Pop Rocks and Coffee

---------

Demoman moaned, clutching the sheets with one hand as the other lay at the back of Sniper's head, fingers twitching with each breath that hitched out of him. His cock was in the bushman's hot mouth, his tongue undulating against its underside as he sucked slowly, lazily, savoring the taste of his beloved and the sounds spilling forth over those beautiful, oh-so-kissable lips.

Sniper lay between Demoman's legs, one arm around the bomber's thigh, the other hand two fingers deep inside of him and making come-hither motions that had his hips juddering, barely holding back the urge to buck up into Sniper's warm, welcoming mouth. Not that Sniper would have minded.

When they arrived back in their suite at the Palmer House, Demoman hadn't had time to do anything more than kick his shoes off before Sniper was gently bullying him into the bedroom with light, teasing shoves, making him laugh from the insistence of it all. Soon enough their clothes had been shed, scattered haphazardly around the room as they kept pausing to wrap their arms around one another and kiss like they were trying to devour one another's lips, laughing each time they parted and peeled away another garment. It had felt like forever when Sniper finally rolled Demoman onto the bed and climbed atop him, kissing him silly before moving in a line of smooches southward, doubly so when the ever-so-patient assassin had set to his task proper.

He'd been sucking his dick for nearly an hour, and Demoman felt like he was losing his mind. He was weak with pleasure, barely able to squirm in place and shiver with need, his voice rolling out of his mouth in a near-drone of constant breathy nonsense. He'd long since tossed his pillow aside, lying flat atop the sheets and clutching at them with one hand as Sniper set to gently killing him with his tongue and hand.

It was bliss, floating on a cloud of sensory delight, his cock wrapped in the warm, wet embrace of his husband's mouth, fingers stretching him open and beckoning hot throbs of pleasure through him, all thoughts banished from his mind as he just lay there and luxuriated. He could tell that Sniper was drawing it out, going slow and steady enough to keep him teetering, not letting him build toward a proper climax and forcing him to just flounder in the moment and drown in the pleasure. He could barely breathe, his body so overwhelmed.

He felt his thoughts return abruptly as Sniper gently moved his hand from atop his head, threading their fingers together and giving him a squeeze. He looked down to see his husband holding his hand, cock in his mouth, those blue eyes looking up at him with such naked adoration that Demoman had to look away, feeling heat at the corners of his eyes.

"Mickey," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, dragging his eye back down to the man between his thighs, to that face he found so enchanting. "I love ye."

Sniper pulled off with a quiet slurp, trying not to ruin the moment with a funny sound as he squeezed that hand again. "Love you too, Pup," he hummed, and pressed a kiss to the tip of his husband's cock. "Feelin' good?"

"Christ," Demoman huffed. "Good's an understatement."

"Aces," Sniper chuckled, peppering Demoman's cock with more kisses.

"Want ye up here," the bomber admitted, tugging at Sniper's hand a bit. "Want ye on me. Want ye in me. Need tae hold ye."

Sniper smiled warmly, placing another kiss on the bomber's tip before letting go of him and slowly working his fingers out of him. Climbing to his knees and snatching up the tube of lube, he squeezed some onto his hand and slicked up his cock generously before tossing the bottle aside. He groped around for the closest piece of clothing and wiped the lube from his hand. Soon enough he was scooting up between his husband's legs again, smiling as the supine Scotsman lifted his legs for a better angle. He guided himself into Demoman, pushing inside him with little resistance and a sigh, relishing both the tight heat of his body and the groan that left the man as he was breached.

"Mickey," Demoman moaned, reaching out to his husband needily, impatient to have him as close as possible.

Sniper was only happy to oblige, sliding in to the hilt and settling into a comfortable position before he bent forward to lay atop his lover, a soft chuckle leaving him as Demoman immediately wrapped his arms tightly around the slim assassin and caught his lips in a kiss.

Demoman couldn't help but be grateful for the time they'd taken to stop at the train station bathroom so that Sniper could wash his face before they headed back to the hotel. He'd hate to smell anyone else but his husband right now, nosing in against each other between pressing of warm lips, the slide of tongues, the tasting of one another and the sharing of breaths. Their voices mingled together, swallowing soft moans as Sniper began to thrust, slowly rocking into his husband, embraced inside and out by him, wrapped in the man he loved.

