Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Please…”

Engie cast a cold, impartial look at the younger man, fully nude with his hands tied behind the back of the basic wooden chair. His thighs trembled, cock glistening and furiously red, eyes screwed shut tight in focus even as more words of pleading fell from his lips. He gave two more half pumps with the Gunslinger before removing his hand entirely. “Nope. Not yet.”

Scout sobbed at the loss of contact, a pathetic, guttural sound forced out of his chest. “Fuck, c’mon Engie, please,” he whined. His thighs pressed together, then separated, then pressed together again, desperate for any kind of sensation.

Engie blinked, coolly observing the gorgeous arc of Scout’s back as he chased his satisfaction in vain, head thrown over the back of the chair, throat bared to the ceiling. It had taken less than ten minutes to reduce the boy to a begging mess, and by now they’d been at this little game for close to an hour. He had no plans for it to end any time soon.

“Language,” he admonished in a paternal tone, and Scout sobbed again.

Engie didn’t let the sound phase him. “You knew exactly what you were gettin’ yourself into, and you know exactly how to get out of it. And it ain’t by cryin’ and beggin’.”

Scout’s head lurched forward and he let out an angry groan, pulling futilely at the rope that held his wrists together at the back of the chair. When there was no give, another sob, closer to a wail, escaped his mouth.

“You remember our safeword, don’t you?”

When there was no response except more angry grunting and pulling against the restraints, Engie reached out to lift the boy’s chin with his flesh and blood hand. “Scout,” he began, speaking softly but firmly, and he finally stopped thrashing, looking up to meet Engie’s gaze. “Do you remember the safeword?”

Scout swallowed thickly, tears sizzling on his flushed red cheeks. He nodded.

“Do you need to use it?”

He blinked for a moment, desperation for pleasure warring with his desire to please. Scout shook his head.

Engie responded with a slight, warm smile and a pat on the boy's cheek. “Good.” He brought the Gunslinger to Scout’s cock again, not yet grasping it, just allowing the smooth, metal tips of his fingers to caress its length. Scout clenched his teeth so tight Engie could hear them grinding.

He moved the fingers to wrap around Scout’s shaft again with mechanical precision and resumed moving in long, slow strokes. Scout muttered a stream of desperate, garbled thanks as his hips jerked, the muscles in his abdomen clenching, chasing friction and release.

Engie frowned and stopped his movements, but Scout continued thrusting up into his fist as much as he could in his position, which wasn't much. He removed his hand and Scout opened his mouth to beg again, but the Gunslinger found its place on his leg instead, grasping his thigh with just enough pressure to really hurt, but not enough to truly damage the muscle or bone.

“Who decides when you come?”

Scout let out a strangled whimper of pain, his breath going uneven and ragged. “You… you do,” he managed, voice high, strained and reedy.

“That’s right.” Engie released the boy’s thigh. “And I say you ain't earned it yet.”

All Scout could do was watch and whimper as Engie started undoing the clasps of his overalls, then stood, allowing them to fall to the dirty floor of his workshop. He stood there in his shirt and his boxers for a while, just taking in Scout’s ruination as he lazily cupped his crotch through the fabric.

“C’mon,” Scout whined, “that ain’t fair.”

“Life ain’t fair, boy.”

Scout visibly shivered. Though he was sure he would never admit it, Engie suspected Scout enjoyed being talked down at, condescended to just a bit. His reaction now was far from his usual indignation at such childish treatment, in any case.

He pushed his boxers down the rest of the way and stepped out of both them and his overalls before resuming his seat in his own, much more comfortable chair. His organic hand slid between his legs, fingers stroking his clit before dipping lower to tease at his entrance. Scout went silent except for an audible gulp as he was forced to sit and observe, unable to participate.

“Ain’t you just so sweet like this,” he remarked, bringing his hand back up to rub his cock in little circles. “Bein’ tied up and denied, driven to beggin’ like a dog.”

“Please,” he begged, pressing his thighs together again and leaning as far forward as he could. “Please lemme come, man, please… I’ll do anything…”

“I know.” Engie openly sighed his own pleasure as his hand sped up just slightly, taunting Scout with it. “You’ll just have to wait.”

Scout hiccupped another agonized sob, his throbbing member resting neglected and leaking between his legs.

Chapter Text

It was a slow evening - Medic had finished all the paperwork he had for the day and taken to busying himself by tidying the medbay as he whistled along to the radio. He sanitized and re-sanitized all his equipment, organized his files, cleaned up most of the bird droppings, and had moved on to waxing the floors when the door was flung open suddenly and forcefully.

He looked up quickly to see a massive, hulking dark figure standing in the doorway, haloed by light from the hallway. The intruder wore all black, long pants, long sleeves and gloves, and his face was obscured except for a strip around the eyes, but by silhouette alone it was painfully obvious exactly who he was.

Medic’s heart skipped a beat as the man spotted him crouched in the corner and moved silently forward with purpose and intent. Medic, for his part, yelped when his assailant grabbed the back of his labcoat and drug him to his feet as if he weighed nothing.

When he started moving, pulling Medic along behind with his feet barely touching the ground, he thought, a little belatedly, that he ought to try and fight back, and started by swiping at hand on his collar, trying to work himself free.

The man’s fingers were too large, his grip too strong and unyielding as Medic scratched impotently at him. When he realized he was getting nowhere, he tried a change of tactics, instead kicking at the side of the other man’s knee.

This worked better than his first attempt. The assailant grunted and stumbled, didn’t drop Medic so much as slammed him to the ground face first. His nose ached, but didn’t feel broken - his glasses, however, were not so lucky, and the mangled frame had cut into the bridge of his nose, which now dribbled blood onto the floor.

Perfect, he whined internally. I just finished waxing.

He scarcely had time to process his annoyance before he was lifted bodily and slammed back down onto a rickety exam table. He kicked out again, connecting with a thick, muscled thigh, scratching at Heavy - er, his mysterious attacker’s - masked face.

He was physically outmatched, a fact that excited him greatly. Soon, both arms were swiftly pinned above his head, a cloth placed over his mouth and nose. Recognizing the smell, he tried his best not to breathe, but it was a losing battle.

His final thought as his vision went dark and his body limp was, Ooh, chloroform. That’s a nice touch.

…

When Medic awoke again it was in the back of a filthy van, hands and feet bound by zip ties, with a cloth gag in his mouth. The van was moving, and it was pitch black; he picked up the distinct smell of dirt and straw from the floor, even over that of his own sweat and the hot plastic of the interior, the metallic tang of the mostly dried blood on his nose. He grumbled his irritation at how stained his white lab coat would be after this even as he felt the growing pressure of anticipation in his trousers.

His pulse jumped when he eventually felt the van come to a stop, heard the engine go off and the muffled thud of the driver’s door closing. He curled his knees up to his chest in an attempt to hide his obvious arousal as the sliding door was opened.

His captor was silent as he reached in to turn Medic on his front, positioning him so that his feet were on the ground while his chest was pressed to the floor of the van. He made an unsatisfied, nonverbal sound through the gag, playing into the fantasy even as his erection raged against the confines of his pants.

Heedless of his complaints, the man behind him unceremoniously shucked his trousers and underwear, and Medic shivered as his ass was bared to the arid desert air. It was dark out, and though he hadn’t gotten a good look at his surroundings, he assumed there was no one around who’d be able to hear what they were about to get up to.

Perfect.

He heard the sound of someone spitting behind him, then without preamble, a thick, warm, wet finger prodded at his entrance. He jerked involuntarily, tried to scramble away from the invasive digit, further into the van.

This succeeded in earning him two strong, commanding hands on his hips, forcing him back into the position they wanted. Then one of those hands was pressed to the back of his head, forcing his face into the nasty van floor as the other resumed its quest for entry to his ass.

When the tip finally breached, Medic released an utterly pleased whimper, all but abandoning the pretense of this being anything other than exactly what he wanted. It was all he could do to keep from shamelessly wriggling his buttocks, silently begging for more.

The finger pressed deeper, and he groaned. It was just barely too dry, just enough to be painful, but that was what he wanted. It thrust into him a few times, slow but uncompromising, before it was removed and he heard the unmistakable zip of a fly coming undone, then his assailant spitting again. He tried to crane his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of that familiar hand languidly stroking that familiar cock, but the hand on the back of his head did not relent. He whimpered again in need, rocking up onto his tiptoes to present himself.

The hand on his head disappeared, coming to instead knead at his ass, spreading him open as he lined up the tip of his spit-slicked cock with Medic’s hole. He practically shouted his encouragement, his need, at least as much as he was able around the gag, now fully saturated with his drool.

Then, the mysterious man who’d chloroformed him and driven him out here into the desert to have his way with him pushed forward. Medic relaxed as much as possible to accept the intrusion, and a low grunt emitted from the mouth of his captor as he came to a stop, just the first inch or so of his length embedded inside Medic.

It was a tight stretch already, a subtle burn that he couldn’t get enough of. He tried to voice his displeasure with him stopping, pushed himself backward into his hips, but then both of those massive hands were on his waist, pinning him down.

His captor spoke for the first time since he’d burst into the medbay earlier that evening. “Do not move,” he warned, a threatening grumble next to Medic’s ear as he leaned forward. “I move. You lay there, be pretty.”

Full body shivers at the sound of his voice, the sensation of his hot breath against his neck, the complete and utter loss of control. Medic nodded.

He straightened his back and moved again, but rather than pushing further in he withdrew entirely. Medic wailed a wordless complaint, but didn’t attempt to move again.

The giant took a moment to rut shamelessly against his ass without penetrating, very transparently teasing, trying to get a rise out of him. Medic continued to whimper, quiet, displeased begging, but remained as still as he could.

Heavy eventually grew bored and pressed in again, as slowly and mercilessly as before, this time not stopping until he was fully sheathed. Medic shuddered at the feeling of fullness, the familiar, warm stretch that always just bordered on too much, and Heavy mercifully allowed him a moment to adjust, to focus on his breathing before he began moving in earnest.

He started with a steady and punishing pace, one Medic knew from experience he would have no issue maintaining for long periods of time. Not that that would be necessary today; the first brush of cock against his prostate told him he wouldn’t be lasting very long.

The hands on his waist slipped down to his hips, pulling Medic back hard against him with each thrust. Medic could do little more than drool and let himself be manhandled, having lost the capacity even for making unintelligible sounds. A piece of gravel from the floor scraped his cheek as he was jostled with each movement. His cock, hard and leaking between his legs, bumped against the side of the van’s floor, but otherwise remained untouched.

