[RED BASE]

[70 HOURS TIL DEATH]

“See you all in Hell,” Spy loudly announces, taking out a cigarette from his disguise kit as all the mercs shuffle out of the room in clear disinterest. 

Really, what was Spy thinking? This was a complete waste of his time: gathering all the mercs into one room and having Scout gather everyone’s dying wish. If this is the “bang” or the last “hurrah” everyone wanted to go out with, then so be it. 

Having left the room, you linger outside the hallway, staring at the closed door you have just walked out of. 

Spy is still on the other side of the door. 

You clutch the small piece of paper to your chest, the contents of the paper having your last dying wish. You didn’t want to have your wish to be with the other papers in a bucket, to be read aloud to all your coworkers; no, your wish is much more personal. 

There’s an anxious feeling that stirs in the pit of your stomach: are you going to let this opportunity slip past your fingertips? 

Hesitantly, you slowly begin walking back to your quarters. You still definitely need time to work up the courage before your confession. But as the time on your death watch ticks away, the numbers lighting up the dark hallway, you’re grimly reminded about how working up the confidence to talk to Spy is on a time crunch. 

[SPY’S SMOKING ROOM]

[58 HOURS TIL DEATH]

The sound of slight crackling fills the room, and the embers from the fireplace emit a soft glow throughout the dark setting. 

Spy is seated comfortably in a lounge chair by the fireplace, choosing to spend his last days sipping away from his cup that has his favorite type of whiskey, reading the newest monthly issue of ‘Dapper Cadaver’. 

Spy sets the glass down, turning the page of his magazine, before a light knock interrupts the moment. 

“Go away,” Spy flatly answers. 

Why would anyone want to bother him at this hour? 

“I don’t mean to intrude, but I wanted to share my wish with you.” 

Spy’s eyes widen, setting his magazine down on a nearby side table, urgently getting up to answer the door. If it were Scout or that Bushman at his door, he would’ve ignored them. But instantly, he recognized the sweet-sounding voice. 

Before opening the door, he adjusts his tie, looking himself over in the mirror on the wall, making sure his appearance is flawless. 

Handsome as always. 

You wait a couple of seconds, unsure if you really should be troubling the Spy. Your worries are reassured when you hear shuffling behind the door. 

Spy lets out a breath before he opens the door, the usual frown that is associated with him instantly dissipating into a pleasant smile as his icy gaze is met with your [eye color] eyes. 

“Bonjour [mademoiselle/monsieur],” Spy greets you, reaching out to your hand, gently raising the back of it to his lips. 

“Hi, Spy,” you bashfully greet back, always taken aback by how sweetly he’s always treating you. 

It’s something you’re quick to take note of. Ever since your arrival, the mercs have slowly welcomed you like family, gaining their respect from the [frontlines/backlines]. You were scouted for your skills and talents. After all, it takes some guts to put your life on the line every day. But that wasn’t why Spy treated you with such care. 

To put it bluntly, you’re completely different compared to the rest of the mercs, to anyone else who has struck his fancy. You deserve to be cherished. 

“Come in, come in,” Spy ushers, his gloved hand guiding you at the small of your back into his smoke room, “You know you’re always welcome.” 

Spy leads you to the lounge chair he was sitting in previously, and you immediately feel pampered when, instinctively, Spy walks over with another poured glass of whiskey. 

You weren’t expecting to be drinking today, but, to be kind, you took a small sip of the amber liquid, your taste buds instantly savoring its spicy, oaky notes.

There isn’t another chair for the Spy to sit in, after all, he’s usually alone. Alone in his work, his missions, his day-to-day life; It’s what he prefers. But Spy is always willing to make an exception, especially when it comes to you. 

Spy instead chooses to accompany you by standing beside the lounge chair, resting his arm on the top of the backrest. 

The Spy watches intently as you set the glass of whiskey next to his own, his gaze holding tenderness and fondness, the type of look that makes you shift in your seat in a fluster. 

You can feel your stomach flutter as the whiskey goes down.

These feelings always occur when you’re alone with Spy, which isn’t often, but every time he enters the room, you secretly pray that eventually it empties, and it’s just the two of you.

An excuse, a reasoning, anything to validate your feelings. 

You know Scout has told you his feelings for the Spy before, that he’s untrustworthy, an asshole, a snake. But as Spy’s tall figure looms over you, you gulp, practically feeling the warmth confined behind the many layers of his suit. 

You recall and briefly reminisce about the countless nights you have been kept up for imagining yourself being this close to Spy. Wishing for Spy’s warmth, craving his skin on yours. 

It’s difficult for you to maintain eye contact with Spy, his intimidating nature making you second-guess whether it was a good idea to be here in the first place. 

You snap out of your daze when Spy starts speaking, his smooth voice relaxing you instantly, “So, what was it that you wanted to discuss, mon [chère/cher]?” 

You feel your face burn beneath your hands, placing them on your cheeks in embarrassment. This snake has bitten you, and you think that you like the venom.

Spy takes a swig of his own drink, and the dark ring of condensation on the table is what you choose to pay attention to, knowing that if you choose to look up at Spy, your words may die out before they come off your tongue. 

You can’t have that happen; you have to tell him before time runs out for both of you. 

“There was a last wish I had written down,” you admit, playing with the piece of paper in your hands, “it kind of took me a bit to think of...” 

As you trail off, your eyes glance to your side, automatically meeting Spy’s. You’re startled, not expecting Spy to be so close. 

Spy hums, gazing down at the folded piece of paper. He nods his head expectantly. 

Did you want to read it to him, or did you want him to read it to himself?

Letting out a deep breath, you take Spy’s gloved hand, placing your wish in his hand, “I trust it with you.” 

Spy’s eyes wash over your face; he has a look of curiosity you’re able to make out from the holes of his balaclava. Feelings of anticipation and nervousness return as you try your best not to focus so intently on how gently Spy opens the paper. 

The warm, fuzzy feelings harboring themselves in your heart are only worsened when you catch a waft of Spy’s scent. A deep and musky fragrance of his cologne mixed with the scent of smoke, it has your stomach doing flips as you focus on Spy’s expression. 

Spy gasps, rereading the sentence over and over again. Was this another foolish joke? Like when Scout only filled the bucket of wishes with drawings of Spy having intercourse with the Eiffel tower, and drawings of the Eiffel tower having intercourse with Spy.

Spy clicks his tongue, testing the words, “You wish to be seduced?”

Even just asking for confirmation, it didn’t feel real.

“I wish to be seduced,” you confirm boldly, getting up from your chair in order to assert yourself better, “I wish to be seduced by you.” 

There’s an undeniable smile that reaches the corner of Spy’s lips. You haven’t seen him smile this widely, not even when he was taunting on the battlefield.

“[Name], mon cœur,” Spy asks, “are you sure?”

Spy has always used pet names with you. There is a sense of pride that comes from hearing the special names he calls you. But in this moment, it makes you shiver in delight. 

You swear you feel your heart melt into a puddle; it pounds like it has a mind of its own. Was this man asking for permission to seduce you? 

