Archive of Our Own

"Something's wrong with the Respawn machine."

The two of them sat in the chilly operating theatre, alone. It was evening, and the sun had set, leaving the already grim room to be lit only by sterile, migraine-inducing hospital lights. Medic had a plate of dinner on the edge of the operating table and was halfway through his pork tenderloin. Heavy, rather uncharacteristically, was…not hungry at the moment.

"Da, you do not say," Heavy replied.

"And has the Engineer made any advancements with his investigation?"

"Asked him, he said we were…" Heavy looked up at the ceiling as he fished in his memory for the exact verbiage. "Up shit creek without paddle, I think?"

"Ja, that sounds about right," Medic sighed. He took another bite and tapped his fork against the table as he chewed. "HQ must have had some kind of external interference with the central respawn module. I can't think of another reason for both bases to go offline like that."

"How long until fight again?"

"If my calculations are correct…" He counted under his breath thoughtfully. "We should be back to standard operations in forty-eight to seventy-two hours, depending on the damage to the servers, and whether Herr Engineer finds his paddle."

"And what about him?"

Both of them looked down at the dead man on the operating table.

"Well, what about him?" Medic replied.

"He will respawn then?" said Heavy.

Medic gave a noncommittal shrug. "Only time will tell, mein Freund. These things really aren't supposed to happen…Oh, there's no need to make that face, it's not like this is your first murder!"

"Da, but…He looks so much like you."

They both studied the dead man again. Apart from the uniform's blue palette and the abdomen full of bullets, the corpse was the spitting image of the RED Team's own Medic. Those same steel-blue eyes were lifeless behind their round bifocals, now clouding over with film. Those familiar stern features bore the waxen pallor of death, uncanny in their stillness. The whorls of his fingertips, the ridges of his ears, every strand of DNA was identical between them.

The Heavy and Medic had discussed this seeming affront to God before, time and time again. Neither of them understood the nature of the doppelgangers they fought every day. Years ago, it had been disturbing, being paid to murder seeming twins who looked identical to them and their teammates. As the men grew battle-worn and their souls had callused, the shock had faded to squeamishness, then to apathy. Even now that they were finally facing this horror up close and personal, there was no new ground to cover here; the dead man told them no secrets, gave them no relief.

Medic got paid extra not to ask questions, but privately his money was on clones, something involving an experimental conspiracy that went way up. Heavy preferred not to wonder about these things, and he wasn't even a particularly religious man, but it did make him question whether they were all in some sort of eternal Limbo. Whatever the truth about the BLU doubles was, they'd long since given up on debating it.

"He is quite the looker, isn't he?" Medic mused.

"Always thought my doktor was more handsome."

"Oh, you stop that." Medic batted the words away with a grin. "At any rate, this is nothing to worry about. His respawn chip is still intact, I'm sure once the system comes back online he'll pop right back up in the BLU base, fresh as a daisy."

"Do not like when you lie to me."

"I…" Medic frowned across the table at Heavy. "It's not a lie," he said, more quietly. "I just don't want you to worry about it."

"Am not worry."

"Ja, ja, you're not worried and I'm not a liar."

They both sat there in silence for a few minutes, apart from the little chewing noises Medic made as he finished his dinner.

"You're sure you don't want anything to eat, dear?" Medic broke the silence.

"Not hungry."

"Oh, come now. Engie and Demo really outdid themselves here, this is deli—"

"Don't understand why BLU team cannot take him," Heavy said.

"Oh, and who's going to do the autopsy, their Medic? I can think of a few problems that might arise there."

"Well, why you took him? Why here?"

"What, and leave him out in the gravel to rot? Do you know how difficult it is to come by cadavers when every body you find is programmed to disappear and respawn after twenty seconds?" Medic said. "I'm not going to waste a perfectly good corpse."

He got up and put his empty plate in the sink in the corner of the room, then returned, footsteps crisp and decisive as ever across the porcelain tile floor. Hands folded behind his back, he looked down at his lifeless double, and at his lover seated across from it. He contemplated it, then slowly peeled both of the thick red latex gloves off, folded them neatly, and set them down on a tray.

"Let's begin the examination."

"Doktor—"

"Heavy, please, he's just a BLU," Medic said. He rifled through the trays on the cart that contained his tools before pulling out a large pair of shears. "If you were going to be so sentimental about it, you shouldn't have shot him in the first place."

Heavy crossed his arms over his chest, a signal which Medic chose to ignore.

"This is our best chance to uncover anything about what happened to the respawn machine, anyway," said Medic. "I'm doing this for the sake of knowledge, Heavy."

Heavy rolled his eyes.

The silver blades of the scissors flashed brilliantly under the operating theatre lights, and then slid through the dead mercenary's bloodstained clothes. The thick fabric of his coat parted easily, followed by his shirt and undershirt. Medic shucked the rest of the corpse's soiled clothes off with practiced speed and pushed them to the floor. He paused when he got to its boots, which looked to be in good condition, and then pulled them off and set them aside to keep for himself before continuing. The clothes it wore were MANN Co.-issued palette swaps of the ones Medic wore during work hours, and Heavy felt an odd, sickly sense of familiarity when looking at the blue-tinted underthings and sock garters.

Medic planned to save the glasses for last, wanting to examine them and possibly to keep them as a spare pair for himself, but when he set the shears down and looked down at his own face, distraction pulled him away for a moment.

Of course he'd seen his counterpart dead before, countless times. They all had. But never quite like this, never for long enough to take in the detail and ponder what it meant—only for brief seconds before they were whisked away by the machine. Now he was in his own private sanctuary with the dead man, and what felt like all the time in the world at his disposal. What to do?

He bent over to examine the body more closely and was entranced by his own calmness in death. Although it was smeared with blood, the face was mostly untouched by bullets or shrapnel. The narrowed eyelids, tight lips, and clenched jaw of the RED Medic were slack and pale on his BLU mirror. He reached out with a steady hand and brushed his fingers across the dead man's cold brow and cheek, then pushed his forelock into place from where it had fallen. He felt like Narcissus, drawn intimately to his own image before him, unable to pull himself away. Finally, he took the blood-spattered glasses off the dead Medic's face, removed his own, and tried the new ones on. It seemed like the BLU Medic's presbyopia had progressed slightly further than the RED one's. They'd still work, he decided; he could keep them on his bedside table. He tucked them delicately into his shirt pocket.

"Is this what I look like when I sleep?" he asked Heavy.

"Hmm…Close eyes."

Medic slid the palm of his hand over the corpse's eyes, closing the eyelids, and then looked back again at Heavy. The Russian pushed himself to his feet and examined the dead man's face, then nodded slowly.

"Da, well…you are less pale, and you move, breathe in sleep. And more handsome. But other than this, yes."

"You flatter me, Misha, you know that makes no sense," Medic said, smoothing his hair down as he looked up at Heavy. "We're genetically identical."

"My Doktor still looks better."

"Ooh, you." Medic leaned across the operating table to cup Heavy's cheek and draw him in for a small kiss. Heavy kissed him back, momentarily dissociating from the situation.

"I wonder if my internal organs look better than his, too?" Medic whispered huskily. "Well, only one way to find out…"

They parted and Medic returned to look over the body some more. He traced one hand over its chest, which was riddled with bullets, caked in blood and gore. He whistled.

"Sasha really did a number on him, nicht war?" he said. "He looks like Swiss cheese."

"Da, this is true."

"Ooh…" He pushed down on the corpse's chest wall and giggled when he felt the unnaturally spongy give of its flesh. The protective bone shielding its vital organs had been shattered. "His ribcage is practically bone meal, Misha. That's delightful." He let himself play in the clotting blood, indulgently dragging his hands through it, poking his fingers into cooling bullet wounds to spread them open.

If Heavy ignored the actual identity of the body and the circumstances which had led to its current position, there was something comforting about this. Medic always looked so happy when he was up to his elbows in blood and guts, and Heavy thought his boyish enthusiasm was infectious.

Medic prodded at the body's stomach, at first gently, then roughly, until he pushed hard enough for its fluids to bubble forth from its mouth. He smiled and felt around at the organs, trying to discern what he could salvage for transplants, smearing red handprints over the skin. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and poked at the dick that lay like a pale, shriveled worm upon the dead man's thigh.

"Next I suppose you'll be saying mine is bigger than his, nein?"

"Is not fair comparison. He has less blood," said Heavy.

Medic giggled. "Ja, that's right." He paused for a moment and looked down at it again. "Aheh. Er, still—"

"Da, don't worry, of course Doktor is bigger."

"Hoo, you don't need to tell me that, Misha, you silly thing." Medic smiled. He continued poking at the body, examining it. "Oh, this brings me back," he said. "Just like it was back in university, hmm?"

Heavy's time at university had consisted mostly of literature studies, chess club, chatting with his professors at the local pub, and a pleasant stint in the university's string quartet, where he played bass before his graduate studies demanded all of his time. He nodded anyway.

"I was such a rake back then," Medic reminisced. "You should've seen me. Ooh, I miss medical school sometimes…the smell of formaldehyde, all those cadavers, my coworkers at my old field placement…I still remember my first lobotomy like it was yesterday." Nostalgic tears welled up in his eyes. "I mean, I did accidentally perform it on the head surgeon instead of on the patient, but I'm only human, everyone makes mistakes."