Medic wrenched his eyes shut against encroaching tears when the pace of Heavy’s thrusts increased just marginally, sending him hurtling dangerously close to the edge. He bit down on the gag, desperate to keep himself from coming just yet, but there was no use. It was out of his hands.

He let out a strangled noise that he hoped sounded like a warning seconds before he came, clenching around the thick hot length inside him. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure some of his come spurted and clung to the undercarriage of the van.

Above him, Heavy grunted at the sensation of Medic clenching around his cock and began to move faster. Medic went limp as he allowed himself to be used and, eventually, filled, Heavy bending forward and pressing his chest to his back as he pumped his release into him.

Heavy sighed as he let himself fall forward, crushing Medic under his weight. He stayed like that for a while, just catching his breath as the discomfort of his softening cock in Medic’s ass gave way to pain. He whimpered putifully through the gag, prompting Heavy to finally pull out, then shivered when he felt the man’s release dribble out of his hole and down his balls.

To his chagrin, Heavy simply walked away. He craned his neck to see where he was going, and heard the front door open. Then he returned with a knife in hand, and his heart stammered for the umpteenth time that evening, mind racing as to what Heavy might have in store for him next with that -

Oh. Yes, of course, it was just to cut the zip ties binding his hands and feet. He deflated slightly as his arms were freed, then his ankles, then the gag in his mouth removed.

Heavy helped him to sit up in spite of the weakness in his extremities, pants still low around his ankles, hole still leaking Heavy’s come. Then that massive hand was at his cheek, brushing away the debris from the back of the van that clung to him.

“Was that good?” Heavy asked, teasing smile playing at his lips.

“It was terrible,” Medic teased back, punctuating the statement with a kiss. “The chloroform was… unexpected, but a welcome surprise.”

Heavy smiled. “I thought you would like that.”

Medic gazed up at him with half lidded eyes. “I did.”

“Sorry about your nose.” Heavy raised a hand to touch it gently, wiping away some of the crusted blood.

“My nose is fine, but you owe me a new pair of glasses.”

Heavy chuckled, and the gorgeous, low, resonant sound made Medic melt into him. “This is fair.”

Chapter Text

Jane was certain that whoever said ‘You can’t have your cake and eat it, too’ was a bumbling moron because there he was, sitting at the foot of his bed while his wife and his best friend of eight years (with whom he’d had far more sex with than his wife, but that's neither here nor there) both laid against the pillows in their underwear, making out with each other as he watched. If that wasn’t having and eating, he wasn’t sure what was.

It had been his idea, of course, to bring the three of them together, and he was elated to see both of them enjoying it, enjoying each other so thoroughly. They were touching and moaning and exploring as they kissed, Tavish’s fingers running through Zhanna’s long hair, Zhanna’s hand feeling up and down the front of Tavish’s chest. He was more than content to watch them both get lost in each other, but doing so felt almost unreal. Like it was all too good to be true. He decided to pinch himself on the soft part of his thigh to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Ow.” Nope, definitely not dreaming. This was real.

His two lovers broke their kiss to look at him with mild concern. “Ye alright, lad?” Tavish asked.

“I’m fine. Just hit my… head. By accident.”

The two of them blinked at him for a moment, but neither dared to voice the question of how he’d managed to hit his head while sitting completely still at the foot of his bed. Instead, Zhanna just held out one hand with a warm smile, inviting Jane to lie between the two of them.

He eagerly obliged, crawling up the bed to flop down in the middle on his back, grinning like a fool. His grin quickly faded when he was faced with the predicament of which of his partners to kiss first. He didn’t want either to be offended or feel he was picking favorites - he loved them equally, that’s why they were both here. But he feared that whoever he didn’t kiss might grow resentful and hate him, and call the entire thing off.

He needn’t worry so much, though, because Tavish made the decision for him, placing a hand on the back of his head and pulling him into a soft, romantic kiss. He felt his tight shoulders untense as Zhanna ran a hand down his arm, then felt her lips on his neck. He gasped into Tavish’s mouth at the sensation and felt him smile.

Tavish tilted Jane’s head to kiss him deeper, gently pushing his tongue into the other’s mouth as Zhanna sucked a mark onto his neck. Jane whined, hands scrambling for someone to touch, landing on Tavish’s shoulder.

Just when he felt certain he was going to die from how good it felt, Zhanna placed her hand on his jaw and pulled his head toward her. He was hesitant to stop kissing his friend, but equally excited to start kissing his wife, so he let her move him and take control of his mouth.

Tavish smiled when he was pulled away, nodding his approval, then it was his lips on Jane’s neck, his tongue lathing a hot, wet line down the side. Zhanna placed a hand on his hip and pulled him to lay on his side, facing her, rather than on his back with his head turned. He did as she guided him to do and felt Tavish scooch in closer to his back, sandwiching him between his two favorite people in the world.

Jane felt like he might die again when Tavish pressed his erection against his behind, hot and fierce and throbbing even through the two layers of underwear that separated them. He moaned into Zhanna’s mouth this time as she bit his lower lip, then released it to lick the bite mark. Jane shivered, overwhelmed by how pleasurable everything was, by all the skin and hands and mouths paying him attention.

When Tavish reached a hand around his front to push Jane’s underwear out of the way, freeing his own erection to the cool air of the room, he broke his kiss with Zhanna to moan his name. When Tavish wrapped a warm, calloused hand around his member, he could only choke out a half sob, half whimper, unable to voice his utter satisfaction with the situation.

Zhanna caught his lips in another, more passionate kiss as Tavish started to stroke in slow, easy movements, still grinding his own clothed erection on Jane’s ass. Jane counted each stroke, and to his terror, only lasted for five before he found himself spilling over Tavish’s knuckles and onto the sheets with a strangled noise of shame.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, and Zhanna’s brow furrowed, unsure what he was apologizing for until she looked down to see his release, his heaving chest, and his spent cock twitching in Tavish’s grasp.

“Aww, dinnae apologize.” Tavish pressed a kiss to where his jaw met his neck. “I take it as a compliment. I think we both do.”

Zhanna smiled, cupped his hot, blushing cheek tenderly. “This is fine. Fun does not have to end just because you came.”

Jane nodded his agreement. Of course he hadn’t planned to leave them both hanging just because he’d gone and busted too soon, but he still felt guilty.

That guilt quickly vanished, replaced by a potent heat in his belly when Tavish raised his soiled hand to Jane’s mouth and pushed two come soaked fingers past his lips. His eyes fluttered closed as he sucked his own release off those strong fingers, feeling Tavish’s cock grinding against him from behind as he did. Tavish loosed a sweet little moan when his tongue moved a certain way, cheeks hollowing to create suction on the digits in his mouth.

Jane opened his eyes briefly to see Zhanna openly staring at him as he sucked with an unbridled hunger in her own. When Tavish’s hand finally withdrew, Zhanna ran her own finger through what remained on the sheets and took her own turn feeding him.

Jane opened his mouth eagerly for her, kept his eyes open to watch her expression as she stuck her fingers in. Zhanna’s breathing quickened and she scooted closer to him, drawing his knee between her legs so she could grind on it as Tavish continued thrusting lazily against his backside.

Yes, Jane thought, the fun was far from over.

Chapter Text

What had started as a romantic candlelit dinner took a turn when, while clearing their plates, Spy asked if Heavy had ever played with wax before; he had not. Then Spy had asked if he was interested in trying it; he was.

And so they had ended up here, in Spy’s bed, still bathed in candlelight, Heavy lying down with his shirt off and Spy sitting up still fully clothed except for his gloves, having removed them so they wouldn’t get ruined by wax.

Spy started out fairly easy on him, tilting the candle to spill some wax on his belly. He appreciated the response he got, a subtle, easy to miss sharp intake of air through his nose, a slight twitch of his brow before regaining his usual, stoic composure.

He waited for the wax to cool and solidify before trailing his finger over it, feeling the shapes left behind. “How does that feel?” he crooned.

Heavy shrugged, the gesture made awkward by the fact he was lying down. “Not like much.”

Spy hummed, lowered the candle and tilted it again, letting a larger trail of wax fall this time. Heavy’s response was more obvious as he jerked slightly, eyes screwing shut for a moment. Spy was struck with a sudden desire to see the man break as he watched his chest heave momentarily, regaining the rhythm of his breath.

It was possible, he thought - it must be. Everyone could be broken, even someone like Heavy, though he doubted he could succeed in making him beg, either for release or for mercy. No, he was far too proud a man for that.

He would not try to make him beg, Spy decided. He had another goal in mind.

Spy had never seen Heavy cry before, in spite of how long they’d worked together and how much time they’d spent in each other’s beds. He guessed that few people had bore witness to that particular sight.

He was determined to be one of the lucky few.

How to accomplish it, though? He somehow doubted that hot wax alone would be enough for anyone with the pain tolerance that their line of work necessitated.

As he considered his approach, Spy moved to drip some wax onto Heavy’s left nipple. That earned him a hiss of pain, a jerk of the shoulders, and he saw Heavy’s fists clench, grasping the sheets.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did that hurt?” he asked, tone a mocking facsimile of concern.

Heavy breathed in deeply, exhaled loudly through his nose. “No.”

“Feel free to stop me, if you need to.”

“I will not need to.”

There it was, that stubborn pride of his. Spy wiped a finger through the still-warm wax on his nipple, circling it as the wax rapidly cooled on his hand.

“Of course you won’t.” Spy reached out his free hand to caress the side of Heavy’s face, gazing lovingly into his eyes. “I have little doubt that you can withstand anything I can dish out.”

Heavy blinked oddly at Spy, like he couldn’t determine whether or not he was still being mocked. Spy realized he was never going to get what he wanted this way. As long as Heavy had his guard up, he would be unable to draw any real vulnerability out of him.

“You have always been so brave, haven’t you?” Spy began, continuing to stroke his cheek tenderly as he spoke, keeping his voice warm, low, soft and earnest, in contrast to the sharp heat on his skin. “Ever since you were young, you had to be brave. You had to survive, to look after your family.”

Heavy stared silently, several emotions at war on his face. "But I know it is not easy to be so brave.” Spy held the candle at an angle, allowing it to drip, drip, drip, slowly, at random intervals, across Heavy’s bare skin as he spoke. “Being brave can be so tiresome, can it not?”

