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The all too reliable cover of darkness acted in your favor as you swiftly dashed from corner to corner in a manner akin to an eternally mischief-happy cartoon baddie, effectively transversing the seemingly neverending, dimly lit hallway of the RED base.
As a result of your albeit concerningly sexually frustrating rivalry on the battlefield with the RED team's Medic, you had taken the outrageous liberty of paying weekly visits that rapidly turned into nightly ones to the object of your carnal desires' living quarters, unbeknownst to your arch nemesis.
The very same unethical, unscrupulous excuse of a medical practitioner, that you were to eliminate on sight, who cackled with glee whenever he got a lucky stab at your breakable ribs with his crude counterfeit of a rusted up, jagged surgical saw had managed to simultaneously induce you feelings of unfleeting, bottomless rage and unorthodox, all too condemnabale lust; utterly uncontainable and graphic in its nature so that it would have shaken up a nun's entire otherwise immovable faith.
Countless of months of on and off, passive aggressive flirting in the midst of explosively visceral carnages consisting of gruesomely man-made rains of human limbs, organs and other unfortunate bodily fluids had caused you such acute desire-riddled sleep apnea that you've developed a habit of physically moving yourself into the enemy's nest as to get your fill of the very same man that you've relentlessly slashed and shot at (and who had just as enthusiastically tore chunks out of your frail frame with his maniacally attractive grin) so many times before; like an addict relentlessly and idiotically chasing after their beloved substance that would imminently reveal its true nature as one of a certain harbringer of death.
You wanted to see, hear and possibly even feel him in ways far transcending that of the bloodstained stage you were forced to play twisted puppeteering acts on every single miserable day.
Barely dodging a completely unaware Scout that was fiddling with a baseball ball in a horribly usual, airheaded manner whilst contently whistling an off-key, hushed melody, you take a sharp turn into the direction of what you remember to be the team's shared bathroom area. The layout of your enemy's base was far different from your own, you've came to notice as an unholy conclusion of your repeated nightly endeavors.
A second, most important result that came from your lascivious, nocturnal missions, however, was the RED Medic's own erratic schedule. The man showered, ate and slept at completely different intervals compared to the rest of the team; a behavior that at first remotely surprised you giving your own team's medic doing the opposite, further proving that the ones you deemed as mere mindless immitations were, in actuality, no kitsch and bore a mind and conscience of their own, entirely separate from anybody else.
Said knowledge played to your advantage, you told yourself again whilst cloaking a second time so you could securely tuck yourself into a corner akin to a parasite entering its unwilling host as you made your way into the steam-filled room. As you gleefully expected, a single, lonesome stall had its water running this late into the night (always the second one to the right as you've came to memorize), its inhabitant outrageously obstructed from your tucked away, perverted gaze.
Were you ashamed of your actions? Not quite, is what you kept unashamedly believing in as you repeated your godforsaken routine of tiptoeing your way cat-like across the narrow space between the sinks and shower stalls and towards the cramped space where your target was currently in. Nothing you, your team, your adversaries or the RED Medic did for that matter could be considered ethical, and outside societal norms did not apply here.
Therefore, you had never felt actual shame for any of your lascivious escapades. Why, you internally cried, should you feel bad for watching your beloved mad doc release tension within the confines of his own quarters? Or for also desperately palming yourself to a mute, nerve-numbing orgasm so many times at the undeniably marvelous performance? Why, you valiantly proclaimed, should your inner voyeur feel anything but bottomless joy whilst intently scrutinizing each and every one of the God-sculpted muscles on the seemingly unending expanse of his damp back?
Why would you feel anything other than your own mess pathetically staining your underwear and beginning to roll down the pulsing skin of your inner thighs at the way he'd now taken a firm hold of his sizeable arousal that you wanted to feel oh so badly prodding around your insides like he was playing surgeon with you; a rudimentary practice that you were more than willing to be the subject of again and again.
You bite your lip, silent and needy as you watch him contently sigh, propping his strong forehead onto the harsh ceramic tiles in front of him while he stroked himself slowly as if he were threading through rose bushes, letting his guard down completely, getting lured by the false sense of security the seemingly intimate confining space offered.
