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The hollow thrum of the RED base’s generators were the only sound at the nearby area, other than a small scribble of paper.
Medic leaned his elbows on the parapet, shirtsleeves rolled past his forearms, the collar of his field coat unbuttoned wide enough to show the dip of his clavicles. He’d been cataloguing the afternoon’s kills in a small leather notebook, his handwriting tidy, his posture straight. Behind him, the door to the upper balcony scraped open and shut so quietly he almost didn’t register it. Almost.
“Y’know, you look right tense up here, doc.” The voice came low and sandpaper-rough, right at his ear. Sniper’s breath smelled faintly of coffee and something sharper underneath. “All that healin’, no one healin’ you...”
Medic’s fingers paused on the page. He didn’t turn.
“The battlements are not exactly a joyride, Herr Sniper. Did you need a buff?”
A chuckle, little more than a vibration against the back of his neck.
“Got a different kind of buff in mind.”
The first touch landed on his hip— just the pads of two fingers, callused and deliberate, tracing the jut of bone beneath the twill trousers. Medic’s breath stopped in his throat for a quick second. His body recognized that pressure. It had learned to, over weeks of stolen moments in supply closets and behind resupply lockers. Except, it was not usually here. Never out in the open with the whole canyon yawning below and the enemy battlements a hundred yards away.
“Nicht hier,” he muttered, slightly nervous, the words came out trying their best to sound decisive… Not very effective.
“Why not here?” Sniper’s hand spread, palm flat, and now the whole warm weight of it was sliding forward, dragging the fabric of Medic’s coat out of the way, fingers curving over the front of his trousers. “No scope glint. No one lookin’ up. Just you, me, and that little sound you make when I get my hand right there.”
The heel of Sniper’s palm pressed down against the seam of his fly, and Medic’s hips jerked involuntarily. His notebook hit the concrete, pages fluttering. The pencil rolled off the edge and vanished into the open air below.
“Ach, Sniper—” he started.
“Forget the damn book.” Sniper’s other arm wrapped across Medic’s chest, tugging him back against his own body. The rifle strap dug into Medic’s shoulder blade for a second before Sniper shucked the weapon aside with a clatter.
“You’re all wound up. I can feel it.”
He squeezed Medic’s groin, not roughly but with a deliberate, inquisitive pressure, testing. A noise escaped Medic’s lips— half protest, half something much less dignified. His hand flew up, gripping Sniper’s forearm, but he didn’t push him away.
“Someone will see,” Medic hissed, his accent thickening the way it always did when his composure frayed. “The battlements are open. The enemy— our own team—”
“Then you better be real quiet, yeah?”
Sniper’s mouth found the side of his throat, just below the ear. Not a kiss exactly, more a hot, open-mouthed brand, teeth grazing the tendon. “But I think you like that. I think you like knowin’ anyone could pop round that corner and see the team medic gettin’ his kit off for the bushman.”
Medic shivered, a full-body tremor that started at his shoulders and ended with his knees threatening to buckle. Sniper’s fingers had found the button of his trousers and were working it free with a patience that bordered on insolent.
“I am a professional,” Medic managed, voice cracking on the last word. “I do not like being exposed—”
“Yeah? Then what’s this?” Sniper’s hand shoved inside the open fly, past the waistband of Medic’s underwear, and the rough pads of his fingers skated directly across the soft, slick folds already parting open beneath them.
Medic’s head fell back against Sniper’s shoulder. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His hips canted forward, chasing the touch, and a fresh wash of heat spilled against Sniper’s exploring digits.
“Oh, that’s bloody beautiful,” Sniper breathed, genuine reverence roughening his voice. “So wet for me already. You’ve been thinkin’ about this, haven’t you? All day, patchin’ up the others, pretendin’ you don’t have this sweet little cunt just drippin’ for attention.”
The obscenity landed like a shock of cold water and immediately transmuted into something molten. Medic’s clit throbbed under Sniper’s circling fingertips, and his inner walls clenched on nothing, an empty, aching pulse.
He was, in fact, dripping. He could feel it slicking the inside of his thighs, a humiliating and glorious testament.
“Tell me.” Sniper’s teeth closed on his earlobe, tugging. “Tell me you want it, doc. Say ‘yes, Sniper, I need your cock in my tight little cunny,’ and I’ll give you what you’ve been missin’.”
Another finger joined the first, sliding inside him with a slow, squelching ease that made Medic’s face burn. His spectacles fogged. He could see the distant blue of the enemy battlements, empty and silent. Could see the shimmer of heat off the tin roof of the bridge. Anyone glancing up would see the Sniper plastered against the back of the RED Medic, hand down his pants, the Medic’s expression a mask of agonized pleasure.
