Greased Weasel
Title: Greased Weasel
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Characters/Pairings: BLU!SpyxRED!Heavy
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3126
Disclaimer: I do not own TF2 or any of its characters.
Warnings/Notes: Written for the TF2 kink thread over here. Shock horror, not One Piece. I think I need to make myself a TF2 icon.
--
As he brushed the excess snow away from his hat, the RED Heavy trudged down a rickety set of stairs into a gloomy basement. Despite the vocal complaints of the wood, he didn't flinch. If the rest of the flimsy structures in the scullery could handle his weight with the minigun, these should be fine with him alone. Once he reached the bottom, he groped in the darkness to his left for a light switch, soon catching the cord and giving it a careful pull. A previous less wary yank had nearly ripped the fixture out of the rotting ceiling.
“I know you're here,” he called out as a lone lightbulb flickered to life overhead. The basement was almost empty. Some abandoned boxes of old shells still stood in the corner.
In response, the room remained silent. Taking this as a challenge, Heavy peered around, a wide grin starting to develop on his face.
“I'm coming for you.” Rather than blundering around the room, Heavy just stood still as he surveyed the area around him.
“Atchoo!”
Whirling around, Heavy made a beeline for the dingy area under the staircase. It was a little unexpected that what he was searching for would risk hiding under the stairs.
The BLU Spy's cloak dropped with a low fizzing sound as he looked up at Heavy, directing him a sour look and sniffing. “I was rather 'oping you would 'ave to wait around for me. The weather 'ere is atrocious.” Which it was, by most people's standards at least. The Viaduct base seemed to always be buried under snow, and ceasefires brought on by the further worsening of the conditions weren't uncommon.
“Is not so bad, is practically warm,” Heavy said, falling into a crouch in front of his acquaintance. One look at Spy's face (even behind the balaclava) told him that the description of 'practically warm' wasn't being bought. He shrugged and held his hand palm up, whilst he walked his fingers across it. “Covers my tracks.”
Spy looked up at Heavy's casual smirk, rolling his eyes and huffing. “It doesn't make you any less late.”
“Doktor thinks cold is dangerous. Was hard to get past him.”
“Why don't you just marry 'im?” Spy drawled, flicking open his cigarette case and pulling one out. “'e acts like he is your wife already.”
“Would just divorce me and take good china,” Heavy replied with another easy-going shrug and a rumbling chuckle.
Too cold and miserable to counter the comeback, Spy just settled for the comfort of his cigarette - now his presence was known, he didn't have to hold back - and huddled further up against the wall. He understood how much harder it was for Heavy to slip away from his team. No one followed a Spy around, but even on his side, the Medic was always clucking over their Heavy. Plus the RED Heavy was a big blot of colour on the landscape wherever he went here thanks to his uniform. When this started to become routine, he was surprised that Heavy was so effective in sneaking out undetected and making his way here.
Tilting his head back, Spy blew a stream of thin smoke through the stair slats.
“Still in bad mood?”
Spy's attention flicked back to Heavy. He tilted his head a little to indicate he had his attention, but restrained himself from giving a full reply. His lips parted to let out another stream of smoke.
“Is cramped under there.” Heavy gestured to the staircase. It was all well and good for a single skinny man to huddle underneath it, but he was a little more restricted.
“What are you going to do about it?”
Silence hung between them for a good few seconds before slight smirks tugged at both their lips. Spy showed no sign of moving, regarding Heavy with a challenging glint in his eye. Heavy took a confident step forwards, extending both massive hands and waggling his meaty fingers whilst a low chuckle rumbled out of his throat.
“Pull leetle weasel man out of his burrow, of course!”
He ducked down under the staircase to grab Spy by his waist, ignoring the wriggling and muttered French curses as he pulled him out with ease. Spy's struggle was more a token gesture than anything. The fingers around his body almost met at his back, and Heavy didn't even need to squeeze him.
