Chapter Text
“Well,” says Spy. “You're better than I expected.” They're lying on the mattress in the back of Sniper's van. There's a small pile of jarate jars just outside the doors.
Sniper snorts. “Thanks, mate.”
“I am going to return to the base now,” Spy says, starting to get dressed. “There is, after all, a match tomorrow, and I'd like to be as well-rested as possible.”
“All right. I'm going to sleep in here tonight. Too tired to move.”
Spy smirks. “Did I wear you out?”
“Yeah, yeah, go pat yourself on the back somewhere else. And don't forget about --” There's a loud crash.
“Mon dieu!”
“-- all the jars we chucked outside.” Sniper leans out the open door to see Spy sitting in said pile, seething with rage.
“This is, without a doubt, the worst fuck of my life.”
“Hey, the actual fuck was fine! You just forgot you made me put those all outside.”
“Next time,” Spy says, warningly, “we do this on my territory.” He leaves, mumbling in French the entire way.
“There's going to be a next time?”
“You stole my shot!” Sniper yells, leaning down into Spy's face.
“Excuse me for not noticing you three miles from the battlefield! I saw my chance and I took it,” Spy retorts.
“How could you not know? There was a big bloody laser sight on his head!”
“I thought it was some sort of luminescent boil.”
“'Luminescent boil'? Can you even hear --”
He doesn't finish the sentence because Spy has seized him by the front of his vest and jammed his tongue down his throat.
That's pretty much the end of that argument, and the start of a different one.
“We are not going to the van again,” Spy says, attempting to unbutton Sniper's shirt.
“Fine, we'll go to yours then,” he says, grabbing Spy's hand from his shirtfront and pulling the glove off.
“As if I would allow any of you into my room. We're using your room.”
“Oh my god,” Sniper says, moving to Spy's other glove, “you are such a prissy little shit. What, you don't want to get your sheets dirty?”
“I don't, but that's not why,” Spy says, ceasing his unbuttoning efforts in favour of using Sniper's shirt to drag him down the hallway. “I keep sensitive information and other things related to my job in there. Presumably you keep most of your disgusting personal effects in your van and your room is suitable for relations.”
“'Relations'?” Sniper says, laughing derisively. “Just call it 'fucking', would you? You've said it before.”
“Fine, open the door,” he says, swinging Sniper towards it, “and we can do all the 'fucking' you want.”
It takes a few moments for Sniper to locate the key on his ring (Spy's curious about what the rest of the keys are for, but he's swiftly losing the ability to think clearly), but soon there's a click and he can push the door open.
“Thank god,” Spy says, heading straight for the bed, shedding layers as he goes. “Could you take any longer?”
“I can't wait until you shut up,” is all Sniper says, following.
In time-honoured tradition, Spy tells him, “Make me.”
“Has anyone seen my hat? I can't find the bloody thing,” Sniper asks the assemblage of teammates sitting in the common area.
“Haven't seen it,” says Demo, not looking away from the TV.
“Damn,” he says. “It's not in my room or my van – ah, bloody hell, I know where it is.” He turns on his heel and heads for the bedrooms.
“Looking for something?” Spy asks when Sniper pushes his door open. He's wearing the hat over his balaclava, tilted at a silly angle. Regardless of this and the anger he's trying to repress (or perhaps because of it), he finds himself joining Spy in bed.
He gets the hat back afterwards.
“Don't touch my stuff,” Sniper says, getting up to leave.
“Dinner's ready,” Sniper says, poking his head out into the common area. Everyone shuffles into the kitchen.
“Smells terrible, bushman. What did you make, roasted car tire?”
“It's chicken, you bogan.”
“And I'm sure it's delicious,” Spy tells him, voice dripping in condescension.
“Just eat your dinner,” he says, putting plates of it on the table.
“Just as I suspected,” Spy sighs after a bite. “But then again you Brits are renowned for your horrible cuisine, aren't you?”
“I'm Australian!”
“Ah, yes, much better. The country of convicts.”
Sniper stands up from the table. “Can I see you in the hallway for a moment, please?” he asks Spy through gritted teeth.
“Of course,” Spy says, sounding magnanimous.
“Oh shit, Spy's in for it now,” Scout says as they leave.
As soon as they get into the hallway, Sniper has Spy up against the wall.
“Why do – you have to be – such a complete bastard -- all the time?” Sniper asks, the question broken up by Spy's lips on his.
“How can I resist – when you react this way?”
That stops Sniper right there. “Wait, do you do this on purpose?”
“Well, yes.”
“What? Why?”
“Like I said, you react so perfectly. It's too great a temptation, even for me.”
Sniper looks at him carefully. “That's not it. You only smile like that when you're lying.”
“That's preposterous – what are you doing?” Sniper's moved two fingers to his wrist.
“If you're not lying, your pulse won't go up when you tell me. Why are you pissing me off?”
“To get you into bed,” Spy says. His pulse doesn't change.
“No, that part's not the lie. It's the other part, about not being able to resist.”
“I love watching you think. It's like a baby deer learning to walk.”
“You're doing this to sleep with me,” Sniper says, “but not because 'you can't resist'. You do it because you think it's the only way.”
Spy's pulse jumps.
“Ha!” Sniper crows, “I got you.”
“Yes, very good. You're a regular Sherlock Holmes, if he were the sort of man who threw piss at people.”
“Stop trying to pull away, you idiot. I'd fuck you even if you weren't an aggravating bastard.”
“Would you? All of our, shall I say, little meetings have been after an argument or match of insults.”
“Well, apologize for being a prick and we can have one now. No arguments, no insults.”
“Fine, but only if you apologize for calling me a prick.”
“All right, I'm sorry for calling you a bogan and a bastard and a prick, and I'm going to haul you into the nearest empty room and --”
“Don't finish that. Save it until I'm done apologizing, hein? I am sorry for manipulating you into sexual congress, but I did sincerely think it was only a release of tension. Still, it was wrong and I will be upfront about any carnal developments in future.”
“You know a lot of fancy words for 'sex', don't you.”
“Yes. Now what were you going to do in that empty room?”
“What happened to Spy and Sniper?” Engie asks, after they've been gone a while. “Dinner's getting cold.”