“Yes,” he choked out. “I want— I need—”
“Need what, sweet thing?” Sniper’s fingers curled inside him, stroking a spot that made his vision spark white at the edges.
“Need your— ah— Dick— inside me. Bitte.” The German slipped out, and with it the last of his resistance. Sniper groaned, a deep, satisfied rumble that vibrated through Medic’s spine.
“Good boy. Gonna give you exactly what you need. Gonna fill you up so nice, right here where everyone can appreciate the view.”
The fingers withdrew, and Medic barely stifled a whimper at the loss. His trousers were shoved down just far enough, bunched around mid-thigh, his underwear yanked aside. The rough concrete of the parapet scraped his forearms as Sniper bent him forward, one hand pressing between his shoulder blades to arch his back. Behind him, the sound of a zipper dropping was obscenely loud in the quiet afternoon.
Sniper spat into his palm, a wet, matter-of-fact sound, and Medic heard him slicking himself. Couldn’t see it, but he knew the shape by now. The mental image made his cunt clench again, a fresh dribble of arousal sliding down his thigh.
“Look at you,” Sniper murmured, lining himself up. The broad head of his cock nudged against Medic’s entrance, nudged and rested there, a blunt, insistent pressure. “All pink and pretty and spread open for me. Gonna breed you so good, doc.”
The word breed hit something primal and unexamined low in Medic’s belly. He made a sound— a broken, eager keen— and pushed back against the intrusion. One long, steady thrust and Sniper was inside, stretching Medic open around a girth that momentarily snatched every rational thought from his head. There was nothing but the feeling of being filled and taken as Sniper seated himself to the hilt.
“Fuck,” Sniper bit out. “So bloody tight. Grippin’ me like you never want me to leave.” Medic’s fingers scrabbled at the concrete. A sound tore from his throat before he could muffle it. A thin, reedy cry that echoed faintly. Sniper’s hand clamped over his mouth immediately, the leather of his glove tasting of dust and gunpowder.
“Shh, shh, I got you.”
Despite the command, Sniper began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that kept him buried deep, barely withdrawing. Each roll of Sniper’s hips sent a jolt of radiant pleasure through his pelvis, down his thighs, up his spine.
“So good,” Sniper panted against the back of his neck. “Takin’ me so well. Knew you would. Always all focused and precise, I knew you needed someone to make you fall apart. Someone to fill you up.”
Medic sobbed against the glove. His own hips were rocking back to meet each thrust, the slap of flesh a wet, obscene counterpoint to the distant thrum of generators. He could feel the breeze on his exposed skin, cooling the sweat running down his spine, and somewhere in the back of his mind registered the fact that anyone walking the battlements would see them. Would see his bare arse, Sniper’s trousers round his ankles, the rhythmic jerking of their coupling. The thought should have horrified him. Instead, his inner muscles fluttered wildly around the cock pistoning into him, and a hot tight familiar feeling was making itself very present.
“Close already?” Sniper’s voice was honey and gravel, right against his ear. “I can feel it. You’re flutterin’ on me. Go on, doc. Come on my cock. I want to feel you milk me while I pump you full.”
And that was all it took.
Medic’s climax hit like an injection of pure heat, sudden, overwhelming and utterly uncontrollable. His cry was swallowed by the glove as his body clamped down, rhythmic contractions rippling along the length of Sniper’s shaft, his own slick gushing around the intrusion to dribble down his thighs.
His vision blurred; his knees gave out, leaving him hanging on the parapet with Sniper’s arm locked around his waist. Sniper groaned, a guttural, almost pained sound, and shoved deep. Held. His cock pulsed, a thick, hot jet of semen flooding Medic’s insides, and then another, and another, coating his walls with a warmth that seemed to spread outward through his entire abdomen.
Medic whimpered at the sensation, the sheer wet fullness of it, the knowledge that he was being filled, that there was nowhere for it to go but deeper. For a long moment, no one moved. Sniper’s weight pressed him into the concrete, both of them breathing hard, the air heavy with the smell of sweat and sex. Medic felt the slick trickle of spend already beginning to seep out around the softened cock still plugging him.
“There,” Sniper murmured, pressing a deceptively tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “That’s one.”
Medic’s brain, still floating on a post-orgasmic haze, took a second to process the word.
One?