“'it my 'ead on ze stairs and I will gut you,” Spy reminded him in a casual tone, tilting to the side to avoid a beam as he was hauled from his hiding place.
“Da.” Once he'd stepped clear of the staircase, Heavy neglected to set Spy back down, instead holding him so their faces were level. “Leetle man is shivering.”
“I'm not little. Or a weasel. You're just an 'ulking, shaved bear.”
“Check up said otherwise.”
“A mere medical technicality. I 'ave eyes.”
“BLU Medic should be more thorough if he is to find your tail, weasel.”
“Hmph.” Without a quick comeback, Spy settled for a long draw on his cigarette, looking to the ceiling as he exhaled another stream of smoke. His expression relaxed after a few seconds, and he tossed the smouldering dogend to the floor, where it was ground into the bare concrete by Heavy's boot. “... I invite you to try, Monsieur Bear. If you ever decide to put me down, zat is.” Spy tried not to look nauseous as he swayed from side to side with Heavy's gait.
“Can handle cold?” Heavy cocked an eyebrow.
Spy opened his mouth to confirm that, but had second thoughts when he saw his breath condense in the air.
Their interchange was interrupted by the creaking of a wooden crate that Heavy chose to sit on, but as with the stairs, he ignored the sound and set Spy down on his feet, so he could remove his jacket and drape it out of harm's way over a crate behind them. Experience had shown him that whilst those large hands could be more careful than he ever imagined, that was a choice of Heavy's, and the man took great delight in wrecking his suits given the opportunity. Whilst Heavy was patient enough to wait, he removed his waistcoat and tie in the same manner. With his usual aloof air, Spy set himself down on Heavy's knee as if the man were a piece of furniture. Heavy wasted no time in seeking out the contours of his torso through his shirt, his own body heat seeping through the thin material to Spy's skin.
“Can't keep our hands off, can we?”
“Want to stop shivering.”
True enough, the warmth had soothed the goose-pimples Spy felt rising on his arms. The juddering shivers that the cold provoked in his chest had stopped. Stupid know-it-all Russian beast.
Feeling less put out by Heavy's lateness now he was making up for his wait in the chilly basement, Spy turned in his lap and laid his hand on the collar of his jacket. For a few seconds, he considered pulling it off. It was only after he started to trace a finger under the Heavy's jawline that he realised he'd become distracted.
How unprofessional.
Yet at the same time, it was an odd way of getting practice in his art. Or the stealth part at least. They'd both seen what the higher ups, lead by that accursed Administrator, had done to the Soldier and Demoman's friendship after their cross-faction fraternisation. That was an example for them all.
But like that dried out old bitch was going to stop him from doing what he wanted. The pair of them knew how to be discreet and avoid detection, unlike those two bellowing savages.
“Angry?”
The BLU Spy was yanked from his train of thought as a large thumb rubbed his brow through his balaclava, forcing his frown into relaxing. Rather than ruining the mood by going off into one of many rants about the Administrator and the psychotic version of chess she had put them in, Spy shook his head and scooted up Heavy's thigh until the side of his hip pressed to his belly.
“Liar.”
“It is... unimportant.” Spy ran his gloved thumb against the stubble of Heavy's chin. Even through the leather, he could feel the coarse texture.
“You mean you rather not talk about it?”
“Oui. Now shut up, fatman.” With a brief nasal laugh, Spy cupped the dome of Heavy's head and guided him down.
No fuss. Just a relaxed meeting of lips. Spy felt Heavy's hands twitch around his waist. He was fully accustomed to the man, but his heart jumped in his chest at the thought that with enough rage, he could crush most of his organs. Break him in half even. There was no arguing with those times during battle when he'd turn around to find the RED Heavy, minigun whirring, and then look back to find his guts showering over the wall behind him like gory party decorations. He didn't hold it against Heavy; it was his job. And he damn well gave as good as he got.
