>>66
Also is there more Detachable Sniper? Seconding this so hard.

>>66
>>67

Me three!

Hey Marty, didn't you post a Heavy/You here before the chan blew up? I always love your work but never got to read that one. Is there any chance that it can be reposted, too?

He threw the whole bundle out the camper door and amused himself a bit by reversing over it until the Respawn system picked up the bits.

I came.

Can someone repost Child Molestee? After re reading all these fics I want Sniper's syrupy pancake revenge again.

>>71

I think it's up somewhere. Dig around, I'm pretty sure I saw it at one point...

copious chest hair gold chain necklace brain-stained sheets rose petals
Marty, I have SUCH a fucking grin on my face right now. My cheeks are starting to hurt.

>>52
Late, I know, but I seriously love this one. It's so sweet without being cloying. No bed of rose petals, just duct tape and a huge shaved bear taking it slooooow.

The afanfic parts of "Child Molestee" are up under the lost and found thread but the Pancake scene and all the other sexless scenes were omitted.

What about the Tentaspy lolporn called "The Milk"
\

I wrote this one for Hupsoonheng, and I still giggle every time I read it. Yes, I giggle at my own work.
----------------------------------------------
SLIPPERY SITUATION

"Hey, Mumbles," BLU Scout approached the Pyro with a cocky, predatory grin. Of course, he always looked like that, but there was a special edge to it today. He seemed to be trying to hide a five-pound can of lard casually behind his back.

The Pyro sighed behind his mask. He didn't really like lard. He knew it could damage the rubber of his suit and mask. He'd been grateful when the Medic had petitioned to banish it from the kitchen, and therefore from Scout's bag of tricks. However, the Engineer had set his jaw in no uncertain way, the Soldier had ranted about plots to taint their precious bodily lipids with commie canola oil, and the Heavy had looked near tears. This last was probably why there was still lard on the menu. As for why Scout had taken enough to make a month's worth of delicious fried foods...

"C'mon, chucklenuts. Come ta my room. I got somethin' ta show ya." The Scout seized the Pyro's arm. The firestarter shrugged and let himself be towed along. At least it wouldn't be his sheets getting all greasy this time.

Once in the privacy of his room, the Scout hit the Pyro like a handsy, humping stickybomb. "Oh fuckin' yeah, Mumbles, I'm gonna boink you so hard it'll be a grand slam. Bonk! Right over the fence. I'm the Second Coming of Joe DiMaggio and I'm gonna bang you like a god-damn lumpy, mumbling, rubber-coated Marilyn Monroe." He licked the Pyro's shoulder and shuddered. "Ohh yeah, that's the shit, you gorgeous freaky fuckin' swamp monster." He clambered all over the Pyro, stripping off his belts and harnesses, leaving the basics of gasmask, suit and boots. Finally, the Scout knocked the Pyro to the bed, apparently by happy accident,

"Ohh yeah, you freaky walking sack of semi-sentient potatoes. I'm gonna hit you so hard, you won't know WHAT hit you. But it'll be ME." He continued laving his tongue over Pyro's suit, making every inch slick with saliva. "Ohh..." he groaned.

"Mmm," the Pyro uttered encouragingly underneath him.

"Oh yeah, you fucking like that, don't you, you beautiful slippery blue bitch," the Scout humped Pyro's thigh. "Of course you like it, it's amazing. 'Cause I'm amazing. And you're not bad yourself, ya shambling monstrosity."

Pyro chuckled- that was high praise, coming from the Scout. He shifted his hips to give the baseball fanatic better access.

"Awwwwyeah, that's what I'm talkin' about," the Scout said, sliding down between the Pyro's thighs. "If you were a chick, I'd be like 'mlan mlan mlan mlan,'" he licked the Pyro's rubber-clad crotch, showing off his oral skills. "Then I'd be all 'nlh nmlh nlllh mlhh'... if that wasn't gettin' ya wet, I'd throw in a little 'BLBLBLBLBLBBBLB!'"

The Pyro laughed. Even through his suit, that tickled.

"Oh fuck yeah, you're such a weird rubbery little fuck. I love the way you fuckin' squeak when you walk, it makes my dick harder than a Louisville Slugger to listen to you squeakin' the fuck around the whole time." Deep in his verbal foreplay with himself, the Scout opened the jar of lard and scooped out a handful. "Just... hold the Hell still for this, Mumbles, it'll be fuckin' sweet."

The Pyro obligingly held still as the Scout undid his fly with his free hand, exposing a slender but enthusiastic boner, and continued to hold still as the Scout smeared the lard on his suit and rubbed his dick on it.

"Aw, fuck, Mumbles, you slutty little rubbery fuckslut-" the Scout babbled as he crawled all over the Pyro in his bed. He spread grease everywhere, sliding his erection over every curve and crease of the Pyro's suit. He stopped for a second: "Holy fuck, I'm getting shit all over my goddamn clothes!"

The Pyro watched, black glass eyes inscrutable, as the Scout stripped off his clothing. The Scout was wiry, almost hairless, and, appropriately enough, had a baseball tan that left his torso and ass milky-pale. He flexed his muscles and jerked his dick in the Pyro's direction.

"You like what you see, Mumbles? You wanna fuckin' piece of this? Well goddamned brace yourself, 'cause you're gettin' ALL of it." The Scout threw himself back on the bed, squashing the Pyro.

