his closest companion.

Through the man's jugular his own blade stabbed, and with a few short moments of gargling and wheezing and flailing, he fell still and silent forevermore. His cock still hung out of his trousers, limp and flaccid. Stained red in places by Herbert's lipstick. He snickered at the sight.

Yes, there was a reason the others tended to send these particular cases on to him. He'd gained a bit of a reputation for it. Their "Angel of Death," they called him. How sweet. A few had expressed concern for his well-being, but he reassured them, he always came out alright in the end.

Now, on to other things. Perhaps he had his wallet on him--he wouldn't be needing it anymore, after all...

Aha! The jackpot. These men tended to be idiots as well as cruel. And he looked to be wealthy, too. Very nice, indeed.

Though on the other hand, that could spell trouble. Wealth meant influence. He might be missed moreso than Herbert originally thought.

Hmm. You know, the man looked a little like him, didn't he? A restyling of hair, take off the glasses, grow a moustache... It could work. Not to fool any who truly knew the man, of course, but enough to fool security at the border.

He had always wanted to visit America. What a serendipitous opportunity.

Chapter Text

Oh, Medic would definitely need to do this again, sometime. The look on Soldier's face was absolutely precious.

He'd drawn the man to the med bay on the pretense of a physical, and Soldier had agreed all too readily; he needed to ensure he was in tip-top shape if he wanted to win battles, after all. And at first things had gone as expected--he peeked in Soldier's eyes, ears, listened to his heart and lungs and all that nonsense. But then Medic had proposed a new idea. A test of endurance, he called it. Soldier was a little wary at first, but Medic reassured him, this was entirely necessary. One must maintain excellent stamina to be a good mercenary, of course.

And so Medic had first teased him through his trousers, and then taken him in his mouth, and now he'd laid the man back on the exam table and sank fully down onto his cock, grinding his hips in place just so to torture him further. And Soldier had blushed furiously, and bitten his lip, and gazed up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes, so uncharacteristic a contrast to his general abrasive demeanor. He was simply adorable like this. Medic couldn't get enough of it. He needed more, needed to see him fall utterly to pieces. But that could wait a while yet. A climax deferred is all the sweeter for it, no?

Instead he leaned in close, pressed his chest to Soldier's, let him feel the soft brush of body hair, the plushness of his tits, and Soldier whimpered, what a lovely little sound.

"Remember I'm timing you," Medic lilted, just to taunt him further. "If you come now, that'll be very disappointing."

Soldier gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes, Sir," he hissed.

Ooh, Medic liked that. Put a pin in that, too.

Gloved hands snaked down Soldier's waist, wormed around his buttocks to give each side a firm squeeze. Medic could feel how it made Soldier twitch inside him in response. He grinned to himself.

Soldier held himself stiff and still as he could manage, but even his iron discipline couldn't prevent an involuntary jerk, pelvis jolting up when Medic rolled his own hips and moaned gratuitously. He clenched around the hard length inside him, reveled in how it made the man beneath him tremble and drool for more. He did it again, just to keep looking at that face.

Medic leaned back, then, gazing upon him more fully. Gott, he was already such a wreck. There was no way he would last. What a shame.

He planted his hands to either side of Soldier's torso, propping himself up to ride him more roughly, intent on breaking him.

And Soldier's pelvis twitched upward again, gasping as his hands gripped tight around the edges of the table. Medic let his own eyes flutter shut, but only for a moment; he wanted to watch, wanted to see the second Soldier came undone.

He was already nearly there, face flushed and sweaty and jaw flexing as he tried in vain to hold off for just a little bit longer--

But no, Medic was far too good at this for him to handle, and he practically yelped when it happened, shoulders curling up off the table with the force of it, abdominal muscles tightening as he pulsed with his release into Medic's ass.

Medic looked up at the clock as he slowed, and then stopped, though he still wriggled a bit to draw another whine from Soldier's lungs. 12 minutes, he'd lasted. He tsked and shook his head.

"Rather disappointing," he hummed. "We'll simply need to work on this some more, won't we? I'm writing you a new prescription, mein Freund. I'll have you in here again in three day's time."

Soldier gulped, still breathing rather heavily. "Yes, Sir."

Chapter Text

Sniper groaned, gritting his teeth so hard he felt sure they'd crumble in his mouth. Scout's grip tightened on his shirt.