"Would have liked to see that," Heavy said with a smile.

"Oh, really?" Medic pressed a hand to his heart, unknowingly smearing blood over his pristinely white shirt.

"Da, medical school stories are always good," Heavy said. "And, how to say…How your eyes light up when you talk of it. It makes me happy."

"Oh, Kuschelbär…" With a face-splitting grin, Medic leaned across the body on the operating table to draw Heavy into a tight hug. Eyes tightly closed, he pressed kisses all over Heavy's face and chest. Heavy wrapped his arms around Medic, unable to resist smiling. "You're just the sweetest…You know, sometimes I wonder how an old fool like me ended up with the loveliest man in the world."

"I ask myself same question." Heavy placed a small kiss on Medic's forehead and smoothed down a few stray hairs. They smiled adoringly into each other's eyes.

"Ach, I'm so clumsy, I got blood all over your nice clean shirt…" Medic said.

"Is no matter."

"Well, alright…" Medic's gaze moved down the now blood-smeared white T-shirt. He played with the hem of one sleeve, which hugged the larger man's thick bicep so tightly it was hard to move. "Like I always tell you, you do look so good in red, Schatz."

"As do you, Doktor." Heavy kissed the older man's temple.

"Misha?" Medic said, nuzzling his face up against Heavy's strong chest.

"Da?"

"I need to ask you something..."

Heavy sighed. Whenever Medic began a request like this, it was bound to be something unethical, unsanitary, or both.

"Ask," he said.

"Aheh, well." A nervous giggle escaped Medic's lips. "You remember when I told you about the bodies back in Germany, before I had to go on the run?..."

"Da."

"It's about…what I did with some of the bodies, if you recall…"

"Doktor did many things with bodies," Heavy said.

Medic sighed. They kissed once more and then parted.

"One thing," Medic said. He held up one finger to demonstrate the number of things to which he was currently referring (it was one).

"Just ask," said Heavy.

"Aheh, er…" Medic stifled a giggle. "I would like it if you were to make love to him for me." He pointed down at the corpse.

Heavy's gaze followed the pointing finger down to its destination, then back up to the Medic's face (which now looked almost as frozen and dead-eyed as its BLU counterpart), then back down.

"But he is dead."

"I believe the clinical term is actually very dead,” said Medic

"He's dead, and…" Heavy trailed off.

"Ja, you were right the first time, he's shuffled off this mortal coil."

"You want…me to…"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

"Well, he isn't getting any fresher, is he?"

"But he is dead."

"Yes, yes, we've established that," said the Medic, who was getting rather impatient with the repetitive conversation. "He's kicked the bucket, can we move on?"

Heavy sighed deeply. He brought one massive hand up to massage the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. His stony face was even more difficult than usual to read for the Medic, who had a hard time with the intricacies of human facial expressions to begin with.

"Doktor," he said at last.

"Yes."

"Ludi."

"Ja."

"Golubchik moy."

"Ja, Misha."

"I have done…many thing for you," Heavy began. "Sometimes do not understand why you want what you want. Does not matter if I understand, though, when I get to see you happy. So I do not ask, I do what you tell me, or I let you do what you want. To see Doktor happy makes me happy."

"Oh, Misha, that's—"

"Nyet." Heavy held one hand up to stop Medic. "Am not done." He paused to think, and Medic remained silent. "So, Ludwig," Heavy continued, "I do many thing for you and I do not ask why, but this…" His brow furrowed. "I am not insulting you, but it makes no sense. It does not feel good for you. Cannot feel good for him, he is dead."

"Very dead."

"And for me…" Heavy looked down at the corpse. "Am not like you, Doktor," he said slowly. "Not interested in dead man. Not something I would think of. So, explain me, Doktor…Explain me why you want me to stick my chlen in dead guy."

Medic coughed awkwardly.

"Go on. Heavy is listening."

"I don't know if I could…"

"Try."

"Well…" Medic frowned in thought. "You like watching me kill, don't you, Misha?"

"Da, of course."

"You find it attractive."

"Is very nice." Heavy thought about how his Medic looked in the heat of battle, grinning and laughing madly as he cut whoever was in his path to pieces, ending lives with tools that had been designed to save them. He blushed.

"And I like watching you kill. Oh, I don't think you know how much I like it." Medic grinned, bloodthirsty.

"I do know. Remember when you could not get it up, and asked me to—"

"You said you wouldn't bring that up again!"

"Da, da, am only teasing…"

"In any case…" Medic smoothed his ruffled feathers. "In any case, I think you understand what I'm saying when I tell you it's more than just bloodlust that drives me when I get in one of my little stabby moods out on the field."

"Sure," said the Heavy. He couldn't count how many times Medic had come along begging for a quickie after one of them got a good killstreak. If you could find a slightly secluded area on the battlefield, the two of them had probably fucked in it.

"So to me, at least, it seems like a natural progression to bring the thing that's putting us both in the mood into the bedroom. Or into the operating room, in this case, hah." He patted the dead Medic's cheek.

"Just do not understand…" Heavy rubbed his face. "You are right here and you are alive. Why I would want him when I have you?...No, don't make with your eyes at me, I was not trying to flirt, it was question! He can't feel it. Is no good for him."

"Aheh, look…" Medic began. “I know he can’t feel it, but I want to watch you fuck him. I love watching you fuck, your face and the little noises you make, and…he looks so much like me, Heavy. No, I don’t want to hear any of your compliments, I know if I were dead beside him, you wouldn’t be able to tell the two of us apart. We look exactly the same.” He looked down at the corpse. “It’s actually quite existentially terrifying, heh, but that’s beside the point…Watching you fuck his body would be wonderful. I’ve actually had fantasies about it, I just didn’t expect to get the chance to act on them. But, well, here he is, and it would be a sin not to take advantage of an opportunity like this.” He played with the body’s hair. “And I know he can’t say no, Misha, but if he’s anything like me, which he is, I know he’d just be begging for your cock right now.”

Heavy watched Medic toy with the corpse, lips slightly pursed as he ran his hands over its scalp, gently turning its grey face this way and that, pushing his fingers inquisitively past its lips. The Russian sighed and shook his head, puffing air out through his mouth as he looked up at the ceiling.

“Suka blyad’, cannot believe the things I do for you sometimes…”

“Is that a yes?”

“I still do not understand why you want this,” Heavy said carefully, “but is clear that you want it, and this is enough for me. So, yes.”

“Hoo, Bärchen, come here, come here!” Grinning, Medic scrambled up onto the table, over the body, to wrap his arms around Heavy. Heavy swept Medic up into his arms, slightly away from the little autopsy scene. They kissed deeply. “Ooh, you spoil me so, my Mishenka. You’re so sweet, I don’t deserve you.”

“Hah, you know I cannot say no to my Doktor.” Heavy looked adoringly down at his partner as he cradled his blood-smeared body tightly to his own. “Not when you are so lovely and all covered in blood.”

“My big, perfect man, kiss me again. Ooh…”

After they made out for a few minutes, Heavy set Medic down, straightening his shirt collar and his glasses for him, and they got back to the topic at hand.

“Hmm, so,” Heavy mused. “I take him for you.” He gestured at the dead doctor. “And what do you want do?”

“Mm, that’s an interesting question, dear.” Medic smiled. “You know, dinner didn't quite fill me up. I'm feeling a bit peckish."

Heavy raised one thick eyebrow.

"I could eat." Medic trailed a finger coyly through the pool of sticky half-dried blood on the cold steel table.

"So you have our guest here over for dinner," said Heavy.

"Precisely." Medic grinned from ear to ear, showing off those bleach-white teeth.

"With some fava beans and a nice Chianti."

"I've always been more of a Cab Sav man myself, but I'll take what I can get," Medic purred.

Heavy rolled his eyes. "Chert voz'mi, you always pushing it."

"Of course, you know me."

"Fine," Heavy said. "At least do not have to argue you about where we going for dinner. Fine. Very well." He snorted and looked down at the corpse.

"Wunderbar, we have a deal. I'll get him ready for you." Medic clapped his hands together and approached the dead man. He circled about the corpse a few times, examining it, giving Heavy the distinct impression of a vulture closing in on carrion. "Let's start with this…" He gripped the body's pale thighs, a delightful shiver running up his spine at the chill of that flesh on his naked hands, and began to pull them apart. "Hoo, rigor mortis is setting in. That didn't take too long, did it?” He wrenched at the legs, his lip curling with the effort of it, until they parted with a sickening crack. “At least he'll be nice and stiff for you, heehee." He wriggled his eyebrows discomfitingly at the Heavy.

"And you will clean him?"

"What do you…Oh," said Medic. "I mean, urination and defecation after death are very common, Heavy. It happens when the muscles relax, you know that. I don't see what there is to be so squeamish about."

"The smell, maybe."

"Quatsch, that doesn't bother me, I'm a man of medicine."

"Has Doktor considered that he is not only person in room," said Heavy drily.