"Mmph," the Pyro chastened him, but he wasn't listening. The Scout was devoting all of his energy to writhing around on top of the masked man, smearing grease between them and licking the slick, bitter rubber of his gas mask.

"Ohh yeah oh yeah ohh... fuck..." the Scout rambled as he humped against the Pyro in every possible position. "You're so fuckin' sweet, I can't get enough of how slippery you are, every goddamn inch of you is so totally fuckable. My balls ache like they're gonna burst every time I see you, especially when you just came out of the water and you look so shiny and perfect. I can't believe you let me do this, I want it so fuckin' bad and it feels so fuckin' good..."

The Scout had flipped the Pyro over onto his stomach and was pressing his dick between his teammate's thighs, his arms wrapped tightly around the Pyro's waist. He was licking indiscriminately, pressing long, broad strokes of his tongue against the Pyro's shoulder, his armpit, the slick rubber at the back of his mask. The Pyro slid one hand up over his shoulder, offering his gloved fingers to the Scout's eager mouth.

Groaning, the Scout latched onto the Pyro's gloved fingers. His thrusts sped up as he suckled at the rubber digits probing his mouth. The Pyro moaned beneath him, sound reverberating inside his mask, as the Scout slammed their hips together.

"Fuck, Pyro, fuck, I'm... mmmmh-" The Scout sucked the Pyro's fingers deep into his mouth as he came. Several spurts of thick white fluid oozed between the Pyro's thighs as the Scout moaned incoherently and lay still.

"Mmmm..." the Pyro hummed happily as the Scout rolled off of him. "Mm?" He turned on his side to look at the Scout, who had suddenly drawn back.

"Shit, man, shit," the Scout looked at him, substantially freaked-out, his long arms wrapped around his bony knees.

"Mm?" the Pyro repeated, putting a hand on Scout's shoulder. The Scout jerked back.

"Just... what the fuck did I just do? Why do I always have to do that? It's like, I look at you and I can't control myself and then I snap out of it after I shoot and I've just... humped a guy." The Scout's thoughts were visibly spinning, emotions clouding his face. "If you even are a guy. How do I know what the fuck you are? If you're a woman, I should at least want to get you out of that suit, but... I don't." He looked at the Pyro with mounting horror. "I want whatever rubber freaky thing you are... what does that even mean?"

"Mm-nn," the Pyro shrugged and grabbed Scout's hand. He (for the sake of argument) rubbed the muscle between the Scout's thumb and forefinger, pausing only momentarily to wipe the semen off his thighs and throw a blanket around his teammate's shoulders. The Scout swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. Slowly, he relaxed into the Pyro's touch.

"Fuck this," the Scout sighed. "Who knows why the Hell I want whatever the fuck I want. At least I don't wanna do what the Medic does with the Heavy, and I guess they're happy enough. But, I mean," he turned to the Pyro, apparently just noticing him. "How come you play along? What's in it for you. At least I get my dick wet... greasy, something... but why do you play along?" He reversed the hand massage, rubbing the Pyro's hands through his glove. "Do you even know what I'm doing to you? I'd hate if I just raped you, or some bullshit, took advantage of your mental defective retardation."

"Hmph!" The Pyro pulled back in mock-affront, then quickly sagged back against the Scout to show no hard feelings.

"Really," the Scout said. "How do I know if you know what I'm doing enough to know that you liked it?"

"Mmm," the Pyro patted the boy's arm, then leaned over to scrabble under the bed. He came up holding a jar of some kind of powder.

"Powdered surgical lubricant," the Scout read off the label. "Sterile, latex-safe, mix one teaspoon with one pint of water." The Scout shook the largish jar, looking at several cups of the powder sifting around inside. "Shit, man, there's enough here to make fucking GALLONS of slippery stuff!"

"Mm hm!" The Pyro gave him a thumbs-up.

77. Oh my! I was JUST thinking of a fanfic like that one...good job! It made me giggle too. Hehe.

>>77
That was SPECTACULAR. Ohfuck. Scout and a latex fetish. FUHHUHFUFHUFHUFH. He's got such a hilarious dirty talk as well.

A+++. Would fap again.

>>77

FFUUUUU rubberdoll Pyro how so my fetish howwwwwww. SO that was a great ending, lit-wise, but sweet Christ I want so much moar.

NO SCOUT NOT LARD YOU'RE GONNA FUCK HIS SUIT UP NOOOOOO. Also the best dirty talk in all the land. Also everything about this fic. Marty, you are a GOD

>>24
Seconding bug porn, if it's out there

>>37
One thing I can't find, and that is worth another custom-tailored fic from me: does anyone have the first 2 chapters of Trypanophobia?
Is it too late to claim in on this? I'm a huge fgt for Pet!Soldier w/ Dom!Engineer. Collars, leashes, sounding. Y'know, all the good stuff.

bamp

>>82

Want please

Oh shit, Marty, the power of your writing makes me all hot and bothered, makes me shudder, laugh, and whenever I'm done reading a story from you I feel so messed up. I wonder how messed up I'd feel if I were you..

And please Marty, MOAR PLEASE!!!

>>85 btw you should reread what you post on here, lol.

Anywho, I love every second of your writing Terato, please post more soon!

