I'm quite flattered to have been asked to repost some of my older stuff. I'll put your requests in this here thread. Got a favourite you just can't find? Hate yaoi-gallery with a burning passion? Just ask, and here goes. ----------------------------------------------------- WAR GAMES The Medic had the Spy pinned on the desk in the Intel room and was twisting one of the French man's wiry arms behind his back. Panting, he wrenched down the Spy's trousers and unzipped his own fly. "Beg me for it, hure, und I vill go easy on you." "Non! Never!" "You vill beg." The German spat on his hand and stroked his cock. "Before this is over, you vill." He forced himself on the Spy with no further preparation. The Spy screamed, "M'aidez! M'aidez!" "I can't hear you!" the Soldier yelled from the hallway. The Medic wrapped his arms around the Spy, groaning in pleasure as he drove deep inside the other man. "Mein freund, I know ve have had our differences, but give yourself to me now," he grunted, "und ve vill be beautiful together." The Spy screamed and struggled in reply. The Medic grabbed the back of his balaclava and smashed his head against the desk. "You vill be my precious whore, my favourite slave. Only say yes." He slammed his hips against the Spy's, moaning. "Non! Yanqui, s'il vous plaît!" "I'm not listening!" the Soldier shouted. The Medic smacked the back of the Spy's head, making it hit the desk so hard he bit through his own lip. "Please, monsieur, no more!" His words ran with blood. "Tell me you want it." The German's glasses glittered. "Oui, monsieur, s'il vous plaît," the Spy lay defeated on the desk. "Vhat vas that?" the Medic slipped the Spy's ass. "I cannot understand your babbling." "Ja, Herr, bitte," the Spy said, tears trickling from his eyes. "I cannot HEAR you, liebling!" The Medic slapped the other buttock. "Jawohl! Herr! Bitte!" the Spy cried. "That's vhat I like to hear," the Medic purred. "Now, turn over und act like you love me." Weeping, the Spy obeyed. The Medic took out his bonesaw and slashed the French man's fine suit to tatters, then withdrew a tube of lubricant from his coat. "A treat... for my lover." He slicked his cock generously before shoving back into the Spy as roughly as before. "Ohh, Gott, sehr gut... come on, liebchen, don't you want me?" Gritting his teeth, the Spy wrapped his arms around the Medic's shoulders. "Oui... ja," he groaned. "I have never wanted anyone but you." "Ja!" the Medic gasped. "Like that, hure!" "M'aidez," the Spy whispered, kissing the Medic's neck. "JAWOHL!" the Medic shouted in ecstasy. At the sound of that cry, the Soldier burst in through the door, waving his shovel. "I'll save you, crouton!" "Alors!" "Nein!" The American charged across the room, beat the Medic over the head with his shovel and shoved him off the Spy. While the man was down, he whipped out his cock and jerked off, all the while laughing maniacally and groping the Spy's abused ass. "Hoo-ah!" he exclaimed, shooting his load on the German's face. "Hey HEY hey I- " the Scout ran in, drawn by the sound of cracking skulls, then stopped short. "... what the FUCK happened here?" "A child such as you would not understand," the Spy said. Still en dishabille, he sat up and retrieved his cigarette case. He lit three cigarettes, then passed one each to the Soldier and the Medic. They smoked contentedly, if somewhat dazedly in the Medic's case. "No, seriously. What. The. Fuck?!" "All of us have certain... fixations... concerning ze Var," the Medic admitted, gesturing vaguely with his cigarette. "Ve long ago agreed to vork our... issues vith each ozzer." "Solly," the Scout turned to his fellow American. "In ENGLISH, okay?" "... We were playing The Liberation of Vichy France." For a brief interval, 2Fort enjoyed a blissful silence as the Scout was speechless.
Dying Marty I'm dying. I'm sending you the funeral bills.
Sorry if i'm wrong, but didnt you write the story with a jewish medic and a female heavy? I would love to read that again :)
[spoilers]"I'll save you, crouton!" [/spoilers] And this made me fall in eternal love with Soldier and Marty´s Fictions. Eternal. Like the glory of the Unite States.
>>3 he did indeed. i forgot to save the other heavy and you as well, and i'm hoping he could repost that. i've got a good chunk of fics saved, so i think i can serve a few requests myself.
PFFT CROUTON Oh Marty. This was like Hetalia, only...not uguu kawaii desu. Ohman Hetalia with Soldier as America. I think they should re-animate the whole series with TF2 characters as the appropriate countries. Written by Marty. I would watch it.
Huzzah! TeratoMarty returns at last!!
May I be so bold as to request Detachable Sniper? That one was a personal favorite.
Seconding Detachable Sniper. I'd also like to see a repost of Trypanophobia, In From The Cold, and that one with Medic and collecting the team's jizz. (Also ilu Marty)
I would like to request the Examination series. Many thanks :)
Yes, I too would like the Examination series.
9 I'm particularly proud of In From The Cold, actually. So here ya go. Incidentally, I don't seem to have FemmeHoovy/JudenMedic anywhere. Anyone got that saved someplace? Honestly I just wrote it as a spoof on the spate of utterly terrible And You fics where it turned out that the And You was a girl in drag who was revealed when whatever Team member the Anon wanted to bang fell for the MarySue. I didn't expect people to remember it six months on, never mind request it. --------------------------------------------------- It was cold when they got off the train at the Yukon base. The Heavy and the Scout seemed delighted- when the American pelted the Russian with snowballs, the big man playfully responded by clobbering the skinny runner with a snow-boulder the size of his head. The Soldier ranted about winter battles that he'd either fought or (more likely) watched in the movies. The Demoman, Medic and Spy all seemed unmoved except that they switched out their uniform jackets with winter-weight coats. What the Pyro thought was obscure, as always. The Sniper and the Engineer, however, were miserable. The lanky Australian looked like he might blow away, while the stocky Texan seemed ready to freeze solid. Neither of them was the type to complain, but even wrapped in their winter gear, they were bitterly cold. The icy wind stung their faces with snowflakes, and the ramshackle buildings on the base didn't promise much comfort. After unloading their gear, the Engineer's first order of business was to inspect the fireplace in the shanty that was his billet. He wasn't sure how one knew whether a fireplace was structurally sound, but this one looked stable. There was a metal lever on the outside of the chimney; when moved, it caused something to grate inside. When he turned the handle straight up-and-down, an old bird nest fell out. A valve, then, and parallel to the chimney was open, probably to let smoke out while keeping heat in. He felt a bit silly for feeling very proud of figuring out this alien technology. He closed the valve for the time being. The next order of business was fuel. Not a problem, there were plenty of empty shipping crates around. However, it was already getting dark as the Engineer began breaking down the boxes- night came on quick in this cold land. The Sniper came out carrying several crates stacked inside each other, so the Engineer hailed him. "Hey, Deadeye, help me break up these boxes an' we can share a fire." "What exactly does 'Deadeye' mean?" the Sniper asked cautiously. "Means you can fix a flea from across a field." "Too right." The Sniper took the crowbar that the Texan offered and began helping to break the crates apart. When they had a fair stack of boards, they carried them into the shack that the Engineer had chosen. The stocky man carefully lifted the bird nest off the hearth and set it on a windowsill before laying the fire. The Sniper watched for a moment, then went to get another armload of boards. The Engineer laid down four big baulks of timber first, though the fire was hardly going to sink into a brick hearth. It was just what he knew how to do. Then, he made a tepee-shape out of splinters and split bits of board with a few larger boards leaning on top of them. Finally, he poked some wood shavings, packing material he'd saved, into a likely-looking gap in the centre of the stack. He lit a match, shielding it from an icy gust of wind as the Sniper came back. "Y'do that quoite tidy," the Sniper remarked, looking at the temporary structure of the firewood. "Most blokes'd use the nest as kindling. "Didn't seem right, it's such a purty little thing." The Sniper nodded. "Over in the main barracks, the Soldier's not lettin' anyone light a fire. Says it'll give away our position." "Sound strategy... if we hadn't pulled in on a big ol' red train." "I know, roight? I snagged a tin of beans. If you have some spare wire, I could rig up a beaut billycan." "Have you ever known me not to have some wire handy?" As the Sniper opened the tin and rigged up a way to hang it above the fire, the Engineer put his bedroll on the shanty's cot and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. He sat down on the cot, wrapped around himself for warmth. "Sod it, there's wind blowin' in through the bleedin' walls!" The Sniper glared at an offending crack in the boards. "C'mere." The Engineer held up a flap of blanket like a wing. "Darn cold." The Sniper settled in beside the Engineer, pooling their body heat. He leaned against the Texan's side, and they wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders. "Worse'n cold." They sat together in the gradually warming shack, so close they could smell each other's sweat, so close they could feel each other's heartbeat. A howl of wind outside the shack made them pull close together. The Engineer and the Sniper wore identical expressions, obvious even with their eyewear. Something like hunger, something like fear. The Engineer's arm tightened convulsively around the Sniper. Hesitantly, the Sniper tilted his head to the side, brushing his lips against the Engineer's stubbled cheek. "Worse'n cold. I... reckon I know what you mean." The Engineer turned his head to lay a clumsy kiss near the Sniper's mouth. The corners of their lips touched, shocking in the cold air. The Sniper groaned softly, and pressed his lean frame against the stocky man. "You... y'can pretend I'm a sheila if y'like. I don't mind. I just need- " he bit down on his own words. "I don't want to pretend you're anythin' you're not." The Engineer traced a finger down the Sniper's weatherbeaten cheek. "I do believe we both need this." The Sniper clung to the Engineer and took a deep breath. "Can. Can we kiss, mate? I can... do without." The Engineer kissed him, testing gently with his tongue. "'Course we can kiss. What kind'a low-down polecat do you take me for? We're doin' this, might as well do it proper." They kissed deeply, caressing each other's faces and stroking each other's backs. The Sniper slid around until he was straddling the Engineer's lap, cupping their shared warmth between them. They only stopped when the Sniper's stomach growled. "Those beans should be 'bout done," the Engineer offered. They untangled enough to grab the tin. "Me spoon's back with me kit... d'you have a spare?" "Nope, but you can use mine." The Engineer retrieved a utensil set made so that the spoon and fork nested together and latched to the knife. With a utensil apiece, the men sat side-by-side under the blanket and attacked their dinner with a will. "That's a sight better," the Engineer sighed when they were done. "A full belly and a friendly face make a world of difference. I dare say it's even gettin' warm in here." "Don't know if I'd go that far," the Sniper smiled. He put a hand on the Engineer's knee. "D'you, ah, want to pick up where we left off?" "Sure thing." The Engineer wrapped both arms around the Sniper, nuzzling and kissing him. The Australian whimpered faintly and arched his back into the Texan's touch. "Oh... oh bloody Hell," he gasped, flushed with eagerness and embarrassment. "Woo-ee, frisky one, ain'tcha?" The Engineer ran his hands all over the Sniper, loosening his clothes and exposing his skin. The Texan took advantage of the bare flesh with more kisses and some licking. "Oh, mate... I must smell like a dingo's armpit!" The Sniper laughed as the Engineer's tongue tickled along his ribs. "Nonsense, pardner, ya jes' smell like a man." "You ever... been with a bloke before?" "Not like this, I must admit. I'm considerin' it a learnin' experience." The Engineer kissed the Sniper's lips again. "You?" "... few times," the Sniper admitted. He looked nervous. "Only with blokes wot had their eyes tight shut an' were, well, pretendin' I was a female." "I ain't got the imagination," the Engineer smiled as he slid the Sniper's pants down his narrow hips. "I'm a practical type." He nibbled at the Sniper's hipbone while pushing a hand up the Australian's shirt to tweak his nipples. "So, since you've got the superior experience with this project, how 'bout you tell me how it goes?" Gripping the Engineer's sturdy shoulders, the Sniper was doing battle with his laconic nature and his own fear. "D'you... ah... want to be on top?" "Only if it suits you." The Engineer looked up to meet the Sniper's eyes. "It does. Suits me brilliant." The Sniper stroked the back of the Engineer's neck. "Good, good. Just tell me if I'm doin' anythin' as doesn't suit you, okay?" The Texan slid his hands down to toy with the Sniper's pubic hair. "Ahh Christ!" The Sniper bucked into his teammate's hand. "Please... just... please..." he muttered. "Glad to oblige." Working methodically, the Engineer stripped away the Sniper's shirt, boots and pants, kissing each inch of flesh as it was exposed. Under his careful, callused hands, the Sniper's chilled skin warmed to a blazing heat. He moved slowly, methodically, as the Sniper writhed beneath him. Their bodies moved easily together, the Sniper's long legs wrapping naturally around the Engineer's hips. The Australian shuddered as the American's leg slid under his groin, and he pressed more tightly to the other man's chest. "So," murmured the Engineer. "Is there any technique I should know about?" "A little grease would make things go easier, mate." "Always does," the Engineer smiled. He pulled a tube of white petroleum grease from a pocket in his overall. "I reckon this'll work just fine." The Sniper moaned and gasped as the Engineer greased up his fingers and slid his hands under his ass. The Australian closed his eyes as if denying that this was happening, but spread his legs wide. The Engineer moved gently and methodically, caressing the Sniper's cock and balls, exploring the Sniper's ass, testing the resistance of the tight muscle. "You gotta tell me if I'm doin' it right. Don't let me hurt you." "Always hurts, mate," the Sniper muttered. "Then why in the Sam Hill are you gonna let me do it?" The Engineer sat back on his heels. "I need to feel another body beside me so bad I think I'd die, but I'm sure we can find some other way ta..." "Feels good, too." The Sniper fixed his teammate with a strange, hungry glance from behind his aviators. "Well then, it's a simple matter of maximizin' the benefits and minimizin' the risk." The Engineer smiled and touched the Sniper's cheek. "Lemme know how I'm doin'." The Engineer began to fondle the Sniper's ass again, and the lean man pushed himself down onto the other man's thick fingers. "Whoa nelly," the Engineer gasped, feeling the tightness surround him. He experimented with pistoning his fingers slowly in and out, wringing a moan from his teammate. "That's, ah..." The Engineer was shocked speechless. He opened his overalls one-handed to stroke himself in time with his thrusts into the Sniper's body. "Bloody Hell, Truckie, please..." the Sniper gripped the bedroll and pressed his hips down. The Engineer's jaw dropped, and he groaned at this evidence of desperation. "Ya gotta tell me if I'm hurtin' ya," he cautioned, withdrawing his fingers to press the tip of his cock against the Sniper. "I will, I will," the rifleman panted, writhing against the Engineer. Even lubricated, even with the Engineer's explorations, the Sniper's ass was incredibly tight. He whimpered and panted as the Texan pressed gently but inexorably in. "Oh-" The Engineer's exclamation was a sort of whispered moan. He held himself still above the Sniper, giving them both time to adjust. "This... is this all right?" he murmured. "Nngh... aye." The Sniper was trying to keep quiet, too, his face flushed and sweaty. He pressed his hips down toward the Engineer, taking it a little deeper. "Auh-" the Engineer gulped. Unable to stand it any more, he began to move, thrusting as slowly and gently as he could. His attempts at caution were thwarted by the Sniper, who bucked down onto him while biting back hungry moans. The Sniper clawed at the Engineer's shirt, seeking purchase, leverage, closeness. He rammed himself onto the other man, compressing his lips into a tight line to keep from crying out. The Texan thrust deeply, and the Australian gasped. "Did I hurt ya?" The Engineer pulled back, concerned. "Nah- felt good- do it again-" the Sniper panted. The Engineer did as he was asked, letting his instincts take over. He moaned softly as he hammered into the Sniper, holding him close. In his ardour, the Engineer rolled the Sniper half onto his side, spreading the other man's long legs wide to get closer still. "Ohh, Sniper- ah- I don't think I can- ah- hold out-" he whispered. "Do it, Truckie," the Sniper growled. Groping blindly, just trying to fit himself tighter to the lean man, the Engineer seized the Sniper's wrist. The reaction was immediate- every muscle in the Sniper's body tensed, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. The Engineer's eyes rolled behind his goggles as the sudden tightness pushed him over the edge. The vigour of his thrusts momentarily wrenched him out of the Sniper's body. A spurt of semen hit the slender man's perineum before the Texan rammed roughly back in, completing his release deep inside his teammate. "Oh, darlin'," the Engineer whispered, shuddering against the Sniper. He collapsed against the Australian in ecstatic exhaustion, supporting his weight on his knees and elbows so as not to crush the other man. The stocky man trembled and pressed close to the man below him, savouring the aftershocks, the unaccustomed closeness. Beneath the Engineer, not quite pinned down, the Sniper moved his hips as much as he dared. His erection was still slick with grease, and he ground furtively against the Texan's hip as the stocky man sighed above him. He was so close, just needed a little more- maybe the Engineer wouldn't notice- "Whu... oh, Sniper, I reckon I didn't finish the job." The Engineer gave an embarrassed smile and slid his hand off the Sniper's wrist to caress his straining erection. "Please," the Sniper whispered. "Tell me what you need," the Engineer replied softly. "I'd about do anything for you right now." "Pin me down again," the Sniper pleaded. The Engineer obliged, moving his hand back to the Sniper's wrist and letting his body weight press the other man to the floor. The Australian whimpered, thrusting against the Texan's hip. "Bite me, Truckie," he begged. The Engineer ventured a tender love-bite on the Sniper's neck. "Harder!" The Sniper's voice was an impassioned rasp. The Engineer sank his teeth firmly into the side of his teammate's neck. Beneath him, the Sniper moaned, spilling his semen between their bodies. He struggled, and the Engineer reflexively tightened his grip. The Sniper's moan rose a note, his eyes rolled back behind his aviator shades, and a final spurt of semen splashed the Engineer. He fell limply back onto the cot, and the Engineer slid off to lie beside him, wiping the semen off with a bandanna. "Mmh, Truckie," the Sniper whispered, eyes still closed. The Engineer leaned over and kissed the Sniper tenderly on the cheek. He wrapped an arm around the Sniper to rub his shoulder, but the Australian seemed surprised. "Why are y'doin' this?" "Doin' what?" The Texan was perplexed, but didn't stop stroking the Sniper. "Doin' anything but kickin' me out of bed, actually," the Sniper ventured a smile. "We're doin' this to combat the cold and lonesome, and you're awful warm and friendly. I'd have to be a fool to kick you out of bed." "... other men have," the Sniper admitted. "They were fools, then," the Engineer scoffed. "Anything worth doin' is worth doin' right. Especially this, and especially with you." He wrapped his arms tightly around the skinny man and held him until they both fell asleep.
