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The RED and BLU factions had merged their forces, their losses leaving the mercenaries weakened and scarred. But amidst the mechanical carnage, new bonds formed like fragile stitches in wounded flesh.
We find our two newly acquainted comrades, the BLU Heavy and the RED Medic, sharing their tales in the dead of night, their exhaustion and vulnerability laid bare beneath the armour of camaraderie. Both had built walls around their hearts, guarding against the relentless onslaught of warfare.
Heavy had a trick up his sleeve, an old country remedy for coaxing openness from men. Men's men, they'd sit at a rickety table, throwing back shots, arm-wrestling, swapping war stories, and forging connections. Heavy's mother had spoken of his father in such terms. A man of strength, a friend to all. Heavy aspired to be just like him, unyielding in the face of battle, a beacon for others, come victory or defeat.
"I'm not sure if it's wise to indulge in spirits this late, Heavy," the RED Medic said, his smile more frequent than Heavy's own late Medic's had ever been. Heavy missed his departed friend dearly, his heart torn between joy and sorrow upon the RED Medic's arrival.
Could he bear to lose another friend, Heavy wondered? His grief for his fallen comrade had been postponed by the unrelenting warfare, no longer confined to match hours. Their world had been turned upside down.
Thus, after an arduous day battling waves of mechanical soldiers and Sentry Busters that had relentlessly assailed their ramshackle base, they found themselves in Heavy's meagre quarters, once part of the old RED base. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting an orange glow over the room, illuminating Heavy's bed, a chest of drawers, a small square table, and two mismatched chairs where Heavy and Medic now sat.
"Refusing is impolite," Heavy declared, sitting back down with a hefty bottle of Stoli, placing two shot glasses on the table, filling one to the brim for himself and one for Medic.
"And this is genuine Russian vodka?" Medic inquired, adjusting his glasses, scrutinising the bottle from across the table.
"Yes," Heavy responded, lifting his glass in a toast before downing it and promptly refilling it. "Imported."
"I see," Medic remarked, lifting the glass to his lips, taking a deep breath, and downing it. He coughed and sputtered, clearly unaccustomed to the taste.
"Good," Heavy nodded.
"Oh," Medic cleared his throat and held a hand to his chest. "Potent stuff."
Heavy refilled his empty glass. "Um. Oh, alright," Medic acquiesced, lifting his second shot, saluting, and downing it.
"Do you miss old team, doctor?" Heavy asked.
"Well," Medic cleared his throat again, holding the shot glass in his hand, rolling its base against the table. "Of course. We still have Demoman, Sniper, Engineer. But, yes, of course, I miss the men we've lost."
Heavy was pleased when Medic pushed his glass forward for another drink upon finishing his thought.
"You've been in military before, you told me," Heavy continued.
"Yes," Medic nodded. "I served in the German national service just before the war. I trained to be a field medic for some time. It made a decent living and funded my research, which was my true passion."
"Did you fight before, or only now?" Heavy inquired.
"I wouldn't call it fighting, compared to all of this," Medic gestured around the room, his fingers wriggling to convey the chaos of their lives. "I kept men alive so they could return to the fight. I suppose I was fighting a different type of battle. Anyway, I don't want to talk about the war. Or this war."
"Agreed," Heavy said. "Tell me about Red Heavy."
Medic's eyes left the shot glass he was fiddling with and met Heavy's own. There was a flush on Medic's cheeks; the drink was warming him from the inside out. Heavy felt the warmth in his own belly but seldom did it reach the rest of his body these days.
"What do you want to know?" Medic's eyes left Heavy's face and wandered out the window. The night had descended, the outside wind felt cold and intrusive as it pressed against the shack's walls.
Heavy refilled their glasses once again. "Did he drink with you?"
"No," Medic shook his head, smiling, raising the glass, and tossing back the drink before placing it back on the table. "I'm not much of a drinker. Beer is my preferred poison. I am German," he added with a shrug and another smile.
"Have never had German beer," Heavy admitted.
"It's wonderful. The best beer comes from Germany. Don't let Sniper convince you that Australian pißwasser is real beer. It's not. It's disgusting, but there's nothing else to drink on base, so I can hardly blame him. I refrain, but he's a good man. He's done a lot for me over the years. He really just wants the best for us."