When they pulled back, Heavy reached up to Spy's top button and popped it open. It was a small miracle that such large fingers could manage such a fiddly task.
“So... thinking?” Heavy's words came out in a lazy slur, the tone low but fine in the silence of the basement.
“Mm-hm.” Spy leant back to give him more elbow room to open his shirt. “Guns.”
“Big guns?”
A lewd smirk tweaked Spy's deadpan expression, and he nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”
The look on Spy's face was more than a sufficient cue. Heavy's rumbling laugh shook through their bodies. By now, Spy's shirt was more than half open. His pectorals twitched a little from exposure to the cold air, until Heavy reached into his shirt to splay a hand over his chest. In the cold, Heavy's mere body heat radiating into his skin was searing, and he let out a rattling sigh. Leaning into the touch, he reached up with one hand to trace over Heavy's fingers with his own gloved ones. It was about time they got down to business. Whilst Heavy might not have been as stupid as he came off as, he was still slow paced.
With what he'd hoped was subtle guidance, Spy urged Heavy's fingers towards his nipples with a slight push. He allowed himself a tense hiss when they received some attention, but his pride silenced him on seeing the satisfied look on Heavy's face. This only served to spur on the efforts directed to his chest, and he began to squirm in the other man's lap, all too aware of the stirring in his groin, his trousers becoming more constricting. Hands swept over his lean form, skimming his ribs and the softer flesh of his sides. At some point, Spy slumped forwards, allowing Heavy to finish unbuttoning his shirt and pull it from his trousers. He could feel Heavy's gut pressed against his own flat stomach, pushing up against him with each breath he took.
“Going to lose zat?” Spy prodded Heavy's top, but made no move to remove it himself. He directed Heavy a challenging look, a silent reference to the cold environment.
Heavy's movements drove Spy from his lap as he stripped down. His elbows seemed to be everywhere Spy leant away to in order to avoid them, so he extracted himself from the vincinity. The dozy-bear speed Heavy moved at gave him ample time to fetch and light another cigarette from the case in his jacket. He regarded Heavy in silence when dumped his clothes on the floor. Well, it wasn't like he wore anything worth taking care of.
“All gone.” Swinging the elastic of his underwear around on his forefinger, the now-naked Heavy grinned at Spy and flicked them at him. “Bang.”
A smooth dodge to the side allowed Spy to avoid the projectile, and he tutted under his breath before taking another drag of his cigarette. Under his balaclava, his eyebrow twitched when he realised that the cold air seemed to have no effect on Heavy's 'gun'. The beast was impervious.
“If zat 'ad 'it,” he started in a disapproving tone, but was interrupted by his own irritated spluttering when Heavy reached out to pluck his cigarette from between his fingers and flick it away.
“Is clean, don't worry,” Heavy lunged forward to loop an arm around Spy's waist, hauling him in as if he weighed nothing. “Ceasefire, remember? No live ammo.”
“Very funny, I'm sure.”
“You make bad jokes too.”
“Oh really?” Spy was once again seated in Heavy's lap, though he straddled his legs this time.
“When you thought I buy name 'Jacques Brel'. Isn't even French.” Heavy shook his head, amused by Spy's flinch of embarrassment at the memory. “Taking these off?” He asked, poking Spy's trousers.
“Non. I'll freeze my derrière off in zis weather.” Already wary of Heavy's attention to his clothes, Spy started to unbutton himself before the other man took matters into his own hands. It wouldn't do to walk back to the BLU base in his underwear.
A light smack to the back of a wandering hand discouraged Heavy from getting too close to his trousers. To give him some form of distraction, he fished a small tube of lubricant from his pocket, pilfered from the BLU Medic's cabinets no doubt, and handed it over to Heavy. It was worth it to watch he struggle with the tiny screw cap.
