Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Just shy of the win.

The RED Sniper parted from his rifle to take a much needed sip of his coffee, the remaining swig in the mug tampered with by the taste of defeat. BLU Scout would surely run in at any second, he thought to himself, taking in the distant screams of his comrades as their victory kills were claimed.

Yet no Scout came. Almost amused, Sniper remained in place, leaned against a crate as he stared at the entrance to his little corner in the fortress. Death after a defeat had always been inevitable- until now.

Instead of footsteps, Sniper first noticed the strong smell breathing its way into the room. It instantly reeked of distinctly imported cigarettes, and a cologne high above his own pay grade- the kind of air that was better fit for a wine gathering was now urging Sniper’s eyes to water. It was strong, undeniable- and the only weakness in the BLU Spy’s art.

“Waitin’ for an invitation?” The RED inquired, boldly challenging the enemy’s presence with a glare into the nothingness. If he hadn’t been killed yet, the Spy was clearly up to something. “C’mon now, least you can do is spare me a cig.”

As the BLU mercenary faded into view, he eyed the other with bitter contempt, allowing him to get one more remark in before the Spy could speak.

“Don’t look at me like that. You smell like the whole pack, mate.”

“You’re one to talk, bushman.” He strolled closer with a cautious eye trained on the gloved hand resting on the RED mercenary’s rifle. “That gun won’t help you much now.”

“Ay, I won’t put up a fight. Just get it over with,” the Australian twirled the empty mug in his hand, the #1 Sniper across the side feeling rather tasteless at the moment. “Unless of course, you’re waitin’ for the respawn to shut off...”

It was less of a question, and more so light hearted banter, but the Sniper couldn’t have been more right. The Spy wavered, forcing eye contact to keep himself from unconsciously glancing at his watch. As ordered by the Administrator- by extension, Miss Pauling- he’d snuck into the RED fortress after his own victory, slinking through the shadows of respawned enemy mercenaries until he’d reached their Sniper. Now, all he had to do was wait for the respawners to shut off to permanently put the RED Sniper out of his misery. He wouldn’t stop to consider why the unsuspecting Sniper had become the number one target of his superiors, for it mattered little to him; a target was a target. Besides, he had already killed the same Sniper a thousand times over. Now that he was caught in the act, however, the BLU Spy decided to entertain himself in the process.

“Killing you now.. It would be much simpler, je sais,” the Spy hummed, waltzing closer with each step as if he was coincidentally wandering in the loser’s direction. “But I prefer to relish in my victory.”

He kept an eye on the Sniper, as directed; every movement he made, every breath he took, the vacant space where the Australian had ripped open his vest in protest of the heat… It was in his best interest to get close to his target, just enough to send a blade into his chest, yet he longed to move closer, even above him on the RED crate. He suddenly snapped back into focus, one hand grasping at the box in his pocket and the contents inside.

“What, by keepin’ me waitin’? Some fun you are,” The loser grumbled, reaching up an expectant hand for a cigarette; only after a moment of deliberation did the victorious comply.

“Well, how else do you suggest I entertain myself?” Spy snorted, rolling his eyes and blowing a bitter huff of French ash into the man on the floor’s face. “By asking you how it feels to lose?”

Sniper’s own lighter offered him little sympathy as he ignored the other mercenary’s remark. “Ya got a light?”

“Always, my dear Sniper.” Spy bit his tongue, far cheekier than he’d anticipated. “I see now, tu n’étais pas prêt.”

“Rub it in more, will ya?”

A momentary lapse in the Spy’s judgement. He watched, savoring every moment as his enemy stared into the distance, wholly unaware of his fate. Temptation got the best of him, disguised as an excuse to carry out his work.

“Perhaps I will,” The BLU mercenary leapt off of the crate, sinking with dramatic delay into the Sniper’s lap and plucking the cigarette out of his mouth. “You’re quite a sight to behold, after all.”

Sniper pouted at the premature loss before swiftly returning the other’s gaze. “You’re not so bad yourself, mate.. even if ya always got that mask on.”

The Frenchman froze, disarmed by his own audacity to even consider parting ways with his signature balaclava; the split second of indecision amused Sniper.

“What’re you plannin’, anyway?”

The RED mercenary wouldn’t dare to flinch as the Spy tossed his hat away to get a better look into his enemy’s eyes, still tinted by the dim gold in his shades. He received no answer as the deep blue of the Frenchman's eyes dove into his own, on a soul searching quest to decide how to make his enemy’s final moments worthwhile. Sniper, of course, remained oblivious, struck by fascination rather than fear.

“I’m not gonna get a word outta you, am I?”

“Tais toi et embrasses moi,” The words alone took his breath away as he bridged the gap between them. With one gloved hand pressed against his victory prize’s unkempt chest and the other over his shoulder, he’d trapped the Sniper in his embrace without so much as a warning; although, he was far from opposed. In fact, he’d considered it a challenge of his own to figure out what Spy kept so locked away behind his colorful mask. Everything about the Frenchman was enticing; surely, Spy was the best nicotine he’d ever tasted. Of course, he had no clue why his enemy was making out with him instead of killing him in one go.. but a backstab like this would be worth taking.

Spy let the soon to be dead man absorb him, just as he did the same. He was equally as trapped by the Australian’s allure, how unguarded he remained as he danced with death itself, and how his rifle bruised hands kept a vice grip on his waist…

Remembering what he was there for tasted even more bittersweet than the taste of coffee lingering in the taller man’s mouth. The Frenchman was reluctant to lift his free hand away from the other’s chest but complied with the logical decision, flicking his dagger out from his pocket and hiding it behind his own back in one sly motion. Yet Sniper pulled him closer, blissfully unaware of the danger he faced with his own assassin in his lap.

Spy could hardly focus on sticking to the task, the blade behind him quivering as he considered dropping his order completely. He’d executed the same order countless times before, but never had he purposefully put an end to another Teufort mercenary- let alone one as intriguing as the enemy Sniper.

Both men were stunned by the sound of Spy’s wristwatch, neither of them wishing to move- the Frenchman wishing more so that he didn’t have to. Panting and gasping for cologne filled air, he scrambled to disarm the timer and sank into the taller’s shoulder as contemplation consumed him. Sniper was still breathing, and his heart raced just as fast as the Spy’s own; yet by now, he was supposed to be dead. The BLU mercenary glanced up from the enemy’s shoulder at his own failure; undoubtedly, his best failure yet. He couldn’t stay much longer.

“I must go,” Spy disappeared into the night in an instant. He would’ve been gone without a trace, if not for one single blunder: the dagger he’d dropped at Sniper’s feet on his way out.

The RED mercenary lifted it into the moonlight peeking in through the windowsill, the lack of blood posing more questions than answers; namely, why he hadn’t been stabbed with it. It was all so strange; invigorating, intriguing and exciting, but no less strange. His silent walk back to the camper was just as unusual. Even after their most devastating losses, at least one mercenary would wander the halls in the evening- usually Demoman, never willing to part with whatever was in his potent bottle of poison on that particular day. Yet even Demoman was already asleep. He hadn’t planned on leaving so late- though, he hadn’t planned anything that happened that night. Just for good measure he made a pit stop at their own resupply, digging into a locker in search of a stray pack of his own cigarettes- admittedly, less pretentiously French. Unfortunately, there were none to be found; he’d already tried his luck enough today. With a slow, dreadful turn back towards the entrance, he took a step forward- just one, before he noticed the breaker panel in the corner.

Any other day, he’d gloss over it, even when he was hard at work eyeing every tiny detail around him. It was, after all, the Engineer’s problem before it concerned anyone else. Still, the sight made his heart sink, nearly choking on air- it was the first time he’d ever seen the respawner shut off.

Was he meant to inform their Engineer in the morning? The thought of such an act being intentional merely flew past him, after all, the two teams only sought out each other’s deaths on the battlefield.. Not so much when they were on break in their own base.

Nonetheless, the Sniper almost exclusively kept to himself, a loner in his van for the most part. The assassin didn’t exactly want to be the bearer of bad news, Engineer or Medic would most likely find out and resolve it without him stepping in.

“Hudamphmph?” their RED Pyro muffled behind him, nearly scaring the stitches off of his own scars. He’d forgotten they’d stash their own hoard of candies in one of the higher bins, wondering how exactly the confections made it under that damned mask.