Heavy sensed Medic loosening up; his plan was working. Perhaps this doctor would let down his walls and embrace a true friendship instead of keeping everyone at arm's length.
"German beer is best beer?" Heavy inquired again.
"Oh, yes. Hefe-Weissbier is what you want to get," Medic said, pointing at Heavy and then pressing his fingertip into the table top. "Some of them are made at breweries that use spring water for the beer. It's very refreshing. I would consider killing a man for a glass of Paulaner right now."
Heavy chuckled, sparking Medic's curiosity. "You don't believe me?"
"I believe you." Heavy mused, his conviction in the man's refined taste and relentless pursuit of desires unwavering. "Stolichnaya suits me just fine."
He poured two more shots, and a strange sound escaped Medic's lips, a giggle. A sound foreign to Heavy's ears, as on the battlefield, Medic was known for his hoots and guffaws, but never a giggle.
The mood seemed to be lightening up. Stoli, Heavy's trusty companion, always knew how to lend a helping hand when needed.
"I think I need a breather; vodka's going straight to my head," Medic confessed, reaching up to touch his forehead and smirking.
Heavy saw an opening to delve deeper into their conversation. "You sidestep my question. Tell me about RED Team Heavy."
Medic sighed, a wistful expression crossing his features. "I miss him. Truly, I do. And I'm grateful to have you as a teammate." Medic swallowed hard and raised his glass, saluting, then downing the shot once more.
Heavy mirrored Medic's actions, but the atmosphere in the room had shifted. He yearned to know more, to help Medic express his feelings.
"He was good man? We are on opposing teams, but you can tell me," Heavy assured him.
Medic's gaze drifted over Heavy's form, his hands resting on the table.
"You remind me so much of him. It's almost like he's here with me. Do you miss your BLU Medic, Heavy?" Medic hesitated, Heavy could feel his reluctance to delve deeper into this emotional terrain, but it was clearly an avenue straight to the man's heart.
"Yes, I do miss him," Heavy admitted. "We had close friendship. He always had time for me. I was not there when he passed away, and I regret this."
"Oh, Heavy," Medic said, reaching across the small table to pat Heavy's hand. "I'm sure he knew how much you meant to him, even at the end. Being there or not, the pain runs deep. Don't blame yourself." Medic suppressed a hiccup behind his clenched fist. "I fear this vodka is catching up to me."
Heavy noticed Medic's flushed face and observed that the doctor had rolled up his shirt sleeves, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his collar.
"Were you with RED Team Heavy at the end?" Heavy inquired.
"Yes, I was," Medic replied curtly, turning his empty shot glass in one hand, resting it on the table.
"I am happy you had chance to say goodbye," Heavy remarked.
"If I had known the respawn was destroyed, I would have acted differently. Perhaps I could have done more." Medic's eyes welled up with grief, and he covered his mouth with one hand.
"I understand," Heavy reassured him, offering his support. He reached across and felt the warmth of Medic's hand. "I have regrets, also. Is natural to feel this way."
"I know," Medic said, withdrawing his hand quickly at the first sign of comfort.
"When life is lonely, grief becomes a welcome friend. An old Russian poem speaks of this, is true for me," Heavy said with a nod.
"Yes, perhaps that's what I'm feeling. Grief, not just for my Heavy beside me in battle," Medic admitted, looking down into his glass.
"You feel him when we fight?" Heavy inquired.
"No, it's hard to explain," Medic responded.
"I am smart man; try me," Heavy encouraged. He poured another shot for himself but noticed Medic covering the top of his glass to prevent a refill.
"It might be too personal, but sometimes..." Medic's voice dropped to a whisper. "When we're side by side, covered in oil, with shards of metal still in our skin, it feels like he's right there with me, fighting alongside. Often, I glance at you, and I see his face, so much like yours, and it terrifies me."
"It's not wrong to think that way. I feel the same sometimes. You are much like doctor I knew, yet different in many ways," Heavy explained.
"I miss him terribly," was all Medic could say before his voice cracked with emotion.
Heavy looked up just in time to witness Medic's flushed face contorted with pain, his eyes squeezed shut as tears spilled over, dampening his dark lashes. His glasses magnified the sight, and Heavy felt the depth of his anguish. Eager to comfort his newfound friend, he rose from his seat, dragged his chair over to sit beside Medic at the table, and sat down, one hand gently patting his shoulder.
