Chapter Text
The RED team was growing impatient.
Yet no one was willing to go find the man holding them up. Their Medic had a bad habit of being late, often distracted by some strange project or experiment. The mercenaries fell to their usual copes; Scout was pacing, Spy was reading a book, while Demo had, naturally, taken to drinking.
"Where the freaking hell is Medic?" Scout snapped for the fifteenth time.
Sniper had been ready to slam Scout's face into the nearest wall for a while now. He kept rousing him from his dozing, and now it was clear he wouldn’t be getting back to it. "Fuckin'
hell, kid, could y'shut it?"
"No, you shut it! He always does this!"
"We know," he groaned, crushing his slouch hat against his eyes. This was just Medic. He was probably elbow deep in some poor sod's stomach or something equally unpleasant, completely oblivious to time. "We all know, now quit yellin' about it."
“Well, what we gonna do? We can’t just sit here.”
Spy looked up from his book. "If you care so much, Scout, go be productive and go find him."
Suddenly the young man became very still, then shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. "Nah, man, I found him last time, you go."
"I wasn’t the one complaining, boy."
“You should be, you're not gonna stay rich if you don’t work.”
“What would you know of my finances?”
“Enough to know Medic is screwin’ all of us!”
That gave him a jolt of guilt. The only thing he hated more than the ankle biter running at the mouth was when he was right. Guilt roiled in his gut, its proverbial toxins seeping up his spine until his shoulders tensed unbearably tight.
"Fuckin'... fine!" Sniper snapped to his feet, startling Soldier to an even more erect ten-hut. " I'll go get him! Then you can bitch about timeliness.”
"Yeah, no, I won’t be..." Once, Scout had tried to lay into Medic... that ended with his vocal cords shoved into a jar and displayed for a week. Scout rubbed his throat as if the scars still itched. “Sure he’s got his reasons.”
"Say thank you to the nice man," Spy snickered.
"Stop freaking talking to me like your my...!" he trailed off, looking mortified at what he was about to admit.
".. like I'm your what?"
“Never freaking mind!”
Sniper rolled his eyes as he sulked off. He had half a mind to snap at Medic himself, but anything to shut up their Scout would do. And get them paid.
If it wasn’t for his harsh remembrance of why he was in this god forsaken American desert, he might have taken a detour. Maybe get some coffee, maybe feed his pet owl a treat. But no, wasted time means wasted money, money that he desperately needed, money she desperately needed, so instead he made his beeline through the halls to the slightly more modern half of the building.
As AC units droned an uncomfortable hum in his ear, he hesitated at the infirmary doors, palm resting on the handle. Each and every time, a few moments of mental preparation were needed for a man entering Medic’s workspace. Sniper himself had no problem with gore, human or otherwise, but Medic had an effect that made near everything biological uncomfortable. He steeled himself and opened the door just a crack. A quick peek to make sure he was prepared.
The infirmary seemed empty at first, except for the sounds of sharp breaths, metal creaking and finally a pathetic, “Bitte.”
*The hell is he doin'?* Sniper pushed the door open further and looked in.
It was empty. Even the doves were missing. Medic always had his birds roam free.
He entered, hand on his bolo knife. The sounds were coming from the office on the other side.
“Bitte!”
Again he hesitated at the handle, then he cracked it open.
At first, it did seem Medic was being attacked. He had been shoved backwards over the table, completely helpless to the shadow looming over him. A darker hue immediately registered it as a BLU, the enemy, before his eyes even recognized the Spy’s silhouette.
His suit was rumbled, mask askew, tie loose about his neck as Medic gripped it. Medic wasn’t in his labcoat, his suspenders had been flopped over the edge of the table as if they had been yanked off in the process of...
At first Sniper's hand creaked around the machete handle, coiling his posture, readying to strike.
But then he took in the scene before him.
Medic moaned with every stroke of Spy’s hips. He had put an elbow over his eyes, obscuring his visage, but the flushed face, parted lips, the carnal pleasure expressed in each breath… it was clear enough this wasn’t an attack of any kind.
Understanding froze him into place.
Medic was becoming more vocal as Spy worked him, twisting his fingers in his enemy’s lapels.
He came back to his senses. This was... No. Right now was not the time to think about it... or ever! Preferably. Wordlessly, he stepped back to leave.
As he backed away through the door, his watch scraped against the counter. The soft noise seemed deafening when one was trying to be stealthy.
If it had been anyone else, the sound would have gone unnoticed. But BLU Spy wasn’t just anyone.
BLU Spy’s eyes snapped open, locking onto his.