“Oh, uh-” The Australian swallowed, standing straight to help mask that he’d been genuinely frightened by the arsonist’s sudden appearance. In fact, they could be the key to getting the respawner issue resolved quicker than waiting for sunrise before battle.

“You’re.. pre’ey close with Engie, yeah?”

“Mhm!” They eagerly nodded, tilting their head in anticipation for what seemed to be a question. It was rare that they’d talk to the Sniper. Even more strange that he was inquiring about their own best friend.

Sighing a breath of relief, Sniper led them over to the breaker. “‘M not the best with this tech junk, but the bloody respawner’s broken. If we died-” He made a slit-throat motion with his finger, “We’d be crocodile meat served on the BLU teams platter, permanently.”

“Mmgph!” Pyro expressed in shock, though they weren’t skilled with tech either.

“Just thought maybe ya could have Engie take a closer look, so he isn’t stuck fixin’ it during battle.” How close he’d been to death struck him again. “I kinda enjoy living.”

The Pyro responded with what almost sounded like a “Me too,” extending one arm from their bag of gummies to share. With a muffled goodbye and a chipper wave they strolled right past Sniper, who stood up straight as a weight was lifted off his aching back. He passed the Engineer without a word as the shorter mercenary stomped into the resupply, grumbling expletives to the Pyro by his side until they reached the electrical panel; Sniper could still hear the commotion as he dragged his feet down the stairs.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!” The breaker was tapped a few times by what sounded like a wrench. “I can handle a sentry.. But that damned Spy sapped our respawner.”

Sniper nearly tripped over himself as he took another step. Of course there was a catch; the BLU Spy was merely doing what he was best at. Yet he still hadn’t been killed.

Though he was thankful for his life he had countless questions that only one person could answer, and the taste of expensive wine still lingered on his tongue. He couldn’t take his mind off of that kiss, even if it was foolish to dwell on in such a situation… but he also wouldn’t deny how charming the Frenchman was; perhaps that was why he was hired in the first place.

Chapter Text

The RED Sniper had never seen their Engineer so fired up on the battlefield. He was angrier than ever before, and unrelenting to boot; the BLU Spy seemed to be his number one target. Never less than calm and collected, the Engineer was fueled by his emotions rather than blinded by them; by sheer willpower, not a single RED sentry was sapped that day. Although their victory was refreshing, the other mercenaries could feel the tension radiating off of him- especially Sniper, who was still rattled by his encounter the previous night. Luckily, their victory over the BLU team that day gave him the opportunity to have his questions answered.

He passed the Soldier and Demoman on his way towards the intelligence room, both as lively as ever; Sniper doubted that either of them were aware of the respawner incident. Scout came next, flying by in the opposite direction on another endless tangent about how easy retrieving the enemy’s intelligence was. Everyone else seemed normal- well, as normal as a bunch of freaks hired to kill each other could be.. Still, it struck him as odd.

The floor below him echoed with each step he took, too much to be a mirror of his own walking. Sniper slowed his stroll to a silent sneak as he turned the corner to approach the intelligence room’s security door, in that moment catching the BLU Spy in the act of removing his cloak and stepping out empty handed; just as he’d expected. Sniper wouldn’t let him get away this time, raising his kukri without hesitation as his other hand gripped the Spy by one relatively weak arm.

“Ah-” The Spy was truly startled, though he wouldn’t show it; he instantly forced his own composure, soon to be replaced by a glimmer of curiosity. “Oh, c’est toi… I gave you a good treat yesterday, non? Let me go.”

Spy’s wish was not granted; instead the Sniper pressed further, pushing him into an adjacent wall and bringing his weapon closer to the Frenchman's neck. “Ah, yeah. Sappin’ our damn respawner? It was like Christmas mornin’!”

Spy gulped as he took careful breaths against the kukri’s sharpened blade, which was already close enough to cut into his skin. “Oh, please! Don’t end my streak so soon… how about-”

“Engie is pissed off!”

“Well..” He nearly bit back with justification that it was his job- but sapping respawners wasn't exactly a part of that.. well, publicly.

“Well? Ya didn’t really think I was gonna let you off the hook after..” For a split second, his grip on the kukri loosened. “I want an explanation.”

“Si tu insistes,” Spy muttered with dwindling air supply, gasping desperately as the taller man lowered his blade. As soon as he caught his breath, however, he’d already decided upon a new way to challenge him. “You want answers? I’ll give them to you.. Meet me at my smoking room after the sun sets.”

Getting into the RED Spy’s smoking room was hard enough… but sneaking into the enemy fortress? “Are ya bloody insane?! I ain’t a conniving cat like you are. That’s just not my-”

“Tu trouveras un chemin, oui?” Before Sniper could talk his way out of his web, Spy pulled him back for a kiss on the cheek and scurried down the hall, snickering to himself. Perhaps it would be easy to keep this Sniper at bay.

The enemy Engineer? Not so much.

“You back-stabbin’ motherfucker.” The RED Engineer spat as he spoke, clutching his shotgun tight enough to suffocate it. “Goddamnit, boy! What in God’s gravy is the matter with you?! Sappin’ respawners ain’t a part of your goddamned job. You’d best have a real good reason for meddlin’ with other teams offa the battlefield.”

Horrified, the Spy glanced back at the Sniper as if he could help before cloaking and running for his life. Much to the Engineer’s dismay, he couldn’t keep track of the suspect as he sped off, shooting everything but Spy with his shotgun. “Damnit!” Even through the goggles his gaze burned as he glanced at his own team’s Sniper. “Why didn'tcha kill ‘im?”

The Australian tipped his hat over his face, discreetly concealing the red that singed his cheeks. “Eh.. he’s got a knack for makin’ ya listen.”

As the Engineer’s steam subsided, his shotgun dipped towards the ground. “Ya oughta know better than to hear that backstabber out. Who knows what he coulda done if the respawner had stayed off?”

Sniper knew. “Well, we all made it out alright.” He tried his best not to think about his previous dance with death. “Hell, I’d say we’re better than alright. We slaughtered ‘em out there today!”

“Damn right,” The shorter man beamed, finally taking his leave. “Well, I’d better go see what Heavy’s puttin’ together in the kitchen. Get some rest, boy.”

“You ‘swell,” Sniper awkwardly muttered, stuffing his free hand into one pocket as he pondered how he’d infiltrate the enemy fortress; he’d never even crossed the bridge.

By the time he’d conquered his own contemplation the night was eerily quiet, the only sound that echoed being the murmurs of dust beneath his feet. The bridge alone was an obstacle; the Australian held his breath with each step, light on his feet but still rushing towards the other side. He dreaded the journey, even if his own mind was the only voice in the silence. The BLU fortress felt abandoned, not a single soul lurked; the absence of life would not make him any less terrified. He was, however, thankful that the BLU Spy’s room was so easy to find, the only mercenary room with double doors and a built-in speaker… grandiose as ever.

Sniper could hear a shower on the other side, as well as the pitter-patter of dainty footsteps once he’d knocked. As the speaker beside the door sparked to life with momentary static, he could finally hear the Spy’s voice.

“Tu es venu? Perhaps you aren’t as incompetent as j'ai prédit.”

“Let me in, will ya?” The Australian instantly hushed his own voice in a panic, glancing both ways down the hall. “I ain’t tryna get caught out here.”

First bursting through the doors he slowed to a halt in awe, glossing over the elaborate decor of the room and the fire flickering softly below the Spy’s own portrait.

“Turn around, please! Mon Sniper..” The BLU mercenary ordered, scurrying over to apply an equally as pretentious face mask as the Sniper inadvertently complied.

“Oi, I ain’t that pea-brained,” He grumbled, taking in the corner of the room that he’d turned towards. “But if ya made me go through allat just to backstab me in your fancy room-”

“Oh, dear! Honestly, I thought we were past such things. You’ve proven yourself worthy of a chance, after all. I won’t kill you.. yet.” Sniper could hear the Frenchman’s voice moving as he spoke, seemingly arranging the room in a last minute display of hospitality.

“That’s what I thought, ya slitherin’ snake..” The sound of a glass being poured caught his ear. “Just what’re ya doin’ now, prissy princess?”