"Oh, Archimedes doesn't care either, I've asked him…Okay, no need to look at me like that, fine! I'll take care of it…" Medic rolled his eyes. He went off to look in the dust-covered cabinet that contained the soap, disinfectant, and other sanitation supplies. Heavy pondered, not for the first time, on how odd it was that a man who always smelled of bleach and who insisted on wearing protective rubber gloves everywhere he went had such questionable hygiene standards in the workplace.

Medic returned empty-handed, with a strange, tight smile on his face.

“Ah, the cabinet seems to be empty,” he said. His voice had that high violin edge to it, the familiar one which told Heavy that he was planning something particularly egregious.

“I can look in hall closet.”

“Ah, nein, nein, you stay put!” Medic’s voice cracked. “Ahem. I mean, that won’t be necessary, Liebling. I can take care of it.”

“You go to hall closet?”

“Not…exactly.” Medic looked down at the corpse, eyes burning with hunger. “I have another idea.”

“Doktor.”

“Yes, dear?”

“If you are suggesting to me what I think you are suggesting, I…I will not be pleased.”

“And what do you think my suggestion is, Schatz?” Medic’s voice began to smooth out. “What would that be?”

“I…” Heavy trailed off, clearly uncomfortable. “Cannot say.”

“Is it because you don’t know what it is?” Medic asked as he slowly approached. “Surely you must know all of my little predilections by now, Misha. I like to think of myself as an open book.”

Perhaps an open copy of The 120 Days of Sodom, Heavy thought ruefully.

“No, not that,” Heavy said. “Is just…”

“Or is it that you think…whatever I want to do is so unspeakably disgusting that you don’t even want to say it?”

Heavy gripped his own arm tightly and nodded, trying to avoid the uncomfortable eye contact Medic was pinning him down with.

“In that case, I have a feeling your idea is correct.” Medic’s glasses caught the blinding light overhead; for a moment, his eyes were hidden behind opaque whiteness. He was close enough now that Heavy could feel his breath. “I’d like to clean him up with my tongue, Misha.”

Heavy sighed. This wasn’t something he enjoyed thinking about.

“I’m awfully hungry tonight,” Medic said. He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. “Would it bother you if I were to indulge myself?”

“Do what you want, Doktor.” Heavy held both hands up. “Cannot stop you.”

“Oh, I know you can’t.”

“But, am not involving myself in this…this thing you do,” Heavy said. “Have no interest in this.”

Medic smiled and shrugged. “More for me, then.”

He turned to the corpse and examined its face again, then trailed his hands down its mangled body to its groin, where he gently palmed its limp, sticky cock. The chill of the organ in his hand was jarring, but its size and shape were intimately, disturbingly familiar. He sighed, letting out a breath it felt like he'd been holding for eternity, and bent forward to examine it, gagging at the stench of the filth from when the dead man had soiled himself.

He began by kissing up the cock in his hand, slowly deepening the kisses until he was dragging his tongue along its cool, wrinkled skin. It tasted like stale sweat and ammonia. He lapped the mostly-dried remains of piss and musk off of it, then gently pulled it into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down with his wet lips sealed around it. He looked up at Heavy through thick, wet eyelashes.

"I can leave…' Heavy began.

Medic slid off the soft cock in his mouth. "I'll just be a moment, really." He teased it with his tongue, making sure Heavy was watching him, then looked him up and down, undressing him with his eyes. He swirled his tongue around it and then took it in deep, heavy-lidded eyes locked on to Heavy's crotch.

When it tasted clean, he turned his attention to the mess smeared over the dead man's ass and thighs. A sick shot of nausea ran through him, and he almost shuddered.

Heavy had been right, Medic thought; he was constantly pushing it, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't his fault. These little compulsions seemed to flock to his sick mind like maggots to a corpse, multiplying and festering inside of him until the pressure built up and they spewed out. And every time he acted on his desires he wanted more. He was an addict, constantly chasing the perfect high and always finding it slightly out of reach.

The funny thing was that in his experience, trying to suppress his urges only made them stronger, but giving in to them also made them stronger. He was trapped in an especially vile Catch-22, with no way out but down.

Well, it couldn't get much grosser than this, he thought. Maybe this would finally be his breaking point. Maybe he'd found his limit, and now he could rest, knowing that no matter how bad he was, things could always get worse.

…He doubted it.

Holding his breath, he lowered his head in between the dead man's thighs, which were frozen in place where he'd positioned them. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh; his hot breath fogged on the cold, waxy flesh. Then he opened his mouth and started licking the shit off the corpse's skin.

The foul, bitter taste of it made him gag. He pressed a hand to his sternum, trying to soothe his stomach, and pushed through. It was cold on his lips, stickily drying onto the skin so he had to work to get it off, which he did, pressing tender kisses in between licks over his dead double's thighs. Once the stench and taste settled deep in his mouth, he noted that it actually tasted similar to his own, which strangely satisfied some curiosity he wasn't aware he'd had.

When his mouth was full enough of the thick, sticky stuff he forced himself to swallow it. It was hard, his body didn't want to do it, which was understandable given that he was feeding it literal shit, but he carried on. He choked it down, coughing on it. The sensation was indescribably unpleasant. When he'd forced it into his stomach, he rested his head on the body's leg for a moment, panting for air.

He was already incredibly hard, his erection straining against the operation table. Every breath was shaky with need and tinged with the miasma of fecal matter. His face was flushed with shame and arousal, playing off each other in a sick feedback loop.

"Oh, mein Gott," he whispered thickly. He returned to his obsessive feeding, moving down the spit-shiny thighs once he'd cleaned them up to the man's ass. He pushed himself up onto the table for better access, holding the body tight like a lover as he ate.

It was stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter, caked between his perfect teeth and in his gums. It burned his nostrils, every breath swelling nausea in him with the acrid stink. He trembled, doing his best to ignore the lust that had overtaken his body, resisting the urge to touch himself as he filled his hungry mouth. It felt better like this, rubbing his clothed cock against the unforgiving steel table, his hips moving by themselves in languid thrusts. The denial pushed him and made him do things his sober self considered utterly unthinkable because of the shame.

He looked up at Heavy, who was loyally waiting for him, posture unusually slumped, face turned away.

"Misha," he whispered in between licks. "Misha, look at me." The words were slurred through his half-full mouth.

Heavy automatically turned at the sound of Medic's voice, cringed visibly, and turned back before he could properly see what was going on.

"Nyet."

"Look at your Doktor, Lieber."

"I…" Heavy covered his face with his hands. "I cannot."

Heat rushed through Medic's body, the burn of shame and lust tingling through every inch of his skin, pooling in his groin. He moaned into the body and let out fevered pants as he ate its filth.

"Oh, Misha," he purred. "Am I that bad? Mmm, am I really so disgusting you can't bring yourself to look at me?"

No response.

"Oh, God, I am, aren't I?" he whispered. Need throbbed undeniably through him, making him gasp and rut into the table again. "I'm filthy. Gott, you won't even look at me. Are you afraid you won't be able to see me the same way, Misha? Am I too dirty for you?" His glasses were fogging, and sweat dripped down his forehead and neck, soaking the back of his shirt. His tongue and teeth explored the curves of the body, licking and scraping it clean of the waste it had expelled upon death.

He drew back for a moment, panting, drool tinged brown dripping down his chin, and removed his glasses, folding their arms and sliding them delicately into his shirt pocket. Then he moved in again and pushed his face tight into the body, up against its ass, pressing his mouth to its hole. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he made out with it, sliding his tongue in and keening when his mouth was bathed in excrement and curdling blood from the corpse's honeycombed guts.

His cock was leaking desperately through the layers of his clothes, leaving a growing wet patch on the front of his trousers. He did his best to ignore the needy ache, but his hips still urged into the operating table, hard enough to make the steel joints creak together.

"Ach, fick, das ist sehr gut…" Medic pushed his tongue in further, digging into the dead man's body, eating the shit and blood out of it. His eyes rolled back in pleasure. The little lip-smacking slurping sounds he made were similar to the eating sounds he'd made during his first dinner, but interspersed with desperate muffled moans. He heard Heavy make some kind of disgusted noise and ignored it.

When the body seemed as clean as he could get it, he withdrew from it, slightly disappointed that he couldn't get more. His face was flushed and he retched as he pushed himself up onto his elbows on the table. He looked up at Heavy, licking his chops, thick tainted spit stringing between his lips and the dead man's asshole.

"I'm finished, Schnuckiputzi." His voice was hoarse. He was still sucking his teeth clean, panting and dripping sweat, hair falling down onto his shit-smeared face.

Heavy looked down at him and grimaced.

"If you done, go clean up," Heavy said.

Medic pushed himself off the table. He was slightly unsteady on his feet, lust-drunk and dizzy. He hiccupped and gagged, wincing at the disgusting taste that came up from his throat. His stomach was trying to reject the abhorrent meal he'd just forced into it. He breathed deeply, holding one hand to his chest, and managed to keep it down. His hard dick twitched visibly in his pants.

"Ngh, you're sure you don't want a kiss, sweetheart?" He gave Heavy a shit-eating grin, both literally and figuratively.

"Nyet," Heavy said, eyebrows furrowed. "You know how I feel about that. You go do, do your little mouthwash thing in toilet, and I try forget what I just seen."