The gaze held Sniper there, as though steel rods were shoved down his spine and through his feet.
His heart leapt into his throat and for a terrifyingly long moment he knew exactly what deer in the headlights meant. Sniper stared back, wide-eyed and near shaking. Oh, he was going to get stabbed and he was going to get worse than stabbed than Medic.
Medic rocked against him enthusiastically, groaning, and Sniper realized BLU Spy had never broken his rhythm, thrusting into the man, who was crying out now, begging in German, gripping his lapels, arching his back, and it was quite clear that the man in the throes. Spy’s eyes slid closed, his teeth clenching before relaxing into euphoria, and that was when Sniper ran.
Looking back, it was neither the most professional nor manliest thing he could have done, and he managed to convince himself he merely exited the situation quickly. He shoved his hands in his pockets, completely at a loss.. There was a Spy, the enemy one, in their base. If he had been doing anything else, anything, it would have been much easier to handle. But no, he was in the middle of fucking their Medic, who was so enthusiastically enjoying it.
Green , Sniper had noted miserably, before Spy's eyes closed. Such a vibrant colour. They kept appearing though he kept trying to tear himself away from the sin at hand. Definitely green, he decided, lighting a cigarette from a crumpled packet as he stepped into the desert. Unwanted knowledge plagued his brain, and as if the cigarette itself caused it, he threw it away. This day was turning fucking horrendous.
Sniper slowed himself as he made his way across the hardpan. Then he stopped, looking behind him. What the bloody hell, it didn’t even seem real, as if he had dozed off with an overactive imagination. No, if that was BLU Spy… of course it was BLU Spy, idiot, no one else had bloody eyes like that… STOP THINKING ABOUT HIS EYES… a Spy’s speciality was picking off those separated from the group.
He took off again, this time slowing only just as he returned to his teammates.
"He's busy," he managed, taking another cigarette from the packet.
Disgruntled noises rumbled through the entire room. Even Pyro looked annoyed. "What a fucking pile of crap," Scout snapped.
Sniper grunted, eyes dully fixated on the floor. He quietly lit the cigarette and took a drag, only to seize up and choke. He spat it onto the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot. The smoke had set him off: BLU Spy smoked.
Engineer noticed his discomfort. "You alright there?"
He cleared his throat. "Ah, yeah... sorry. Medic better-" the words caught in his throat. As much as Sniper would've loved to get on with the match, seeing Medic was not something he wanted right now. What if the Spy told him? Medic would have more than just his head.
He pretended to cough into his elbow. "- better hurry up," he finished uncomfortably.
Engineer nodded in understanding. "What he's working on that bad, huh?".
Sniper nodded once. "Yeah. Y'could say that."
Dread started to build up in his gut. He and Medic never really interacted within matches. It wouldn't be hard to avoid him at the risk of a few more deaths. The BLU Spy however... it was the BLU Spy's job to kill Sniper. There was no way of completely avoiding him throughout the day. Sniper could lessen it though. Keep their interactions as short and as infrequent as possible. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to deal with what he saw.
He started to formulate a plan. Every ten to twenty minutes or after every shot he took, he would move. There would be less kills but he would rather that then have to interact with the enemy. On the inevitable and extremely unfortunate chance they meet, he would keep it quick. Kill the Spy quickly or be killed quickly. Good plan.
Medic was positively beaming when walked through the door a few minutes later, straightening his tie and smoothing over his rumpled hair.
"Ah, hallo team!"
"You're late!" several voices chorused.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I found a little thirsty snake on the way here that I simply had to take to my lab and water. Such a fascinating color pattern!".
"Liar!"
"You have dishonored this entire unit."
"We know exactly what you do to random animals, docteur," Spy muttered, not looking up from his novel.
"Well, I released him now," Medic said brightly, not missing a beat. "Now, we don't want to be late, do we?"
"We already are freaking late!"
This conversation was agonizing. Sniper wished he didn't know. He wished from the bottom of his heart that he didn't know exactly what 'thirsty snake' Medic was referring to. So many dismissed comments started making sense and he hated it.
It was nearly painful to have to look at Medic. All he could see was his flushed face and- Stop, stop right there.
Sniper snatched up his rifle and hauled the strap over his head. Tonight he would be drinking everything away with Demo. He could count on Demo.
Medic gave Sniper a curious, lingering glance, before turning away to put on his pack.
Mission begins in 30 seconds.
Sniper paled. Did Medic know? Oh fuck, if he knew... Of course he knows, why wouldn't BLU Spy tell him? He was so… bloody... fucked.
