A/N: Well, here's the first fanfic I've written since... well, since that last fic I've posted on here, aside from one or two short stories I did for the Phoenix Wright kinkmeme on LJ. This, however, is a different thing entirely. It's the first piece of smut I've ever written, and it's very rambling and tl;dr. Seriously, this thing clocks in at 6791 words. It starts off pretty good, but I ran majorly out of steam about 4000 words in, and everything after that isn't so great. Still, I tried my best.

Concrit would be extremely valued and cherished.

A Different Point of View

They say desperate men do desperate things. The Scout was, at the moment, a very desperate man indeed.

Ever since he'd first woken up to the laughter of his brothers, realizing slowly that his sheets were tangled around his waist and moist in a strange way, he'd been insecure about what they called sexuality. Sure, once he'd gotten over the initial shock, he'd hidden dirty magazines under his mattress and gotten off to them as well, but there was ever a lingering feeling of doubt. Well, not really doubt - more a lack of belief that what he saw on those pages in slightly discolored photographs and read in badly written smutty articles was all there was to it. He spent a year of high school courting one of the cheerleaders and lost his boyhood to her the following year: to his disappointment, it wasn't quite what he'd expected, and if he was completely honest with himself he'd admit he'd preferred the blowjobs. Boobs didn't do much for him either, to be frank, so the Scout decided he was one of the guys who preferred butts, though the explanation didn't satisfy him completely. Neither did the girls he went through in the next few years. If they were normal girls, they eventually got grossed out by the things he asked if he could try and tossed him out into the cold night to walk eight miles home in his underwear: if they were freaks, they were real freaks, to the point where he ran those eight miles home in his underwear of his own volition. Still, every encounter was a lesson - a small confirmation that he wasn't a normal guy. It terrified him.

That terror had followed him all through high school. It made him stare at his feet in the locker rooms after baseball practice and walk straight home to shower instead of washing up with the other guys - the stirrings they had started to cause in him were just too much. After graduation, he'd felt a bit lost, playing baseball in the neighborhood team and flipping burgers at a local fast food place more to pass the time than to make money. He was waiting for something, that was for sure - he just had no idea what it was. The invitation to join what was reputedly some sort of building or demolition firm was abrupt and came quite out of the blue, but the pay seemed good and they had a great dental plan, so he packed his things and left home for the first time in his life. The job turned out to be nothing like what he'd expected. In fact, it was much better. Running and hurting people all day was a much better distraction to the insecurity that threatened to bubble up inside than menial labor. His teammates were great fun, all colorful guys that made life interesting at the very least, if not always enjoyable per se (all the firearms, blood and jars of pee made for huge laundry loads, for instance).

The fact that one of his teammates seemed to see right through him was the reason he was here now, feeling awkward as hell as he stood outside a dusty old camper van, fist raised to knock on its door. The Sniper wasn't really a quiet guy - he was talkative enough when he was in the mood - but he was a bit withdrawn, keeping his distance to his allies during cease-fire like he kept his distance to everyone during combat. And yet somehow, whenever he got tangled in some heated discussion, he seemed to know everything about everyone. That was what the Scout was currently bidding on... or petrified of, he couldn't quite decide. After all, even if the Aussie knew all of them like he knew his way around the territories - and he did - why would it necessarily mean that he was willing to divulge on any of it? Did the guy even care? would he tell anyone about what he wanted to ask? Shaking his head angrily and grinding his teeth together, the Scout mentally picked himself up. No second guesses now, man! We gotta do this... Steeling himself in case the door would be answered by Jarate rather than a man, the Scout moved to rap on the door, only to find it creaking open in front of him and making him look a bit daft as his hand simply passed through the newly opened space. Wide-eyed, he looked up at the imposing figure of the camper's owner (Jesus, had the guy always been that tall?), vaguely aware his mouth was probably hanging open.

The Sniper glared down at him for a moment, then smirked.

"Figured you'd be comin' 'round 'bout this time, mate. Better get inside before someone on the other side decides to break cease-fire, 'ey?"