[Putting this here for certain robosexuals who might not have seen it. Nublet, I'm working on your story, albeit slowly.]
_______________________________________________________

DREAMING IN DIGITAL

The Engineer tossed and turned on his bunk. He was exhausted- he'd respawned five times today- but he couldn't stop his brain's restless whirring. He wasn't even worried about anything, just spinning his wheels, and he couldn't settle down.

He blamed this stupid war, RED, that cackling Administrator, and most of all, himself. He'd leapt at this job for the unlimited research and development funding and a chance to do all the hands-on work he could handle. And he wasn't going to say that he hadn't had some fun. But between being shot at and stabbed on the one hand, and building the same three gadgets over and over, on the other, he was stagnating. He roamed the desert outside of 2Fort, turning over rocks with a stick, trying to recapture the sense of curiosity about everything he'd felt as a boy.

As he headed back in toward the base, he saw someone standing next to the door. He couldn't quite make out who it was, in the late-afternoon glare. Too blocky to be Sniper, too tall to be Soldier, not hefty enough to be Heavy...

"Howdy, Boss," the figure threw him a lazy salute as he approached. Now the Engineer could see, it wasn't a man at all. It was a robot, red and black with gleaming chrome. "Spy check, no offence," it said politely, extending a hand. The Engineer shook it, noticing the fine metalwork, its fingers hinged like a medieval gauntlet. "Much obliged," the robot said when the Engineer didn't change shape.

"May I ask, what in tarnation are you?"

"Level nine sentry, sir, same as when you left." Overlapping metal scales beside the robot's mouth allowed it to make facial expressions- it smiled as it spoke.

"Where did you come from?" the Engineer breathed.

"You built me, boss." The robot's expression changed to a reasonable replication of concern. "And I hope I don't speak out of turn, but I think you might'a been out in the sun too long." The robot's voice didn't have the northern flatness of the Engineer's American teammates; its Texas twang was a match for the Engineer's own.

"I guess so," the Engineer nodded. "D'you mind if I have a look at you?"

"'Course not, boss, but I think you oughtta have something to drink, first." A panel in the robot's chest slid aside, and it passed him a paper cup of sweet iced tea with a perfect lemon slice floating on top. "I'm part dispenser, on my momma's side," it joked.

"Thank you, pardner," the Engineer said bemusedly. "... Any chance I can look under the hood now?"

"Of course, you built me." The Sentry smiled again.

Looking carefully at the robot, the Engineer realised with some embarrassment that it was an idealised version of himself. Taller than he was, Art Deco musculature sculpted into its metal exoskeleton, its face clearly modelled on his own. It didn't seem right to keep referring to the Sentry as 'it,' not when it... he had such a friendly expression on his face.

The Sentry was an amazing feat of engineering, though. He had guns built into his forearms, rockets in his shoulders. He was proud of his gyroscopic balance, and amused the Engineer by standing on one tiptoe like a ballerina. He was strong enough to withstand minigun fire, graceful enough to intercept a Scout. The Engineer could see how all the mechanisms worked together; it was obvious. Of course he'd built this amazing robot; he couldn't wait to start tinkering with the design.

In the midst of these happy thoughts, the Engineer felt a familiar cold prickle on the back of his neck... "Spy around here," he muttered to the Sentry.

"Where?" The Sentry whirred as it looked around, but there was nothing to see. The Engineer could just feel the cloaked backstabber sneaking around. He hefted his wrench from his toolbelt; that same gut instinct told him the Spy was coming to sap and destroy his wonderful Sentry. He lashed out with his wrench.

Whether by instinct or sheer luck, the blow connected. There was the sizzling sound of a cloak shorting out, and- "Dear Lord, no!"

Instead of legs, the Spy surged forward on a mass of writhing sapper leads. He laughed, sparks flying from his pointed, metallic teeth. His long, whiplike arms ended in heads made of knives, and he was reaching for the Sentry.

"Not on my watch!" The Engineer threw himself at the Spy, his wrench making deceptively slow, unstoppable arcs through the air. Even as he bashed at the Spy, its sapper-tentacles wove around him. They probed and yanked at him, trying to find a gap in his housing, grappling for exposed wiring. The Engineer realised that he was a robot, just like the Sentry, and that the Spy could do more than just kill him. As the Sapper Spy ripped his wrench from his hand, the Engineer wondered if being turned to scrap metal was anything like Respawn... probably not.

The monster's tendrils jammed into his mouth, into every opening, trying to access his data, to steal the very Intel that made up his inmost self. The Spy was inside him, taking everything he was.

The Engineer struggled against the Sapper Spy, feeling himself grow weaker the longer he was wrapped in the monster's tendrils. He had to fight back, though- if he died, his Sentry was a goner. He grabbed at the Spy's metal-mesh suit, and heard a loud clang.

There was another, and another, and suddenly the Spy's hold on him was loosening, sliding away. Surfacing from the welter of tentacles, the Engineer saw the Sentry. He was standing triumphant, having bludgeoned the sapper creature to death with the Engineer's own wrench.

"You saved me! Thank you," the Engineer gasped as the tentacles unfurled from around his throat.

"Nothin' you haven't done for me since I was a little level one," the Sentry toed the ground bashfully.

"Help me out, here?" The Engineer was still tangled in the dead Sapper Spy's tentacles.

The Sentry grasped the Engineer's forearm, pulled him into a solid metal embrace. Their armoured bodies fit together perfectly, an impenetrable steel shell protecting them from the world. The Engineer felt safe, secure in a way he hadn't since before his first battle.

