[WIP] Happy Birthday, Dei!
Title: Your Shades for my Tie
Rating: PG (for now. :|)
Pairing: Established Sniper/Spy
Warning: It's... not finished and in a pretty rough stage, I'm open for beta'ing and spring-boarding, hurr.
AN: This has been sitting in my computer for three months. Originally for Dei for a New Years exchange, it is how one half of her birthday present! Happy Birthday Dei! I'm sorry I suck, and hopefully I'll be able to finish this when I'm less busy. (And it totally came out more action-y than what I intended it to be, ack.) D;
BLU Spy wanted to die.
He wasn’t joking. The pain of death would be far better than being splashed with the enemy sniper’s urine-or anybody’s for that matter. It was that horrible. He sniffed and grimaced; his teammates could laugh as much as they want, but jarate really did drain the will to live.
In fact, it affected him so much that he was now standing in the middle of the battlefield, patiently waiting for the approaching RED Soldier to deliver a killing blow with his shovel. The body of the RED Sniper was on the ground as a mocking taunt, riddled with stab wounds.
“FIGHT ME, YOU BAGUETTE FLINGING SISSY,” RED Soldier screamed, raising his weapon.
Spy crossed his arms, placing his foot on the corpse’s head. Getting killed was easier than having to walk back all the way to base to shower. Pain and nausea aside, at least he would respawn in a new clean suit. “No, I don’t think I will.”
His apparent calm riled the enemy soldier even more. Spy wrinkled his nose distastefully, trying not to close his eyes as the shovel came within a hand’s width of his face. If he was going to give the enemy a freebie kill, he’d rather look unimpressed while he was being beaten to death.
It was a good thing he kept his eyes open. A bright blue dot winked into existence in the middle of RED Soldier’s forehead and Spy cursed; it was Sniper. It was unlikely that the RED Soldier would listen to his warning, but he couldn’t see the harm in trying. “Hey, Red! Watch out-“ But of course the RED Soldier didn’t pay him any attention and went on swinging his shovel, up until Spy heard the distant crack of a rifle and a bloody hole appeared right between the RED Soldier’s eyes. A beautiful headshot.
Spy pursed his lips, turning around to face the faraway watchtower-or rather a shack on stilts- where he could see a tall figure at the top railings. Oh, Sniper was angry at him, Spy could tell, judging from the frantic arm-waving and the little blue dot that ran all over him like a worried eye, or a pestering gnat. He tried to wave it away, but the persistent blue dot wavered at his left shoulder. It was clear that Sniper wanted him to go the watchtower.
Muttering under his breath-the tower was in the opposite direction of the base- Spy headed over and tried to breathe shallowly through his mouth. The moment he came within earshot of Sniper, the Australian was yelling above him.
“What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the battlefield like that?! Are you bloody daft? Jesus Christ, Spy, if I hadn’t shot the damn RED-”
Spy tapped his foot, waiting for Sniper to finish his rant, which, thankfully, was short, raging, and furious, in a sweet and caring kind of way.
“-and to hell with it if you think I’m going to go out of my way to save you again,” Sniper finished, glancing over the railings, “Well, are you going to come up or not? You hurt or something?”
Spy would have smiled, but he was covered in urine and it reminded him of his fading will to live. That, and Sniper ruined his plans to get clean.
“I wanted to get killed,” Spy shouted back, climbing up the ladder, “I’m all over in fluid that should not go anywhere but the toilet, thanks to that vile RED Sniper. I’m disgusted that you practice the same methods.”
“Jarate is as practical as your knife or my rifle,” Sniper replied defensively, “And no one in their right mind likes respawning. No sense in wasting time with that, don’t really trust the system myself.”
While he agreed that respawning was a general pain in the ass, Spy kept up his argument just to keep being irritated. “I’m not going back out there in a suit covered in piss.”
Sniper reached out a hand to help Spy up, but he was frowning, “Speaking of which, the rest of the team will be pissed if you don’t do your part of the assault. And, let me remind you, is actually getting the intelligence.”
Spy had learned earlier on that pouting got nowhere with Sniper, unless it was in bed with minimal clothes on. Unfortunately, there was no bed in the tower. He ignored Sniper’s outstretched hand-god, couldn’t the man smell him?-and stood on his own. “I suppose there isn’t a shower around here then?”
Though his aviators tend to keep his eyes hidden, Spy could imagine Sniper rolling his eyes; slight head tilt, inaudible sigh-oui, that was a full three-sixty behind those shades.
“There’s a running water pipe in the room,” Sniper said, opening the creaking door, “You can clean yourself up inside.”
Spy followed him into the watchtower’s hut-thing, eyes wandering around the dusty and dark room until he saw a small pipe and faucet sticking out from the wall with a moldy drain at the bottom. Now it was his turn to sigh. Not exactly a shower stall, but it will do. “Dare I ask for soap?”
Sniper gave a snort of amusement. “Don’t bother. Here, got a spare change of clothes for you.”