Spy has always been professional, keeping all his coworkers at arm's length. But there was a softer and kinder side to him that you’ve paid attention to when working with him. 

Your frightened face turns into relief when Spy backstabs an enemy Scout that has been chasing you. Before Spy gets to cloak himself, you thank him, and he swears, seeing that look of peace on your face despite being on the verge of death, Spy has made it a purpose to always protect you. 

It’s really those small things that have made Spy consider and ponder his feelings more, daring to cross the line of professionalism and wanting to have you closer. 

Like, whenever there’s a group meeting of some kind, whether it’s at the cafeteria where all the mercs are about to have breakfast, or at actual team meetings where everyone discusses new battle tactics, you’re always trying to find him in the crowded space. 

Always complimenting his appearance, your genuine kindness towards others. It was a shame, even when you’ve saved a seat for Spy, he still feels too far from you. 

Spy respects you too much to make any bold moves, but when you look up at him with those half-lidded eyes, pleading with him, it makes him weak. 

“It’s been so long, Spy,” you confess, dreamily, “If we’re all going to die, then let me die in your company.” 

Your hands hold onto his gloved ones, the warmth of your skin seeping through the thick leather material.  

If you think he was going to deny you, then you’d be a fool. 

With his quick thinking, Spy conjures up a plan on how he plans to seduce you within the remaining hours. 

You feel your breath catch in your throat as Spy leans in close, his lips mere centimeters away from your ear. Feeling his breath fan the shell of your ear, he seductively whispers his next request, his French accent you’ve always found attractive, heightening all your senses.

“Come back here in about an hour, get as dressed up as you want, and prepare to be seduced~.”

The joy emanates from your features as you take in Spy’s words, squealing in delight as you skip out of his room. Spy can only react with a chuckle as he makes haste for his next plans. 

“Don’t keep me waiting for too long now, mon [chérie/chéri]~.”

[NAME’S ROOM]

[57 HOURS TIL DEATH] 

You stare at yourself in the full-length mirror, taking in your appearance: you adorn the nicest shirt you own, [a fitted skirt/fitted pants] that makes your ass look good. You smile to yourself in the mirror at the thought, hoping Spy would take notice and think the same. Nice dress shoes that complement your outfit, and any last touches with jewelry, accessories, or makeup that finally make your outfit complete. 

Your face adorns a permanent smile that hasn’t left your lips after leaving Spy’s smoke room. With one last look in the mirror, make sure your hair looks perfect as you chose to style it differently for the special occasion. After all, if you’re going to die soon, you might as well look beautiful when they find you. 

You look at the death watch and note the time. It seems like you should start heading back to Spy’s smoke room.

Before you leave, you spritz your favorite fragrance onto all your high points. 

With one last look in the mirror, you blow yourself a kiss.

You look jaw-dropping. 

You can’t hide your excitement as you exit your room; there’s a spring in your step while you make it back to the smoke room. 

There’s an enticing aroma that fills the hall that you practically trail after.  

[SPY’S SMOKING ROOM]

[57 HOURS TIL DEATH] 

With all things being said, a secret Spy thought he was going to take to his grave was that he was a hopeless romantic. The cobwebs are carefully dusted off his heart, the beat of his heart creating a melody that he subconsciously sways to as he prepares a makeshift dinner for two. 

If only he had more time to prepare something much more superb, something better to match his caliber, because simply put, you deserve so much better and more. But with death’s soon arrival, this will have to do, Spy thinks. Under normal circumstances, it would be fresh bread as appetizers served with your favorite type of spread, but due to the current outbreak, Spy hopes you can forgive him. 

Spy is a gentleman; skipping appetizers is not something he intends to get away with. Contemplating what he can substitute for the absence of appetizers, Spy’s head, instead of being filled with dread for the inevitable, is filled with thoughts of you. Ranging from sweet, wholesome, and romantic scenarios, that you can’t possibly bring to life within the 57 hours remaining. To more lustful and intimate scenes, Spy covers his face, feeling his face redden as he extinguishes the thought. It wouldn’t be as satisfying to rush to dessert. 

Admittedly, it’s something Spy has dreamed of dozens of times, but they’re not thoughts he chooses to entertain for too long. Spy’s chest is flooding with the warmth of suppressed feelings, it unravels furiously like it’s ready to burst. 

Like he’s a young teen falling in love for the first time all over again. 

After setting the table, the secret dinner is hidden away by a metal cloche. Spy adjusts his necktie once more, checking his breath, just in case. After all, how will Spy seduce you if he wasn’t looking the part? 

There is a knock at the door that cuts off Spy’s next thought. 

Perfect timing. 

Opening the door, Spy is left utterly speechless by your appearance, a comedic and audible gasp leaving his lips, and the cigarette he was smoking falls to the floor. You can’t resist laughing at the sudden cycle of events, and once again, Spy feels his heart being struck by Cupid’s arrow. 

Spy shakes his head, composing himself as he brings out his hand. A rush of warmth adorns your cheeks when you bring out your hand once more, Spy’s smooth lips kissing your knuckles. Your other hand clutches your chest, atop where your heart would be, underneath your palms, you can already feel your heartbeat quickening. 

Below your heart, you can hear your stomach growling in hunger as your nose catches the scent of something delicious. 

It’s not just one kiss, as the kiss Spy planted on your skin before, but multiple that trail up the back of your hand, and up your arm. You giggle to yourself before he can reach your neck.

“You look ravishing, mon petit chou-fleur~.” Spy whispers against your skin, savoring the feel of your smooth skin against his lips, the fragrance you applied, a lovely greeting to his nose.

“Thank you, Spy,” you reply, letting your hand release from his grasp, bringing it up to cup his covered cheek, “you’re so sweet to me~.” 

Spy leans into your gentle caress, yearning for the space his balaclava is separating between his bare skin and your soft hand to be gone. 

“But of course, you deserve only the best,” Spy affirms, looking up at you, his blue-gray eyes stunning you in place as validation washes over your body.

It really has been forever since you’ve truly been appreciated, hasn’t it?

Your head is already up in the clouds as Spy is wrapping you up in his undivided attention, when all of a sudden, he surprises you once more:

“I also wanted to give you these,” Spy reveals, pulling out a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers, wrapping paper, and a ribbon securing the bouquet together in one big embrace.

You gasp, your heart wishing to burst from all the affectionate gestures. Spy definitely knew how to sweep you off your feet. You reach out to hold the bouquet, admiring its beauty. 

“I wasn’t sure what flowers you enjoy,” Spy admits, “so I chose these as they reminded me of your beauty.”

You giggle at his compliment. What a smooth talker! But when you stare deep into Spy’s eyes, there’s no doubt or speculation of his words; you know he’s speaking the truth.

“How did you even manage to get these?” You ask, the realization hitting you. It’s only been an hour, how could Spy manage to acquire such a lovely floral arrangement within that time? 

“It’s a secret,” Spy teases you, sending you a wink to emphasize his point. 