"It will be okay," Heavy reassured him. "I am here, and we are great team. Together, we are strong."
Then, after wiping his eyes and replacing his glasses, Medic's hand rested atop Heavy's on his shoulder, and the atmosphere underwent a transformation. It was as though Heavy could feel Medic's stoic façade cracking, revealing a heart scorched by grief.
Heavy had initially perceived this RED Medic as cold, hardened by his loss, and the struggles of war. Yet here, with a bit of vodka and kindness, he discovered that beneath the icy exterior, the man burned fiercely ever since his friend's demise. Perhaps there was a reason Medic had kept Heavy at arm's length, not to inflict that same burn upon him.
"You truly remind me of him," Medic confessed, his grip on Heavy's hand tightening. He tenderly stroked his thumb over the back of Heavy's hand. "We were close."
"I see," Heavy replied, attempting to veil his burning curiosity.
"Yes," Medic nodded, his grip on Heavy's hand unyielding. He continued to caress it, his thumb tracing intricate patterns. "I've pined for him, more than just the grief of losing a colleague."
"I understand," Heavy said, uncertain whether he should withdraw his hand. Instead, fuelled by the fiery vodka in his gut, he allowed it to move from Medic's shoulder to the back of his neck. He held firmly, offering a reassuring shake as he spoke. "Think of me as same man, if it helps. I am here for you."
Convinced he had made the right choice, Heavy leaned in closer, pressing his head to Medic's in a display of masculine support, then leaned back, releasing his hand.
But before he could fully retreat, Medic seized his wrist, gripping it with fervour, and brought it to his lips, where he whispered a burning request. "Please, do it again."
Heavy paused for a moment, measuring the intensity of emotions between them. Deciding it was agreeable, he firmly grasped the back of Medic's neck once more, drawing him close, and their foreheads met.
They lingered there.
"Heavy," Medic spoke between them with his eyes shut. Heavy felt the warmth at Medic's nape and a shiver running down his spine.
Heavy sat at a right angle to Medic's own seat, so their foreheads touched at Medic's temple. As Medic turned his head this way and that, Heavy noticed Medic's left leg starting to bounce, a sign that he had struck an emotional chord within him.
"Do you dream of him?" Heavy inquired. "Since he passed away. Does he visit you in dreams?"
"Why?" Medic asked without opening his eyes. "Does your Medic visit you?"
"Yes," Heavy replied softly, as if speaking the words aloud might scare the ghost away. "I dream a black dog, and I put my hand in its mouth. Is a healthy dream, lets out my fears."
"And the Medic? When does he appear in this black dog dream?" Medic inquired.
"He is the black dog. I dream of old base, burned to the ground, and the worms eat the black wood, they prefer this. When all the ash is eaten, then my Medic is there, making me feel better again," Heavy explained.
"What strange dreams you have," Medic smiled, a tear rolling down his cheek. "My dream is simple. I see him back here with me, he's fine, as he always was. And then I realise it's just a dream, and I panic, not wanting to wake up." Medic rubbed his nose and sniffled. "Then I wake up, and I miss him so terribly that sometimes, I feel like giving up the fight."
"Is just a feeling, will change with time. I promise, he is fine, wherever he is." Heavy reassured him.
"I know, but that doesn't change how I feel. I'd do anything to have him back," Medic confessed, his voice breaking under the weight of his grief.
And that's when Medic fell silent. He took deep breaths, the sound of his chest seemed drenched in sorrow. He reached across, his hand clutching Heavy's BLU shirt, tugging it, bringing their faces closer.
Heavy remained immobile, not leaning in nor pulling away, as Medic leaned forward, pressed his dry lips against Heavy's, and kissed him. A tender kiss, like a little indulgence, as if he couldn't resist.
"I'm sorry," Medic pulled away instantly, breaking the kiss, and looked down at himself with shame. "That was a mistake. The alcohol."
Heavy observed as Medic struggled to regain his composure, fumbling with his tie, making it looser, and awkwardly adjusting his shirt, overwhelmed by his own guilt, which had surged like a tide to quench his smouldering desire for a man who was no longer alive.
"Is alright," Heavy declared aloud. "I never kissed my doctor."
"Well," Medic replied, providing no further explanation.