God, how have I never read this (In From The Cold) before? That was amazing; I think it's my favorite of yours actually. Ever consider writing more about these two? Down right adorable...among other things.
In from the cold's one of my favourites of yours, Marty. OT, am I imagining it, but have you never done a take on Engineer and Spy?
Oh look what I found in the archive ________________________________________________________________ You were the youngest, smallest slightest Medic in Team BLU, but you could run miles over broken ground carrying a Medigun and a full pack, and that was all that mattered. You'd ensured that nothing else mattered by bribing the doctor who was supposed to have given you your physical. No need to wreck your career by taking off your clothing. If the other Medics found out... the thought made your blood run cold. Who knew what those sadistic Nazi bastards would do if they knew your secret. You were assigned to 2Fort, and went over the maps with the Soldier, trying to memorise the territory before your first battle. The man was obviously insane, but impressed by your dedication. It was refreshing, a huge relief, to be so unquestioningly accepted. Even by a man who was so far round the twist he could be used as a corkscrew. That night in the mess hall, the guys chewed loudly, burped, threw food and argued. It was just like dinnertime with your brothers, which made you both comfortable and homesick at the same time. It turned out that the Scout came from a large family, too, so you had plenty to talk about. You just had to remember not to mention certain little details. The next day brought your first real battle. You'd done endless war-gaming, and you knew that getting killed would just land you in respawn, but... how could you be sure? You'd heard of respawn failures, people who just stayed dead... or who came back all wrong- Enough of that. Into battle, like a real man. Just like you practised. The Heavy was a veteran and frequently boomed forth advice in such a cheerful way that you couldn't even resent his presumption that you were ignorant. Which you were. With the Heavy's guidance, you managed to survive almost until the cease-fire. Heal Heavy, heal Soldier, uber Pyro, heal Heavy, over and over, and you never even saw what hit you. Just a flash of red, momentarily blinding you in one eye, and then- nothing. Floating blackness. In terror, you realised that you had died. Nothingness, no body, no feeling, just yourself and the endless void. You wondered if this was Eternity- and then you were standing in the respawn, looking at your hands with such joy as you'd never felt before. Your elation was short-lived, though, as the Soldier appeared and began calling you a maggot and a disgrace to the force and the sorriest excuse for a Medic he'd ever seen. Dear G-d, but you didn't want to burst into tears now, in front of the Soldier and the rest of the team and especially Heavy. Heavy began to laugh. For one horrible moment, you thought he was laughing at you. Then, he said, "Leetle man just angry from killed in ding-dong with baseball bat. I bet is turn inside out, leetle man is leetle wooman now!" The rest of the team enjoyed a hearty chuckle at the Soldier's expense, and you even managed a weak laugh, though your heart wasn't in it. "Come eat, Medic," the Heavy clapped you on the shoulder. "You so leetle, need eat more." In battle, you and the Heavy became inseparable. With you standing behind him and ubering him, he was a human juggernaut; with him in front of you, you were safe. Even when you strayed, he would show up in the nick of time, soaking up bullets meant for you without apparent ill effect. On the field or off, he was always ready with a broad grin and an encouraging word of broken English. Spending time with him, you discovered that he wasn't stupid- no, he wasn't a secret genius, but he had horse sense. And it was hard not to like a man who had grown up in such Soviet deprivation that he considered a baloney sandwich a gourmet treat. You couldn't wait to feed him bierschenken or weisswurst or the other delicacies of your hometown. It was then that you realised that you were out-and-out planning a life with him beyond this life of endless war. This was foremost in your mind the next time you and he were alone together. It was sweltering inside 2Fort, but there was a cool breeze coming in off the desert, so you and Heavy had climbed into the battlements to enjoy the air. "See?" The Heavy pointed skyward. "Big bear, behind him, leetle bear. Big bear is big, da? But leetle bear more important. Leetle bear has hub of world." The huge man fell silent, but his squinty little eyes said volumes more. "Oh, Heavy," you murmured. "We are those bears." He stroked your smooth cheek with one huge finger. "We make bouncy now, da?" "Oh, ja!" You threw yourself into his arms, kissing feverishly. You regularly trusted him with your life; you were sure that you could trust him with your secret. Once the floodgates of passion were open, nothing could stop you. Heavy's huge fingers were surprisingly nimble, and by the bright light of the full moon he stripped you bare in moments. "Oh, Medic!" he gasped, looking at your naked body. "I never thought... you are... Jewish?" "Er, ja. Please, liebling, tell me zis is not a problem." "No, no," the Heavy kissed you, his stubble rasping against your face. "Mama always want me to marry nice boy from the shtetl, Doktor is credit to the Jews!" "You're Jewish, alzo?" You mentally replayed the last few seconds of the conversation. "Und a voman?" "Da. In my village, all wooman kind of..." she put one meaty hand on what would have been the back of her neck, if she had a neck. "Healthy?" you offered. "Zaftig? Beautiful?" "Oh, Doktor," she murmured, embracing you. "I have... one more confession. I never do this thing before." "Oh, mein darling, mein treasure, a wirgin?" "Da, be gentle." "Trust me," you said. "I am a doctor." Your Heavy girlfriend tittered and leanted back, allowing you to caress the titanic breasts she'd had hidden under her vest, her expansive belly and mighty thighs. Under all the hair, her skin was amazingly soft as you kissed your way toward her navel, and even her bush was downy as you went lower. To your delight, her clit was an unmistakable target, almost as big as the end of your thumb. She moaned like a mating whale as you caressed it with lips and tongue, and bucked into your hand as you searched for her entrance. With some groping, you found it- her hymen was tough and resilient, and had only the smallest of holes. You stretched her first with one finger, then two, as you gave her your all in oral gratification. Her tree-trunk thighs wrapped around your head, and for a moment you feared you might smother, or possibly drown, until she let out a scream that knocked roosting birds out of the rafters. She collapsed limply, but you didn't give her a moment to rest from either fingers or tongue. You brought her to orgasm again and again, seven times, until she was all but exhausted and you couldn't wait any more. "Darling, please," you said, looking tenderly into her eyes. "May I cap you?" "Oh, da!" she gasped. "I love this Doktor!" "And I love you, mein Heavy," you say as you slide inside your Russian giantess. She was hot and slippery with pleasure, but you moved carefully so as not to hurt her still-taut hymen. After that first barrier, she surrounded you with ridge after ripple of responsive muscle. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you battened onto her enormous tits with both hands and probed her mouth with a kiss. You thrust slowly at first, per her passion built with her own, and soon she was bucking like a rodeo bull and pulling you close with her large legs. She clamped her thighs around you and groaned out her eighth orgasm of the day even as you failed to squirm away and came inside her. "Ach, liebling," you groaned as you collapsed beside her and stroked her stubble. "Did I hurt you?" "Is fine. I am strong!" She thumped her chest proudly. "I... meant to pull out," you apologise. "Da, but I want MANY leetle babies!" she smiled.
Oh Marty, Oh Marty. I don´t know what to say. I have the urge to build you a temple where you can put your fics on the wall,so that all may hear this wonderfull fanfics. I know you must already be sick of all the sweet talking we make with you, but still... you just give us so much. Never leave us. (Or we will come and drag you back.)
>>16 Here, lemme make ya hate me. --------------------------------------------------- 1Snoipah1Jar The Spy had called the Scout to the briefing room. He didn't say why, just his usual mysterious douchery about confidential information for Scout's eyes only. Scout was pretty sure that was just Spy's way of making himself feel important. Last time the Spy had had a "secret" to share, it had just been the fact that the signs labelled "Intelligence" pointed toward the intel room in the enemy base. Duh. However, as Scout loped toward the briefing room, he saw the Heavy coming the other way, a look of horror and defeat in his eyes. Had the Heavy just gotten a briefing? What could have rattled the plodding Russian so much? "Ah, petit maladie vénérienne, so glad you could make it. I have here a surveillance tape from last week; it is vital that you watch." "Yeah, yeah. Could you tell me what I'm supposed ta be lookin' at?" "All will become clear, in due time. "Awright, awright, roll 'em." The Scout watched at the grainy black-and-white footage... it was a Sniper stationed in some high place, like usual. It was hard to tell without colour cues, and the men looked very similar, but... "Hey, innat OUR Sniper?" "Oui, well spotted." "So why'm I watchin' this? For fuck's sake, why're you spying on our own Sniper? You think he's a traitor?" "Nothing of the kind, mon godemiché. Watch on..." The Scout watched as the Sniper did sniper sorts of things- sitting very still, drinking coffee, pissing in a nearly-full jar... Even in black-and-white, the Scout could see that the contents of the jar were dark and murky, suggesting that they had been aged in the heat of the Sniper's roost for several days. He knew from disgusting personal experience that the stuff in the jar would be a rich, cloudy amber colour and smell like a stairwell into the Boston subway system at high noon on a summer day. Scout recoiled at having to watch the Sniper take out his unit and wizz. Why on God's green Earth did Spy want him to watch this? He started to ask, but the words died on his lips as he saw that the Sniper wasn't about to put the lid back on the jar. No, he seemed to be... holy shit, was he smelling it? For fuck's sake, it smelled like piss, what did he expect? He was totally huffing it, like a fine fucking wine. About this point, the Scout began to sense a certain inevitability about what he was seeing. "Spy, you weird fuck, what am I seeing here? What-" oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the Sniper was raising the jar to his lips. That wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that he had his other hand on his crotch. He was spanking it through his pants as he, oh GOD, as he put out his tongue to lap the... oh God. OK, the worst part WAS that the Sniper was drinking... it. He had a total shit-eating grin on his face, and he was guzzling, oh fuck, days-old piss out of a jar like it was cheap beer after a ballgame. That image momentarily held first place for the worst part, until the filthy Australian pervert let the... stuff... pour out the corners of his mouth and all down his clothes. The foul old bastard took out his cock and beat his meat openly while the piss ran down him. He upended the jar and ran his tongue around the rim to get the last drops as he jacked himself harder and faster. Then- aw man- he aimed his cock so that his own jizz hit him in his piss-covered face, and licked it up. It was at this point that Scout realised two things. First, that he had been cursing and retching aloud for some time now; second, that Spy was laughing his bony French ass off. "Oh, oui, mais oui, I got you good, mon petit suspensoir." "You FUCKER. You... why..." The Scout had a sudden sinking feeling. "There's another surveillance camera in here, isn't there? You taped me watching that... that... you FUCKER!" The Spy was laughing too hard to respond. "You total SHIT. Give me one good reason not to take the Sandman to your skull right now!" The Spy sighed with satisfaction, pulled himself together, and lit a cigarette. "Because, mon petit pissoir, if you do, as soon as I respawn, I shall show the entire fort the footage I captured of YOU, last Thursday night." As the Scout slunk out of the briefing room, he saw the Medic going in. He knew now what the Heavy had seen before him, but somehow he could not even muster the strength to warn his German teammate.
Marty, you are a magnificent bastard. These, especially 1Snoipah1Jar, are gold.
Anon from above who subtle hinted to drag you back if you ever will leave us. ... I like this story, too. I really laughed about it. I don´t know myself what is wrong with me. Yes, i consider to see a psycholigist. No, i don´t take drugs. No this should not be a encouragement for Marty to write more such fictions. No really. ... Don´t look at me like this.
>>17 OHGOD. OHGOD. OHGOOOOD. I think I had the same expression reading this when I saw the actual 1man1jar thingie. Oh...Sniper. Ohnoooooo.
Marty, thanks so much for the reposts! I'd like to request a repost of Child Molestee, if y'wouldn't mind. I miss that one.
I, too, want to reread Child Molestee. Good fic. Also Marty, you made Detachable Sniper, no? (Been awhile since I first read it)
12 yup this was (ok half of) what got me into trucksnvans in the first place
Hey, T-Mart, I seem to recall you wrote something heartwarming about a Medic's first time - the one where his Heavy had to stop partway through and make a run for duct tape. I'd love it if you could repost that (or put it up on y!). Also Bidet, Mate - that one with the Spies; forgot the name. And I'd love to see your bug porn again.
>>24 T-Mart. I lost my shit for a second. Marty, what about that one fic that was just before the crash? The not super serious one with Demo, Scout, and Medic.
Where's the Heavy/Medic fic where Medic injects himself with water/saline and pretends to be unconscious? You wrote that one, right?
Marty, was it you who wrote the Pyro mating ritual fic? Because that is possibly my favourite thing of all time.