Chuckling once more, you abruptly wrap your arms around Spy, hugging him close. All at once, all of your senses are overwhelmed by Spy. His eyes widen, taken aback by the sudden action, but hesitantly, he returns your embrace. He surrounds you, his scent rubbing off on you, and you nuzzle your face into his pristine suit. The fabric feels soft against your cheek as his large hands rub your back, his grip making you feel small. 

Spy doesn’t release you from his grasp until you let go. Already missing your warmth, he doesn’t realize he needs that hug until he loses it. 

Spy coughs, clearing his throat, embarrassed. For God’s sake, he feels like a young schoolboy with an undeniable crush. 

Fidgeting with his tie, a compulsive act that helps him regain his poise. He steps to the side, revealing a beautiful candlelit dinner that feels so distant, so nostalgic. It’s everything you can ask for.

“I know the perfect place to display them,” Spy recommends, nodding his head towards the table. 

Behind Spy, in the center of the room, there’s a rich, dark oak table that is only complemented by the moody lighting being shed by the overhead chandelier. There’s an empty vase in the middle of the table, half full with water, perfect for the bouquet in your hands. You can only imagine running your hands across the side of the vase, feeling the ridges on its surface due to its intricate design. 

Your eyes drift to the metal cloche on the table; you can only imagine what delicious food is under it as your mouth begins to water. 

Loudly, the sound of your stomach rumbling rudely interrupts the scene. 

“Yes, I’d like to display them,” you sheepishly agree, covering your burning face with your hands, “please.” 

You can only hope Spy didn’t hear your stomach, and if he did, you’re glad he didn’t say anything. You wouldn’t want that to ruin the mood. 

“Ah, but of course!” He exclaims, his gloved hand reaches out expectantly as you hand back the bouquet, his other hand returning to meet your mid back, guiding you to the table. 

There’s a rupture of flutters that gets released when you get closer to the table, your mind finally processing the significance of this very moment. You’re going to spend your last living hours with the Spy, and you’re going to love every moment. 

Instinctively, you reach for the back of the wooden chair before Spy playfully clicks his tongue at you, “Allow me, my Dear~.”

With one hand, Spy gently nudges your hand off the back of the chair and, with a firm hold, pulls out the chair for you. You thank Spy, taking your seat as he pushes your chair forward. Your eyes form stars as you’re awestruck by the set table. The rich, red table runner underneath the pristine plates and the silverware that are exactly an inch apart. You fight back a chuckle. Spy does seem like the type to worry about the small and meticulous details, even at death’s door. 

“So,” you start, feeling giddy in your seat, “what do you have planned for us?” 

Spy chuckles at your question, rearranging the flowers in the vase as he places the glass back in the center of the table, turning the arrangement towards you. You stare in wonderment at the stunning petals, their beautiful colors adding vibrancy to the room and warming your heart. 

“Eager, are we?” Spy asks, unfolding a linen napkin and placing it over your lap, after all, he would hate to have your attire be potentially ruined by the food he had prepared. You look so lovely today, and he can’t have that.

“Very,” you confirm. 

“I assure you, for what I have planned today, you will be anything but bored.” 

You like that answer, you think to yourself. 

Assertive, efficient, and initiative. You haven’t met another person like that in all your years of living. How lucky you are to meet someone who is exactly your type in the midst of war.  

You feel your nervousness and enthusiasm twist and overlap each other, forming knots that you can’t seem to undo until Spy interrupts your thoughts with a simple question.

“What kind of music do you enjoy, [Name] Dear?” His back is turned to you, his fingers gliding over something you can’t seem to make out from where you’re sitting.

You answer bashfully yet honestly, a bit taken aback by the sudden question, but you’re flattered nonetheless by the personal question. Even with your quick answer, Spy matches your energy perfectly by asking you why, to explain why you enjoy that music genre, and why it’s your favorite. No silence is shared between you two, a constant back and forth of conversation that flows perfectly. As you reply, Spy nods, his way of showing you he’s listening without turning towards you. 

“I wouldn’t have expected that from you,” Spy starts. It makes your stomach drop, and you're afraid he's judging you. “But it makes sense.”

Your smile returns, letting out a sigh in relief as he makes a small comment to himself, as a small cherry on top, “Maybe I need to listen to some [music genre], too.” 

You laugh to yourself, pushing aside any other fearful thoughts, embracing Spy’s warm words: “You definitely should.” 

Spy hums in approval, when all of a sudden, music begins to slowly and gently fill the atmosphere. Spy finally turns around, revealing the record player in your field of vision. The disc Spy carefully chose, slowly spins as he begins to bob his head to the melody. 

“I don’t have any [music genre] records, but I hope this is okay.”

You take a few seconds to listen closely to the sweet symphony that plays from the record as it mixes and mingles within the air, and you even feel your own shoulders unconsciously rock back and forth from its influence. 

“It’s perfect.” 

“Excellent!” Spy exclaims, clapping his hands together. 

You watch as his tall and graceful figure moves towards the shelves, several fancy liquor and wine bottles lined up next to one another, “A refreshment for my lovely date~?”

You beam at the question, thinking hard on your favorite type of alcoholic beverage, “Do you have any [drink]?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I do,” Spy teases, pouring you a glass and setting it on the table for you. You watch as he pours himself another glass, setting this one in his seating area. 

You thank Spy for his generosity, waiting patiently as his hand rests over the handle of the metal cloche. Your gaze was on the dome until you look back up, your eyes immediately meeting Spy’s, you both laugh together in shared anticipation. 

“I hope pasta is okay with you, mon cœur,” Spy starts, revealing the large plate of noodles, the tangy sauce filling your nostrils. 

For a man whose occupation required him to conceal everything about himself, the way his eyes wavered in worry told you everything you needed to know. 

“It’s more than okay,” you reassure, grinning from ear to ear, realizing just how pampered you’re feeling, “It’s perfect.”

Spy lets out a sigh of relief. He didn’t realize the pressure he was feeling: wanting to make sure you have the best experience, the best last hours. Grabbing a pair of tongs, he sets out a portion of pasta for you first. When Spy is sure he’s given you the portion size you wanted, he then moves onto his plate, setting some noodles down onto the porcelain, until finally, he sits down. 

“A toast for our last moments together?” You ask, bringing up your glass. 

“To us and to these last moments between us, mon [chère/cheri],” Spy agrees, clinking his glass with yours. 

And like one last hurrah, you both clink your glasses together. In unison, you take a sip from your cup before you both dig in. The warmth that rests between your ribs can only burn brighter as you take a bite from your food; every little thing is another puzzle piece to the bigger picture in front of you, and every piece is something you cherish and appreciate. Your favorite flowers sitting between your favorite person and you, your favorite alcoholic drink, your new favorite music genre that blends into the background, and even down to your favorite type of pasta noodles. This is all planned for you.

Despite both of you only having a couple of hours left before death arrived, the conversations you share are lighthearted and deep. As if you still had time to reread your favorite books you’d brought up, or as if Spy still had time to visit France when you asked him about his origins. Enjoying the moment as if tomorrow were promised. 