Heavy pressed on. "He was married. His wife lived in Austria. He spoke of her often. He left her as widow and left me as unhappy man." Medic looked up and met Heavy's gaze. Heavy continued, "Is okay. If you want to kiss me, you can kiss me. If it will make you feel better."
Medic clearly needed no second invitation, as he gathered Heavy in his arms and kissed him again, this time with more intensity, fully turning toward him.
His kiss was fervent and passionate this time. Heavy lightly stroked the back of Medic's head, trying to follow the doctor's lead.
And what a lead it was; Medic's kisses were like blazing fire. He was clearly more than tipsy, perhaps completely inebriated, but Heavy had also been drinking. Their bodies touched across the corner of the table, and Medic pressed himself into Heavy's space, his chair squeaked against the wooden floor.
Medic didn't push further than that, and Heavy allowed him to savour these little kisses on his lips, letting him cool down and catch his breath.
"Kiss me," Medic breathed into Heavy. "I want you to kiss me."
"You are sure?" Heavy asked. "You miss him. It won't be the same with me. I am different man."
"I know. Right now, I want a different man to kiss me," Medic replied, his words perhaps tinged with falsehood. But Heavy appreciated the sight of this RED doctor. His own doctor had been so distant, and Heavy had never imagined having a man like this for himself.
Now, here in his arms, was a man who seemed almost desperate to be embraced, and Heavy was willing to give whatever he had to offer. But first, it appeared that Medic was willing to make a proposition.
"Whatever you want. I promise I'll enjoy it. I don't mind, bitte, you can even close your eyes if you like, I won't mind," Medic explained. "I know you prefer women, of course, but you're just so... I want to give you something good. I don't feel like a woman," he clarified, running his hands over his chest, his arms, his lap. "But if you let me touch you, I can make you feel good, I promise. It will be just the same."
"Doctor is crazy if he thinks I'll close my eyes. But you will give me what I ask for, okay?" Heavy told him.
"Yes, of course. Anything. Anything you want, I'll do it," Medic reassured him, stroking a hand over Heavy's head, caressing his left ear, and touching his face.
Heavy then stood up, wrapped a hand around Medic's throat, and forced him to stand from the chair. He pulled Medic up to sit on the table, spread his thighs, and claimed his mouth. He thrust his tongue between his lips and Medic groaned, tugging at the back of Heavy's shirt, sucking on his tongue, and grinding against him.
"God, fuck me," Medic moaned, intoxicated and burning with desire. He undid his shirt. "It's okay if you haven't done it before. I can show you."
"I've been with men before. Relax. I won't change my mind. I want you," Heavy assured him.
Medic sighed dreamily upon hearing those words. Heavy wondered if his voice sounded just like the deceased man's. He decided to test his theory.
"Doctor," he growled into Medic's ear. "It's me. I'm here to make you feel good." Medic practically melted at the sound. He pressed himself into Heavy, devouring his mouth, gasping, thrusting, and shivering as he held Heavy's face in his hands. "I missed you, but I'm here now for you."
Their kiss was desperate, as if Heavy might vanish in the blink of an eye, as if Medic might not live to see another day, and this was the last kiss he might ever receive.
"Where did he touch you?" Heavy inquired between kisses. "I want to know what you like." Another kiss followed. "How do you like it from a man?" Heavy asked, his voice laced with a seductive smile.
"Anywhere. Anything," Medic begged.
"I can touch you where I like?" Heavy confirmed, wanting to hear it again.
"Yes, yes. Bitte, anywhere. It all feels good, your hands feel good," Medic replied, taking one of Heavy's hands in his own and kissing it. "Anything you like on me, touch me however you want."
In a raw display of need and familiarity, Medic took one of Heavy's fingers into his mouth. He didn't suck or swirl his tongue around it, just held it between his lips and locked eyes with Heavy. It was intense, too soon, too much for Heavy to handle. He had to look away, diverting his attention, denying his role as a surrogate ghost for this grieving lover.
Heavy pushed Medic's unbuttoned shirt apart and started to suck, bite, and kiss his neck, moving down over his shoulder and across his chest. His teeth worked over Medic's nipple as he squeezed the hair-covered chest with both hands, deeply inhaling the scent of Medic's body before sucking red marks on his skin.