Bad wording.
Machete sheathed, rifle secured, shooting aviators on and hair tied back, Sniper was the first out of the gate. He was quick to set up, and grabbed a few early round skirmish kills before falling victim to the enemy soldier's rockets. After the initial madness and a quick respawn, he put his plan into action. Moving whenever he took a shot or after ten minutes. A couple more deaths - from moving around so much - and he settled into a private nook off to the side of the battlefield. The BLU Scout was wisening up and using more obscure routes to get past. Sniper couldn’t allow that to continue.
He'd gone past the ten minute mark about seven minutes ago but it was quiet over on this side of the battlefield. Quiet enough that he figured no one would find him; even the enemy Spy hadn't caught him. In fact, he hadn’t seen him all match. This was going swimmingly, although he considered moving to a slightly more active area. The Scout could've moved and it was a good chance to grab a few more headshots.
"Few more minutes," he muttered. “A few more minutes, nothin’ more…”
“My, my, our little voyeur is being tricky today.”
Instinct was a godsend. Sniper didn't jump or yelp anymore. Instead, he whirled around, his hand flew to the machete’s handle. Kill him quickly, move on.
Except he didn't kill quickly. He faltered. This was bound to happen, he knew that, but he couldn't help seizing up. The Spy's voice threw him and all he could think about was his hips thrusting, the pale expanse of his navel where his shirts had ridden up, dusted with a trail of dark....
Shut up.
Details he hadn’t even processed yet were now conjuring themselves, holding the image aloft, superimposing them on his mental image of BLU Spy to properly take in the details. He pressed a heel of his palm to his eye, trying to get his mind back into focus. Anything that didn’t involve half naked Spy, gay Spy, sexualized Spy. This was a battle.
Speaking of , you jinxed it.
~
Spy had been run through with that machete back when he underestimated the RED Sniper. His awkward manner and the way he shuffled about made one conclude he couldn’t move that gangly body quickly or precisely. However, in truth he fought like a wild animal, tearing and slashing, blind with emotions of fear and rage. Spy had been almost surprised he hadn’t used his teeth like a rabid dog.
He remained cloaked as he maneuvered around him. He hadn’t started swinging, that was a good sign.
Sniper's eyes darted wildly behind the yellow lenses. Spy could almost hear his enemy’s panicked heart hammering in his chest, hear him internally screaming ‘where is he?”
He paused on the Sniper’s right “My, my, I must have given you a shock.”
This time he didn't hesitate. Sniper swung.
Spy had already kept himself out of reach, so the machete passed centimeters from his chest. This was a good sign, threat to his life notwithstanding.
But RED Sniper had acted differently. Which meant he hadn’t imagined it when he looked up to see him in the doorway. That shocked look, a deer frozen in headlights, no, in the flood lamp of a runaway train, was priceless, but it presented a problem.
He closed the distance, approaching from Sniper’s left.
~~
Sniper swung to the right again, this time stepping forward only to meet empty air. Where? He spun, looking around in alarm.
"Where are you, y'fuckin' snake-" he started in a low growl, then his voice caught. 'Little thirsty snake!' Medic's cheerful words rang through his head, and once again he was plagued of this morning's regrets.
“Something the matter?”
Sniper gave himself a mental shake. He readjusted his grip on the machete. "S-stop hidin'!" And there was the stammer. He clenched his jaw. Kill quickly. Move on.
“And why would I do that?” Just by his tone Sniper could hear him smirking. Killing quickly was now out of the question. Move on was not. Sniper glanced at the doorway. A few steps is all it would take. He needed the kill but... Prue. There would be others. Staying here was a waste of time. The chances of him winning this fight were low and he couldn't be bothered to deal with the harassment.
And the Medic thing, he admitted to himself. It was mostly the Medic thing.
"Kill me quickly or fuck off," he muttered, shifting his weight ever so slightly. His exit was only a few paces away.
“Oh? In a hurry are we?”
Cold metal was pressed against Sniper’s throat, and Spy materialized in front of him. Smoke curled up from his cigarette, creating a thin veil between the smoldering tip and his hat’s brim.
Sniper's eyes snapped wide as he froze. He swallowed against the blade. Anton-Luc glanced down appreciatively as the Sniper’s adams apple bobbed, barely grazing over the knifepoint. Green eyes. The same ones that stared back at him this morning. Strange how he barely noticed them before and now they were seared into his brain.
"B-bastard. Stop fuckin' about," he hissed, despising the tremble in his voice.
A smile curled his lips, “No, I think not. In fact, as long as I keep you from shooting my colleagues, I’m doing my job.”