Trying to gain some of his usual steam before he made a complete ass of himself, the Bostonian gave a crooked smile back at the Australian, shrugging in feigned nonchalance.

"Hey, those idiots on the other team got nothin' on me. They're so stupid, they wouldn' notice me if I camped out on the 2fort bridge. Now lemme in, it's fuckin' chilly out heyah, man."

The older man shifted slightly to let the shorter pass under his arm, glanced out the doorway for good measure, then closed and bolted the flimsy structure. The sound of the security chain jingling made the hair on the kid's neck stand on end. There really was no escaping now, unless he could punch his way through the door, and he knew he probably couldn't unless the camper was much worse off than it appeared. Flopping down on the nearest soft horizontal surface in what he hoped was a casual manner, the Scout slipped off his cap and ran a hand over his freshly buzz-cut hair before looking up at the Sniper. The older man had moved over to the small kitchenette in the aisle that led to the driver's cabin and was shuffling through cabinets, searching for something in his usual calm pace. Finding a spare mug for the coffee that was already dripping (so the guy really had been expecting someone, weeeird) the Sniper turned back towards the Scout, his expression almost jeering behind the yellow lenses of his glasses.

"So, what brings you 'ere, gremlin?"

Feeling his throat abruptly turn to sandpaper and fishhooks at the question, the Bostonian coughed slightly, then attempted his usual smart-aleck grin as the Sniper sat down on a pallet near the bunk - shit, he was on the guy's bed. This was weird. Really weird ass shit. Panicking for a second, the kid tried to modify his loss of cool into arrogance, and when the words came out he knew he'd screwed it up.

"So, uh... you know a lotta 'bout us guys in da team, right? 'Cuz you're always watchin' and when you talk with people it's like you're readin' their fuckin' minds or somethin', man, and it's kinda cool but it's also really creepy--"

A blank stare from the Australian interrupted the Scout's sudden tirade, and with a sigh, he decided to take the short, straight route instead of the longer, secure one and risk taking an arrow to the forehead - either figuratively or literally, both were still options at this point. The words bubbled under the surface, roiling and twisting until they finally just leapt off his tongue and lips and it was too late to snatch them back.

"D'you think I'm a faggot?"

The corner's of the Sniper's mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, but the Scout found he'd been subconsciously staring at the older man's lips and the small huff had not gone unnoticed. He almost bolted right then and there. The Aussie was fucking laughing at him - he'd just revealed his darkest fucking secret, his one and only goddamn insecurity, and the knucklehead was just sitting there and grinning. Then the Sniper got up, the movement slow and gentle as always, and he was just about to open his mouth to tell him to fucking forget it and never mention it or he'd bash his fucking skull in for sure when the Aussie turned and walked over to the coffee machine that had just stopped its crackling noise.

"Well, kid, I can't say that jus' based on lookin' at 'chu - s'not like blokes who like blokes look different from blokes who like dames. If you want, I could ask yer a few quest'shuns, see if we can figure you out.

The Scout blinked slowly, unsure of whether he was still in his right mind or in some Jarate-induced hallucination. Had the Sniper... just offered to help him out? Shaking his head briskly and leaning back onto the bed, the younger man watched in stunned silence as the Australian returned from the kitchenette. Handing the boy a steaming mug and muttering something about only having decaf and being sorry, the taller man simply looked at him expectantly, brows raised as a clear signal to go on. Sighing and taking a sip, the Scout wondered for a moment where to start. Not finding a single logical place to do so, he tossed the ball back to the Sniper, their silent communication suprisingly efficient. Leaning forward, the Aussie rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then looked into the younger man's eyes.

"Ever had a dream abou' a man - one of those dreams you wake up from all cross-eyed and swea'y, if you catch mah drift, mate?"

The Scout turned his cup around in his hands for a second, frowning, before gingerly nodding. That was all he dared do: he was afraid that if he opened his mouth again, something terrifyingly stupid would come out and what help he might have gotten would be locked away into the recesses of the Sniper's mind. The assassin sipped at his own drink thoughtfully, mouth lingering over the edge of the rim as he continued in his usual calm tone.