>>24 I seem to recall you wrote something heartwarming about a Medic's first time - the one where his Heavy had to stop partway through and make a run for duct tape Did I write that? Gosh. It does SEEM like the type of thing I'd write... but I can't remember. What on Earth were they using the ducttape for?! I had to re-image my computer a while back, and apparently I lost some funny stuff. I do still have this one, though: ------------------------------------------------ SPY COMES CLEAN With a month furlough stretching ahead of him, the RED Spy returned gratefully to France. There were so many things he had missed. Fresh bread. Profiteroles. Drinkable espresso, instead of the Sniper’s drip-brewed coffee-like swill. However, what he was really looking forward to, more than anything else, was feeling properly clean. He had spent most of the past year stationed at the aptly-named Dustbowl base. There, an insidious wind had driven fine grit into everything- his mouth, his eyes, his cigarettes, his bed. Somehow, it even penetrated his suit, carrying dust into every conceivable crevice of the human body, where it had stuck to the sweat generated by the pervasive heat. As soon as he locked the door behind him in the little pensione where he stayed in France, the Spy stripped off his suit, underclothes, socks… everything except his balaclava. The precaution of protecting his identity was too ingrained to shed so soon. He folded his clothes neatly, but would not put them on again until they had been laundered. He had another suit, one that he never wore on base, to wear once he was clean. As he stepped into the bathroom, the sight of his bidet almost rendered him weak in the knees. When he first travelled to America, he’d been appalled to learn that the entire nation did without this basic hygienic appliance. Now, though, the homely comforts offered by this small hotel seemed like the epitome of luxury. As if to justify himself, the Spy quickly used the toilet, then sat gratefully on the bidet. It wasn’t even the most comfortable or best-designed example of its type, but now it seemed like a little slice of Heaven. Sighing with anticipation, the Spy angled the nozzle down into the basin and turned on the tap. Once he had the temperature right, the Spy redirected the nozzle toward his groin. The caress of the warm water over his penis and testicles made him groan with delight, and he noticed that he was getting hard. It was childish, getting aroused by simple hygiene, but it had been so long since he’d been clean. He rolled back his foreskin to wash it properly, and gasped with the sensation of the gentle jet on his glans. Trying to control himself, the Spy shifted the jet from his penis to his ass. However, that stimulation wrenched a wanton moan from his throat. Oh, oh mon dieu, he thought. And after all, why resist whatever pleasure offered itself after months of deprivation. Steadying himself on the towel rail, he shifted forward to centre the stream of water more directly on his ass. He stroked his cock gently, occasionally dipping it down into the flow for a change of sensation. This was amazing, ecstatic. Better than the BLU Scout’s mother… better than the BLU Scout. The RED Spy briefly entertained the fantasy of having them both at the same time, their tongues touching him as the jet of water did. The woman’s beautiful mouth around his cock, while the boy lapped and moaned at his ass… his eyes slid closed. Then, he turned up the pressure on the taps, and even that fantasy was washed away by the sheer physical bliss of running water. Holding his cock directly in the centre of the stream, clutching the towel bar for dear life with his other hand, the Spy came. The sensation of the semen being washed away along his glans, down his shaft, over his balls and ass even as he came was incomparable. Even after the pulses of pleasure had stopped, the Spy was unable to move for several seconds, paralysed by the surging water as his erection softened. Finally, tingling, over-stimulated, wrung out, he came to himself enough to turn off the spray. Shuddering and panting with exhaustion, he slumped against the bathroom wall. He never wanted to leave France again. Up in the ventilation ducts, the BLU Spy carefully stowed his telephoto lens and replaced the lens cap on his camera. He idly wondered who would pay more for the negatives- the RED Spy, or the BLU Scout. He’d have to keep a set of prints for himself, of course.
I believe it had something to do with the medigun. Funny thing, I was just reading that story last night from the archives. I can track it down again if Marty wants to repost it.
Holy shit, that first thing you did with the soldier, spy, and medic was epic. I shat my pants.
>>28 >>29 The Medic was a virgin, but the Uebercharge awakened desires in him which the Heavy was all too ready to explore. And the duct tape was for holding the handle down on the Medigun. I wasn't being facetious; it was actually heartwarming.
Did you have any others stories not posted onto ygallery? Anything not on there I probably haven't read.
I hear tell of a lungfucking fic every now and again... is this a chan myth? I hope not <3
I was totally going to ask for a 2g1c thing, but you already did that with the sniper, which was hilarious. Can you do something with lesbians that turn out to be the spies? Like, the scout thinks that two chicks are fucking, and wanks off, but finds out it was the spies?
I love you for that spy story. Im so happy.
>>33 I have it saved (it's by far my favorite afic of all time) so I guess I'll repost it so that Marty doesn't have to dig it up on his own. ~~~ During a lull in the fighting, the Sniper let himself into the sickbay, where the Medic was tinkering with the Blutsauger. "I'm sick, Doctor." The rangy Australian lay down on the stainless-steel exam table and rested his head on his hands. "How so?" The Medic set his weapon down carefully. He had been watching the Sniper, and he knew the assassin had been watching him. There were no heated glances across the battlefield; it was more of a mutual surveillance. Wary, distant, but each of them knew where the other was, what he was doing, at all times. Now, though, the Sniper had escalated the detente. "I don't know, Doctor. I just feel... strange. Perhaps you should take a look." There was a sly half-smile playing on the Sniper's lips. The Medic's breath hitched slightly- what was the Sniper inviting him to do? He drifted toward the exam table, hands poised. "So vhen do you usually haf zese... strange feelings?" He dropped his hands to the Sniper's chest. When the Australian remained passive, he began to undo the other man's shirt buttons. "Night time," the Sniper's eyes slid half-closed. "Do zese scars hurt you?" The Medic trailed his gloved fingers down the raised white marks of old knife and bullet wounds. "No, Doctor," the Sniper inhaled deeply, and rolled his head back, exposing his throat to the Medic. "I see." The German ran a fingertip from the Sniper's throat down the centre line of the man's body to the low-slung waistband of his pants. "I must make a complete examination." The Medic looked at the assassin, his thoughts racing. "Strip," he ordered. The Sniper stood and shed his clothing. He didn't attempt any showy eroticism, but his native grace and languid pace had the Medic riveted. He took his shirt and vest off first, revealing a bullet wound on his back that was the twin of one of the scars on his chest. At some point in the distant past, a bullet had gone straight through this man. The Medic suppressed a shudder. A small amount of dark body hair decorated the Australian's sunburnt skin, coalescing into a trail that led from his navel to the waistband of his pants, and down. He took off his boots to show long bony toes and high arches. He made a show of modesty by turning his back to unzip his trousers. The Medic watched hungrily as the Sniper slid his pants down to reveal slim hips, a tight little ass, long slender legs... he stood still with his back to the Medic. "Turn around," the Medic rasped. He was gratified when the Australian obeyed at once, as if he had been waiting for an order. The Medic liked the implications. "Put your arms out at ze sides, palms down." Again the Sniper obeyed, standing stock-still as the Medic walked around to inspect him. Finally, the Medic got to see the Sniper's penis. It hung long against his thigh, surrounded by black hair. The man was uncut, but the head of his cock was pushing out of his foreskin. He was aroused. "So, Herr Sniper," the Medic mused. "You spend all day vatching from ze high places... it must be a svitch to be under scrutiny yourself." "Indeed it is," the Sniper gave his sly half-smile again, and his cock twitched against his thigh. "Lie down on zer exam table, und tell me about zese strange feelings." The Sniper lay down, his skin tightening into goosebumps as his skin touched the cold metal. "It's like... a pressure, Doctor, or heat. Starts in my belly, then slides down to me John Thomas an' up to my throat 'til it's near stranglin' me." "Zis could be serious," the Medic grinned broadly. "I should make an exploratory surgery." "I think you should, too," the Sniper smiled back at him. "Just one favour to ask you, mate?" "Ja?" The Medic didn't really want to negotiate, didn't want any limits. "I think I'll need a lot of anaesthesia. Injections, that is." That, the Medic could work with. Grinning carnivorously, he readied a gleaming steel and glass syringe full of one of his favourite drugs, not exactly an anaesthetic. The Sniper would feel everything... but it wouldn't feel like pain. The Medic's erection was already throbbing, but he ignored it for the time being and soaked a square of gauze with fragrant medicinal alcohol. A thought struck him, and he poured a shot into each of two dram measures. "A toast," he offered a glass to the Sniper. The rangy Australian half-sat up on the table, clinked rims with the Medic, and said "to your health." "To yours," the Medic replied, and swallowed his drink. He buckled a leather tourniquet around the Sniper's arm, then slid the man's cooperative hands into the restraints at the sides of the exam table. He swabbed the vein in the Sniper's elbow and said, "Zis vill only hurt for a moment." The sensation of pushing the needle into the Sniper's vein was sexually intense; injecting him with the serum, almost orgasmic. The Medic panted as he withdrew the syringe, and permitted himself to lick up the drop of blood that followed it. "You're right, Medic, that doesn't hurt a bit." The euphoria was evident in the Sniper's voice, and his cock was now rock-hard. The Medic took a moment to just look at what he had. The lanky, scarred Sniper was stretched out on his exam table, naked and drugged out of his mind. There were almost too many possibilities for the Medic to pick one. The Sniper moaned sensuously and tried to touch himself, but the restraints clanked on the edge of the table. "Please, Doctor, cut me," he asked in a husky voice. How could the Medic refuse? He worked quickly, swabbing the Sniper's abdomen with the medicinal alcohol and readying his scalpels. "How does zis feel?" He traced along the Sniper's abdomen with a scalpel, drawing a thin line of blood in lieu of plotting out his incision in ink. "Bloody brilliant, Doc, but I still have that strange sensation." "Understandable, I haf yet to begin zer operation." The Medic held the skin of the Sniper's belly taut with his left hand as he began the incision in earnest. In one practised motion, he sliced through skin and muscle to reveal the tough, pellucid sac of the peritoneum. He caressed it, marvelling at the firm, dark shapes of the organs underneath. "Can you feel zat, liebe Herr?" "Ohh, yes." "Do you vant more?" "I do." The Sniper's eyes were smouldering, unfocused. The Medic opened the peritoneum carefully, making sure not to nick the intestines. Nasty things. As soon as he could, he sutured off the stomach and large intestine and lifted the whole slippery mess into a basin. He made sure to leave just about twelve inches inside the anus... just in case. "Ugh- what've you done to me, Doc?" "I took out your digestion. Qvite neatly, may I add. You are no longer a machine for living- you are a thing of pleasure." "Bloody 'ell..." "'Bloody' is correct," the Medic smiled down at the gore on his gloves and coat. "Can you feel zis?" He massaged the Sniper's anus, from the inside. The man moaned. "And is zis vhere zat strange feeling lives?" He pressed a finger down into the Sniper's inguinal canal, past his prostate and between his testicles, stroking across the ligament that anchored the Sniper's penis. "Ah- oh, sodding- ah!" The Sniper was losing too much blood to sustain his erection, but the action of the drug was turning the torture into ecstasy. How much longer could it protect the Australian from going into shock was unclear. Blood was pooling in the empty bowl of the Sniper's abdomen. "But you say ze feeling is like strangling, also?" The Medic grinned down at his increasingly incoherent patient. "Perhaps ze problem ist in ze lungs." He pushed his finger up through the taut muscle of the Sniper's diaphragm, pressing the sutured end of the esophagus neatly into itself. The tightness, the fluctuating pressure of the Sniper's lungs was heavenly, but the liver and the kidneys were in the way. The Medic tied off the relevant arteries and veins, then cut the obstructive organs away. They went into the basin, too, though he gave the liver a loving squeeze with his long fingers. The Medic's hands were now shaking in earnest as he clawed at his belt and fly. The Sniper's blood was everywhere, alternately slippery and sticky. The Medic stroked himself as he climbed up onto the table to crouch on the Sniper's thighs. Penetrating his ass just seemed... pedestrian, with the man's abdomen spread open before him. Sliding further up his patient's body, the Medic caressed the diaphragm again. The taut sheet of muscle was naturally pierced by three holes- one for the fluttering aorta, one for the vena cava, still carrying blood back to the Sniper's faltering heart, and the esophageal hiatus, that until recently had connected to the Sniper's stomach. Probing that narrow hole, the Medic could feel the lungs trying to expand as the Australian laboured to breathe. The Medic was certain his patient would breathe more easily without a gaping hole in the vacuum chamber of his thorax. The Medic knew just how to seal that wound- when the Sniper tried to breathe out, he pressed down on the assassin's chest and slid his penis into the tight opening. It sealed the hole, allowing the Sniper his first deep breath in some time; this inflated his lungs tightly around the Medic's cock. The German groaned in pleasure, and was answered by a half-conscious groan from his victim. The reverberation of that groan against the Medic's cock was unreal, irresistible. The Medic could cried out and pressed in more deeply. Now he could feel the throb of the Sniper's heart against the tip of his penis. He roared like an animal, thrusting wildly. The thorax had not evolved to withstand this kind of strain- the Sniper's diaphragm was tearing, his ribs cracking under the Medic's hands. The Medic's motion pushed air in and out of the Sniper's lungs, forcing the Australian to make rough, panting noises. Soon, he began to convulse, writhing underneath the doctor. In the Medic's expert opinion, the man was dying. He increased his pace as the Sniper's body stilled. The Sniper's death rattle brought him to orgasm; he came screaming and swearing in German. He felt invincible, perfect, buried in his teammate's corpse and drenched in the man's blood. He collapsed, panting, to lick the bloody froth from the Sniper's lips. He lay atop the body until it vanished, picked up by the respawn system. Shortly thereafter, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the infirmary from the nearby respawn room. The Sniper opened the door, naked, clean and vigorous; a marked contrast to the bloody, exhausted, half-dressed Medic. "I take it that was good for you, then?" The Medic hauled himself upright with a moan, barely able to tuck his clothing back together. He draped himself over the Sniper, smearing the man's former blood on his new skin. "Oh, meine liebe, meine..." "'Ere, don't get soppy. Let's get you to the showers." The Sniper looped an arm under the Medic's waist.