"Aheh, if you insist." Medic smirked and left for the small washroom off the operating room.

Heavy sighed, pressed his hands to his eyes, and dropped into the chair he'd been sitting in earlier. Trying to distract himself, he studied the posters that were tacked up on the walls, anatomical illustrations of various species of primates hanging up beside X-rays of unusual conditions Medic had encountered over the course of his career.

Heavy marveled at how exactly he'd ended up in this situation. He wasn’t sure how exactly it had started, but here he was, waiting patiently for the world's most questionably credentialled medical professional to return from washing the crap out of his teeth so they could desecrate a corpse together. He briefly thought about breaking his RED contract and fleeing the country to move back to Russia. However, what complicated this was the fact that he was madly in love with the man. He was in too deep. In the end, he stayed put.

Still looking up at the posters, he noticed that one of his own X-rays was hanging up with the rest. His bone structure was big enough to stand out from the other pictures, and what also helped to identify it was the incomprehensible German scrawled in the margins in pink glitter gel pen, with arrows pointing at various sections of his anatomy. The handwriting was completely illegible, but Heavy could make out a lot of exclamation points, and that all the I's were dotted with little hearts.

Medic appeared from the shadows, hands clasped behind his back, the echo of jackbooted heels clicking sharply and evenly across the room with his return. He smiled like a shark at the Heavy. His manic grin was as artificially porcelain-white as ever, twin rows of perfectly straight teeth bared and glimmering under pure white surgical lights. His glasses had been wiped and put back on, his face was clean, and his forelock had been pasted back into its normal place. The only evidence of his newest crime against human decency was the erection he'd been either unable or unwilling to hide, and the antiseptic smell of Listerine that wafted around him.

As he approached the carcass, Heavy saw that he wielded some cleaning products from the washroom and a damp cloth. Sporting a painfully wide grin of anticipation, he set his things down on the table and began to wipe the body clean, properly this time.

"Be a dear and get the lubricant off my desk, would you?" he said to Heavy.

"Yes, Doktor." Heavy looked through the clutter on the surface of the desk and found it.

Having sanitized the relevant anatomy of the cadaver for Heavy, Medic whistled cheerfully as he pulled over a cart laden with disorganized surgical equipment. His fingers danced elegantly across the rat's nest of rusting metal before selecting a #10 scalpel, a large pair of curved surgical scissors, and a ring retractor. He dropped the scissors and scalpel into his pocket and set the retractor down beside the body.

"And now what?" Heavy asked him. The Costco-sized bottle of sterile surgical lubricating jelly looked tiny in his massive paws. His nervousness didn't actually have any physical tells, but Medic knew him closely enough to pick up on it.

"Now you open him up, just like you'd do to me," Medic said. He tried for a soothing tone, putting on his best bedside manner in an attempt to ease Heavy's nerves. It wasn't very good.

Heavy nodded, his jaw set like stone.

"I'll help you. Here, put that down. Like this." Medic spread lube over his fingers, leaned up against Heavy, beside the body, and began spreading it around its entrance. He pushed two fingers into it, drawing in a deep breath and biting down on his lip as he stroked against the dead man's insides. "Mm, that feels good…He takes it so well, doesn't he? Now you try with me."

Heavy coated his right hand's first two digits in the clear gel and, with trepidation, pressed one into the corpse's asshole, tightly wrapped against his lover's fingers. Inside, the body was only a few degrees cooler than it should've been; the BLU Medic had only been dead for a couple hours. Yet, this slight difference in temperature was enough for Heavy to know that it felt distinctly wrong. He looked up at the face and couldn't help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. It was so still, nothing reacting to the violation of its sacred place, no muscles pushing back against him, no sound as he eased in. Heavy didn't know how he was supposed to get off from this when he couldn't even please the person he was about to fuck.

For reassurance, he looked down at his own Medic. The doctor's rapt gaze was locked on to Heavy's fingers, his eyes glimmering with the ravening intensity of a wolf watching a distant lamb. His cheeks were flushed a vivid pink and his shoulders rose and fell with each slow, deep breath. His Medic was very much alive. Heavy did his best to pretend he was pleasing his own Doktor instead.

"Ja, good, just like that," Medic intoned, pressing his body against Heavy's. He withdrew his fingers and took Heavy's right hand in his instead, speeding up the gentle motion. "Put another finger in, now. Yes, that's good, he likes that. You're doing brilliantly, Schätzchen."

"What if I break him?"

"You won't, dear, he can take it. And, well, if you do…" Medic giggled. "It's not like he can feel it."

"Da." Heavy swallowed nervously.

"Don't worry, you're doing wonderfully." Medic kissed Heavy's cheek. "Keep touching him, stretch him out, get him all wet inside…Oh, that's good. You're making me very happy, Misha."

"Doktor likes it?"

"Mm-hm, I love it, darling. Oh, come here…" Medic stood on tiptoes to properly kiss Heavy. Heavy was infinitely thankful that the only thing he could taste in Medic's mouth was an overwhelming medicinal mint.

His nerves somewhat steadied, Heavy paid more attention to the body on the table. Mentally overlaying his knowledge of his own Medic's body on top of the dead one's, he pumped his fingers in a bit more roughly, curling them in just the way his Medic liked. The doctor groaned and squirmed against Heavy, rubbing up on him. Through both of their clothes, Heavy could feel the eager pulse of Medic's cock against his hip. He reached out instinctively to touch him, but his hand was pushed away.

"Nein, you focus on him," Medic said. "Don't touch me, touch him instead. Treat him right."

Heavy nodded and wrapped his free hand around the dead man's cock. It was disturbingly limp and cool in the palm of his hand, making it difficult for him to mentally graft his own Medic's parts onto it. He played with it shyly, not sure of what to do.

"Just like you do to me, Misha," Medic said. His voice was slow and soft, a rare treat for Heavy. He gently rubbed the larger man's back. "Up and down. That's right, nice and slow for me. Very good, just like that, you've got it! You're such a good boy, Misha. Isn't that right?"

The words sent a distinct thrill through Heavy's body. His eyes opened wider and he tried to will himself not to flush pink as he touched the dead man.

"It's okay, sweetheart, I've got you," Medic whispered. He wrapped his arms around Heavy from behind, barely encircling his broad chest, and kissed his back. "You're doing so well, my Misha. Keep touching him, it feels so wonderful. I have you, you're safe with me, darling. You know you're safe, right?"

"Mm-hm, I know."

"Warm and safe with me. Ja, and you're making me feel so good, right?" Medic's voice had slowed to a steady drone, almost hypnotic. "You know what I need, don't you?"

Heavy nodded.

"You make me so happy," Medic breathed. "You're so perfect, Misha. Perfect for me, so good. Such a good boy."

"Ngh…" Heavy's breath caught involuntarily, and his fingers twitched against the body he was pleasuring. The praise and his Medic's soft voice were getting to him. Everything felt warm, and he could feel himself slipping slowly into that place the doctor had found in him and opened up to him so long ago, that soft deep-down place where all he had to do was obey mindlessly and he'd be rewarded with pleasure beyond his wildest dreams. His body was responding to its owner's words, pulling him down into balmy oblivion.

"Can you tell how good you make me feel?" Medic asked him, pressing his erection up against his ass and thighs.

"Mm-hm, I feel."

"It's good, isn't it? So good." Medic's hands slowly moved down, softly petting the younger man's chest and belly before drifting to his belt, smoothly unbuckling it and sliding beneath it to fondle him.

"Ah, Doktor…"

"That's right, Misha, don't stop touching him. Now, I want you nice and hard for me. Your cock is so beautiful, it makes me feel so good. Nice and hard, ja? That's right, good boy, Misha, good boy."

"Blyad'...Your hands…" Heavy was melting, helpless under Medic's touch.

"Who owns this cock, Misha?" Medic asked. He kissed every part of him he could reach as he stroked Heavy’s growing cock. "Who does it belong to?"

"You, Doktor."

"That's right, you're such a smart boy," Medic cooed. "It's mine, I do whatever I want with it, isn't that right?"

Heavy nodded.

"Good boy." Medic smiled, feeling Heavy's cock twitch at the words. "Ngh, you make me feel so lovely. Can you tell me you're a good boy? Come on, sweetheart, don't be embarrassed. Tell me."

"I am…a good boy."

"That's right! You'll do just what I tell you, isn't that right?"

"Da."

Medic snuck the zipper of Heavy's fly open and eased his clothes down slightly before pulling out his thick erection. He ran his fingers over its veined length, watching the large, glossy head drip need down its plump curves. He added more lubricant to his hand and spread a generous layer down all thirteen inches of his lover's fat cock, pulling his foreskin down to reveal his corona and smearing globs of the viscous fluid all over the prominent, satisfying ridge. His fingers crawled down to cradle the bigger man's heavy, fertile balls.

"This cock belongs to me, ja?"

"Da."

"I do whatever I want with it, you get no say in the matter."

"Mm-hm…"

"You get hard when I tell you, you come when I tell you, you put it anywhere I want it, right?"

Heavy nodded.

"Good boy," Medic said. Eyes closed, Heavy pushed up into the doctor's soft hands with a low grunt of pleasure. "Now, Mishenka?" he whispered tenderly.