“Tu verras,” Spy hummed, waltzing towards the Sniper with a glass of nearly priceless wine in each hand. “You may turn.. I appreciate it.” He guided one glass into the taller mercenary’s hand without a word, devilishly glued to his bashful reaction.

“Eer.. I uh-”

“I poured you a glass, please!” The Frenchman motioned towards the two cushioned chairs by the fire, leading the awestruck Australian along in his moment of weakness. He was too entranced by the Spy’s beauty and the majesty of his fluffy, flowing robe to resist. “Indulge in it… I hope you like it dry.”

“Thanks, mate.. so- all that stuff we heard, ya got secret rooms! Dont’cha, schemin’ weasel?” No matter how light he tried to keep the conversation, he couldn’t help but marvel at… well, everything about the Spy; he smelled like heaven itself, lathered in luxurious soaps without the obstruction of his potent cologne and lingering cigarettes, and looked like an angel with the cloudlike robe covering his chest. It was as if he knew how perfect he looked, and reveled in his own appearance. The taller man took note of the few loose noir strands falling loosely out of his towel wrap, and of the fact that his ears were pierced… even without seeing the Spy’s face, he felt like he was seeing something sacredly forbidden.

“You call moi a weasel, yet you are ever so nosy yourself..” Spy raised an eyebrow to the Australian's glued gaze. “And you are staring.” He gently shoved the Sniper down into the chair behind him, lingering in his lap for a moment before moving to the opposite seat, much to his visitor’s unacknowledged disappointment. “You’ll have to try harder if you came here for business.”

Sniper brought the wine glass to his lips before a frantic thought could escape.

“Well, how is the taste?” Spy snickered to himself, knowing that was the least of his concerns.

“Iss uh.. Pre’ey good, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” The Frenchman leaned over in his offense. “Mon dieu, you have never had proper wine!” His glare eased as Sniper took another sip, twirling his own glass inquisitively. “Or.. could it be, you were hoping to taste something else when I invited you, hmm?”

The RED mercenary suddenly coughed up a bit of wine that he’d nearly choked down, momentarily jolting forward in the cushioned chair. Spy truly was full of surprises. “Nah, we got us a Spy too, y’know?” Sniper silently cursed himself for stammering. “I’d expect some fancy wine from Timbuktu.”

"Oh s'il te plaît, you are quite aware that isn’t what I meant. Comme j’ai dit, you simply must try harder, mon chéri.”

“Ya brought me here to play more mind games, did’ja?” The RED Sniper was fed up, shoving one hand into his pocket to reveal the Spy’s missing backstabber. “Mind explainin’ why ya dropped such a ‘sacred’ knife after ya warmed my lap?”

The Spy bit his lip down to fight the quivering, holding back his laughter as he stood. “Oh, mon pauvre chou..” He strutted dramatically back over to the Sniper and lowered slowly into his lap, a tiny bit of his laughter escaping. “I knew you wanted another taste of my lips..”

Sniper felt truly weak, helplessly allowing the Spy to kiss him yet again and snatch the knife from his hand once his grip loosened. Just as he’d accepted his own demise, however, the BLU Spy tossed the blade away, rendering himself just as susceptible to Sniper’s embrace. With no better reason to resist, the taller man simply gave in to the almost sugary sweet taste of the Spy’s mouth.. Until he managed to remember why he’d come.

Spy looked deeply offended by the Sniper’s pulling away, especially after disposing of his own coveted knife. “I ain’t risk it all comin’ here for this.” Despite his stance, he was still holding the Spy’s tiny waist in his lap. “Why’d ya go after our respawner?”

With a huff, the Frenchman obliged. “It was a simple task, really.. Take out the respawner, kill the RED Sniper, and disappear without a trace. Nothing trop difficile… and nothing un crétin like you should’ve distracted me from.”

It was still difficult to accept how close to death he had gotten. “..Wait, wait- ya couldn’t bring yerself ta kill me, spook?”

“Oui, I am ashamed.. Mais tu es trop beau à tuer.”

Sniper, as appreciative as he was, figured that Spy’s failure had complicated things with his contractor. “Well.. what happens now then, do ya reckon?”

“Je ne sais pas.. Je crois-”

“Damnit, stop speakin’ in mother-tongue! This could be serious, what if we both end up dead on the street?”

Spy paused to ponder, then sighed as he slid off of Sniper’s lap, moving silently towards his desk to retrieve a cigarette and his stache of macarons. He took one long, almost endless drag of the cigarette without so much as a word, his gaze diverted as words eluded him.

“I have never failed before, Sniper.” His voice had dropped its silky, snarky tone. “I do not know what it is.. But you- vous entravez ma performance. It is shameful, in my line of work… I’m sure it will be reassigned.”

“Great! So another bloke is gonna come afta me, is that right?”

“Perhaps not,” Spy grew quieter as he approached again, like he was sharing a secret. “Whatever have you done to become a wanted man, tueur sans pitié?”

“Hell if I know,” The Sniper grumbled to himself as the Spy returned to his seemingly rightful lap throne.

“Stay for a bit longer, will you?” Unwilling to hear any more resistance he lifted a vanilla macaron to the Australian’s lips, waiting patiently for him to take a bite. “I assure you, this is an offer many mercenaries may only dream of, Bushman.”

“Ah, alright..” He sputtered between bites. “Where’d ya get alla this, anyway? The rest of us ain’t gettin’ paid this well.”

“Yes, well.. Maybe I dabble in some off-battlefield work, un crétin même toi ne peut pas rêver de mon travail.” It was almost amusing to mock the RED mercenary in a language he couldn’t even understand. “Of course, I am a professional in many fields.. It is only what I deserve, non? Do you suppose learning seventy-four languages is simple?”

Though he couldn’t understand the Frenchman’s ramblings, he was sure it couldn’t have been words of endearment… He wouldn’t have minded that, though. “Let me ask ya this, wanker. If I’m such a filthy mess of an animal like ya call me, why do all of this?”

“You’re-” No matter how many languages he spoke, he couldn’t pinpoint the right word in a single one. “You’re merely a fascinating distraction.”

Sniper felt a slight sting of disappointment, though he wouldn’t admit that he longed for a different answer. He already wanted the Spy’s lips against his own again, and wouldn’t complicate things any further.. A sudden bang on the door, however, would do so anyway.

The Frenchman scurried towards the door clutching his macaron box in one hand and his robe in the other, glancing at his security system to see the BLU Soldier on the other side.

“Spy! I demand you open this door immediately, maggot! I have run out of your fancy breads!” He shouted all in one breath, his helmet rattling as his gruff voice shook the door.

Spy pressed into the door’s speaker as he thought of a diversion. “..You cannot wait until the morning?”

“Negatory! There’s still room in the blender for more bread!”

“You’re blending..?” He cut himself off, evidently considering their second blender purchase of the month a lost cause. “..Nevermind. I shall deliver them to your room in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, private!” Sniper could hear the Soldier stomping down the hall from across the room.

“I believe that is your cue to depart,” the Spy monotonously muttered in expression of his annoyance.

“Just like that?” The Australian stopped himself before he could mention wishing for another kiss.

“Oh please, this isn’t adieu à jamais.” Mapping out the RED fort in his mind, the Spy lingered on his thoughts. “I’ll meet you at the flickering lamp post behind the RED fortress demain.”

Sniper sure hoped that meant tomorrow. “Alright.. but I ain’t gonna be able to make it back alone-”

“Oh please,” Spy had ushered the taller man towards the door, finally throwing it open and glancing out to make sure the coast was clear. “You snuck in just fine, oui?” Sniper’s frozen expression still looked slightly somber, and lacking. Lifting himself on his toes, Spy met him for a split second kiss that instantly brightened him, gaining his own satisfaction from how easily he was manipulated- and how easily he was able to cheer him up, though that was a sentiment he wouldn’t quite accept. “Bonne nuit, mon Sniper.”

Stumbling into the hallway Sniper speechlessly waved, before recollecting his focus; still, he wasn’t focused enough to notice the RED Spy lurking behind him as he walked.

Chapter Text

The Sniper's alarm clock was smacked to silence as soon as it beeped, still far from the solace of morning sun rays. It ticked right as nine struck the clock, the cue he'd received to meet the BLU Spy in the form of a note in his pocket after one of his enemy's signature backstabs. He was still pissed about that.