"Ever lent yerself a hand while thinkin' about a man?"

Again, the Scout nodded - there was no point in lying now, he'd already gone too far in to back out. Best thing he could do was get it quickly over with, before he started really thinking about the questions he was being asked.

The Sniper paused then, the silence heavy in the air as he held the cup in both hands, seemingly fascinated by something in its depths. The Scout fidgeted slightly on the bed, wondering if he could cut the atmosphere in the van with a knife. Just as he'd settled on needing a chainsaw instead, the Aussie looked up again, his expression decidedly weird.

"Ever kissed a bloke?"

The Bostonian immediately screwed his face up, his uncharacteristic silence finally broken.

"No, man! You have any idea what they do to guys like dat back where I come from? You'd get your ass handed to ya wicked bad, awrite?!"

Chuckling - the dude actually chuckled, what the fuck was that all about - the older man leaned forward, and suddenly the van seemed really fucking small.

"D'you want to?"

A split second later, the Sniper's lips were on the Scout's, and the Bostonian could only wonder somewhere beneath his stunned conscious thoughts why the wombat had bothered asking in the first place. It wasn't the greatest kiss he'd ever had: the older man had just kind of lunged forward and claimed his mouth, and the position they were in wasn't the most comfortable and he really wasn't used to kissing people taller than him... and on some level, he felt it working. This didn't feel weird or disturbing in any way. In fact, it was quite nice. Well, more than nice. Hell, he was definitely getting a rise off it. Goddammit. And just as the Bostonian managed to gather up his courage to try and get some tongue action going on in there, the Sniper drew back, grinning like a fox that had just come across a rabbit with a gimpy leg.

"Well... How was'at, mongrel?"

The tension breaking at the familiar insult, the Scout let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding: soon, he was laughing at the absurdity of it all, an honest and relieved laugh. Snipes wasn't going to screw him over, after all. He'd just wanted to give him, the blushing virgin he suddenly was - fuck that shit, man - a chance to see if he really was a fag. And the result was kind of obvious, what with the sudden flush of heat and the slight stirring in the front of his pants. Yep, definitely a fag. Slowly calming down from his awkward high, the younger man opened his mouth to thank the Aussie for clearing shit up... and paused awkwardly when he noticed the look in the man's gray-blue eyes, suddenly no longer behind yellow lenses. The Sniper had slipped his sunglasses onto the table along with his hat, and was now staring right at the younger man with an intensity that made shivers run down the Scout's spine.

With those dangerously slow, smooth movements of his, the Australian got up and crawled - yes, dude was actually crawling onto it and on top of him, oh God, this couldn't really be happening - on top of the Scout, not quite pinning the younger man down but blocking escape to the sides with his arms in any case. The feral look in the man's face wasn't shifting as he murmured in that low, mellow voice he sometimes used in battle to taunt. Right now, though, it was nothing but... shit, it was sexy.

"Listen to me good now, mate. Either you stop me now, or you let me do this, awright? No second guesses, kid. S'all up to you now."

For a second that went on for a disproportionate amount of personal time, the two merely stared at each other, one perfectly calm as always and one on the verge of panic. Then, faster than a speeding bullet (or so he claimed), the Scout snatched up the collar of his teammate's shirt and yanked him closer. Teeth clashed as they continued where they'd left off: the kisses were still sloppy, but now they were increasingly frenzied, and the sudden influx of body heat was causing stripping to be a very interesting pastime. Eventually, they had to separate as the Sniper sat up and unceremoniously unzipped the Scout's fly and tugged his pants down: temporarily flustered by the sudden act, the Bostonian nearly kneed his partner in the face before nervously settling down again. Sure, he'd seen glimpses of the other guys on the team in the locker rooms, and he was sure they'd accidentally snuck a peek at him... but that was a whole different story. It was like that nervous first time all over again, save for a few key differences that suddenly seemed to loom over the Australian's shoulder and greet him in a way that made his stomach churn. Sure, he'd agreed to this - but what the crap was this, exactly? The Sniper seemed to know, at the very least, so he decided to grin and bear whatever was coming.