Your breathing hitches inaudibly when compared to the loud ringing of echoing water raining down like much needed divine punishment over this living Greek statue replica of a man in front of your unworthy, concealed eyes. Next, you have to physically clasp the hand that wasn't busy with saddeningly fondling yourself through your now thoroughly slick formalwear over your quivering mouth at the graciously enticing way in which he throws his head back with closed eyes of pure, content bliss, exposing the chiseled tendons on his neck and the high column of his flawless throat that you wanted so hard to take a bite out of in the rawest way possible.
You daren't risk making any other sounds, no matter how silenced they may be, regardless of the loud volume of droplets splashing around on hard ceramic. Your gloved hand uncomfortably digs into your lips until you're nearly biting yourself like a rabid dog denied of raw meat, widening your eyes that were bordering on saltwater at the way he was casually twisting his thick wrist over the swollen head of his pulsating cock at a steady yet brash pace, thoroughly unaware of the effect he was having on your poor, fragile, sex-infested mind.
God, you wanted to reach out and touch him, caress him as one might handle fine China, marveling at flawless craftmanship and guiltily convoluted design. At times, you swore he was so effectively put together that you felt in the wrong for comparing him to godhood; indeed, such a malevolently tempting being could have only stemmed from the deepest, darkest pits of hell, having crawled out with the sole, essential purpose of damning you to eternity.
All of those times you had showed admirable self-discipline, and yet right now you could only be compared to a hormone-driven, brainless teenager with the way you were slowly advancing your steps towards his perfectly at peace figure. Despite your job requiring you to do just that, you were all too aware of the infinite risks that came with getting too close to the target; and right now you were off the clock.
In any other case you would've crucified yourself but it was getting too much. You had to do something, and it had to be now. You had to get just a bit closer, you had to hear each and every sigh of pleasure that he pronounced with his agape mouth. As if to fit your racing heartbeat, he was pumping his cock at a considerably faster pace now, furrowing his thick brows in deep concentration with still closed eyes. Lingering droplets rolled down his neck and back, and you had to guess which was sweat and which was water.
With your hand shaking much like when you first wielded a gun, you raise it in front of your increasingly hazy vision as to check on your timer. It would be mere seconds until you would have fully decloaked, so you made meticulous work of your assassin skills by dashing towards the inner corner of the stall at impressive speed, completely devoid of any sort of rustling or crumpling. Or so, you thought.
Within a fraction of a second, a terribly overwhelming force clasps itself around your throat, spinning you around and effectively pinning you against the hard surface behind with its near inexistent efforts. You are unable to process the fact that your disguise was now beginning to rapidly crumble, or the fact that the large, wet hand around your neck was starting to clamp up even more like the claws of death itself.
"I do not necessarily require a scalpel to tear through your flesh, so I advise you to start chirping." You can barely register the thick, growly familiar voice threatening you. The sudden assault on your already weakened senses was too much.
"Since when exactly did you start doing this? And before you try any of your schemes, I am well aware it has been going on for long enough." The high pitched, malicious cackle that follows held enough venom to kill a man. "Oh, I pray that you hadn't taken me for a fool, schatz."
Through your jammed eyelids you could barely make out maddening blue, wide and expectant with its celestial focus.
"Go on. Don't be shy. I'm not a patient man, as you very much already know." A barely audible chuckle slashes above the overbearing ringing of water with its deathly edge.
Medic's pearl white façade falters for a split second when he feels a sharp coldness pressing into his sternum.
"I'm here to do you in, doc." More like do you in general, you think bitterly, resisting the urge to smirk as to not aggravate him further.
"Is that so...?" He trails off, half-lidded stare petrifying you down to your very roots as he flicked his eyes between your bodies to where you had your knife.
Only then did you realize, and he seemed to do so as well, judging by the cruel smirk forming onto his infuriatingly angular face: his cock that only seemed to have gotten harder was barely brushing against your clothed thigh. You could contain no more the raging crimson shade threatening to betray whatever was visible of your face, a sizzling worthy of matching Pyro's unquenchable mania rapidly dominating the apples of your cheeks, far worse than the warm droplets currently stabbing down on you.