"Yes?"

"Mein Schatz. My good boy."

"Yes…"

"You want to fuck that dead man, don't you?" Medic whispered. "You want him so badly. Nein, you need to fuck him, isn't that right, Misha?"

"Yes, Doktor."

"Misha, fuck that dead man with my cock, please."

Heavy opened his eyes and grabbed the corpse's hips, pulled the mostly-stiff body over as though it weighed nothing, lined himself up and plunged his cock into the cool, slick hole that waited for him. He let out a desperate gasp and pushed in deeper, baring his teeth with need as he thrust into it.

"That's good, Misha, that's so good! Fuck him deep for me, just how I like it!"

Heavy nodded and gave all of himself to the dead body on the table, over and over again, doing his best to please the unresponsive thing. Medic kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder lovingly, watching his Heavy's cock penetrate the other man.

Having satiated that aspect of his depraved lust for now, the doctor's attention returned to the surgical tools in his pocket. Rubbing his fingers over the cold steel, he looked over the cadaver, making mental calculations on where the most appealing places to make incisions would be. He leaned against the table and watched as his lover's massive cock pushed the body back and forth.

The musculature of his duplicate's chest looked appetizing, plump pectorals just begging him to sink his teeth into them, but it was also riddled with bullets and Medic didn't feel like cracking his teeth on those. He ran his hands down to the lower part of its abdomen, which was mostly whole, albeit covered in dried blood. He pinched at the healthy layer of fat that protected its abdominal muscles and obliques. In life, the man had been well-fed and strong, just as fine a specimen as the RED Medic considered himself to be, and it looked like there was plenty of meat on him. His glutes and quadriceps were equally full and pleasing to the touch.

Medic moved beside Heavy, kissed his heaving chest and ran his hands over the stubble on his cheek.

"Go nice and easy now, darling, hold him still," Medic said. "I want these incisions to be clean."

Heavy nodded and slowed his pace down, cradling the corpse and looking to the older man for approval. Medic smiled sweetly and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth. He embraced him and ran his hands over his body lovingly, squeezing at his muscled chest, his soft belly and hips, those big protective arms, and allowed his thoughts to dip down deeper still. He moved in to kiss Heavy again, deeply and passionately as he gave pleasure to the body on the table, and thought of eating him instead.

It wasn't the first time he'd entertained these thoughts. It was difficult for his mind not to go there, when there was so much of him to enjoy, when he tasted so good. Medic pushed his tongue deeply into Heavy's mouth, enjoying his heat and his pure taste, and yearned for more. His aching cock pressed into Heavy's body, seeking relief in his warmth. He pushed his fingers under the bigger man's shirt and pinched into the fat of his flank as they kissed, dreaming of digging his sharp canines into the tender flesh and consuming it, showing his angel the highest act of love he could, taking him in as part of himself. That fat would melt on his tongue like Kobe beef.

"Ah, my Heavy, you're so perfect," he whispered to him. "You're delicious."

"I love you, Doktor." The big man's voice was strained from the effort of holding himself back.

"I love you too, my sweet."

With difficulty, Medic pulled himself away to focus on his main course. He spread his hands over the flawless skin of the corpse's abdomen, memorizing its soft, vulnerable chill, and then unsheathed his scalpel. An irrepressible rictus bisected the sharp planes of his face. He traced a straight line from the bottom of its decimated ribcage down its belly, circumventing the tissue around its navel, all the way to its pubic bone. Yes, that would work well. One steady hand held the skin taut with spread fingers, and the other gently penetrated it with the scalpel. He slid through the epidermis and pulled the blade down with one smooth stroke, drawing a beautiful slit down the empty canvas of its flesh. In death, the familiar instant red hesitated to well up in the gap, the corpse's blood pressure having died when it lost all that blood and its metabolic functions ceased. He pulled out and returned to the top of the incision, to cut into the white Styrofoam-like dermis, which he did in the same manner, softly spreading it open with his fingers and scalpel. The skin opened like a butterfly, baring the subcutaneous fat below. He touched the cream-coloured tissue, feeling its soft give, watching it bloom pink as the capillaries oozed. He split the thick layer of rich fat open, savouring how easily it cleaved at the loving touch of his scalpel, feeling little bumps as he severed blood vessels and slim bands of connective tissue.

Finally, he reached his prize: the fascia-wrapped muscles that protected the body's abdominal cavity. The tightly packed meat glistened below the operating lights in a palette of oxygen-rich reds and pinks. Since the inside of the body was still warm, the barest hint of mist rose into the chilly air. He tried to hold back a moan and failed.

"Oh, he's beautiful…" Medic whispered.

When he made an exploratory cut through the tight fascia and into the muscle, its cross-section revealed how well-marbled and tender the meat there was. Biting down on his lip, face hot and flushed, Medic cut a small slice of warm flesh free from the larger mass. It was so thin he could see faint light through it, deep translucent red-pink rimmed with creamy white fat. He plucked it from the open body and looked at it closely. Normally he didn't even order his steak any rawer than medium rare, but it seemed like a sin to ruin the moment by running to the kitchen to cook.

He placed it upon his tongue, feeling its slippery, fatty texture against his tastebuds. The lush, metallic taste of blood and lymph spread through his mouth, filling his senses. The scent was rich, almost pungent. When he sank his teeth into it, the meat sheared easily, crushing and bursting between his molars. He gagged lightly at the slick mouthfeel. The coppery, savoury taste filled his mouth and throat, bringing warmth to his skin and making his cock throb and ache. He closed his eyes and swallowed it. The small morsel slid down his throat easily, but the knowledge of what he'd just done stayed behind.

Oh, he was sick, he was a sick man.

It would have been easier if the corpse had tasted bad, but it just tasted like meat. Unfamiliar and uncooked meat, but meat all the same. That body, that exact copy of his mortal vessel, was nothing more than a thing to be consumed. And what scared him was that he didn't have to force himself to eat it, it wasn't something that got him aroused from how disgusting it tasted, it was just food, and he was hungry. So very hungry.

His breath growing shaky, he reached down and cut off a larger piece of the muscle, then stuffed it into his mouth. He sighed with satisfaction. It squished softly and slid against the roof of his mouth before his sharp teeth cut it to pieces. The flavour was deeply filling, and he found himself wanting more, loving the springy feeling as he chewed it up.

"Doktor likes?" Heavy asked him.

"Oh, Heavy," Medic breathed, "I love it, it's so good. You don't know how good it is."

"You look happy…"

"Ja, I am." Medic swallowed and began sawing more aggressively into the carcass, his cuts growing sloppy as he started to lose himself.

Heavy reached out and ran his fingers through his Medic's hair. Medic looked up at him, mildly surprised, blood trickling from his mouth.

"You don't mind?" he said.

"Is…not appetizing to me," Heavy said. "But is okay when I see your face. Happy and covered in blood. Is nice." He smiled and wiped the sweat out of his eyes, still balls-deep in the mutilated cadaver of his little dove's twin.

"Oh, Misha…" Medic tore himself momentarily away from his charcuterie to lavish some attention on his partner in crime. He hugged him and gave him messy kisses full of blood and meat juices. Heavy didn't seem to appreciate the taste nearly as much as Medic did, but he still kissed back, panting against the smaller man. Both of their mouths were smeared with glistening red by the time they were done.

"You really shouldn't tell me that," Medic scolded, out of breath, "it's just going to enable me, you know."

"Do not care," Heavy said. "Want you happy, Doktor. I love you."

'Oh, Gott, Misha, I love you too." Medic felt like he could cry.

However, he was still hungry…well, maybe hungry wasn't exactly the right word. He still felt that compulsion to fill his stomach. He returned to the cut-open corpse with his scalpel out, and continued to take pieces from it. He crammed his mouth full with warm muscle and moaned with his jaw open, dripping ichor down his face. Although he'd already eaten, his stomach felt like a bottomless pit, demanding more and more. He pulled the incision further open with greedy hands and cut the tissues that bound the skin and fat to the muscle, then peeled them back to reveal the meat of the body's flank. He carved off a nice big bite and sampled it. It was slightly tougher than the meat from the carcass's belly, well worked from lifting the bulky medical equipment the man had carried in battle while alive.

His hands were finally starting to shake from how desperate he was. It was getting difficult to make clean cuts. He roughly shredded the tough fascia with the scalpel and then bent to push his face into the opening, not bothering to take his glasses off. He was bathing in his double's cooling blood, warm and sticky in his nostrils and mouth. He rubbed his face lovingly into the violated corpse before sinking his too-white teeth into it, ripping chunks of meat off and barely bothering to chew before swallowing. The fleshy taste was growing on him. Something about it was uniquely satisfying, while still leaving him needing more. He wondered if his own meat tasted the same way.

He was full but his stomach still demanded more and he obeyed it, glutting himself uncontrollably on the banquet of warm, slimy raw meat spread out before him, tearing into it with teeth and fingernails to stuff himself. Bubbly fat burst on his tongue and coated his mouth as he fed on the exquisitely moist flesh below. His untouched cock throbbed so hard that it was difficult to think, so he didn't bother, choosing to rely on the animal instincts that told him to shred and tear and gorge himself on this delicacy. He was still hungry, so hungry.