"Fucking--yess," the runner hissed, throwing his head back. He had Sniper pinned to the floor, and his hips were working fast enough to make Sniper's head spin. "Mine."

Yes, Scout... Scout got like this, when he hadn't taken his suppressants for a few days. One would expect an omega in heat to present more stereotypically, all fawning and submissive and begging for relief, but Scout was not most omegas. It was what Sniper loved about him. He'd explained it before, when not so lost in the throes of his hormones. He felt the urge, like most omegas do, to present in that way, and he hated it with a burning passion. And so instead when that time of the year rolled around--or once he'd gotten on the pill, when he forgot them--he became this furious thing, all teeth and nails and anger and spite. Sniper thought this might not have been healthy... but it wasn't really his business.

And he'd never been much of an alpha's alpha either, had he. Ruts were infrequent and light, and he'd never felt the need to assert himself so aggressively like others did. In fact, he'd long held other members of his secondary sex with disdain, acting out so immaturely, in such crude ways. It wasn't until much later that he figured it out, that his own hormones just didn't hit him the same way as they did other alphas. An old college friend had helped him realize it, in fact. Sniper liked him at first for his similar mild manner, but he became an absolute ogre to be around during his ruts. Sniper had been at first irritated, and then thoroughly pitied the man.

His mind snapped back to the present, though, when Scout's fingers dug like claws into his throat, and he choked as his circulation was cut off.

"Don't you fucking dare even look at another omega," he snarled, pupils blown wide with--arousal? Anger? Probably both. "I'm your omega, hear? Me. Not any-fucking-one else."

Sniper nodded, wheezing, but Scout seemed hardly to be paying attention, talking at him more than to him. He slammed his ass down, smacked Sniper's cock inside himself down to the hilt, and Sniper squawked in response, certain he'd be sporting a bruise on his pelvis.

"And if I'm your omega that means you're my alpha," Scout continued, heedless of his partner's protests. "Fucking mine. No one else's."

Sniper nodded as well as he was able, an awkward, jerking motion, mind beginning to swim from the lack of blood flow.

Scout ground himself onto Sniper's length with an aggressive roll of his hips, rocking on the spot even as Sniper groaned again. "Say it," he spat.

Sniper's jaw worked uselessly; he gulped, static starting to crawl at the edges of his vision.

"Say it!" Scout scored long scratches down Sniper's neck as he pulled his hand away, and Sniper gasped, the sudden lungful of air sending him reeling.

"I'm--yours--" he stammered.

Scout planted that hand in the center of his chest, then, shoving him into the floor. "And?"

"You--you're mine--"

And Scout positively wailed as his hole spasmed around Sniper's cock, and Sniper canted up into him, knot locking in place that he hadn't even realized had been swelling until now, and a tsunami crashed through his skull as he came with a strangled sound that tore through his ribcage.

When he came to, Sniper realized Scout had draped himself over top of him like a weighted blanket. He hummed quietly to himself, nuzzling into the crook of Sniper's abused neck. "Love you," he murmured.

And Sniper smiled. Scout got like this, too, afterwards. Perhaps as apology for the rough treatment, perhaps in reaction to the hormones crashing back down. Sniper didn't care, either way. He drew a gentle hand up Scout's back.

"You too, love," he replied.

Chapter Text

"Doc, you've got to be bloody kidding me," Sniper hissed to himself, white-knuckling his grip on his rifle.

He'd shoved a careless hand into his locker this morning to grab his equipment, same as ever, but then yelped and withdrawn when something jabbed into his finger. Some mystery syringe, he discovered upon closer inspection, likely stuck in his locker by accident--Medic's was right next door. He'd grumbled about the doctor's carelessness and forgotten about it, but only an hour later he had a very strong suspicion as to what its contents had been. Or what it had been intended for, at the very least. Why, he hadn't the faintest clue, but that could be chalked up to Medic being Medic.

And now he was hunched over in the corner of Resupply, grinding his teeth in a vain attempt to stave off an erection so insistent it was painful. He felt sure if he stripped his pants off then and there, his dick would be practically purple. Hell, maybe it was on the verge of falling off. Sniper wouldn't be surprised. What an awful way to go.