Whimpers chased every slide back, Demoman wordlessly begging for him to return, barely able to stand not being as full of him as possible at every moment. He held him tight, close, together. He needed him, needed him, and could feel heat welling again in his face as tears threatened to gather.

Mick Mundy was his everything, this gangly, sun-baked, deeply sexy man with a voice as warm as the desert sands and eyes like a cloudless sky. And here he was, making him feel so good, taking his time and holding him close and treating him with adoration and reverence as he slowly, methodically, intentionally made his pleasure last as long and blissfully as possible. Even inside of him, he was taking his time, not chasing his own release but instead rolling his hips in an easy glide that let his lover feel every single movement, every last millimetre of thrust and retreat, every slow grind against that spot inside that had his legs quaking as they hung uselessly at either side of the assassin's slim hips.

He was in heaven, spoiled and treasured by a man he could scarcely believe he was so fortunate as to share his life with, and Demoman couldn't help the tears that began to roll down the sides of his face, even as his mouth fell open in wordless moans. He clutched at Sniper with hands and hole, pulling him so close he may as well have tried to merge the two of them together into one entity, losing the sense to be able to keep kissing, jawing uselessly, too addled to remember how to pucker his lips or lick his lover's tongue. He merely moaned into Sniper's mouth, crushing him to his chest as he sobbed in pleasure.

Sniper smiled, kissing at his lip anyway, murmuring sweet nothings, so enamored with the way his husband fell into overwhelming emotion as pleasure took him away from sense. It was charming, the way the man felt everything so much, and it only made Sniper want to spoil him sexually all the more. Even so, he could tell it was also the beginning of the end, the ascent, the height of pleasure from which there was only one way down, so after a while longer of just slowly fucking him into a puddle on the bed, he finally picked up a bit of speed, rutting into the bomber with a bit more force, chasing him to the edge.

It didn't hurt that he was losing the ability to bite back his own climax, seeing his husband so sweet and vulnerable in his arms. There was something so attractive at seeing the man completely emotionally bared to him, a kind of trust that Sniper knew was a treasure.

It wasn't much longer before Demoman came with a sob and a moan, his cock trapped between their bellies and messing the both of them as he squeezed around Sniper inside of him, dragging him over the edge in turn. He shivered as he felt his husband's cock throb, filling him with his seed, his heat, the evidence of their lovemaking. When it was over he threw an arm across his own face to cover his eyes, his expression finally settling into a grimace as he fought back the urge to fully break down crying.

Sniper knew this well, too. Demoman felt everything so much, and sometimes one kind of vulnerability combined with just being so overwhelmed brought everything out. And that was fine. He peeled the bomber's arm from across his eyes and kissed his cheeks and nose, wrapping his arms around the other man and holding him close, still inside of him. "Shh, shh, it's okay, love. I'm 'ere."

"Dee," Demoman gulped out as the dam burst, fat tears rolling down the sides of his head and into his ears, his belly hitching as full sobs hiccuped out of him. "Mickey..."

"You're aces, Pup. Let it out, it's fine," Sniper soothed, letting Demoman bury his face in the crook of his neck as he wept, hands pawing at him to hold him close like he'd disappear if he didn't have him in a death grip.

Demoman always felt ridiculous when this happened, how sometimes being overwhelmed physically would cross wires and make any and all emotions that needed a release jump out of him, always at the worst times. Sniper always indulged him, told him it was fine, that he understood, but it didn't make Demoman feel any less pathetic that he would sometimes suddenly start sobbing into his husband's embrace during or after sex.

It didn't help that his surface emotions were still so tumultuous after the club, making it so much easier to tip over into tears.

"I'm sorry, Mickey," he hiccuped, petting at the back of Sniper's head, fingers threading into his short hair.

"It's okay, Tav, you can just let it out. I understand," Sniper soothed, coaxing his husband out of the crook of his neck to look at him and press a soft kiss to the closed eyelid of his missing eye.

"Nae, I mean for tonight. I started a fight, pummeled yer mate, cut ye off from yer group—"

"Oi, none of that," Sniper barked, his expression hardening. "You didn't do a bloody thing wrong, Tavish. "No man who disrespects me husband like that is a mate of mine, reckon?"

Demoman met his eyes, the steely intensity of the man's gaze almost startling. "...reckon," he replied, almost meekly.