Sniper pressed himself into the wall. Even being just a few more millimeters away from the enemy made him feel better. He did not like the way Spy watched his throat or the way he was smiling or what he said or how he phrased it-
He was closer than this to Medic, and Medic was loving it.
No, no.
I can smell his cologne, his cigarette, fuck, he wouldn’t have been able to shower, that could be Medic’s aftershave.
Shut up!
A disgusting amount of colour rose to his cheeks as he jerked his head back, accidentally exposing more of his throat.
"G-get away," he warned, baring his teeth. A poor attempt at appearing threatening.
“I could argue that keeping you occupied carries out my duties much more than killing you, wouldn’t you agree?” Spy replied casually.
'Occupied' carried so much weight, especially now.
"What d'you..." like a fool, he just had to ask. Despite not wanting to know the answer, he asked.
“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean.”
The panic on his face, accompanied by short, stuttering breaths, were clear now. "Y'... y'fuckin' sick."
“Am I? I don’t recall ever watching two people have sex. Uninvited, at least. Unlike someone we know.”
"That wasn't- I wasn't- Y'shouldn't even be in our base fuckin' our Medic anyway!"
“Perhaps, but polite people don’t linger at the doorway just watching.”
"I-I wasn't watchin'!" He sputtered, heat rising with every word. "I was fuckin' shocked! Y'were just there- bangin' the bloody Medic! Y-y'think I wanted t'see that?"
“I see,” Spy replied. “Perhaps not, but then again, why are you getting so worked up?".
"I-I ain't!" Sniper hissed, clenching his jaw at the tremble in his voice.
"Well, the sight of two men having sexual relations didn't really put you off."
"The hell are y'sayin'...?"
"You must have been exposed to it before. Perhaps even partook…?”
"I ain't queer!"
He wasn't. He absolutely was not. Never in a million years would he ever like men. He may be skinny, a toothpick, and couldn’t bench press a car, but one insult, one assumption, he would never allow to stick. All the jeers in his youth, calling him a fairyboy, bottom bitch, queer. Even Aussie women tender to have burlier, robust frames than him: if he wasn’t gay a woman would still have to top, that was the joke. He scowled. No, he might have had thoughts, appreciated male forms while a horny teen, but he wasn’t . That’d just be stereotypical. That’d be against Australian values. It’d be yet another way he didn’t live up to the Australian ideal. It’d be another way he didn’t live up to his father’s expectations.
Besides, he had a kid. Queers couldn't make kids!
”No one is saying you are. I’m French, we know that you don't necessarily have to be one or the other. In the end, sex is sex.”
"M'not fuckin' queer, y'perv! Never once thought about blokes like that," he snapped, the muscles in his forearms fluttering as he clenched his fists too long and tight. "Can't y'just kill me now?"
“I thought we already established this. You were making quite a nuisance of yourself.”
Sniper just wanted to be through with this. "So what, we're just gonna fuckin' stand here all day?"
“Perhaps. If you’re so bored, perhaps we can talk, if the topic interests me.”
"I don't have time for a bloody chitchat-"
Sniper froze up immediately after Spy moved closer, still staring directly into his eyes. It was only a few centimeters closer, but it felt like Spy was squeezing the very air around him, invading his personal space. Sniper tried to move away but there was only so far he could push himself into the wall.
Then there were those eyes. Green, he validated for the hundredth time that day. They were certainly green. Mesmerizingly so. Even through the tinted lenses of his shooting aviators. It was impossible to look away.
"S-stop," he managed, machete forgotten as another bout of red crept up his collar.
Ever so slightly, Spy tilted the knife point so it brushed against where the skin pulsed. It was so fast, beating beneath the collar, skin slowly turning the same shade of red. Interesting.
Spy smirked, “Why are you blushing? If I didn’t take men at their word, Sniper...”
He was reaching for the machete. It would be a simple sleight of hand, and honestly, perhaps he was being overly cautious, he probably could get the machete away by sheer intimidation. But no, wild animals had a tendency to strike out if nothing distracted them, even if doing so would get them hurt..
Sniper's breathing hitched and he had to fight to suppress a whine. "I-I'm... stop it..."
He unknowingly tilted his head, exposing more of his throat. That damn blade was so distracting, that bloody smirk too. All he could think about was this morning, that look on Spy's face-
This was going too far, this was going way too far. Spy somehow knew what he liked. He knew exactly what to do to make Sniper's legs like jelly, make his head all fuzzy, make him this flustered, make him feel so- STOP.