It was much easier to traverse his own fortress at night, and much easier for the Spy to make the journey than it was for him. On cue, the BLU mercenary effortlessly faded into view without so much as a flick of his wrist away from the cigarette between his lips. Upon returning the Sniper’s gaze, he tossed it away and crumpled it under his shoe.

“What took you so long? Allons-y.” Spy waltzed past him, already knowing where the RED mercenary’s camper was parked.

Sniper wouldn’t bother responding until they reached the van, rattling the half broken door open and shoving the Spy into it once it was locked behind them; he managed to startle the Frenchman enough to freeze him in place. “D’ya mind tellin’ me why my back’s still your number one target?”

“Oh, please! You lived, didn’t you?”

“Respawned.. there’s a difference.” The Australian huffed, loosening his grip on his guest’s wrists. To Sniper, at least, things had already changed between them; he couldn’t bring himself to send the enemy Spy to his own respawner the entire day.

“I was merely doing my job,” Spy snatched the taller man’s hat, placing it on his own head tauntingly. “Shall I do yours for you as well, bushman?”

“You bloody-” He bit back a remark, snatching the signature hat back and stomping towards his own bed, sitting at the end with a pout. The Spy promptly followed, awkwardly following him up the ladder to his less than adequate mattress, which he strictly refused to sit on.

From the elevated bed Spy got a better view of the enemy Sniper’s condensed home, and how unlike his own world it truly was. Beside the pot of brewing coffee on the van’s tiny table was the Australian’s usual mug, which he hadn’t even bothered to wash after work. Similarly unwashed clothes were strung lazily over one chair, partially contributing to the stale smell of lacking cleanliness. The rest he quickly attributed to the drawer on the opposite end of the van, a tag hanging from it reading “lavatory” in loosely scribbled letters.

“Oh, pourquoi est-ce que je t’aime?” He caught his voice, almost bringing a hand to his mouth before he remembered that Sniper wouldn’t have a clue what he’d said regardless. A diversion was necessary. “Ce lit… Quite short for you, non? And with your elbows propped up so much.. It is no wonder you have such horrible posture.”

“It’s enough for me,” The taller man simply shrugged his concerns off. “Why don’t ya have a seat?” Admittedly he just wanted the Spy in his lap again, reaching his hands forward to his enemy’s waist only for him to reject the previously coveted offer.

“Mon dieu! Your bed is not made, Sniper!” He grimaced, his disappointment on full display. “You will dirty my suit. Lèves-toi.”

He scowled at the English speaker’s confused hesitancy.

“Get up!”

The Spy’s immediate first step was to remove his own suit jacket, folding it with haste and placing it on the only place he deemed acceptable, that being a corner of the Australian’s makeshift nightstand. He placed his gloves delicately on top, just as cautious. Sniper could only idly stare as his bed was made for the first time in… he couldn’t even remember. He watched as the sheets were tucked in like never before, nimble fingers folding the covers over to be perfectly symmetrical. For just a moment, it almost felt like they weren’t cramped into the Sniper’s unkept van; then, Spy turned back to extend an expectant hand.

“Your vest, s’il te plaît. It is filthy.”

“Some guest you are,” Sniper grumbled, still complying with the Frenchman’s demand. Even after shedding the vest, however, Spy’s look of disdain persisted. Reluctantly, he removed the red shirt that he’d sported underneath so that only his stained undershirt remained.

“An improvement.. à peine.”

“Ya came here to hassle me, did’ja?” Sniper grimaced at the Spy’s display of superiority. “Suppose you’ll be wantin’ my hat too, ya drongo.”

“Oui.” Grinning from ear to ear, he reached up to retrieve the hat once more and place it on top of the pile in his hands. “I hope these are washed.”

“Yeah, yeah.. I’ll tie a clothesline later. Ya didn’t hav’ta do all that.”

“I believe I did. How could you live in such filth and grime?”

“Well, why don’tcha spruce up the whole damn van while yer at it?” The Australian mused, lacking seriousness while also testing to see if the Spy would really do it.

“I am not your maid.” Unimpressed, he tossed the stacked set of fabric biohazards down to the booth below. Finally allowing himself to sit, the Frenchman barely put a dent in the flattened blanket, eagerly patting the empty space beside him. “Maintenant, don’t keep me waiting.”

Spy so easily lured him in once again, one hand hovering over his chest as he led them both under the covers. He took note of how Sniper’s legs naturally curled up, the bed obviously too short for the Australian’s comfort. Yet he adapted, both of his own equally longer legs intertwining and his arms wrapping around the taller man’s body. He’d practically latched onto the Sniper, his mind easing towards sleep the longer he remained attached to the other’s warmth. As he glanced up to meet Sniper’s eyes, he watched him shake away a glimpse of awe.

“Still not gonna take off that mask, are ya?”

“Mm, non.. Je peux dormir comme ça.”

“Suit yourself.” Sniper mumbled against the Spy’s forehead, frozen in contemplation. The BLU mercenary waited, still pretending to fall asleep, for the taller to deliver; he finally started to doze off as Sniper planted one more kiss on the top of his head, warming him through the mask. It was all he would’ve needed to never move again.

Spy had never woken up so abruptly before. Not from restlessness, but quite the opposite; trained to keep his guard up at all times, he’d never experienced such a deep slumber. A mix of shame and the feeling of complete content washed over him, still snuggled up to the other man. His heart stirred in ways he’d never admit- at least, not in a language that the Australian would understand.

“Get up mate, mornin’,” Sniper grumbled in a gravelly voice. “Ya should prolly start gettin’ outta here soon.”

“Non,” Spy almost whined, refusing the Sniper’s request to pull away. “Je préfère être tué et te donner des problèmes.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it.” The native Australian very clearly did not understand. “That a genuine smile I see?” He complied with the Spy’s refusal to let go, holding him closer by the waist for just a moment.

“Mm..” This time the Frenchman wouldn’t even manage a response, instead trying to somehow will himself more of the best sleep of his life. As stated, a real smile had crept up his lips, unlike the usual smug grin the enemy Sniper had grown accustomed to over time.

Prying himself free from the Spy was a challenge the Sniper was forced to accept, narrowly escaping just to sit up in the cramped bed. “We’re goin’ ‘ta miss grub..” His gaze hovered over the Spy beside him as he lazily sat up in pursuit sporting a daring grin that threatened the entirety of their morning meal.

“Devour me, then.” His arms locked around the taller man’s neck, too caught up in the moment to let him go so easily.

“..Damn, you.”

Spy consumed the Sniper’s air supply with the taste of his own lips, sweet and sacred enough to replace oxygen completely for the carelessly entranced Australian. The Frenchman indubitably tasted better than any breakfast that the RED team could manage, and the thick air surrounding them was warmer than any coffee the Sniper could ever brew.

Soft lips just barely leaving an opening for their tongues to dance along in tandem, nothing heard for a while but gentle smooches and deep inhaling for as long as they could manage to avoid even the thought of separating from each other. The assassin gently leaned the Frenchman onto the wall for a better angle, calloused hands pressing into the thin waist both to keep him steady and to feel the touch and gratification of the fact he was allowed to do so.

Skinny arms snaked around his neck holding them steady just the same, dangerous hands tangled in the strands of his bed hair. Breaking away felt forbidden, impossible, and regrettable as soon as they’d done it. As both of them panted and contemplated what they would even say, they were caught off guard by a spark of radio static from the radio on the bedside table behind them.

“Good morning, RED!” Miss Pauling chirped into the radio signal, her usual morning briefing before she was inevitably cut off by her superior. “Last day of the week.. I hope you guys are prepared to-”

Another short spurt of static cut her off, followed by the Administrator’s voice. “Get up, you imbeciles! Mission begins in twenty minutes!”

“Ah, ça valait la peine,” Spy breathlessly hummed, watching intently as the Sniper’s face burned a brighter red than before. In an unusually thoughtful response, he reached out to absorb the heat by cupping one cheek, his thumb ever so lightly grazing over it.

