There were a lot of things the Administrator hated. Her employees. The Mann brothers. Saxton Hale. Those Aperture people up north. Her job. Her life. Herself.

She hated the sharp angle of her chair and the glare of the screens and the number of cigarettes she'd already had. She hated the headache she had from trying earlier this morning not to frown. She hated watching all the boring things her employees were doing—there was a Soldier talking to his heads again, there was the RED Scout on his fifth hour of looking at himself in the mirror, the BLU Scout on only his third hour of the same, drinking Demos, Pyros sitting around thinking about whatever the hell Pyros think about, BLU Heavy being surgically prodded at by his Medic, RED Engineer building more pointlessly dangerous things, BLU Sniper sitting around, RED Sniper taking off his hat, another Soldi—

Wait. She flipped back a channel and stared in disbelief at the RED Sniper. What was he doing in the BLU base? And why was he—oh God.

The hat wasn't all he was taking off. He shrugged off his vest, glancing at the door wearing an expression unreadable from the camera. Hurrying a bit, his fingers went to his buttons, fumbling a bit until he dragged his gaze away from the entrance to the room and back to the task at hand. The red shirt fell to the floor and he kicked it and the vest underneath the bed as he unbuckled his belt, pulling it out hurriedly and tossing it under with them.

As he began to undo his fly, the Administrator moved her hand towards the controls. She moved camera 39-B—the one focused on the room containing RED Sniper—to the main screen and zoomed in, taking another sharp puff on her cigarette as she saw the trousers fall to the floor. She was watching so attentively, she told herself, so as to understand the Sniper's motives, and how he had gotten into this room in the BLU base—which room was it? She reached a hand towards a folder on her desk and pulled it towards herself without looking, opening it awkwardly and glancing down intermittently to flip through pages. During one glance down she missed him removing his boxers, and tisked in disappointment when she looked back up to see him crawling under the covers of the bed—ah, she could at least note that the room had a bed, a residential suite—pulling the blankets all the way over his head and squiggling around, causing them to bunch and twisting himself into all sorts of odd positions that Helen—no, no, the Administrator—almost found herself wishing she could see.

Finally, he seemed to settle down, although the covers still twitched and the springs still creaked from time to time. He stayed like that for fifteen minutes, and she was so enraptured with fascination and confusion, so busy wondering why the RED Sniper was hiding naked in a bed in the BLU base with all his clothes hidden under it, that she forgot to check and see just which BLU mercenary would be getting this unconventional surprise.

She would have jumped, startled, when the door opened—had she been a lesser, weaker woman. The man striding into the room seemed to be wearing a mood matching her own—stormy, grimacing, glaring behind himself as he slammed the door—the BLU Spy.

The Spy muttered under his breath at the door frame, aiming a kick at it and swearing audibly. His hand plunged into his pocket, reaching for a cigarette as he turned absentmindedly—he almost didn't see the overly noticeable lengthy lump of man in his bed, but he wasn't quite that empty-headed, and his head snapped to attention as his jaw dropped as far as physics and the human body would allow it to go. Slowly, he withdrew hand from pocket and pulled out his knife, flipping it open and creeping soundlessly toward the bed. The figure under the covers shivered, though whether it was from mirth, excitement or fear was impossible to tell. Finally, the Spy poised himself over the mattress, knife raised and ready to kill, and darted his other hand out to suddenly rip back the blankets.

The noise that followed was the odd bastard lovechild of "Sacre bleu!" and "Bloody 'ell!" as both mercenaries exclaimed in unison—the Spy shocked by the awkwardly sprawled naked Sniper in his bed and the Sniper shocked by the knife hovering so close to his bared skin. They froze that way for a moment before the BLU drew in a deep breath, exhaling with a shudder as the knife clattered to the floor, slipping between the bed and the wall. His gloved hands rested on either side of the Sniper's raw, still-trembling body, which began to relax as the Spy's gaze raked over it hungrily—though not without confusion. He took a few more shaky breaths before beginning to mutter again:

"Alors, qu'est-ce que tu fais comme ca, tout nu dans mon lit comme ce n'est pas de probleme; bien sur, on ne peut pas dire que je ne l'aime pas, ce-cette idee, mais c'est dangereux et pourquoi tu te caches comme ca, tu es comme un enfant de temps en temps, je jure a Dieu; mais bien sur il n'y a pas d'enfant si seduisant comme toi—alors, qu'est-ce que je dis maintena—"

The Sniper lifted a long, rough finger to the Spy's rapid-moving lips, which fluttered for a moment longer before coming to a violent halt. "You're doin' that thing again, love," the RED growled softly, letting his digit slide ever so slightly against the soft skin above it. "Y'know I can't understand when you do that, c'mon. English, s'il vous plait."