When he paused for a moment to look at what he'd done, he saw through red-smeared glasses that he'd made a mess of the body's muscle. The anatomy was completely unrecognizable, ripped to pieces and desecrated. Medic's stomach was stuffed so full it hurt, straining against the buttons of his wet shirt. He smiled softly at his work and took the scalpel in his hand before cutting through the wall of ravaged muscle and penetrating the virgin abdominal cavity below. He spread its tissues open and slipped his fingers in, moaning at the wet heat he found there, parting slick folds of peritoneum and caressing the beautiful organs hidden deep inside, exact duplicates of his own.

The upper parts of the corpse's guts were filled with minigun bullets. The little pouch of the stomach was torn open, marinating the cavity with acid and chyme. The liver was partly damaged, breaking apart in soft chunks. Bits of ribcage and spine floated out of place in the soup.

He took out his scissors and began to carve the corpse. He slashed away at the omentum and mesentery, pulling hanging folds of mucilaginous tissue out of the way, dropping them on the floor where they landed with a wet slap. Anything that got in between him and his meal was discarded. He cut the little stomach free from the duodenum and unraveled most of the small intestine as well, severing the squishy, ropy organ and then pulling the mess out of the body, snipping away at the fascia and arteries until it was separated and tossing it to the floor as well. Blood ran in rivers between the tiles on the floor, coursing through stained channels of grout toward the drain below the operating table.

Alerted by the familiar sound of human guts being slashed open, a small, white bird fluttered down from the rafters to land on the body. It cocked its head and blinked with beady eyes up at Medic, then curiously examined the dead man's face. It hopped over to the gaping incision in the cadaver's belly and pecked at it.

"Nein, Archimedes, shoo!" Medic sounded exasperated. "Go play, Daddy's busy! No, that's not yours, put it back…Fine, a little bit of liver, one bite, that's all. Now, get out of here. Go on." He managed to shoo the dove away. It flew back up into the rafters and glared at them as it pecked at its liver treat.

Medic sighed. "Really, I don't know where he gets it," he said to Heavy, who was still obediently, slowly fucking into the body.

"Beats me." Heavy's voice was tired and strained.

Medic continued playing with his food. Below the protective sac that once hugged the digestive system, he could see more appetizing muscles running along the spine. He cut out the visceral peritoneum and discarded it to see them more clearly. They looked beautiful, bathing in fluid, silky red ropes perfectly arranged on both sides of the posterior abdominal wall. He plunged his hands in and stroked them curiously. They felt ripe and tender, rounded forms firm to the touch, a lovely deep red that promised nourishment.

He continued his examination. The kidneys looked fine and healthy; he cut them out a bit more carefully and put them into the cleanest bucket he could find within arm's reach. Sniper would thank him later. A good portion of the liver was untouched, along with the sweetbreads. The rest of the offal looked too damaged to be either appealing to his senses or viable for transplants.

He pushed the muculent coils of the remaining small intestine and the colon aside, and he let out an involuntary gasp at what he saw. Inside the cavity, he could see his submissive's cock pushing into the rectum, around the bend into the sigmoid colon, and up a good portion of the transverse colon. Panting with desperation, he watched it slowly move into and out of the tight guts. They were filled completely and perfectly, stretched by that massive girth almost to bursting, pulling against the rubbery fascia that bound them to accommodate its length. Was that what his own insides looked like when Misha fucked him? A stabbing pang of jealousy surged through Medic's body, making his balls clench and ache. He wanted to be in the dead man's place so badly. He wanted his Heavy to kill him and take his body instead. He pictured his sweet angel pumping him full of lead, stripping him bare and lying him down beside the first body, and stuffing him with that perfect cock, raping his corpse and devouring his flesh until there was nothing left. He whimpered as his legs started to give out from under him. He had to hold himself up on the table, and everything felt like it was swimming around him. Heavy's warm hand came down to stroke his back, and he leaned into the grounding touch, steadying himself.

"You are okay?"

"Ja, I'm doing wonderfully. Just…" Medic took a couple deep breaths. "Look at you in him, look how big you are. It's perfect. I want it so badly, I feel so strange inside..."

"I will please Doktor instead."

"No, stay there. Take care of him. I want to watch it, it's beautiful."

Medic retrieved the ring retractor and swiftly positioned it over the gaping incision. Prodigious steel claws clamped down on the skin, holding it wide open for easy access. Then Medic wrapped one hand around the cadaver's hindgut, feeling the springy ribbons of muscle that traveled up the intestines, exploring the soft, dripping ridges and valleys of the bulging organ. He pinched the thick mesocolon between his finger and thumb and tugged on it, admiring the nerves and blood vessels that ran like rivers through the fatty connective tissue. Then he placed his hands lower, around the middle of the long section which his lover's cock was feeding over and over, slowly and deeply. Heavy choked back a groan of pleasure.

"Oh, Ludi, I can feel you…Holding me…"

"Is it good, Schatz?" Medic watched Heavy's face carefully.

"Is so good," Heavy panted. "You touching me when I'm inside him…And I can see it." He was fixated on Medic's red right hand, wrapped tightly around the dead man's innermost parts as he filled them to the brim.

Medic stroked the younger man through the walls of skin-tight muscle. Lymph and thick mucus lubricated the whole of it, letting him slide his fingers easily across every inch of that thick, satisfying cock, drawing moans of pleasure from his Heavy.

Heavy was much more interested in the corpse now that Medic was pleasing him with it. Really, he thought the way Medic got around blood and guts was adorable, and this wasn’t so far removed from that. The mad doctor did look…both disturbed and disturbing, face and chest dripping blood, flesh stuck between his teeth, cold blue eyes cutting through the red of the gore that painted his face. But he was clearly enjoying himself, so Heavy was happy.

Medic watched the beautiful squirming, seething movement of his lover’s massive cock inside the open corpse. The movement made the fluid in the open cavity slosh and bubble. He couldn’t rip his eyes off of it; he could barely believe how beautiful his lovely Misha was. He wanted to make love to that cock, and he needed to eat more. Heavy was fucking Medic’s dinner, and Medic loved it.

He bowed forward and breathed in the lovely scent of the cadaver as its insides were stirred up. Once he caught that scent, he was inexorably drawn to the center of the body. Its heat embraced him like a mother’s love, warm and forgiving and all-encompassing. He pressed his lips to the perfect guts and kissed them deeply and lovingly. The heat and wetness on his lips and the scent of slowly cooling flesh was inviting, and the delicious pistoning motion of Heavy’s dick just below was even better. He parted his lips and started pleasing the younger man with his mouth through the tight meat.

Heavy groaned at the sight of his Medic's face buried in viscera, lips and tongue gliding along the slippery, stuffed intestines, mouthing at Heavy's cock. He looked up at him, eyes glazed with lust below thick eyelashes, sucking and licking at the slick organ.

"Doktor…"

"Oh, Heavy, I can feel your cock…" Medic cooed. "Mmh, it's so big. It feels so good in my mouth, I love it." He opened his mouth wide and slid it over the plush tissue, lapping up blood. "Ooh, you please me, Misha, you make me feel so good with your perfect cock, please don't stop."

"Ngh…"

"You're such a good boy."

Right hand still tight around the gut-swathed cock, Medic nuzzled deeper into the warm flesh. He was still hungry, buried in the smell and taste of gore like a warm blanket. It was gushing into his mouth and nose, clumping on his eyelashes and in his hair, wet and slimy on his skin. Unable to control his hunger, he moved to the offal and started feasting on the corpse's liver. At first small bites, but when the thick bloody taste of it filled his mouth, he keened and tore more of it away. Something deep inside of him kept pushing and yearning for more, always more. His glasses were getting in the way and he struggled to pull them off. They clattered unheeded to the abattoir floor, landing among the piles of human meat waste. He dug his teeth through the soft membrane of the pancreas and swallowed chunks of it whole. The sweet, rich taste filled him completely, almost making him retch with the thickness of it as it slid into his grotesquely overstuffed stomach. He ate most of it in big bites, working around the gristly ducts that wrapped it.

Then he moved down to the tender muscle that lined the anterior of the corpse's eviscerated abdomen, the meat he'd been eyeing earlier. The psoas muscle felt smooth as silk against his bile-coated lips, delicious flesh basted in blood and stomach acid. He kissed it passionately and then sank his teeth into it. Upon deflowering it, it burst flavour into his maw, fresh blood and interstitial fluid and rich, soft meat, a perfectly tender and mouthwatering cut. He moaned in ecstasy, goo bubbling from his lips, and buried his face in it, feeding ravenously like a starving dog. Every bite pushed him further into indulgent bliss as he ate his twin, becoming one with him, taking him into himself forever. He growled and tore at the muscle, ripping it free from the bone to swallow it. His tortured stomach wrenched in protest and he ignored it, not wanting his pleasure to end. If he had his way, he'd gorge himself like a tick until he burst open.

The pressure within him built to intense pain. He paused unwillingly and gagged, pale eyes watering. No matter how much he enjoyed it, his digestive system simply wasn't built to handle several pounds of raw human flesh (and a not-insignificant aperitif of a more excremental nature) on top of what had already been a hearty dinner. He curled and moaned in pain, drawing his hands to press into his stomach. Still, he kept eating. It wasn't his choice any more, he wasn't in control; it just tasted too good. Too good, filling his mouth, firm beneath his teeth, thick and bloody when it went down. His body shook with lust for the soft slimy meat.