"Ruddy punched 'is own ticket when 'e talked to you like you were some bloody trophy, and talked about your husband like that to your face." He pressed a kiss to the tip of Demoman's nose. "That cunt's always been a loud-mouthed prick, but I wager 'e got 'is knickers in a twist, jealous like you'd stolen me away from the lads or some bollocks. 'e can rack off, I've no time for that kind of petulance. And even less for anyone who mistreats me husband."

Demoman sniffled, nosing in against Sniper's cheek. "I could've told him off before I swung on him, though."

"I won't lie, I'm a little surprised that was your first move. Usually you fire back before you throw 'ands," Sniper admitted with a soft smooch.

"I was already deep in me own heid," Demoman explained, not meeting Sniper's eye. "Thinkin' too hard. Realizin' I wasnae comfortable."

"Ruddy talkin' like that, I don't blame you."

"Nae just that. I just—I think I dinnae have it in me tae sleep around like ye do. Thought I'd try, that I could do it, but it didnae feel right. Especially as the wolf, I didnae shag anyone before ye, and since, the only people I've shagged without ye bein' part o' it's been lads on the team, and..." Demoman let out a soft sigh, hesitating, "I think that's all I want. All I can do. Ye, and our mates." He looked up into Sniper's eye, blurry from being so close. "Me mates," he added, the meaning clear in his emphasis.

Sniper huffed out a soft laugh and kissed him again. "No wuckas, Pup. You don't 'ave to root anyone you don't want to, ever. I'll never ask you do to somethin' that makes you uncomfortable, yeh? Keep it in this big group relationship thing we've got with the team; that's aces."

"Thank ye," Demoman sighed, a little soothed. "Leave the whorin' up tae ye," he added, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Sniper propped himself up on his hands to put enough distance between their faces to focus their eyes, locking his gaze on the bomber's with utmost seriousness. "If you want me to stop fuckin' around outside, Pup, you tell me. I'll stop in a heartbeat."

"What? Nae, I'm nae—"

"I know you're not. But I want you to know, that if you want it, I will. Decided that before we were official, really."

"Nae!" Demoman barked in reply, almost offended. "I want ye tae do what makes ye happy! And I'll do what makes me happy! I like what we have, Dee. Ye dinnae think I love watchin' ye gettin' shagged til ye cannae think straight? Ye dinnae think I get a thrill out o' touchin' meself, seein' ye in the throes of pleasure? Ye dinnae think I love gettin' tae have ye after that?" He slid a hand down to squeeze at Sniper's meager ass. "Just because I dinnae wanna shag outside the team without ye bein' part o' the proceedings disnae mean I dinnae wanna see ye do it, or at least hear the dirty stories afterward," he assured him.

Sniper grinned at that and pressed his forehead against Demoman's, a soft growl welling in his throat. "See? The fuck do I need a group of blokes in some fuckoff opium den for? I've got a rapt audience for me stories right 'ere in me bed! One that wants to shag me rotten after I finish me story, no less. Much better bargain, really."

*

The next morning had nearly passed them by the time Sniper awoke, tangled up with Demoman amid the sheets. The sun's light had finally reached their faces, streaming in through curtains left wide open as promised to provide anyone canny enough to peek through their window a view of two naked men in bed together. Even so, the warm light of late morning wasn't yet enough to rouse the notoriously heavy sleeper in his arms, so Sniper took a moment to just enjoy the sight of his husband in repose.

Lush lashes rimmed each eyelid, black turned brown gold where the light caught them. One lid twitched lightly, his eye moving about as he dreamed, while the other lay closed with nothing behind it. Much the same as his lashes, his moustache and muttonchops seemed to glow where the sun filtered through them, and in addition to the hair atop his head, formed a golden halo atop warm, dark brown skin that was still so soft and youthful, it made him look positively angelic. Sniper was awed by the beauty before him, with his strong cheekbones, wide nose, and full, pillowy lips. Lips he longed to kiss but restrained himself for fear of waking the sleeping Scotsman. He wanted to savor this moment of quiet where he could just appreciate the man without making him feel self-conscious by staring.

