This certainly wasn't the first time a knife had come out between himself and Pyro, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. They were enemies, after all, Pyro with RED and Spy with BLU. Before they're started fucking, they had had the same kind of relationship as most enemy Spies and Pyros had: to put it lightly, they didn't exactly care for one another. Really, though, things weren't much different between them now, only with the addition of certain violent sexual energy. Most of the time when they encountered each other on the field, it would be either a quick backstab or a slow incineration, and one of them would come out the victor. Business as usual. But sometimes, when Pyro (never Spy. He likes to think he's got more self control than the mumbling lunatic.) is more pent-up and sexually-frustrated than usual, things will go differently. Sometimes Pyro won't even bother to drag them to a secluded spot before starting the process of stripping the Frenchman's suit from him. Times like today. Unlike all those other times, though, he didn't just strip off Spy's suit impatiently and with many grumbled huffs. He yanked hard and eventually tore, earning a loud yelp from the rogue and a smack upside the head. When the firestarter was undeterred, only pouncing on the Spy and ripping at his clothes with increased spirit, Spy shoved him away, demanding to know what on earth he was doing. When Pyro came at him again he sidestepped the advance on twinkle-toes. He faked left and Pyro lunged at him. Off to the right he sprinted, fiddling with his cloaking device as he went. The damn thing was charging. He needed to keep away from the mumbling psycho just long enough to cloak and make a sneaky getaway. Pyro followed how on his tail as he rounded a corner. He tried to duck behind a large rock obstruction, but within a heartbeat Pyro was after him. The firebug caught him by the back of his collar, and he had to fashion a hasty escape by slipping out of his jacket and taking off in the direction he'd come from first. He ran into his own Scout, who made some crack about him being a prancing faggot as he passed. He knew a scuffle with Scout wouldn't last long enough to subdue the Pyro for more than a few seconds, and he cursed the boy for being so useless as his death cry rang out. Not even good at dying. Pathetic. Before he turned his next corner, he took a glance down at his cloaking device and noted, with as much relief as the situation allowed, that it was nearly charged. He felt smug and clever as he turned the corner and got ready to deploy his newly-charged escape... until the shovel the connected with the side of his head put a stop to it. The RED stood over him with his trademark war snarl. His shovel was raised over his head for another, possibly fatal, blow. Suddenly, there was a series of explosions and the Soldier was thoroughly distracted. There was no better competitor than the enemy Demoman, after all. Spy knew what was coming next and he slunk away and hit the dirt. Still, the rocket jump the Soldier used to propel himself up to his enemy shook the very earth and sent the Spy flying. A few feet away he lay dazed on the ground, seeing metaphorical stars. When he regained his wits and got to his feet he remembered his situation and glanced at his cloak. He nearly laughed out loud in victory when he saw that it was fully charged. He engaged it just as he was yanked off his balance and dragged off backwards to a semi-secluded gap behind a rock formation. His cloak failed and the air was knocked out of him as he was tossed into the wall. Rough rock bit into his back. With a fizzle his cloak fell and there Pyro was standing, shorter than him but still managing to look terribly intimidating. Spy tried to stammer out a warning, a threat, something to let Pyro know that what he was doing was not playful and sexy in the least. Pyro interrupted him by punching him in the face. While he was recovering, the firebug skillfully divested Spy of his balisong, tucked in an inside pocket of his vest. He flicked it open in a steely display of dexterity that Spy wouldn't have thought him capable of. Now unarmed, Spy's struggles increased tenfold. He might have had his pride, but he was not stupid. If wrestling the Pyro off himself like nothing more than an animal (or a filthy bushman) would save him from whatever plot the Pyro had in his sick little head, then so be it. Cunning strategy and gentlemanliness be damned, Pyro was kinky. Though he struggled with all his might, his wiry frame was no match for Pyro's muscles, honed from lugging around all his tanks and weapons every day. Without much trouble, Pyro hooked the blade of Spy's vest and began sawing. The sound of the first cut had Spy shouting obscenities in a mix if