Heavy winced at the pain of each drop, doing less and less to hide his responses. “...Yes,” he hesitantly replied.

“I know it can.” As the words left his mouth, Spy brought his free hand to Heavy’s cheek again, stroking it tenderly as the wax continued to fall. “Yet you hide that struggle so well, don’t you?”

Heavy’s breath hitched and stuttered in his chest, gaze darting back and forth between Spy’s eyes. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and blinked.

“You know,” Spy set the candle aside, bringing both hands to cup Heavy’s face now, “there is much courage to be found in vulnerability as well. It takes a brave man to be honest about how he feels.”

Heavy gazed up with a bizarre expression, his eyebrows drawn slightly together. More than anything, he just looked… tired.

Spy moved slowly and deliberately, giving Heavy plenty of time to process as he moved to grab the candle again.  “So be brave for me,” he said, moving the candle to drip hot wax onto his neck, “and show me how you feel.”

Heavy screwed his eyes shut and turned his head to the side. Spy gently corrected him, guiding his head back with a gentle hand on his cheek.

“Look at me.”

When Heavy opened his eyes again, they were glistening, his chest rising and falling with quick, urgent breaths as Spy once more fingered the cooled wax droplets along his torso. The bulge in his pants was obscene, demanding attention which Spy refused to grant it. Instead, he swept his thumb over Heavy’s cheek, then his lower lip, and leaned down to kiss him softly, still holding the candle in his other hand.

Another drop of wax landed on his collarbone, and Heavy whimpered into Spy’s mouth. Yes, whimpered, Spy realized in disbelief. There was no other word for the sound that escaped him.

Spy broke the kiss, moved to whisper in Heavy’s ear. “It’s alright, mon petit ourson.” His voice was soft, sweet, encouraging. “You may cry if you need to.”

Heavy gasped at the next droplet to connect with his skin, and Spy pulled back to look at his face. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he sniffed. It tracked that Heavy did not seem to sob so much as weep, Spy thought, as he watched a second silent tear join the first.

“Very good,” he praised, leaning to kiss the tears away, relishing the taste of salt and the jolt of arousal that shot to his groin at the sight of his colleague's tears. "So brave for me, so very brave.”

Chapter Text

Sniper had been enjoying a small campfire and his own company with a cigarette and a beer when he spotted the door to the base opening in the distance. He sighed when Scout emerged, then started jogging over, seemingly incapable of walking anywhere.

Scout stopped just short of the fire, placing his hands on his hips and smiling. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sniper returned.

“You got any weed?”

Sniper rolled his eyes. This again. “Not for you, I don’t, at least not for free. It ain’t easy to come by out here, y’know.”

“I got money.” Scout crossed his arms, looking offended. “I ain’t askin’ for a handout, I can pay. I just don’t know where to find it.”

Sniper pulled on his cigarette and exhaled, staring into the fire. “Tough.”

“C’monnn, man,” Scout whined, and Sniper absolutely hated how cute he found it when he pouted. “I’ll do anything, I swear.”

Sniper flicked a bit of ash as he just blinked at Scout for a while, lips pursed in thought. An idea came to him, inspired by the fuzziness of alcohol and nicotine in his system. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Scout confirmed. “Unless you’re gonna ask for some of my Tom Jones memorabilia. You can’t have it.”

That was not, in fact, what Sniper wanted.

“How’s about you suck my cock for it?”

Scout blinked. “Uh, hell yeah! You mean I’ve been doin’ it for free all this time, when I coulda been bargaining?"

Sniper chuckled. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, mate.”

“I dunno what that means, but this horse’s mouth has a gift for suckin’.”

Sniper cringed back into his folding chair. “Stop.”

Scout frowned. “What?”

“Whatever you just said, never say it again.” He rose to his feet and opened the door to his camper. Scout frowned deeper.

“Where are you goin’?”

“Gettin’ some weed, you wanker.”

“Oh.” Scout scratched at the back of his neck. “We, uh, we’re doin’ that first?”

Sniper shrugged. “Thought it might be fun.”

“Yeah, no, yeah. Totally.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked at the dusty ground. Sniper smiled and let the screen door slam shut behind him, emerging moments later with a joint and a lighter.

The two of them sat down and Sniper handed both items to Scout, who held them like he wasn’t sure what to do. He’d smoked a handful of times before, so of course he did know how it worked, but something about Sniper’s expectant gaze as he placed the joint between his lips made him feel as if he’d forgotten everything.

Eventually, he remembered you had to light the thing for it to work, then lifted the lighter and flicked it. The first pull was harsh and too big, leaving him coughing and sputtering, eyes red and watering. Sniper watched with wry amusement, didn’t offer him anything to drink.

When he’d recovered somewhat, he held the joint out to Sniper and rasped, “Want some?”

Sniper shook his head with a mischievous smile. “All yours.”

“Okay.” The joint was by no means small, easily more weed than he’d ever smoked in one sitting before, but he figured he could handle it, and didn’t want to look lame in front of Sniper. He coughed again. “Thanks.”

Sniper just sat and watched Scout smoke and cough, smoke and cough as he sipped on his beer. Once about half of the joint had been reduced to ash, he migrated a hand to lazily palm at his crotch over the fabric of his pants.

Scout’s mouth was already dry, but the sight of Sniper brazenly touching himself made it go dryer. He felt like he’d been eating sand, his heart pounding in his ears, his head overcome by that fuzzy, floaty feeling. The heat of the fire had him sweating profusely as he brought the joint to his lips again, closing his eyes as he sucked in yet another lungful of smoke.

He exhaled into the flame. All his skin was tingling, his head swimming, his eyes struggling to remain open. He flopped back in the folding chair his body occupied, feeling very unusual as he watched Sniper continue stroking his crotch over the fabric.

“Y’alright?” he asked as Scout sat limp and boneless, head falling back to look at the sky. It was still early, but sunset was on its way, the moon and a few stars already visible above them.

“Yeah,” Scout croaked.

Sniper stood up, and Scout stopped admiring the sky to watch the shape of his erection shifting under his pants as he moved forward to take the joint from his hand. Scout was in no shape to fight him on it, and was honestly a little relieved to have it not be his problem anymore.

Sniper brought it to his lips and took a long pull before stooping down to grab the back of Scout’s head and exhale the smoke into his mouth.

It took him a moment to realize what was happening, and he tried to accept what he could into his lungs, but most of it just seeped out of the spaces where their mouths loosely connected. He coughed into Sniper’s mouth before he could move away, who grimaced as he straightened up to take another hit.

“Sorry,” Scout managed, despite being so high he felt as if he’d forgotten how to speak. Mercifully, Sniper didn’t try to share this next hit with him.

“S’alright. More my fault than yours.”

Scout gazed up with his mouth lolling open, head tilted at a strange angle as he watched Sniper rest the joint between his lips, freeing both hands to unbutton his pants. They were pushed down, revealing his underwear and the prominent jut of his hard cock. Scout licked his lips, and Sniper grinned.

His hand found its way to the back of Scout's head again, wishing his hair was long enough to pull. He pressed the younger man’s face to his clothed erection, and Scout mouthed at it eagerly as he took a final drag off the joint and tossed it into the fire.

“That’s nice,” Sniper groaned, and Scout made an affirmative sound of agreement. He lifted his hands to rest them on Sniper’s hips as he undulated against Scout’s face. He opened his mouth wide, pressing his tongue to Sniper’s length. The fabric smelled and tasted salty, a deeper musk than what his bare skin usually held, like he’d been wearing this pair for several days. The thought of that, for some reason, made Scout drool in spite of how dry his mouth had felt moments earlier.

Sniper pushed Scout’s forehead away and he flopped back into the chair as Sniper shucked his underwear. Scout sat, stoned and limp, gazing at his bobbing erection, feeling like there was something he ought to be doing with or about it, but unable to remember what.

Then, his head was being guided forward again and he remembered. He opened his mouth and managed to get his lips around the tip, then started sucking. His movements were slower and clumsier than what Sniper was used to, but he could admit there was a certain appeal to this, the way he moved as if he’d never had a cock in his mouth before despite Sniper knowing full well that wasn’t the case.

Sniper let him play with the tip for a moment before using both hands to steady his head and pushing himself in just a bit further. Scout gazed up through fluttering eyelashes as he did his best to accept the intrusion, opening his jaw wider.

“There y’go,” Sniper grumbled encouragingly. Scout hummed around him, moving of his own accord to take his length even deeper and drawing a sharp gasp from Sniper. He took him almost down to the base, then pulled back a few inches, started setting a rhythm. A sloppy, inconsistent rhythm, the rhythm of someone eager to please but perhaps lacking in technical skill and finesse. A rhythm Sniper was greatly enjoying

Scout went a little too deep on one and gagged, pulling off with a scrape of teeth that had Sniper gritting his own as he leaned aside to spit.

“Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Sniper guided him back in, but this time Scout took a detour to nuzzle at his balls and pubic hair before returning to working on his cock. He rested his hand on Scout’s head to keep it in place and slowly rolled his hips, testing what the boy could tolerate in this state.

Scout made a wet glk sound in the back of his throat, but didn’t pull back or truly gag, so Sniper tried again. Scout’s eyelids fluttered closed, his hands folded loosely in his lap as he just enjoyed being manipulated, manhandled and jostled by the cock in his throat, the hips connecting with his face. Sniper was enjoying it, too, how quiet and docile and pliant Scout got when he was high, how easily he let himself be moved, controlling the pace and using his mouth for his own selfish pleasure.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he sped up, and Scout screwed his eyes shut to focus on the task of not gagging or throwing up, ignoring the slight pain of the intrusion on his already raw throat. “Scout, I’m close,” he warned, and Scout just made several more soft little glk glk glk sounds in response.

When he came, he pulled Scout in with both hands on the back of his head til his nose pressed into Sniper’s pubes and his hips juddered with his release as he panted. Scout brought both of his hands to Sniper’s hips as he tried to remember how to swallow.

When he was done, Sniper let go of Scout’s head and stumbled backward, falling back into his chair. Scout’s body and head lolled back as he licked his lips and looked around him at the desert horizon on all sides, the fire still burning that he’d somehow managed to forget was there. Its heat felt pleasant now, enough to lull him to sleep as he shut his eyes and curled up in the folding chair.