The frenchman scowled slightly at the cheery mispronunciation before responding, slowly, as if unable to remember the words, "What…are you…doing…in my bed…naked? What," he continued, picking up steam despite his reddening cheeks and the occasional hungry gulp, "made you believe that it would be any kind of good idea to come here, to my base, without any sort of cloaking device, on a day when my team is more furious, more ravenous, more bloodthirsty than usual, to come here in the nude and huddle among my sheets like some silly child making a fort inaarrhhhggnn…"

The finger had intruded his mouth, and was joined by another, both pushing themselves against the Spy's tongue and the insides of his cheek and rotating gently. "Now, shhh, how'm I supposed to explain myself with you goin' on like that?" The Sniper rumbled pleasantly, bringing another hand up to grasp playfully at the Spy's tie. "Saw you were havin' a rough day, and I just figured I'd do that thing you always do…" He was working the tie off, tossing it off to the side where it fell to join the Sniper's clothes and the still-open knife.

Always? Helen—the Administrator—came back to her senses with a start as the Spy attempted to splutter around the calloused fingers teasing his soft tongue. This was something they'd done before, something they did regularly? How had she missed it? She made a mental note to look through the backlogs as the frenchman managed to get both intruding digits off to one side of his mouth and hiss around them, "Always cloaked, always in your van away from teammates and cameras, always discreet, always later at night—" The van, the van, of course, she would have to place a camera there later…

"Aw, shush." The Sniper suddenly removed the fingers and replaced them with his own tongue, pressing his hot mouth excitedly against the Spy's as he retraced the invasive paths his skin had made with a softer, sliding, wet enthusiasm. The frenchman couldn't stifle a groan as they pulled away and the Sniper continued, pressing his wet fingers to a spot on the white shirt that he knew was covering a nipple and making tiny, moist, insistent circles, "It's just, whenever I have a bad day on the field, you're always waitin' there, hidin', ready to put yourself—" the fingers suddenly pinched and the Spy let out a little strangled noise; the Sniper grinned and lowered his voice— "at my mercy." Both his hands began to occupy themselves with unbuttoning the dress shirt, their eager fumbling not quite matching the Australian's smooth rumble. "So I figured, since your teem wasn't doin' so hot today, maybe I oughta do somethin' hot for you, yeah?" Though the Spy still wore both shirt and blazer, both were now unbuttoned, and the calloused hands were now roaming hungrily over his exposed chest; fingers and nipple were reunited at last.

The Spy caught himself breathing heavily and attempted to calm himself with a strangled, undignified cough. "You…you…" His own gloved fingers were working their way over the Sniper's shoulders now; Helen didn't remember him putting them there, and didn't remember when he had left the ground and straddled the naked man in his bed; was it during the kiss, perhaps? The Spy frowned, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, but all he came out with was, "This is your idea of hiding? Huddling so obviously under my own bedsheets?"

"Hey," protested the Sniper, pulling softly at the lapels of his bedmate's jacket, trying to tug it off entirely, "I don't got any fancy-pants watches like you do, lil' Spook, just tryin' to do my part." He looked genuinely frustrated, and the frenchman stopped massaging his shoulders for a moment to stare down at the struggling bushman, still grasping his clothes insistently, so eager to cheer the Spy that he was getting himself worked up. The BLU's scowling mask gave way to a tender smile, and he planted a kiss dead in the center of the other man's frown, dragging his lips down the length of the nose to the tip, pulling off for a moment, and then pressing his mouth gently on the Sniper's.

He was met with an immediate and ravenous reaction; the RED parted his lips and used his grip on the lapels to pull his lover closer for a long, messy, dirty kiss. Only when the insistent heat near the Spy's crotch became unignorable did he pull away, gulping for breath. His eyes flicked down the Sniper's quite uncovered body, confirming his suspicion. "You're hard," he noted faintly.

The bushman grinned, bringing a knobbly knee up to brush against his partner's own considerable cloth-covered erection. "So're you."

Despite his considerable flush and shortness of breath, the Spy smirked and finally shrugged off his shirt and jacket, which joined the rest of the clothes on the floor. "Well, you are, as you said, at my mercy," he noted, pulling his gloves off so they could join their fellow accessories and placing his bare hands on the other man's chest, letting each nipple be touched by a finger but refusing to move against them, "what do you think we should do about these?" As he asked the question, he rolled his hips firmly forward, letting their separated stiffnesses slide teasingly against each other.

The Sniper drew in a sharp breath; he was having trouble keeping up the playful facade. "Got a few ideas," he whispered, moving his hands to the Spy's belt and fingering the buckle as he craned his head forward, trying to make his intention obvious. The effort was not lost on the frenchman.