You’re hooked by the rich flavor that bursts in your mouth as you eat the pasta, enamored by Spy’s laughter that comes out in a deep rumble from within his chest. More of the alcoholic beverage goes down, giggling at any clever quip or flirt, Spy would respond with. You feel yourself ease in your chair, who knew getting the French man alone at a dinner date would allow you to see what feels like a different and more vulnerable side of him. 

You’re almost finished with your dinner, eating more slowly as you prop your chin atop your palm, leaning into Spy’s words. 

It’s a haze for the next few moments, you nearly miss the sputter of Spy’s words as he’s startled by your foot that begins rubbing up his leg from under the table. 

Spy takes a deep breath, finishing his sentence with a small quip to his lips. What a tease you are. 

Your fingers tap on the table to the beat of the song, trying your best to hang onto the Spy’s words. You can’t help it, though, getting entranced by the unfamiliar melody. It’s a song you don't know the name of, but the lyrics come to you naturally. You take another sip of your drink, for good luck. Setting the glass down, you abruptly stand up. Spy’s gaze flickers with curiosity; it’s ironic the way he looks at you, as if he weren’t the walking mystery that you wish to uncover.

You stride towards him, a sway in the way you move, the look in your eyes: it was all screaming one thing, ‘dance with me’. Fortunately for both of you, Spy is no man who will ever deny you. There’s a mischievous grin that plays on his lips as he slides his chair out; no words are exchanged as Spy brings his hand out, and as if it were an action you both have done over and over, like it was a ritual, like it was familiar, you lay your palm into Spy’s own. Spy plants a kiss on the back of your hand, and although your last few hours have been filled with Spy’s kisses, it seems like your mind and heart will never get used to the gentle feeling of Spy’s smooth lips against your skin. Your mind wanders, wondering how his lips would feel pressed up against other parts of your body as Spy guides you, how gentle his usual rough voice would sound, blessing your ears with his sweet praise between each kiss. 

You melt as you’re able to feel the warmth behind Spy’s gloved hands as they find purchase on your waist, his other hand clasping with your own. From the proximity, your nostrils instantly fill with his musky yet alluring scent: it makes you feel lightheaded. As you sway from side to side, moving along to the groove of the melody, your breath hitches, staring into Spy’s hungry gaze. With the tension of your bodies being so close to one another, the sort of closeness that has only ever been replicated on the battlefield, where Spy drags you into the safety of the shadows, away from an enemy chasing after you. Or the accidental collision when you don’t notice him in his cloaked form. It was brief: something you had to quickly brush off with your heart aching for more. But this: this dance, it was long, deliberate, and full of intentions. The hunger in Spy’s eyes made sense, and truth be told, you’re just as starved. It was only a matter of time before either of you lost your patience. Who is going to be the first to crack? Who is going to be deemed the winner and loser in this battle?

Spy extends his arm, guiding you into a spin that he nearly regrets. During the turn, subtly, you brush your ass up against Spy’s bulge. Brief enough for you to play off, but enough friction between your ass and his hard-on for Spy to let out a silent groan and for you to flash him a cheeky smile. 

If that’s how you’re going to play, Spy is going to play along. 

Pulling you in close, your eyes widen, your hands latching onto his shoulder in surprise. All of a sudden, he’s close, the scent of his minty breath mixed with the scent of [fav alcoholic drink] close, unable to escape his captivating eyes close, your front rubbing close against his own. 

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, Spy doesn’t miss the subtle, satisfying hum that slips between your irresistible lips. There’s a playful glint in your eyes, refusing to be the one to break. Swaying your hips back and forth, it forces Spy to follow your lead by taking a step back to steady himself. Now that you’re close to the table, you grab one of the glasses, still wrapped in Spy’s hold, not sure if it was Spy’s or your drink, and take a quick sip from it. When you finally set the glass down, you laugh to yourself, feeling a sudden thrill run up your spine. The rhythm takes you away from the table; every sway of your body is synchronized with the beat as one of your hands slides up Spy’s neck, resting the palm of your hand on the side of Spy’s face. 

The feeling of his balaclava was smooth against your skin. Spy notices your hesitation, his eyebrows that are visible from the eyeholes of his mask are arched as you stroke and caress his cheek. The enticing thought of having his mask come off plays in your mind briefly, but what would be the fun in that? 

No, it’s always much more fun to play with your food. 

Spy leans his face into your hand; the action is almost cat-like. You don’t tell him that, resisting the chuckle that wants to creep its way up your throat. 

Your dance moves are much slower, much more sensual. Spy gulps at your half-lidded eyes, your expression, and your movements are hypnotizing. Gradually, Spy’s trousers are beginning to feel a bit tight.

Your hand that is cupping his cheek moves a bit down, down enough for your thumb to reach Spy’s bottom lip. Your thumb brushes against the smoothness of his lips; of course, this man would take care of his lips. Spy chuckles at the touch, kissing the pad of your thumb in acknowledgment. 

Boldly, your thumb pushes past Spy’s lips, his eyes instantly widen from the delightful intrusion. He doesn’t let his suave persona falter; instead, he puckers his lip over your digit, licking and sucking it. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Spy?” You ask, a coy smile playing at the corner of your lips. 

Spy tightens his grip around your waist, feeling a bit mystified by your sudden confidence. Just a bit.

“Are you?” 

You hum in agreement: yeah, you’re enjoying yourself, maybe a bit more than you anticipated, feeling how much [wetter/tighter] your underwear is getting.

“I’m glad,” Spy agrees, kissing your thumb before he pulls away from your hand, “so am I.” 

Your gaze follows his hand: he grabs both of the glasses, handing you one of them. You really can’t distinguish which one was originally yours, but that’s okay. That doesn't matter when you plan on sharing the night. 

Instinctually, you both clink your cups together, taking a swig. You weren’t drunk by any means, but the fuzzy feeling of being in the presence of Spy added to the tipsy feeling.

Spy peers into his cup, carefully, the storm in his eyes circling within his eyes, looking into your half-empty cup, when a thought crosses his mind. 

“I know a wonderful way we can make this drink taste better,” Spy offers. 

Your intrigue and curiosity form in the shape of goosebumps up your arms. You gulp, feeling your nerves build up in your full belly. 

“What is it?” You ask Spy, feeling more warmth flood your cheeks when you feel his hands brush your side. 

“It requires us to strip,” Spy acknowledges, casting his eyes down, the hand that brushes your side playing with the bottom of your shirt, “if that’s alright with you, [Name] Dear.”

You look down at where Spy is looking, noting how close he is to slipping his hands down the waistband of your [pants/skirt], but he doesn’t dare, not without your permission. Instead, his gloved hand is accidentally tickling your side as he plays with the fabric. 

When you look back up at Spy, instantly, you're met with his bold gaze. You feel yourself shrink in his hold, his directness turning you on. 

“It’s alright with me~.” 

“I’m glad it’s alright with you, darling~,” Spy sighs out, afraid yet understanding if you choose to back out now. 

