Heavy/Medic for my psychotic roommate (seriously, bro, what is wrong with you you dumb cunt)
TF2, stop making me write fanfiction.
(I secretly love it.)
DO NOT read further if you're not cool with Heavy abuse. K? K.
Eyes flutter open and a groan escapes those luscious lips. Blood trails like spittle from one corner of that delectable mouth, and traces a little river along the stubble dotting his cheek. His gaze is unfocused, his eyes bloodshot, his pupils uneven. His right pupil seems to swallow his iris altogether. My gorgeous puppet raises one hand as far as the restraints allow, and upon realization that he cannot move to protect himself he begins to thrash and bellow like a bear in a trap.
"Hush, mein Liebling," I murmur, smoothing my bare palm over his eyes. He snaps his jaw at my hand, as if that will deter or injure me. I almost have to laugh at this, our excuse for foreplay.
His skin is spread and pinned back against the table, and as he gasps for air and chokes yet more blood out of his poor raw throat I can watch the twitching of his heart and lungs. Such delicious organs mein Pupp has. It takes all my self restraint to refrain from caressing the curve of his liver, the thrusting peaks of his shattered ribs, the pulsating sac of his stomach churning with fear. I can smell it, that fear; I can feel it stinging my nostrils and burning down into my lungs, and it sears like acid and I thrill to feel it filling me. I love him, this bumbling bull ape.
Full to burst with love I lean over and lick the ragged edge of his gaping wound. His blood is sharp on my tongue and his screech of pain and fear rings long after his vocal chords give out. He has been screaming so long, mein Barchen, and has never quite understood that it will never make a difference. Those screams are music. To see his lungs swell, so mighty, so large, and then push as his diaphragm raises and his mouth falls open and the sound bubbles out like vomit, a swell of noise, and his tongue extends as he gags on the sound and retches -
This pain, it is delectable.
And it is now that I begin to crave more. I watch his eyes as he watches mine, and we stare levelly at each other as he begins the next movement in our little ballet.
"Please, Doktor," he begs hoarsely. His voice creaks and groans in protest, for his throat is by now damaged beyond repair. "Please. No more. I will be good."
"Ah, mein Liebling," I murmur to him, kissing the curve of one massive hip. "Of course you will be good."
He knows I have no intention of stopping, and yet he begs.
"I will listen," he grunts, and now tears begin to spill from his reddened eyes. "I will protect Doktor better on field. I will crush more baby men. Please Doktor. Please. I will listen."
I pretend to ignore his voice, though the sound of what I do to him sends shivers down my spine. I resume my rummaging in the open pit of his body, caressing with bare, bloodied fingers each twist and curl of his intestines. They slip against my hands, so I travel upwards and massage each kidney with one thumb.
Ah, those lungs swell again. I can sense by the oppressive silence that soon I will have him. Each word is a labour, now. My fingers trace ponderously along his stomach, contemplating an incision.
My Barchen's voice has become shrill, much like the agonizing wail of a young boy. "Doktor, no, no please, please," he repeats, again and again, each word drawing higher until his pleas sound like the hiss of air escaping a balloon.
And it is now that my hand seizes his heart and squeezes.
Blood pours over my hand as I clench, the organ in my palm seizing and spasming. My love stares at me, his mouth falling open helplessly, and makes one last attempt to lunge forward at me before his body gives out and he falls back, cracking his head hard against the operating table.
I drop his pulverized heart and leap towards his head, brushing my hands against his cheeks and watching hungrily as the light leaves his eyes. He is glaring at me, even in death, with a brutish, accusing glare, and for the first time in our little dance I kiss those pouting lips, savouring the taste of his blood. My body hungers for this flesh, this defenseless, broken puppet, and I trace my fingertips over his skin and muscle to his gorgeous hips. I ache with lust, as I always do when mein Heavy finally dies.
And now is body is truly mine, and no spark remains in it to stop me.
I awake in Respawn, with blurry eyes. As always I feel a strange ghost pain, which tells me what injury killed me. This time it is my heart.
As I rise, my head spins with vertigo and I nearly vomit. Strange, that Respawning should make me feel so ill. I cannot remember where I was on the battlefield, whom I was battling, or even where my weapons are. This is vaguely worrying, and I begin to wonder if memory loss during Respawn is normal. Perhaps I should talk to Doktor about it. He always makes time for me, always sees me first.
And here he comes, down the hallway, bloodstains drying on his lab coat. I try to shove thoughts of ghastly experiments from my mind as I come forward to meet him. Grasping his hand, I lean on him and see him buckle under my weight.
"Doktor," I greet him. "I am not feel well. My head is foggy. Can you fix?"
"Of course, mein Liebling," he purrs, and a ghost of apprehension washes over me.
What a foolish emotion.
My doctor would never harm me.