Unexpected

​Gonna tell you right now, if you're looking for blatant smut go to chapter 5 right now and don't bother with this. Chapter 5 promises a bit of kink and some forced slash. It's worth the clicks! And if something about the story peaks your interest you can you can always turn back to chapter one and start from the beginning! :D So, yeah that's my life.

“Bloody, fuckin’ Spook!” the blue sniper hissed under his breath. He knew the spy was in the nest with him. He could feel the creep. His hand slipped to the jar hanging from his belt. He closed his eyes and counted. 1, 2, 3… BANG! The jar of urine smashed against the wall. “Damn!” the spy’s knife slashed his face causing him to fall back against the crate that the pot of coffee was sitting on. The pot fell to the floor with a crash and shattered at the spy’s feet.

            “That’s hand crafted Italian leather, Bushman!” the spy growled. In a second the spy was on the Aussie, knife in hand. “Beg me to let you go,” the smile that flowed across those lips was one of pure evil joy.

            “That’ll be the day, Spook,” the larger man easily pushed the spy off of him. The spy was light for a full grown man. The sniper took up his Kukri and swiped at his attacker. The large swipes were easily dogged by the swift spy. The spy leapt up, grabbing a beam of the wooden ceiling, and kicked the sniper in the gut. The sniper fell to one knee in a coughing fit. The red spy dropped to the floor and straightened his tie before pulling the sniper’s head up by the hair. The spy’s knife easily slid through the stubble covered neck of the bushman. His blood flowed like water over the blade and down his shirt.

The spy let the sniper’s body fall to the floor with a heavy thud. A soft laugh escaped the spy’s lips as the red slowly sauntered from the scene of the crime. Time to hit the showers. The battle was won by the red team, of course.

 

XXXXX

 

            Black and then light, the respawn room. God damn, bloody, fuckin’ Spook! This happened to him at least twice daily. It had been nearly five years since he had gone a day without being murdered in cold blood. The medical team was good but there were scars from every stab, slash and gunshot that he had received over the years. The only place he wasn’t horribly scared was his face. For some reason they were told to take special care of the face. The sniper assumed it was because TF industries had paid to make them look like the original combat team and they didn’t want that to change because of some careless headshot or knife wound. Whatever.

            The blue walked over to his locker and looked into the mirror. A new scar right across his jugular. The spy had never tried to decapitate him before. His throat was sore, the medics aren’t perfect. He tried a sip of water from the bottle in his locker. The cool liquid felt like razors going down. He choked and fell to his knees coughing. He felt a hand on his head. The feeling was all too familiar. With reflexes like a cat’s he twisted and tripped the blue scout.

            “Yo, man, the battle’s over, dude,” the scout picked himself up and brushed himself off.

            The sniper made his apologies and escaped. He was going to bed. He didn’t even care that it was only 6pm.

 

XXXXX

 

            The spy sat with the pyro in the pyro’s room. The two of them were close. Besties really. They were the two most mysterious of the red team and they took comfort in the masked face of the other. They both had something to hide but they didn’t have to hide when they were together. The pyro’s long, stringy, raven black hair mingled with the spy’s copper colored curls hanging off of the side of the bed as the pair regaled each other with the day’s work. The pyro’s words were a jumble of mumbles, many thought that this was because of his mask, but the burnt lips, seared nearly shut, were the true culprit. The spy understood him though. Every word he muttered was loud and clear; from blowing bubbles at the blue team’s special present machine to giving their medic an extra large lollipop. He loved to spread love and joy to everyone.

            The pyro didn’t even know there was a war going on and the spy wasn’t about to change that. They rolled onto their sides so that they could look at each other. The spy raised a hand and stroked the pyro’s half melted face. He was the phantom of the opera to the spy. A strange, misunderstood creature.

            The spy was about to speak when a familiar, booming voice came over the speaker. “Spy to the surveillance room! I repeat, Spy to the surveillance room!” The spy sighed, gently kissed the pyro’s forehead, and then pulled on the mask. The spy used the disguise kit to mask the more feminine figure and voice. Another meeting with the soldier, great.

 

XXXXX

 

            Three to two, red spy. The sniper was keeping track today. He wasn’t going to let that spook dominate him again. He kept a special eye out for the shimmer of the cloaking device and the tell tale cloud of smoke that followed the bastard around. The sniper eyed something down by the bridge. It was a long shot but he lined up his sights and pulled the trigger. The shimmer moved quickly away. It was that damned spy. It had to be. The sniper searched the field again, looking for either a body or a shimmer. He couldn’t see either. The spy was gone. The sniper snapped around, now on high guard. If the spy wasn’t in the court yard then he was coming this way. The sniper dropped his gun and picked up his Kukri as his palms began to sweat.

            He felt an arm around his neck from behind. His body reacted by pulling the spy through the window and over his shoulder. The spy uncloaked and rolled to his feet with a laugh. The two stared at each other for a moment. The sniper was nearly in shock. The spy was smiling that oh so evil grin. The sniper looked from the spy’s eyes for only a second and noticed the bleeding wound in the spy’s shoulder. The bullet had hit. A small smile came to the sniper’s lips. He lunged for the spy with his blade. Even injured the spy was quick and dodged the hasty slash. The spy shoved the bushman into the wall and pulled his arm behind his back. The French man leaned into him.

            “Are you quite through, yet?” the spy’s voice was a laugh. He pulled the sniper’s arm up farther causing him to grunt.

            “Bite me, Spook,” the sniper’s voice was rough and raspy from the day before. His anger gave him strength and he shoved backwards throwing the spy to the floor and crushing the disguise kit. The angered Aussie mounted the red and began to beat him. Sniper could feel the spy’s nose and cheek bone break under his fists. The mask covering the spy’s face loosened with the rough administrations. “Now, I’m gonna see what you look like unda that hood, Creeper,” the sniper ripped the hood from the spy. He quickly stood and backed up against the wall. “You, you’re a…”

            “Say it,” the spy spit blood on the floor.

            The sniper just stared wide eyed as the spy slowly stood and moved closer. Soon the red was so close the sniper could feel the other’s breath on his lips. The copper smell of blood was over whelming and clouded with something sweet, a scent distinctly feminine.

            “You’re a, a,” the sniper couldn’t finish.

            “A girl?” the spy’s beaten and distorted face curled in a smile. She pulled her gun from her hip holster and held it to her enemy’s head. “Boom,” she pulled the trigger, “Headshot,” the Sniper’s lifeless body slid to the floor leaving a bloody streak on the wall.