The Frenchman's gloved hand was delicate, and much softer than Sniper’s own. He almost leaned further into it, instead opting for a toothy grin of his own. “Ya better than any sheila, that’s for bloody certain.. Stay here.” In an instant, the Sniper got to work preparing a quick breakfast as if it was truly a part of his job. Spy was impressed by the sudden shift, especially considering the state of the van surrounding him as he made them both eggs. Still he’d listened, sitting perched above the rest of the camper and observing how it changed in the morning sun. Evidently, he wouldn’t have time to assure that the Australian’s clothes were properly washed before their work day.. It was a hopeless cause, after all. In his own realization he shuffled across the bed to retrieve his own discarded clothing, visibly disdained by the folds imprinting themselves on the suit. He took care to wring out each fold before putting the jacket and gloves back on. He held Sniper’s… plainly, contaminated garments at a distance as he climbed down towards the smell of freshly prepared breakfast.

“Made ya some brekky,” The taller man announced, clearly proud of himself. “Hope ya like it black.” Offering the Frenchman a seat first, he placed a mug of straight black coffee in front of him.

Spy simply analyzed the spread, setting down the Australian’s clothes at an even greater distance away in the compact booth before he’d take a seat. It was no fine french cuisine, surely not up to par with his usual, exquisite standards.. But it didn’t look so bad, much better than he’d expected from the questionably hygienic RED mercenary living out of his van. And he was hungry, after all. At least, that’s how he would justify it. Swiftly reaching for the handkerchief in his suit pocket and flattening it on his lap, he eyed his host expectantly.

“..Napkin?”

Sniper had not prepared for that request. Truthfully, he couldn’t pinpoint a single napkin in the camper. “You’re outta luck there.”

The Frenchman shook his head with a sigh of exasperation. “Tu es un cochon.. How do you clean yourself up?”

“Well, uh..” Sniper weakly lifted his own filthy shirt, less confident in his hospitality than before. “This works just fine.”

“You never fail to disgust me, bushman.” Spy scowled through his mask, eyeing his plate to reject thinking about the other mercenary’s deplorable suggestion. Still hesitant to eat, his gaze gradually wandered back towards Sniper across the table. His own baby blue eyes stared into golden amber, the Australian curiously reciprocating his doting stare. Even so appalled by the way Sniper carried himself, and unable to fathom his estranged way of life, the BLU Spy was completely entranced by how handsome he was, all things considered. It was what had prevented him from so simply killing his enemy in the first place, after all.. Spy’s hand had seemingly reached over the table on its own, ever so slowly meeting Sniper’s in the middle and locking their fingers.

“Ya gonna eat?”

“Mais bien sûr,” the Frenchman was barely able to mutter as his fork fumbled into the contents of his plate, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Sniper took a bite of his own breakfast at the same time. Spy only hesitantly nibbled at the eggs, a cautious inquiry into the taste. It was similarly better than anticipated, edible enough to justify satiating his hunger. “It is.. not so bad- pour un homme comme toi.”

“What’re ya, a chef?”

“It could be one of my many professions,” Spy tauntingly waved his fork dismissively.

After a few more silent bites, Sniper dared to prod him further. “When am I gettin’ ya outta that iffy mask?”

The BLU mercenary paused to swallow, both nervousness and his own bite. Then, pretending to contemplate a genuine answer, a smug grin grew across his face. “Perhaps, the day I die.”

“We’ve died plenty ‘a times, mate. I reckon we oughta break that respawner again so I could get a glance of ya in hell.”

The Frenchman snorted, his usual aura of arrogance returning. “I’d like to see you try.. without a sapper.”

At that, the two erupted into laughter. Sniper banging a fist against the dirty table with a hand slapped onto his head in an effort to control himself. Spy, not faring any better, could not help his throat from crackling out a slew of snorts that almost could be mistaken for coughing due to his cigarette rottened lungs.

The Aussie found it fondly adorable. After all, he hadn't laughed like that in what seemed like years.. especially not in a shared moment with anyone else- and it was with someone he was meant to call "enemy".

Even if they were not aware, their hearts were practically pounding in unison.

Though it took a minute or two, the unfathomable pair finally calmed down enough to speak coherently again and wipe the tears from their eyes- though, not enough for Sniper to control what escaped his lips in the moment. “Ah, ya sure do somethin’ ta me..” He just barely managed to tip his hat in time for the feeling of singed cheeks to set in, hoping that Spy simply hadn’t heard it; he was not so lucky in that aspect.

With that being said, it was difficult to not lunge at each other’s lips again. The BLU mercenary was blushing just as much, though it was more easily hidden by his mask. “Well, that is that… it appears you’ve knocked half of our plates onto the floor with your excessive laughter.”

“Crikey! Ya were practically dyin’! I was close to victory there.”

Right on cue, and much to the RED mercenary’s disappointment, Spy was back to business. “I trust you understand this shall all be kept under lock and key?”

“‘Course,” Sniper grumbled back, almost noticeably stung by the sudden shift. “Shame, ain’t it? Would love ‘ta have ya on my lap mid-battle- Gah!”

He was suddenly struck by the closest magazine the Spy could find, rolled up and transformed into a less than threatening weapon. “Do not even suggest that!” Clandestinely, he was already quite keen on the idea. “We are to remain professional during work-” He would not make exceptions to his professionalism under any circumstance, especially not for the filthy enemy Sniper of all people- at least, he insisted upon it until he glanced back at the man across the table. “..Though, I suppose I can resist une mise à mort for another taste of you.”

The Spy’s hesitance was a glimmer of hope that the Australian would accept. “So.. we’ll see each other again, spook?” He tipped his mug for a sip of coffee, the most casual maneuver he could muster in the moment.

“...Oui. Contre mon meilleur jugement,” only after the BLU mercenary stood did he notice the puzzled stare on his enemy’s face. “..Yes.”

Spy dragged his feet deliberately slow to the door as he could delay time itself, even glancing back once he rested his gloved hand on the rattling door handle. He faltered before meeting the Sniper’s pleading eyes, sparkling heartachingly and anticipating when they’d meet again.

“Will I see ya tonight, then?”

It shouldn’t have been so hard for the Spy to simply say no; still, the words lingered in his throat for a moment, ultimately souring his mood. “..I’m afraid not, I have a meeting tonight. It’s imperative that I attend.”

“Top secret spy stuff, eh?” Sniper’s attempt to brighten the dull atmosphere fell on deaf ears, as the Spy glanced to the floor in idle contemplation.

If he’d been sent to rid of the Sniper first, it was entirely plausible someone else would be sanctioned to finish the job in the wake of his failure. If whatever the RED mercenary had done was enough to warrant a permanent death, their superiors simply wouldn’t relent; the BLU Spy was sensible enough to accept that. What should’ve already been a completed task had fallen flat at his own feet- something he’d never had to admit before. Whatever was so alluring about the lackluster enemy Sniper eluded him; he was a poison that the Spy had so willfully, tauntingly accepted, and now couldn’t escape the grasp of. By some dangerous delusion, he felt guilt for being the cause of it all.

He took a few steps back, lifting the taller man’s chin from where he sat to dive deeper into the warm glow in his eyes one more time; exchanging one more parting kiss, Spy disappeared with nothing but a few words of a simple yet stinging goodbye.

“Stay safe.”

Sniper’s coffee tasted much more bitter once his company had left. He sat there for a while, far longer than he should’ve, and stirred his soon to be cold coffee to the tune of his swirling thoughts. Rudely interrupting his inner monologue, and not long after the BLU Spy’s departure, there was another knock on the van’s door. Their tardiness truly had gotten him in trouble, after all… still, it was worth it.

The man impatiently rattling the camper door was none other than his own team’s Spy, scowling at the Australian’s careless lack of awareness. “You’re late. What in your disgusting little mobile home could possibly be more important than getting to work on time?”

“I just… slept in a little. Problem, wanker?” Sniper sported a mocking grin, albeit masking utter disdain at his teammate’s intrusion.

“You’re pathetic.”

“Yeah, yeah,” The Australian grumbled, continuing through the thin door once he’d slammed it shut. “‘Less ya’d like ta get a whiff of a jar, you’re gonna hav’ta give me a minute.”

“But of course.” His voice plagued by sarcasm, the Red Spy lowered one step towards the desert ground below, his watch dimmed to near black by the sun’s glow. Just within vision, however, he swiped against the symbol on the screen, saving a newly acquired recording for later.

