A friend asked me to do one of these with two classes from Team Fortress 2. She told me to pick my favourite class (the Medic) and the class that I get killed by most (The Spy), then write a romantic/random 50 random word theme meme and post it so she could read it.
She doesn't have an account and refuses to make one because she says that she cannot write worth crap, so I wrote this for her and put it up.
I hope you enjoy.
One Sentence - fifty theme: Generating around BLU Spy 'n' RED Medic
"Mon petit Doctor," The Spy purred, his hands running down the struggling Medic's sides, "You're not going anywhere."
During their time at Coldfront, the Spy noted how the white of the Medic's coat cloaked him amongst the snow and suddenly got a very dirty idea.
Though he was ace at curving around the truth and deceived others for a living, the Spy's silver tongue, the one currently stroking the Medic's, was the one thing that kept them together.
The post-battle slaughter always gave the Spy a very good reason to chase his lover across the map.
Lips still locked, the Spy pushed him further back into the wall as he arched his back for more contact with that warm body, thankful he wasn't wearing his Medigun.
Whenever those skilled eyes would roam over his body, the Spy began to wonder if the Medic was taking him apart with his eyes.
"Give zhem back, dummkopf!" The now-pantsless and red-faced Medic yelled, swinging around in the empty air, trying to land a hit on the cloaked infiltrator, who was watching smugly.
The Spy nearly turned green at the thought of the Medic keeping his gaze solely on the overweight backside of the Heavy.
Personally, the Spy didn't know why the Medic suddenly stops everything to stand in the rain, but it doesn't stop him from standing next to him under shelter.
"I must say, Doctor," The Spy smirked, "You look ravishing under all that arterial spray."
11. Pocket Watch
The Medic readied his syringe gun; that sneaky bastard wasn't really dead.
Whenever the Medic played his favoured instrument, it was always a melancholy tune; a tune to which his lover could truly relate.
This Medic was a newbie; and it was the Spy's turn to begin the initiation.
The Medic had to laugh at the unusual tan lines that would inevitably appear on the miserable Spy's face after the dead layer of skin had come off.
Nobody asked when the Medic had decided to switch his favourite wooden chair with a much softer, padded one, although with the Spy's grin, everyone guessed anyway.
Explosions sounded outside and shrapnel ricocheted around them, but the Spy kept his lips on his Medic's temple, praying that he would soon wake up.
The Medic stated that the only place they could really be together was the infirmary, because it was the only room in the base that was free of cameras, had a bed and a lock on the door; though the Spy couldn't care less about any of these.
"I am unsure if zhis vill vork, Herr Spy," The Medic grumbled, shifting the paper on his face, "I just zhink you are being narcissistic."
Even tied to a chair, the Spy kept his tongue, however hard it was when his Medic was sat in his lap, teasing a certain part of his anatomy.
No matter what, the Medic refused let Spy fuck him while cloaked, stating that he felt self conscious, no matter how horny he was.
The Spy hated his laugh, claiming it to be undignified; yet the Medic believed it to be unbelievably sexy.
Before he'd met the Medic on the battlefield, the Spy had hated the very colour his lover fought under.
The BLU Sniper saw small signs between them; the pause before a kill, how the enemy Medic would suddenly jump and spin around during battle, face as red as his gloves, as if an invisible force had just groped his behind; yes, the Sniper noticed these things.
"You don' tell anyone 'bout what 'appened b'tween me n' Scout, I don' tell anyone 'bout your little affair wit' the RED Medic."
A rather large syringe whistled in the air before it embedded itself in the wall beside his head, and all the Spy could do was continue to say he was sorry.
The Medic couldn't care less who the Spy had slept with in the past, just so long as he didn't have to treat himself for an STD.
The Spy now knew how the Medic thought of himself, after finding him in his room with a smashed mirror, blood running down his arms, sobbing as he held his head.
The Spy thought it was insanely sexy how flexible his Medic was in bed.
"Hier danke ich Ihnen richtig," The Spy purred in German as he wrapped his arms around his Medic's middle and led his lover to a secluded part of the battlefield.
No matter how big the RED Heavy was, or how protective of his 'Doktor' he was, the Russian gunner would not be able to stop him from touching the Medic.
He was filled with a great sense of pride when he found out that his Medic never took off his gloves, his protection, for anyone but him.
The Medic was a demanding bastard in bed; the Spy kept losing count of how many rounds they would go through before the man was completely satisfied.
The first time the Spy noticed the massive swastika shaped scar on the Medic's back was the first time the Medic had noticed the stitch lines that ran down the side of the Spy's face.
During his stay as a captured prisoner to the REDS, the Spy could only be grateful that the Medic would come to see him with many books to read, as he waited the situation out.
"'ey Doc, you mind tellin' that dang BLU Spy yer, uh, with ta stop sappin' mah dispenser?"
Even his death cry on the battlefield – just before respawn - wasn't as loud as the noises the Spy could pull from the Medic after hours.
Even as they stood butterfly knife against throat, bonesaw against testicles, a rough kiss was all it took.
The Medic could always tell when the Spy had had a bad day; his grip was a little tighter, his thrusts harder and more erratic and his time spent in the afterglow was cut short.
"Zis is merely a little different from our usual trysts," the Spy ran his hand down the shaking Medic's bound front, "Don't panic, dear doctor, I will heal ze rope burns for you afterward."
Gloved fingers traced the bite marks over his neck and shoulders, as a voice sounded from behind him, "Zey look wonderful on you, Doctor."
The Spy still had the photo of the two of them together, with the Spy running his tongue down the Medic's face, who was scowling.
"You are zhe first person I have had reason to smile vith in a very long time, mein liebe."
Pinned against one of the wooden walls of his base, the Spy's lips on his own, then on his neck, then whispering sweet nothings into his ear, the Medic can only wrap his arms around the Spy and kiss back as passionately as he possibly can.
The Medic fiddled with the red and blue strips of material in his hands, idly twining them together as he contemplated their relationship.
The flickering light kept the dusty ground illuminated as they lay together watching the stars.
The Medic shook with terror as the enemy Pyro drew closer to him, only to evaporate and leave him alone with a very amused Spy.
In their independent lines of work; The Spy respected that the Medic could perform surgery under fire from several directions, and the Medic respected, yet despised, that the Spy could quickly turn around and ruin his fine work.
The Medic certainly knew how to leave bloody scratches from dragging his nails down the Spy's back during their 'sessions', but the Spy certainly knew how to leave the Medic with a horribly noticeable limp for the next few days.
"Just fu-" The Spy cut him off, "Just fuck you? Zat would be my pleasure, Doctor," And all he got in return was an exasperated 'hmmmph'.
Even as their tour of duty was over, all they shared was one last forever-long kiss as they passed away quietly in each others' arms.
So... Think what you like. Flames don't affect me, for I am a Pyro and I deflect them.
Before you ask; "Hier danke ich Ihnen richtig," means roughly; "Here, let me thank you properly,"