“Doktor…Are you okay?” Heavy’s voice was far away.

Medic’s belly clenched and he gagged again when he swallowed. Once more, and he burped and retched up clots of blood and acid. He heaved over the disembowelled body, pink foam frothing from his mouth, eyes fogged over. He breathed deeply and looked up, holding his distended stomach, trying to keep it inside. He didn't want to give his food up. But when he bent forward and went in for another mouthful, what he got was a mouthful of vomit.

His body was rebelling against the abuse he'd given it. The muscles in his core spasmed and his throat opened up, spilling the contents of his stomach into his mouth.

There was too much pressure to swallow it back down, so he had to relinquish it. His lips parted and wine-red clumpy vomit poured out of him. His own stomach acid burned his throat and lungs horribly. Slimy half-digested meat spewed from his throat along with long, gelatinous clots of coagulated blood, landing in the hollow cavity of the corpse's belly, back where it belonged.

Once the flow started, he couldn't do anything to stop it. He clamped one shaky hand over his mouth, but he heaved again and it spurted out in jets between his fingers. Drool and mucous bubbled down his chin. He was crying from the harsh spasms, making tears and snot stream from his nostrils in ropy dangling strings.

He turned to the side and bent forward and it came up out of him for real, so much puke that it strained his esophagus, gaping the sphincters wide open as his whole body seized against itself. Red meat and dark blood showered over his boots and puddled on the floor below him. His knees began to give out with the effort of standing and he grabbed at the table for support, but his fingers slipped in the disgusting liquid that covered it, and he fell to his hands and knees with a painful crack. Agony shot through his bones and he hoarsely cried out in pain before his voice was interrupted by more of the vile effluvium from his guts.

He couldn't believe how much of it was coming out of him. It seemed humanly impossible that he could've stretched his stomach out enough to fit all that meat into it, and yet he'd done it, and it had felt good. It eased up for a moment, and he waited on his hands and knees, wheezing and sobbing as he stared into the disgusting black pool of half-digested shit and meat and blood. His mouth was overwhelmed with the pungent, rotten aroma of acid and human waste overlaid with raw flesh. Every hoarse breath he took was contaminated with its essence. He felt like he'd never be free of it again. His organs twisted again and he forcefully expelled the rest of his stomach contents onto the floor.

He sensed that this was the last bout; his stomach was empty now, a strange starving sensation when minutes ago he'd been stuffed painfully full. The pressure was lessening, and it hurt his throat less to purge his meal onto the ground. The flood drew to a halt. He gasped raggedly, eyes fluttering.

It hurt so badly; all of his digestive tract from his mouth down to the depths of his gut was stinging and spasming from the massive binge he'd just forced into it and its acid-soaked evacuation. He wiped his nose and mouth on his quivering hands, which didn't make much of a difference; every inch of his body was covered in slime by now. Still wracked by little gags and reeling in pain, he hiccupped and collapsed weakly to the floor, face down in his own repulsive vomit, his frame shuddering feverishly.

After a moment of suffering, he tried to get back up to his knees, but he was stopped by something hard suddenly pushing down on his head, shoving him back into his sick. Startled, he looked up. His Heavy had paused in making love to the dead man and was looking down at him, pressing the sole of his boot down into his head, his face wearing a mask of disgust.

"Misha," Medic gurgled.

"Clean your mess."

"Ngh…" The doctor looked up, wide eyed, breath shaking. "Wha?..."

"Go, clean with your mouth," Heavy repeated. "You heard me." He tapped Medic on the back with his boot.

"Scheisse, Misha…"

Medic looked down at the toxic mixture he was lying in. There was so much of it, hot and sticky all over him and around him, and it reeked like hell. Panting with arousal and nausea, he slowly brought his wet face down to the floor. Before he could do it himself, the boot stepped on the back of his head again and pushed him roughly into it with a little splash, rubbing his face into it. Shock washed over Medic, and his hands scratched at the slippery mess, fighting back. In his dazed state, Medic didn’t understand why Heavy was being so demeaning. Normally all he did was…well, read and deliver Medic’s desires…

"Clean with your tongue," Heavy said gruffly. "Don’t want to see you do this dirty stuff. Lick that shit up."

With his face pressed into the puddle of puke, Medic opened his mouth. It was nearly impossible to tell what was what in the soupy mess. Everything looked the same, a homogeneous brown-black-red colour, shiny and slippery and covered in stringy mucous. He lapped some of it up, sucking squishy cottage-cheese-like lumps through his teeth, and his belly heaved anew when he tasted that he was (as Heavy had said) licking shit up. His cock begged, and he writhed against the slime-slickened floor with the grace of an earthworm on a wet sidewalk, seeking out friction. He'd been hard for so long, it was getting difficult to keep his hands away. He kept eating it off the floor, whining lightly with pleasure at the purulent taste.

"Keep cleaning." Heavy's boot pressed into his back, pushing the wind out of him.

"Mmh, fick, don't stop," Medic moaned, his mouth full.

He could feel Heavy’s disgusted gaze pinning him to the floor along with his boot. He swallowed a thick mouthful of shit and puke, and burped up a taste so foul that it almost came back out again. He knew Heavy was disappointed in him for showing this dirty part of himself. Now that he thought of it, he didn’t know if Heavy would even want him after this. He was depraved, unforgivably disgusting, but it made him feel so good he couldn’t stop. He panted and pushed his putrid body into his mess.

"Misha, fuck, I…" Medic squirmed under the sole of Heavy's boot. "Please, it feels so good. Please step on me. I'm, I'm gonna come…"

"Da, of course." The heel of the boot ground harshly into Medic's back. “Filth.”

"Spit on me, please, spit on my face." He looked up at Heavy, his tears washing clear trails down his grime-smeared cheeks, face covered in vomit and sin.

Obedient as ever, Heavy leaned down over the filth-covered man on the ground below him and spat in his face, aiming for his eyes. Medic keened and his hips struggled against the floor, frotting into the liquefied human remains he'd soiled the floor with.

"More, give me more!" Medic opened his mouth wide.

"You got shit stuck in your teeth. Let me help, Doktor." Heavy smiled cruelly and grabbed Medic's dripping, messy hair, yanking his head back with it, then spat thick saliva into his waiting mouth. Fulfilled satisfaction spread over the doctor's face as the bigger man's spit slid down his throat. He was writhing in the mess and humping into it wantonly, panting desperately, close to coming. Heavy spat in Medic's foul mouth once more before shoving his face back down into the bloody puke, rubbing it against the floor.

"Can barely even look at you." Heavy dug his boot into Medic's ribs. "So disgusting."

"Oh, Misha…"

As the steel toe of Heavy's boot jabbed sharply against his ribs and then urged into the side of his head, Medic moaned in bliss. He kept licking up the remains of his meal, slurping evil-smelling juices from between the floor tiles. Soft meat eaten for the second time slid down into his gut. He retched on something particularly nasty as it got stuck in his throat and coughed it up, almost vomiting again, but he wanted it so badly that he managed to keep it down. He bit into it and smeared it over his tongue, tears springing up in his eyes at the bitter, bacteria-laden flavour of regurgitated feces. He couldn't bring himself to swallow it. He'd never felt so humiliated in his life, pinned down beneath his slave's boot, covered in fleshy vomit and waste, drowning in the fetid evidence of his own debauched, pathological desires. It was beautiful, everything he'd ever wanted. He hadn't even touched himself and he was so close, painfully close, almost there—

"You are a sick man," Heavy told him. "Don't even want to touch you. Clean." The boot pressed into the side of Medic's face.

"Misha…Fuck, ich komme, bitte, bitte—"

"Shit-eating slut, come in your pants for Heavy…"

"Ngh, mmf…" Medic's eyes rolled back in his head as he rutted against the slippery floor. He let out high-pitched keens and moans as his body came untouched, so hard it hurt. His orgasm washed through him violently, making his toes curl and his body shake weakly as he spent himself in aching spurts inside his underwear. "Misha, oh, Misha…ja, ja, so gut, das ist so geil! Ah, mmm…" He shuddered as he painted the last of his cum over himself. The violent pleasure was so strong that, as he finished, he seemed to black out, losing consciousness and swimming in a womblike void.

***

When he came to, he could feel Heavy's strong arms around him. Cool hands were wiping at his face, trying to clean him. He shifted and noticed that his head was resting in Heavy's lap.

"Oh, Bärchen, no, I'm going to get you all dirty…"

"Does not matter." Heavy kept brushing his hands through the doctor's wet, sticky hair. "Ludi, you okay? I was only talking for fun. Is for fun, don't want to hurt you..."

"I know, Misha. Don't worry. I love you."

"I love you more."

"No, that's definitely not possible, dear. Because I love you most."

"Nyet, don't say that." Heavy laughed. "I love you most too."

"Well, we can call it a tie, then."