Aw, thanks, LeftRight! I actually found most of my old stuff because a nice Anon (who should utterly namefag up and take credit) gave me the /afic archives. I'll be posting everything eventually, and writing Medic/Sniper scar worship for said helpful Anon. 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? It's the one where Medic tortures Soldier with needles and electricity, and it was in 3 parts. Without further ado, something I completely forgot I'd written: ---------------------------------------- ROPE AND RISK Ever since he'd lost the one eye, the RED Demoman kept the other open for threats. He still had a slightly skewed view of what constituted risk, though. To his mind, hurling himself into battle with an armload of bombs was the safest thing in the world- he knew he'd always respawn. Compared to, say, construction work, where limbs stayed lost, war was safe as houses. This same rationale led him to try this alone; he couldn't very well ask his teammates to tie him up, but he needed the rasp of rope against his skin. In the privacy of his bunker, he threaded long skeins of rope between his fingers, preparing for his solitary ritual. Just the dry hay smell of it was enough to turn him on as he shed his clothing. He had a selection of ropes, large ones, thick enough to support his weight, slender ones for... delicate work. He sorted them carefully, thinking of what he would do tonight. His first act was to fashion a chest harness out of the thickest rope. It didn't hold him down or restrict his breathing, but it did give him the satisfaction of feeling the hemp bite into his skin. He tugged at the knots- they were sound. If anyone were here with him, that person could use the thick ropes like handles, to steer him wherever they wanted him. His cock swelled at the thought. Next, he sat on the floor and tied his ankles together. The feeling of constriction made his breath catch in his throat. This was what he needed. He threaded the rope up between his calves to bind his knees together, too. The effect was appealing- the loops of taut, pale rope against dark muscles. His cock was heavy against his thigh now, almost fully erect. He stroked himself, shifting his legs slightly to enjoy how the ropes kept his thighs pressed together. His cock throbbed and he moaned before forcing himself to stop. Taking a few deep breaths, he selected a thin rope and tied it in a tight, intricate pattern around his cock and balls. The knots separated his testicles, surrounded his penis and pulled it away from his body, making his package look huge, hard and perfect. Getting up on his knees, he looped the long end of the rope through an eyehook in the floor. When he leaned back, it pulled on his cock, stroking him roughly and tugging at the root of his being. For the last phase of his plan, the Demoman selected a short, medium-weight rope. Holding one end behind his back, he trailed the other end up to his elbow. He made several broad loops around the resting arm, then pushed his other hand back up through them, still holding the working end of the rope. With a few adjustments, his wrists were bound tightly behind his back. Leaning backward, letting his arms hang from his shoulders as a counterweight, he could almost capture the feeling of having been forced into this position. He shifted his hips gently, feeling the rope tug on his genitals. "Howdy, Demo," the Engineer bellowed, striding through the door. "I was wonderin' if-" The Texan's voice died in his throat as he exchanged shocked stares with the explosives expert. "A Spy!" The Demoman managed. "Ye're here just in time!" "Hmm." The Engineer looked around the bunker, which had crates stacked against the only other door in direct contravention of safety regulations. He leaned on the door he'd just come through, took out his pistol, and settled in, his jaw set. "The thing about Spies," he said after a while, "is that their cloaking devices only work for so long before they overheat. Given that the Spy cloaked as soon as I opened the door, if not a little sooner, his doo-dad should run out of juice in seventy-eight seconds, give or take." The Engineer shifted his weight, but stayed leaning against the door. A minute seems like a very long time when you are about to be caught in a lie, and even longer when you are tied up naked in front of a teammate. Eventually, the Engineer hoisted himself off of the door and holstered his gun. "I don't believe there ever was a Spy in here, was there?" The Demoman couldn't bring himself to answer. He hung his head, unable to look the Engineer in the eyes. "I figured from the minute I wandered in. Those spooks are slippery bastards, but I do not believe you're fool enough to let one snake you out of your clothes and tie you to the floor," the Engineer said conversationally. "Seems to me, you must have tied yourself up like a pretty little parcel." The Demoman still didn't speak, wishing that there had been a Spy, who would at least have granted him the swift and merciful death of a knife in the back. "Extendin' that premise logically, seems to me that you only put things in a pretty little parcel when you want to give 'em to someone." The Engineer strode forward and slid his gloved hand under the Demoman's chin. "Do you suppose you might like to give that little gift to me?" His lone eye wide in shock, the Demoman looked up to meet the Engineer's black-goggled gaze. The Texan's eyes were hidden, but his broad, lascivious grin told the whole story. The Demoman whimpered, blood rushing to his bound cock. "Well, what do you say?" The Engineer smiled down at the Demoman. "You sure do look like a man who wants it, but until I hear you ring out with a yea or nay, I'm not doin' nothin'." "Please... do anything tae me..." The Demoman found it easier to look at the Engineer's bulging crotch instead of his face. "Dangerous offer," the Engineer slid his ungloved index finger into the Demoman's mouth. "Man could take a fair number of liberties, given an offer like that." He leaned over to pluck the slender rope tying the Demoman's tackle to the floor. "Huh, E flat," he mused as the Demoman writhed. "Lucky for you, it's been a long time, and I'm not in a mood to fool around. I'll take a quick and dirty head job." He unzipped the fly on his overalls and pulled out his thick, heavy cock. "C'mere, you." "Aye," the Demoman gasped, letting his mouth slide open. Apparently, it wasn't fast enough for the Engineer. He pulled off the Demoman's hat and twisted his finger into his teammate's dense, curly hair. "You best give it to me nice, or I might well leave you tied up all night," the Engineer smiled as he slid his cock into the Demoman's mouth. "I know you must be able to get yourself out of those little bitty knots, but I do believe I can do better." He panted as the Demoman began to lick, delicately pushing the Engineer's foreskin back with his tongue. "Awh, you're good at that, a regular expert. I reckon you think about this all the time, don't you?" "Mmh," the Demoman agreed, licking and sucking with a worshipful intensity. His thighs were shaking with the tension of this position, and the Engineer was barely giving him time to breathe- it was wonderful. He groaned around the other man's cock, letting him slide it deep into his throat. The Engineer hadn't been kidding about desperate. All too soon, he was coming, pouring his semen down the Demoman's throat, a few errant droplets splashing on his moustache as the Engineer pulled away. "Wiiild dogies, you're good, but it strikes me we're not quite done here, yet." The Engineer tucked his softening cock back into his overalls, then grabbed the Demoman on the back of his rope harness. In one swift motion, he overbalanced the bound man and pressed him forward, pushing his cheek onto the gritty floor. "Can't rightly leave you yearning like this after you done so good," the Engineer said as he pressed himself against the Demoman's side. Moving quickly, the Engineer untied the Demoman's cock. The rush of blood and the rasp of rope were almost painful, and the Demoman moaned. The Engineer gently slipped his bare hand under his teammate's balls, caressing the abused flesh. As the Demoman shuddered, acclimating to the pleasure, he heard the Engineer spit, then felt thick, gloved fingers against his ass. "Ach, god, please, Engie, please!" "Well, all ya had to do was ask." The Engineer forced two fingers inside the Demoman and stroked him roughly. It was too much- the pain, the pressure, the pleasure, the rope on his skin and the semen cooling in his moustache, all of it. The Demoman came, howling, and shot his load on the concrete floor. "There, now," the Engineer soothed, easing the Demoman down onto his side and untying him before seeking out the explosives expert's own shirt to serve as a blanket. They spooned on the floor in companionable silence, the Engineer kissing the back of the Demoman's neck, until a thought occurred to him. "Ya know, Demo, tying yourself up alone in a room just ain't safe. I certainly think that the next time you want to, you should come get me."
>>36 fuck yearrrrr! I was in the middle of German when I got a text from my gf telling me the lungfucking fic was up-- so much glee. Gorgeous work, as always, Herr Marty. And rope guru Demo! You spoil us.
>>36 I What Why was that hot That shouldn't have been Arggrgllgl But the worst (best) bit, the very worst (best)... They were Anthony Stewart Head and...that guy, who he ties down, disembowels and sings with...y'know, from Repo. In my head. It was weeeeiiiiiird.
Are these them? ~~~ The Soldier marched into the Medic's office to be tested for exposure to gamma radiation (an utter fiction of the Medic's own invention). He crashed to parade-perfect attention in the middle of the room. He was about the same age as the Medic, and they had a tacit agreement never to discuss where they had been from 1940 to 1950, to name a decade. "Well done spotting the nuclear threat, Medic." "Zank you, Herr Soldat. Please, take off ze shirt." The Soldier obeyed, then returned to rigid attention. The Medic realised that the American was afraid. Afraid of him? How delicious. He decided to test the theory, taking his time about peering into the man's eyes and ears. "Open zer mouth, please..." He noticed that the Soldier relaxed fractionally when he put down his instrument and picked up a square of gauze. In the spirit of investigation, he picked up a pair of forceps and used them to seize the man's tongue in place of the gauze. The Soldier jerked, eyes wide under his helmet, as the chill metal warmed on his tongue. The Medic concealed his amusement, inspected the other man's tongue, then reluctantly let go. He shifted his attention to the other man's skin. The way that the soldier stiffened and sweated every time the Medic brought out a new tool was irresistible. The German took out a pair of callipers and measured some inconsequential birthmarks, delighting in teh way the tough man forced himself not to flinch as the sharp points touched his skin. "How long haf you had zese marks? Do zey ever bleed or cause you pain? Haf you seen zem to grow or change in shape?" He peppered the Soldier with questions, then moved on to listening to the American's heart. It was hammering under the man's sturdy ribs. The Medic trailed his gloved hands over the Soldier's broad chest, under the guise of searching for sore areas under the skin, and wondered how much he could get away with. He decided to see about the Soldier's reaction to the Geiger counter. Strangely, the American seemed almost pleased at how the radiation metre screamed when passed over him. "High reading?" "Ja, I fear so." Of course the reading was high, the Medic had dusted the stethoscope with polonium to give that effect. "It's because I'm always at the front! Like a Man! No offence." The Medic hadn't been about to take offence, until the Soldier had said "no offence." Between the insult and the relaxation that the American expressed when offered a Geiger counter rather than medical implements, the doctor decided to push things. "Ja, but zis is a serious problem. You vill reqvire immediate... treatment." That brought the spark of fear back to the Soldier's eyes. The Medic continued. "I must immediately make an injection of potassium iodide." The Soldier went rigid. The Medic busied himself preparing to give the injection. First, he laid out his case of syringes, fanning them out for the Soldier to see. Then, he opened the smaller case of needles- reusable, not disposable, and let them glitter at the American, too. He observed that the military man was gritting his teeth- trying not to shudder. It struck the Medic as appropriate- he, too, was suppressing a need to tremble. As he readied the bottle of serum- a simple saline solution, no need to waste good drugs- he let his eyes linger on the Soldier's back. So much muscular flesh, exposed to him. The American was helpless in the peace and quiet of the surgery, in a way that he never had been in battle- it was intoxicating. The Medic spun the moment out, putting off the ecstasy that would end it all. He wrapped a leather strap tightly around the Soldier's bicep, then caressed the crook of the man's elbow with disinfectant on gauze. It was a supreme effort of will not to bend down and lick the tender skin. The Soldier was making an effort of will, as well- his hands were clenched in white-knuckled fists. "Very gut, Soldat, keep zer fist..." the Medic readied his needle near the swelling vein at the crook of the other man's elbow. "It vill be over soon..." he could not keep the disappointment out of his voice. He leaned close to the American, close enough to smell the other man's terrified sweat- any nearer and he could have felt the rasp of stubble against his own jaw. At the perfect moment, he thrust the needle in. The Medic was familiar with Freud's theories, but in the timeless span of injecting the serum, he decided that they were nonsense. Possibly just backward. What he was doing now could be interpreted via crude sexual metaphor, a dirty joke, but it seemed to him that sex was a poor substitute for this. This intimacy, this penetration, this POWER... the Medic had to take a few calming breaths as he withdrew the needle. The Soldier, too, seemed pushed to his limits. He staggered backward and sat heavily on the examination table, his fingers gripping the edge as if he would dent the steel. "Medic..." he croaked. "Ja, Soldat... ze drug can take people like zat..." in the afterglow of the injection, the Medic felt uncharacteristically tender toward his patient, willing to lie to salve the other man's ego. "Lie back, put ze feet on a rolled-up blanket..." he draped the American with another blanket. It was scratchy wool, military issue, but the Soldier cuddled into it as though it were the cosiest bed he'd ever had. The Medic felt that he could use a lie-down, too, and had to fight the urge to lie down beside the Soldier on the table. Instead, the Medic cleaned his syringe and needles, tactfully keeping them out of the Soldier's sight. Eventually, the Soldier got up, folded the blankets precisely, and stood at attention in the centre of the room again. He cleared his throat to attract the Medic's attention. "Permission to dismiss?" "I zink zat you should go get some fresh air, but please come back in an hour. I still reqvuire a semen sample to determine ze effects of ze exposure to ze radiation." The Soldier blanched and hurried out. "NEXT!" ~~~ Exactly an hour after he had left the medical bay, the Soldier returned. Medic was amused to see that the man had used the time to work himself into a true lather of terror- exactly as the German had hoped. "Velcome, Herr Soldat..." the Medic was aware that his smile was slightly too broad. He couldn't help it. The American was sweating bullets, his eyes were bright with terror, he was shaking like a leaf... but he had still returned. Just because the Medic had ordered him to do so. Just because he never disobeyed orders. It was glorious. The Medic could not wait to observe how the fear would affect the lust, to see what depravity the Soldier would have to sink to in the little room as the American provided his semen sample. The Medic proffered a beaker, his eyes gleaming. "I reqvire a semen sample to determine ze exposure to ze gamma radiation." "No can do!" the Soldier barked. "Surely, just... remain calm, consider... somezing pleasant, an American go-go dancing Fraulein, perhaps?" "Prostitutes... filth," the Soldier rasped. "That's just the point! Self-manipulation is immoral! A fighting man should not sink to such degradation!" Ranting seemed to make him feel better. "You Americans, so prudish about ze natural processes," the Medic mocked. "Do not zink about it, just do your duty." "I said, no can do, Medic! A soldier's orgasms are for one purpose: women, impregnation of!" "Zis is medically necessary. You cannot allow such scruples to stand in ze way of proper treatment." The Medic was desperate- he ached with denial. "Masturbation is a filthy practise, predisposing one to filthy pleasures, and I will have no part of it!" Suddenly, the Medic saw a solution, possibly even more appealing than watching through a peephole as the Soldier brought himself to fitful orgasm. Definitely more appealing. His hands clutched involuntarily inside his red latex gloves. "If zat is zer problem, I believe zat I can obtain ze specimen, vizout any disgusting pleasures on your part. Zere is a simple technique used in obtaining breeding stock from useful animals, no pleasure involved in any vay." The Soldier still looked doubtful. "Herr Soldat, you must allow me to determine ze extent of ze exposure, lest ze radiation poisoning becomes too great for you to fight. You vould not like to be sitting out battles." "... understood. What do I have to do?" "I shall haf to go retrieve some eqvipment. In ze meantime, take off ze pants und kneel on ze exam table." Victory, snatched from the jaws of defeat! The Medic hurried to his quarters. When he returned, the Soldier was kneeling on the steel examination table, ass in the air. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty, and was completely naked. The Medic suppressed an evil grin into a wicked smirk. He put the black case he'd brought from his quarters onto the exam table, in front of the Soldier's face. As he got out the components, lovingly placing each one on the stainless steel, the Medic noted the interplay of fear and curiosity in the Soldier's body language. The American man faced rigidly front as the Medic clicked the components together. He sweated profusely as the device made an ascending whine while powering up. However, he only looked up in terror when the German used the implement to earth a loud spark in the metal table. "What in Hell is that thing, Medic?" The device was around twelve inches long, with a diameter of about an inch, and a larger knob on the end, gleaming steel and black Bakelite. "It is ze Elektroejakulator. Inserted rectally, it produces almost instantaneous ejaculation." The Medic set the device directly in front of the Soldier, so that he could see the thick, fabric-coated electrical cord that attached it to the black box. "..." The Soldier went to say something, but his mouth had entirely dried. "Zis vill only hurt for a moment." The Medic put a hand on the back of the Soldier's neck, forcing his face down to the table. He took a bottle of conductive lubricant from the device's storage case and spread the thick gel on the gloved fingers of his left hand. While the American shook with fear, the Medic slathered lubricant on his muscular ass and pressed one thick finger past his entrance. The Soldier shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth. The Medic had to consciously control his breathing. It wouldn't do to let the Solider know exactly how much he was enjoying fingering him, especially when the American's thick cock began to swell in involuntary response to the stimulation. The Soldier groaned faintly in discomfort and humiliation, and the Medic could not prevent himself from breaking into an evil grin behind his patient's back. "I believe zat you are ready..." the Medic wiped his hand on a towel and seized the device from in front of the Soldier's face. He pressed the knobbed end of the probe against the Soldier's ass, and relished the agonised grunt as he slid it into place. "You von't feel a zing," the Medic said, enjoying the way the Soldier tightened up when he spoke. He deliberately flicked one of the dials on the black box up to a point that he knew would send a bolt of agony through the American's body. The Soldier howled. "Saw-ry," the Medic rasped. "Ze amplitude vas too high. How is zis?" He modulated the signal to a setting deliberately too low to produce instantaneous ejaculation. Instead, it sent waves of pleasure rushing through the patient's abdomen. "Uh." The Soldier rolled his hips involuntarily, and his cock swelled to full erection. "Hm, zat is not it, eizzer..." the Medic twisted the frequency dial, sending a brief bolt of incredibly intense sensation through the Soldier's body. The American howled, his face and chest brick-red. "Ah, I see ze problem, it is not positioned properly." The Medic grabbed the probe's insulated Bakelite handle and fucked the Soldier as he manipulated the amplitude and frequency of the current with his other hand. Below him, the Soldier was panting through his open mouth as he gripped the edge of the exam table with clawed fingers. He was undone with pleasure, pain and terror. Seeing how close he was, the wicked gleam in the Medic's eye grew to a manic blaze. At the last possible moment, he surreptitiously flicked the power switch. The Soldier was left gasping at the lack of sensation, all but writhing on the exam table. "What... what-" he breathed. "Oh, dear, ve seem to haf a slight malfunction. Vun moment, bitte, I vill investigate." He left the probe in the Soldier's ass while he made a show of checking the equipment. "Tch, tch tch... I do not know vhat can be ze matter. Perhaps you should return some ozzer day." He looked slyly over at the Soldier. The military man was still paying him no mind. He was panting and sweating, his eyes like those of a wild animal. He was clearly desperate for release, yet his hands stayed clamped onto the sides of the exam table. The Medic was impressed. However, the American's whimper of desperation broke the German's own self-control before the Soldier's crumbled. "Aha, it vas just ze fuse!" The Medic flicked the machine back on and the electricity resumed full-force. The Soldier came, roaring like a bull, his eyes rolling back in his head. His face was so red that the Medic's gaze flicked to his Medi-gun, in case he had to repair a heart attack. The Soldier's semen splashed on the steel table, and he collapsed on his side, groaning. "Good, good, you did so vell," the Medic once again felt an unaccustomed tenderness as he removed the probe. The Soldier lay gasping as if he had run a marathon. Forcing himself to remain distant, the Medic used a small metal spatula to collect the semen. Nonetheless, he watched the Soldier tenderly as the American recovered his senses and got dressed. As the Soldier left, they both looked at each other. Each man felt that he should say something, but what? They parted without a word.