Medic jerked and writhed in response to the attention, his body appearing sensitive and easily aroused. It was as if he had been starving for this type of intimacy, lacking any real closeness in his life beyond the memories of his old dead friend.
Heavy's sharp teeth nipped at Medic, and the suction of Heavy's mouth on his nipples elicited a hot, solid response, pressing against Heavy's thigh between them.
"Heavy, your mouth. It's been so long, I want you, miss you." Medic slurred, one hand reaching up to tug at his own hair in desperate need. It seemed he was no longer speaking to the Heavy in the room but rather to the Heavy in the afterlife, the one residing in his heart and memories.
Medic appeared to be beyond help, but Heavy thought maybe he could fuck him until he calmed down. Perhaps that would help him feel better.
"In my bed. Now," Heavy ordered. "Not going to fuck here on the table. Doctor deserves proper treatment. The bed is for fucking."
Before Medic had a chance to even stagger over himself, Heavy scooped him up beneath his thighs and carried him. Medic's thighs parted easily around Heavy's middle as he moved him to the bed.
"How did you know?" Medic was overwhelmed, his face and mouth hidden. "He used to carry me like that."
"Is easy for a big man, and it's fun to do," Heavy replied as he followed Medic onto the bed. "Can I take these?" He asked softly, touching Medic's glasses.
"Yes, yes, take them." Medic removed his glasses and carefully placed them on the shabby bedside table. "Do you have lubrication? I need something."
Heavy grumbled for a moment, not being well-stocked in gay sex supplies. He took off his shirt and tossed it to the ground, then walked over to a footlocker in the corner of the room. After flipping the lid, he found mostly weapons, ammunition, and machine parts stored inside. However, he emerged victorious with a bottle of mineral oil, three-quarters full. While Heavy primarily used it to clean and maintain his shotgun for both vanity and practical purposes, he knew it was slippery and safe for intimate use.
Shaking the bottle, Heavy held it up for Medic to see, but Medic seemed preoccupied. His legs were apart, and his loosened tie still clung around his neck, running across his chest like a silk serpent. Medic's hands were between his legs, over his trousers, rubbing himself. His head was tilted back, his long throat working beautifully as he quietly uttered filthy nothings into the air.
Medic had removed his shoes, and his socked toes curled and wriggled against the wooden floor. His knees were spread wide, one hand squeezing over the enticing bulge in his pants, while the other raked nails across his belly and returned to his chest, teasing his nipple.
"Don't finish without me," Heavy teased. Perhaps he wasn't a surrogate after all; maybe his doppelganger ghost was truly there with them, jealous and eager to torment the doctor in his stead.
“Come here. Give me that.” Medic held out his hand.
Heavy denied him. “Take off your clothes. Naked.” He ordered.
Medic did as he was asked. He drew out his belt, wriggled out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them to the floor. He let his shirt fall away and finally drew off his tie to meet the rest of his clothes on the ground.
Heavy had scarcely seen a more gorgeous man. His strength was evident, with long legs, well toned thighs, and softer flesh around the curves of his waist, his chest. The hair that spread across his chest, greying at only the very edges, grew down his body and got thicker between his legs.
His cock was hard, a natural response to the excitement of being naked in a stranger's bed. Heavy admired it, not entirely unfamiliar with men but certainly not well versed with the ins and outs. He liked the look of it, thick, full, leaning down toward his thigh under the weight of arousal. It was more than pleasing; it was gratifying to see a man so aroused from just a few wet kisses and nibbles.
"Am I naked enough now?" Medic laughed, still flushed from the Stoli and attention. "Come on, give it to me. I'll get ready for you."
But Heavy wasn't ready to fuck just yet. He placed the bottle on the floor beside the bed and pushed Medic to turn around.
"Heavy, I know I said you can do anything to me, but this won't work without the lubricant," Medic complained.
"I know. I'm going to put my mouth on you. Turn around, on your hands and knees," Heavy instructed.
Medic gasped and obeyed, falling to his elbows with his hips pushed up high. Heavy couldn't help but laugh at his eagerness.
"I haven't showered this evening. You don't have to," Medic confessed hesitation despite his body’s immediate acceptance of the proposition.
