The BLU Gift

Christmas evening. Such an interesting night for either team. On one hand, the BLUs gather together and feast, enjoying each others' company, worried none of being assaulted and their free time being spent with their new toys they've acquired. On the other side of Coldfront, in the unheated RED base, that team does the same, most in the Christmas spirit, but some lacking the proper holiday cheer. All dread the cold war for tomorrow. Especially the RED's Spy.

The cunning, sexy Frenchman, whose always smirking that sly smile, now stares blankly at the new television. A gift Mann Co. had sent to them. Too damn bad there isn't a spit of cable.

"Spy?"

The masked man lifts his eyes. Wonderful. A doctor.

"Vhy are you not vith zhe others in zhe kitchen?" Medic questions, his eyebrows raising in curiosity.

"Zat is none of your concern."

"Ve are a little vorried."

"...My apologies, doctor. I am tired." Without giving the RED Medic a chance to respond, the Spy heaves himself up to his feet. "Goodnight, mon ami." He begins to walk out of the room, his eyes casting down to the floor, where his feet half-scrap against the chilling tile.

"Very vell..." He hears the doctor mumble, "if you change your mind, you are velcomed back, ja? Goodnight."

If the hallways weren't so goddamn freezing, maybe the Frenchman might've actually enjoyed being in the silence, all alone. With no furnace, or for that matter, sign of life, he might as well have been shipped to Siberia to suffer with the frost. Either way, his arms curl around himself, and he intakes a shaky breath of cold air, walking quickly down hallway after hallway. The Spy does stop at a door, not his door, but of someone else. A sob breaks through the silence, and as the RED peers inside, he raises an eyebrow. Their Scout is crying, his face hidden against his knees, and a small piece of paper crushed in his hand. If he were on better spirits, he might've gone in there to see what the fuss was about.

Ah, there. His room. And... What is that blocking the door? An oversized... box?

Moving closer, he spots a note tied on top of the blue wrapping paper. Written in French, and in blue pen, it doesn't take an Engineer to figure out who signed it.

Dear RED Spy,

Hope the holidays are treating
you fair. I've decided to put aside
our differences, and send you
something. Consider it a, 'Happy
Ceasefire' present. Or, as
others would think, a Christmas
present. I have no use of it, so
please, keep it.

Love, BLU Spy.

P.S. – Don't send him back.

Him? The RED Spy blinks and gazes down at the blue box. What on earth could his counterpart have sent him? He looks around. Nobody is in the corridors. Sighing to himself, he half-drags the box into his room, kicking the door shut once he's inside.

"Bonjour?" He tries talking to the box. It doesn't make a sound. Maybe the traitor is lying, and there is really nothing in the confinements of the object. Or maybe it's a bomb, or something equally stupid. Most likely a bomb. Still, kneeling down next to it, the RED knocks on the cardboard. A bomb cannot weigh that much, even if it were as big as Heavy.

"Ah... hrm... Wot... Spy? Spy, y'there?" An Australian accent? It couldn't be.

"...Oui-"

"Goddamn Spy! Open th'box, y'no good dirty, rotten, backstabbin' scumbag of a BLU! I swear, mate, 'm gonna be seein' y'in court fer this! Open th'bloody box!"

Raising a curious eyebrow, the Frenchman unties the blue ribbons and rips the pin-striped wrapping paper off. Opening the flaps of the box, the Spy peers in.

"'Bout time y'wank-" Grey eyes meet blue. The RED takes the paused silence to scan the enemy Sniper, seeing him in nothing but tight-fitting jeans, his signature hat, and his wrists and ankles bounded together by scratchy-looking rope. In huge blue letters, "RAPE ME" is written on paper and taped to his crotch. "Bloodeh hell..."

"Zis is razher surprising, to say ze least." The Frenchman mutters, grinning a little, straightening himself up, "Did my counterpart do zis to you?"

"Y...Yeh." Tense doesn't even begin to describe how the BLU Sniper is feeling. To have himself restrained back and shirtless is downright embarrassing, especially in front of an enemy spook that spends half his time sticking sharp blades into his back, and the other half trying to seduce him. It sure isn't a walk in the park.

"Hmph. I will have to zhank him later." Smiling sadistically, the RED grips the Sniper by the shoulders and helps him stand. His eyes trail over the sharpshooter's body, obviously liking what he's seeing. "You can 'op out, oui?"

"Kinda hard t'jump outta box like this." The BLU gestures with a nod towards the cardboard barriers. It surprises him when the Spy smirks, looking more than pleased.

"Good." Is all the Frenchman says, his hands sweeping downward, his body circling the restrained Aussie. "You know, it's nice to touch you wizhout ze butt of a rifle connecting to ze side of my head."

"God, if only I could do that now." Sniper grumbles, scowling at the RED mask.