>>39 Repo the Genetic Opera fuck yes. Medic singing "It's a Thankless Job" is my new canon.
>>40 ohh thankyouthankyou. So many of my kinks-- especially super-repressed Solly. Awesooome
Thanks, LeftRight, but those aren't they. Those are part of the Examination storyline. Trypanophobia happens after that, and includes more torture fun times for Medic and Soldier. Medic tests the sensitivity of Soldier's scars with needles before giving him another go on the Elektroejakulator. Dammit. Does anyone have it? Katya drew a picture of it, which I have posted here http://tf2chan.net/afanart/res/174.html for reference.
>>43 Aw, man. So many tears. Wish I could help!
>>43 The Medic looked up from his reports, startled by a loud knock on the infirmary door. Settling his glasses on the bridge of his aquiline nose, he barked, "Who is it?" "Soldier, sir! Permission to enter?" The team's resident militaristic psychopath stood at ramrod attention outside the door. "Granted, enter..." the Medic tried to control his predatory smile. The Soldier had many virtues in the Medic's eyes, for all that he was deranged and noisy. Under his uniform, his battle-hardened muscles were seamed with delectable scars. He was simple-mindedly willing to take orders. Most importantly, he was terrified of the Medic and all trappings of medicine. The German wondered what had brought him to the infirmary... he had never made a voluntary visit before. "Vhat is the problem, Herr Soldat?" "Medic, do you recall several weeks ago, you disclosed the possibility that the BLUs were employing nuclear weaponry?" "Ah, yes," the Medic began to have an inkling as to why the Soldier was here. "Of course, Herr Soldat. But you will recall, my reports showed no evidence of genetic damage in your... semen sample." He bit into the words. If the Soldier wanted it, the Medic was going to make him work for it. "Yes, but." The Soldier was clearly fighting with himself. "Lately, I feel. Sick. Distracted. Like something's wrong with me, from the inside." "Weak, you mean?" The Medic twisted the knife. He was beginning to get an erection from the obvious discomfort in the Soldier's posture. He wanted more. "Take off your helmet, let me look in your eyes." The Soldier obeyed, oh how readily he obeyed, and set his helmet on the exam table. The Medic shone a bright flashlight in the American's eyes. "Hmm... pupils dilated, respiration rapid," the Medic remarked. "Patient appears agitated." And how wonderfully so. "But I cannot see anything immediately wrong..." he rested a hand on the Soldier's chest. "Herr Soldat, I must ask that you strip. You may go behind the privacy screen." Despite the name, the flimsy divider did nothing for privacy. On the contrary, it gave the effect of a strip-tease, hiding only the area between the Soldier's nipples and knees as he disrobed. Watching from the corner of his eye, the Medic took in the American's solid muscle and battle-scarred skin, a Spartan ideal of masculine perfection. The Soldier stepped out from behind the screen reluctantly, almost shyly. "No need for modesty like the blushing fraulein, Herr, we are both men here." His eyes raked over the Soldier's body. "I am still concerned about these scars. I think I should examine them." In truth, there was nothing particularly worrying about the marks. They recorded the history of an active, violent life, but they were all old and pale. The Medigun saw to it that all new injuries healed without a trace. However, the old scars were more than scientifically interesting to the Medic. They were beautiful. Sliding off his heavy rubber gloves, the Medic touched the Soldier's scars. Bullet wounds like violent flowers, long thin slashes, tangled webs of barbed-wire trails, broad continents where mangling wounds had healed badly. The Medic slid his fingers over the slippery-smooth tissue, the ridges and dips. "Do these ever pain you, Herr Soldat?" the Medic murmured the standard question like a proposition. "No, never," the warrior growled. "That could be a distressing symptom in itself- perhaps the nerve endings are dead." "It isn't about that, Doc. I just want you to... analyze a sample." The Soldier gritted his teeth. "A semen sample." The Medic suppressed a smirk. He knew full well what the Soldier needed. He was going to get his needs met as well. "What kind of a doctor would I be, if I were not thorough?" The Medic opened a drawer and placed a leather case on his desk. "I must test the sensitivity of this scar tissue; it is where cellular change from radiation is most likely to attack, and if it feels no pain, it can tell us nothing." He smiled, a mockery of a kind bedside manner. "I will of course take a semen sample after that." The Medic opened the case, revealing dozens of slender, sharp needles, each with a flared base to fit into a syringe. "Now, Herr Soldat, I know that you are a seasoned veteran, immune to pain, but you must tell me if each puncture... hurts." The Medic savoured the taste of the word on his tongue. Leaving the needles in full view, the Medic wasted some time by taking the Soldier's pulse and listening to his heartbeat. The military man's heart was thundering in his chest, almost deafening through the stethoscope. The Medic quelled a shudder of ecstasy as he watched the Soldier try to avert his gaze from the needles. The American was nearly insane with terror, and the Medic had scarcely touched him. The Medic drew the moment out by taking the Soldier's blood pressure- tch tch tch, so high. The German couldn't quite control his predatory smile, but the Soldier wasn't looking at him. His eyes were darting among the gleaming instruments arrayed around the room. "Herr Soldat, please extend your right arm and grasp the edge of the exam table." The Soldier did as he was told, his veins and muscles bulging. "Very good..." the Medic selected a needle and a likely-looking scar on the veteran's arm. "You must tell me if this hurts," he repeated for the sheer joy of the threat, holding the needle a millimeter above the Soldier's skin. "Yes, sir," the Soldier said, gritting his teeth. The Medic slid the needle in- gently, if such a thing was possible. Slowly, and using the minimum force that would penetrate the scar tissue. He slid the steel in, parallel to the Soldier's muscle, piercing the scar on entry and exit. The needle glittered on the Soldier's arm like insignia, like a gem. "Do you feel that?" "...Yes." The American's rough voice was tight. Leaving the needle in place, the Medic targeted another scar, a bullet wound on the far side of the man's chest. The Soldier stood as if made of wood- only the slightest tightening of his muscles indicated any change when the Medic punctured his skin, making a crossbar above the round wound. The scar now looked like a rosette medal, pinned to the Soldier's bare chest. He was going to be a delight to break. "And that?" Another needle slid into a ragged scar. "Yes." Working more quickly now, the Medic slid three needles into the Soldier's abdomen, at regular distances perpendicular to a long slash scar. They passed below the old wound like sutures. By now, the Soldier was sweating, his eyes wide, his muscles twitching every time the Medic touched him. The Medic's erection throbbed. He caressed a slick mass of scar tissue beside the American's navel. "Vhat caused this, Herr Soldat?" "Dog. Tried to rip my guts out while I was down." "This skin is... too tender to pierce. Just tell me, do you feel each touch?" He pricked one edge of the scar with the tip of a needle. "Yes." "This?" Another prick. "Yes." "This?" "Yes!" The Medic felt faint. His blood was roaring in his ears; if not for his iron self-control, his hands would surely be shaking. As if in a trance, he pierced another scar, then another, and another. The Soldier's whisper of "yes" in response to each new pain seemed to become a lover's encouragement, urging him onward. His own erection was a solid ache at the root of his being. The Medic felt he might go mad with this prolonged pleasure. When all but one of the needles in the leather case had been used, when the Soldier's chest and shoulders gleamed and bristled, the Medic knew how he must use the last needle. For all his indomitable will, the Soldier was trembling, eyes tightly shut. He was leaning heavily against the exam table, his hips thrust forward. His flaccid penis was perfectly displayed on a bed of dark pubic hair. The Medic's fingers tightened convulsively on the final needle. "Last one, Herr Soldat, do relax." The Medic delighted to see the Soldier's muscles tighten in fear, making each needle stand out. "Hold still, bitte..." The Soldier opened his eyes just in time to see the Medic thrusting the final needle toward his penis. He screamed, and the scream rose as the needle pierced his foreskin. It slid through in two places, neatly infibulating the warrior. The needle shone in hard and perfect contrast to the Soldier's violated flesh. Pleasure thundered through the Medic's body. Chest heaving as if from great exertion, he stepped back to admire his work. The Soldier's body gleamed with steel and sweat, each tiny wound bearing its own drop of blood. Some of them were large enough to trickle down the Soldier's skin, emphasizing the whiteness of the scar tissue. Tears of panic had gathered in the American's eyes; as the Medic watched, they began to slide down the Soldier's rugged cheeks. He did not move to hide them or even wipe them away as he stood paralyzed with terror. The intensity of the ecstasy ebbed gently from the Medic's body, leaving a tingling, weightless sensation. His cock began to soften, as if he had enjoyed the physical release of orgasm. The desperation for fear and pain was replaced by an unaccustomed feeling of tenderness toward the Soldier. "Here, here..." the Medic soothed. "You are not hurt, you are well... this proves that you are healthy." He began to pluck the needles out, starting with the one through the Soldier's foreskin. The fierce man groaned and shuddered as each needle was pulled free. It was an odd experience for the Medic; he might shoot opponents full of hundreds of syringes on the battlefield, but eh was never responsible for pulling them out again. He removed each steel sliver as carefully as possible, and had to fight down the desire to kiss away each drop of blood. When the last needle was drawn free, the Soldier collapsed back against the steel exam table, shaking and choking back sobs. Scarred, bloody, utterly broken- the Medic had not expected such beauty. He murmured reassuringly as he covered the Soldier with a white cotton blanket. "I fear you are in shock. Let me look at your pupils." Resting a hand on the American's face, the Medic gazed into his eyes. The Medic felt he could see the man's whole life in the clear blue depths. Taking a pad of gauze, he blotted away the tears. "You will be fine, just fine." He stroked the Soldier's cheek. "Let me get the Medigun, ve shall heal these tiny wounds." Hefting the arm of the Medigun, the Medic trained the healing beam on the Soldier. The needle marks that decorated his skin healed instantly. When it was done, the Medic set aside the healing cannon aside and followed the path of the beam with his hands, pushing aside the blanket to stroke the old scars that had healed back together on the American's skin. The Soldier's skin was flushed where the healing had stipulated the capillaries. Goosebumps stood out on the Soldier's skin wherever the Medic touched, and the military man was too exhausted to suppress his groan of pleasure. "That reminds me, Herr Soldat," the Medic purred. "I recall that I still need a specimen of your semen." The Soldier gulped, but rolled his hips toward the Medic as the German caressed his hipbone. "Do not worry. It will require no effort, and no... impure intent on your part." If that was the game that the Soldier had to play, then so be it. The Medic had enough impure intent for them both. "I believe that I have hit on an improved method since last time." "Yes, sir," the Soldier whispered. "What do I have to do?" "Just... remain still. I will do the necessary." The Soldier did as he was told, lying beautifully naked on the exam table. Meanwhile, the Medic readied his equipment. The last time he had extracted a semen sample from the Soldier, the Medic had used an electrical anal probe to force the other man to orgasm. It had been exquisitely satisfying, but since then, the Medic had enjoyed many ideas about what he would do if the American was ever again in his clutches. Now that he had the opportunity, the Medic was about to enact one of his favourites. Of course, it involved the electrical apparatus again. The Medic extracted the black box from the cabinet beneath the exam table and shoved it up between the Soldier's legs, forcing the other man to spread his thighs. The American clearly recognized the device; that much was clear from the fear and desperate desire in his face. He did not, however, recognize the next item that the Medic prepared. It was a large piece of equipment, sitting on a wheeled instrument tray. It had two glass cylinders, in which pistons pumped alternately when the Medic activated the motor. A glass tube about twelve inches long and two inches wide was connected to the main body of the machine by a long, flexible rubber hose. The Soldier looked at it in exhausted terror. "This is a machine of my own design, vhich vill increase the efficiency of the sample collection by one hundred percent." The Medic caressed the tube with gloved fingertips. "It vorks on the principle of the vacuum pump," he tapped the apparatus on the cart, "and vill produce and collect the sample in the most absolutely hygienic way." He leered down at the Soldier. "All you must do is lie there." The Medic reveled in watching the Soldier's eyes as he spoke. The American was usually completely closed off, but after the needle treatment, every reaction was achingly close to the surface. Fear at the sight of the apparatus, lust at the prospect of what was almost certainly the only pleasure he had experienced since the last time he was at the Medic's mercy. What a wonderful thing American puritanism was, the Medic reflected, to bind this excellent specimen of manhood in neuroses and deliver him gift-wrapped to the infirmary. "Spread your legs so that I can insert the probe," the Medic ordered. The Soldier obeyed, beautifully docile as always when menaced with medical instruments. The Medic slathered the thick, torpedo-shaped head of the probe with surgical lubricant and pressed it gently between the American's legs. The Soldier groaned as he was penetrated, and cried out as the device slid into place deep inside him, but he did not resist. The Medic smiled, "Very good, Herr Soldat," and flicked on the electricity. The current was low, though Medic could easily have increased it to the point of pain. At its present setting, it was only just enough to set up a vibration in the Soldier's own muscles, pleasuring him from the inside out. The man's breathing became loud and ragged, and he was momentarily distracted from the other machine. The Medic, however, was not. After pausing a moment to admire the sight of the Soldier sprawled out on the exam table, the Medic readied the working end of his vacuum pump. The mouth of the tube was thickly padded with soft black leather, so that there was only a small hole. He pressed this to the tip of the Soldier's rapidly hardening cock, and the suction pulled the organ into the tube. The Soldier moaned in hoarse ecstasy, and the Medic feared that his experiment would be over far too soon. Moving quickly to dial down both the suction and the electrical current, the Medic looked at his 'patient.' "Are you all right, Herr Soldat?" he asked, with considerably more concern than he usually showed for his victims' well-being. "Yes- yes, sir," the Soldier managed, panting. "This procedure is still experimental," the Medic grinned. "You must let me know if it seems that anything is wrong." The Medic was rewarded by a flash of naked fear on the Soldier's face, but he had no further intention to harm the man. Instead, he was going to see just how much pleasure he could wring from the American. Watching the Soldier carefully, the Medic increased the current through the anal probe. The Soldier gasped. Then, the Medic began slowly increasing first one setting, then the other, in sequence. The Soldier's whole body was shaking, his hands clenched on the sides of the exam table with the effort of not screaming. His skin was flushed scarlet, his face a mask of extremis. Smiling to himself, the Medic cut the power to both devices. "Herr Soldat, are you hurt?" "What- please- no!" the Soldier panted. "I mean, don't stop!" "Are you certain? You had seemed to be in great pain." The Medic could not keep himself from leering. "No, no pain, just.. necessary to the act." The Soldier looked at the Medic, desperation in his eyes. "Should ve continue?" the Medic adopted a look of reluctance. "Yes!" the Soldier gasped, his muscles taut. "If you are sure.." he was going to make him beg. "Please!" the Soldier barked, gratifyingly quickly. "Please!" he shouted, against his will. "If you insist..." the Medic let his hands hover over the switches until the Soldier moaned with frustration, then gently started the suction again. He kept the airflow low, nothing like the intensity that had been so close to satisfying the Soldier before. The American grunted and bucked his hips, and the Medic engaged the current through the anal plug. The Soldier gasped, slamming back against the table, writhing gently under the mechanical ministrations. The Medic marveled at his good luck. To have such a perfect physical specimen under his control, gasping in pleasure and bathed in sweat. He smiled, and rewarded the Soldier with increased suction. The Soldier cried out hoarsely and twitched one hand, as if to grasp the tube encasing his penis. The Medic considered the Soldier's reluctance to pleasure himself. On one hand, it would be glorious to see that sinewy, hard-knuckled hand moving on the Soldier's own cock, stroking the veiny shaft and sliding