Sniper smiled at how quickly Scout had started snoring, despite still sporting a raging hard on of his own. He tucked himself back into his pants and opened another bottle of beer as he watched Scout’s chest rise and fall in the slow rhythm of sleeping breaths.

Chapter Text

Medic gazed at his behemoth lover, strapped down by his arms and legs to a table he could scarcely believe was capable of supporting his weight. There was already a series of superficial cuts criss-crossing his chest, and plenty of blood, most of it in the early stages of congealing by now. Medic drug the scalpel lightly down the center of his sternum, not hard enough to break the skin, just teasing with light pressure.

Heavy trembled in response. He looked so gorgeous like this, restrained and blindfolded, broad chest covered a tapestry of the pain Medic had inflicted.

And, of course, the metal cage around his cock, which was still flaccid, if for no other reason than most of the blood which should have been rushing to it was pooling around him on the exam table.

As he admired his handiwork, allowing his partner a moment to breathe, the overlapping, cross hatching patterns of the cuts gave him a wicked idea.

Medic grinned, leaned over his lover, and whispered into his ear, “Would you like to play a game of tic-tac-toe, schatz?” His finger traced the shape of a board into a bare spot on his chest, between his nipples, punctuating his meaning.

Heavy sighed at the gentle touch, then gritted his teeth when he understood the implication. He considered it for a moment, then nodded silently.

“Excellent.” Medic pressed the knife in, drawing the two sets of intersecting parallel lines. Heavy offered little more in response than labored breathing. “Who should go first?”

“You,” Heavy replied without a moment’s hesitation.

Medic smiled. “If you insist. I will be X, you will be O.” He drew his first X in the center of the bottom row and watched the blood that welled up around the lines. He knew starting in the center was the best strategy for winning, but as far as he was concerned, he’d already won. “Your turn.”

Heavy focused in on the sensation, trying to keep a mental map of which sections had already been filled. He was fairly certain the doctor’s first move had been center bottom. “Put mine in middle,” he grumbled. That would surely block at least one path to success.

Medic obliged, drawing a circle into the center of the board. “My turn again.” He examined the state of the game for a moment before making his next move, placing an X in the bottom left. “Your turn.”

Heavy honed in on the pain again, considering his next move. “Bottom right.” If he wasn’t mistaken, that would block Medic from winning with three across the bottom, and set himself up for a win if Medic failed to take the top left in his next turn.

Medic marked the move down, then hummed in consideration. He knew from experience the vast majority of these games ended in a draw, and that thought was unsatisfying to him. He decided to place his X on the left of the middle row.

“Top left,” Heavy practically shouted as he felt the X carved into his skin.

“Well done, schatz,” Medic praised, drawing the final circle and then putting a line through all three. “You win.”

Heavy huffed a little breathlessly with a fond smile. “You let me.”

Medic did not deny the accusation, instead asking, “Would you care for a rematch?”

Heavy shook his head. Medic ran a finger through the copious blood pooling in the center of his chest, so much that it nearly obscured their little game entirely, then stuck that finger in his mouth. He made sure to moan his pleasure and suck extra loudly for Heavy’s benefit, since he couldn’t see what he was doing past the blindfold.

“You taste exquisite,” he remarked, going in for a second helping. Heavy shivered beneath him.

“Oh, how selfish of me,” he muttered, and he brought the finger to his chest a third time to roll it, coat it in his lover’s blood. “Open up.”

Heavy obliged, and the finger was thrust into his mouth, the tangy, metallic taste of his own blood dripping down his throat as he closed his lips around the finger and sucked with a soft, muffled moan.

He frowned when it withdrew, then gasped when it was replaced by Medic’s lips and tongue. He kissed back, hummed at the taste himself on his lover’s mouth, wished his hands were free to raise them and grasp at Medic’s face, his hair, anything, just to feel more of him.

Medic smiled against Heavy’s mouth as he took the scalpel and pressed it into his stomach just under where his ribcage ended. Heavy jerked and gasped, nearly biting the doctor’s tongue off when his jaw involuntarily clenched from the pain. Medic pulled his head back as Heavy muttered a string of apologies in several languages, then moved the scalpel again. He pressed deeper than any of the previous cuts, slicing through the skin with little effort, dipping into the top layer of fat, but stopping just short of muscle.

“It’s alright,” Medic soothed, running his free hand across Heavy’s face, and the apologizing died down. “I should have warned you.”

He held the blade there, embedded in Heavy for a long moment before dragging it down, creating a wound a little longer than his finger that bled furiously. Heavy made an indistinct, nonverbal sound of pain, relaxing slightly when the blade was removed and set aside on the instrument cart. The blindfold heightened the rest of his senses, and he reveled in the fresh pain, the utter wrongness of feeling open air on parts of his body that were never meant to be exposed to it.

Medic lowered his head again to lick at the myriad of cuts across Heavy’s torso, openly moaning at the taste of his blood. He kneaded at Heavy’s soft belly, his chest, his thighs, groping gracelessly like a horny teenager as his arousal grew at the taste of blood and the sweet little sounds Heavy was making.

Then his mouth dipped southward, and Heavy trembled in anticipation of what was to come. He stopped just short of the wound in his abdomen, first breaching the skin with a finger as he watched Heavy’s expression. His jaw tightened, and he tilted his head backward as much as was possible in his position. Only when Medic wiggled his finger, pushing as deep as the cut went, did Heavy loose a strangled groan.

“Yes, that’s right, sing for me, Misha,” Medic muttered as he withdrew and stuck the finger in his mouth again. “Let me hear you.”

And he did, when Medic’s cruel tongue lapped at the incision, forcing its way in just as his finger had. He shuddered at the wet heat of his insides being met by the wet heat of his lover’s mouth. When Medic moaned into the wound and teasingly poked at his cock through its cage, Heavy wondered at the fact that it was still soft, in spite of everything.

“Doctor,” he breathed, unable to find other words. He pulled on the restraints binding his hands, wishing they were free so he could pull the other man’s hair and guide him as he performed cunnilingus on the gash in his stomach, making all kinds of terrible, lewd sounds as he did.

After several minutes of that, Medic raised his head to look down on his patient, who was now drooling and panting and shaking with need. He licked the blood from his mouth, wiping at what ran down his chin with the back of his hand.

“Would you like me to fuck you?” he asked, voice deep and slow, trailing a finger, slick with blood and spit, between Heavy’s legs.

Heavy swallowed, nodded eagerly, and Medic grinned.

Chapter Text

The air was heavy with the smell of gunpowder, smoke, and blood. Explosions, gunshots, and the occasional scream of agony rang out all around, and Scout was horny.

If pressed, he would insist that it was a sheer coincidence, the slickness that currently saturated his underwear, causing a gross and uncomfortable friction as he ran. It had nothing to do with the men dropping like flies on all sides of him whatsoever, nor with the grave physical danger he was in. No, sir, that didn’t turn him on in the slightest.

He tried to ignore it and focus on his job, chasing down the other team’s Medic and clobbering him with his bat until he stopped moving. He thought maybe some good old-fashioned physical aggression would help work out some of this pent-up sexual energy, but he was sorely mistaken. It seemed to only make things worse.

Scout left the Medic’s limp, battered corpse in the dust and set off in search of a place to… relieve himself. He found the perfect spot, secluded, but not too secluded, still within earshot of the bloodshed of battle, somewhere it was fairly likely that someone would pass by and catch him in the act. He leaned his back against the worn wood and closed his eyes with a sigh as he undid the buckle of his belt.

He let his pants fall around his ankles, not caring how that would complicate his escape should an enemy happen upon him, and pushed his briefs down to join them. His fingers found their way to his cock, which was hot and hard as he rubbed it in a circular motion. He scanned the area quickly before letting his eyes fall shut again, putting all his weight against the wall behind him.

He reached further down to run his fingers through his wetness, using it to lubricate his clit as he resumed his stroking. With his free hand, he pushed the hem of his shirt up to expose a bit of his abdomen, the sparse trail of hair that ended right at his belly button. A soft moan escaped his mouth that he didn’t bother trying to hide.

He remained like that, rubbing himself and moving his hips in time with his little strokes as his knees started to go weak, sliding ever so slightly down the wall supporting him.

To his left, a familiar voice cut through the fog of his arousal. “Jesus Christ!”

Scout opened his eyes and turned, chest heaving, and slowed his hand only slightly. “Hey, Demo,” he breathed with a little smile.

Demo glanced around to see if anyone else was seeing this shit, before taking a step toward Scout and speaking in a low voice. “What the fook do ye think you’re doin’, lad?” he hissed. “Now’s not the bloody time!”

Scout just rolled his eyes, trailing a finger lazily through his folds. “Pull up a chair if you wanna enjoy the show, otherwise mind your own damn business.”

Demo blinked in bewilderment “I - This is - Ye cannae just -” he stammered, struggling to voice his disapproval. Then he sighed, shook his head and turned to walk back toward where the fighting was taking place, but not without glancing over his shoulder as he retreated.

Scout got back to work, this time lifting the hem of his shirt to hold it between his teeth, exposing as much of his chest as possible. He kept his eyes open, mostly just to look down at himself, occasionally glancing up to see if anyone else had decided to drop by.

He was starting to really get into it, getting louder and faster when he caught movement in the corner of his vision. When he looked up, Pyro was standing there with their flamethrower out, head cocked slightly, observing. Scout obviously couldn’t read their expression, but they seemed… interested.

He tried a little smile, not letting go of the shirt in his mouth, and winked at them as he moved ever so slightly faster. Pyro’s response was to remain still and silent, watching as he felt his climax approaching. Not yet imminent, but on the horizon, drawing nearer with each motion.

Then he heard another voice just out of his field of view. “Pyro, what the hell are you doing? We have -”

Spy rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of Scout, practically naked and panting with his hand moving furiously between his legs, and he went silent. His jaw clenched tight around the cigarette in his mouth and his skin went sheet pale before he spun on his heel and swiftly walked back the way he came.

Scout didn’t let it phase him. Okay, so maybe Spy wasn’t into it, but Pyro seemed to be, and he was sure Demo woulda stuck around if not for his stupid, unshakable devotion to doing his job. Besides, he was close, and as soon as this was over with, he could pull his dusty pants back up and get back to work.

He juddered his hand even faster against his cock, screwing his eyes shut and biting down on his shirt as he felt that pressure mounting, threatening to spill over. He glanced to see if Pyro was still there, and they were, still watching motionless through those dark, glassy lenses. He might have imagined it, but he thought he saw them nod, perhaps in encouragement.