Mildly surprised, Spy turned to see Sniper digging through an old chest in the corner, pulling out a red collared shirt, vest, and a pair of trousers-a sniper’s standard uniform, sans the glasses and hat. He set them aside on a nearby crate.
“You keep a spare change of clothes on you all the time?” Spy asked, kneeling down in front of the faucet and ridding himself of his jacket, shirt, tie, and gloves. “My dear, so you are less filthy than I thought.”
Sniper, catching the teasing tone of Spy’s voice, only shrugged, “I used to spend a couple of nights up here, so I got a bunch of extra stuff stored around.”
“And I take it you don’t sleep here very often anymore, am I right?” Spy grinned, twisting the faucet. Water streamed out, lukewarm from the pipes in the sun and thankfully clear, though Spy wouldn’t trust it to be completely clean. Still, it was better than nothing and he could always steal the disinfectant spray from the first-aid kit later.
“ ’Course, that was before we got to know each other better,” Sniper confessed, returning Spy’s grin with a lopsided smile of his own. He picked up his rifle and sauntered out the door, giving Spy’s half-naked body a lingering look before he left. “I’ll just be outside making sure no one interrupts your shower.”
Spy smirked, but did nothing else to keep Sniper from closing the door shut. Whether it was for the sake of being polite or practical, he was glad that Sniper had gone out. A quick glance over his shoulder assured Spy that no one was peeking through the crack in the window and he felt that it was safe enough to slip off his pants and mask, cupping his hands and liberally splashing himself with water.
When he was done, Spy vehemently kicked his soiled clothes into a corner, shaking himself dry as best as he could. It was a far cry from feeling fresh and clean, but it was something. He took the sniper’s uniform from the crate, giving it a wary sniff. It didn’t smell like his usual starched shirts and hinted cologne. Not at all. But then again, it wasn’t horrible. Without quite meaning to, Spy took another sniff, recognizing Sniper’s scent which, in principle, wasn’t pleasant but it was his Sniper and that somehow made it better-the smell of gun oil, old leather, sweat, and for some reason, apricots. It didn’t bother Spy beyond making his mind wander for a second or two. He shook his head.
Since there wasn’t much fussing a person could do with trousers, shirt, and a vest-oh, and Sniper even left him a fingerless glove, mostly likely the other half of the pair-Spy got dressed in record time. The clothes were a bit loose, but it was nothing a belt couldn’t fix. After giving it a moment’s consideration, Spy put on the glove and rolled up his sleeves. If he was going to play dress-up he might as well be thorough about it, even if his disguise kit made the action useless.
Not wanting to wear his dirty balaclava, Spy grabbed his watch and cloaked. He went outside, letting the door shut loudly to alert Sniper, who was at the rails and scanning the area. At the noise, the Australian twitched and looked around.
“You done?” Sniper asked, walking towards the door.
To avoid being bumped, Spy sidestepped and prodded Sniper on the shoulder. “I don’t suppose you also have an extra pair of glasses and a hat, do you?”
Sniper blinked, lifting his hand and doing a slow sweep through the air. It hit against Spy’s chest and stayed there. “Damn it, Spy. You know I don’t like it when you-” he paused, hand trailing upwards to feel Spy’s bare neck and face, “-do that.”
Spy laughed, tilting his head to lean against Sniper’s palm, “Oh really? I thought you liked it that other night when I sneaked into your room and-ouille!”
Sniper had pinched his cheek and not too gently either. “I don’t think you’ll be needing my glasses or hat.”
Spy turned slightly, letting Sniper’s fingers feel the smile on his lips, “I’m afraid it’s all or nothing, dear.”
Evidently still curious but willing to compromise, Sniper took off his hat and glasses, and proceeded to attempt to put them on Spy while he was still invisible.
“Am I really that short to you?” Spy asked irritably when the hooked part of the shades ended up in his mouth for the third time. He adjusted the hat on his head and snatched the aviators from Sniper, slipping them on.
“Just trying to flirt,” Sniper replied, stepping back just as Spy’s cloaking device ran out of time.
Caught a little unprepared for the sudden appearance, Spy straightened, letting the hiss and smoke fade out. Even with the hat and glasses, Sniper would see that his hair was dark brown, and his face had odd tan lines around his mouth. While he wasn’t too worried about what Sniper would think, Spy felt uncomfortably exposed. At least the aviators reflected enough so that Sniper wouldn’t be able to read the nervousness in his eyes.
“How do I look, mon chasseur?”
Sniper had went quiet for a moment but seemed to remember how to speak and gave Spy an appraising look instead of a full on stare, “Not bad, not bad at all. Could do without the French though.”
Spy leered, his voice dropping into a fair mimic of Sniper’s own, “I’ll do with the bloody French if I want, you tosser.”
Sniper snorted, reaching over to hook a finger over Spy’s belt to pull him closer, “Sometimes I wonder why you even bother with the French accent.”