"Believe me when I say, and it is not flattery for I do not do such things." Medic hisses your name, digging his lips dangerously close to your pulse, acutely knowledgeable of where it was situated beneath your skin. "I know you to be far more competent. On the battlefield you never once allowed yourself to do a mistake like this. It is very much unlike you to slip up, darling, and this makes me think that it was intentional. You wanted me to catch you."
The vice grip he had on your throat wasn't letting up one bit as he went on and, to your horror, it was only making you hornier, your head and conscience increasingly claggy.
Fearing you might make your case even worse, you open your mouth to speak but are stopped when his much, much bigger hand wraps around yours entirely in an ironically gingerly fashion for an innards-crazed, gore-thirsty brute. The beaming man in front of you slowly lowers your trustworthy weapon until he forces it out of your grasp with concerning amounts of ease. It falls to the ground with an ear-piercing sound, and you feel as if you were supposed to show more opposition; alas, the hunter inside of you was dormant.
"Admit it, darling. You wanted me to catch you in the act." He repeats, this time with even more intent, big hand still encapsulating the entirety of your own, trembling one as he bore his inhumanly light eyes into yours with a little too much excitement giving his total nudity in front of his supposed archnemesis.
Unless all of this time he...?
"No way. You actually..." Is all that you manage to say before he's laughing again, laughing and laughing away at your anguish like the wretched being that he was.
"Judging by your adorable reaction over there I must be right." Medic manages after coming down from his micro-fit, significantly loosening his grasp on you and allowing you to breathe for just a moment before doing the unthinkable.
In a second, he had switched his hand in favor of holding you up the wall with his bare, wet knee. His hands come to tug your unfortunate balaclava off your sweaty face, and you're so horny out of your mind that you, once again, barely find yourself protesting against his outrageous behavior.
"As pretty as your song." He mutters with glee, caressing your whole jaw in his calloused palm.
"God, you knew all of this time. Is that why you put on a fuckin' show?" You can barely hear yourself over his grating guffaws and the running water.
As unashamedly as the entirety of him, Medic's still rock hard erection gives a most obvious twitch against your soaked pant leg.
"Mm..." He hums melodiously. "I have long since figured your little crush on me, so I merely intended to test your limits, fräu. See for how long you could go without busting yourself. And Gott, was it fast!" Awful hyena-like laughter invades your senses as he curiously prods inbetween your lips with his thumb.
Ever the fucking scientist, you think with short-lived contempt before you find yourself letting him slip his whole thumb past your greedy lips while his muscular thigh dug into your ruined crotch. The barely restrained growl he gives in response has your insides shaking, your hands scrambling to find purchase all over his towering body. He was so strong, so overwhelming with his demanding clutch that you found yourself completely agreeing with one of many unethical treatments, tongue desperately curling around the intruding, thick digit as your clit pounded in wanton agony.
The same finger starts poking and thrusting against the walls of your mouth in a debaucherous simulation, making your eyes roll in a silent plea of being put out of your misery as a result of his morbidly experimental nature.
"Look at you, poor thing. All sopping wet like that. But i bet you're also slick with something else right now, aren't you?" Nothing but honeyed venom dripped from Medic's words, but his touch as he began working your clothes was as gentle as summer breezes.
All of this time his cock was hot and pulsing in need, making you reach the dooming conclusion that the deranged bastard must have surely gotten off to the uncharacteristically brief torture session he'd performed on you. Alot.
"I trust that this is what your debaucherous little self was craving all of this time, ja?" He jovially inquires as hardened over hands by years worth of prodding around various anatomies almost fully encircle your thighs, effectively holding you against the warm wall.
Rather odd method for an equally as bizarre man, but you appreciated his concern nonetheless. Naturally, you nod in response.
"Fuck, yes. Come on, you insufferable bastard." Hissing out like a cornered cat, you dig your metaphorical claws into his hard back as encouragement.
"Ah, ah. Language, darling. You don't see me throwing around such cruelty now, do you?" Medic says amusedly, playfully jabbing his finger against your nose as if you were a child getting scolded.