The Sentry was gazing into the Engineer's eyes. The robot opened his mouth slightly, as if unsure what to say, and the Engineer kissed him. Much more of the Engineer's yough had been spent studying than smooching, but he considered himself adequately skilled at it. However, he had never had a kiss like this.

His tongue and the Sentry's tongue had matching connectors, smooth metal tabs that slid together when they touched. As soon as the connection was made, the Engineer knew all that the Sentry knew, felt everything the Sentry could feel- and he knew that the Sentry felt the same. They held each other tighter, the power sources in their chests humming in unison as they shared the information that the Sapper Spy had tried to take by force.

"You know everything about me," the Engineer thought, or said, or transmitted.

"Trust," the Sentry replied. "Love."

"No-one else knows the name of the street I lived on in Bee Cave, or my Momma's name, or my favourite equation," the Engineer told his Sentry.

"It's part of my core code." The Sentry pulled him closer.

The Engineer was overcome by a wash of bliss, dazzling white light, a sense of peace. Even as he was waking up, he realised that he was waking up, that it had all been a dream. There was no Level 9 Sentry, he was stationed in the frozen wasteland of Viaduct rather than the relative comfort of 2Fort, and he was alone. Pleasant dream, though, when all was said and done. He shifted, and felt a stickiness between his legs. Mighty pleasant, evidently. And that data transmission connector had been a nifty doo-dad. He was idly envious, wishing that he'd invented it.

Sitting bolt upright, the Engineer realised that he HAD invented it. It was great, completely modular, utterly foolproof, small enough to install in almost any system. Pausing only to clean himself off with a bandanna, the Engineer rushed to his drafting table to diagram the wonderful device that he had designed in his sleep.

>>87

Marty, how did you get so much poetry into your soul?

>>88

Poetry? Where?! Tread on it, quick.

Long time lurker, first time poster, yadda yadda yadda. Just wanted to say I love your fics, Marty.
Also
>>89
made me laugh.

>>Syncopating
Late to the party, but it's your vocabulary that makes me such a happy soul.

Also glad to see that someone saved Ursa Major, Ursa Minor. It's my number one favourite Lolporn.

TM, you rock my world, never stop, etc. I hope they find everything again ;-;

*cloak*

>>17 This has always grossed me out, but I just re-read it, for kicks right now, and I noticed something.
Spy has some very interesting nicknames for Scout. Kudos on the creativity, man.

>>87
Awesome to hear. No problem, I'm sure it will be fantastic. Can't wait.

Right, so. Got to talking with Ze Doktor, and I realised I didn't have this anywhere around.
--------------------------------------------
I FEEL PRETTY

"Mein liebling, mein Küschelbar!"

"Doktor, how I love you!"

The Medic and Heavy were cuddled up tightly in their specially-reinforced bed in the room that they shared beside the medical bay. They were making fervent kissy-face in a way that had caused the Scout to make theatrical dry-heaves when he had first caught them at it. The rest of the team had been embarrassed into playing it cool. Since then, they had been able to become slightly bolder about their affection, though they maintained decorum in public.

This, however, was not public.

"Mein Heavy, can I ask vone small, silly favour of you?"

The Heavy took pride in not being as dumb as he looked. From the tremor in the Medic's voice, he could tell that this was not a little favour. "Anything, Doktor, for you."

The Medic broke into an ecstatic grin and squeezed the Heavy's generous middle. "You are so good to me. Vhat I vant... I need you to vear ein special outfit for me." The look in the Medic's eyes said that 'need' was hardly an overstatement.

"Of course, Doktor." The Heavy smiled indulgently. In his days as a boxer, he had lovers who burned at the sight of him in his trunks and boxing gloves. He could play a harmless game of dress-up.

"Ach, liebling, I vas so hoping you vould agree!" The speed with which the German dove under the bed to retrieve a cardboard box suggested that he had been counting on the Heavy's agreement. Blushing ferociously, the Medic shoved the carton into his lover's huge hands. The return address said, "Frederick's."

"Doktor," said the Heavy, pushing aside layers of tissue paper to reveal crinoline, organza and lace, "you are joking?" Even as he asked, the Heavy noticed the hungry way that the Medic eyed the fabric between his fingers. The Doktor was not joking.

"... If you want it, Doktor. Please to leave room while I put this on." While I try to work out HOW to put this on, the Heavy thought to himself.

After a certain amount of pulling and pushing, twisting and tucking, the Heavy called out. "Doktor?" The Medic entered the room hesitantly, then stood transfixed by the vision of lust before him.

The Heavy felt less like a vision and more like the product of some terrible vodka-induced delirium tremens. His broad torso was cinched into a black satin maid's uniform, his legs encased in fishnet stockings that could have been used to catch salmon on a commercial basis, his feet wedged into black patent-leather pumps that could have been pressed into service as lifeboats. He stood awkwardly, trying to balance on the shoes' fuck-me heels. The elastic of the frilly little headband was stretched near breaking around his massive smooth-shaven skull.

"Ohh... oh, liebling," the Medic whispered.

"Do you want me to dust a thing?" the Heavy asked sarcastically.

Speechless, eyes shining, the Medic offered him a ridiculous, dainty feather-duster that the Heavy had missed among the tissue paper. There were rhinestones in the handle.