Once unzipped, Spy pulled himself out of his trousers, scowling at the feeling of the cold air on his skin. Despite the advantage the weather at Viaduct held for letting them getting some needed privacy during ceasefire, he found himself wishing to return to any one of the warmer areas, no matter how dry and dusty they were. He'd rather be stuck to Heavy by a claggy mixture of dust and sweat than ice any day.
A slippery finger and thumb squeezing his arousal interrupted Spy's train of thought. The pleasant warmth made it clear that Heavy had decided to work the lube in his hand first - or his fumbling with the tube had somehow warmed the whole thing through. Leaning forwards with fluid ease, Spy braced himself against Heavy's shoulders and inched across his lap until they were close enough for the other man to pin their cocks together. Spy exhaled through his nose as he rocked his hips up against Heavy, hearing a rumbling noise of approval.
“Da... Go on, weasel.”
“Keep calling me zat and I will stink my teeth into something.” Spy's threat had little bite to it when he was still clutching at Heavy for leverage however, slender body arching and rocking forwards.
The tube fell into one of the crates with a clatter when Heavy dropped it, much preferring to occupy his spare hand with feeling up Spy's ass through the seat of his trousers. It was easy for him to lean back against the crate, pumping both their cocks with one hand whilst encouraging Spy closer with the other. Spy was still jerking his hips forwards, not allowing himself the indignity to fall into a frantic pace but getting pretty close. A flex of Heavy's fingers around them both brought out a pair of matched moans, where Spy trailed off with French curses, dragging himself forwards and somehow managing to maintain an aloof air, whilst Heavy faded into a low rumble.
Spy still had no idea how Heavy managed to do that with his fingers.
He came close to toppling off the other man when he reached down, gloved fingers fumbling before curling around Heavy's sack with a loose grip, triggering his hips to roll forwards and push him back into the hand groping his ass. Spy's expression slackened as the sensation set off his orgasm, his release spilling between them. The only sound he made with a strained hiss, drowned out by Heavy's harsh panting and occasional thick groans in his native tongue.
Still in a haze, Spy threaded his fingers between Heavy's, helping him stroke himself to completion shortly after, aided by his other hand palming his balls with the precise pressure that he knew would draw the deepest noises from Heavy. Streams of come dripped over their hands, as well as splattering onto Spy's bare stomach and trousers.
They both remained silent for a while afterwards, trying to catch their breath. Spy steadied himself against Heavy's shoulder's once more, content to tolerate being pulled in and having sloppy kisses trailed down his clavicle. One arm looped behind Heavy's shoulders, fingertips seeking out the creases of muscles under soft flesh. Spy only got a chance to look down at himself when Heavy decided to let go of his back, confident that his 'leetle weasel' would be able to stay put unassisted. Not that Spy ever needed assistance. A quick glance down brought his attention to the mess on his front, and more distressingly, his trousers.
“Ach, merde!” Spy pulled the soiled fabric flat to examine the mess left behind, before making a frantic lunge for his jacket, where it was draped over another crate.
Not surprised by this, Heavy just took a cautionary hold of Spy's hips, unable to restrain his amused grin as Spy grabbed his jacket and rummaged through the pocket for a clean hanky. Fabric in hand, he set about trying to dab the mess away, spitting on it and tutting under his breath.
“You got it on my suit,” Spy said as Heavy held the fabric steady, chuckling in the back of his throat.
“Did warn you.”
“Zis is expensive.” That, and Spy hated to leave evidence.
It took several minutes of mopping and blotting until Spy was satisfied they hadn't left a trace of their activities on his suit. Folding up his handkerchief, he returned it to his suit pocket and pulled out his cigarette case instead.
“Going to give your name today?” asked Heavy, watching as Spy selected a cigarette and perched it between his lips.
“Mmm, of course, mon cher.” Spy's voice was cloying, but there was a faint hint of sarcasm. The unlit cigarette bobbed as he spoke. “...My name is... Jean Yan-”
“In 'Weekend' last year.”
“Euch. You are awful.”