"Hmm, does not bother me," Heavy replied, his voice dripping with desire. "Oh, I know. You are afraid that if I lick you here, you will finish," he smirked, tugging at Medic's cheeks with his thumbs and squeezing his ass. Heavy's own cock jerked within the confines of his pants at the sight of his eager partner. "I will go slow for you."
"God!" Medic stifled his moan with one hand as Heavy stroked a thick finger over his hole. "Heavy."
Heavy chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of a lonely, grieving man unravelling from the pleasure of sex. Touching Medic felt like discovering hidden mines beneath his skin, he twitched and tense beneath every touch, his body wanted to tighten and surrender all at once.
Heavy didn't waste any time. The scent of Medic's body was raw and undeniably masculine from a day of combat. Clearly fatigued and highly strung, Medic moaned in relief as Heavy flattened his tongue and tasted him for the first time.
True to his promise, Heavy took it slow. He rolled his tongue over Medic's crack, down to his balls where he nuzzled against him, and then back up to suck at his entrance. All the while, Medic writhed and moaned into the bedspread, seemingly torn between wanting more and not being able to handle it.
Heavy pushed his wet tongue into just the right spot, knowing that with a little pressure from his fingers right there, he could get deep into the heat that waited for him. However, he refrained from doing so, not entirely comfortable with the process and not trusting his large hands for such a delicate task.
“Okay.” He couldn’t wait any longer, and when he drew a hand down Medic’s cock, the wetness he felt at the tip suggested Medic was struggling to hang on much longer too. “Here, is good for this.”
Medic's hands trembled as he reached for the bottle. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and he appeared more debauched than ever. In Heavy's eyes, he looked radiant and hungry.
Medic slathered his hand and palm with oil, capped the bottle, and placed it on the nightstand. He returned to his knees, raising his ass in the air and resting his head on the bed as he coated himself and then pushed a finger inside for Heavy to see.
Heavy had no choice but to remove his pants and underwear, as his aching erection had become almost unbearable. He hoped that Medic's departed lover had been as well-endowed as he was. Just to be sure, he decided to confirm.
"You know I am big?" Heavy stroked his own cock and guided it to rub against Medic's ass as he observed two fingers opening up a space for him.
"I had hoped you were," Medic responded with a challenging and greedy tone. "I miss being filled, filled up." The effects of the vodka were still evident in the way his voice dragged. "Okay, I'm ready."
Medic reached his hand back to stroke Heavy and line him up. The oil on his fingers had greased him well, but Heavy wasn't entirely convinced.
"You are not ready," Heavy remarked as he tugged at Medic's cheeks. Although his entrance appeared swollen and wet, Heavy had his doubts. He pushed a finger into Medic's hole, and it tightened around him.
"No, please, I want to feel it," Medic responded, his gaze fixed ahead, not looking back at Heavy. Heavy was curious.
“Am not going to hurt you, doctor," Heavy reassured him as he continued to slide his finger in and out.
"I want to remember. Agh, bitte, I like it," Medic moaned as Heavy pushed his finger in deep, curled it, and pulled it back.
"You might regret in the morning," Heavy cautioned.
"I want to feel you in the morning. All day, until I... until I need to move around, I’ll sit on a dispenser, I want to feel it," Medic confessed.
How could Heavy deny such a delicate, internal need? Wrapped around Heavy's finger was the core of all the man's longing, his loneliness, an emptiness that needed to be filled. Heavy would grant him what he begged for, with one condition.
"Turn over," Heavy instructed as he withdrew his finger and helped Medic turn. "If you want it this way, want to watch you take it. Your face."
Medic's breathing had accelerated, panting deeply, aware of what he had asked for and preparing for a challenge.
Heavy kissed him and held Medic's knees together in one hand, lifting them to draw his strong legs back over his body. His hands went back to the bed, searching for something to hang onto. He found Heavy’s pillow and tucked his hands beneath it, gripping with anticipation.
“Heavy.” Medic chased his lips as he drew away to line up and enter him. “Fucking christ!” Medic grit his teeth and grunted, he turned red across his nose, cheeks and down his throat. His eyes fluttered closed. “Fucking, christ.”
“Filthy mouth.” Heavy cooed sweetly, forcing the head of his cock into the tight slippery heat of the body before him. “Look at you.”
Medic gulped and held a hand over his own mouth. He jerked and shuddered under Heavy, his body clenched and relaxed in turns, wanting to take Heavy’s cock inside so badly, struggling for it, the thick veins in his throat throbbed and stood proud.