Somewhere in the background, probably playing all the way from the kitchen, Feliz Navidad echoes in the silence. The snow outside the window has become a thin layer of ice over the glass, proving the struggled shine from the moon buried above the white sky to darken tremendously. Thankfully, the room owns a kerosene lamp in the corner, keeping the space toasty and enough to see in.

"Such words you say."

"Yeh, an' guess wot's happenin' t'ya t'morrow."

"Oh, mon amour, your plans with change drastically after tonight."

"Highly unlikely, mate."

With a playful, promising smirk on the Frenchman's lips, he leans close, his lips brushing against the BLU's. " 'ighly likely, mate." Oh, what does he spy now? A light blush the bushman's trying to hide? Too cute. Granting what he's been wanting to do, the masked man kisses the Sniper, the dominance being announced by the RED. Without any permission, he tongues the Australian, his ears perking up as he listens to the voiced, surprised groan. His hands dance up the man's chest, his fingers pinching a nipple.

"Gnh... Bl-Bloodeh Spies... horny idiots." The Sniper grumbles, his cheeks blushing red from the pleasurable, sharp pain. "...'m not yer boytoy."

"Maybe not, mon cher, but you're going to wish you were." That sadistic grin still implanted on his features, he drops down onto his knees and studies the note on the others crotch. Zat is a very friendly request, don' you agree, ma chère?" He suggests, pulling slightly at the piece of paper.

"No. Take it off."

"Wizh pleasure."

Before the BLU can correct what he's said, the damn Frenchman is zipping the fly down, slipping the bounded hands of the Sniper behind his head. As the jeans fall, the Spy can practically feel the small shivers of nervousness the Australian is letting off. He's scared. He's... Scared? No, he's not. Snipers don't get scared. Especially not now. He's just nervous, that's all. Jittery and excited about what's to come. "Relax, mon tireur embusqué." The Spy cooes, a gloved hand slinking up and rubbing so soft against the small half-erected bulge. "I won't bite."

The BLU says nothing, but that doesn't perturb the Frenchman. Not one bit. His gloved digit fingers down into the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down.

That seems to startle the Sniper awake. "Wait, wait, wait-" Trying to take a step away from the masked man, it dawns on him too late that his ankles are bounded as well. Stumbling backwards, it's almost a miracle his upper body lands on the cot. The blankets smell like some sort of fancy Frenchie cologne. It smells nice.

"Do not worry," The RED tries again, straddling the Sniper's thighs, "An' don't move. You'll be begging me not to stop soon enough." Winking, the Spy fails to notice the light blush in response, and instead directs his attention towards the half-risen arousal, still confined in the blue boxers. Without a second thought, he rips them off, his eyebrows raising at how... ahem...bighe is. Not to be unexpected, though. He is Australian, after all.

"Git'way from me." Sniper growls, squirming. The Spy ignores him and strips his hands clean from the gloves. "Git off me, y'damn, bloody spook!"

"Non, I don't zink I will." He wraps his naked fingers around the BLU's dick, massaging the sensitive skin and warming it. Whether it be intentional or not, he can hear the Sniper coke out a gasp, and gazing up, he spots the man with narrowed eyes, glaring down at him. There's a dark flush on the man's cheeks, and once he begins to stroke him, the Sniper closes his eyes, breathing a little too loud. The harder he strokes, the Spy dully notes, the more the BLU begins to make tiny whimpers, trying to hide them and bring them back down to breathes.

Leaning down, the Frenchman smirks to himself. Casting a stray glance upwards, connecting eyes with the Australian, he deep-throats him.

"Fu-Fuck...! Spy..." He hears the Sniper moan, his hips making the slightest movement of thrusting. Pleased, the RED bobs his head, his tongue grazing the sensitive skin in his mouth, all while one of his hand is still wrapped around the base, moving in a different rhythm, a much rougher pace. "Ghn..."

The Australian wraps his restrained hands around the RED's neck, moving up the scalp and almost seeming to massage there, as if it's the only thing he can do. It possibly is the only gesture he can manage to encourage the Spy, subtract the voiced groans of pleasure.

"Spy!"

Said man jumps back in surprise, pulling away and staring at the door. The impatient knocks are enough to make his blood frost up, all while Sniper jerks his head up in confusion and fear.

The Scout outside the Spy's room groans. "C'mawn, Spy! Open the door!"

"Un instant." The Frenchman growls.

"Speak English, Frenchie."

"One moment."

With no words exchanged, the RED helps Sniper up into the bed, and immediately tugs the blankets over him. Kicking the box off to the side, he gives one last glance to the still figure in his bed, before cracking the door open, only a little.

"What do you want, Scout?" The masked man snarls, irritation obviously written in his eyes.

The glare doesn't seem to bother the younger killer. He smiles almost creepily, "Wanted t'like, show you somethin'."

"Maybe later."

"Y'gotta see it now!"

"Non." With that, the Spy turns to slam the door, when out of nowhere, he's being yanked out of the safety of his room by the hand. The runner holds tight to his hand, pouting.