"Da, okay." Heavy smoothed Medic's hair and brushed it back behind his ear, then tried to wipe his mouth clean. "Okay, I get you water, carry you to room, give you hot bath…maybe give you hot bath twice, you pick book tonight—"

"No, not yet, Schatz," Medic said. "We're not done yet." He reached up beside him and brushed his fingers over the huge erection haphazardly tucked into Heavy's pants. "We're going to take care of you."

"Not necessary. I get you water now—"

"But you're so hard, I can feel it, I want to do something about it."

"Is not important."

"It's important to me." Medic gently squeezed Heavy's cock, feeling his breath catch. "Misha, you'll do what I say, right? To make me happy?"

"Da. Anything."

"Be a dear and undo my shirt, please."

Heavy nodded and carefully began to undo the small buttons of the soaked, stained dress shirt that clung to Medic's body, pulling them apart to reveal his chest.

"You are going to touch me however you please, anywhere on my body," Medic ordered. "Be as rough as you comfortably can. You can use the soap and water and clean me if you'd like."

Heavy nodded again, more slowly this time. He pushed the foul shirt aside and slid his hands over the smaller man's chest.

"When you feel you're ready, you're going to fuck my face. I'd like you to go in as rough and deep as you can. But you already know that's what I like, don't you?"

"Da…Da, Doktor."

"So you'll please my throat for me, just how I like it," Medic continued. "Come whenever you're ready. You're going to get part of it in my mouth, and the rest of it on my face and chest. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, Doktor."

"Thank you, Lieber."

Heavy stood up, cradling Medic to his body in one arm. Medic cuddled into Heavy's side while trying to keep him as clean as possible.

"I clean you up for me," Heavy said. He carried Medic to the sink and drew him a glass of water, made him rinse his mouth and spit, then drink. After stripping Medic's rancid clothes off, he soaked a soft cloth in warm soapy water and did his best to clean the smaller man, gently stroking it over his face before swiping it through his hair and then wiping his body down. It wasn't enough to get him clean, but much of the putrid slime washed away. He cleaned his teeth, gave him mouthwash to gargle with, and tried to arrange his hair properly, which was mostly futile. The doctor still smelled disturbing, but that was okay. It would take more than that to keep Heavy away from him.

Then Heavy carried him back to the operating table and set him down on the cleanest corner of it, beside his deceased duplicate. He cradled Medic's face softly, stroking his cheeks and lips.

"So handsome," Heavy said.

"I'm sure I'm not, not right now…"

"Nyet, very handsome. You look so lovely after you enjoy self, all soft and good." Heavy pressed a tiny kiss to Medic's nose. "Love to look at you and touch you like this, Ludi."

"You're so sweet…"

Heavy moved to touch Medic's chest and shoulders, coarse fingers lovingly stroking his damp skin, inspecting him for injuries. He squeezed at the smaller man's chest, making him gasp and arch his back for more contact. He smiled and kept fondling him, brushing over his nipples, leaning in to kiss the soft hair and to worship him there.

"Your breast is so soft. Makes me feel all good inside." Heavy planted kisses all over Medic's chest.

"Ooh, I love it when you touch me like that…"

Heavy kept stroking his Medic all over, his back, arms, and stomach, checking his hands and knees for bruising after his fall.

"This will hurt, you must heal."

"I'll do it after," Medic said. He moved up closer to Heavy and rubbed his naked thigh against his erection. "I don't want to wait any longer…Whenever you're ready, Misha."

"Someone is impatient, da?"

"I need it, please."

"If you wish." Heavy kissed Medic's cheek and picked him up to set him on the ground. He arranged the BLU mercenary's coat on the ground to make a cushion, which Medic knelt on. Before Heavy had time to do it, Medic's hands were on his fly, opening him like a gift. He pulled Heavy's cock out and moaned at the sight of it, stroking it in both hands.

"Ah, you're so hard for me…" Medic murmured. "Ooh, look at you…I can feel your heartbeat in it, Heavy." He rubbed it on his face, breathing in its musk and trying to mark himself with it.

"Oh, your hands…" Shakily, Heavy grasped the edge of the table. "You touch me so good."

Medic kissed the cock and smacked himself across the cheek with it, then started licking it. Heavy dipped his fingers in the dead man's sticky blood beside him and smoothed some of it over his length to treat Medic.

"Oh, Misha, good boy, that's lovely." Medic lapped up the dark blood, cleaning the bigger man's cock for him. "You taste so good…How can I make you feel good, Liebling? What would you like me to do?"

Heavy blushed and looked away. "Ah, the thing with your mouth…When you move your head, feels good."

"Like this?" Medic made a round O with his lips and spread them around the big, fat cock, tightly sucking in his cheeks, and slid partly down onto it, slicking it with his spit as he went, and then back up. He realized that Heavy still tasted like the dead man's innards. His worn-out cock twitched.

"Oh, bozhe moy, yes…" Heavy's eyes squeezed shut and he grabbed at the table with one hand, stroking Medic's hair with the other. "Is so good when you move like that. Da, your tongue is so—God, you're taking me so deep already, it feels—oh, fuck, Doktor…"

Medic was facefucking himself on Heavy's cock. He already had crammed about half of it down his throat and was bobbing his head over it, his jaw spread wide open like a snake swallowing its prey. He grabbed Heavy's hand and made it grip his hair tightly, mimicking a pulling motion. Slowly, Heavy obeyed, taking the handful of hair and gently pulling Medic's head back and forth with it, trying to stay in his rhythm.

"Oh, God," Heavy moaned. "Ngh, you keep doing that, I'm not going to last long…how you take it, ngh, fuck!"

"Nghh." Medic grabbed Heavy's other hand and positioned it on his head.

"You, you want I go harder? Don't want to hurt you, Doktor…"

"Ngh, mm…"

"Da, da, okay…" Heavy carefully buried his big hands in Medic's hair and used it to fuck his face. The older man's throat gaped open easily, wet and hot and tight for him, swallowing him down greedily.

Medic moaned and squirmed on his knees. He looked up at Heavy with searing eyes, burning through silky eyelashes, filled with intense lust. His wet lips sealed perfectly around the dick that was fucking his mouth.

"Fuck, Doktor! Ah, when you make with those eyes at me…" He sank into mumbled Russian swearing, speeding up his thrusts into his lover's mouth. Medic let out soft keens of pleasure every time he sheathed himself in his throat, urging him on. "I finish, please…" Medic's hands came up to hold Heavy's hips encouragingly, and he took him in even deeper, slowly blinking up at him with those wicked eyes. Heavy threw his head back and pumped into Medic's mouth. "Ngh, sorry, I'm sorry…" With a low moan, he thrust sloppily into Medic's tight mouth, his balls smacking roughly against his face a few more times until he reached his peak, gritting his teeth and sweating. His hands clutched Medic's soft hair tightly as he felt the dam break open inside him. He keened and started coming deep inside Medic's throat, spending a couple long, hot pulses inside of him, coating his stomach with cum. In one long, slow motion, Medic pulled the cock up, holding that eye contact through every inch until the head appeared out of his mouth. He wrapped both of his hands about it and jerked Heavy through the rest of his climax, splashing thick white semen over his face and chest. Fat spurts of cum shot into his eyes and nose and hair, painted his face with white ribbons, dripped over his full breasts like hot milk. He gasped for breath as the massive load kept spilling over him, and more of it fell into his mouth. He craved it, and he kept milking Heavy's cock with both hands until every last drop had fallen onto his lips. He slowed down the movement, blinking up at Heavy through cum-laden eyelashes, until the big man gave out a final gasp and went limp.

Heavy sank slowly down to rest on the floor beside Medic, panting desperately for air after his orgasm. He gathered the smaller man into his arms instinctively, pressing his body tight to his chest. Medic was wiping the thick cum out of his eyes and nose and sucking it off his fingers like cake frosting.

"Oh," Heavy gasped. "I…Oh." He couldn't find anything to say, his mind completely exhausted.

"Thank you," Medic said. He nuzzled against Heavy's chest adoringly. "Oh, you make me so happy, Misha…" He wrapped his arms around him, and they snuggled on the floor together, steam rising off them in the cold room. "Really," he said more quietly. "You're…incredible. I'm so very lucky to have you. You make me feel so wonderful, and I just want to make you feel the same way."

"Me too." Heavy kissed the top of Medic's head, trying to hide the fact that he was holding his breath. "You are my favourite."

"I couldn't possibly imagine a better man to spend the rest of my life with, Misha."

"Oh, Doktor." Heavy smiled against Medic's warm skin. "You know I feel same way about you…Okay, now I give you hot bath, da?"

"Okay, okay."

"First you heal, then hot bath with bubbles…I wash your hair, bring you mint tea. Is good for settle stomach. You pick book tonight, I read with you."

"...I love you, Heavy."

"I love you, too, Doktor."

There was a flash somewhere in the distance and the sound of sparking electricity. The lights in the room dimmed, then brightened again. With a sudden vacuum pop, the defiled, picked-over thing that had once been the BLU Medic completely disappeared, vanishing into thin air.

"Respawn is back," Heavy said. Thank God, he silently added.

A Texan-accented voice clanged through the tinny intercom speakers. "Servers are back up, boys. Looks like we're back on schedule."

"Hey," Medic pouted, "I was going to finish that."