Not a moment later, the head of his cock slid deliciously up into deep, aching heat and they both groaned loudly in unison.
“Beautiful fuck hole.” Heavy whispered close to Medic’s ear.
“Heavy! Don't say something so vulgar.” Medic’s hair was ruined, stuck messily over his forehead with sweat, his eyes were heavy lidded, his lips were red and swollen, his neck was marked red from nips and kisses.
To Heavy, he looked absolutely beautiful.
“Your man did not talk sweet to you?” Heavy held in place, not daring to move again before Medic was comfortable.
“Yes, sweet, but not filthy, that is so crude.” He panted.
“What? Is that not what this is?” Heavy stroked fingers around where they were joined, caressing Medic’s stretched and swollen entrance, wrapped tightly around his aching cock. “You want to get fucked. It is for fucking.”
He reached back, brought over the bottle of oil and slathered a healthy second load of it over his cock. He worked it up over Medic’s hole and all over his balls to tease him. Medic groaned, apparently thrilled to be so wonderfully slippery.
“If you were only here to sleep, and I had to share bed with you, I do not think I could resist this little thing.” He kept stroking around them both, and threw the sealed bottle away. Medic gasped and rocked his hips back and forth. “Fuck, doctor, I can move?”
“Yes. Fuck me, now. I’ve had enough talking and waiting. You said you would fuck me.” Medic brushed sweat from his eyes and let his head fall back.
And so Heavy fucked him. He drew out, then pushed back in and heard Medic choke on a breath. He repeated the steady roll of his hips, relishing the delicious drag of Medic’s not quite stretched enough body.
Medic’s cock lay between his thighs, trapped there by Heavy’s grip, keeping his legs together. It looked red, damp and ready to explode. His balls had drawn up tightly, he had been ready to cum while they kissed at the table.
So Heavy picked up the pace, and a scorching heat tugged downward inside his gut. Medic’s ass slapped against his groin, and as he fucked harder, Medic’s body jolted beneath him, his thick chest shook with every thrust and his breaths became vocal groans.
“Heavy, I missed you.” Medic’s voice burbled out of him, seemingly without thought. “Aah, mein Gott, that’s so good. Fick mich härter, bitte.”
There was no chance in hell that Heavy could've pulled this off with his eyes shut tight, conjuring some woman in the doctor’s stead. He was gorgeous. Every damn thing Heavy craved in a man, laid out in all its glory, stripped and wicked, ready for him to devour.
He leaned in, sucked Medic’s tongue into his mouth, groaned and kept fucking. In the shadows, deep blue tangled with prideful red. Becoming phantoms, fucking a phantom. Inhabiting a vessel, fucking a vessel.
“You want it hard, turn over.” Heavy insisted.
Medic stumbled forward, Heavy's grip releasing his legs. He let out a guttural moan as they parted, and when Heavy had him on all fours, hips riding high, he re-entered with a raw, primal hunger.
Heavy dispensed with words entirely, allowing the raw, unfiltered intensity of the moment to consume them. His hand clamped down on Medic's neck, driving the relentless rhythm deeper. As the tempo solidified, he pressed his weight, trapping Medic by the nape and left shoulder, holding him down, drowning him beneath desire.
The doctor’s voice became a constant, tortured howl, punctuated by gasps that tore breath from his lungs with each thrust. Heavy showed no mercy, and Medic fought to stifle his torment, the pillow he bit into dampened his anguished distorted cries.
That age-old, haunting sensation welled up within Heavy as he observed the mesmerising sinews in Medic's back undulate and tighten, heard him whimper as if he thrived on the unrelenting intensity of a good hard fuck. Strong and damp, his ass shook and bounced and Heavy could have cum right there with sweat in his eyes and his balls thudding against Medic’s own.
“I’m going to cum.” Medic declared, spitting out his mouthful of pillow. He tucked his free hand beneath himself and tugged. “Heavy, I’ll cum, don’t stop.”
How could he stop? To drive the point home, he fucked harder.
“Oh fuck, fuck.” Medic got quiet after that, for all his moaning and filthy talk, at the precipice of ecstasy he stilled, held his body tight as Heavy rammed up into him and only when his cock spurted hard, covering Heavy’s bedspread in hot release did he give a moan so pained it sounded like he was crying. “Finish in me, bitte, Heavy.” Was his last shaking anguished whimper.