He couldn't help but stiffen slightly at the sensation of the Australian's calloused hands smoothing over his inner thighs, the tips of his fingers trailing close but not to the cigar. Was he gonna - oh, yes, he was. His eyes went half-lidded as the broad hand slid over his half-erection, immediately forcing blood to rush to it from less important body parts. The older man smirked again, eyes fixed on the Scout's face, and the younger one did his best to smirk back despite the obvious distraction of a warm hand over his cock that seemed to know what it was doing.

"Help us out a li'l here, 'ey, son?"

Glad to oblige, the Bostonian lifted his buttocks from the mattress, allowing the other to slip his briefs off.

What followed felt incredibly absurd and immensely pleasant at once. Fingers he normally saw curled around a sniper rifle's trigger now coiled around the base of his erection, making him hold his breath for a moment before letting it out in a pleased sigh. Men know what men like, huh... The Sniper was doing all the right things, the tips of his fingers rubbing against the underside, his wrist twisting just slightly. The Scout's eyes drifted closed as he relished the sensation, wondering at how much better this felt when it wasn't his own hand, when he heard a spitting noise and felt the tip of his length grow moist and suddenly it was a lot better and then it came to him what the Sniper was going to do.

"Oh man... A-are you gonna--"

The sentence broke into a whimper - fuck, that was embarrassing - as the Sniper tilted his cock towards his belly, leaned down to it, and ran his tongue over his balls and all along the bottom of the length to the very tip. Lightning struck along his spinal column as the rush of sensation passed through him, almost making him buck his hips.

"Fuuuck, man! Holy shit..."

He couldn't be harder now, there was just no fucking way, and the Sniper was gonna - shit, he was really gonna do it. He watched the Aussie, still half-clothed in wifebeater and pants (all of a sudden that was annoying), adjust his position slightly, curling his legs under him to allow for a more comfortable... he was going to get head. The Scout felt more than heard a soft 'awesome' escaping his lips, felt more than heard the Sniper snort in response, and then felt nothing but the Aussie's tongue lick wetly in a spiraling motion around his cockhead. Saliva dribbled down the length and was probably pooling on his balls, but he honestly couldn't give a shit as the other's lips finally wrapped around the tip of his cock, then descended downward in a series of smooth motions that made him increasingly incoherent. Finally, the amazing wet warmth reached about four-fifths down his cock, not quite to the base but he honestly didn't care. What he cared about was that this felt fucking amazing. What was so different about this - why did it make him feel better than a blowjob ever had?

Then the Aussie began moving, and he still had no idea what made this so good, but it immediately became better. Vaguely, he could guess at what the other was doing: the Sniper's tongue was rubbing the underside of the Scout's cock as he moved up and down the length, and he was salivating quite a bit, but it just made the motion more smooth and easy. The angle was slightly interesting - more towards the roof of his mouth than he'd seen girls aim for - but there was nothing weird about the sensation save for its intensity. Feeling the familiar rising of arousal in himself, the younger man realized he should probably give the Sniper some warning: he didn't want to seem like a complete virgin by just randomly gushing in the guy's mouth.

"Aw man, Snipes -- almost there -- "

To his surprise, the Australian didn't react at all, save for changing his pace and sucking a tad harder, making the Bostonian's cock give that first telltale twitch. The twitch was followed a second later by another, harder one, and suddenly his hands were grasping desperately at the bed, trying to find a contact point, and then --

-- surges of electricity leapt down his spine and through his cock as his come spilled into the warm wet depth -- each jet made the muscles in his thighs twitch involuntarily and his hips buck, forcing his cockhead deeper into the Sniper's throat -- faintly hearing the sound of his own whimpering cries, he wasn't entirely sure his spine hadn't just slipped out his cock as well -- and then he came back to reality, watching through blurred eyes as the Aussie gently milked the last drops out of his still hard cock with a soft suction, letting his tongue roll around the tip once more before letting go of the other's cock with his mouth and leaving only his hand to hold the base. Waiting to see where the older man would spit, the Scout abruptly realized he wasn't going to. Holy shit. The guy swallowed. He'd just gotten head - not just head, the most amazing head he'd ever gotten - from the Sniper and the guy had /swallowed/. The thought made his slowly sagging cock twitch slightly, as if attempting to come back to life before realizing he'd already come and it could die happy now.