"C'mawn!" Glancing down, he stares with disgust at the fingernails, "Y'paint yer nails?"

Hidden by the balaclava, he blushes, pulling his hand free and away, "Speak of zis to no one, or et will be your last." Before allowing the younger RED a word, he backs up into his room and slams the door, locking it, holding his breath until the boy's footsteps trail off. Sighing in relief, he walks over to the cot and pulls the blankets off.

"Now zat ze annoying brat is gone... Where were we?" Smiling down at the bounded man, he crawls on top of him.

"Let's see... Ya were about t'untie me and let me outta here." The BLU mumbles, his glare not as powerful as it was ten minutes ago. The Spy notices this and chuckles.

"Oh, how unlikely, mon amour." Reaching for the roped wrists, he hooks them over the bedpost, "I zink..." unbuttoning his own pants, he pulls them off, including his underwear, "we were right at ze part..." untying the man's feet, the Spy spreads those legs open for him, grinning in excitement, "where we would begin fucking."

"Yer funny. Now git off me."

"Non zhank you." His hand crawls down to wrap around the familiar arousal of the Australian, pumping it back up, his own excited at the vision and thought of the BLU moaning for him, begging for him to keep going. The Sniper bites his lip to keep from making a sound, evidently not wanting to give the Frenchman what he wants.

"Tch." And without a single warning, the cloaking device activates, leaving the Sniper startled and gazing around above him. He can still feel those slender fingers around his dick, squeezing him, but he can't see the owner. Something hard probes him, and before he can utter a single complaint, the invisible Spy thrusts into him.

The RED moans lowly. So... So tight. Those damn muscles around him tighten up at the intrusion, almost to the point where its painful. "R-Relax, Sn-Sniper..." He groans, "You're going to hurt ze bozh of us." Only when the BLU forces himself to relax, does the Spy begin to pull back, and thrust in, soft at first. He can see the Sniper's face twist up in pain, but some of it edges into pleasure.

The Spy begins to get the hang of it, seeing the enemy moan so soft, and thrusts in a little harder, and a little faster.

There is something positively wrong about being fucked by a cloaked Spy, as far as Sniper could feel. He could feel bare, slim fingers ghost over his chest, brushing faintly over a nipple, crawling higher to grasp his hair, while the other hand continues its job, jerking him in rhythm with the thrusts. Yes, very wrong. But it feels amazing. With his wrists still tied over his head, he chooses to close his eyes instead, and groan softly. How he wishes he could grab a hold of that invisible RED and twist their positions over. Yet this is just as good. Thrust. Thrust. God, it feels amazing.

The Spy moans, nuzzling his face into the crook of the sharpshooter's neck. It feels better than he ever imagined in those dreams and fantasies. Lifting himself out a little, he collides his hips against the Sniper's, knowing full well the bruises it's going to leave, but finds himself not caring if he'll be hurting tomorrow in the battle.

"Spy..." The BLU breathes, his hips jolting against the man's. He can't see the Frenchman, but he can feel a hot tongue drag across his collarbone, shivers rushing and goosebumps rising.

"Ah, m-mon cher..." The RED whispers in his ear, nibbling on it, "you 'ave to scream for me."

"Yer bl-bloody team'll overhear."

"Let zem."

Groaning, the Sniper squeezes his eyes shut, and one more thrust does it. He cums, crying out the Spy's title, and in turn the RED does the same, though his moans and muffled against the BLU's throat.

The cloaking device disables, leaving the naked Frenchman in sight. He exhales slowly, catching his breath, seeing the Sniper do the same. His eyelids droop down, but he forces them up for a little while longer. Closing in once more, he pecks the Australian on the lips, curling up to his side and resting his head on the other's chest. He would've passed out instantly, if not for the BLU to groan and squirm around.

"What ez et?" The Spy mumbles, testing how long he can stay awake. Unconsciously, he wipes off the sticky white liquid off of his chest with the blanket.

"Take off th'damn rope." Sniper grumbles, pulling at the restraints. His arms ache now, despite the pleasure still tingling his senses.

"Mmm... I will... tomorrow..." Smirking, he rubs the Sniper's chest affectionately and eventually dozes off.

~~~III~~~

Dear BLU Spy,

I enjoyed the present quite
well, thank you. We should do
this again sometime soon,
yes? Next time, though, should
you send this again, may I ask
if you also send a few sides, as
in chocolate or whip cream? That
would be lovely.

Contrary to the popular belief,
I am not that selfish. What
goes around, comes around.
With that, I do hope you are
pleased with what I've picked
out for your late Christmas
present.

Love, RED Spy.

P.S. – Keep him. We really
don't need a sniper. We
really don't.

A/N: OKAY. Okay. I got bored. ; A ; Made this for my father, because she loves BLU Sniper, and I make stories for people I love.

Yeah, okay. :I