Chapter Text
Blue.
Not the shade of the ocean on a clear day, nor the clean lake water not too far behind the base. It was not quite the color of the sky up above them both, or the blue of the natural delphiniums he would personally drop off on the spotless tray table every Saturday morning without a word, just a long gaze at the already working doctor. Instead, they were as blue as the popsicles he stored in the freezer, that he would take and stare at through the dark lenses of his mask before sneaking away to his room to devour them. He believed the flavor of the treat was "Sea Salt Ice Cream", and he had always wondered how someone could enjoy something that tasted like too much salt.
But as he held the man's cheeks, holding him in place to get a closer look at the face that never showed itself to anyone, stroking his thumb rhythmically along the side of his face, he could understand why. His lips, stained the same blue as the ice cream he'd finished only minutes earlier, made the flavor of salt more bearable, more intoxicating than Medic had remembered it being, and when he pulled away from the sudden lip lock, he found that he could never have enough of the taste. No matter how old he would grow, or how many more hardships he would no doubt face, he would never be able to forget the sensation of a pyromaniac's lips against his own.
His own blue eyes, unlike his companion's, flickered up to stare into the alluring irises presenting themselves to him, observing the way he avoided his gaze, engraved the image of his eyes into his brain, because this would surely be a once in a lifetime opportunity. The conversation from before had completely slipped his mind, so much so that he couldn't hope to continue it if he tried, but he didn't. Pyro let out a shaky exhale, breath hotter against the German's lips than the very flames he wielded, and the warmth lingered longer, travelling from his face down his neck, wrapping around his throat as if to strangle him, before shooting down to his heart, cold and dead and unmoving, until he could feel his own pulse clearer against his skin, could hear the blood pumping loudly in his ears until his whole body was burning, hotter with each timid glance from the mercenary in front of him.
Pyro's hands, rough and scarred from long years of war, still managed to feel soft on the skin of his neck, carefully tracing up to the back of his head, nails tenderly scraping against his scalp. His hands wrapped around the short hair, tugging them to slowly pull his head back, better revealing his throat, and his own lips curled into a smirk at the stroke of the other man's lips on his Adam's apple. Medic playfully swallowed, and the hands in his hair clenched just a bit harder as he dragged the Romanian onto his lap, holding him in place with a single palm on his lower back. He leaned closer, eyes once again staring into his partner's, and then they were kissing again. In his hazy mind, he took no notice as to who started it, just focusing on how their lips moved against each other, desperate for more, until they were moving together, burning, hypnotic.
"Drege," an unfamiliar word, an unfamiliar voice, but it sounded to him like the most beautiful symphony he'd ever heard, and just as addicting as the flavor of his lips, still on Medic. One of his hands slid down from the back of his head, pausing on the doctor's chest, his gaze flickering down to where his palm lay, while he focused on the Pyro, observing his breathing, the light pressure of his teeth on his bottom lip. The German said nothing, silently gesturing for him to go on with a simple nod, purposefully staring at his lips as he licked his own, not missing the shiver that ran down his spine, or the nervous gulp. "You taste of that beer in your fridge," he signed, followed by a shy laugh, quiet, hard to catch, but he couldn't get enough of it.
He straightened in his seat, gloved hand overlapping his partner's bare hand, guiding it lower until they both laid over his heart, helping him feel the rapid beating. Blue stared into blue, the silence between them only momentary, but comfortable, welcome. "Und you taste of zhat ice cream you enjoy so much." He leaned closer, kissing him briefly, only lingering for a second before pulling away (and smiling when he noticed him forcing himself to push back after having followed his lips). The doctor flicked his tongue out of his mouth, slowly, teasingly dragging it over his upper lip. Everything he did, he made sure the shorter man saw, made sure he felt when his other hand started stroking circles on his lower back.
"You do not like it?" The question was asked with a slight tremor in his fingers, reminding Medic of the irony his name was; Andrei, brave, strong. He'd read it on his file, provided to him by Miss Pauling, and seeing how he behaved without the mask, without the protective flame suit, struck wonder in the already curious RED doctor. In that moment of baited breath, of shivers and shaky eye contact, he swore to help him honor his name more than he already did, because if rumors proved true, then visiting the mad doctor during a ceasefire unless absolutely necessary, or attempting to court him with delphiniums every Saturday morning without fail, was a courageous move on anyone's part. To be honest, he felt complimented by the timid man's efforts. But right now, he couldn't focus on anything but the feel of this man's lips on him, of the hand still in his hair, of the undeniable attraction that coursed through his veins. He smirked up at him, shaking his head before kissing him once again, whispering against his lips.
"I've become addicted to you, my little Pyro."