His breathing calming down gradually, the Bostonian realized the Sniper was crouched on his knees, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face and his eyes still like a cat's when it pounces on prey it's been playing with.

"So... I'm guessin' ya enjoyed that, mate?"

The Scout's reaction was immediate.

"Fuck yeah, man! I mean, shit... Best ever - honest."

His head falling back, hitting both the pillow and the wall behind the head of the bed, the younger man stared up at the ceiling and sighed in contentment and exhaustion. The Sniper pulled back, sitting up on the bed, and the kid's head followed his movement.

"Uh... What about you, pally?"

An arched brow was all he got in response.

"I mean... Don't you wanna..."

Unable to call things by their real names, the Scout merely gestured at the other man's groin. The events of a moment ago had caused an undeniable effect there - of which the Sniper had apparently been unaware of, since he glanced at his own crotch in surprise and flushed.

"...Heh. Didn' expect yer te get me so riled up, mate. Sure you're up to this, tho'?"

The Bostonian didn't so much as hesitate enough to think before he replied.

"Sure I'm sure, wombat. Now get ova' heyah and show me whatcha got Down Under."

Groaning at the horrible pun, the Sniper pounced and grabbed the front of the younger man's shirt: tugging it over the boy's head so that his arms were pinned above him, he chuckled at the indignant, muffled cries coming from within the cotton fabric. He wanted the kid, dammit, but some of that professional in him told him he didn't want the kid to undress him. It sounded too badly like a cheesy porno to him - the abrupt lovers undressing each other slowly while a sultry saxophone tune played. As he pulled his shirt and wifebeater over his head, the Aussie could hear the younger man doing the same. Both of their clothes ended up in a messy heap on the floor, leaving the Sniper still fully clothed from the waist down but the Scout as naked as the day he was born save for his socks. Plucking the last pieces of clothing off his body, the Bostonian leaned back, surveying the Australian's upper body with fascination and finding to his great surprise that his already mostly gone erection was returning at a swift pace. That hadn't happened before, not even with the most enthusiastic of girls.

A wicked thought came to the Scout's mind as he watched his teammate calmly unbuckle his belt: confident the Aussie's focus would be on him and not undressing, his still bandaged hand trailed down his flat belly and along the trail of light brown hairs that led down from his navel and down to the base of his cock. Eyes narrowing with glee as he noticed the Sniper's fingers start to fumble more frantically with the belt, he began to stroke his half-hardness back to life, enjoying the sensation almost as much as he enjoyed watching the usually calm man before him come undone. After a small eternity of perhaps five seconds the belt was on the floor, joined swiftly by the rest of the older man's clothing. Evidently, as the garments had gone, the ball had rolled from the Scout back to the other end of the playing field, for it was now the other's turn to put on a show. Matching the younger man's leisurely pace was easy for the eternally serene Sniper: for perhaps a minute they remained there, the Aussie on his knees and the Bostonian on his back, assessing one another's bodies silently. The Sniper was obviously a head taller than the Scout, with long legs and sparse dark hair on his arms, thighs and chest: his body was worn by the outback and scarred by battle, but what was left after that was a man in physical prime for his age. The Scout, on the other hand, was smooth planes of neatly defined muscles covered in soft, near hairless skin that was marred only here and there by scarring.