It wasn’t long after that before he folded forward, gasping as his orgasm hit him, knees buckling as he nearly lost his balance and fell. “Fuck,” he swore, letting his shirt fall from his mouth as he recovered, breathing heavily and looking at Pyro again for a response.

They were still for a moment, then flashed Scout a quick, silent thumbs up before moving on to burn some people.

Scout laughed as they retreated, bending to pull his pants and underwear back up, then fixing his belt.

He followed after them at a brisk jog.

Chapter Text

Heavy had looked at Medic a little oddly when he expressed interest in one particular activity involving a particular root vegetable. His eyebrows drew together, mouth falling into a slight frown. “You want to put ginger root in ass?”

“Precisely.” Medic’s eyes had been so bright and enthusiastic that Heavy started to second guess himself, wondering if perhaps he was the odd one for not understanding the appeal. It wasn't the ass part that he was caught up on - he understood that well enough. It was just that, out of all the things one could insert into that particular cavity, he didn't understand what was so special about ginger.

Heavy nodded, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. Then he finally voiced his burning question.

“Why?”

“Because it is supposed to burn horribly,” he explained, grinning and giggling like a schoolgirl. He placed both hands on Heavy’s massive forearm, squeezing slightly as he leaned forward, bringing their faces closer together. “Come on, Misha, it will be fun!”

Heavy nodded again, this time truly grasping why Medic had been so excited to bring the idea to him. His beloved doctor was a true sadomasochist, after all, equally as delighted by receiving pain as inflicting it. Of course something like this would interest him.

“Alright,” he said, moving to ruffle Medic’s hair affectionately with his free hand. “We will try this ‘figging’.”

Medic squealed with delight and planted a loud, wet kiss on his cheek.

…

They would do this in Heavy’s room, he decided, and so later that evening they retired to his quarters with several very large roots of ginger and a peeler, as Medic had said the effects didn’t last very long and they may have to refresh.

Heavy instructed him to undress and lean over the edge of the bed with his ass raised, and Medic eagerly obliged. He took the peeler and the root as Medic wiggled impatiently, casting occasional glances over his shoulder as Heavy worked to expose the fragrant, yellow flesh. He hadn’t thought of how he would dispose of the peel, and left it to lie on the floor for the time being.

After the skin was all gone, he continued whittling it down to a shape that would go in easily and stay in place, wider at one end and thinner at the other. Once he felt satisfied with his work, he presented it for his lover to see.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “Now put it in me.”

Heavy moved to rustle through his bedside table for a bottle of lube, but Medic swatted at his arm. “I don’t need that, it’s quite small. And it’s supposed to hurt.” He wiggled again to punctuate his statement. “Just stick it in there.”

Heavy shrugged, setting the bottle down. Then without warning, he pressed the slightly tapered end to his hole and pushed in, earning a gasp in response as it breached easily.

“Hahh,” Medic whined, involuntarily clenching at the intruding vegetable. “Th...thank you.”

“How does it feel?” Heavy asked, placing his large hands on Medic’s rear and massaging gently as he adjusted to the presence inside him.

“I feel nothing,” he said, with a slight hint of disappointment in his tone. “But I’ve heard it does take a moment.”

Heavy hummed, continued massaging his lover’s ass, and watched as his muscles visibly untensed. After a few moments, he heard a strange hiss from Medic, who craned his neck to look at him.

“It’s working,” he said, voice tight with pain, and under that, elation. He reached a hand around behind himself to grasp at the root, pulling it out just slightly and then pushing it back in. He sighed, legs trembling as he buried his face and swore into the pillow.

Heavy grabbed his wrist to stop him from fucking himself with it. “Turn over,” he rumbled, and Medic did as he was told.

He moved to lie on his back, cock hard and bobbing between his legs, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He did not wait to hear what Heavy had in mind for him next.

“Fist me,” he begged, staring up with bright, wet eyes. “Please…”

Heavy crooked an eyebrow at him. That was something they’d done a handful (heh) of times before, but he felt hesitant, uncertain if it would be too much for him now.

“Are you sure?” His voice was soft.

“Yes!” Medic barked desperately. “Please, Misha, I need it. I need you…”

Heavy smiled and moved to sit on the bed. It always was so hard to say no to his doctor. 

“Alright.” He leaned down to catch Medic’s mouth in a kiss.

Medic whimpered and grasped at the back of Heavy’s head, pulling him down further and deeper. He felt large fingers grasp the root and pull it out of his ass, pleased to feel that the burning sensation remained after it was gone and he was left empty for the moment. The root was discarded onto the floor beside its peelings.

Heavy reached out to take the bottle of lube again, then stood and had Medic lay comfortably with his head on the pillows as he found a spot to sit at the foot of the bed. Medic spread his legs expectantly, gazing down at Heavy past his own bobbing erection, eyes wide with anticipation, desire, and love.

Heavy slicked one finger and pressed it to his hole. It went in easily when he applied the least bit of pressure, and Medic threw his head back and screamed. Heavy recognized it as a scream of pain, but not the oh-god-please-stop kind of pain, rather, the sort of pain he delighted in, sought out on the regular. He felt Medic’s walls twitch and flutter around the digit as he started to move, pushing it in further, searching for his prostate.

It did not take long to find it - he knew the man’s body as well as his own, and in a moment, he had located that bundle of nerves that had him stuffing his hand into his mouth to muffle the sounds that emitted from him.

Heavy smiled, crooked that finger to brush against it again. Medic screamed again into his hand, slammed his other fist against the mattress as his thighs trembled. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes.

“Is that enough?” Heavy asked as he stopped moving his hand, mostly teasing, just a bit genuinely concerned.

“No!” Medic propped up onto his elbows to glare at him. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“Alright,” Heavy placated, running his free hand along the top of his thigh comfortingly. “Lay back, relax. I am here.”

Medic huffed, but fell back against the pillows and tried to breathe as Heavy thrust one solitary finger into him, slowly but steadily.

“Another,” he demanded impatiently after barely more than a minute had passed. “I can take it.”

Heavy nodded, silently removed his finger and re-applied some lube before pressing two of them to his hole, which gaped and wept lube, looking far redder than usual.

Medic accepted two just as easily as he had one, and soon was begging for a third. Heavy did not cow to his wishes so quickly this time, determined to draw out his desperation.

“Please, Misha!” Medic’s voice was raw and thick with pain, even as his hips juddered, fucking himself on the two fingers buried in him. “I need more, please!”

“Shhh…” Heavy smoothed his free hand up the doctor’s chest as it heaved, then pulled his fingers out again. He pushed in with a third without applying any extra lubricant this time.

A shout was punched out of Medic as those fingers split him open, spreading him, preparing him for the full hand he was determined to take. “Thank you,” he gasped, back arching off the bed.

“Of course.” Heavy moved his wrist again, in and out, index, middle and ring finger splaying the doctor open as small whimpers and louder cries fell occasionally from his mouth.

By that point, getting the pinkie in was easy, not even requiring him to remove his other fingers all the way. Medic gasped and keened at the sensation, the fullness that rivaled even Heavy’s impresssive cock. He pushed in until Medic’s hole engulfed even his lowest knuckles, folding his thumb in over his palm.

“Are you ready?” He asked softly, and Medic shouted an eager Yes in response.

This was the part Heavy always had a hard time believing was real, even as many times as he had seen it, had done it himself. He pulled his hand about halfway out and grabbed the bottle to dribble some more lube before pushing back in, slow and intentional, until Medic’s ass practically sucked his entire hand inside.

Heavy released a breath he had been holding as he watched, in awe, everything above his wrist disappear inside of his lover. He marveled at the incredible resilience and elasticity of the human body to accomplish such a feat, and considered for the umpteenth time asking Medic to do the same to him later.

Medic wailed as Heavy’s hand came to a stop buried deep inside him, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. “Fuck,” he exclaimed. “Fuck me!”

Heavy considered, very briefly, ignoring his pleas and drawing out the torture, but the sight of such a gorgeous man laid out and vulnerabe in his bed, writhing and begging for him, well. It was quite a convincing argument.

And he had always had such a hard time saying no to his doctor.

Chapter Text

The door was unlocked when Engie tested it, so he opened it as quietly as possible, peering into the darkness. There was no sign of acknowledgement or movement from the bed. Pyro had never been much of a snorer, but if he held his own breath and listened close, he could hear their soft, slow breathing, telling him they were asleep.

He stepped inside and clicked the door shut softly behind him, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. Eventually, he could make out that Pyro was on their side, facing the wall - he could barely see the back of their head, their long, dark hair, the vague shape of their body under the covers.

He risked taking a seat on the edge of the bed - the mattress creaked, but it didn’t wake them. Slowly, gently, he pulled the sheet down to expose just a shoulder. It was still too dark to tell the color or design of the pajamas Pyro had on, but they were very soft, and when he reached around, he could feel a zipper on the front. One of those onesies they were so fond of, he thought. Cute, but rather inconvenient for his purposes.

He continued to inch the blanket down until he had uncovered all of them, and let it fall off the foot of the bed. Then he unzipped the front of their pajamas in one slow, fluid motion, and felt them shiver a bit, but they still didn’t wake up. He slipped a hand under the fabric to feel at their chest, squeezing a nipple between the fingers of his left hand. Pyro hummed in their sleep, jerked slightly, but didn’t wake up.

Feeling emboldened, Engie moved to lie down beside them, pressing his crotch to their ass as he continued to play with their chest. He ground against them ever so slightly as he did.

Eventually, there was a gasp and hands moving to grasp at Engie's wrist. “What - wh… who…” Pyro stammered groggily, returning to consciousness.

“Shhh…” He snaked the Gunslinger under Pyro’s head, placed it over their mouth as his other hand stayed put on their chest. “It’s alright, pumpkin, just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

Pyro groaned an angry negative into his mechanical hand and elbowed him in the ribs. He grunted and released their mouth to prop himself up on that hand, then effortlessly forced Pyro onto their front, wrenching the offending arm up behind their back. They let out a little squeak of pain and surprise as their face was pressed into the pillow.

“I’d have to advise you not to do that again,” he said quietly, his breath hot and moist on the back of their neck. “The more you fight back, the longer this’ll take.”

There was nothing for a moment but the sound of Pyro’s heavy, pained breathing, then they nodded. He smiled, released their arm to ruffle their hair affectionately. “That’s better.”