That was the end, as far as the Heavy was concerned. Scowling, he attempted a few dainty wrist flicks of the type he imagined would go with dusting in such a get-up, then he glared at the wall. Stupid as he felt, he could not bring himself to glare at the Medic, who was standing behind him, hands clasped and beaming in rapture.

"Doktor," the Heavy said, "I do not feel pretty."

"It is all right," the Medic soothed. "I did not want you to be pretty."

"Nyet?" The Heavy found his pride obscurely stung.

"Nein. Even eine kleine fraulein vould look like a moose in zis outfit. On you, it emphasizes how strong und masculine you are. Ze satin clings to your broad chest, ze stockings show ze muscles of your legs, und ze shoes make you taller und more imposing than ever.

The Heavy looked at himself again, and experimentally flexed a massive bicep. The Medic practically swooned. Rethinking the outfit in this light, the Heavy posed for the Medic- a boxing stance, a weightlifting squat, the Charles Atlas Seal of Approval. The Mecic's loopy smile was mirrored by the Heavy's own.

By the time the little dress came off, the Heavy felt confident enough to make some cheesecake poses in the frilly bra-and-panty set with the stockings and heels. He reflected that if the Americans had painted him on the nose-cones of their airplanes, the Axis powers would have surrendered in terror. Although, looking at the Medic's face, it's possible that Germany would have laid down their arms and begged to be taken prisoner.

The sex they had that day was not anything that the Heavy would have expected one man to have wanted from another man wearing ladies' underwear. It was enjoyable, though the little feather duster was never going to be the same. The Heavy felt bad about that, but the Medic assured him that the rhinestones were far too small to cause any lasting harm.

The clerk at Fredrick's must have laid in bed awake that night, trying to imagine what the Medic was hoping to clothe in a maid costume built to contain the Heavy Weapons Guy.

Your fiction is beautiful, sensitive and socially meaningful as always.

Nothing to say here. Just enjoying the show.

Holy shit... that's one of my favorite kinks. Not just cross-dressing, but THAT. I completely understand medic.

Terato, your brain is a treasure. Maid!Heavy on a nosecone is a beautiful sight.

Aw jeeze, I love all of this so much! Never stop what you're doing, aye!

I just love how your porn is so much <i>fun</i>. The sex is fantastic, of course, but there's so much delight coming from the stories I know I'm always in for a good time.

Can someone post some Spyro? I've only read one story with him, but TeratoMarty's notes hinted at more, so...

>>101

I am pretty sure Owl was the one who posted Spyro, actually. Could be wrong.

Polite bump because theses are fantastic and not on the front page.

Since this is already at the top-- Politely requesting more detachable Sniper.

Please. Please. Please.

This is back at the top, is it? I'm afraid I don't really have any more Detachable Sniper. I've tried, but he's just too much of a professional to put himself in the way of his teammates' misogynist bullshit. He's not sleeping with ANYbody. Also, Spyro ain't mine, I just borrow him occasionally. By way of apology:

NUDE FORTRESS

Mornings on the BLU base of 2Fort followed a pattern. Not a nice pattern, but at least it was regular. The Scout and the Soldier got up before everyone else for a vigorous jog, then woke the rest of the team by hammering on the metal doors to the bunkrooms with shovel and bat. The Pyro had claimed permanent KP, and would make breakfast while everyone else showered; then he (?) would shower while everyone else ate. That gave them all plenty of time to prepare for the day’s fracas.

Today, however, was different. No-one seemed to want to leave his room. Eventually, the Sniper slunk into the base from his van, holding his hat over his privacy region, and darted into the bathroom. There, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Once he resettled his akubra on his head, he took the logical next step of going to hammer on the Spy’s door.

“Oi, Spook, good joke, real fucking funny, but if you don’t give me bloody kit back before the siren goes, you’ll get nostalgic for the days when I ONLY used Jarate.”

“I did not take your clothing,” said a cold voice from behind the door. “May I suggest you ask the Scout; it sounds like one of his pranks.”

The Sniper stalked down the hall to pound on the Boston boy’s door. “Is this your idea of a joke, runt? Hope you fancy dashing for the Intel with no cover fire.”

“Snipes,” the Scout cracked the door to hiss, “I dunno what you’re talking about, but someone stole alla my clothes!”

“You, too?”

“Yeah. Hey, could you get me a towel, too?”

“I, also require a towel,” said the Spy.

“Wot am I, the pool boy?”

“Is, ah, everyone missing their duds?” The Engineer opened his door a crack to join the conversation.

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

“Oui.”

“It’s a plot!” The Soldier burst into the hall wearing only his helmet, bandolier and boots, brandishing his shovel menacingly. “A nefarious Commu-Nazi plot to sap and impurify our uniforms!”

“Ve haf plotted nothing of the kind,” the Medic said from behind the Heavy’s door. “Ve are as naked as anyvone else.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts after lights-out?” the Soldier demanded.

The Medic opened the door, revealing firm pectorals and graying body-hair. “From approximately tventy-two hundred until tventy-two fifteen, Herr Heavy spanked me und told me I vas a naughty boy. From tventy-two fifteen until tventy-two thirty, I performed fellatio on Herr Heavy. At that point, I applied a tourniquet to forestall his orgasm, und spent ze next half hour digitally penetrating his anus until he begged for it like like a high-priced whore-”

“We do NOT need this level of detail, mate.” The Sniper slid his hat down to cover his face.