He couldn't go on like this, though. Even the slightest jostle set fire to his groin. He needed to--

Biting his lip hard enough to bleed, he dove out the door and around the corner in one fluid motion, head spinning and bile rising in his throat with the overstimulation. He needed to hide, somewhere. He couldn't let anyone see him like this.

There, there was a shed off to the side, right at the edge of the battlefield. There was a health pack inside, so that was a no-go in case anyone came by looking to heal, but he could duck around the back...

He staggered against the wall when finally out of sight, sinking to the ground with a helpless whimper. Dear God, this was awful.

He ended up peeling his trousers off, after all, desperate for a bit of relief. Christ, it was nearly purple, wasn't it? This couldn't be healthy. He brought a hesitant hand to it, hissing when he made contact and pulling away like he'd been scalded. No, no, that was way too sensitive. He couldn't touch it directly, he'd end up passing out.

Fuck. What now?

His eyes slid desperately over his surroundings, as though he'd find relief in the sparse grass and dirt around him. Unfortunately, none came to light.

Fucking hell. Maybe...

Oh, he'd kill himself for this. If anyone saw...

Sniper stuck a pair of fingers in his mouth, coating them with saliva, before lowering them to his exposed hole. He needed a less direct form of stimulation. He'd never been able to finish like this before, honestly, not on its own, but if ever there was a time it would happen, it'd be now.

He ground his teeth as he worked himself open, at once too fast and too slow; he was desperate for relief, but it had been a while since he'd done this. His ass ached with the stretch, and not in a fun way, but then he brushed up against his prostate and gasped, muscles clenching with the shock of it. Christ alive, even through the backdoor, he was still this sensitive!? What on earth was Medic planning to do with this stuff? Did he mean to kill the enemy team via priapism?

He couldn't reach very well with just his fingers, though, at least not without accidentally bumping his dick as well, and that would not help his current dilemma.

He groaned, pulling his hand away, gaze drifting to his gun. His most trusted companion, and only one, at the moment.

Bloody fucking hell. He really would kill himself for this, wouldn't he.

He could at least disassemble it partway, to prevent any truly embarrassing accidents. He'd never live it down if he actually shot himself in the middle of--well.

Sniper covered his mouth with one hand as he eased the barrel into himself, terrified of making undue noise. The cool, unyielding metal slipped into place unnervingly easily once its edge made it past his rim. Thankfully it was long enough on its own not to get lost inside him... probably. Maybe he should've left it a little bit more assembled. That would be a truly miserable visit to the med bay, even if it had technically been the mad doctor's fault in the first place.

But then it rammed right into his prostate, and he bit down on his hand to keep from yelping, mind wiped completely clean of thought.

There, there we go, he breathed. He was so close already. It couldn't take long. (It had better not take long, any shame in failing to last be damned.)

With the added length of the gun barrel, though, he could reach around behind himself instead of down between his legs--God, please don't let anyone find him like this--and he pitched forward to rest upon one forearm, spine curving in a truly obscene manner as he thrust the barrel into himself again and again, shoving up against that sweet spot with every movement. He registered the wetness on his wrist before he realized he was drooling, eyelids fluttering in sheer overwhelm at the stimulation. He must look like an absolute slut right now, Christ.

And blessedly, his theory proved itself correct; he needed only to push it in a little further, shift it about in little circular motions, for near-constant pressure against his prostate. Time seemed to dilate, and for one agonizingly long moment that might have been only a few seconds but felt like millennia, he could sense his orgasm building in a place deep down in his gut, and he had barely the time to wonder at how different it felt from usual, and then it was upon him like an avalanche--

He bit down on the grating sound that begged to tear itself from his chest, scraping against his lungs as he came so hard he blacked out. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph--

All he could do was breathe, keep breathing, and steadily awareness swam back to his head.

And he realized he'd collapsed on the ground, a limp sack of bones with a half-disassembled gun next to him. The barrel had, ever so politely, popped itself out of his hole with the contraction of his pelvic muscles. Now unpleasantly wet, it had picked up a thorough coating of dirt after rolling away.

As soon as he felt able, Sniper himself rolled back up into a sitting position, tugging his trousers back on, and glanced furtively about. It didn't look like anyone had caught him, thank the bloody Queen. He slouched against the wall, weary gaze drifting back to his gun. He didn't really want to touch it again, anymore.

He would be having a very stern talk with Medic later, though, that was for certain.