“Too easy.”
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Characters/Pairings: BLU!SpyxRED!Heavy
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3126
Disclaimer: I do not own TF2 or any of its characters.
Warnings/Notes: Written for the TF2 kink thread over here. Shock horror, not One Piece. I think I need to make myself a TF2 icon.
--
As he brushed the excess snow away from his hat, the RED Heavy trudged down a rickety set of stairs into a gloomy basement. Despite the vocal complaints of the wood, he didn't flinch. If the rest of the flimsy structures in the scullery could handle his weight with the minigun, these should be fine with him alone. Once he reached the bottom, he groped in the darkness to his left for a light switch, soon catching the cord and giving it a careful pull. A previous less wary yank had nearly ripped the fixture out of the rotting ceiling.
“I know you're here,” he called out as a lone lightbulb flickered to life overhead. The basement was almost empty. Some abandoned boxes of old shells still stood in the corner.
In response, the room remained silent. Taking this as a challenge, Heavy peered around, a wide grin starting to develop on his face.
“I'm coming for you.” Rather than blundering around the room, Heavy just stood still as he surveyed the area around him.
“Atchoo!”
Whirling around, Heavy made a beeline for the dingy area under the staircase. It was a little unexpected that what he was searching for would risk hiding under the stairs.
The BLU Spy's cloak dropped with a low fizzing sound as he looked up at Heavy, directing him a sour look and sniffing. “I was rather 'oping you would 'ave to wait around for me. The weather 'ere is atrocious.” Which it was, by most people's standards at least. The Viaduct base seemed to always be buried under snow, and ceasefires brought on by the further worsening of the conditions weren't uncommon.
“Is not so bad, is practically warm,” Heavy said, falling into a crouch in front of his acquaintance. One look at Spy's face (even behind the balaclava) told him that the description of 'practically warm' wasn't being bought. He shrugged and held his hand palm up, whilst he walked his fingers across it. “Covers my tracks.”
Spy looked up at Heavy's casual smirk, rolling his eyes and huffing. “It doesn't make you any less late.”
“Doktor thinks cold is dangerous. Was hard to get past him.”
“Why don't you just marry 'im?” Spy drawled, flicking open his cigarette case and pulling one out. “'e acts like he is your wife already.”
“Would just divorce me and take good china,” Heavy replied with another easy-going shrug and a rumbling chuckle.
Too cold and miserable to counter the comeback, Spy just settled for the comfort of his cigarette - now his presence was known, he didn't have to hold back - and huddled further up against the wall. He understood how much harder it was for Heavy to slip away from his team. No one followed a Spy around, but even on his side, the Medic was always clucking over their Heavy. Plus the RED Heavy was a big blot of colour on the landscape wherever he went here thanks to his uniform. When this started to become routine, he was surprised that Heavy was so effective in sneaking out undetected and making his way here.
Tilting his head back, Spy blew a stream of thin smoke through the stair slats.
“Still in bad mood?”
Spy's attention flicked back to Heavy. He tilted his head a little to indicate he had his attention, but restrained himself from giving a full reply. His lips parted to let out another stream of smoke.
“Is cramped under there.” Heavy gestured to the staircase. It was all well and good for a single skinny man to huddle underneath it, but he was a little more restricted.
“What are you going to do about it?”
Silence hung between them for a good few seconds before slight smirks tugged at both their lips. Spy showed no sign of moving, regarding Heavy with a challenging glint in his eye. Heavy took a confident step forwards, extending both massive hands and waggling his meaty fingers whilst a low chuckle rumbled out of his throat.
“Pull leetle weasel man out of his burrow, of course!”
He ducked down under the staircase to grab Spy by his waist, ignoring the wriggling and muttered French curses as he pulled him out with ease. Spy's struggle was more a token gesture than anything. The fingers around his body almost met at his back, and Heavy didn't even need to squeeze him.