“Can you account for the entire night?!” the Soldier barked

“They can, Solly, they can.” The Engineer, whose room shared a wall with the Heavy’s, looked haggard.

“Gentlemen,” the Spy stepped into the hall wearing nothing but his balaclava and socks. “It is clear that all of our clothing ‘as been stolen. Is anyone still clad?”

“Roll call!” the Soldier thundered, hammering on a metal door with his shovel.

The Scout stepped into the hall, as the Engineer and the Medic. The Heavy followed meekly behind his lover, covering his groin with his massive hands. The Spy looked around at his teammates. “Ze Demoman?”

“Oi, Demo!” the Sniper knocked on the Scot’s door.

“Whut?” The door opened, and the Demoman stepped out, naked save for his boots and a headband containing his lordly afro.

“Demo, did someone steal your clothes, too?” the Scout asked.

“Nay,” said the Scot, then looked down at himself. “Oor mebbe aye. Oor, mebbe I left ‘em on the floor?” He stepped back into his room, then shouted. “Me flak jacket! Me bloody flak jacket is gone!”

“Everyone’s clothing’s gone, is what we’re saying, Demo,” the Engineer explained.

“Faeries!” the Demoman roared.

“Vell, I never,” the Medic sniffed.

“Elves! Theivin’ bleeders made off wi’ me troosers!”

The Spy rolled his eyes. “I do not suspect the supernatural... and we would have known if the enemy had infiltrated the base during the night. Perhaps the Pyro can shed some light.” He knocked on the firestarter’s door.

“Gw hwhy,” came the reply from behind the locked door.

“Pyro, have your clothes vanished also?”

“Yhs.”

“This is our chance!” the Scout hissed to the Demoman. “Yo, Mumbles! We’re all naked, too! Ya might as well come out!” he bawled.

“Ffhk hff.” There was a scraping sound, as of something heavy- say, a foot locker- being shoved against the door.’’

“So, if it wasn’t the Pyro, and no enemies were in the base last night-” the Engineer looked around at his colleagues, but was interrupted by a siren.

“Mission begins in sixty seconds!” the Administrator shrilled over the tannoy.

“Whattawe gonna do?” The Scout’s dick all but retreated into his pelvis with terror.

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, men!” The Soldier raised his shovel. “We’re going to FIGHT!” He ducked into his room, then came out wearing is horned helmet. “We will shock and awe the enemy with our nude battle tactics, like the Berserker warriors of old!”

“AYE!” The Demoman grabbed the Eyelander and targe. “We’ll frighten ‘em tae death wi’ our goolies!”

When the Administrator announced the beginning of battle, the battlefield was silent for a moment. The fully-clothed RED team fanned out as they crossed the bridge, ready to counter a turtling defensive strategy. They were caught off guard by a screaming spearhead attack of bollocky bare-ass naked BLUs. They drove straight through the middle of the stunned REDs and over the bridge.

“Yeah! Check THIS out, fags! Bet you WISH you could get a piece of this action! BONK!” The BLU Scout slapped his ass and bashed the RED Medic as the man stood, staring.

“RUN AWAY BABIES or I will sit sweaty buttcrack on you!” The BLU Heavy boomed.

“Dear God NOOOO!” The RED Soldier headed for the hills.

“Jarate!” Even the BLU Sniper took to the field, holding his dick high and pissing arcs in the air as he ran.

“Mon Dieu!” The RED Spy screamed as the weaponised urine shorted out his cloak. “Zis is ze single worst day of my life!”

“I’ll cut off yer willies an’ teabag ye wi’ yer own bawws!” The RED Demoman, wielding his own broadsword, was the first to recover.

His naked BLU counterpart engaged him in a sword fight, screaming, “THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!”

From the shade under the bridge, two figures watched the proceedings with interest.

“Yanno,” said Spyro, impeccable in his mauve suit and shiny rubber gas mask, “Even though we’ve got money riding on this, I totally don’t even care who wins.” He inserted his spliff through the hole where the gas mask filter unscrewed and puffed happily as the BLU team ran past, wangs waving, threatening to poke the RED team with them.

“Mais oui,” said the Tentaspy, taking a deep sniff of the Scout’s pilfered shorts. “It is the epitome of a win-win.”

“Wot am I, the pool boy?”
It was ALL wonderful, but for some reason this was the line that knocked me out of my chair.

Please never stop, Marty.

My spleen....

Marty have I told you how much I adore Nude Fortress? Because I adore Nude Fortress.

One question, Marty. Was "Detachable Sniper" inspired by a particular episode of The Mighty Boosh?

This is what I mean by that: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LZo9ugJTWQ

108 While I like The Mighty Boosh a great deal and have a soft spot for Old Greg, no, that isn't where I got Detachable Sniper from. I'm going to unpack it a bit, cos the 'chan has been having difficulty with presentations of transgender people lately. Everyone who knows the score can skip the TL;DR for the porn.

Way back in some request thread or another, someone asked for Sniper to come through Respawn with lady parts. The imputation was that "she" would then become the team bike. The thought kind of turned my stomach, honestly. I could see it going really, horribly badly misogynistically rape-flavoured wrong. So, before that could happen, I sat down to write a story about what if Sniper, Mr Mundy, the guy who pisses in jars and makes long-distance phone calls in order for his dad to yell at him, came through Respawn with a pussy.