“That is because I know it turns you on,” Spy said, effectively twisting his upper body so that Sniper couldn’t get a good look at his side-profile. He leaned in to murmur teasingly into Sniper’s ear, “N'est ce pas, Sniper chéri? Ah, je te fait de l'effet on dirait…”
“You are very lucky that we’ve got work to do today,” Sniper said, cutting him off with a quick kiss, though it didn’t escape Spy’s notice that Sniper now had two hands at his belt. “Better get going.”
Spy made a noise of grumbling agreement, moving away from Sniper’s grasp. He wasn’t feeling lucky at all. As he headed over to the ladder, Spy could feel Sniper’s eyes on him. It wasn’t anything new, but there was a certain intensity lurking beneath his gaze that made Spy grin and tip his borrowed hat.
“Merci for the clothes, cher, I’ll be wearing it tonight in my room if you want to take them back,” he smirked before cloaking and climbing down the ladder.
Sniper didn’t say anything, but considering the way he pulled at the collar of his shirt, he didn’t need to.
++
Though it was a downgrade from Spy’s usual suit, there was nothing awkward about wearing Sniper’s clothes. It was a comforting reassurance in the enemy base, almost as if Sniper was guarding his back. Spy had never given much consideration to it in the first place-he rarely felt anxious on his own-but the clothes felt like a confidence boost.
Still, it didn’t make Spy any less careful while walking within the RED base. If anything, it made him more sensitive to his surroundings because the truth was that Sniper wasn’t there with him. Besides, he should not be lowering his guard in any case.
Disguised as the Demoman, Spy looked for the enemy engineer. The plan was to take down the sentry for Soldier and Scout to come in and distract the rest of the REDs while Spy made a grab for the intelligence. It was a good, solid plan, left a lot of options opened while keeping it simple. The only way to screw it up was dying.
A beeping sound gave away the sentry’s position near the entrance, tucked behind a little corner so that any enemy running pass would get a nasty surprise. Taking out his sapper, Spy strode over, making his footsteps loud and sporadic. Neither Demomen of both teams tiptoed their way around, and he was glad to see that the RED Engineer was still in the process of building the level two sentry.
Spy drew in a deep breath and shouted in his best Scottish accent, “Bloody Spy’s in the base!”
RED Engineer glanced up, waving his wrench in the air and cursing. “Damn! Where did you see him come through?”
Without giving an answer, Spy placed the sapper on the sentry. In the midst of the blue sparks and Engineer’s angry yells, he pulled out the Ambassador and shot the RED twice between the eyes. The sentry hissed and cracked, shattering into a useless pile of metal.
Spy dragged the body behind a few crates, using the scrap metal to cover any limbs that stuck out. It was a poor hiding spot, but with any luck, Soldier and Scout would be coming soon. He disguised as the RED Engineer, taking the hallway that would lead him deeper into the base.
“And where do you think you’re going?” asked a familiar voice in French from behind.
Spy wasn’t falling for that trick. He turned around, shooting an irritated look at his RED counterpart. “Dammit, Spy. I can’t make any sense of what you’re saying to me,” he replied in Engineer’s voice.
RED Spy didn’t look impressed and raised his revolver, firing it without further comment.
Not knowing what gave him away, Spy dropped to ground and drew out his own gun. His disguised faded in a cloud of smoke as he returned the shot. He was vaguely aware of a stinging sensation on his upper arm, but ignored it in favor of getting closer to the enemy. Spy knew he was a lousy shot from a distance, despite Sniper’s long hours of trying to teach him to aim steady.
And perhaps it played to his advantage this time. RED Spy stared at him, confused.
“A sniper?” he began, “You’re not-“
Spy had almost forgotten about the borrowed uniform, but it had bought him time to shoot the enemy spy in the chest, switch to his knife, and finish the job. The moment the RED Spy’s eyes clouded over, Spy fished out the enemy’s disguise kit, swiped the cigarettes, and-after a moment-took the paper masks as well, stuffing the lot into one of the vest pockets. The sniper uniform was proving to be roomy, though he didn’t really like the aviators. They tinted everything orange.
Spy took off the glasses. He couldn’t guess how Sniper could wear them all the time. Blinking, he inspected his upper arm, finding that the enemy Spy’s shot had grazed his flesh, leaving behind a streak of blood and a hole through the sniper patch on the sleeve. The patch had probably saved Spy from getting a deeper wound.
It merited a grin, however ironic it was.
A commotion outside caused him to look up. Spy slipped the aviators back on and reloaded his gun. It sounded like Soldier and Scout were finally on their way. Disguising as the RED Engineer again, Spy cloaked in a dark corner and waited.
The RED Heavy and Medic came into the hallway, a bright red beam connecting between them. Spy could see that the Ubercharge meter was almost full. He doubted his Soldier and Scout would stand a chance against a powered Heavy. Drawing out the Ambassador, Spy hesitated for a second longer as the Heavy and Medic team ran passed him and decloaked. He wasn’t going to miss this opportunity, however foolhardy it was.