Spy begins to unbutton his red blazer, with each button that slips out between each slit, you can’t help but gulp in anticipation. You comedically fan yourself with your fan, watching Spy strip himself from his blazer. 

You’re screaming internally, surely Spy’s aware of the effect he has on you. When he’s looking [up/down] at you intently, biting his bottom lip, tugging at his tie with one hand, loosening it, and unbuttoning a few buttons from the top of his white dress shirt. Your eyes linger slightly at his collarbone; there’s a line where his balaclava ends, underneath it, a sliver of his smooth skin. 

Spy chuckles, snapping you from your fixated trance. 

“Sorry,” you attempt to reconcile, your tone absent of any apologeticness as you lick your lips.

“Don’t be, mon amour,” Spy reassures, “don’t even think of shifting your eyes from me~.” 

“Sounds perfect to me,” you muse.

Looking down at your outfit, you suddenly feel overdressed. Looking back up at Spy, your eyes pleading with him. If only you knew just how irresistible you are. 

“Would you care for my assistance, my Dear?” Spy asks, tilting his head at you.

“Yes, please,” you giddily answer.

“How polite,” Spy praises, “Good [girl/boy]~.”

Your mouth is left agape. Did you hear him correctly?

Spy’s gloved hands reach towards your top, slowly, teasingly, taking it off your figure. You shiver; your bare skin is warm, contrasting the temperature of the room. More notably, Spy’s lips are on the shell of your ear, kissing it. Your eyebrows scrunch together, trembling from Spy’s breath fanning across your ear. 

“Lay down on the table for me, mon chou~,” Spy instructs. 

Despite confusion washing over your features, you comply. Spy helps you by moving all of the plates, glasses, and silverware off the table. Carefully, he picks and sets the vase of flowers on a nearby side table. 

You let out a small shriek, not expecting Spy to suddenly scoop you up, placing your rear onto the wooden table. 

Scooching yourself back, eventually you lie down horizontally; this seems to be the most comfortable way one could lie on the table. 

You wonder what Spy has in store. Watching him, you fidget with the bottom of your [bra/binder/undershirt]. From the corner of your eye, you can see Spy swishing around the liquid inside the fancy bottle, forming a small cyclone. 

Spy sets the bottle back down next to your head. Hovering above you, Spy keeps himself propped up by his arm that’s next to your head, and by his bent knees at your sides. His other hand rubs up and down your bare arm, the smooth fabric of his gloves soothing down your goosebumps. 

“May I-?” 

“Yes!” You cut Spy’s question off short, already knowing what he is intending to ask. Your heart aches, truly. He is the perfect gentleman. But in this instance, you wanted him to strip himself of all his manners and respect. You want him to kiss you, unforgivingly. To touch you, purposefully. 

“Please!” You quickly added in response to Spy’s surprised expression.

“But of course~.” 

Spy acknowledges your enthusiasm and, without missing a beat, finally, his lips are on yours. It was a small and brief kiss, one of innocence and sweetness. Pulling away, instantly, Spy’s lips connect with yours, like magnets. His lips part and move against yours, the kiss deepening as you tilt your head to the side. You sharply inhale from your nose, your breath being stolen from Spy’s lips as his tongue slowly inches past your parted lips, the muscle inviting itself in. 

A familiar song rings in Spy’s ears, a type of rhythm and melody he hasn’t experienced in what feels like forever, like a song you don’t know the name of, yet you know the lyrics and dance anyway. Spy continues to tease you, his lips purse as he sucks on your tongue, while down below, his free hand creeps its way to your torso. His usually skilled hand is stumbling over itself as it caresses your waist, slowly sliding beneath your [bra/binder/undershirt], unable to hide his excitement and nervousness.

“Oh!” You cry, your body jolting, pulling your lips away from Spy’s lips in surprise. 

You whimper, eyes wide, eyebrows scrunched together as Spy toys with your nipple between his pointer and thumb finger. Pinching and pulling at the bud, your face can only burn in embarrassment at his cruel ministrations.

“Oh, how adorable~,” Spy praises, watching the way your eyes snap shut. You can only wish to avoid eye contact with the Spy; his striking eyes peering into your own would be too much for your soul. 

With one last flick at your bud, much to your own dismay, a small squeak slips past your lips. Opening your eyes slightly, between the space of your lashes, you watch Spy pull his hand away from your chest, lifting his hand to his lips. Shyly opening your eyes, your pupils wavering between Spy’s eyes and his teeth. His eyes refuse to look away from you, paying close attention to your flustered expression. His teeth slowly, tauntingly pulling off the black fabric from his hand.

Your expression softens, noticing the state of Spy’s hand. His nails appear well cared for, neatly trimmed, and clean. Long, elegant fingers that are always kept away, radiating warmth as they latch back onto your chest. 

You hum in amusement, basking in the sensation of his caresses. Looking at his hands, feeling them on you, you wouldn’t know they are the hands of a mercenary, hands that have stolen lives on the battlefield that now worship you, that handle you with a roughness with only seduction and care as their intentions.

Your own hands claw at his back, your nails digging into the fabric of his white button-up, afraid that if you let go, then he might pull away. But that isn’t true, no, because Spy is already delving his face into the side of your neck.

You crane your neck to the side, granting Spy more access to your neck, tormenting the revealed skin with chaste kisses, his teeth that nipped at your skin, and the tip of his tongue that would soothe and circle the bitten area. Pulling away to latch onto another sliver of skin, leaving a trail of hickies. Every time Spy’s lips leave your skin, he leaves you no time to miss them. After all, you both have spent way too long craving for one another, yearning for each other.

When your bodies are discovered, at least they’ll see your bodies wrapped around each other. At least they’ll see Spy’s marking left on your skin.

Your skin blossoms with various love bites, trailing down from your neck to your collarbone and to the valley of your chest. 

You smile to yourself, if you got to see the sunrise, you would be sure to jokingly scold him for showing your tender skin no mercy. How on earth would you be able to cover all of his marks? The other mercenaries are bound to see them. And Spy would flash you his typical smug smirk, shameless in his actions, “Let them see~.” The silly thought warms your heart despite the dark implications of no tomorrow.

Dreadful thoughts don’t make your mind feel any less fuzzy. You can’t believe that all of this pleasure isn’t part of some elaborate dream your mind has come up with. But no, the ticking of your death watch is real, asking the Spy to seduce you not that long ago is real, Spy’s warm mouth on your skin is real, and so is the [dampness/tightness] between your legs. 

Rubbing your thighs together, the heat residing between them becomes unbearable. You whine at the sudden friction as Spy brings his knee up, stroking up and down your crotch with his pant leg. His bare fingers continue to play with your hardened nipples, giving both buds equal amounts of attention. Every action is drawn out. Spy wants to savor the moment, to savor you. 

With one last kiss to your chest, Spy takes hold of your chin with his ungloved hand, leaving your mouth agape. You allow Spy to tilt your head up, his forehead leaning onto your own. From this angle, you’re unable to escape his soft eyes, eyes that you never want off you.

“My Dear, I wish you could see the look on your face,” Spy whispers.