Sniper couldn't help that he loved to take in every little detail. Like the way he could see the bare beginnings of laugh lines around his eyes, or the way those lovely lips parted just slightly when he exhaled, but he breathed in through his nose exclusively. His eyes followed the line of the bomber's body, past his muscular shoulders to his broad chest and the sparse curls that dusted its centre, such a counterpoint to the near-forest of the bushman's own fluffy torso. His nipples, slightly peaked in the cool air of their air-conditioned room, looked wonderfully biteable, though Sniper resisted. Instead he let his eyes continue to rove, taking in the way his belly rose and fell with each breath, the muscles flexing beneath his skin in soft ripples.

The blanket was rucked up around Demoman's hips, stealing from him the chance at a cheeky peek at what lay beneath, but Sniper knew those parts of him just as thoroughly and as intimately.

Now that would be a lovely way to wake up, wouldn't it?

With a smile, Sniper slowly disentangled himself from his husband's arms and shimmied down the bed to where he lay the night before, slipping beneath the blanket to take up a spot between Demoman's thighs.

At the feeling of his mouth's hot, wet embrace, Demoman awoke with a snort and a gasp. "Oh, Mickey..."

*

Stepping out of the shower, Demoman was greeted by the aroma of coffee wafting through the suite. Snatching up a towel, he gave himself a once-over then wrapped the thing around his hips, then left the steamy bathroom to hear Sniper puttering around in the kitchenette. Two mugs of coffee sat at the modest dining table there, along with a set of plates bearing an almost daunting amount of breakfast.

One plate was a full American breakfast of eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, and hash, with another plate bearing a short stack of pancakes next to it. The other held a double order of eggs benedict, practically drowned in hollandaise, which spilled over onto the hash beside it. It was accompanied by a small plate bearing two fluffy pieces of french toast. A small bottle of syrup sat between the plates.

With a grunt of victory, Sniper found which drawer the knives and forks were kept in, and gathering his supplies turned to the table to see his husband standing there in naught but a towel, appraising the meal before them.

"Bugger, you're out already? Figured I 'ad another minute or two to get brekky lookin' nice before you sat down to it," he admitted warmly, rounding the table to set down the utensils. "Room service just brought it up. Sent the clothes out for laundry service, too."

"Still a lovely surprise," Demoman assured him, "and a fine spread. Ye remembered me favourite breakfast!"

"'Course. Lucky thing you like eggs benedict more than black pudding and tattie scones. Much easier to find in the States," Sniper chuckled, wrapping his arms around the moist mercenary in front of him.

"Careful now, I love tattie scones. But even I ken how to temper me expectations," Demoman warned teasingly, pecking Sniper's lips with a kiss. "This is lovely, Dee. Ye spoil me."

"Might be tryin' to," Sniper admitted with a smile, swaying with Demoman a little as they embraced. "C'mon, let's 'ave our tucker 'fore it gets cold."

*

Demoman moaned, his face grinding into the mattress as his eye rolled back in pleasure. He lay there bonelessly, completely given over to sensation, to the ministrations of his husband atop him, who was content to work him into a puddle atop the bed. Sniper's strong, dexterous hands kneaded at the thick, strong muscle of his trapezius, working tension out of him with pleasant touches just this side of painful, and making him melt.

"Good?" Sniper teased as his husband moaned almost whorishly at the attention, gladly massaging the man he loved as he straddled his thighs. It was both adorable and hot, and he didn't mind how hard his dick was, laying against the curve of the bomber's underwear-clad ass as he worked, heedless of his body's own reaction to Demoman's wanton wailing and beautiful body.

"Ye tell me," Demoman asked, wiggling his butt, having noticed the insistent, hot press against him. He chuckled, not bothering to look back as he luxuriated in his husband's touch. "I'm just lovely," he assured him, "but what're yer intentions with me, aye?"

"What's that mean?" Sniper asked with amusement.

"D'ye plan tae spend the whole day shaggin' me?"

"I did say I'm tryin' to spoil you," Sniper said plainly, moving down to rub at the middle of the bomber's broad back.

"Ye spoil me enough bein' married tae me," Demoman assured him warmly, a soft moan following.

"Yeh, nah, you deserve the royal treatment, Prince Tavish."

Demoman snorted. "Aye, I'll need ye tae assassinate all o' the Windsors and win Scotland back her freedom, then."

"Beatin' up a pom yesterday really got your bloodlust for the English up, hasn't it?"