He shot the Medic three times, the second bullet had missed, and the third was fired with more panic than Spy would care to admit to. He emptied the rest of his gun towards the Heavy with half the shots missing. The Ambassador was smoking and hot in his hand and Spy swore, dropping it to the ground. The starting whirl of the mini-gun filled his ears as he rushed at the Heavy, stabbing the man repeatedly in the chest and the stomach. The larger man roared, and Spy distantly thought that his continuous knifing was only making RED Heavy very angry.
A punch clipped Spy’s jaw but landed mostly on his shoulder. Stumbling back, he scrambled to get behind Heavy, taking quick swipes with his butterfly knife. He feigned to the right, ran left, saw a beautiful opening, and plunged his knife in the enemy heavy’s back.
Unable to help himself, Spy had to breathe a sigh of relief when the RED Heavy fell to the ground and did not get back up. Spy prodded the body with his foot, making sure the RED was dead. He did the same with the Medic, and noticed that Sniper’s hat had fallen off his head during the fight. Picking it up, he put it back on and heard his Soldier’s loud war cry and the muffled scream of the RED Pyro.
“Merde,” he muttered, looking down at his clothes. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was wearing Sniper’s uniform. Soldier would most likely throw a fit-‘not regulation’, ‘prancing faggoty antics’, etcetera.
Spy pulled out the paper masks he had stolen from his counterpart, shuffled through them until he found the one with his own face. He put it on, trying hard not to chuckle. It wasn’t everyday he got to disguise as himself.
“Hey! You were supposed to wait for us,” Soldier said, rounding the corner and jogging up to him. “I never thought I would have to tell a Frog to stop hogging all the enemies.”
Spy let the insult pass. “Where’s Scout?”
“Dead,” Soldier grunted, “But he took out the Demoman and I just got the Pyro.”
“I took care of the Engineer and the gentlemen you see here,” Spy said, gesturing behind him.
Soldier peered down the hallway, lifting his helmet to get a better look at the dead Heavy, Medic, and enemy Spy.
“Jesus Christ, Spy. What on God’s green earth did you do.”
Spy almost didn’t believe it himself. He may have been a good fighter, but it was obvious that he preferred stealth over combat. Wearily leaning against the wall, Spy toyed with the hole on his sleeve that Soldier would have not been able to see and smirked.
“I don’t know, but I must be wearing my lucky shirt.”
++
Spy had allowed Soldier to carry the briefcase back to base. It had pleased the American to elicit the Announcer’s declare of victory when he slammed the enemy’s intelligence on the desk. After a round high-fives, handshakes, and other congratulatory gestures, Spy excused himself. Sniper hadn’t been there, but that did not bother Spy; he had a good guess where his paramour might be.
The lights in his room were already on when he came in. Taking off the paper mask, Spy’s disguise faded away and he was wearing Sniper’s clothes again.
“I should have never showed you how to pick a lock,” he said, patting his pockets for a cigarette. He pulled one from where he had arranged them neatly in place of where Sniper would normally keep his bullets, and lit it.
“Consider yourself lucky I didn’t trick you into doing anything else while you were drunk that night,” Sniper retorted from the tiny bathroom.
Spy grinned. “I’m disappointed that you did not. By the way, are you done in there? I need to shower.”
The bathroom door opened and Sniper stepped out. For a moment, Spy thought that the RED Spy had somehow gotten into his room and disguised as him. He froze, but a second later he recognized Sniper’s eyes and mouth under the balaclava.
“You look ridiculous,” Spy immediately said, taking a drag from his cigarette, because he didn’t want to stand there gaping like an idiot. “And I really hope that isn’t the suit I was wearing today.”
“Of course it ain’t. I nicked it from your closet,” Sniper scoffed, adjusting the tie around his neck. He was wearing Spy’s black gloves as well. “Would you rather I take them off?”
As tempting as it sounded, Spy wanted to savor the sight of Sniper in his uniform-a suit, for once-and was even willing to overlook that Sniper’s taller height was inclined to show some ankle or wrist. There was something rather dashing about the normally casual and rugged man-this was new. Spy really should try to convince Sniper to see a tailor and buy a suit of his own. The man didn’t know how good he looked in them.
Stepping forward, Spy grabbed Sniper by the lapels. He leaned in, exhaling cigarette smoke, slow and even. “Leave them on,” he smirked.
Sniper’s mouth parted to breathe in the grey wisps, licking his lips as if he could taste them. Apparently finding it to his liking, he kissed Spy for more. With little hums escaping from his throat, Spy let go of the lapels in favor of fingering his own tie around Sniper’s neck.
“Hm, it took me ages to get that on right,” Sniper said, angling his head away. His breath played over Spy’s bare cheek and he tilted back the hat on Spy’s head. “I never realized how annoying the hat is. And the glasses,” he hinted.
Spy grinned, leaving the tie alone for the moment. He would have a use for it later. “Now you know how I feel. And take off that mask, it’s unsightly.”
“Funny you should say that,” Sniper drawled, but he pulled off the balaclava and let it drop behind him.
---
TOTALLY TBC, I SWEAR.