“Huh?” You ask in confusion, eyebrows knit together, having trouble paying attention to Spy’s words, especially with how his knee was still rubbing up your [slit/hard-on].

“You look delectable,” Spy chuckles, finding delight in your reactions. Your body feels like it's on fire, everywhere Spy is touching you, burning with desire for more.

Spy surprises you, tucking stray hairs that cling to your damp forehead to the side, kissing the precious skin. You can’t help the small gasp that leaves your parted lips at the sweet gesture, yearning for his lips, the intense and intoxicating scent of nicotine, and Spy’s musky cologne becomes faint when he sits up on his knees. 

Holding onto your arms, his hands slide up to your wrists, placing them onto his mid-section, beckoning you to unbutton the rest of his shirt. You comply, biting down on your bottom lip as more and more of Spy’s smooth, tan skin. Your eyes continue to lower, taking in every new sliver of skin, practically making your mouth water as you take in the gradual hair from Spy’s belly button, the hair of his happy trail becoming much denser and ending where the start of his belt and pants begin. 

Your whole body shudders at the sight of Spy on top of you. Spy rips his tie off, throwing it in some forgotten corner. When your hands are lifted and placed onto Spy’s chest, his body trembles slightly in excitement, feeling his erratic heartbeat underneath your palms, you realize the shared feelings of nervousness you both are feeling, comfort and reassurance swell inside your heart.

You groan when you feel Spy buck his hips into you, his bulge rubbing up against your crotch, reminding you of the precum that is beginning to soak your underwear. 

You blink, looking back up at Spy when he drawls out, “This is what you do to me, mon cœur~.” 

“What a tease,” you hissed as Spy continued to grind his bulge down on you. 

“I believe the saying goes, ‘do unto others as you want done to you,’” Spy playfully recites, his voice heightening in delight when you interrupt his response by trailing your own hands down his chest, just to pinch and pull at his nipples, as he has done with yours.

Before you get carried away, several teasing “stops” are mewled and muttered under Spy’s breath as he gently pulls your hands away. You’re about to sit back up, curious when Spy grabs the alcohol bottle near your head, until Spy makes you lie back down by lightly pushing you with his gloved hand. 

“Lie still for me, mon [chérie/chéri]~,” Spy instructs, popping the cork off the bottle. 

Your mouth forms a line, unsure where Spy is leading this. 

“You don’t have to be nervous, Dear,” Spy reassures, “just keep your arms above your head and trust me.” 

Your eyes scan his own, scanning and searching for any form of dishonesty. You think back to all the awful things your teammates have described Spy: a liar, manipulative, a snake. But when you look back into Spy’s eyes, the only thing shining back at you in his blue-gray eyes is complete and utter devotion. 

“I promise you’ll feel good.” Spy states directly. 

That is all you needed to hear, sighing in relief, listening to Spy’s advice, and folding your arms behind your head, using them as a headrest.

“Well? I’m lying still~,” you state, egging Spy on with a cheeky grin. 

Spy chuckles, one hand rubbing up and down your sides, helping you calm down any remaining nerves, “That you are~.”

You make a noise, startled when you feel the sudden cold liquid slowly being poured into your navel. Some of the liquid spills, seeping down your sides from the way your body slightly writhes, completely unprepared for Spy to have poured the drink onto you. 

You let out a comical, “Whoa!” Watching Spy latch his mouth onto your navel, slurping up the [fav alcoholic drink], his hands wrapped around your waist. Your stomach caves in, feeling ticklish from all the attention on your midsection. 

Sweat trickles down your forehead, dampening your skin, and you feel hot from the warmth of Spy’s mouth and hands. 

“How did that feel, mon [chère/cher]?” Spy asks, who doesn’t bother to wait for your response, already pouring another shot in your navel. 

Your face burns, your head dizzy: Spy is unraveling you completely. Out of all the ways you predicted the night to go, you most certainly weren’t expecting Spy to be drinking off your body. But this news experience entices you. 

“It tickles,” you answer honestly, your body shaking in laughter as Spy delves back into your navel, licking at the skin, getting every last drop of the delectable liquid. 

Spy chuckles against your skin, the sound reverberating against you as you desperately attempt to keep still. Your arms behind your head don’t help; they want to wrap around Spy’s head, to smother his face into you, somewhere lower, somewhere that’s been longing for him since the very beginning. 

“I really shouldn’t gorge myself here,” Spy comments, raising his head from your stomach, “that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly.” 

Spy, although with his usual confident smile, heavily contrasts his flushed face, which you can see peeking from the holes in his balaclava. 

“You shouldn’t?” You playfully ask, one arm reaching to cup Spy’s cheek, taking immediate note of his heated skin. 

“Non,” Spy answers simply, shaking his head. 

“But I was really enjoying myself~.” 

Spy’s body unconsciously shudders in your hold, loving the way your words purred in his ear. He looks back at the bottle, noting that there was still some content left in the bottle when a devious idea forms in his head. 

You feel your breath hitch, anticipating Spy’s next words. 

“If that’s the case, then we can continue, but...”

“But?” 

Spy doesn’t answer, pouring the [fav alcoholic drink] back into your navel, your body shaking, you don’t miss the cold of the liquid. 

“Don’t let any of this spill as I prepare you,” Spy orders. 

“Huh? Oh!” 

Your jaw drops. Is he doing what you think he’s doing? Your eyes dart everywhere around the room, your hand that was on Spy’s cheek falls to your chest, clutching at your [bra/binder/undershirt], your hands shaking, elated with Spy’s next move.

Spy’s hands find the waistband of your [pants/skirt], [undoing your belt, and carefully sliding down your pants./carefully sliding down your skirt]. Your [pants/skirt] scrunch up at your mid-thigh when Spy coos, commenting about how adorable your undergarments are. Your mind is reeling at this point, using all of your power to not make any sudden movements as Spy finally removes your [pants/skirt] with your help. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Spy consoles, condescension dripping from his words, like venom from a snake, “you can handle this.” 

Gasping, you wish you could hide your flustered face as you peer at Spy, watching him bring two fingers to his mouth, coating them in his saliva. Spy’s tongue swirls around the two fingers greedily, being sure they’re properly lubricated. You feel your ears heat, perking up at the loud suckling, the lewd sound making your aroused [cunt/cock] throb.

Thinking back to what Spy said, you can only hope you can handle this.

Your body is sticky and sweaty, from the liquid at your navel, the sweat that clings to your skin, down to your hole where Spy begins to circle his wet fingers around. His eyes shoot up at you, telling you, “breathe out.” 

Blinking, you let out a deep, shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. You barely make out the “good” Spy lovingly whispering into the skin of your thigh, kissing the area before he slowly pushes one finger into you. The loud thump of your heartbeat pounds against your eardrums as Spy slushes his finger around inside you. Your legs are thrown over Spy’s shoulders, giving his digit better access as it slowly moves in and out of your sweet hole. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, the small kiss Spy plants onto your [clit/tip], melting your heart, feeling your muscles relaxing. 