I have Srs Bzns Theories about writing fiction; I insist that it proceed according to the formula of "given these personalities in this scenario, what happens next?" The TF2 guys are cartoons, ok, but I want to write them at least as consistent cartoons, with human goals and motivations. Sniper isn't going to sit on his co-workers' laps, Spy isn't going to tell everyone about his childhood, and if Soldier ever delivers a lecture on art history, you'd better believe it will be at full volume and interspersed with cries of "MAGGOT!" Apparently I did well enough at writing Detachable Sniper as a believeable person that a handful of trans guys, butch lesbians, and ladies who just don't want to be sex objects have written to tell me how comforting they find him. So I guess I'm doing it OK.

That having been said, gender is a weird thing, and the area of slippage between gender expectations and sexual reality offers fertile ground for humour. Now, story time:
-----------------------------------------------

The BLU Scout had managed to give his teammates the slip during an authorised R&R break to Steamroll, the little town in the middle of nowhere equidistant from the RED and BLU bases. Basically the only thing that it had to recommend it was that it was in fact in the middle of nowhere, equidistant from the bases. The one bar approved for recreational visits was full of his teammates, and empty of any civilians. Why even bother going into town? So the Scout has slipped out the alley door to find another bar.

He wasn't sure exactly how he had found this place. It wasn't like it had any signs. It seemed to attract customers by magnetism, or gravity. He'd once heard the Engineer going on about how large enough objects created their own gravity, maybe that was the case. The bazooms on the women in here were definitely exerting an irresistible attraction. The Scout was trying not to get whiplash from watching the girls go past. He had no fuckin' idea how he was going to talk to any of them, but he had to; grass grows, birds fly, sun shines, and Scout? He had to hit that.

To his total amazement, a tall, dark-haired woman in a skin-tight red dress sashayed up to him. "You look thirstee and lonelee, can I get you somesing to drink?" She had a smoking-hot French accent, and took a drag on her cigarette holder in a way that made Scout's mouth go dry.

"Uhh... whatta they got that's good?" Oh, smooth, doofus, he mentally berated himself.

"Rum and Bonk, Flaming Bonk, Bonktini?" she suggested, apparently charmed by his youthful naiveté.

"I think I'll need one'a each," he managed.

"Oui, but eet weel cost you," she winked.

Oh. OH. This was one of /those/ kind of places! Soldier had warned him about this kind of place, in vague but dire terms that made him desperate to find one. "Oh yeah, baby, I got plenty'a money, Team BLU pays real good." Bragging, that was familiar territory.

"Ooh la la, you are one of ze BLUs, non? Ze RED team was in 'ere last week, an' you were all zey could talk about..."

"Oh yeah? What'd those assfags have ta say about us?" Scout guzzled a drink that had magically appeared.

"Zey were... deesappoint about how badly zey are beaten by you. To be honest, I sink you make zem... how you say..." the woman made a limp gesture with her pinky finger, "eempotent."

"Ha!" The Scout brayed. "They nevah even made it inta the fort!"

"I 'ear your sentries are quite somesing," the dame smiled.

"Yeah. Hardhat's got 'em runnin' this crazy way based on the constellations over Texas or some shit, the REDs never know where they're pointed, then BAM!" Scout took another slurp of his drink.

"A celestial algorithm, extraordinaire," the woman murmured, as if to herself. "But, I see your drink is almost empty, you must permit me to bring you anuzzer."

"Anything you want, dollface," the Scout leered.

Over the next hour, their pleasant conversation ranged over all sorts of topics- the Pyro's improvements on flamethrower design, the Scout's extreme proficiency in bonking anything roughly spherical, be it baseballs or skulls, and the number and timing of the Soldier's nightly patrols. Like many young men, the Scout liked to brag; unlike any girl the Scout had med previously, this woman listened to all of it in apparent erotic fascination.

After he had told her all about the Demoman's new explosive formulae and his own Little League triumphs, though, he was clean out of conversation. The booze was working on him, and he found it difficult to do anything but stare at the cleavage on display in that low-cut red dress.

The woman just seemed amused. She looked like she was considering something. "Would you like to go... upstairs?" she asked at length.

"Hot damn!" The Scout slammed his drink to the table, slopping the dregs. "Oh, yeah, how much?" He fumbled for his wallet.

"Sh sh sh," the woman scolded. "Ze ownair, he is understanding, but eet ees still polite to be discreet, oui? Upstairs, tout suite." She patted his rump to get him moving.

Once upstairs, the Scout was unaccountably nervous. "So, uh... how's this go? I never did this before," he blurted.

"Ees ze sacred duty of ze amoureuse to educate ze young man in ze ways of love," the woman smiled hungrily. "Do not worree..."

"Nah, toots, I know how to, you know, fuck. Just how do I pay up?"

"Oh," she said flatly. "Ten dollairs Americain, leave it on ze nightstand." She seemed to regroup as the Scout took out two grubby fivers and put them on the little table. Apparently, she reappraised him and decided that he would still do.

"Zo..." she unzipped her dress, revealing perfectly round, creamy bosoms. "What do you sink of zat?"

"Ghuh..." the Scout dropped his wallet.

"You like eet?" She stepped out of the dress, revealing a garter belt, stodkings, and NOTHING ELSE but her totally bare naked lady parts.

"Argle..." the Scout's tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and his boner was bursting his britches.

"Oh, quel drôlerie, you nevair have seen a naked woman before!" The lady's smile returned in full force.