And the next part is sort of icon related. lol.
Rating: PG (for now. :|)
Pairing: Established Sniper/Spy
Warning: It's... not finished and in a pretty rough stage, I'm open for beta'ing and spring-boarding, hurr.
AN: This has been sitting in my computer for three months. Originally for Dei for a New Years exchange, it is how one half of her birthday present! Happy Birthday Dei! I'm sorry I suck, and hopefully I'll be able to finish this when I'm less busy. (And it totally came out more action-y than what I intended it to be, ack.) D;
BLU Spy wanted to die.
He wasn’t joking. The pain of death would be far better than being splashed with the enemy sniper’s urine-or anybody’s for that matter. It was that horrible. He sniffed and grimaced; his teammates could laugh as much as they want, but jarate really did drain the will to live.
In fact, it affected him so much that he was now standing in the middle of the battlefield, patiently waiting for the approaching RED Soldier to deliver a killing blow with his shovel. The body of the RED Sniper was on the ground as a mocking taunt, riddled with stab wounds.
“FIGHT ME, YOU BAGUETTE FLINGING SISSY,” RED Soldier screamed, raising his weapon.
Spy crossed his arms, placing his foot on the corpse’s head. Getting killed was easier than having to walk back all the way to base to shower. Pain and nausea aside, at least he would respawn in a new clean suit. “No, I don’t think I will.”
His apparent calm riled the enemy soldier even more. Spy wrinkled his nose distastefully, trying not to close his eyes as the shovel came within a hand’s width of his face. If he was going to give the enemy a freebie kill, he’d rather look unimpressed while he was being beaten to death.
It was a good thing he kept his eyes open. A bright blue dot winked into existence in the middle of RED Soldier’s forehead and Spy cursed; it was Sniper. It was unlikely that the RED Soldier would listen to his warning, but he couldn’t see the harm in trying. “Hey, Red! Watch out-“ But of course the RED Soldier didn’t pay him any attention and went on swinging his shovel, up until Spy heard the distant crack of a rifle and a bloody hole appeared right between the RED Soldier’s eyes. A beautiful headshot.
Spy pursed his lips, turning around to face the faraway watchtower-or rather a shack on stilts- where he could see a tall figure at the top railings. Oh, Sniper was angry at him, Spy could tell, judging from the frantic arm-waving and the little blue dot that ran all over him like a worried eye, or a pestering gnat. He tried to wave it away, but the persistent blue dot wavered at his left shoulder. It was clear that Sniper wanted him to go the watchtower.
Muttering under his breath-the tower was in the opposite direction of the base- Spy headed over and tried to breathe shallowly through his mouth. The moment he came within earshot of Sniper, the Australian was yelling above him.
“What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the battlefield like that?! Are you bloody daft? Jesus Christ, Spy, if I hadn’t shot the damn RED-”
Spy tapped his foot, waiting for Sniper to finish his rant, which, thankfully, was short, raging, and furious, in a sweet and caring kind of way.
“-and to hell with it if you think I’m going to go out of my way to save you again,” Sniper finished, glancing over the railings, “Well, are you going to come up or not? You hurt or something?”
Spy would have smiled, but he was covered in urine and it reminded him of his fading will to live. That, and Sniper ruined his plans to get clean.
“I wanted to get killed,” Spy shouted back, climbing up the ladder, “I’m all over in fluid that should not go anywhere but the toilet, thanks to that vile RED Sniper. I’m disgusted that you practice the same methods.”
“Jarate is as practical as your knife or my rifle,” Sniper replied defensively, “And no one in their right mind likes respawning. No sense in wasting time with that, don’t really trust the system myself.”
While he agreed that respawning was a general pain in the ass, Spy kept up his argument just to keep being irritated. “I’m not going back out there in a suit covered in piss.”
Sniper reached out a hand to help Spy up, but he was frowning, “Speaking of which, the rest of the team will be pissed if you don’t do your part of the assault. And, let me remind you, is actually getting the intelligence.”
Spy had learned earlier on that pouting got nowhere with Sniper, unless it was in bed with minimal clothes on. Unfortunately, there was no bed in the tower. He ignored Sniper’s outstretched hand-god, couldn’t the man smell him?-and stood on his own. “I suppose there isn’t a shower around here then?”
Though his aviators tend to keep his eyes hidden, Spy could imagine Sniper rolling his eyes; slight head tilt, inaudible sigh-oui, that was a full three-sixty behind those shades.
“There’s a running water pipe in the room,” Sniper said, opening the creaking door, “You can clean yourself up inside.”
Spy followed him into the watchtower’s hut-thing, eyes wandering around the dusty and dark room until he saw a small pipe and faucet sticking out from the wall with a moldy drain at the bottom. Now it was his turn to sigh. Not exactly a shower stall, but it will do. “Dare I ask for soap?”
Sniper gave a snort of amusement. “Don’t bother. Here, got a spare change of clothes for you.”