“Language, mon amour~,” Spy teases, licking a stripe up your [folds/shaft], your hole stretching and loosening around the single finger as it swirls around. 

You cry out, Spy’s mouth cutting you off by wrapping his lips around your [clit/head], sucking. He really loves leaving you speechless, doesn’t he? 

“Right, sorry!” You whine prettily, your legs shaking from the double stimulation.

Spy flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your [clit/slit], like he was a predator playing with his prey before he consumed them. Your stomach tenses, desperately trying your best not to squirm as Spy’s head lowers, opening his mouth wider, fully sucking onto your poor [cunt/cock]. 

Your pants fill the room, growing much more laborious as Spy easily slips another finger into you. Your back arches off the wooden table as a loud moan rips past your swollen lips, the tip of Spy’s manicured fingers pressing up against your newfound [g-spot/p-spot]. Your eyes that were previously glued shut snap open, the corners of Spy’s eyes crinkling as he chuckles around you, the sound reverberating around your sensitive [pussy/cock]. 

‘What a bastard,’ you think to yourself, wishing to let out some witty or sexy retort, but it gets pushed aside by another moan of his name. 

Your body shakes slightly with each thrust of Spy’s fingers, abusing your sweet spot. The surface of the drink ripples as his fingers rock your body; there’s an irresistible glow from the overhead lights that makes the liquid shimmer so enchantingly. 

“Your body is magnifique, [Name],” Spy’s eyes are half-lidded, a haze clouded over his steel colored eyes, one filled with complete and utter devotion and adoration. 

Lovingly, Spy’s slurping feels like it's increased tenfold. You barely had time to process his words, attempts at thrashing around being prevented by Spy’s tight grip around your thighs. He works his fingers in tandem with his mouth and tongue, sucking and hollowing his cheeks like it was for show. Somehow, Spy manages to look so elegant even when going down on you. 

Effortlessly, Spy unravels you with the mix of his mouth and fingers. Ripping your arms out from behind your head, they slap onto the back of Spy’s head, holding him in his place as your orgasm courses through your body. Spy’s eyes widen, unprepared for the intensity of your orgasm. Your cum gushes onto his tongue, every drop swallowed eagerly by Spy as the thrusts of his fingers continue to slowly move in and out of you, helping you ride out your high. 

“Mon Dieu,” Spy murmurs, the bottom half of his face soaked in your essence.

You squeal slightly, feeling Spy slowly remove his two fingers, “I’m sorry, some of the [fav alcoholic drink] spilled.”

Spy cackles at your apology, one that is nothing of class and manners as it ends with a snort, “Oh, don’t be, mon chou.” 

Although most of the liquid has spilled down your sides, a small puddle of what remains of the [fav alcoholic drink] pools in the valley of your navel. 

Dramatically, Spy leans down and slurps up the leftover liquid. Bursting into a fit of laughter, you jostle around in Spy’s hold as he begins to blow raspberries into your tummy. 

His slight stubble scratches and tickles at your smooth skin, his lips graze you as he utters his next words, “You’re now ready for me~.”

[SPY’S ROOM] 

[54 HOURS TIL DEATH] 

Frantically, Spy’s dress shirt, belt, and slacks are thrown to the floor along with your [bra/binder/undershirt]. Pushing Spy by his chest, his bare back hits the mattress of his bed. 

You don’t take in the room around you, you don’t notice the subtle rose pattern of his comforter, the French literature on his bedside table, the collection of butterfly knives in a glass frame on the wall. 

Instead, you notice the rise of Spy’s chest as he breathes deeply, in and out. You notice the beauty marks, freckles, and burn marks that litter his skin. You notice the strain of his aching bulge, tight against his briefs, the garters keeping his socks up wrapped around his shins.

“So impatient,” he groans. You notice the rumble in his throat as you climb on top of him, tearing off his briefs, rubbing the head of his cock around your hole, smearing and circling his precum around the precious muscle.

You notice his eyes that waver from your eyes, down to your chest, and down to your sex. He’s practically drooling. 

“Of course I am,” you agree, “just look at you: naked and vulnerable for me.” 

It didn’t sound real coming out of your mouth. Spy is never any of those things, but of course, today is a special occasion. 

“Oui,” Spy loudly gasps, eyes blown out, hands quickly latching onto your hips as you slam yourself onto his cock. 

You don’t waste any time on adjustments, enthusiastically bouncing onto Spy’s cock, letting his balls slap against your ass as you reach towards the headboard behind him, keeping yourself steady. 

The stretch of his long, tan, and uncut cock slides deliciously in your hole, it has your eyes rolling in the back of your head as it reaches into the depths of your poor [cunt/ass]. 

Between bounces, you slowly grind against him, moving your hips in circular motions, making sure you feel every part of his cock before you pick up your pace once more. You feel Spy’s thighs tense up from underneath, his nails digging into the flesh of your ass as his mouth hangs open, unbelievable pleasure wrapped around his aching cock. 

“Merde,” Spy hisses, “If you don’t slow down, I may cum..” 

Listening to his warning, you ease down your bounces until you’re only slowly bucking your hips into him. Allowing Spy to catch his breath, he rubs your back comfortingly, hugging you close and flipping you both over. Now you’re the one lying down, back easing into the soft mattress, warm from Spy’s body heat as he hovers above you. 

“Ah, this is why this is my favorite position,” Spy coos, caressing your cheek, his touch that you nuzzle into, instinctively wrapping your legs around his back. 

Spy leans down, granting your lips a loving kiss. Pulling away slightly, his lips are mere centimeters away from your own lips as he whispers, “[Tu es belle/Tu es beau]~.” 

Somehow, someway, you’re able to understand exactly what Spy had whispered to you. His eyes that held so much admiration for you, how could you not?

His gentle touch that is reserved for you, his increased body heat, all because of you. You feel so special in his hold as he brings his hips back, slowly moving them forward, thrusting in and out of you at a medium pace. 

Both of your hands reach up, cupping Spy’s face, holding onto him dearly, tenderly. Moving his face to the side, softly, he kisses the palm of your hand. Your eyes squint as you smile, pinching the fabric of his balaclava. 

“Can I see you?” You ask, nodding your head up, hinting towards Spy’s mask. 

Spy’s movements falter, his eyebrows furrowing, clicking his tongue in thought. His hands that were once at your waist as leverage as he pumped his member into you, travel up to your wrist. 

“I,” Spy starts, lips part slightly, but nothing comes out. It’s silent except for the slick sounds coming from where you're both connected, your deep breaths mingling. 

There’s a sort of bashfulness in Spy’s next actions, his eyes cast downward, taking in your words as he lowers your hands to his chest. 

Underneath the palm of your hands, you feel his heart pound against his ribcage. Was Spy feeling nervous? A sigh slices through the silence like a butterfly knife. Gathering up the courage, Spy slowly slips off his balaclava. Spy has nothing to lose. 

Seeing Spy’s face for the first and probably last time, you drink in all of his features, sitting up, your hands quickly reach out to hold his face, his slicked back salt and pepper hair, the charming wrinkles near his eyes, his angular features, his smooth, clean-shaven face. 