The Sniper reached out, and the younger man found himself gently quivering under the initial touch of the other's broad, calloused hand sliding up his belly and chest. The fingers snaked their way up to his chin and past it to his cheek, where it settled for a moment before curling behind his head. During the motion, the Aussie had snuck himself between his partner's legs, propped up with his other arm to hover over the other. Gently, he lowered himself to kiss the boy: the sensation of their heated skins pressing together made the air around them grow heavy and electric. Letting his arms roam over the Sniper's bare body, the Scout traced his stubby nails over the long back and relished in the pleased hiss he managed to draw from the silent man. He then trailed his fingers over the buttocks, grasping them softly on the way, before leading back up and letting his thumbs gently rub the other's nipples. For him personally, the nipples did nothing, but he knew some girls liked it. There wasn't much of a reaction from the Sniper, though, so he decided to focus his attentions southward.

Sliding his hand between their suddenly moistened torsos, he fumbled briefly before settling the other's cock in his palm, the shape and warmth of it familiar yet alien to him. Sure, it was a cock, just like his - well, not /just/ like, it was a tad thicker and longer - but there was no sensation of pleasure welling up in his groin when he stroked it softly. Grinning into their calming kisses, the Sniper pulled gently away, a shudder passing through him at the sight of the passion in the pale gray eyes beneath him and the redness of the lips he'd just kissed.

"So yer want to do us a favor then, 'ey? Go roight ahead, not stoppin' yer."

The Aussie gave his partner a slight slap on the thigh, gesturing for the kid to move over and let him lie down: once in this new position, the younger man between his legs near his knees, he gestured at his erection and rolled his tongue in his cheek to spurn the boy on. Rolling his eyes, the Scout moved closer, unsure of how to go on until finally settling on placing one elbow past the other's hip and using his other hand to slightly manipulate what he would soon be facing in an altogether new way.

"Aw, c'mon, man, ya ain't in a position to talk..."

The Aussie snorted with laughter, and with a grimace, the Scout realized just how ironic his statement had been. Giving his partner a death glare, he then steeled himself for what he could no longer avoid doing.

The first touch of his lips elicited a hiss from the otherwise silent Sniper, making the Scout hopeful that perhaps this would work out after all, despite the obvious lack of experience he had in the field of sucking cocks. Trying to remember what he'd liked when girls had done it to him before, he sucked on his own tongue for a second to make himself salivate, then gingerly licked at the tip of the cock. The flavor there was not unusual, perhaps a bit musky but still similar to the flavor of any other skin (and he'd tasted plenty of that on all kinds of occasions). What unnerved him was the flavor of what would follow if he was any good at this. He'd never tasted his own spunk, despite occasional curious moments: all he knew was that it didn't smell good and girls didn't like the taste of it. A sudden jarring flashback of the time Demoman had served the entire team haggis made the Scout realize that he'd probably already had worse, and with that resolution, he opened his mouth and slipped the Sniper's cockhead into his mouth. This time, a soft groan erupted from the Australian, just barely loud enough for the American to hear and realize that he'd been much more of a screamer. Both slightly embarrassed and suddenly intrigued as to whether he could force some noise out of the silent assassin, he slid further down the length, pausing when his throat informed him that a quarter inch more would activate his gag reflex. Content with this, the Scout began a slight motion: though the Sniper remained silent, his hands snaked over to smooth over the younger man's hair and cheeks, his eyes tightly closed. Moving a bit quicker and creating a bit more suction caused the eyes to press themselves closed even tighter: a slight snag of the head to one of his molars incited a small twinge of irritation, making the hands massaging his scalp twitch. Eventually, though, he seemed to manage a good pace, at least judging by the way the Sniper's hands on his head were suddenly pulling him down, nearly forcing him to choke on the length attempting to invade his throat before they were just as suddenly gone. The Scout glanced up, confused, and met the Aussie's half-lidded eyes. What was this all about? Weren't they going to make it eye for an eye... figuratively speaking?