“'it my 'ead on ze stairs and I will gut you,” Spy reminded him in a casual tone, tilting to the side to avoid a beam as he was hauled from his hiding place.
“Da.” Once he'd stepped clear of the staircase, Heavy neglected to set Spy back down, instead holding him so their faces were level. “Leetle man is shivering.”
“I'm not little. Or a weasel. You're just an 'ulking, shaved bear.”
“Check up said otherwise.”
“A mere medical technicality. I 'ave eyes.”
“BLU Medic should be more thorough if he is to find your tail, weasel.”
“Hmph.” Without a quick comeback, Spy settled for a long draw on his cigarette, looking to the ceiling as he exhaled another stream of smoke. His expression relaxed after a few seconds, and he tossed the smouldering dogend to the floor, where it was ground into the bare concrete by Heavy's boot. “... I invite you to try, Monsieur Bear. If you ever decide to put me down, zat is.” Spy tried not to look nauseous as he swayed from side to side with Heavy's gait.
“Can handle cold?” Heavy cocked an eyebrow.
Spy opened his mouth to confirm that, but had second thoughts when he saw his breath condense in the air.
Their interchange was interrupted by the creaking of a wooden crate that Heavy chose to sit on, but as with the stairs, he ignored the sound and set Spy down on his feet, so he could remove his jacket and drape it out of harm's way over a crate behind them. Experience had shown him that whilst those large hands could be more careful than he ever imagined, that was a choice of Heavy's, and the man took great delight in wrecking his suits given the opportunity. Whilst Heavy was patient enough to wait, he removed his waistcoat and tie in the same manner. With his usual aloof air, Spy set himself down on Heavy's knee as if the man were a piece of furniture. Heavy wasted no time in seeking out the contours of his torso through his shirt, his own body heat seeping through the thin material to Spy's skin.
“Can't keep our hands off, can we?”
“Want to stop shivering.”
True enough, the warmth had soothed the goose-pimples Spy felt rising on his arms. The juddering shivers that the cold provoked in his chest had stopped. Stupid know-it-all Russian beast.
Feeling less put out by Heavy's lateness now he was making up for his wait in the chilly basement, Spy turned in his lap and laid his hand on the collar of his jacket. For a few seconds, he considered pulling it off. It was only after he started to trace a finger under the Heavy's jawline that he realised he'd become distracted.
How unprofessional.
Yet at the same time, it was an odd way of getting practice in his art. Or the stealth part at least. They'd both seen what the higher ups, lead by that accursed Administrator, had done to the Soldier and Demoman's friendship after their cross-faction fraternisation. That was an example for them all.
But like that dried out old bitch was going to stop him from doing what he wanted. The pair of them knew how to be discreet and avoid detection, unlike those two bellowing savages.
“Angry?”
The BLU Spy was yanked from his train of thought as a large thumb rubbed his brow through his balaclava, forcing his frown into relaxing. Rather than ruining the mood by going off into one of many rants about the Administrator and the psychotic version of chess she had put them in, Spy shook his head and scooted up Heavy's thigh until the side of his hip pressed to his belly.
“Liar.”
“It is... unimportant.” Spy ran his gloved thumb against the stubble of Heavy's chin. Even through the leather, he could feel the coarse texture.
“You mean you rather not talk about it?”
“Oui. Now shut up, fatman.” With a brief nasal laugh, Spy cupped the dome of Heavy's head and guided him down.
No fuss. Just a relaxed meeting of lips. Spy felt Heavy's hands twitch around his waist. He was fully accustomed to the man, but his heart jumped in his chest at the thought that with enough rage, he could crush most of his organs. Break him in half even. There was no arguing with those times during battle when he'd turn around to find the RED Heavy, minigun whirring, and then look back to find his guts showering over the wall behind him like gory party decorations. He didn't hold it against Heavy; it was his job. And he damn well gave as good as he got.