You grit your teeth like a ferocious animal, legs struggling against Medic's iron grip to wrap around his waist as to urge him on. When he sees you saddeningly fail, he all but wails with laughter, cooing words of mildly enraging mockery.
"Not all the time." You answer his previous rhetorical question as you lightly push your hips against the head of his cock that was now resting as if petrified on your inner thigh.
Another light chuckle escapes him.
"Well, no matter! That's perfect, then! However I can't help but wonder." Rough pads come to securely hold your chin as to direct your gaze into cerulean pits. "What on Gott's green earth made you go through all of this? Were you that desperate to lay a fuck that you had to sneak into the enemy's home? Is your team's doctor not enough? Oh, wait! I got it! You have a thing for doctors and maybe I'm not the first one, right?! You already get way too ecstatic when I'm hacking someone on the field! Or you, for that matter!"
Your head was pounding as hard as you wished he'd do to your insides already. With an exasperated groan, you shift your hips slightly so his cock was prodding your entrance, making him freeze in his delirious tracks.
"I do not like doctors." That statement was not entirely faux, alas.
"Lies and deceit. You should try being more honest with yourself if you actually want me to do anything to you, schatz." A hand unwraps itself from your leg as to hold the side of your neck, so impressively big that his thumb was reaching your parted lips.
"Go on, dear. Do doctors get you queasy? Do they make you scream? Your secret's safe with me, and I promise I won't get offended!" Medic's wide shoulders shake with cackles that get drowned out by the skin of your chest, thumb suggestively rubbing against your lips.
"No, they fucking do not."
"Oh, really? Good. There's a first for everything."
Before further inquiries arrive you think you'd witnessed webs of stars and constellations before your glassy eyes the moment he'd shoved his whole cock in you. Much like his filthy ambushing tactics back on the field, Medic had barely given you any warnings and was now having you gasping and moaning with the uncaring assault on your senses.
Writhing in the midst of his unforgiving grasp, your hands twist knots into Medic's slick hair as he continues ravaging you like you weighted less than a feather. Your mouth grotesquely hangs open in twisted bliss like a dread-filled painting, eyes completely unable to focus due to how unbelievably good the real thing felt after fantasizing about it for so long.
"Aww...does it hurt when I do that? Too bad." The way in which his voice went from gratingly playful to threateningly hoarse by the end of that jab had your insides in a twist.
"Schwein." You growl lowly.
The moan he lets out is downright pornographic yet it sounds nothing short of ethereal once it digs itself into your eardrums.
"You oughta be careful with that language around me, mädchen. You really don't want to try my patience." His canines, unreasonably sharp, dig into the juncture between your neck and shoulder as he hisses that, cock pounding you with the fervor he only ever showed when hacking a man's arm off.
As expected, using one of his insults against him would be the basic foundation for the delivery of the beloved roughhouse treatment you so hopelessly craved.
He was terribly good, enragingly talented at what he did. Ever the dedicated man, he's had you at brimming point, maneuvering and handling you like he would with his outrageous work, perfectly mimicking the current, unfolding events.
But despite the revolting nature of it all, the truth was that both of you felt completely content with what was happening. Two enstranged beings, pitted against eachother but paradoxically made to play a similar seamless game, now joined as one by pulsing flesh.
"Hold still." He had whispered out of nowhere as if you actually had a choice, and it sounded so far away you might as well have taken it for a ghost.
With shaky limbs, you could barely realize once he'd bent at an uncomfortable angle and almost reluctantly placed his ear on top of your sternum.
"It's been so long since I've held a warm body." The longing words are said straight through your bones and into your alive heart.
You say nothing in response for your shameless moans are testament enough. Medic holds you like a maker would cherish his most ambitious creation; the most passional existing bond concealed as mere curious experimentation. An even more solemn testament, this time of his unabashed adoration, is how he hoists your entire body up the wall so he can greedily lap at your folds, halfly kneeling like he was contemplating on praying to a forbidden deity. He was so deliciously strong, easily separating your thighs and securing them onto his shoulders, penetrating your gaze with his own akin to his tongue lavishing your assaulted entrance. Oh, how he wanted to hear your hopeless cries again and again, so much so that he would be willing to put aside his selfish ways for once, negate his own pleasure in favor of making you tremble and twist with his tongue alone. The rush it gave him, how you whined and gasped once he'd apply more pressure on your aching clit, how you seemed as if you were both trying to drive him away and pull him impossibly close.