He flipped them onto their back and climbed on the bed to straddle their torso, heedless of the dirt he was surely tracking onto the bed with his boots. He pinned their arms to their sides under his weight as he faced toward their feet, and reached under their soft, unzipped pajamas to search for their cock.

“No,” they protested when his organic hand found it, already hard and waiting for him, and wrapped his fingers around the shaft.

“Hush,” Engie warned, squeezing a little too hard, just enough to make them squawk in discomfort. “You better keep quiet. People are tryin’ to sleep, don’t go wakin’ ‘em up.”

He lowered his head to take the tip of their cock into his mouth, punching a strangled cry from Pyro. They tried to wriggle their arms free in vain, and when he dipped deeper to take more of them in his mouth, they let out a surprised, high moan.

He popped his mouth off, and cast a warning glance over his shoulder even though he doubted they would be able to make out his expression in the dark. “Keep that mouth shut before I find somethin’ to put in it.”

Pyro whimpered when he took their cock in his mouth again, pressing their hips down into the mattress with both hands. He lowered his head until their cock was pressed against the back of his throat and held it there for a while. Engie made a small gagging noise, and they could feel him drooling, feel it collecting in their pubic hair and dripping down their balls, but he stayed put. They squeaked out a pathetic, nonverbal sound as they bunched the sheets in their hands.

Then, Engie started to move, hollowing his cheeks as he bobbed his head. The pace was slow, agonizingly so, but it was still too much too soon; Pyro was already so close.

“Dell, please,” they managed, eyes screwed shut against the onslaught of his mouth. He didn’t relent, increasing the pace and suction, and soon, it was over. Pyro bit their bottom lip to stifle their cries as they came down his throat, and still, Engie didn’t stop.

He continued bobbing his head after he’d swallowed all they could give him, slowing his pace somewhat, but showing no signs of stopping. Pyro thrashed and kicked wildly at the overstimulation, but Engie’s weight kept them in place, helplessly subject to his whims.

When he finally pulled off in need of air, Pyro sobbed in relief. He dismounted and picked their blanket up off the floor, carelessly tossing it over their heaving, gasping form, and shut the door behind him on his way out.

Chapter Text

Scout had balked at the idea when Engie initially suggested it months ago - getting him all dolled up, nail polish, makeup, a cute little outfit, then fucking him senseless. He had protested loudly, performing major offense to the very notion.

“Nuh uh,” he spat, crossing his arms, “no way am I doin’ all that shit. I’m a guy, okay? I am a man. I ain’t dressin’ up like a girl for you.”

Engie had been understanding, and dropped it immediately. “Alright, Scooter, relax. If you’re not interested, I won’t push it. It was just an idea.”

Scout deflated slightly at that. “Okay, yeah. Thanks.” He found himself a little disappointed that Engie hadn’t been more persistent.

Two days later, he’d approached Engie with a bottle of nail polish as red as his face, unable to meet his eyes.

A lot had happened since then.

Today, Scout found himself eating a sandwich in the kitchen, wearing a very short skirt and a very tight little shirt, nails painted a very cute shade of salmon. He’d been growing his hair out for months, and it was at an awkward length, but he hated the thought of getting it cut, even just a trim so that it would grow into a more pleasing shape.

The kitchen door swung open and Engie strode through, his eyes lighting up when they fell on Scout. “There you are, gorgeous. Been lookin’ for you, I need your mouth for a second.”

Scout finished chewing his last bite and swallowed, pushing his chair back from the table. It had taken him months to admit it, but he loved how Engie made it a statement, not a question of what he wanted, loved having the choice made for him. Loved not having to think.

He got down on his knees right there in the middle of the communal kitchen, his barely half-eaten sandwich all but forgotten on the table, and gazed up patiently at Engie as he smiled, dragging a thumb across Scout’s lower lip. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” he murmured appreciatively. Scout nodded - he was pretty, and tired of pretending that he wasn’t. Then Engie unhooked his overalls, letting them fall to the floor, and Scout let his jaw fall open, tongue lolling out obscenely as Engie peeled himself out of his boxers.

Scout thought about how lucky he was as Engie wove his fingers into his hair and pulled him in so his nose was buried in his pubes. Not just lucky to have Engie, though he was, but for the whole team, who had been so accepting and supportive of his transformation. Pyro in particular had been a great help, and taught him the fundamentals of makeup - he’d even gotten to see their face and practice on them. Everyone else had more or less just shrugged when he’d started wearing far more revealing and feminine outfits around the base during their downtime, and looked the other way whenever Engie decided it was time for them to play in the middle of the hallway, or the common room, or the kitchen. There was the occasional ribbing, of course, grumbles of ‘get a room’ and the like, but everyone was free to watch if they pleased, and equally free to leave if it bothered them.

For some reason, Spy was the only person who seemed to really take issue with it. Truth be told, though, Scout couldn’t care less how he felt.

Engie pressed Scout’s face against his crotch, and Scout inhaled deeply, appreciating his scent, lifting his hands to feel his ass and strong thighs. His tongue flicked out to tease at Engie’s slit, trailing it up toward his pubic mound and guiding his little cock into his mouth. He closed his lips around it and sucked lightly, gazing up through his eyelashes as he worked, eager to please, eager for validation, for praise.

“That’s it,” Engie sighed, raking his fingers gently across Scout’s scalp. “Suck it like a good little slut.”

And that he did, moaning openly around Engie’s clit from the pleasure of tasting him, of serving him. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of his rear just to hear Engie groan.

The kitchen door swung open, but Scout was too engrossed in his task to even open his eyes or care who had walked in on them. The man made himself known, anyway.

“Isn’t it a little early for this?” Soldier groused, moving to grab a cup from the cabinet and fill it with tap water. Despite his complaints, he didn’t take the cup and leave, instead settling against the counter to watch.

Engie glanced at the wall mounted clock. “Nearly two in the afternoon,” he replied, voice a little breathy but overwhelmingly light and casual, as if he didn’t have another man’s face buried deep in his muff at that very moment.

“Hm.” Soldier tilted the glass to take a sip and continued conspicuously not leaving the kitchen.

“Ain’t he cute like this?” Engie asked, and Scout hummed an affirmative in spite of the fact the question was obviously not directed at him.

Soldier grumbled a noncommittal sound. “Little full of himself, though.”

Engie smiled down fondly, running a hand affectionately through the boy’s hair. “Maybe just a bit.”

Scout accidentally let his teeth scrape his cock in retaliation, and Engie hissed. “Brat,” he chided, no real malice in his tone as he pulled Scout's hair tighter. Scout hummed his agreement once again. Soldier laughed.

Scout sucked a bit harder, hollowing his cheeks and flicking the head of Engie’s cock with his tongue at the same time, and his knees buckled, hand flying out to brace himself against the table. He moaned as he held Scout’s hair tight in his fist, and Scout kept working with enthusiasm, drawing him nearer and nearer to his climax.

Scout relished the burning in his scalp as Engie came, pulling his face in close and rutting shamelessly against it before letting go and taking a half-stumbled step backward. Scout licked his lips and wiped the slickness from his chin, looking very proud of himself, even more so when he glanced over to see the cartoonish tent in Soldier’s pants.

“That was quite the performance, cupcake,” Soldier teased, showing remarkable restraint in refraining from touching himself. “Is it my turn now?”

Scout looked up to Engie for approval, permission. It wasn’t his choice, after all. “Is that okay?”

Engie smiled, shrugged as he caught his breath, pulling up his underwear. “I don’t see why not.”

Chapter Text

Scout had been incredibly patient as Medic had weighed him, listened to his heartbeat and breathing with a stethoscope, and tested his reflexes, moving to scribble in his notebook between each test as if this were a real check-up. He’d continued to be patient as Medic had taken several vials of his blood for undeniably dubious purposes, but when he started talking about insurance and billing, his patience ran out.

“Wait, are you serious right now?”

Medic blinked up, head canted just slightly, looking much like one of his birds. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” He hopped down from the exam table and swayed a little when his feet hit the ground, woozy from all the blood he was missing. “You said we were gonna fuck, and that this - the whole doctor-patient roleplay thingy - was just to get you in the mood, but so far we’ve done nothing but, but, but, doctor shit, and all my clothes are still on! What gives?”

“Has this not been enjoyable for you?” Medic asked, shifting in his seat a bit to make the prominent bulge in his pants more obvious. “Because it has been quite enjoyable for me.”

“You barely even touched me!” Scout exclaimed, and it was true - his demeanor had remained sterile, clinical, downright professional for the entirety of their little encounter, not the slightest bit of groping or unnecessary contact. Scout, much unlike the doctor, was still fully flaccid. “How the hell are you getting off on any of this?”

Medic simply shrugged. “If you are not interested in continuing, you are free to leave.”

“I didn’t say that,” Scout sputtered, turning a bit red. “I just wanna know when we’re gonna get to the good stuff.”

Medic chuckled. “My friend, all of this is ‘the good stuff’.” Then he rolled his chair up to Scout, stood, placed his hands on his shoulders, and leaned in to whisper at the younger man’s ear. “If you were wondering when you were going to get to fuck me, I was just about to get to that, if you would have a little patience.”

Scout shivered at the tone of his voice, his hot breath ghosting over his ear and neck. He wanted to say he had been plenty patient, but his mouth refused to work.

“Get back on the table,” he spoke softly, “and lie down this time.”

“I - I don’t want you puttin’ anything inside me.” He was referring both to the doctor’s cock as well as his desire to avoid a repeat of the Archimedes incident.

“I won’t,” he assured. When he spoke again, his voice was more stern, commanding. “Now, lie down.”

Scout moved to do as he’d been told, lying back on the uncomfortable table with his hands folded over his belly. He watched as Medic shed his white coat and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, but didn’t go any further with disrobing. He kept his gloves on as well.

“I should have known the appeal of delayed gratification would be lost on you,” he said as he circled the table once, examining Scout’s still form from all angles. “How could you understand the power of restraint, when you indulge every little impulse that comes to mind the moment it does? How could you understand that being made to wait for something makes it that much sweeter?”

With that final word, his hand groped at Scout’s still-soft cock over his pants, and Scout choked out on an embarrassing yelp. He bit his lip to try to keep quiet, keep still, as Medic started stroking him over the fabric at an uncomfortably brisk pace.

The friction was chafing, bordering on painful as Medic taunted, “Is this more like what you wanted? No foreplay, no frills, just straight to brass tacks. ‘The good stuff’, as you call it.”