Mildly surprised, Spy turned to see Sniper digging through an old chest in the corner, pulling out a red collared shirt, vest, and a pair of trousers-a sniper’s standard uniform, sans the glasses and hat. He set them aside on a nearby crate.
“You keep a spare change of clothes on you all the time?” Spy asked, kneeling down in front of the faucet and ridding himself of his jacket, shirt, tie, and gloves. “My dear, so you are less filthy than I thought.”
Sniper, catching the teasing tone of Spy’s voice, only shrugged, “I used to spend a couple of nights up here, so I got a bunch of extra stuff stored around.”
“And I take it you don’t sleep here very often anymore, am I right?” Spy grinned, twisting the faucet. Water streamed out, lukewarm from the pipes in the sun and thankfully clear, though Spy wouldn’t trust it to be completely clean. Still, it was better than nothing and he could always steal the disinfectant spray from the first-aid kit later.
“ ’Course, that was before we got to know each other better,” Sniper confessed, returning Spy’s grin with a lopsided smile of his own. He picked up his rifle and sauntered out the door, giving Spy’s half-naked body a lingering look before he left. “I’ll just be outside making sure no one interrupts your shower.”
Spy smirked, but did nothing else to keep Sniper from closing the door shut. Whether it was for the sake of being polite or practical, he was glad that Sniper had gone out. A quick glance over his shoulder assured Spy that no one was peeking through the crack in the window and he felt that it was safe enough to slip off his pants and mask, cupping his hands and liberally splashing himself with water.
When he was done, Spy vehemently kicked his soiled clothes into a corner, shaking himself dry as best as he could. It was a far cry from feeling fresh and clean, but it was something. He took the sniper’s uniform from the crate, giving it a wary sniff. It didn’t smell like his usual starched shirts and hinted cologne. Not at all. But then again, it wasn’t horrible. Without quite meaning to, Spy took another sniff, recognizing Sniper’s scent which, in principle, wasn’t pleasant but it was his Sniper and that somehow made it better-the smell of gun oil, old leather, sweat, and for some reason, apricots. It didn’t bother Spy beyond making his mind wander for a second or two. He shook his head.
Since there wasn’t much fussing a person could do with trousers, shirt, and a vest-oh, and Sniper even left him a fingerless glove, mostly likely the other half of the pair-Spy got dressed in record time. The clothes were a bit loose, but it was nothing a belt couldn’t fix. After giving it a moment’s consideration, Spy put on the glove and rolled up his sleeves. If he was going to play dress-up he might as well be thorough about it, even if his disguise kit made the action useless.
Not wanting to wear his dirty balaclava, Spy grabbed his watch and cloaked. He went outside, letting the door shut loudly to alert Sniper, who was at the rails and scanning the area. At the noise, the Australian twitched and looked around.
“You done?” Sniper asked, walking towards the door.
To avoid being bumped, Spy sidestepped and prodded Sniper on the shoulder. “I don’t suppose you also have an extra pair of glasses and a hat, do you?”
Sniper blinked, lifting his hand and doing a slow sweep through the air. It hit against Spy’s chest and stayed there. “Damn it, Spy. You know I don’t like it when you-” he paused, hand trailing upwards to feel Spy’s bare neck and face, “-do that.”
Spy laughed, tilting his head to lean against Sniper’s palm, “Oh really? I thought you liked it that other night when I sneaked into your room and-ouille!”
Sniper had pinched his cheek and not too gently either. “I don’t think you’ll be needing my glasses or hat.”
Spy turned slightly, letting Sniper’s fingers feel the smile on his lips, “I’m afraid it’s all or nothing, dear.”
Evidently still curious but willing to compromise, Sniper took off his hat and glasses, and proceeded to attempt to put them on Spy while he was still invisible.
“Am I really that short to you?” Spy asked irritably when the hooked part of the shades ended up in his mouth for the third time. He adjusted the hat on his head and snatched the aviators from Sniper, slipping them on.
“Just trying to flirt,” Sniper replied, stepping back just as Spy’s cloaking device ran out of time.
Caught a little unprepared for the sudden appearance, Spy straightened, letting the hiss and smoke fade out. Even with the hat and glasses, Sniper would see that his hair was dark brown, and his face had odd tan lines around his mouth. While he wasn’t too worried about what Sniper would think, Spy felt uncomfortably exposed. At least the aviators reflected enough so that Sniper wouldn’t be able to read the nervousness in his eyes.
“How do I look, mon chasseur?”
Sniper had went quiet for a moment but seemed to remember how to speak and gave Spy an appraising look instead of a full on stare, “Not bad, not bad at all. Could do without the French though.”
Spy leered, his voice dropping into a fair mimic of Sniper’s own, “I’ll do with the bloody French if I want, you tosser.”
Sniper snorted, reaching over to hook a finger over Spy’s belt to pull him closer, “Sometimes I wonder why you even bother with the French accent.”