Chapter Text

Returning to his own base was easy enough for the BLU Spy, never so much as questioned by his inferior teammates; except for this day, suddenly being grabbed from behind before he’d barely removed his cloak of invisibility.

“There ya are, beauty!” Compared to the RED Sniper, his BLU counterpart’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “Ya missed grub.”

Realizing that he was no match in strength for his own team’s Sniper, he silently reached up to the arms around him and slowly peeled them off as if they were contaminated. “You should be well aware by now that I do not eat that saleté. Especially not with you, jar-man.”

“Oh, c’mon. Ya ain’t on the highest horse like ya think you are..” The BLU Sniper took another step closer as Spy drew more distance between them. “Betcha call it peasant food, ain’t that right?”

“That is not how the saying goes, imbecile. You smell horrid!”

The Sniper managed to return to his original proximity, risking a stab from a hidden knife carelessly. “I’d do anythin’ just for a lick o’ that mind o’ yours, mutt. I know ya can’t resist me.” A crushing hand gripped one of the Spy’s sleeves, though wrinkling his suit was somehow not the worst offense.

“Connard! Let go, I hate you.”

“Playin’ hard ‘ta get will get ya nowhere, spook-”

The grip of their team’s Heavy on the BLU Sniper’s shoulder was possibly the only thing that could’ve scared the life out of him in the moment; for Spy, it was a saving grace. “Do not harass the little Spy. You get ready for work.”

“Ja!” The BLU Medic managed to pitch in from the Heavy’s side.

The Sniper took another look at the Spy, now visibly fueled by frustration and a split second realization. “Wait.. stop,” Heavy didn’t seem to listen, beginning to drag him away. “I know that smell! What’ve ya-”

The Medic gave Spy a sympathetic, knowing glance as they rounded a corner, and the Sniper suddenly silenced by whatever force the BLU Heavy imposed upon him.

The Frenchman stared down at his ridiculously expensive suit, knowing fully what his team’s Sniper had intended to suggest. It was a factor he simply hadn’t accounted for, a momentary lapse in his professionalism. He would have to take a shower before the day started.

The BLU team claimed the victory with flying colors that day, allowing the victorious Spy to slip away from the battle and into his own car, jet black with an air of mystery despite the hood fully retracting to allow beams of the desert sun to burn the black leather inside. It was a far cry from either Sniper’s repulsive van, spotless enough to make one question whether or not anyone had ever occupied the passenger seat. The BLU Engineer took extensive care of the machinery, taking interest in both the novelty of the vintage car and the money that he received on the side for tending to it. The engine purred like a kitten as Spy started it, taking off for his meeting before most of the RED team had even respawned.

Both spies were irrefutably punctual to any meeting they were summoned to, but winning a battle made it all the more easier to arrive on time. Having said that, the BLU Spy was no less stressed. He dreaded what was to come, recalling how unusually stern and rigid Miss Pauling was when she’d instructed him to kill the man he was now cuddling at night. Though it was in no way a victory, it sure felt like one… yet he knew his superiors wouldn’t agree.

He shuffled into the hidden base like a shadow, snaking past falsified rock structures and granting himself access through the security door. Down a few halls as his routine stood, he lingered at the door decorated with the name “Pauling” and cursed under his breath.

Entering the room without a word did little to help his case. Miss Pauling’s eyes shot up from the case file sprawled across the desk she was hunched over, narrowing upon the mercenary’s presence. Not fully infuriated and equal parts exhausted, she sank into the chair behind her, responding to his entry stoically despite visibly being close to an explosion. “What’s taking you so long to kill him?”

“He has complicated things,” Spy didn’t wish to elaborate, wondering how long he could work around the truth. “But I will have his head on a platter for you soon.”

“I need him dead as quick as possible, Spy. I told you this, the first time!”

“May I ask, why-?” The Frenchman froze, instantly regretting his choice of words. Though it was a genuine curiosity, it was never within his job description to know the reason for his contract. He’d never asked her such a question before, and it only complicated the suspicion surrounding him. “..You’re not in a hurry, are you?” He was noticeably biting into his cigarette nervously, even after his attempt to bounce back.

“That’s… none of your business, Spy!” Miss Pauling was caught off guard, but she knew how to keep her mouth shut. With an exasperated sigh, she folded the sprawled out papers back into their folder. “You know how this works, Spy. If you don’t finish him off soon.. It won’t be very pretty for you, either. It’s not up to my discretion, you are hard to replace, that's why we agreed on your high pay grade! I'm sure you wouldn't want to lose it."

“Oui, je sais,” Spy was still stuck on the reason why the RED Sniper was such a danger, anyway. He’d hardly gotten in but a few kills that day, in part due to his own team’s rifle toting Australian’s abrupt emotional vendetta. “He will be nothing but a memory soon, I assure you.”

“Thank you,” Miss Pauling still wasn’t convinced, but was aware that she couldn’t get much more from the disengaged BLU mercenary. “You’re free to go, then.”

BLU Spy was only half aware of his surroundings, a horrible state for a spy to be in no matter the situation; if he’d paid more attention, he would’ve been able to detect the invisible RED Spy sweeping past him as he left.

“Oh hello Spy,” Miss Pauling mumbled in a dry voice, a fleeting attempt to pretend that she hadn’t just been addressing his counterpart. “You’re right on time. I called you here to-”

“I know why you called me,” the RED Spy’s cigarette glowed, matching his vigor. His own job was much easier when his BLU rival was doing his own so terribly. “You’ve hired mon homologue bleu to kill my team’s Sniper, yet he can’t wield his knife to save his life.” He extended his arm to fully display his own watch, huddling close so Miss Pauling could hear from it loud and clear. “I’ve been keeping an eye on them for you.. thank me later.”

Sniper couldn’t sleep that night; for his own sake, it wasn’t hard to admit that Spy’s absence was the reason for his restlessness. Deprived of the one necessity more dire to him than black coffee and mason jars, and ultimately devastated by the BLU Spy’s lacking presence, the Australian clearly suffered on the battlefield the following day. It wasn’t difficult for his team to notice, either; their newest loss was even more devastating than the last.

RED’s very own Scout was the only one brash enough to approach the Sniper for answers, making sure to boldly proclaim that he would’ve won them the day’s battle if not for their Sniper’s mishaps; it had become the norm for no one to listen. Scout was always prone to voicing opinions that got him in trouble; getting knocked out cold by Soldier as many times as he had been should’ve been enough of a warning any time he started running his mouth, yet he persisted. The complaints spewing from between his gapped teeth, as usual, seemed never ending.

“I mean- this is bullshit, man! It feels like we haven’t lost not once in a whole decade or somethin’!” Medic offered a cautious glance as Scout stormed by, warning him not to end the night with any more stitches. Scout refused to relent, shoving his way through the back door of the fortress and into the desert, past the broken lamp and the wooden fence to infiltrate upon the Sniper’s privacy- something very few mercenaries had the gall to do. He banged on the shallow camper door, yet another dangerous offense in the eyes of his team, holding his tongue and waiting for the Australian to answer.

It was hard enough to stay silent, being Scout and all, but writhing in place without a word was made much worse by the fact that Sniper wouldn’t come to the door. “Snipes, open up, man! I can smell ya bean water from a mile away!”

Unfortunately for Scout, the “bean water”- straight black coffee- in question had gone stale since the morning, hardly half a cup emptied from the cold pot resting atop a filthy countertop. Sniper had used the remainder of his dwindling energy after battle just to make it back to his van in one piece, though his vision and mind were clouded over by dread. Thoughts chaotically clashed due to his sudden secret lover. If the Spy truly saw anything in him, somehow.. Or if he’d be but a memory if he’d dared to step out of his private nest again.

It was all too much to bear on next to no sleep; his body didn’t seem to care that the sun was still high above the skyline, seeping into every crack it could fill between his less than effective curtains. Still despite the star’s best efforts, it’d be in vain with his own hat over his face to block out his vision.

“Snipes? Sniper!” Even adding the emphasized extra syllable to the Australian’s title and banging on the door in near desperation, the youngest mercenary’s patience was dreadfully thin after such a devastating defeat. If he couldn’t let off steam by chewing Sniper’s ear off, he’d just as easily find another mercenary to bug- preferably, anyone besides Soldier. Just as quickly as he’d stormed out to the van, he was on his way to find a new target for his frustrations.