He was…

“Beautiful,” you compliment, awestruck by the man on top of you. 

Sure, his mask still revealed most of his features, and based on how he carried himself, Spy was most definitely a handsome rogue. But this was different: seeing Spy in such an intimate atmosphere made him glow. His flushed cheeks, his clouded eyes, his glossy lips: it looked like he belonged in a painting or a photograph. If only you could capture this moment forever, to look back on it with fond eyes, to have it be your favorite memory.

Spy threads his fingers between yours, holding your hands as a warm smile takes over his lips. 

“Merci beaucoup,” Spy sheepishly murmurs, his heart burning from your genuine compliment. 

Steadily, Spy fastens his thrusts, the head of his cock kissing your sweet [g-spot/p-spot], forcing you to cry out, lying back down just to toss your head back into the plush pillows. They smell so much of Spy, you’re practically drunk off his scent as Spy humps into you. 

A new melody fills the room, the lewd sound of skin slapping against each other, the creeks of the springs of the bed, the wooden headboard hitting the wall, all encompassing you and pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

Your eyes can’t leave him, no matter how striking his steel colored eyes are, you keep eye contact with him through every thrust of his hips. You both share a fit of laughter as you wink up at him, the passion surrounding you is raw and real, his sweet affection genuine and void of any ill intent. 

Ravishing you in this particular position made it feel innocent, emotional, sensual, and romantic. Sniffling, you’re embarrassed to admit that the intentions made tears form in the corner of your eyes. 

“Too much for you, mon amour~?” Spy teases, taking note of your glassy eyes. Even in this heated moment, Spy is still a highly observant mercenary whom you’ve come to fancy. 

“No,” you shake your head, “need more. Please move faster~..!” 

You beckon Spy closer, hugging him and pulling him in with your legs that are wrapped around his torso.

Spy acknowledges your plea with a witty and charming grin, “Does mon [chérie/chéri] want to cum~?”

You hum enthusiastically, moaning his name when he adjusts one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

“Yes, please,” you plead, gasping, feeling Spy’s cock sink deeper into you. 

“Let’s cum together then, oui?” 

You nod your head, babbling several pleas of “yes”, “more”, and his name. All the muscles in your body tense, your hole tightening around Spy’s shaft as he continues to passionately plunge his cock into you. Every thrust, his slick slides down his shaft, dripping off his balls and staining the bedsheets. A good Spy leaves no trail behind, but the evidence of your romantic rendezvous is intentionally kept present. 

Spy eggs and encourages every noise that spills from your parted lips, groaning, his smooth thrusts turning sloppy as more and more precum leaks from his tip, “Oui, sing for me!” 

You whine loudly, your walls fluttering around Spy’s member as one of his hands slides between your legs, rubbing your [clit/cock] furiously as his other hand continues to hold your hand tightly. Your face contorts, the added pleasure causing your legs to tremble. Spy’s attention on your [clit/cock] is relentless, quickening his thrusts as a familiar knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. Spy really is spoiling you tonight, isn’t he? 

The knot tightens with each thrust, with every rub. The warm feeling in your heart, the butterflies that fly and flap throughout your belly, adding to the pressure between your legs. Sweet memories fill your mind, remembering when you felt these feelings before: meeting Spy for the first time, you remember straightening your posture, rubbing dust off your clothes, wanting to impress him, unable to look away from his beautiful eyes despite your flustered feelings. Sentimental moments during the ceasefire, remembering how Spy told you just how enchanting you looked when the orange hue and glow of the campfire framed your features, which was funny, because you were going to say the same thing to him. Hiding away from enemy BLU in a forgotten hallway in their base, bodies hugging and flushed against the wall, undeniable shared smiles, like you were misbehaving children on the verge of getting caught. Who was going to be brave enough to steal the enemy’s intel?

You let out a full body sob, your orgasm catching up to you before you can realize it, your essence spilling as Spy encourages you to release all over him, your other arm hugs him close, wishing you can somehow absorb into one another, you squeeze your interlocked fingers tightly, calling out his name like a encantation. 

Weakly you nudge Spy’s [fingers/hand] off your [clit/cock], he nods in understanding, and with a shuddering sigh, he cums right after you. 

“Je suis navré, mon cœur,” Spy apologizes, pulling his cock from you, flustered as he watches his seed seep from your hole. 

You chuckle, nuzzling your face into his pillows, suddenly feeling drowsy, you’d worry about cleaning up tomorrow, you tell him.

“Nonono,” Spy ushers, scooping up your tired body, insisting you both clean up together. 

You don’t say anything, allowing him to whisk you away into a palace of bubbles and suds. He gently cleans your skin, taking care of you, and you think to yourself, how you wish he never takes his hands off you.

[SPY’S ROOM]

[52 HOURS TIL DEATH]

You blink and you swore you were still in Spy’s bathroom, but your eyes reveal to you the moody bedroom that can only belong to Spy. 

Your head rests on Spy’s chest, the sound of his heartbeat comforting you. Your nose sniffles at the smell of smoke. Peering up, you see Spy take a drag from a cigarette, the smoke dancing around the air from the burned tip. 

“Really?” You acknowledge, nodding your head towards the cigarette. 

“It’ll be my last,” Spy answers, a small, sad smile etching his lips.

Spy’s words make your mind wander: how are your teammates treating their last hours? Is Demoman having his last few drinks? Is Heavy enjoying his last sandwich? Is Scout swinging his bat for the last time? Is he scoring his final home run? 

Your eyes look towards the deathwatch, its glow taunting you as it shows the last remaining hours you have. 

Your eyes begin to tear up again, sniffling loudly in Spy’s chest. He soothingly rubs your back, kissing your forehead. Looking up at him, he kisses your tears away, every one that dares to escape past your eyelashes.

You were never afraid of death, and even with having to deal with the initial scare and shock, thanks to the respawn machine, you never had to settle with death. But deep down, you know it isn’t death you’re scared of but of separation. Watching the numbers tick away, you wish there had only been more time.

When you close your eyes, will you still be able to meet with Spy’s blue-gray eyes or will you be unable to open them? 

What comes next when you suddenly lose control of your body? Maybe it’s not too late to believe in magic, to believe in a heaven, even if with all the countless lives you’ve stolen, they won’t let you in. But maybe it’s okay, as long as where Spy goes to, you’re able to follow along.

Maybe it was okay to believe in love now that you’ve lost.

“I’ll miss you,” you somehow manage to utter through tears. 

“I’ll miss you, too, mon amour,” Spy whispers to you gently, his own eyes appearing to be glassy, or maybe your vision was too blurry to see. 

Sitting up, rubbing your eyes dry of any other tears, sniffling as Spy continued to rub your back. 

“I’ll miss you, too,” Spy starts, putting out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, sitting up and embracing you, “but that’s okay because at least I have you now.” 

Is this really where your story ends? Your story with the Spy, ending in the same chapter it started.

Do you both truly die at the end?

Speechless, you wrap your arms around Spy, accepting his embrace.