Scout gritted his teeth. “Yeah,” he choked out. “This is… perfect.”

Medic chuckled and finally relented, moving his hand to instead pinch Scout’s cheek. “Aren’t you adorable,” he cooed.

Scout didn’t respond to that, just taking a moment to catch his breath. “Well,” Medic sighed, unbuckling his belt, “I suppose I won’t keep you waiting any longer.”

Scout propped himself up on his elbows to watch as Medic removed his shoes, pushed his pants, then underwear down and stepped out of them. He kept his shirt and gloves on as he moved to retrieve a bottle of surgical lubricant and brought it back over to where Scout lay on the table. 

He climbed up to straddle Scout’s legs, and Scout cringed at the screeches of protest from the table at supporting both their weight. Medic dribbled some lube onto his gloved fingers and reached around behind him to start working himself open as Scout watched, silently wishing he had a better vantage point to see what he was doing.

Even so, the sounds Medic was making, the way his eyelids fluttered shut as his hand moved behind him, the jut of his cock as he poised above him - it was all having the desired effect. Scout squirmed, feeling much too confined by his pants, but not daring to remove them.

Medic finally withdrew his fingers with a sigh, bending down to free Scout of his belt and trousers. Without a word, he shimmied up the table to position his entrance over Scout’s cock, then lowered himself in one slow, fluid motion till he was fully seated.

“Oh my God,” Scout gasped at the feeling of Medic’s slick, tight heat enveloping him, clutching at the sides of the table.

Medic braced his gloved hands on Scout’s abdomen and let out a breathy chuckle. “There are no gods here, my friend. Only me.” Then he started to move.

Scout’s eyes rolled inward and his back arced off the table. His hands flew out to grasp at Medic’s hips, desperate for something, anything to hold onto. Medic grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the table beside Scout’s head, continuing to ride him as he squeaked his surprise.

“Do not touch me,” he ordered, even as he kept Scout’s hands pinned so he couldn’t even if he wanted to. “Do not move, and do not close your eyes.”

“Okay,” Scout croaked, shifting his focus to keeping his hips still, his eyes open as the man above him bounced furiously and the table groaned.

With each movement of his hips, Medic punched a high gasp out of Scout’s lungs. The boy gazed up, mouth slightly open and eyes peeled wide to minimize the possibility of closing them by mistake. Medic released one wrist to pick up a tongue depressor from a nearby cart. “Open.”

Scout did as instructed and the wooden stick was thrust into his mouth, pushing his tongue down as Medic stared intently deep into his throat. He felt his cock throb at the look on his face, the odd hunger in his eyes as he stared deep into those dark, wet places others so seldom saw. Then a finger was introduced alongside the stick, and another, the depressor removed, and another instruction uttered: “Suck.”

Scout closed his lips around the gloved fingers, tasting latex as they were pushed deep, giving him little time to adjust. He coughed and sputtered, nearly gagged, but managed to keep his reflex in check. His eyes rolled back, his lids falling shut as he focused on the task he’d been given and also trying not to come yet.

“Eyes open,” Medic snapped, pushing his fingers deeper and speeding up the motion of his hips. His breath grew ragged and irregular, and Scout wondered if he, too, was getting close.

Then something snapped, and the legs supporting the head of the table gave out. Scout involuntarily bit down as he fell with the table, startled by the sudden movement, and Medic yelped as he lost his balance, falling forward to lie chest to chest with the younger man as the sound of clanging metal died down.

Medic pushed himself up with a groan, awkwardly extracting Scout from his ass and standing beside the destroyed table as he examined his hand. Scout had bitten clean through the glove, and he couldn’t tell exactly how bad it was, but he’d clearly broken the skin as well. Medic pulled the glove off and blinked at the sight blood dripping down his wrist.

“Fuck, shit, I’m sorry, man,” Scout stammered, still lying with his head toward the ground and his feet in the air, rapidly softening from fear and embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to do that, I just got startled, fuck, are you okay?”

Medic brought his mangled hand to his mouth and sucked up the blood, making continuous eye contact as he did. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eye told Scout he was more than okay.

Chapter Text

The heel on the back of her head ground down, pressing her face to the smooth linoleum which was already warming to the temperature of her skin. Flo heard the sound of the Administrator pulling on her cigarette above her, then moments later saw ash falling around her head. The arm of her glasses dug painfully into her cheek, but she didn’t complain, just gritted her teeth and wrenched her eyes shut.

The Administrator spoke, tone even and commanding, “Clean it up.” The heel was lifted, allowing Flo to move her head and lap up the ash from the ground. The taste was bitter, dry, and repugnant on her tongue, but she kept working until the floor was spotless.

Then a withered, bony hand was in her hair, pulling her up by it, and the Administrator was walking into her line of sight, cigarette dangling from her mouth, gazing down with disinterest bordering on disdain. Her hand tightened, and Flo’s scalp burned.

She took another long drag and leaned down, forcing Flo's head back, and she took that as a cue to open her mouth. Then cracked, dry lips were on hers, and smoke was being breathed into her lungs. She shut her eyes and inhaled, relishing both the nicotine and something almost close to a kiss.

The Administrator straightened up and pulled again as she watched Flo exhale what was in her lungs. “Open,” she ordered simply, and Flo did, again. She ashed her cigarette once more, this time directly into her open mouth, cutting out the middle man. Flo shivered at the taste.

“Who do you work for?” the Administrator asked, keeping her grip on the much younger woman’s hair, forcing her to keep looking up.

Flo swallowed thickly, the taste of ash oppressive on her tongue. “You, Administrator.”

“Who do you answer to?”

"You, Administrator.”

The fingers in her hair tightened just that much more, eliciting a hiss of pain. “And who do you belong to?”

Flo shivered once again, bringing her hands up to grasp desperately at the hem of Helen's shirt. “You, Administrator.”

The Administrator smiled, less a happy expression than a sinister one. The two of them were both fully clothed, but the buttons of Flo’s shirt had been undone to expose her collarbone, a bit of her chest. In a motion too swift for her to process, the Administrator pressed her still burning cigarette to the exposed skin. Flo jerked and cried at the initial shock, but forced herself to hold still as she ground the cherry out, eventually dropping the spent butt to the floor.

Then, two sharp, cigarette flavored fingers were forced into her mouth, down her throat. She gagged and drooled, tears prickling at her eyes as the Administrator asked, “Whose mouth is this?”

“Yours,” she rasped when the fingers were removed.

The Administrator cupped her cheek softly as she caught her breath, a cruel facsimile of affection that was quickly withdrawn, replaced with a hard slap. Flo’s head snapped to the side with the force of it and she inhaled sharply.

The Administrator turned and walked away, heels clicking on the hard floor, and took a seat in her obscenely oversized, overstuffed purple chair. “Come here.” She pointed a long, thin finger at the ground in front of her.

Flo fell forward onto her hands and crawled across the floor, came to a stop kneeling in between the Administrator’s legs. She brushed a lock of Flo’s hair aside, tucking it behind her ear, then wrapped a hand around her throat.

Flo shut her eyes and raised her chin as the hand tightened, and a high-heeled foot was pressed between her legs. She kept her arms by her side as the Administrator’s hand clenched tightly, cutting off the oxygen to her brain, forced herself to be still, to not grind against the sharp toe of her polished black heel.

Flo’s head grew fuzzy and distant, a garbled choking sound escaping her mouth as the edges of her vision turned to static. She wheezed, desperately trying to draw air through her crushed windpipe. Instinctually, her own hands came to grasp at the thin wrists of the Administrator, who tightened her grip in response.

Flo dug her nails in hard and made helpless, breathless sounds, panicking as she felt consciousness start to slip away. Only when Flo's hands loosened on her wrist and fell away, her head lolling forward as her eyelids fluttered, did the Administrator relinquish her grasp.

A loud, gasping, snorting inhale as she swam back toward consciousness, forehead falling forward to meet the Administrator’s thigh. She pressed her cheek to the warmth of her skin through the fabric as she caught her breath and the Administrator ran a hand through her hair, thoroughly fucked up by now, pulled out of the effortless looking bun she’d perfected. Then she was pulling that hair again, guiding Flo’s face to press against her crotch, and Flo mouthed eagerly at the fabric separating her tongue from the Administrator’s cunt.

“Such a well-trained little girl... I don’t even have to tell you what to do anymore,” she murmured, tone condescending, laced with just the faintest touch of fondness. “You know you’re mine, don’t you, Miss Pauling? And you always will be.”

Flo nodded, looking up with one hand on each knee. The Administrator pushed her forehead back and stood, pulling her skirt down, followed by her underwear and tights. She resumed her seat and Flo dove forward eagerly, no need for prompting.

She tongued at the Administrator’s entrance, pressing her nose to the dark pubic hair streaked with sparse strands of silver.

That unyielding hand was once again in her hair, pulling her forward as she moaned a satisfied sound, the side of her face and the burn on her collarbone still stinging, her throat still sore from the rough treatment.

“Mine,” the Administrator breathed, practically a growl, low and demanding. Flo hummed her agreement.

Chapter Text

Something was very wrong, Heavy thought, when three hours passed and he was still too uncomfortably, distractingly horny to focus on his reading.

It was a full body sensation, every inch of his skin prickling and buzzing, and, God, the heat - it radiated most strongly outward from his erogenous zones, but all of him felt like it was on fire. He was sweating profusely despite having the air conditioning cranked up to max and the fact that he had been sitting completely still, trying to ignore the signals his body was sending him.

He’d experienced something like this exactly once before, when Medic had accidentally released some genetically engineered spores that, when ingested or inhaled, sent the body’s endocrine system into overdrive, producing an excess of sex hormones, vasopressin, and oxytocin. The invisible, odorless particles had gone airborne and gotten sucked into the circulation vents, resulting in a couple of very interesting days on the base before Medic had finally fessed up, and they’d pulled out the air purifiers and opened all the windows.

Heavy moved to close his book with a sigh, and just the minor friction of shirt against nipple was enough to make him wince. He stood up, and every movement was agony as he located a surgical mask, covering his mouth and nose with it before heading out into the hall to find Medic and tell him off for letting this happen again. Why the fuck did he even have those spores, anyway, he wondered as he shut the door behind him.