Before he could form a question, Sniper shifted his hips. Not pulling out. Thrusting. A short, shallow stroke that made Medic’s over-sensitive nerves fire off a warning flare of too-much-too-soon.
“Warte—Sniper—” His voice was hoarse, cracked. “I can’t—ich kann nicht mehr—”
“Sure you can.” Another thrust, a little deeper this time.
The squelch of it was loud, obscene, Semen and slick making each movement a wet mess.
“You’re already full of me, sweet thing. What’s a bit more?”
Medic squirmed, pinned between the unyielding parapet and the wiry muscle of the man behind him. The sensation was unearthly— not quite pain, but a raw, screaming sensitivity that bordered on it. Every nerve ending in his cunt was lit up, buzzing with overstimulation, the drag of Sniper’s re-hardening cock against his slick, puffy walls making him jerk and whine.
“Too much,” he gasped, trying to wriggle away. “Es ist zu viel—please, Sniper, I cannot take another—”
“You can.” Sniper’s hand left his mouth and slid down to the front of his body, two fingers finding Medic’s clit and pressing down with a firm, unrelenting pressure. “You’re gonna take it, doc. Gonna take every drop I got left. Want you walkin’ out of here with my spend runnin’ down your legs, knowin’ you’re full of me. Want the whole bloody team to smell it on you.”
The dark, possessive promise sent a shiver of something twisted and electric down Medic’s spent nerves. His clit throbbed under Sniper’s fingertips, a traitorous sign of obvious arousal, even as his abused entrance spasmed weakly around the cock now thrusting with renewed purpose. Sniper’s pace was harder now, less controlled, a sharp, rutting drive that jarred Medic’s hips against the concrete with each stroke.
The sounds were constant, semen leaking out only to be shoved back in. Medic’s legs trembled, his thighs slick with his own fluids, and he could feel a second, deeper pressure building in Sniper’s movements— the telltale quickening, the way his breath went ragged and hot against Medic’s shoulder.
“That’s it,” Sniper growled. “Gonna give you more. Gonna breed this hungry little cunt so full you’ll be leakin’ me for days.” Medic’s protest dissolved into a broken moan. He couldn’t come again— surely he couldn’t— but his body was tightening anyway, pitching toward a second, sharper peak he hadn’t thought possible.
The overstimulation tipped over into something else, a scouring, blinding intensity that left no room for thought. Sniper’s hips stuttered. He drove into the root and held, a raw groan tearing from his throat. The second pulse of heat flooding Medic’s insides was even warmer, even thicker, and he felt it slosh inside him, an impossible fullness. His own orgasm hit a heartbeat later, a violent, shocking clench that wrung a silent scream from his lungs.
When Sniper finally pulled out, the sensation was almost as intense— a gush of cooling fluid, a sudden, empty looseness that left Medic slumped over the parapet like a broken toy.
He didn’t have time to recover.
A hand fisted in the back of his collar and dragged him around, then downward. His knees hit the gritty concrete, the impact jarring, and he found himself staring up at Sniper’s flushed, smirking face, at the half-hard cock still glistening with their combined fluids.
“Open up, doc,” Sniper said, and his hand shifted to guide his cock, pointing it right at Medic’s parted, gasping mouth. “One more thing to wash it all down.”
The first hot stream hit his lower lip, a sharp, ammoniac splash, and Medic’s jaw dropped open on pure instinct. The liquid filled his mouth, bitter and salty and utterly degrading, and he swallowed because not swallowing would mean choking, would mean spilling it down the front of his field coat for the whole base to see. But his eyes stayed open, locked on Sniper’s, and in that moment, with the taste of urine and semen on his tongue and the sound of a door opening somewhere far below— Footsteps.
Footsteps on the stairwell leading up to the battlements.
Sniper heard it too.
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t stop, finishing the stream across Medic’s tongue, his lips, one final trickle that painted a shining arc over his cheekbone. Then he was tucking himself away, zipping up with a speed that spoke of practice, while Medic knelt in a spreading puddle of everything they’d done, face wet, eyes wild.
The footsteps grew louder.
“Sniper?” Scout’s voice, reedy and curious, echoed up the stone stairwell. “Yo, you up there? Medic around? Spy’s been lookin’ for him, somethin’ about gettin’ an exam—”
Medic’s heart slammed against his ribs. He tried to stand, but his legs were still jelly, and his trousers were still bunched around his thighs, and his undergarments were hopelessly soaked.
Sniper’s gloved hand clamped on his shoulder, squeezing once, almost in mockery. The bushman’s grin was sharp and utterly without remorse.
“Better get yourself presentable, doc.”