He wasn't gay! He didn't like fucking men, he didn't like sucking dick and he wasn't bloody queer. So then why was he stood here, trembling, completely at Spy's mercy, unable to think straight? Had this morning really messed him up that badly?
Did he need this so badly?
He could smell the crisp smoke, his lips parted to draw it in. Spy tilted his head ever so slightly, and to the end of his life Sniper would deny he tilted his too, his body betraying him…
Spy snatched the machete’s handle and ripped it out of Sniper’s grip. He tossed it away, stepping back.
And just like that Sniper snapped out of his homoerotic trance. The machete clattered across the floor, the noise making him flinch.
Oh. His massive knife. He'd forgotten about it in his haze.
Sniper looked dumbfounded for a moment. One second he was near begging for Spy's intimacy, the next he was standing like an idiot. He looked down at his empty hand and felt an odd sense of betrayal.
Spy smirked triumphantly, a familiar one of arrogance and amusement.
“Now with that out the way,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I hope you’d be less inclined to stab me while we wait.”
Yet as always, Sniper was a manly man. He would not go down lightly. The familiar comforting rush of anger took hold to replace all those nasty emotions. This had gone on long enough.
Letting Spy get away with this would be a crushing defeat. He slipped his spare knife down his sleeve, slashing at Spy.
He had taken him off guard, again. Spy evaded with the expectation his sudden attack to be with his fist, not extended with a knife. The cigarette flew from his mouth as the tip sliced open his mask’s cheek and the flesh beneath. Seething, shocked, angry, he ducked under his next attack, passing his balisong over RED Sniper’s navel as he went past.
Sniper snarled, chopping down at Spy, the surge of adrenaline masking the severity of his wound. The fight had finally begun, not giving him time to worry about stomach gashes cascading blood onto the floor.
Spy managed to twist out of the way and slammed himself back against the wall Sniper was previously pressed against. He caught Sniper’s swing by crossing his forearms and catching it in the middle. The edge of the bladequiveried mere millimeters from his face.
Sniper was panting now, glaring with a burning ferocity. How dare this bloody ponce saunter up to him, accuse him of being a queer then do that to him.
He growled and raised his knife again- or tried to. The weight on Spy's arms increased. Sniper felt his legs tremor, on the verge of giving way. Something warm and wet spread over his pelvis and thighs. He looked down.
Sliced intestines peeked through the gaping hole in his abdomen. Blood seeped into his clothes, staining his shirt and pants a darker red.
"Oh," he mumbled.
Spy took the opportunity to bodily shove him away. He slipped from the wall, skirting around the edge of Sniper's reach. He took out his cigarette case.
Sniper hit the floor with a grunt, the impact forcing more viscera through the wound with a wet pop. He groaned. Bleeding through the edges of adrenaline, he could feel a sickening pain twisting in his gut.
"Wanker," he whispered, forcing himself onto his back with a grunt. "Bloody wanker."
The movements only served to further worsen the gash, more insides squeezed out, slicked in blood. Sniper dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling.
“Now why did you do that?” He said after he took a long drag of his cigarette. He had put away his knife in favor of his revolver.
"Y'took m'knife," he muttered. Glazed eyes looked over Spy from behind skewed lenses. "Wanker."
“Normal people get less aggressive when they’re disarmed,” Spy scoffed, avoiding the Sniper’s pained expression. He walked over to the machete, picking it up and looking over its handle and blade for any distinctiveness. “Does this really have that much sentimental value to you?”
It was a typical bolo knife, specifically jungle bolo, with worn hardwood handle wrapped in cracked old leather. Around the base of the blade, where it met the handle, small flowering vines had been etched. It was clearly well-used and well-cared for. Several drops of blood spattered onto the blade, running from his cheek.
Sniper knew this wasn't really about the knife, more everything else that had happened. It made for a nice scapegoat, although he was quite livid when Spy handled his weapon. "Why d'you care?"
“Because that was an odd reaction, for what you’re claiming,” he muttered, tossing it back over so that it skittered over the floorboards to rest by Sniper’s side. “Now would you like me to put you out of your misery or do you hope your Medic will answer you?”
He opened his mouth to berate Spy for throwing it, but decided better.
"Didn't y'hear me the first hundred times?" Some sort of bitter smile made its way across Sniper's paling lips. "Stop fuckin' about n'kill me."
Spy rechecked his watch, and looked like he was about to ignore his request, but then caught the pain in Sniper’s eyes. His gaze traveled down to the gruesome wound he had left.
“Very well,” he said, leveling the gun to Sniper’s head, aiming between the eyes.