"Doctor, quiet." Heavy muffled his groans with a forceful hand, but the sounds persisted, an echoing chorus to the rhythmic pulse of their raw connection. Medic's wet sobs seemed to beckon Heavy's release, urging it forth. His thrusts grew faster, shallower, and more savage, yanking Medic forcefully into his embrace, all while keeping their mouths shrouded in silence.
Deep in his chest, Heavy let out a guttural moan, muffling his voice against Medic's neck. He surrendered, teeth sinking into the base of Medic’s neck, as he spilled inside him, filling him up as he had begged for.
Cum and oil ran down the inside of Medic’s thigh. Heavy used his dirty t-shirt to mop the mess for him. They did the same to the bedspread and threw the dirty shirt to the floor.
As the last tremors of their passion subsided, Heavy and Medic lay entwined, their laboured breaths slowly returned to normal. Heavy reluctantly released his hold on Medic, the warmth of their connection now ebbing away. He withdrew gently, the tenderness of the moment palpable.
Medic, his expression a mix of longing and resignation, caressed Heavy's cheek, kissed his mouth, before extracting himself from their intimate embrace. He retrieved his clothing, methodically dressing in silence, the room filled with the weight of what they had shared. Heavy watched him, yearning etched across his features but respecting Medic's unspoken decision.
“I think that was a mistake.” Medic sat back on the bed with a wince.
“You are hurt?” Heavy feared he had been too rough. “I can carry you to infirmary.”
“No, no.” Medic shook his head, put on his glasses. “No I mean, I’m sore but, that was not a good idea.”
“I do not regret it.” Heavy assured him, squeezing his thigh in one big hand. “Am surprised you wanted this with me.”
Medic's silence spoke volumes, and Heavy sensed the unshed tears lurking behind his averted gaze. Without hesitation, he extended his embrace, enfolding Medic within the sanctuary of his arms, pulling him back into the haven of the bed.
For what felt like an eternity, they clung to each other. Heavy felt the tremors in Medic's breath, a testament to the torrent of emotions coursing through him. Gradually, the doctor's respiration steadied, punctuated by hesitant but tender kisses that bridged the chasm between them. Heavy murmured reassurances, offering fragile promises of safety and resilience if only they could remain entwined.
Medic's gaze, heavy-lidded from both intoxication and the fatigue of rough sex, conveyed a rare sense of contentment, one that had eluded him until this moment. "A shower and some rest," he mused, his voice softer. "Sounds like heaven."
“If you want to leave, I cannot stop you.” Heavy shrugged.
“I feel I should thank you, but I am far too proud to do something so embarrassing.” Medic smiled, and Heavy got up, pulled on his underwear to say goodbye.
Medic reluctantly opened the door, greeted by the relentless chill and biting winds of the night. He turned to face Heavy, his hesitance palpable in the air. But Heavy's resolve remained steadfast as he cradled Medic's face and sealed their encounter with another fervent kiss.
"Drink water," Heavy advised, his tone carrying genuine concern. "You will be glad of it in the morning.”
A weary sigh escaped Medic's lips. "Yes," he conceded, a hint of gratitude in his response.
Heavy flashed a confident grin, the flicker of a promise in his eyes. "I had a good night. Would be happy to have drinks with you again.”
"Perhaps," Medic replied, his voice rough, laden with uncertainty, then he made his exit. “Goodnight.”
Heavy lingered in the doorway of his ramshackle quarters, eyes tracing Medic's unsteady steps into the night. Whether it was the vodka or the intensity of their encounter that left him stumbling, Heavy couldn't say for sure. As the doctor safely entered the base and closed the door behind him, Heavy let his gaze drift upwards.
In the aftermath of the base's destruction, amidst the ruins of their former lives, the shimmer of the starlit sky blazed all the brighter. The absence of artificial light, an anti-robot-detection tactic, allowed the stars to really show off. The uncountable ocean of light, and each individual star in the inky black, somehow made him feel at once alone and alive.
Counting the constellations he knew, he absentmindedly picked at the blackened timber of the door frame, peeling away layers of charred wood, lost in contemplation beneath the black dog sky.