“That is because I know it turns you on,” Spy said, effectively twisting his upper body so that Sniper couldn’t get a good look at his side-profile. He leaned in to murmur teasingly into Sniper’s ear, “N'est ce pas, Sniper chéri? Ah, je te fait de l'effet on dirait…”
“You are very lucky that we’ve got work to do today,” Sniper said, cutting him off with a quick kiss, though it didn’t escape Spy’s notice that Sniper now had two hands at his belt. “Better get going.”
Spy made a noise of grumbling agreement, moving away from Sniper’s grasp. He wasn’t feeling lucky at all. As he headed over to the ladder, Spy could feel Sniper’s eyes on him. It wasn’t anything new, but there was a certain intensity lurking beneath his gaze that made Spy grin and tip his borrowed hat.
“Merci for the clothes, cher, I’ll be wearing it tonight in my room if you want to take them back,” he smirked before cloaking and climbing down the ladder.
Sniper didn’t say anything, but considering the way he pulled at the collar of his shirt, he didn’t need to.
++
Though it was a downgrade from Spy’s usual suit, there was nothing awkward about wearing Sniper’s clothes. It was a comforting reassurance in the enemy base, almost as if Sniper was guarding his back. Spy had never given much consideration to it in the first place-he rarely felt anxious on his own-but the clothes felt like a confidence boost.
Still, it didn’t make Spy any less careful while walking within the RED base. If anything, it made him more sensitive to his surroundings because the truth was that Sniper wasn’t there with him. Besides, he should not be lowering his guard in any case.
Disguised as the Demoman, Spy looked for the enemy engineer. The plan was to take down the sentry for Soldier and Scout to come in and distract the rest of the REDs while Spy made a grab for the intelligence. It was a good, solid plan, left a lot of options opened while keeping it simple. The only way to screw it up was dying.
A beeping sound gave away the sentry’s position near the entrance, tucked behind a little corner so that any enemy running pass would get a nasty surprise. Taking out his sapper, Spy strode over, making his footsteps loud and sporadic. Neither Demomen of both teams tiptoed their way around, and he was glad to see that the RED Engineer was still in the process of building the level two sentry.
Spy drew in a deep breath and shouted in his best Scottish accent, “Bloody Spy’s in the base!”
RED Engineer glanced up, waving his wrench in the air and cursing. “Damn! Where did you see him come through?”
Without giving an answer, Spy placed the sapper on the sentry. In the midst of the blue sparks and Engineer’s angry yells, he pulled out the Ambassador and shot the RED twice between the eyes. The sentry hissed and cracked, shattering into a useless pile of metal.
Spy dragged the body behind a few crates, using the scrap metal to cover any limbs that stuck out. It was a poor hiding spot, but with any luck, Soldier and Scout would be coming soon. He disguised as the RED Engineer, taking the hallway that would lead him deeper into the base.
“And where do you think you’re going?” asked a familiar voice in French from behind.
Spy wasn’t falling for that trick. He turned around, shooting an irritated look at his RED counterpart. “Dammit, Spy. I can’t make any sense of what you’re saying to me,” he replied in Engineer’s voice.
RED Spy didn’t look impressed and raised his revolver, firing it without further comment.
Not knowing what gave him away, Spy dropped to ground and drew out his own gun. His disguised faded in a cloud of smoke as he returned the shot. He was vaguely aware of a stinging sensation on his upper arm, but ignored it in favor of getting closer to the enemy. Spy knew he was a lousy shot from a distance, despite Sniper’s long hours of trying to teach him to aim steady.
And perhaps it played to his advantage this time. RED Spy stared at him, confused.
“A sniper?” he began, “You’re not-“
Spy had almost forgotten about the borrowed uniform, but it had bought him time to shoot the enemy spy in the chest, switch to his knife, and finish the job. The moment the RED Spy’s eyes clouded over, Spy fished out the enemy’s disguise kit, swiped the cigarettes, and-after a moment-took the paper masks as well, stuffing the lot into one of the vest pockets. The sniper uniform was proving to be roomy, though he didn’t really like the aviators. They tinted everything orange.
Spy took off the glasses. He couldn’t guess how Sniper could wear them all the time. Blinking, he inspected his upper arm, finding that the enemy Spy’s shot had grazed his flesh, leaving behind a streak of blood and a hole through the sniper patch on the sleeve. The patch had probably saved Spy from getting a deeper wound.
It merited a grin, however ironic it was.
A commotion outside caused him to look up. Spy slipped the aviators back on and reloaded his gun. It sounded like Soldier and Scout were finally on their way. Disguising as the RED Engineer again, Spy cloaked in a dark corner and waited.
The RED Heavy and Medic came into the hallway, a bright red beam connecting between them. Spy could see that the Ubercharge meter was almost full. He doubted his Soldier and Scout would stand a chance against a powered Heavy. Drawing out the Ambassador, Spy hesitated for a second longer as the Heavy and Medic team ran passed him and decloaked. He wasn’t going to miss this opportunity, however foolhardy it was.