Walking was torturous. Each brush of thigh against thigh ignited a flame in his belly, and his cock was painfully hard and sensitive as it rubbed against his underwear with each movement. He was sure if he looked, the crotch of his pants would be visibly soaked through. He had to stop about every six steps to lean against the wall and catch his breath. He suspected this must have been a much larger leak than last time, because he didn’t remember it being quite this extreme.

Heavy pressed his forearm to the wall beside a utility closet, then pressed his forehead against his arm, shutting his eyes and honing in on his own panting breath. Just a moment, he thought, then he’d take another six steps and have to stop again. He briefly considered just angrily shouting the doctor’s name and hoping that he would hear it and understand how badly he’d fucked up.

That was strange, Heavy mused, once he had gotten his breath under control but could still hear panting. It seemed to be coming from inside the closet, and without a second thought, he turned the doorknob and opened the door.

“Bloody hell!” Demo exclaimed, and stopped furiously tugging on his dick to hastily tuck it back into his sweatpants. “Couldn’t’a bloody knocked, could ye?!”

“I am sorry,” Heavy rumbled. “I heard noise, thought maybe someone was… stuck.”

“Right.” Demo rolled his eye and crossed his arms over his chest, erection still prominently visible.

Heavy decided to point out the obvious. “I think doctor’s spores got out again.”

“Ye think?” Demo scoffed. “I was just on my way to give ‘im a piece o’ my mind, but I got a wee bit… sidetracked.”

“Me too.”

The two men just stared at each other for a moment, blinking. Even through the fabric of his pants, Heavy swore he could see Demo throbbing.

He eventually broke the awkward silence by saying what he hoped they were both thinking.

“Can I come in?”

Demo blinked again, then laughed, and the tension dissipated. “Not sure if there's room enough in here for the two of us, big guy, but yer welcome to try.”

Heavy smiled and slid into the closet, clicking the door shut behind him. It was indeed a tight fit, but he didn’t mind one bit, not when he got to feel the hot, hard press of Demo’s cock against his own groin. He pulled his mask off, tucking it into his pocket for later. He didn’t particularly need it now, and it would only get in the way.

Engulfed by darkness except for a sliver of light that squeezed its way under the door, illuminating their shoes, Heavy’s hands moved, seeking out the sides of Demo’s face. His breath caught when he felt those huge, strong hands on his cheeks, then Heavy’s lips, unexpectedly soft and tender, found his own, and his hips jerked involuntarily. Heavy groaned into his mouth at the friction.

Demo’s hands came to rest on Heavy’s back, pulling him in close, wanting to feel more of the press of his hot, soft, wide body against his own. Heavy broke the kiss to dip his head and nip at Demo’s earlobe, then his neck, eliciting sharp hisses from the smaller man with each brush of teeth and lips on his overly sensitive skin.

Demo couldn’t help but rut against Heavy as he paid special attention to the skin over his jugular, and he moaned openly, heedless of who might pass by and hear.  “Heavy,” he panted, grasping at his shoulders and burying his face into his soft chest, “I… I’m not goin’ tae last…”

At that, Heavy pulled away, leaving Demo whimpering at the loss as his hips continued to jerk, meeting nothing but the fabric of his own pants. Heavy shucked his own bottoms before reaching to pull Demo’s pants down, then stepped forward again, pressing their cocks together.

Demo gasped and clawed at Heavy’s back again when he started to move. As he slid against Heavy’s cock, considerably smaller but no less hot or hungry than his own, he could feel the slickness of his cunt, feel it spreading to lubricate both of them as they moved. Heavy groaned, low and gravelly, almost a growl next to Demo’s ear. Demo shivered.

Then Heavy was grasping Demo’s shaft and guiding it so the tip pressed his entrance, drawing another gasp from his throat. He tilted his pelvis and spread his legs a bit wider, moved in closer, sinking down his length as he caught Demo’s mouth in another kiss.

Demo whimpered again and threw his arms around Heavy’s neck as he started thrusting and panting. “Fuck,” he breathed, pulling back from the other man’s lips, “yer so wet and hot… feels amazin’...”

Heavy grunted his agreement. “You feel good, too,” he managed a little breathlessly. Demo’s cock was the perfect size to fill him without stretching or hurting, and his pace was frantic, pressing against the deepest parts of him over and over. His own cock, trapped between their bellies, was also receiving plenty of enjoyable friction.

Heavy moved his hands to grasp at Demo’s ass, encouraging him to move faster, harder, deeper. He was approaching his own orgasm, and if Demo’s earlier warning and the rapid breakdown of his rhythm were any indication, he wouldn’t be lasting too much longer either.

“Close,” he breathed next to Demo’s ear. “Fuck me, come inside.”

Demo’s fingers dug into Heavy’s shoulders as he obliged, moving even faster. He felt Heavy clench around him, his entire body seizing up as he shouted some Russian expletive and buried his sweaty face in the crook of Demo’s neck. Demo was not far behind, spilling his release deep inside Heavy with a muffled cry as he pressed his face to the giant’s chest.

The two remained like that for a while, breathing hard and coming down from the high before Demo pulled out. “Fuck,” he panted, wishing he could see the mess they’d made, see Heavy’s flushed face, see anything but the fuzzy dark of the closet and the sides of their shoes.

Heavy hummed a nonverbal agreement to Demo’s assessment of the situation. Despite just having come his brains out he was still powerfully horny, that unbearable full body heat still persisting, and when he pulled his pants back up it hurt. The moisture of Demo’s come was indistinguishable from his own slickness as he replaced the mask over his mouth.

“I am going to kill that doctor,” he grumbled, and Demo huffed a breathless laugh as he once again tucked himself into his pants.

“I want a turn when yer done.”

Chapter Text

Pyro shook their head when Soldier moved to sit on their bed, having taken all his clothes off like they asked. Pyro had removed their mask and unzipped the suit, tying the arms around their waist so that it effectively became pants. They had just a tank top on, baring their soft yet powerful arms, mottled with all kinds of scars - some from burns, some from bullets, some from cuts and gashes. “I want you standing up.”

Soldier stood back up, snapped to attention, nodded with a grave look on his face. His member was equally erect as his posture, despite the fact there had been no physical contact between the two yet. “At ease,” Pyro said, smiling a little to themself. Soldier relaxed slightly.

They reached to grab a candle and lighter from the bedside table, then lit the candle. They took Soldier’s wrist in one hand and the candle in the other, and held his hand so it hovered above the flame, far enough that they knew he’d be able to feel the warmth, but not close enough to hurt.

“How’s that feel?” they asked.

Soldier harrumphed. “This is nothing. Don’t insult me, maggot.”

Pyro moved the candle a bit higher, keeping his wrist still as they watched his face intently for a reaction. “How about that?”

Soldier’s nose wrinkled. “It’s… warm,” was all his pride would allow him to admit.

Pyro smiled as they raised the candle yet a bit higher and watched him squirm. They were very experienced with fire, and knew exactly how close they could get without causing real damage, how long they could hold it in one spot before the skin started to blister. They kept a vice grip on his wrist as they moved the candle, now horizontally, up his wrist to his elbow, then back down again. Soldier kept his expression impressively stoic as they did, but failed to fully hide his discomfort.

They repeated the movement once again, this time not stopping at the elbow, but going past it, and Soldier jerked slightly when the heat touched the sensitive skin of his inner bicep. “Hahh,” he vocalized, wrenching his eyes shut.

“You alright?” Pyro asked, moving the candle a bit lower.

“I’m fine,” was the determined reply. Pyro found it incredibly endearing, his stubborn refusal to admit anything approaching weakness.

They moved the candle in a small, lazy circle just under his elbow and fluttered their eyelashes at him. “Is it okay if I mark you?”

Soldier sniffed, rolled his eyes. “Do your worst,” he challenged. “I can take it.”

Pyro cocked an uncertain eyebrow at him. “You sure?”

“Did I stutter, private?”

Pyro just shrugged. “Alright.” Still gripping his wrist tightly, they rotated his arm so his palm faced upward, then held the candle under his arm, bringing the flame just close enough to burn the outside of his forearm.

Soldier made a pained noise through clenched teeth, tried to wrench his arm from Pyro’s grasp, but they held fast as they drug the candle in a slow, diagonal line. The harsh smell of his arm hair igniting scratched the inside of their nose. “Shit,” he grunted breathlessly.

His breath grew heavier when they moved to start marking a second line on his skin, but he didn't protest. They allowed him a moment to rest before starting a third line that intersected the first two.

“Ice,” he panted, finally raising his free hand to pry Pyro’s fingers from his wrist. They lowered the candle and let go, reaching for a packet of burn gel as Soldier held his injured arm and winced.

Pyro opened the packet and squeezed some of the gel onto their fingers. “Here, let me see your arm.”

Soldier hesitated just a moment before releasing his grip on his own arm and extending it to Pyro, who carefully rubbed some gel on the burns. “You alright?” they asked, fixing him with a look of concern.

“Yeah,” he grumbled, but it didn’t sound terribly convincing. Pyro glanced down to notice his erection was entirely gone, and felt a bit guilty.

“I’m sorry.” They applied some more gel and spread it generously over the affected area. “This is your first time, I should have gone easier on you.”

“I told you I could take it.”

“I know. But still.”

Soldier didn’t respond. Instead, with his uninjured arm, he raised a hand to the back of Pyro’s head and pulled them in for a surprisingly soft and sweet kiss. Pyro froze for a moment before kissing back.

“Don’t insult me,” Soldier said after breaking the kiss, this time with a wry smile. Pyro smiled back.

“Did you need to see Medic?”

Soldier raised his arm to examine it. “Not yet,” he replied. “Tomorrow. He’ll be pissed if we wake him for this.” Pyro nodded their agreement.

“Did you want to do something else?” they asked. “Or is it over for the night?”

Soldier hummed an uncertain sound. “Lay down with me for a while and we’ll see.”

Pyro turned the lights out and left the candle burning for ambience as they stripped to their underwear and climbed to lay beside Soldier. He took the position of big spoon, lying on the side with his uninjured arm, and threw his burned arm over their chest, pulling them in close and nuzzling his face into their neck.

It had been a pleasant surprise, when they’d first started out, just how cuddly Soldier was. They hadn’t thought he’d seemed like the type to appreciate that much affection, and they’d been happy to be proven wrong. Within a few minutes, he was snoring, trapping Pyro against his chest. They could move him if they wanted to, but hated the thought of waking him, especially now.

Instead, they let themself get comfortable against him, and felt themself begin drifting off not far behind him.