"Well ye did say royal treatment for me."

"Ah, bugger. I did, didn't I?" Sniper sighed, climbing off of Demoman and the bed.

"Oi, where're ye going?"

"Back in a few. Royal family isn't gonna shoot itself in the head."

"Ye get back here, ye tit," Demoman laughed, grabbing Sniper around the waist and rolling onto his back as he pulled him down atop himself to capture him in a warm, smiling kiss. "Ye stay right here with me." He arched his hips, grinding against Sniper's erection with a grin. "Ye're all I could ever want, and I'm so bloody spoiled for that."

*

The day passed by at a leisurely pace, the married mercenaries spending their time moving from lounging in bed and making love to lounging on the couch watching telly to lounging in the kitchenette and snacking after calling room service for some treats or wine. True to his word, Sniper doted on his darling Demoman, doing everything for him and making sure he was well and truly satisfied at every whim.

He'd sucked him, fucked him, eaten him out, ridden him, and now with the bomber's cock in his mouth, straddled the man's head to let him blow him in turn. Both of them sucked lazily, each content to enjoy the taste and feel of his husband in his mouth, moaning around heated flesh as the other stoked the coals of pleasure within him.

Demoman wrapped his arms around Sniper's waist, pulling him down, the bushman's balls resting on his eyes as he took him as deep as he could without hitting his throat. Soft lips clamped around his shaft, nearly to the root as he suckled, his tongue undulating slowly against him. He sighed through his nose, the scent of his husband enthralling and arousing, the warmth of his body atop him comforting even as Sniper's tongue probed and teased and traced sparks over every shape of his cock, making him quiver with need.

That demon tongue was too skilled, too powerful. Demoman could feel himself coming undone as Sniper groaned around him, his deep, resonant voice humming into sensitive flesh. It fairly sounded this side of a growl, like a beast with a bone warning an intruder not to try and touch his prize.

There was a boner joke in there somewhere, Demoman was sure, but as he rapidly lost his ability to focus on anything more than pleasure, the desire and ability to try and suss out a clever way to phrase it in his mind quickly evaporated.

They came together, drinking down one another amid breathy moans and pleasant shudders. Sniper rolled off of Demoman onto his back, puffing heavy breaths and staring blankly up at the ceiling as his head swam with pleasant chemicals and he felt his pulse in his dick. "Crikey."

"Love when we finish at the same time," Demoman hummed, wiping spit from his lips and chin with a dopey grin.

Sniper smiled, dragging himself around to face the right way around, collapsing with his head on his husband's chest and throwing an arm and leg over him to cuddle him close. "Me too, Pup."

Demoman squeezed him close, threading their fingers together with a contented sigh. "A wee snug, then I suppose we should figure out dinner. I'm startin' tae get hungry for more'n just semen."

"Yeh," Sniper mumbled, pressing a kiss to Demoman's chest. "We'd need the whole team 'ere to make a proper meal for you."

In spite of himself, Demoman's slowly flagging erection twitched, and Sniper could hear the little hitch of breath that accompanied it, grinning.

"Lad, ye cannae do that tae me, I'm nae a machine! I cannae recover that fast!" Demoman protested, flustered.

Blood in the water. Sniper kept his sharp grin turned from Demoman's sight as he began to make it worse. "What's wrong, love?" he teased, voice dipping low, to that fried growl that turned dirty talk into something truly, cruelly lurid. "The thought of givin' every man on the team a gobby and swallowin' 'im down get you all bothered? Thinkin' maybe we put a toy in your arse, get you on your knees, and circle up 'round you, takin' turns between those beautiful lips of yours? Lettin' you taste all of us, pettin' your hair, your cheek, your chin, tellin' you 'ow lovely your mouth is, 'ow good you make us feel? Eight cocks at eye level all waitin' for you? All of us makin' sure we finish on your tongue, so you can swallow us down and fill your belly with come?"

Demoman's face grew hot at the thought, and he had to cover it, too flustered to muster a proper reply other than letting out a horny little nonsense sound in reply.

"Think we should work that toy outta you, lay you down nice'n gentle, take turns 'oldin' you close and makin' love to you? Kissin' you silly and tastin' each other on your tongue?"