over the glistening knob. On the other hand, the very fact that he refused to do so was what had delivered him into the Medic's clutches in the first place... In a burst of inspiration, the Medic shoved the cart that carried the vacuum apparatus. The hose kinked and cut off the suction while the motor whirred loudly, leaving the Soldier once more without erotic stimulation. "Verdammte thing," the Medic muttered theatrically, turning up the current on the anal probe. "Herr Soldat, would you be so good as to hold the tube so that the hose does not pinch?" Groaning with frustration, the Soldier obeyed. As he pulled the tube so that it stood vertically away from his body, the hose was stretched enough to let the air flow again. The suction resumed full force, and the Soldier moaned and cursed in abandon. Now that his body was complicit in his own pleasure, he could not resist; just as the Medic had hoped. He stroked himself with the cumbersome glass tube, pressing his cock against the slick interior and stroking the tight leather mouth of the apparatus along his shaft. Sighing with satisfaction, the Medic increased both the current and the suction to the highest pleasurable levels. The Soldier's entire body was shaking once more, his muscles taut. He came, screaming hoarsely and driving his erection deep into the suction tube. The Medic was pleased to note the copious volume of the Soldier's semen; clearly, he had not pleasured himself since his last "treatment;" equally clearly, he would return the next time that the desire for orgasm grew too strong. Moving gently, the Medic stepped down both current and suction until the Soldier lay utterly exhausted on the exam table. "Sehr gut," the Medic praised the Soldier as he extracted teh probe and set the suction tube in a beaker to drain. "Such a fine specimen," he purred, leaving it unclear as to whether he was referring to the semen sample or to the Soldier himself. The Medic replaced the blanket, which had fallen to the ground in the course of the procedure, and placed another blanket, still folded, under the American's head as a pillow. Somewhat to the Medic's surprise, the Soldier fell deeply asleep. Unaware that his smile held unusual warmth, the Medic tucked the blanket more tightly around his patient's muscular, naked body. He then turned to his desk to write up his report. The Medic always wrote extensive reports of his experiments on his teammates, and this one certainly warranted recording. From the Soldier's struggle to balance his sexual neuroses and his fear of medical treatment, resulting in an erotic dependence on Medic himself (a circumstance that pleased the German immesurably) the psychological aspects were fascinating. Moreover there was so much physical data to collect. How many needles could the Soldier take, his physiological responses, panting, sweating, eventually weeping as he did so. Then, his reactions to sexual stimulation, electrical and suction, what settings had proven most effective. The Medic sketched a rough graph of the voltage over time, and wrote a brief description of the Soldier's orgasm. This last was too much for the Medic. He seized the beaker into which the Soldier's ejaculate had drained, and took it with him into the linen closet. The Soldier produced truly beautiful semen samples, the Medic reflected as he undid his fly. Copious, viscous, translucent white. Dipping a gloved finger into the thick fluid, Medic daubed it onto the tip of his cock. He shuddered with pleasure as he eased his foreskin back, rubbing the semen all over it. Switching hands, he continued stroking himself as he licked the Soldier's seed form his fingers. In his mind, he relived the Soldier's torment. Those beautiful, taut scars, the way sweat glistened upon his skin. The look of agony when he finally broke down and participated in his own violation. Medic wanted more of that, needed to see the proud American debase and degrade himself. He imagined the Soldier giving in once and for all, sacrificing his will to become a slave to the sexual desires he'd repressed for so long. The Medic would make him wear a heavy leather collar, chain him to a wall like a dog. The Soldier would beg for release, beg to be used in whatever experiments the Medic cared to perform- The German forced himself to slow his frantic strokes, tracing a fingertip delicately around the head of his cock. Perhaps it would be sweeter if the Soldier resisted. The Medic envisioned piercing him with hundreds of needles, each one attached to a battery, an array of dials enabling him to control the current to each one. He could play the man like a violin as he struggled in heavy leather restraints. In his mind's eye, in his recent memory, he could see the man's muscles bulging, smell the sweat dripping down. Stroking himself more quickly, the German imagined the American begging for mercy- "Please- " The Medic couldn't be sure whether he was hearing the cries of his imaginary Soldier or whether he was hearing his own gasps as he came. His semen splashed into the beaker, mingling with his teammate's seed. The sight ws enough to elicit another throb, provoke another moan. Looking down in satisfaction at the mixed fluids, the Medic had another idea. With a smile, he tucked his clothing back together and slipped into the infirmary. Working as quietly as possible, the Medic went to his pharmaceutical supply and set a few bottles on the workbench. First, he added a dram of sugar syrup to the beaker holding the semen, then a drop of peppermint oil. This preparation could turn even the most bitter drug into something the Scout would swallow. It was ideal for his plan. "Herr Soldat," he approached the man sleeping on the exam table under the thin infirmary blanket. "Vake up, Herr." "What-" the Soldier looked around frantically, clearly getting a grip on where he was and what he had done... what he had permitted the Medic to do to him. "You fell asleep after your treatment," the Medic scolded gently. "However, since you are still here, I might as vell give you the results of my analysis. Your sample shows no sign of cellular damage or abnormality. You are in exellent health, a perfect example of manhood." The Medic could see his ploy working- the Soldier's panic was dissipating in the presence of a professional manner and a soothing tone of voice. "Good, that's... good," the Soldier growled, trying to save face. "I think zat you should return, no more than a month from now, so zat I can monitor your health consistently. After all, if you are feeling veak, it may be zat your current excellent health represents a decline from previous perfect health." He the implication into the sentence like a needle into a vein; he had to make sure that the Soldier would come back. "To ensure your continued health, I have a vitamin compound for you here." The Medic held up the beaker of semen. "What's in it?" Still naked, the Soldier put his helmet back on and glared suspiciously at the white fluid. "It is a compound of proteins and amino acids such are produced by the human body in the presence of testosterone." Quite true, actually. "However, there is some risk of side-effects. Zis compound may increase aggression and feelings of rage." If the Soldier ever found out what was in the beaker, that would certainly be true. "Give it here." Exactly as planned, the Soldier thought of increased aggression as a bonus, not an adverse effect. "Vhat do you say?" the Medic chided gently. "Please," the Soldier added. The Medic's fingers clenched around the beaker. If he hadn't just masturbated, he would surely have had an orgasm right there. Panting slightly, he offered the beaker to the Soldier. The American took it, the blanket sliding off his broad chest as he sat up. He swallowed the thick liquid without flinching. A chill ran down the Medic's spine as the Soldier licked the rim of the beaker to get the last drop. He swallowed hard. "Very good, Herr Soldat. You may get dressed, now. Remember to come back in a month."
Fuck...
>>45 Oh man, this is dirty good, I love it! Marty, how do you always turn something that would have squicked me only months ago and spin it into something so damn hot? Soldier, being milked and completely helpless in his passion and Medic being a devious, manipulative predator... so much joy. >>37 I'm also taking credit for instigating the Tenta-milk discussion that resulted in the fic, which I think should be posted next. It's just so lulzy and smutty, I didn't know if I should laugh or be aroused. ♥
>>43 Archivist Hero Nublet is credit to chan.
If you're not afraid to venture onto a certain word-filtered site, TeratoMarty has quite a few of his 'fics there.
Guh. I made this odd gurgling noise when I finished re-reading that. You have some god damn talent.
I no one haven't posted the virgin medic one, the I happen to have it?
>>51 coming right up! ------------------------------------- A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING It was no secret that the Ãœbercharge felt good. Who could dislike the sensation of invincibility? It poured through the body, synchronising the heartbeat to its pulse, refreshing laboured breathing with great draughts of power. What most people didn't realise was that this happened to both parties- both the person being charged, and the Medic holding the Medigun. Even the Medic himself didn't realise this at first. He figured it out one day, in the heat of battle, when he had unleashed the Ãœbercharge on the Heavy. The huge man had laughed in the joy of mayhem, and the Medic had begun to laugh also, the minigun booming in his ears. He and the Heavy were howling out the same laugh, gasping together, until the charge was over and the battlefield was empty. The Heavy looked back at him, their eyes meeting in a moment of perfect understanding. Unfortunately, two enemy Soldiers who the Heavy had levelled earlier chose that moment to rush out of respawn. They herded the Medic and Heavy apart, then killed them both. It somewhat spoilt the moment. As soon as they respawned, though, something was different between them. The Medic knew that the Ãœbercharge must set his heart in time with the Soldier, the Demoman, or anyone else he charged, but it was different when he charged the Heavy. After a while, he became convinced that it wasn't just their pulses that became synchronised. The German would swear that he could feel each motion of the Russian's muscles, each bead of sweat that trickled over the big man's skin. When the charge was on, they were united in a way that the Medic had always considered the sole province of frivolous novels. The Medic did not know what to do about this knowledge. He caught himself staring at the Heavy between battles, sometimes savouring the memory of being so attuned. He tried not to, but he knew that the Heavy had caught him at it, more than once. The Heavy responded with narrowed eyes the first time, but grinned ever more broadly each successive time. The Medic tried to keep his head clear on the field of battle, tried to be reason out the right moment to use the bonesaw and not the Medigun, tried to assess which teammate it would be most advantageous to charge. He kept finding himself drawn to train his Medigun on the Heavy, though, to enjoy a few more seconds in perfect unison with the giant man. On this particular day, the teams had been locked in battle for the Granary control points since just after dawn. Team RED now had four out of the five control points, and the Medic and the Heavy were advancing on the BLU's last stand, inside a dusty, echoing building. The Medic healed the damage that the Heavy had sustained helping to capture the other points, keeping his eyes on his heads-up display. The meter on the Ãœbercharge was filling, filling, so near- the Medic's heart thundered. Would they make it to the point in time? Would the charge be ready by the time they made it to the point? The Heavy's uneven progress over the broken ground was nervewracking. A little closer, a little faster, please, the Medic urged silently. A bullet whistled through the air- the BLU Sniper was up on the balcony while the badly-bleeding Demoman held down the point. The Medic had been expecting the shot on some level, and ducked behind the Heavy. The bullet still caught him painfully across the shoulder. Snarling a curse, the Medic gripped the Medigun until his knuckles went white. He kept the beam focused, kept healing the Heavy even as the minigun roared to life, scouring the balconies. The BLUs threw everything they had left at the Heavy. A stickybomb landed at the Russian's feet, but he strode over it. The Medic saw it in his peripheral vision for a split second, envisioned the cold gleam in the enemy Demoman's eye as he thumbed the detonator- and then the Ãœbercharge was ready. Screaming hoarsely in German, the Medic deployed the charge even as the bomb blew. He was thrown away from the Heavy, but the beam held. The pulsing aura of invincibility surrounded them, washing away their fatigue and throbbing with their shared heartbeat. Laughing with victory, the Heavy mowed down their opponents and thundered to the point. The Medic joined him there just as the Ãœbercharge expired and the Announcer proclaimed their triumph. The fanfare seemed muted to the Medic's ears, though, as he crashed against the Heavy. He wasn't sure which of them had seized the other first, who had begun the kiss, but their hearts were still pounding in synch as they clutched each other. Their teeth clashed, the Medic's glasses were knocked askew, the Heavy's giant hands seemed to be everywhere at once. They stumbled together, kissing and groping, until the Medic was pinned against the rusted side of a metal shipping container. The Heavy moaned as he tore open the Medic's coat. The German heard a button clatter to the ground, and went rigid in the Heavy's arms. "What is it?" The Heavy raised his head and looked around. "Is no-one there. Is no worry-" "Nein!" The Medic struggled. "Ich kann nicht-" In his rising panic, he did not notice how gently the Heavy let him go. Instead, he broke away and legged it for the RED base. By the time he arrived back at the base, the Medic had regained some little composure. The Scout did his best to shatter it. "Hey, Doc! You an' the Russki lunchbox did it! Why'ya runnin' like yer ass is on fire?" "I... thought I heard someone call..." the Medic stuttered. "Just because the area is secured, is no reason to shirk my duty." "No-one called," the Spy pointed out archly as he lit a cigarette. "However, since you are here, please attend to my leg." He was bleeding where a bullet had grazed him. The Medic managed to avoid the Heavy for the rest of the afternoon by treating his teammates' wounds very thoroughly, and writing out detailed reports of his treatments. He even avoided the mess hall by ordering the Scout to bring him a tray. However, when he retreated to his quarters for the night, the Heavy came to him. "Doktor," the Russian said as he let himself in, "why did you run?" With the huge man blocking the room's only door, the Medic felt trapped. His weapons were all in readiness; and he would not hesitate to use them. Even on a teammate, even on someone whose heartbeat he had shared just hours before. His hand inched toward his bonesaw. "Doktor, Doktor..." the Heavy held up his hands and stepped away from the door, allowing it to swing shut behind him. "What is?" "I- " the Medic swallowed hard. "I cannot do the thing you vish." "... what does little Doktor think I want?" The Heavy's broad face showed a mixture of confusion, worry and amusement. "I can tell from kissing, you are not do it often." "I." The Medic pulled in on himself. "I, never." "Kissing man? Is not so different to kissing woman, da?" "Not vomen," the Medic struggled to regain his cool composure. "Not anyone." The Heavy barked with surprised laughter, even as the Medic froze over like a lake in Siberia. "So sorry, is not to laugh." The Heavy reined himself in. "Is just, Scout will be writer, when he grows up. If he grows up," the Russian amended, seeing the German's expression. "What... do you mean?" The ice on the lake was creaking dangerously. "He tells stories. The Nazi Medic, lady prisoner of war, lady spy," the large man gestured vaguely. "... the sex-torture-games." "Disgusting," snapped the Medic. "And... I vas never a member of the Party." "So wrong about us," the Heavy smiled sadly. "I was never in the Communist Party, either. If I was, would not be in American wasteland now." "Is that truly what they think of me?" "You are man of ice. No-one knows what you have done." "I have done... nothing." "But why? Handsome man, strong, smart." The Heavy thumped the Medic's shoulder. "I have never desired," the Medic replied. "I think you desire against the side of crate, da?" the Heavy teased gently. "The Medigun... changes things." "Feels good," the Russian shrugged. "Not so good." "I would not know what it feels like to receive. But to fire- it is amazing." The Heavy eyed the healing cannon speculatively. "Doktor... may I?" He gestured toward the gun. The Medic looked slightly shocked, but considered the offer. "I suppose. Vhy not?" He lifted the cannon and passed it to the Heavy. "The operation is simple. The beam is deployed by depressing the handle. This is the fuel meter, this is the Ãœbercharge indicator." "Fuel is full," the Heavy remarked happily as the device powered up. "Of course. I recharge it after each battle." "Smart, very smart. Scout, I know, does not always do this. I see tiny man run around base before battle, grabbing bullets here and there." The Heavy hefted the Medigun's arm, leaving the tank on the floor. "Look at me." The Medic turned to face the Heavy. Cradling the Medigun in one massive hand, the Russian pressed the lever with two fingers. The red beam leapt forth, caressing the Medic. He had bandaged the stinging wound on his shoulder, but it healed instantly under the soothing rays, leaving nothing but a warm tingle. The effect of the beam was relaxing yet energising, a tantalising hint of the feeling of an Ãœbercharge. The Heavy grinned, watching the Medic bask in the