It was a chilly desert night, biting at the little skin Spy dared to expose under the glow of the flashing streetlight. More impatient than usual, all he needed was for the enemy Sniper to come and whisk him away from his worries; his meeting with Miss Pauling the previous day had only made things worse- much worse. He’d fallen- surely for a trick, and not in love- for his one and only assigned task. A man of his profession would be a dead fool to fall for someone on a wanted poster. Yet even now, digging himself a deeper grave, he stood under the streetlight awaiting the Sniper.

Spy checked his watch continuously. Each minute after nine made him all the more bitter, temperate and regretful, until he finally conceded upon checking on the Australian himself.

He could hear the blaring buzz of Sniper’s alarm from a mile away, the overpowering noise somehow neglected despite his presence. The curtains over the window stood as enough indication that the RED mercenary was home, though Spy was ultimately offended that sleep was more important than him. At least that was how he felt, even while he tried to remind- or really, convince himself that tangoing with his number one target was a mistake in the first place. It couldn’t be helped; he had a job to do, and there was no job he couldn’t so easily do without even lifting a finger. He’d soon get another opportunity to strike, and this time he’d do it without a second thought. Yeah. Easier said than done.

The BLU master of espionage was ruthless the following day, cutting down his enemies before his RED counterpart could even blink; the other Spy only wondered how his BLU nemesis could perform so well with nothing but his own team’s Sniper on his mind. He figured something had gone awry between them, keeping careful count of each time the enemy backstabbed his alleged lover. The losing Spy was the only one spared from his carnage, being the only one able to match the BLU’s tact in his fury.

The BLU Spy’s team wouldn’t dare to get in his way. Not that they ever did, but he seemed to be harboring a considerable amount of feelings compared to the previous day; some of them, Scout for example, were too scared to even look at him.

He’d finished several packs that day, a horrible week for him indeed.. Though on the outside, it seemed he’d been overachieving on the board as of late. His frustration had turned into fuel, as he’d always managed emotions that threatened his professionalism; only this time, he’d run out of fuel as soon as he stood victorious and the battle reached its end.

It was time for him to rid Teufort of its RED Sniper for good.

Chapter Text

This time, the BLU Scout took out Sniper in the blink of an eye. He’d planned on waiting around to get an explanation from his new BLU infatuation, but he couldn’t always be so lucky to make it out of a day alive. One way or another, he’d figure out why the BLU Spy had been so relentless the entire day.

The knife in his back felt sharper each time he’d been stabbed, a betrayal in some form despite their opposite affiliation. Yet the BLU Spy did not mutter a single word once, or let his sly tongue slip; each time he killed the RED Sniper was quick, but not so painless. And the Sniper demanded an explanation.

He began by pacing back and forth in front of his camper, dead set upon reaching his own conclusion; it wouldn’t occur to him that he’d slept right through their arrangement the night prior. Sniper could only assume that whatever classified meeting the Frenchman had attended left a sour taste in his mouth; or, worse, the Spy no longer wanted anything to do with him. Only time would tell; nine o’ clock specifically, and whether or not the BLU mercenary would return. Sniper dreaded the possibility of losing him, even if the other only saw their arrangement as an after hours fling.

In that aspect, he’d still failed to understand his enemy.

Luckily, the Spy still arrived at the designated streetlight just before the clock struck nine, glaring in silence as Sniper walked towards him in the distant darkness. Not a single word was spoken as his thoughts stirred, wondering to himself why he was so angry in the first place. He’d resorted to blaming Sniper, but that wouldn’t satiate the burning desire within him. He tried his best to execute his commission without a thought, his final chance, but he was already failing; the RED Sniper truly had too much power over him.

“What’s gotten into ya, mate?” The silence continued to keep him company as Spy brushed past in the direction of the Australian’s van. “..Ya oughta start talkin’ soon.” Sniper couldn’t be as angry as the last time the Spy had crossed him; instead, he worried himself with the lack of a reason. He wouldn’t press his luck further before they’d even reached their destination, thankful for only a moment that Spy had even spared him the effort. The Frenchman tore through the doorway like a tornado, forcing Sniper down into the booth seating and holding his lap hostage. His dagger quivered in one hand, an increasingly obvious contrast to his first attempt at assassinating the enemy. His own mouth still got the best of him.

"I trusted you!" The mercenary in blue yelped in an uncharacteristically heartbroken whimper, realizing his words all too late before he could rephrase or take it back. Instead, he felt his own chest tighten and wind shut, something he'd never felt before.. he was trained to withstand all forms of physical pain and torture, but almost never any kind of emotional pain. A man in his field of work should not be close to anyone in the first place for there ever to be a chance of such a thing.

He was ruined as a Spy.

“Spy?” After their first encounter, the knife to his throat after hours was a much greater threat, even if Spy clearly wasn’t prepared to use it. “C’mon, just put down the knife-“

“You negligent, indolent bushman! I waited for you, j'avais besoin de toi! You should pray for a chance to ever have me again!” Suddenly, his words spilled over into his native tongue, a natural defense as such vulnerable confessions escaped. “J'avais besoin de votre réconfort! Tu étais ma seule chance de me sentir en sécurité!”

Once Spy was out of breath the man beneath him finally gained the courage to move around his blade, one hand kneading into the shoulder of the Frenchman’s suit. “Loosen up, will ya? What’s the matter, spook? Ya scored big today.”

With a huff, the BLU pushed him further against the back of the booth. “You imbecile! Where were you yesterday?”

Pondering for a moment, recollection struck Sniper suddenly. “Sleepin’, I s’ppose.” He couldn’t fight back a smirk, only then amused by how much of the Spy’s reasoning he’d misunderstood. “Did ya come waitin’ for me?” Sniper made a failed attempt to wrap his free arm around the Frenchman’s waist, the knife that inched closer serving as a sufficient warning to think twice.

Spy, on the other hand, was beginning to feel helpless, captivated no matter how clueless the bumbling RED Sniper remained; of course, he’d still find his own way to tempt his enemy. “Comme j’ai dit.. nine o’ clock sharp, beneath the flickering streetlight.” His voice was finally the silky smooth that the Sniper recalled, carelessly tossing the dagger to the floor below and reaching up with his now empty hand to tug at the bottom of his own mask and lift it ever so slightly; the Australian was glued to each and every movement. “You’ll need to be more punctual if you plan on seeing beneath my mask, bushman.”

Spy immediately regretted his decision, biting down into his own lip to force silence, albeit far too late. He’d all too unintentionally snapped back to his sacred mission after straying so far from it, ridden by the burden only after he’d completely abandoned any hope he had of redeeming himself. Any punishment he could face, whether it be docked pay or worse, was no match for the sparks that flew when Sniper grabbed his nearly priceless tie to bring their lips together.

Spy’s thoughts evaporated in an instant, for nothing could possibly come between them; even the RED Engineer’s inevitable rampage after having to reset their respawner a second time would not compare. He drowned everything out until the only thing that remained was Sniper’s bitter, unflavored caffeine taste. It would deter him from anyone else, yet he continued to long for his enemy; by now, however, he was far from an enemy.

Spy would earnestly admit defeat by snaking both arms around the Australian’s neck, a failed attempt to hold their lips together for longer than the Sniper had planned. Unmatched desperation prevailed in the form of a low whine as his kiss was denied; instead, the taller man worked his way down the starved Frenchman’s jawline with a trail of tender kisses and ultimately paused at the top of his neck.

“You’re bloody somethin’. Weren’t ya tryna stab me just a minute ago?”

“Tais toi,” Spy could barely muster. The arms around Sniper’s neck tensed; he’d already craned his neck for the taller man to stake his claim there, unusually malleable within his grasp. “Tu veux parler ou me marquer?”

“You’re lucky I don’t speak French, ya cheeky bastard,” Sniper grumbled back, well aware of the Frenchman’s pulse spiking each time his jagged breaths warmed his skin. “You’re a mess, spook. And I’m about ta make it worse..”