When they pulled back, Heavy reached up to Spy's top button and popped it open. It was a small miracle that such large fingers could manage such a fiddly task.
“So... thinking?” Heavy's words came out in a lazy slur, the tone low but fine in the silence of the basement.
“Mm-hm.” Spy leant back to give him more elbow room to open his shirt. “Guns.”
“Big guns?”
A lewd smirk tweaked Spy's deadpan expression, and he nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”
The look on Spy's face was more than a sufficient cue. Heavy's rumbling laugh shook through their bodies. By now, Spy's shirt was more than half open. His pectorals twitched a little from exposure to the cold air, until Heavy reached into his shirt to splay a hand over his chest. In the cold, Heavy's mere body heat radiating into his skin was searing, and he let out a rattling sigh. Leaning into the touch, he reached up with one hand to trace over Heavy's fingers with his own gloved ones. It was about time they got down to business. Whilst Heavy might not have been as stupid as he came off as, he was still slow paced.
With what he'd hoped was subtle guidance, Spy urged Heavy's fingers towards his nipples with a slight push. He allowed himself a tense hiss when they received some attention, but his pride silenced him on seeing the satisfied look on Heavy's face. This only served to spur on the efforts directed to his chest, and he began to squirm in the other man's lap, all too aware of the stirring in his groin, his trousers becoming more constricting. Hands swept over his lean form, skimming his ribs and the softer flesh of his sides. At some point, Spy slumped forwards, allowing Heavy to finish unbuttoning his shirt and pull it from his trousers. He could feel Heavy's gut pressed against his own flat stomach, pushing up against him with each breath he took.
“Going to lose zat?” Spy prodded Heavy's top, but made no move to remove it himself. He directed Heavy a challenging look, a silent reference to the cold environment.
Heavy's movements drove Spy from his lap as he stripped down. His elbows seemed to be everywhere Spy leant away to in order to avoid them, so he extracted himself from the vincinity. The dozy-bear speed Heavy moved at gave him ample time to fetch and light another cigarette from the case in his jacket. He regarded Heavy in silence when dumped his clothes on the floor. Well, it wasn't like he wore anything worth taking care of.
“All gone.” Swinging the elastic of his underwear around on his forefinger, the now-naked Heavy grinned at Spy and flicked them at him. “Bang.”
A smooth dodge to the side allowed Spy to avoid the projectile, and he tutted under his breath before taking another drag of his cigarette. Under his balaclava, his eyebrow twitched when he realised that the cold air seemed to have no effect on Heavy's 'gun'. The beast was impervious.
“If zat 'ad 'it,” he started in a disapproving tone, but was interrupted by his own irritated spluttering when Heavy reached out to pluck his cigarette from between his fingers and flick it away.
“Is clean, don't worry,” Heavy lunged forward to loop an arm around Spy's waist, hauling him in as if he weighed nothing. “Ceasefire, remember? No live ammo.”
“Very funny, I'm sure.”
“You make bad jokes too.”
“Oh really?” Spy was once again seated in Heavy's lap, though he straddled his legs this time.
“When you thought I buy name 'Jacques Brel'. Isn't even French.” Heavy shook his head, amused by Spy's flinch of embarrassment at the memory. “Taking these off?” He asked, poking Spy's trousers.
“Non. I'll freeze my derrière off in zis weather.” Already wary of Heavy's attention to his clothes, Spy started to unbutton himself before the other man took matters into his own hands. It wouldn't do to walk back to the BLU base in his underwear.
A light smack to the back of a wandering hand discouraged Heavy from getting too close to his trousers. To give him some form of distraction, he fished a small tube of lubricant from his pocket, pilfered from the BLU Medic's cabinets no doubt, and handed it over to Heavy. It was worth it to watch he struggle with the tiny screw cap.