He shot the Medic three times, the second bullet had missed, and the third was fired with more panic than Spy would care to admit to. He emptied the rest of his gun towards the Heavy with half the shots missing. The Ambassador was smoking and hot in his hand and Spy swore, dropping it to the ground. The starting whirl of the mini-gun filled his ears as he rushed at the Heavy, stabbing the man repeatedly in the chest and the stomach. The larger man roared, and Spy distantly thought that his continuous knifing was only making RED Heavy very angry.
A punch clipped Spy’s jaw but landed mostly on his shoulder. Stumbling back, he scrambled to get behind Heavy, taking quick swipes with his butterfly knife. He feigned to the right, ran left, saw a beautiful opening, and plunged his knife in the enemy heavy’s back.
Unable to help himself, Spy had to breathe a sigh of relief when the RED Heavy fell to the ground and did not get back up. Spy prodded the body with his foot, making sure the RED was dead. He did the same with the Medic, and noticed that Sniper’s hat had fallen off his head during the fight. Picking it up, he put it back on and heard his Soldier’s loud war cry and the muffled scream of the RED Pyro.
“Merde,” he muttered, looking down at his clothes. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was wearing Sniper’s uniform. Soldier would most likely throw a fit-‘not regulation’, ‘prancing faggoty antics’, etcetera.
Spy pulled out the paper masks he had stolen from his counterpart, shuffled through them until he found the one with his own face. He put it on, trying hard not to chuckle. It wasn’t everyday he got to disguise as himself.
“Hey! You were supposed to wait for us,” Soldier said, rounding the corner and jogging up to him. “I never thought I would have to tell a Frog to stop hogging all the enemies.”
Spy let the insult pass. “Where’s Scout?”
“Dead,” Soldier grunted, “But he took out the Demoman and I just got the Pyro.”
“I took care of the Engineer and the gentlemen you see here,” Spy said, gesturing behind him.
Soldier peered down the hallway, lifting his helmet to get a better look at the dead Heavy, Medic, and enemy Spy.
“Jesus Christ, Spy. What on God’s green earth did you do.”
Spy almost didn’t believe it himself. He may have been a good fighter, but it was obvious that he preferred stealth over combat. Wearily leaning against the wall, Spy toyed with the hole on his sleeve that Soldier would have not been able to see and smirked.
“I don’t know, but I must be wearing my lucky shirt.”
++
Spy had allowed Soldier to carry the briefcase back to base. It had pleased the American to elicit the Announcer’s declare of victory when he slammed the enemy’s intelligence on the desk. After a round high-fives, handshakes, and other congratulatory gestures, Spy excused himself. Sniper hadn’t been there, but that did not bother Spy; he had a good guess where his paramour might be.
The lights in his room were already on when he came in. Taking off the paper mask, Spy’s disguise faded away and he was wearing Sniper’s clothes again.
“I should have never showed you how to pick a lock,” he said, patting his pockets for a cigarette. He pulled one from where he had arranged them neatly in place of where Sniper would normally keep his bullets, and lit it.
“Consider yourself lucky I didn’t trick you into doing anything else while you were drunk that night,” Sniper retorted from the tiny bathroom.
Spy grinned. “I’m disappointed that you did not. By the way, are you done in there? I need to shower.”
The bathroom door opened and Sniper stepped out. For a moment, Spy thought that the RED Spy had somehow gotten into his room and disguised as him. He froze, but a second later he recognized Sniper’s eyes and mouth under the balaclava.
“You look ridiculous,” Spy immediately said, taking a drag from his cigarette, because he didn’t want to stand there gaping like an idiot. “And I really hope that isn’t the suit I was wearing today.”
“Of course it ain’t. I nicked it from your closet,” Sniper scoffed, adjusting the tie around his neck. He was wearing Spy’s black gloves as well. “Would you rather I take them off?”
As tempting as it sounded, Spy wanted to savor the sight of Sniper in his uniform-a suit, for once-and was even willing to overlook that Sniper’s taller height was inclined to show some ankle or wrist. There was something rather dashing about the normally casual and rugged man-this was new. Spy really should try to convince Sniper to see a tailor and buy a suit of his own. The man didn’t know how good he looked in them.
Stepping forward, Spy grabbed Sniper by the lapels. He leaned in, exhaling cigarette smoke, slow and even. “Leave them on,” he smirked.
Sniper’s mouth parted to breathe in the grey wisps, licking his lips as if he could taste them. Apparently finding it to his liking, he kissed Spy for more. With little hums escaping from his throat, Spy let go of the lapels in favor of fingering his own tie around Sniper’s neck.
“Hm, it took me ages to get that on right,” Sniper said, angling his head away. His breath played over Spy’s bare cheek and he tilted back the hat on Spy’s head. “I never realized how annoying the hat is. And the glasses,” he hinted.
Spy grinned, leaving the tie alone for the moment. He would have a use for it later. “Now you know how I feel. And take off that mask, it’s unsightly.”
“Funny you should say that,” Sniper drawled, but he pulled off the balaclava and let it drop behind him.
---
TOTALLY TBC, I SWEAR.
And the next part is sort of icon related. lol.