But, contradictorily, all the parts of you that he craved to fuse with he wanted to simultaneously pull apart. From the moment he laid eyes on you everything suddenly became clear -he wanted to relinquish the little elements he stood for, destroy you then put you back together. At first, he foolishly hammered into his sick head that it was for science's sake. Everything he did was or had a scientific purpose behind it. And yet that hypothesis was quickly thrown out the window once he'd began fucking up into his hand every night at the thought of having you.
He had imagined this scenario so many times under various circumstances. Maybe you would corner him during one of the many daily carnages, put a knife to his throat and threaten him into dog-like compliance. Or perhaps you would be more fond of ending up on his operating table, thoroughly submitting to each and every unspeakable act he wanted to carry out upon your organism. So many times you had both repeated the same outcomes over and over, taking out your childish frustration on eachother while out on the battlefield; a truly befitting ouroboros.
But neither of you could picture anything that could be worthy of matching the present. You had succesfully managed to get Medic right where you wanted, and he had wilfully complied with his clever lure.
With yet another ripple of his wet hips against yours comes the act of artifical creation that he'd grown so fond of -unlike all of his past, aimlessly destructive breakthroughs made to shock and revolt. He had played God with you, meticulously rearranging you from your innards then out to your epidermis so you'd fit his desired picture, and you were more than happy to be painted.
"M-Medic?" What was supposed to be yet another condemned moan comes out as puzzled upon taking notice of his unmoving stance against your chest.
As if waking up from heavy anesthesia, the man in question rises like a reanimated corpse so he can instead place his forehead on top of yours.
"You better hold on to that little beating heart of yours, liebe, for I'm going to take it right out of you and steal it." He utters like a famished wolf, pearl-white teeth conveniently glistening into the dim light like a grisly remainder.
He gives you no time to react yet again, pushing his lips into yours with such craving you were certain he wanted to devour you like the big, bad wolf he appeared to be. You could taste years and years of deprivation, and somehow it only caused you to desire him more. His snake-like tongue ravishes the confines of your mouth like a plunged knife, perfectly simulating the continuous in-and-out of his cock, mangling and beating down your insides in the rawest of ways.
"Ludwig." It's like a forbidden script is said outloud, making your blood freeze in your veins as the urge to cover your ears overtakes you; but you were paralyzed and had no mouth anymore.
"My name is Ludwig. Say it." His broken whine cutting through made it sound more like a falling plea than a ferocious command.
And you gladly abided to his desperate wish, screaming it at the top of your lungs as if locked out of Heaven.
Medic knew there was no way he would ever make it into God's headquarters, which is exactly why he had assumed His role on Earth; to create his own Heaven. He knew he had succeeded in doing so when he glanced upon you thrashing around in his firm grasp, tears of pure, unfiltered ecstasy brimming at your orbs while unorthodox mantras of his forbidden title rang out like apocalyptic trumpets.
Your convulsions have him nearing his impending end and he inquires, unusually docile, about where should he finish. You, naturally, stop him in his tracks by securely locking your thighs against his sharp hips with trained intent, demanding that he inject you with all he wished because, after all, he was the physician here
The trembling moan he exhales as he does so rings out so powerfully your heart spikes up with anxiety, fearing someone could have overheard Medic's newly found Nirvana. He pathetically says your name -your real name that you've informed him of previously- amongst a bastsrd cacophony of languages as he empties himself inside your willing receptacle, shaking from every joint and seeming almost like he was in excruciating pain, rather than in the midst of unspeakable, debaucherous elation; he sounded, for the first time, like the broken man that he truly was.
Neither of you speak nor move against the still running stream of water as your highs of bliss begin dying out. Your bodies that were definitely slick with sweat as of now tightly press against eachother in silent content, and you don't have to tell him to not pull out for he makes no move to remove his overly sensitive cock from within your velvety confines.
You opt to stay as one for as long as you can before the unavoidable ouroboros will have tragically separated you once more.