red light. "Is good?" The Medic's life had been largely barren of sensual pleasures, and the feeling of being overhealed was unique. He felt powerful, brave, ready for anything. This slow build was different from the sudden wash of invincibility that accompanied the Ãœbercharge. He couldn't feel the Heavy's heartbeat, not yet, but he felt a full-body urge toward the other man. His lips and fingertips burned with the need for contact. Constrained by the stiff fabric of his clothing, his nipples and the tip of his penis tingled. The Medic moaned softly. "Da, Doktor," the Heavy panted. Staying at arm's length so as not to interrupt the beam, the Medic took off his gloves and reached toward the Heavy. He touched the large man's fingertips on the Medigun's handle, the bare skin revealed by the back of the Russian's fingerless gloves. He caressed the Heavy's bare forearm, then noticed a blinking light on the cannon. "The charge, mein Heavy. It is ready. Press the button to deploy it." He could not keep his voice steady. The Heavy pressed the button, surrounding the Medic and himself in a fiery corona. With no enemies attacking them, no bombs bouncing off them, the Medic could explore the effects of the Ãœbercharge. He stroked the Heavy's arm, watching how the halo rippled, breathing in time with the big man. Their heartbeats thundered together, deafening him to all other sounds. The instant the charge ended, the Medic lunged at the Heavy. He kissed him, pawed at him, ground against him and growled in frustration. "Da, da," the Heavy laughed, "but like this." He put a gentle hand on the Medic's jaw. "Close the mouth mostly, let the lips slide apart..." he guided the German into a more skilled kiss. "Everyone can learn something, da?" "You think I am a fool, that I do not already know." "I did not say this. But, is more fun than Medigun, lasts longer than Ãœbercharge." "You vould say that, it is not your veapon of choice. Is it more fun than Sasha?" In the absence of the Ãœbercharge, the Medic was torn between fear and an unusual giddiness. The huge man made a see-saw gesture. "Maybe, maybe. Is not so hard on back." The Medic laughed, trying to fend off his rising nervousness. "Perhaps, then, I should learn this skill." "Da," the Heavy smiled, rubbing the Medic's back. "First lesson, be naked." He tugged at the German's white coat, still missing its buttons. The Medic stiffened again. This was logical, a known aspect of sexual activity, but..."Nein-" "What is?" The Heavy ceased his pawing to kiss the Medic again. "You have seen naked man before. Is Doktor, part of job!" "I have never been naked as vell." "What, is no banya in Germany? Is why you are all so cold!" The Russian thumped the Medic's shoulder lightly. "You take off my clothing, I take off yours. No hurry, da?" He kissed the Medic again. "Ja," the German agreed finally. He put a hand on the Heavy's chest. It proved much easier for the Heavy to strip the Medic than vice-versa. The big man's fingers were surprisingly deft when it came to undoing the Medic's tie and remaining buttons, but all the Medic managed to do was to wruck the Heavy's vest and shirt up over his giant shoulders. The Heavy chuckled as he extracted himself, and stripped away both of their shirts. The Medic had seen the Heavy's bare chest before, it wasn't as though he didn't know what to expect- but this time, the bare flesh stood in relation to his own. He had always been privileged to touch, but now the Heavy could touch him in return. It was almost entirely unique in his experience. He forced himself to reach out first, to at least be the one initiating the encounter. The Heavy's skin was warm, amazingly soft, and he had hardly any chest hair. The Russian ran his own hands over the Medic's hairy chest, eliciting a gasp when his thumb brushed a nipple. He laughed again- he was always quick to laugh, the Medic reflected, trying not to take it personally- and bent to lick the sensitive nub. This was unbearable. The Medic groaned involuntarily, thrusting his hips toward the Heavy without thinking. The big man took this as an invitation, seizing the Medic around the waist and pawing him firmly. Breathing harshly, the Medic suppressed the urge to shove the Heavy away. He couldn't seem to control his limbs- his fingers and toes curled spasmodically as the Heavy pressed against him. "You are allowed to hug back, Doktor," the Russian pointed out. "I, ah!" The Medic clutched the Heavy as the large man resumed his tongue-bath. "Are you planning to eat me?" "Yes!" The Heavy's grin was lewd, predatory, and very enthusiastic. The Medic was embarrassed by the sound of his own whimpering as the Heavy undid his belt and fly. His breathing was rapid, out of control. As the Heavy kissed a line from his mouth to his collarbone, the Medic began to tremble. By the time the Heavy had reached his navel, the shivering had gone from erotic nervousness to convulsive shudders. "Sh, shh, little Doktor. What is wrong? I will not REALLY eat you!" The Heavy looked up at the other man. The Medic's eyes were terror-wide, his face ashen. The Russian moved up on the bed to sit beside the German again. "What is problem?" "I do not know. I just... cannot." The Medic hung his head. His hair was askew, his forehead bathed in cold sweat. "Sh, Doktor. You were happy before, da?" The Heavy rubbed the Medic's back, then wrapped an arm around him, their bare skin touching. They sat like that for a while, until the Medic's shuddering ceased. "Is all right?" The Medic didn't reply. The Heavy stroked his back again, thinking. Suddenly, he leapt up, grabbing his shirt. "Wait here!" He pushed the Medic firmly onto the bed and tucked the scratchy wool blanket around him. Struggling into his shirt, the Heavy bolted into the hall. Lying dazed on his own bed, the Medic wondered what the Heavy could possibly be doing. Had he gone to get vodka? The German was aware that intoxication was the traditional way to lose one's virginity, but being pawed while nauseated seemed even less appealing than what he had already been doing. Had the Heavy gone to seek some more obscure folk remedy or Bolshevik marital aid? When the Heavy reappeared with a roll of duct tape, the Medic nearly went into hysterics. "Vhat on Earth is that for?!" he hissed from under his blanket. He was so busy staring in terror at the industrial tape that he didn't even see the small tube that the Heavy set on the nightstand. "For Medigun!" the Heavy's smile was bright and broad. "I borrow from Engineer!" "Vhy tell the Engineer vhat ve are doing?!" The Medic was aghast. The Heavy boomed with laughter. "Poor Doktor! I did not tell! Just asked, pretty please, for tape." He peeled off a long strip, then pushed the lever of the Medigun. As soon as he had gotten the soothing red beam locked onto the Medic, he taped the handle in position and balanced the cannon on its side on the Medic's chair. "Now you relax, da?" Slowly, as the Heavy settled beside him without interrupting the beam, the Medic did relax. The big man's hands were warm and steady. "... Ja." "We go into battle together every day. We make good team." The Heavy kissed the Medic's ear. "This is good. Have fun." "I... will try," the Medic promised. "I take off pants first," the Heavy offered. "Just like in Doktor's office." The Heavy stripped off his shirt, then performed the contortions necessary for a large man to take off his pants and boots while already sitting down. "Bare, da? Harmless." "You scarcely look harmless," the Medic joked nervously, gesturing down to the Heavy's erection. "Pah, tiny thing," the Heavy waved dismissively. "No danger to man who laugh at bullets." He touched the freshly-healed skin on the Medic's shoulder. The Medic took a deep breath, and looked at the Heavy's smile. "I suppose it is not fair that I am still wearing trousers." "It is not," the Heavy agreed. "I help." He tugged off the Medic's boots, briefly massaging each foot before stripping off the socks as well. Enjoying both the Heavy's sure hands, the Medic cooperated in getting rid of his trousers and boxers. Naked together, it wasn't as bad as he had feared. The Medigun was keeping him warm, and his teammate seemed sincere in his willingness to move gently. The big man kissed the Medic's knee, and looked into his eyes. "I try again." "I, also." The Medic lay back as the Heavy kissed up along his thigh. It was strange, lying in the beam of his own Medigun, watching his teammate's bald head and broad back between his own legs. The tingling gathering in his extremities again reminded the Medic that it might not be all bad. That was the last coherent thought the Medic had before the Heavy's mouth engulfed him. As safe and strong as the Medigun's dry warmth made him feel, this wet warmth made him feel helpless, ecstatic. He writhed and moaned, feeling his orgasm mere instants away. "Shhh Doktor," the Heavy soothed again, for an entirely new reason. He lifted his head from the Medic's lap. "Slow, slow." The Heavy resumed licking and sucking, carefully, pausing every few seconds. The Medic felt as though he were melting into the other man. Nothing he had felt before, not even the Ãœbercharge, could compare to the feeling of the Heavy's mouth on his cock, on his thigh, the huge hands massaging his balls, his nipples, his ass. The Medic cried out again in surprise, as one of the Heavy's fingers slipped between his buttocks. "Vas-" he moaned. "Is good, Doktor. You will like." The Heavy reached over to the nightstand and retrieved the lubricant that he had brought from the Medic's own office. Thoroughly coating one large finger, he slid it down the Medic's cock, over his balls, back down toward his ass. "Breathe, Doktor, you need air." The Medic did as he was told, mind dissolving in the strange pleasures that the Heavy was providing. The Heavy did not press in with his fingers. Instead, he teased the sensitive skin, much as his tongue was teasing the head of the Medic's cock. He seemed to be waiting for the Medic to come to him; it wasn't long before the German was bucking and writhing in search of more sensation. Moving slowly, the huge man coaxed his new lover into taking his own pleasure. The Medic was certain he would go insane with this pleasure. He was deep in the Heavy's mouth, the Heavy's finger was deep inside him- it had stretched and stung going in, but some deep urge had kept him pressing down and suddenly the sensation was perfect. The barest motion of the Heavy's finger across that tight muscle reverberated through his entire body, in perfect harmony with the vibrations as the Heavy moaned around his cock. Unable to wait a moment longer, with the Heavy finally willing to comply and continue, the Medic reached his climax. The warm, wet perfection of the Heavy's mouth upon him only increased as the big man swallowed, and the sensation of his own body tightening around that huge finger brought the orgasm cresting beyond anything the Medic had ever known. Screaming and pleading in German, the Medic bucked down onto the Heavy's finger. Even as his orgasm ebbed away, the gentle waves of pleasure continued in the aftershocks. The Heavy was still moving his hand, gently stirring the sensations without touching the Medic's cock any more. The Medic lay spread-eagle and sweaty on his own bed, the Heavy's warm cheek against his thigh as he let his eyes slide closed. "Mm, Doktor," the Heavy moaned, shifting until he was kneeling between the Medic's knees. "Bitte, don't stop, bitte," the Medic sighed. "No worry!" The Heavy used his free hand to spread the Medic's legs wider. It was fine. Whatever the Heavy did now was fine, as long as he kept pressing that finger deep inside, coaxing out these new, more gentle waves of pleasure. The Heavy's hand disappeared for a moment, came back to stroke the Medic's face, disappeared again, and was suddenly supporting the Medic's ass. What wasn't fine was when the big man withdrew his finger. The Medic groaned in protest, hoping to coax the Heavy to continue. He groaned again in pleasure when the finger was replaced. This sensation was new, rougher, and the Medic felt vaguely that it was building in tempo. His eyes slid open, and he realised that the Heavy was... was fucking him. The larger man was going slowly, guiding his cock as gently as he had moved his finger, but the flush on his face and chest suggested he could not suppress his pace forever. The realisation hit the Medic like a flash of fire. What he had avoided for so long, what he had feared and craved, it was happening. He was in his own bed, under the beam of his own Medigun, in the arms of his most trusted teammate, and it was perfect. He gasped, breathing in a great draught of the Heavy's soapy scent and his own musk. "I hurt you, Doktor?" the Heavy paused mid-thrust. "Nein, nein, ich-" the Medic struggled to formulate a coherent sentence. "Oh, don't stop!" was all he could manage, wrapping his legs around the Heavy's waist. The Heavy moaned and began to move faster. The pleasure that the Medic felt was building- his cock was only barely plumping again, nowhere near a full erection. The motion of the Heavy, on top of him, inside him, was the pleasure in itself. The Medic moved with him, opened for him, kissed him when he offered his mouth. The shock of tasting his own semen on the other man's lips sent a shudder through the Medic. His body tightened, but when that made the Heavy move more frantically, it proved to be worth it. The Medic wrapped around him, arms and legs, wanting to be closer, wanting more. Something was still missing. Letting his head fall back, the Medic glanced around the room. The Medigun was still pumping out its healing rays- and the Ãœbercharge meter was blinking. Gasping in pleasure and inspiration, the Medic sat up slightly under his Heavy. The Heavy moved with him, chasing him, thrusting to stay inside him, as the Medic stretched out his arm to deploy the charge. The halo of red fire blazed around them, joining their heartbeats, removing the ignored aches that had been building in the Medic's thighs and the Heavy's back. The Heavy made one final thrust, slamming deep into the Medic's body, and roared as the orgasm rushed through him. The Medic roared as well, their heartbeats synchronising perfectly with the throb of the Heavy's orgasm and the waves of the Medic's own pleasure. When the Ãœbercharge faded, they were left looking at each other, blue eyes locked together, heartbeats slowing in unison. "I see you have a thing to teach me, too, Doktor," the Heavy said as he collapsed on the bed beside his lover.
Oh...my god. First Time For Everything...is now my favorite fanfic. You write the Heavy and the Medic so well!
Marty, everything you write turns into platinum. I love you so much. Words cannot express.
I love you Marty.
Given Hai's sincere and repeated squeakings for "Trucks'n'vans," I provide a repost of some PWP. -------------------------------------- GENTLE The Engineer's large finger rasped down the Sniper's stubble. "You ready for this?" They lay together on the battlements, the starry desert sky arching away above them. The sounds of life in the desert night were all around them: crickets chirping, birdsong, the trilling of lizards. "Nahhh, I just got a stiffy for no reason." The Australian wrapped his long legs around the Texan's sturdy waist. "It's just... I'm sorta Texas-sized, if'n you know what I mean." "I got eyes, mate, damn good'uns, and I'm no virgin." "Just double-checkin'." The Engineer gently pressed his lubricated cock against the Sniper's ass, stroking the other man's narrow hips as he did so. He went slowly, but the sniper was still overwhelmed. "Ohh oh bloody 'Ell, mate, yer bleedin' 'uge!" "I did say... and go easy, avoidin' 'bloody' and 'bleedin'' is what this here languorous pace is alllll about," the Engineer drawled soothingly. "Let me try this..." he pumped his hips gently back and forth, stroking the Sniper's cock in time with his strokes. The Sniper panted and moaned, unable to do anything but put his hands on the Texan's shoulders to pull him close. "Ya like that all right? Then test-drive this one." The Engineer changed his pace, still moving gently, but now syncopating his strokes and his thrusts. "Auhh... ngh!" Eyes rolling back in his head, the Sniper tightened his legs around the American's waist. A cool breeze blew in over the battlements from the desert, raising the hair on the back of the Sniper's neck and cooling the sweat on the Engineer's shoulders. "I do believe that's workin' all right." The Engineer slid his hands under the Sniper's arms to grasp the rangy man's shoulders. Though he was no longer stroking the Australian's cock, it was trapped between their bellies, getting delicious friction as the Texan thrust deep. Seeing stars, his own breath roaring in his ears, the Sniper gasped out, "Oh god... oh, mate, I'm gonna-" "Yes! Go, go!" The Engineer pulled the Sniper close, intensifying the sensation a hundredfold. The Sniper gave a short, sharp cry and spilled his semen between them. Riding the other man's throes of pleasure, the Engineer came as well. He whooped and hollered his pleasure for the whole desert to hear. "Oof... ride 'em, cow boy," the Sniper smiled, slightly awkwardly, as the Engineer collapsed beside him.
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>>56 ... ...lol thank you :'v squeak
God, I love you so much, man. Seriously. These make my fucking day, and that's saying something considering how shitty they have been these past few months... Thank you so much.
I've never read any of these before and they're awesome thanks for sharing. The sniper/medic one is excellent, if you have others like that you should post them.
Aaaaah, I am glad to see all these delicious reposts. Exploratory Surgery was actually the first TF2 fic I ever read. Talk about a hell of an introduction to the fandom. Needless to say, it's just as delightfully bizarre now as it was the first time I read it. Good show, Marty. And if I may, I'd also like to join the cries for a repost of Detachable Sniper.
Does anyone have Detachable Sniper? Or the one where Spy gets kidnapped by a Soldier?