The younger man's confusion continued as the Sniper reached over to the tiny bolted-down bedstand beside his bunk, jerking open the third drawer and producing a key: fumbling with one hand, he managed to unlock the topmost drawer, from which he produced something the Scout hadn't seen since his medical examination with the Medic. To be honest, the memory wasn't pleasant at all, and he could only hope what would occur with this particular tube of surgical lubricant wouldn't resemble the procedure very much. Unfortunately, that seemed to not be the case, as the moment the Sniper had popped the cap of the tube and squirted a liberal amount on his middle- and forefingers, his hand headed way south. Still kneeling over the other's legs, the Scout shivered at the sudden sensation of cold gel pressing against... no. No way. No fucking way was Snipes gonna --

The two slick fingers pressed their way past his sphincter, and the younger man let out a sudden mewl. The sensation wasn't really painful - eating rations for a few months gave you enough fibre in your diet to make you pass bigger things than a few fingers - being more odd than anything. The Sniper, the calm and quiet backup of the team who never really got himself tangled with the others, was beneath him naked with a raging erection and had two fingers up his backside. The absurdity of the moment slipped away, however, as the invading digits gently rotated. The sensation of pressure and stretching combined with the strange, alien slickness of the lubricant made the Scout squirm slightly.

"Oh maaan... that feels weird, dude. Really-- really weird. Not bad though. Just... wicked weird."

The reply he received, a wicked grin and a mutter of 'it only gets better from here, boyo', wasn't what the Bostonian had been expecting. Suddenly, he felt the pressure change briefly, the two fingers withdrawing - and becoming momentarily replaced by three, and now it really did hurt a little. Biting his lip, the Scout looked down at his partner, who was frowning slightly.

"Don't keep it in, mate. Holler all yer want. Ain't nobody in cooee can hear."

With no idea as to what that last bit meant, the kid simply nodded, letting go of his abused lip and groaning slightly as the fingers inside him shifted again.

Eventually, the sensation got familiar enough that the younger man stopped fidgeting. This seemed to serve as the cue the Sniper had been waiting for, as the fingers left him and the older man scuffled about again for the lubricant. Another dollop of the viscous matter was squeezed onto the long fingers, and as they travelled to the Aussie's erection, the Scout felt something heavy drop into the pit of his belly.

"Wait... You aren't gonna -- are ya?"

All the Sniper offered in reply was a wicked grin, stroking his slightly softened cock back to a full hard-on. Swallowing hard, the American clambered onto the other's lap, unsure of what to expect and shivering slightly as the unnaturally slick member slid past his balls to what he'd previously considered an "exit only" crevace of his body. Trying to find a stable position to crouch in and somewhat finding one, he let the softer tip of the cock rub against the puckered entryway for a moment before slowly lowering himself against it. Due to the slickness, it took the two of them a moment to find an angle in which the Sniper could penetrate. Eventually, the sensation of stretching began to return, and the Scout braced himself for the pain.

What he felt moments later as the tip of the Sniper's cock slid into him wasn't exactly pain at first - it was simply an intense sensation of fullness and expansion, his body giving way to the foreign entrant. What his body expected, however, was for the obstruction within to pass within seconds. When it failed to do so, the muscles there suddenly clamped down involuntarily, making the Scout wince and let out a sharp 'ah' of discomfort that was gradually turning into pain. Still, seated upon the Sniper's hips, he could see the look of intense pleasure that had made the Aussie's mouth fall open and his eyebrows attempt to make a run for his hairline. The Scout knew the other couldn't be more than two inches inside him, and his face was already so blissful...

Determined to get a sound out of his almost unnaturally silent partner, the Bostonian lowered himself further, wincing again at the sensation of stretching but simultaneously realizing something else was welling up from beneath it. It wasn't unlike arousal, flaring up in his groin and along the backs of his buttocks, but the source was entirely different - the pleasure was coming from within his body, a bit further along than what the Sniper's cock could currently reach. Deciding to grin and bear it, the Sniper shifted downward again, this time more sharply. What resulted was another twinge of pain, but by now, he'd become familiar with it. What he wasn't familiar with was the surge of pleasure and lust that passed through him, as if someone had stoked a dwindling bonfire back into flame. It made him gasp and move again, his body suddenly craving more of the delirium the Sniper's length inside him caused. Unsurprised to realize his cock had hardened fully again, the Scout began moving, the cock inside him sliding smoothly and making sparks fly through him every time he moved up and down. Panting now and noticing the Australian's chest was heaving as well, he stretched forwards, just barely reaching far enough to give the other a frantic, open-mouthed kiss that left both their chins stained with saliva. That action got the younger man his reward - a throaty groan erupted from the Sniper, and his eyes flew open, their color suddenly a brilliant blue with lust.