Once unzipped, Spy pulled himself out of his trousers, scowling at the feeling of the cold air on his skin. Despite the advantage the weather at Viaduct held for letting them getting some needed privacy during ceasefire, he found himself wishing to return to any one of the warmer areas, no matter how dry and dusty they were. He'd rather be stuck to Heavy by a claggy mixture of dust and sweat than ice any day.
A slippery finger and thumb squeezing his arousal interrupted Spy's train of thought. The pleasant warmth made it clear that Heavy had decided to work the lube in his hand first - or his fumbling with the tube had somehow warmed the whole thing through. Leaning forwards with fluid ease, Spy braced himself against Heavy's shoulders and inched across his lap until they were close enough for the other man to pin their cocks together. Spy exhaled through his nose as he rocked his hips up against Heavy, hearing a rumbling noise of approval.
“Da... Go on, weasel.”
“Keep calling me zat and I will stink my teeth into something.” Spy's threat had little bite to it when he was still clutching at Heavy for leverage however, slender body arching and rocking forwards.
The tube fell into one of the crates with a clatter when Heavy dropped it, much preferring to occupy his spare hand with feeling up Spy's ass through the seat of his trousers. It was easy for him to lean back against the crate, pumping both their cocks with one hand whilst encouraging Spy closer with the other. Spy was still jerking his hips forwards, not allowing himself the indignity to fall into a frantic pace but getting pretty close. A flex of Heavy's fingers around them both brought out a pair of matched moans, where Spy trailed off with French curses, dragging himself forwards and somehow managing to maintain an aloof air, whilst Heavy faded into a low rumble.
Spy still had no idea how Heavy managed to do that with his fingers.
He came close to toppling off the other man when he reached down, gloved fingers fumbling before curling around Heavy's sack with a loose grip, triggering his hips to roll forwards and push him back into the hand groping his ass. Spy's expression slackened as the sensation set off his orgasm, his release spilling between them. The only sound he made with a strained hiss, drowned out by Heavy's harsh panting and occasional thick groans in his native tongue.
Still in a haze, Spy threaded his fingers between Heavy's, helping him stroke himself to completion shortly after, aided by his other hand palming his balls with the precise pressure that he knew would draw the deepest noises from Heavy. Streams of come dripped over their hands, as well as splattering onto Spy's bare stomach and trousers.
They both remained silent for a while afterwards, trying to catch their breath. Spy steadied himself against Heavy's shoulder's once more, content to tolerate being pulled in and having sloppy kisses trailed down his clavicle. One arm looped behind Heavy's shoulders, fingertips seeking out the creases of muscles under soft flesh. Spy only got a chance to look down at himself when Heavy decided to let go of his back, confident that his 'leetle weasel' would be able to stay put unassisted. Not that Spy ever needed assistance. A quick glance down brought his attention to the mess on his front, and more distressingly, his trousers.
“Ach, merde!” Spy pulled the soiled fabric flat to examine the mess left behind, before making a frantic lunge for his jacket, where it was draped over another crate.
Not surprised by this, Heavy just took a cautionary hold of Spy's hips, unable to restrain his amused grin as Spy grabbed his jacket and rummaged through the pocket for a clean hanky. Fabric in hand, he set about trying to dab the mess away, spitting on it and tutting under his breath.
“You got it on my suit,” Spy said as Heavy held the fabric steady, chuckling in the back of his throat.
“Did warn you.”
“Zis is expensive.” That, and Spy hated to leave evidence.
It took several minutes of mopping and blotting until Spy was satisfied they hadn't left a trace of their activities on his suit. Folding up his handkerchief, he returned it to his suit pocket and pulled out his cigarette case instead.
“Going to give your name today?” asked Heavy, watching as Spy selected a cigarette and perched it between his lips.
“Mmm, of course, mon cher.” Spy's voice was cloying, but there was a faint hint of sarcasm. The unlit cigarette bobbed as he spoke. “...My name is... Jean Yan-”
“In 'Weekend' last year.”
“Euch. You are awful.”
“Too easy.”