Demoman imagined it, wrapped in the arms of eight men, petting at him, caressing him, cherishing him, kissing him and making slow, easy love to him as he lay in a puddle among their number. His cheeks burned, and he could feel a soft whimper trying to rise in his throat as he suddenly longed for it. Instead, he shoved Sniper off of the bed for winding him up so much. "Right, that's it, I'm gonnae go wash."

The bushman hit the carpeted floor with a thump and a laugh.

*

The sun had set and dinner was nearly an hour late by the time Demoman and Sniper had grown concerned. At the sound of a soft growl from Sniper's belly, Demoman frowned. "Maybe we should've just gone down tae the restaurant in the lobby."

"Dunno 'bout you, Pup, but I sure didn't bring clothes what'd meet the dress code for that."

"Ye were the one who planned this!"

"'course, but you didn't know we were comin'. Wasn't like I could pack nice dinner jackets for us both without ye catchin' on 'fore we even left," Sniper reasoned with a shrug.

"Oh, aye, that way ye couldnae spring a detour all the way tae Chicago on me when ye already had me at yer mercy hundreds o' miles from base," Demoman teased.

Sniper smirked. "Well, yeah. You'd've absolutely cottoned on way before the point of no return."

"Cheeky shite," Demoman snorted, making Sniper laugh.

"Let me see what's goin' on," Sniper offered, ambling into the bedroom phone to go call the front desk.

Demoman sighed, laying back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. Oh well, not everything can be perfect, and Sniper had done his damnedest to make sure today was just that, so this would be the exception that proved the rule. He couldn't help but wonder though if Sniper had planned more for this second day, and that what had happened last night had convinced him to abandon those plans and pamper him instead. He hoped not, but he couldn't help a smile at the thought that he had. It was terribly sweet either way.

When Sniper returned, he sat down on Demoman's belly with a sigh. "Front desk says room service was sent up about forty minutes ago."

A soft oof left the bomber as his husband sat on him. "Cripe, that long? Hotel's big but nae that big, did they get lost?"

"Right? This rate, I'm thinkin' it's not worth the trouble waitin', or orderin' again for that matter. Wanna hoof it down to the street and grab some tucker at the closest spot with an open table?"

"Aye, nae danger. Wouldn't mind a chance tae stretch me legs after havin' 'em in the air all day."

*

After getting properly dressed, the mercenaries exited their room to find a room service cart sitting five feet from their door, with no sign of anyone around. A pair of cloches covered plates atop it, and an ice bucket containing a bottle of wine sat beside them, though the bottle was by then mostly resting in water.

"The hell?" Sniper murmured, walking over to the cart to inspect it. He lifted a cloche, revealing Demoman's ribeye steak, asparagus, and baked potato, mostly tepid after so long unattended, and slightly wet from condensation dripping from the cloche back down onto the plate.

"Me steak..." Demoman lamented.

With a frown, Sniper looked closer around the area. He knelt, squinting down at the carpet. "There was a struggle 'ere." "What?"

"Carpet's kicked up," Sniper pointed out, gesturing to a spot on the floor where, indeed, the hotel carpeting was bunched a little bit. "These carpets're 'eavy duty commercial stuff, installed wall-to-wall. They don't bloody move unless a lot of force is applied. Made the backin' underneath stretch out. That's one hell of a kick, probably from the heel. Someone was fightin' like mad, or gettin' dragged or doin' the draggin'."

"Bloody hell."

Looking around a bit more, the bushman zeroed in on the wall, where a few thin white lines were scratched into the wallpaper. "This was definitely violence, no two ways about it. He frowned, turning back to Demoman. "Not much trackin' can be done on floors like this in a hotel, though. 'Least, not bush trackin'. Any chance you can get a scent?"

Demoman frowned a moment, sniffing the air. All he could smell was lukewarm steak and asparagus. "Nae so close tae the food," he sighed, covering the food back up with the cloche.

Sniper snatched a room service menu from the cart and started fanning the scent away the other direction, trying to freshen the air a bit as Demoman crouched by the signs of violence and tried to get a whiff of something. His nose was stronger than any human's to be sure, but without transforming he was still rather limited by comparison. And even though a scuffle didn't get noticed in the hall, an entire werewolf absolutely would before too long.

The amount of smells in the hall was a broad variety, but mostly trace. Carpet shampoo, perfume, dust, dirt, gravel, leather, rubber, all kinds of aromas of a floor well-travelled and regularly cleaned. But above it all, just barely noticeable, was something that didn't belong. Copper—no, iron. Blood.