"Well, I mean, I uh, technically, Janie let me touch, but... no," the Scout admitted.

"Eet is all right, mon petit imbécile," she smiled. "Maman will take care of ev'reesing..." Working with practised ease, she stripped the Scout of his clothing and guided him to the bed. He lay on it stiff as a board, his boner pointing straight to the ceiling.

"I geeve you special treat for ze first time, non?" The dark-haired woman smiled wickedly as she straddled him. "Up ze derriere!"

"I- aght!" the Scout exclaimed as she rubbed a sort of grease on his dick. All right, if that's what she wanted. He wasn't about to complain.

The hot, sliding tightness as the woman lowered herself onto him was the most amazing thing he'd ever felt. He would have come right then, except that the experienced older woman seized his balls in a grip like a steel vise and pulled them away from his body.

"Not zo fast, mon petit aubergine," she purred. "Savour ze moment."

Scout was savouring it like all Hell as the woman rode up and down his slick shaft. She felt heavier than he would have expected, but who was he to complain? He went to grope at her preternaturally round bosoms, but she quickly grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed.

Just as the Scout was discovering that he LOVED dominant women, the door slammed open. "THAT HOOKER'S A SPAH!" the Engineer shouted. The Pyro elbowed him aside and unleashed a gout of flame at the woman. "She" vanished, replaced by a naked, hairy, on-fire and still visibly aroused man. He threw himself to the floor and began rolling around, trying to extinguish the flames. The Pyro of course hit him down again, pouring on the flame until the Engineer tapped him on the shoulder and threw a blanket over the flaming mess to avoid setting the whole damn place on fire.

"What's going on in here, maggot?!" the Soldier demanded, crowding into the room.

"We were- but she- and then I-" the Scout blathered.

"What'd you tell him, private?"

"I... uh..." the Scout reviewed his conversation with the alleged woman. "... everything," he admitted weakly.

"So what was to be gained from seducing YOU, maggot?"

"He musta just wanted to," said the Engineer as he prodded the smouldering lump with his wrench.

>>52 this is my favourite one. It's just so perfect.

Thank You for answering my question, Marty. When I first read this fic that was the first thing to pop into my mind after reading it.

The title reminded me of the King Missile song "Detachable Penis" as well what with the story theme and subject matter.

Anyway, I am a big fan of your work, TeratoMarty. Please keep up the good work.

>>109 If you haven't gotten any gay men telling you that Detachable Sniper was truthful on such a deep and primitive level that they were able to relate to it just the same replacing with "biologically female" with "gay," then I'm doing so now.

So Detachable Sniper is technically finished? :( Man, I was really hoping the story would go on with Spy realizing what a jerk he was towards Sniper, apologizing to Sniper and them eventually having sex and falling in love and all that doodah. Please please please tell me that's still possible?

>>113
protip: sage in the email field

It seems that I have received the dreaded Necrobump. To make it up to you, and because folks have been asking for it, I will post some actual content.
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CHILD MOLESTEE, part 1.

The Sniper and the Scout were engaged in target practise, which is to say, the Sniper was methodically sending arrows through the bullseye, trying to get his speed up, while the Scout blasted his scattergun in the general direction of the targets.

"Why'ncha get a REAL weapon?" the Scout mocked. The scattergun roared out as he unleashed a hail of bullets downrange. A few of them hit the bales of hay they were theoretically aiming at.

"The bow's a fine weapon. Silent, quick to reload, and out in the brush, you can make your own ammo. I'd thank you to keep to your own target, mind. Crafting 'em takes a while." The Sniper drew the bow and fired in one effortless motion.

His sheer calm infuriated the Scout. He was going to get to the Sniper if it was the last thing he did. "Yeah, right. You just never got over playing Cowboys And Indians. It's a freakin' kids' weapon!"

The Sniper nocked, pulled and fired, again piercing the bullseye without apparently aiming. "You think so?" the Sniper gave a faint half-smile. "Why don't you have a go, show me just how easy it is." Nock, pull, fire, and he handed the weapon to the Scout.

Scout glared at the weapon. "Sure thing. Ya realise, ya look like a total faggot, prancin' around with this thing?" He yanked at the string, which barely budged. With a mighty heave, he managed to draw the bow, and held it with trembling arms. "Ya want people ta think you're a homo?"

"Why should I care if they know?" the Sniper said quietly.

Several things happened quite quickly. The Scout started to yelp in surprise, let go of the bowstring, which peeled the skin off the inside of his forearm, and the yelp changed to a scream of pain.

"What the HELL, man?" The Scout clasped his smarting arm to his chest, dropping the bow.

"Don't dry-fire it, never drop it, they're both bad for the weapon." The Sniper's slightly wider smile belied his instructive calm. Scout knew the asshole was laughing at him.

"You can't just SAY shit like that... oh shit oh shit oh shit, you're not gonna try an' jam something up my ass now! Exit only, EXIT ONLY!"

By now, the Sniper was genuinely laughing, a quiet chuckle, but nonetheless. "Not bloody likely, mate, I'm a bottom. What would I do, hold yer at gunpoint 'til you agreed to roger me rotten? I don't know how your tastes run, runt, but doesn't seem likely!" The Australian walked down-range to get his arrows, shoulders still shaking, and left the Scout gaping behind him.

i love you marty, you are perfect, please allow me to bear your children