"Watch yer ankles."

The Scout had no time to react: the Sniper simply pulled himself up off the bed and shoved the smaller man backwards, giving him barely enough time to turn his legs so that his ankles didn't end up twisting out of place. He was on his back now, head on a pillow that had been forced up against the backboard: wide-eyed, he barely had time to realize the physical connection between the two of them hadn't been broken at any point before the Sniper let out an unmistakeable growl. Pulling the Scout's legs over his shoulders and leaning forward, he thrust deep into the younger man. An explosion like taking a grenade made entirely out of pleasure to the face erupted deep within the Bostonian's body, making him cry out hoarsely. Unable to do anything but mumble incoherent syllables into the other's neck as the Sniper picked up pace and rhythm, the Scout's voice cracked after a few sharp cries: after that, all he could do was voicelessly gasp at the intense sensations criscrossing through his body, making his arms and legs go numb with the pleasure. Every nerve ending in his body sang Hallelujah with every increasingly frenzied thrust the older man managed. At some point, he found the junction of the Aussie's neck and shoulder against his lips and bit down, causing a feral growl to erupt from his partner that went straight through him and made his cock twitch with need. What finally drew him over the edge was the look in the Sniper's eyes as he gasped and groaned, no longer capable of maintaining silence. The Scout felt the cock slip from within him, the sudden feeling of emptiness immediately bringing down the buzz inside him - and as he saw his teammate give himself a few desperate and frantic strokes before streams of warm semen began to splatter the younger man's heaving chest, the mere vision did him in. His eyes snapped shut, and only whiteness was behind his lids: his hips snapped up, the tips of their cocks bumped together, and his own come began to stain his body. The electricity was back, but instead of the steadily growing current from before, it was now a lightning bolt rushing through his system and frying it. Words attempted to form on his lips, but all he managed was one last strangled, crackling moan. Faintly, he felt the Sniper collapse on top of him, his legs still interlocking behind the other's back (when had they done that, he wondered) and the older man's head leaning somewhere between his chest and lap.

They gasped for breath in relative silence, bodies stained in sweat and more, until both could somehow manage conscious movement again. The Scout shifted himself over enough to let the Sniper lay down next to him, which the older man did with an uncharacteristic lack of grace, more falling over than anything. They stared at each other from the corners of their eyes, too exhausted to move: both of their faces held an expression of utter contentment, though peppered with a good deal of disbelief. Finally, the Scout - naturally - broke the silence by giving his left cheek a solid wipe and staring at what he found on his hand afterwards.

"...This yours or mine, tough guy?"

The Sniper huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Don't give a flying duck, posey. Do think we should get washed up, tho'. Probably change the sheets, too, if we're gunna sleep in this here bed tonight."

The Bostonian gave his bedmate an incredulous look.

"Nu-uh, I ain't sleepin' heyah, Snipes. Jus' imagine what da rest of da team would say 'bout that, huh - us comin' to breakfast together, lookin' 'bout as good as two flat tonics. Sorry, brah, but I ain't ready to deal with that sorta thing jus' yet."

The Sniper looked up, arching a brow in amusement.

"'Just yet', 'ey, mate? How 'bout I kick yer sorry arse right out the door this very moment, lookin' like you are? And the fuck's a tonic?"

"Well, the fuck's - whassayyou - cooey? And fuck it, I ain't goin' out there without a shower, dude."

"Shower's outta hot water 'til the mornin', Scouty. Better luck next time."

"...that's wicked convenient for ya, ain't it."

"Sure is. Besides, I wouldn' try walkin' yet if I were you. Might feel more than a little prick."

"Oh, really. Funny, 'cuz that's all I felt in my ass a minute ago."

"Wanker."

"Dickhead."