An audible gasp escaped the Spy’s voice in his moment of weakness. The taller mercenary’s lips pressed against his skin, even light pecks enough to stun him completely. Sniper would not be so easily satisfied, however; eventually he became less gracious with his affection, tugging at the skin to hear the sweet melody of Spy’s woes before inevitably digging his canines into his neck. He was not so naive to pierce the skin, but remained aware of the mark he’d leave in place of his presence; it was his intention, after all, and the least he could do to repay the man that had returned with plans to kill him. He knew the BLU Spy didn’t have it in him to go for the kill.. Nevertheless, he didn’t mind so much that the Spy would be the death of him.

As the Frenchman hissed in bittersweet deliberation, Sniper took another chance. “C’mon, gorgeous.. Why don’t ya let me get a good taste of what’s under the mask?”

“Jamais!” Spy didn’t seem to care that he was contradicting himself, utterly trapped in the moment as one of his hands traveled up and buried itself in the Australian’s disheveled hair. “Tu es un animal..-”

Sniper had already traveled further down his neck; he’d heard the last word of the Spy’s ramblings loud and clear. “I’m the animal? Yet you’ve come crawlin’ back, some connivin’ cat you are.”

“I suggest you tread lightly, mon Sniper..” Even with his attempt at authority, his breaths were heavy enough to weigh him down. “Save the talking for later. Continues comme ça, s’il te plait..” Despite the taller mercenary’s timely response to his pleas he still managed to wince from the pain, tipping his head to come even closer to the man attached to his neck.

It was unlike any pain he’d ever felt, for no bullet or blade could compare to the thrilling labor of the Sniper’s love; though, Spy still wasn’t willing to call it that, even after all but confessing his heart’s desires, albeit in the wrong language. Sniper, on the other hand, never faltered for long, and the accumulating marks across Spy’s neck were proof enough that he already knew what he wanted. He knew, in his own heart, that he could break through to the man buried deep within the Spy if he continued showering him with the affection he so vehemently lacked; if he had to give up everything just to see the faults in the Frenchman’s facade, he’d do it in a heartbeat. It truly was a labor of love; not once in the BLU Spy’s presence did he think before he acted.

The logic fighting for control within Spy deterred him by the time Sniper reached his collar, even then carefully lifting the taller man’s chin away and losing himself again in his eyes of glittering gold.

“Finally tired ‘a me?” The marksman smirked, the Spy’s hypnotized gaze serving as confirmation that he truly had his enemy wrapped around his finger.

“You are finished when I say so,” Spy hummed only to the taller’s ears, reeling him in for another kiss. Each time their lips came together, his heart seemed to ache more; too much to bear, he broke free prematurely and glanced down at his watch. The hour had flown by as it transformed from a crime of passion to a night of it; yet Spy finally reached his limit, reminding himself how dangerous letting his heart fall into the wanted man’s hands could be. As he lifted himself off of Sniper’s lap he remained trapped in his embrace, lanky arms traveling with him as he stood.

“Aren’t ya gonna stay?”

No matter how much he wanted to stay, he couldn’t allow himself to; looking Sniper in the eyes was a true test of his strength. “I cannot.”

“..I’ll clean?” And Sniper meant it, no matter how outlandish the proposal was; he hadn’t cleaned his van since he was assigned to Teufort.

Now eyeing the door, he pried the less than forceful arms off of his body and rushed to his escape, at least granting the RED a goodbye. “I must go.. Je te verrai demain, voleur de mon coeur.”

The BLU Spy couldn’t have made it back to his room faster, fueled by fear in spite of the fact that he was the only soul roaming the fortress so late. He returned in record time, though he was barely able to recognize his own room surrounding him. Slamming a fist against an ancient bust to unlatch the secret doors to his exquisite hidden bathroom, the Frenchman rushed inside to view himself in the mirror with haste. Removing the mask and not bothering to tidy his salt and peppered slicked and gel'd hair down, even with loose strands sticking to his sweaty skin. "Mon dieu.." He cried, surveying the littered bruises covering his perfectly smooth skin. They stung just a bit, but that wasn't what hurt him.. he could not let anyone see, hell- he could feel even more of them stinging the back of his neck as well. The truth he’d held close to his once frozen heart, was that he’d hidden much more bruises than the bites laying rest.. There was no point in bothering at the moment, he’d surely be going to bed soon… There was simply no other choice to keep his dignity intact other than using his cloak to hide the pitiful marks he’d so foolishly accepted.

With a shaky sigh, he gently guided a dainty gloved hand to the watch holding grip on his wrist. Almost as if forcing himself to, after all, his “effortlessly” good looks were something he didn’t brag about lightly. It was always painful to remove the cloak, hurting his pride- but even more so now.

Pressing his thumb into a well-hidden button on the watch, he screwed his eyes shut for a moment as the effect wore off, opening them with a pout to the horror of his true body in the mirror.

Tattoos laced his porcelain skin, many from contracts where he’d need a certain gang’s symbol to fit in. Apart from that was the decoration of falsified devotion to plenty of past memories that he’d later killed, never before as hesitant as he was now. Bruises, permanent welts, burns, and various stitches laced his entire body from times where he couldn’t rely on the respawner, or when it’d been too late to reach their doctor and the wounds had already become one with him for good.

He hated it all; most days, he couldn’t even bear the sight. This night was no exception, allowing the marks covering his neck to similarly wash away as the shame subsided. Spy finally had room to breathe, though he couldn’t help but think of the RED Sniper taking his breath away once more.. he pushed away the thought.

“Qu’est-ce que tu fais à moi?”

Punctual. Not something Sniper was known for, nor a word he’d ever liked, yet he entertained it for Spy’s sake. He made it to the RED kitchen before anyone else that morning, except their Medic of course; it was safe to assume that the doctor was substituting sleep for coffee again. The Medic was far too busy logging his latest medical abominations to notice Sniper’s presence, until the waking marksman slammed his mug against the countertop.

“Euh- hello, Sniper! You are up early..” The doctor scrambled to shuffle his papers into a pile, eyeing his teammate over his shoulder as he stood on two wobbly feet. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Nah,” Sniper began simply, though he doubted that Medic would accept such a vague answer. “..Promised someone I’d be more punctual, that’s all.”

“Oh, this is about Spy, isn’t it?” The taller man flinched, before realizing that the Medic was referencing their own team’s backstabber. “You mustn’t take it so personally, you know.. you should hear what he says when Scout is late to work.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” the Australian mocked, watching without a word as their team’s Heavy wandered in and snuck up on their doctor from behind.

“Doktor must sleep more.”

Sniper couldn’t imagine the feeling; he could only bear witness to the affection that Heavy and Medic showered each other with, from hugs from behind and enough kisses to keep them content to the matching pajamas they so proudly adorned themselves with. Maybe he’d never dwelled on it so much before, and maybe their love never mattered so much to him.. but now, Sniper could do nothing but envy it.

“Come, we go back to bed. Papers can wait until morning.” Heavy stuffed the pen on the kitchen table into his pocket, an effective end to Medic’s all nighter.

“Nein, I’m almost done! I’ll be finished soon-“ The doctor pleaded to no avail, suddenly swept out of his seat and into Heavy’s arms. His momentum effectively destroyed, Medic was already drifting off against his beloved Heavy’s shoulder as he bid their teammate a final farewell. “Gute Nacht, Herr Sniper..”

"Bugger…"

He retreated to the battlefield just as early that day, positioned with a handful of jars and his rifle long before war was to begin. High above the morning’s commotion was possibly the only place that he could escape his jealousy; although, he hoped it wouldn’t allow him to escape the BLU Spy. Tipping the cap that covered his scope he surveyed his shooting grounds, only for a brief moment before he noticed the very man he couldn’t get out of his head; Spy was already staring at him. Sniper had been spotted first, but that didn’t seem to bother him as much as everything else that he noticed about the BLU mercenary.

The Spy’s skin was spotless. It was no coincidence, either; he’d deliberately left marks where his enemy wouldn’t cover them, yet they’d already disappeared altogether. Sniper momentarily wondered if his vision had finally gone bad, until he got a clear view of the watch on the Frenchman’s wrist. In an instant he understood the Spy’s tactics all too well, and was forced to wonder what else the man of mystery could be hiding under his cloak.

It was then that the RED Sniper realized he had a lot more to uncover than just a mask.