>>62 I don't think I ever wrote anything with Spy and Soldier. Did I? I mean, I lose track. But Spy is wicked hard for me to write. I'm about as sneaky as a yam, so I can't write sneaky any good. Here's Detachable Sniper, though. Do you guys really not mind me spamming the chan with all my stuff? Someone else write some smut, please. ------------------------------------------ DETACHABLE SNIPER: PART 1 The RED Sniper respawned, groaning slightly at the nausea. Some respawns were smoother than others, and that had been a bad one. Settling his akubra firmly on his head, he ignored the churning in his guts and loped back toward the battlements. The day ended in a disappointing stalemate, with RED in possession of only one control point. Grumbling his disappointment, the Sniper headed off to the mess to get dinner.That was when he noticed something... off. He prided himself on his ability to ignore anything that wasn't actively stabbing him in the back during battle. Now, though, his pants weren't fitting right. He ducked discreetly behind a shed to adjust himself. In the middle of sliding his hand down his pants, the Sniper froze. Panic clutched at his guts. His fingertips had encountered the smooth skin of his belly,then his pubic hair, then... nothing. Clutching desperately at his groin, he still didn't encounter the familiar contours of his wedding tackle. Nothing! His hand clenched convulsively, and hit a sensitive spot that proved that there was Something there. Looking around furtively to ensure that all of his teammates were elsewhere, the Sniper hiked down his pants to have a better look. There was his belly, as he'd remembered it, his pubes were all present and correct... no sign of his dick or balls. He pushed aside the pubic hair, as if they might have hidden, and discovered a tender nub. Shoving his fingers further underneath, he encountered a delicate area of hairless skin that stuck painfully to his dry fingertips, as if he'd suddenly jerked down his foreskin. He pulled his hand away quickly, then forced himself to smell his fingertips. It was the smell that made it real. He'd seen mirages shimmering in the desert before now, but the lack of water smell had proven that they were just the sun frying the very air. This, though... his fingertips smelled like the sea. They smelled like him, like his crotch always did, but with an added tang of salt humidity. Fighting down the shock, he ran back to the base. By the time he got to the mess hall, everyone else was already tucking in. It had been the Soldier's turn to cook, which invariably meant tinned soup and crackers. Sniper was not hungry. "Medic," he hissed, seizing a handful of the German's coat. "Medic, I need yer help." "Can it not vait until after dinner?" the Medic fastidiously set down his spoon so that the Australian's grabbing wouldn't splash soup on his coat. "No. Now!" The Sniper's eyes were crazed behind his yellow aviators. the Medic sighed and followed him to the infirmary. "So, vhat seems to be the problem?" "I. My." The Sniper choked on the words. "Doc, me john thomas 'as done a bunk. I think it was that bloody Respawn." "Herr Sniper, you must speak Englisch." Hyperventilating slightly, the Sniper tried again. "My penis didn't come through Respawn with me." The Medic took a moment to absorb this, then frowned. "Interesting. Take off your clothing und let me see." It said something about the Sniper's state of mind that he immediately obeyed the order to strip naked in front of the terrifying Medic. He kicked off his boots and pants and stood square in front of the Medic, revealing his groin. "Großer Gott." The Medic stared. "Sit on the exam table." The Sniper did as he was told, reluctantly parting his knees. The Medic stared. "It seems you have been transformed into a woman." "Bloody Hell, no." "But that is a... vagina." "Yes, but I ain't a woman! Look, just... fix it, right?" Sticking with what he knew, the Medic readied his Medigun and aimed the beam between the Sniper's legs. The Sniper swallowed a gasp at the warm caress of the healing ray. He'd never felt it square on his groin before, and it was good. Embarrassingly good, with the Medic's icy stare boring into him. The Sniper felt his tender flesh pulse, felt a slide of wetness. Going red, he slammed his legs shut and looked away. "Stop that. It's not growin' me penis back." "Curious," the Medic said. "It is not behaving as a wound; it is a perfectly healthy vagina. Perhaps it is an error vith your Respawn template. Lie back on the table, I vish to make a pelvic examination." He wiggled his fingers inside his long rubber gloves. "Like Hell you say!" The Sniper leapt off the table and scrabbled for his pants. "If it's a Respawn error, maybe Truckie'll know what to do." He jammed on his clothing and fled the infirmary with the Medic trailing in his wake. "'Ey, Truckie..." they caught the Texan doing the washing-up. "I had a... a problem during Respawn today." "How do you mean?" The Engineer scrubbed a plate. "I, uh. Not all of me came through." The Engineer dropped the plate with a clatter, and stared at the Sniper in horror. It was obvious that he was counting the Australian's limbs. "What- what's missin'?" "I'd rather not say out 'ere, Truckie, an' that's a fact." The Engineer dried his hands, and together they trouped to the Respawn room. The Engineer opened the panel that covered the system interface, and brought up the Sniper's data before he dared to ask. "So, ah... what... " "Me willy," the Sniper said shortly. The Engineer's mouth compressed into a grim line. "Well, I hate to say this, but we already knew your respawn template was corrupted." "Since WHEN?!" This was news to the Sniper. "That scar," the Engineer pointed. The Australian touched his cheek. The long, thin scar had shown up, unexplained, after Respawn one day. "Mate, there is a world of difference between a little nick like this and... and what happened to me now!" "Not really," the Engineer said calmly, reviewing the lines of code that represented everything that the Sniper ever was, or did, or knew. "Every time you respawn, the teleporter technology downloads this code an' translates it into an exact duplicate of your genotype an' phenotype at the moment you signed on with RED. But your code has been corrupted. It's..." he turned toward the Sniper and took off his helmet. "I'm sorry to say, it's like a cancer. That line across your face: maybe it's not a scar, maybe it was just the first matrix vector of your code to corrupt. You might be... losing data points. When they go, in theory they could take body parts with them." He hesitated. "So where did... is it like a scar, or what?" The Sniper felt sick. The idea of his body unravelling in slow motion, dissolving as the Respawn failed, was the sort of thing he'd had to work hard not to think about when he'd first signed on with RED. Bits of him falling away like some high-tech leper- his stomach lurched. But, and he realised that he was grasping at a desperate hope, his genitals weren't totally missing, just... replaced. "No," he told the Engineer. "No, it's- different." "Different how?" asked the Engineer, his sunburnt face pale as paper. "I mean," he punched rapidly at the keyboard, "If I restore your template, like so, and you Respawn again, you should come out back to normal, but I-" The words 'Respawn again' and 'back to normal' were all the Sniper needed to hear. He grabbed the Engineer's pistol, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. The Sniper hung for a subjective eternity in the timeless nothingness of Respawn, then landed, nauseated, back in the Resupply. As soon as he had hands again, he stuck one down his pants. "It's no bloody USE!" he cried. "I still have a fucking VAGINA!" Only then did he realise that basically the entire team was now standing around, staring at him. "They came runnin' when they heard the pistol," the Engineer explained. "Ve only told them that you had a Respawn accident. Ve did not mention that you are now a voman." "I ain't a woman!" "Females have no place on the battlefield!" the Soldier barked. "You will be discharged!" "I'm not a woman, and since when am I cloggin' around the field with you yobs?" "Leetle woman can still be credit to team," the Heavy opined. "I'm still taller than yer! An' I'm NOT a woman!" "Can we see it?" the Scout piped up, and the room fell silent. A total of eleven eyes and four black glass lenses focused on the Sniper's lanky frame. The Spy's hand twitched, the Demoman licked his lips, and the Scout had an obvious boner. "Sod off, the lot of you!" The Sniper brandished his kukri to define an expanded personal space. "Any of you wankers so much as touches me, I'll carve yer a hole of yer own!" The tendons stood out in his neck. "Huddah," said the Pyro, holding up his (?) hands. "Hrm huddah hud hud. Hmphawa." Herding his (for the sake of argument) colleagues away from the Sniper, he gently ushered them out of the room. As he left, he threw the Sniper a thumbs-up.
DETACHABLE SNIPER: PART 2 The Sniper had hoped that this would all be a bad dream, but when he woke up the next morning, his trouser situation was exactly the same. He gritted his teeth, kitted up and made himself some coffee. When the battle siren went off, he went down to the Resupply room to gather with his team, pausing only to kick over a bundle of desert flowers someone had left on the bumper of his van. "You, dismiss!" the Soldier barked the moment that the Australian walked through the door. "I am not having a woman on MY battlefield!" "I ain't a woman, and it'll bloody well be the BLU's battlefield if you don't have cover fire!" The Sniper managed a ghastly grin. "Or maybe you just want to get milled through Respawn a few times, see what goes missin'?" "He has a point, Solly," the Engineer said. "We have to be practical about this. We can't afford to be down a sniper, regardless of, uh, his condition." Everyone stomped off to the battle field in a bad temper. For the Sniper, it was a great relief to slip into the meditative, professional mindset of calmly and neatly shooting in the head as many people as possible. The Soldier seemed to be working out his unresolved issues via his shovel and others' skulls. Somewhat to the Sniper's surprise, RED carried the day. The general mood on the base was much improved that evening, and while the Sniper avoided the Soldier, he accepted a celebratory shot of scrumpie from the Demoman. After just one, he made his excuses and headed out to his camper. He didn't think that the Demoman would try to get him drunk and take advantage, but the bizarre appeal of his new genitalia was making him paranoid. Once he was safely locked in his camper with the lights out, he had to admit that paranoia wasn't the only gut feeling that was worrying him. What with one thing and another, he hadn't had a wank for several days before his transformation. Not that he believed any of the old wives' tales about touching yourself, he just hadn't got round to it. In point of fact, he was horny. Scratch that- he was desperate. He'd had a rich enough life to know that women were capable of feeling pleasure. He even fancied that he'd managed to provide it a time or two. However, he wasn't at all certain how that applied to his new bits. None of the geography was what he was used to. He caught a thought and barked out a laugh- here he was, exploring the uncharted bush again! Unsure quite what to do, he slid a fingertip down along his clit. Did that even feel like anything? He couldn't tell. He tried rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, a miniature version of what he might have done with his cock. It seemed to work acceptably well. He wiggled his butt into the mattress to get a comfortable position and kept stroking himself. With the door locked, the Sniper was able to ignore what his teammates might think about his altered body, what it might mean to the outside world. He concentrated instead on how it felt, and it felt damned good. He slid his clit between two fingers, bucking up into his own hand. Blimey, that was good. He did it harder, faster, then teased himself with delicate strokes until his thighs were trembling. Biting his lip and panting, he pressed down harder again, one fingertip sliding into the deeper slippery warmth between his thighs. That was all it took to ignite a familiar white-hot pleasure inside him. His abdominal muscles tightened in their usual luxuriant waves, and he heaved a deep sigh of bliss. There was some relief in there, too- thank goodness that still worked. However, instead of being ready to roll over and go to sleep once he'd finished shaking, Sniper found that he ached for more. The sensitive flesh at his body's unexpected opening cried out for stimulation- the fingertip had been nice, but not enough. Half an hour ago, he might have balked at the thought of something inside him. Now, though, he was flying high on pleasure and desperation. He sucked on his left index finger and slid it in. Christ that was good- he spread his legs wider to get more. He had a fucking perfect pussy: hot, slick and tight, everything he'd dreamt of during celibate years stationed in the desert. Panting, he slid his finger deeper and resumed touching his clit. The pleasure made his internal muscles squeeze down on his finger, and that supple movement caused another, more cerebral burst of pleasure. For a moment, he wished that he still had a dick, so that he could fuck his own amazing cunt. The absurdity of the thought made him laugh, and that made him tighten around his finger again. He moaned and pushed both hands down onto himself. This was amazing, just bloody amazing. He slid a second finger in beside the first, and cried out at the sensation of resistance against the tender musculature. Thrusting his hips up to meet his hands, he moaned with abandon. He could feel the muscles tightening, so he pressed two fingers into himself up to the second knuckle, then rolled them back and forth past a pleasurably narrow area. "Oh, fuckin' Hell, YEAH," he moaned as he scissored his fingers inside himself. "Ohgodohgodohgod-" Once, as a young man, he'd managed to wank several times in a row, but each subsequent orgasm had been weaker. This time, though, the orgasm was stronger than the first. He was shaking all over, waves of hot and cold flowing through him. As he was coming down, the Sniper wiggled his fingers inside himself once more, just out of curiosity. His hooked middle finger slid over something deep up inside him that made him scream out loud from the intensity of the pleasure it provided. Head thrown back, mouth slack and eyes wide, the Sniper drew several panting breaths. Almost of its own volition, his middle finger curled up over that spot again. It was firm, slightly raised, and conveniently situated exactly finger-length inside him. It also continued to feel howlingly amazing each time he stroked it. He dropped his right hand to clutch at the bedsheets and let the heel of his left press against his clit as he continued to finger himself. When he came for the third time, the Sniper's body was arched, almost levitating off his bed, supported only by his shoulders and the balls of his feet. His fingers and toes clutched the sheets and he couldn't stop the torrent of screams, curses and pleas flooding from his lips. Drenched with sweat and paralytic with pleasure, he fell back to the bed. If only he could stay awake, he'd do this all night. Maybe lying on his stomach... he was barely conscious enough to wipe his hand on the sheets before passing out completely. At lunch the next day, the Engineer approached the Sniper, smiling. "I do believe I've found a fix for, ah, your problem." "Yeah?" The Sniper glanced over the rim of his coffee mug. "Yeah. Your template ain't corrupted, it's just a matter of the phenotype coding of your protein matrix. I think that if I tweak the assembler arrays in Respawn, I can get you back to your old self." "You... think?" "Well, eighty-seven point nine percent certainty." "And what about those other percentage points?" "Ah... eight percent, no effect, three percent complicated failure, one percent catastrophic failure, and zero point one percent all life as we know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light." "You know, Truckie, thanks for working so hard on this, but all things considered, I'm fine how things are."
Say, does anyone have the illustrations that people made for this? They were fucking lolz. Put them in the fanfic art thread over yonder, http://tf2chan.net/fanart/res/25.html if you do! ---------------------------------------------------- DETACHABLE SNIPER: PART 3 As far as the Sniper was concerned, nothing important had changed. The production of Jarate had become a bit of a nuisance, and he'd been having some incredible orgasms, but the alteration of his... equipment had no impact on his professional life. Not that you'd know that to ask his idiot teammates, though. The Soldier, Medic, Spy and Scout were all convinced that he was a woman; not only that he was a woman, but that this somehow made him unfit for battle, or at least too fragile to risk it. Bugger that; he'd slept in the corpse of a water buffalo tougher than any of them. The Heavy also seemed to think that he was a woman, but he'd been raised with a Communist party line that said women were equal to men in every way, so at least he didn't treat the Sniper like some kind of porcelain doll. He had, however, secretly left bouquets of desert flowers on and around the Sniper's camper van. The Australian couldn't help but wonder what the Medic might think of that. You heard stories about those two. The Demoman was almost worse. To his mind, the Sniper was now a hermaphrodite, a mythical monster that "proved" the existence of every other Scrumpy-fuelled hallucination the man had ever had. That, AND it seemed like he still wanted to have sex. Sniper wasn't sure what kind of sex one might have with a mythical monster, and was more than a bit afraid that the Demoman's Loch Ness Monster fixation might come into it somewhere. The only two teammates who still treated him in any way approaching normal were the Pyro and the Engineer. He'd sit with them at meals, and he even thought he was beginning to understand what the Pyro was saying in conversation. He'd taken a few pieces of advice from the Pyro- how to barricade the shower room doors while he bathed, for one. About the only place he still felt totally comfortable was his camper. No-one there to waggle their eyebrows at him, like the Demoman did, or sneak peeks like the Heavy did, or openly stare at his crotch with a boner, like the Scout did. Home, sweet home, he thought, closing the door of his rank little den behind him. "Bonjour." The sizzling sound of a Spy's cloak dropping behind him made the Sniper's hair stand on end. He whipped around, kukri in hand, to see his own team's Spy lying on his bunk. He didn't know what was worse- the invasion of his privacy, or the fact that the Spy was lying there, coat and vest off, shirt unbuttoned and showing off copious chest hair and a gold chain necklace. No, what was definitely worst was that the Spy had gotten rose petals from somewhere and strewn them around the bed. "Get out of my bloody god-damned camper van!" the Sniper cried. "Mais non, mon cher." The Spy stroked a lazy hand down his exposed chest. "You do not truly want me to go." "I am bleeding POSITIVE that I do." "You are just... frustrated." The Spy looked at the Sniper with what he clearly hoped were seductive bedroom eyes. "Come to me, mon petit chou-fleur." "I know that means 'cauliflower,' and even if jabbering nonsense in Frog-speak works on the BLU Scout's mum, it won't work on me." "So, you have seen the photos, oui? You know the heights of ecstasy to which I can bring a woman." "I ain't a woman." The Sniper gritted his teeth. "I can please you as no ozzer man ever has." "No other man EVER has, that's the whole point! However, you are bloody well managing to ANNOY me like no other man ever has, which is some trick considering the BLU Spy is usually an even bigger wanker than you!" "Wanking... is not what I have in mind, mon cher." The Spy cupped the bulge in the front of his elegantly-cut trousers. It's very awkward to kill someone at close quarters with a precision long-range rifle, but the Sniper managed somehow. He didn't even mind that he had to wrap the brain-stained sheets around Spy's headless corpse, because that at least gave him an easy way to get rid of the rose petals as well. 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.
Oh Marty, how could we mind? You write amazing! As for myself, I'm a very new lurker to this chan (I found it post-crash) so everything here is new to me. Also, is there more Detachable Sniper? :3
>>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.â€
“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. -------------------------------------------- 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