"Hmmm," the Spy mused, "so, you'd like to suck me off, then? Let me sit back, writhing and moaning your name, while you lick and pump and tease me until I fill your pretty, dirty little mouth and you have to swallow me down?" The Sniper's eyes widened; he was able only to nod. The BLU narrowed his eyes and removed his hands, straightening so that he was kneeling over his partner and his enemy, which the RED seemed to take as a yes. Bare legs pulled out from under still pinstriped-clad ones as the Sniper prepared to reposition himself to give head—but he never got the chance.

The Spy's hands flew to the underside of his lover's knees, pushing them forward and forcing the Australian to keep lying on his back. He replaced the two hands almost immediately with one arm, putting his palm the back of one knee while resting his elbow against the other, so that with his free hand he could unbuckle his belt. "Always so aggressive," he growled, leaning forward as he worked at the fastenings around his crotch. "Did you forget, amour? Today, you are attempting to 'do that thing I always do,' are you not? Then is it not fair—" he was incredibly deft with one hand; the trousers were already slipping down and the ungloved hand was now fingering the waistband of suspiciously feminine undergarments— "would it not make sense for me to do, as you say, that thing you always do?" The Spy tugged down, freeing his full and impressive arousal and baring his teeth in something between a snarl and a grin. The Sniper gulped.

"I—ah—that is—well, we can try, but we never, I dunno if—"

"Hush," the frenchman reprimanded, using his unoccupied hand to give the other man's bare, now-exposed ass a scolding smack, eliciting a gasp. Smiling at the reddish hue on the raw backside before him, he opened his bedside drawer and began rummaging through it. "You know how it is, petit, when you've had a long, stressful, frustrating day, and you just need some way to blow of some steam, let out your frustrations—" he stopped to smirk; he had found what he was looking for and when the Sniper saw it, his face turned a colour rarely seen on the human face— "unless, of course, you're scared?"

The Australian's breath was coming in desperate pants, and his eyes were wild, but he gulped, calming himself a bit, even managing to smile at the man holding the bottle of lube. "Me? Scared? Nah, mate, just…watch it down there, yeah? And don't expect this to be a regular…this'll be my gift to you, alright, for today?"

The Spy, who had been struggling to uncap the bottle with one hand, stopped and frowned. "Today?"

"Yeah, you know, today. Holiday, romantic—"

"Today is February the thirteenth," the Spy corrected with a glare. "You still haven't changed the calendar in your van, have you, bushman?"

"What? That's—" Suddenly, the confusion in the Sniper's eyes cleared. "Ohh, yeah, reckon I haven't yet. Well, it's a day early, bu—AAAAAHHHH!"

"Keep your voice down!" The Spy hissed, removing his arm from the back of the Sniper's knees and clamping it over his mouth. The other hand was now occupied, with one of its lubed-up fingers gently but insistently probing the Sniper's backside. The bushman's legs, now unrestrained, scrabbled against the mattress, and his toes grasped at the sheets. "Do you want my teammates to blow my door off its hinges and find an enemy Sniper, one who just defeated them in battle, naked and vulnerable right in the middle of their base?" He added a second slick digit and his lover whined around the hand on his mouth. The Spy smiled; BLU was dominating for once. "Yes, that's right," he cooed, pulling the muffling appendage back a little so all the Sniper's little noises were audible, if just barely. He began to increase the pace, thrusting his fingers in mercilessly until his partner was moving to meet them. Suddenly, unbidden, the bushman bit down on the hand in front of him; the Spy must have hit just the right spot. The frenchman grit his teeth in a grin and yanked his fingers out of the Sniper's ass.



Too late.

The Spy pressed his ridiculously hard cock against the bushman's entrance, causing a whole new chorus of gasps and groans that needed to be muffled. It was fascinating to watch the Sniper's face as the considerably short man slid his considerably large dick into places where, apparently, no probe had gone before.

"Mon cher, when I am done with you, you will want this treatment more than just tonight…" There was, of course, no response from his partner, whose mouth was full of hand and whose ass was full of Spy.

It was during the Spy's second, less careful thrust that Helen heard a shrill noise behind her. Spinning around, she discovered a very red Ms. Pauling with hands to her mouth and clipboard fallen to the ground. With a bit of embarrassment, she realized that she had been watching these two go at it for several minutes now, on the biggest screen with the volume pumped up. She coughed, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity despite the image behind her of the gasping, undulating Sniper and the panting, thrusting Spy. She summoned up her best glare and aimed it right at her employee.

"Yes, Ms. Pauling?" She spat icily.

"There's—they're, uh—those two—isn't that—" The Administrator simply raised an eyebrow and let the poor girl splutter. Finally, she seemed to regain the ability to speak. "We should, um, that is, I think we ought to—don't you want to do something about that?" She was almost shrieking, her shaking finger pointing at the screen.

"Hmmm," the Administrator mused, spinning around to face the action once again. The Sniper was moaning the Spy's name now—his real name. Impressive. "Yes, yes of course. Install a camera in the Sniper's van immediately…"