The big Russian was unaided, for the moment—his Medic had darted off to administer to the bellowing RED Soldier on the ground below and behind, a few dozen yards away. No doubt he intended to finish quickly with the Solider and join up again with Heavy after the fat man rounded the corner of the walkway and barreled down the ramp to the ground. The BLU Spy knew he had but a few seconds to take advantage of Heavy's vulnerability before the Medic returned to continue keeping an eye on and overhealing his favourite meat shield.

A few seconds are all he needs. RED's Heavy kept charging forward, brute that he is, towards and then past the pocket of shadow Spy's tucked himself into. Spy activated his cloak, one, two, three quick strides and the butterfly knife came up and Heavy went down.

A split second later and the familiar report of a sniper rifle cracked through the air. Spy reactivated his cloak and immediately dashed forward and to the left, drawing his revolver as he pressed his back against the wall. He peered around the corner and was greeted with the sight of the RED Pyro pitched forward on the ramp, face down in a rapidly-growing pool of blood issuing from a big, messy hole in its head. It must have caught sight of Spy right as he killed Heavy; any longer in that vicinity and he would have been torched. He glared at the Pyro's corpse. He hated that—whatever it was, hated fighting it, hated waking up in the respawn room with the ghostly sensation of flames engulfing his body. He returned his attention to the battlefield, sharp eyes quickly scanning rooftops and windows and corners for a glint of sun on metal…nothing, as he suspected. He glanced down and made a face.

"…'ee got blood on my suit."

The BLU Sniper cracked a smirk as he fired off the shot. He saw Spy disappear as the Pyro flopped forward, limbs going every which way. Then he was up and moving, on his way to find the next vantage point. Spy could thank him later.

It wasn't until later, after the day's battle and after dinner, that Spy got a chance to express his gratitude. Sniper unlocks and pushes the door to his quarters open—it's winter out there, it's damn cold, and it's forced the heat-loving Australian to shift indoors until warmer weather prevails—and steps inside. He barely has time to take his hat off and set it on the small desk before he's roughly shoved up against the wall by an unseen force. The cloak deactivates and Spy's steel-blue eyes are close, boring into his. Spy's arm snakes up the Australian's chest and his hand grips onto the back of Sniper's neck. He pulls downward and Sniper's lips crash into his in a savage, greedy kiss.

Spy's mouth is insistent against his own, vying for control and having to work for it. They're pressed flush together and Sniper's arms wrap around the smaller man, one around his waist and the other around a shoulder, large hand cupping the back of the Frenchman's head.

It takes awhile but they finally pull apart for air. Spy presses his forehead against his lover's cheek as the two try and catch their breath, feeling the other's heart pounding in his chest. Sniper's mouth pulls into a lopsided grin.

"No worries, mate," he says.

Author's Note: Hnnngggg fml TF2 has eaten my soul, fucking goddamnit. And I ship these two. I ship them liekwhoa. Same-team-lovin', though, for sure. Damn right.