at least five different languages. He flailed and thrashed with all of his strength, but it only took Pyro three long cuts before the vest was falling from him in strips. Partway through sliding off Spy's white dress shirt, Pyro nicked him along the side, which brought a yelp of pain and a halt to his struggling. He'd only get cut more if he struggled and knocked the knife around. Not such a good idea. Once Spy was still, it wasn't long before his clothes lay in heaps of shredded fabric at his feet. He had nothing left but his gloves, mask, tie, garters, socks, and shoes. Remembering their past experiences together, though, Spy had a feeling that Pyro wouldn't do anything to him that didn't ultimately feel good. This thought calmed him a little, and he had to fight down his erection. It was one thing to be not-shitting-himself-terrified and another to be aroused and eager. He couldn't be too easy. In fact, he didn't make a single noise until Pyro undid his zipper to the crotch and shoved him to his knees. With a strangling grip of his tie and his own knife to his throat, Spy made a noise of protest to the cock presented to him. Pyro just pressed the blade more firmly against his flesh. Blood lazily oozed from the shallow cut and stopped as it soaked into his tie. Scarlet stained the navy silk. Of course, Spy only rolled his eyes and opened his mouth in response. He'd be damned if he didn't get some revenge teeth-scraping in, though. Pyro would pay for having the upper hand. People always did with Spy. That did not seem to what Pyro was after, though. He fucked Spy's throat for only a few minutes, heedless of the not-quite-accidental nicks of the Frenchman's teeth against his skin. Then he pulled out, a thin string on saliva-cum mix creating a bridge between Pyro's tip and Spy's lower lip. It broke as Pyro yanked Spy around by his tie, shoving him forward until he fell to his hands and knees. Once the Spy was on all fours, Pyro kneeled behind him and pressed himself against Spy's rear, still slick. It was rare for Pyro to completely skip foreplay, but they were in the middle of a battle and they hadn't been alone together in a couple of weeks. Spy could understand that Pyro was probably riddled with pent-up sexual frustration. He'd have his way this time, but next time Spy would be the one holding the knife and Pyro would be the one with his suit getting sliced off and bleeding everywhere. Spy grit his teeth and breathed hard through them when Pyro entered him and interrupted his thought process. Without a second's pause to allow him to adjust, hands gloved in rubber gripped his hips tightly and pulled him back to meet the body they belonged to thrust for thrust. Spy shut his eyes tight and tried not to make any noise. That would be all too embarrassing, especially with how quiet Pyro was being this particular encounter. If they were somewhere private, Spy would feel more inclined, but the battlefield didn't exactly inspire a mood. He remained as quiet as possible, until pain shot through his side and he let out a shout - closer to a scream, really. One of his hands shot back to the pain's origin. It met Pyro's gloved hand gripping the handle of his balisong. He had stabbed it into Spy's side, just below his ribcage, and as he continued to thrust, he twisted and jerked it about, sawing and tearing at him. Spy tried to voice his protest, but he barely managed to get out a syllable before Pyro snatched up the end of his tie and wrenched hard on it. He choked out pleas for Pyro to stop, asking him just what the fuck< he was doing, and begged him for mercy in every language he knew. Pyro pulled the knife out and Spy thought that perhaps he was granting the mercy he had cried for. Until, that is, the blade began tracing up his spine to rest its tip between his shoulder blades. He gasped as the smallest bit of pressure pushed the blade until it pierced his flesh. A backstab. How fitting. He felt he could do nothing more than remind Pyro that in order to do it properly, he'd need to move the knife to the left a bit. The clearness of Pyro's breathing made Spy realize that the firebug had rolled the mask up above his mouth. Spy knew that under the mask there was scarred flesh and a few scattered patches of stubble. A crooked nose, blank dark eyes. He might've been handsome once, but now he was just a burned deformed freak. The last sensation Spy felt before he respawned was pain, blossoming from the wound in his side and coming in erratic jolts from his back end, stabs of a different sort. The last thing he heard was Pyro's voice, low and audibly strained, issuing one last 'fuck you too' before he killed him in a way befitting only him. "Don't see how it makes any difference, considering you've got no heart to stab anyhow."