Demoman's face crinkled in momentary confusion, looking around. There were no traces of blood at the scene, nor anywhere in the hall from what he could tell, though the burgundy carpets made that a bit more challenging.

"Get somethin'?"

"Blood, but it's faint. Nae any around here, so it's somewhere a ways off."

"Bugger. Can you follow it?"

"I mean tae try," Demoman assured him, rising to his feet. "Follow me."

Demoman sniffed at the air, slowly creeping down the hall, alert and craning to try and figure out the direction the scent came from. Soon enough it grew a little stronger as they approached the stairs closest to them. The scent filtered in through the crack beneath the door, the cool air of the stairwell pushing into the warmer hallway and bringing with it that bloody aroma.

He threw open the door, Sniper hot on his heels, to find a woman in a hotel uniform slumped against the wall of the landing, a splash of blood dripping down her neck and staining her jacket. "Ah, cripe!"

Sniper slipped around him, kneeling down beside her and moving to check her pulse, but recoiling as he found a pair of puncture wounds in her neck, fresh but clotted. She was breathing, and not shallowly, so he let out a sigh of relief. "She's alive. But get a squiz at this."

Demoman frowned. "Vampires."

"Chicago's crawlin' with 'em," Sniper confirmed.

"She gonnae be okay?"

"Nah, yeh, she's not pale, breathin' steady. Might be down a pint but she'll be right. Let's get 'er to the hallway so someone can actually find 'er and get some 'elp."

"We're nae gonnae?"

"Don't wanna lose the trail. Blood on 'er jacket's still fresh."

"But the bite's clotted."

"Vampire bites clot over instantly, heal in a few hours. Based on the mess, I'm willin' to bet she passed out 'fore the vamp even got fangs in 'er, maybe from fear, and they 'ad to try and drink from a floppy unconscious sheila." He pursed his lips in thought. "Amateur work. Same as grabbin' the staff randomly in the upper floors of a luxury 'otel in the city. Strange."

"Aye," Demoman agreed. He threaded his arms behind the woman's back and under her knees and lifted her slowly. He carried her into the hall and laid her gently against the wall beside the stairwell door, then returned.

"Vampire probably got messy too," Sniper observed.

"Aye, and I can smell it. Trail goes down."

"Lead away."

*

The scent trail led down the stairwell, eventually leading out into the hallway two floors down. Demoman and Sniper followed the scent, trying their best not to look too conspicuous in case anyone saw them pacing about. They eventually came to the stairwell at the far end of that hall.

"Scent goes... up?" Demoman mused, stroking his chin.

"Tryin' to lose any pursuers?"

"Possibly," the bomber replied, heading back upstairs with Sniper at his heels.

They emerged two floors higher, back in the hallway where they'd begun, but at its furthest end. "Right, now this is rubbish," Sniper groused.

Demoman shushed him, sniffing, and continued down the hall, following his nose.

"If this brings us right back round to that sheila I'll be takin' the piss the rest of this trip," Sniper teased.

"Well good bloody thing it's nae because it's leadin' right here," Demoman replied smugly, stopping in front of a room and gesturing to it as if showcasing a prize on a television game show.

"Ah, too bad. Coulda used somethin' to wag me jaw about on the road," Sniper chuckled, stepping up to the door.

"So what's the plan, then?"

Wordlessly, Sniper knocked, making Demoman flinch in surprise.

"O—oi!"

"Do not disturb!" came a voice from the other side of the door, masculine and American, but sounding more than a little startled.

Sniper, undaunted, knocked again.

"Do not disturb!" the voice repeated, more annoyed this time.

Sniper smiled, began knocking, and did not stop. His knuckles rapped against the door over and over and over, a constant barrage of noise until finally the door swung open. A man stood there in a pink polo shirt stained with blood and grey slacks, his blond hair disheveled and his lips red. He was white and deathly pale, and his eyes were red.

"WHAT?!" he bellowed, fangs on display.

Demoman startled, taken aback at the outburst, but in front of him, Sniper was unmoved.

Jerking a thumb down the hall toward their room and the stairwell beside, he simply replied, "Mate, you really shouldn't leave food layin' 'round like that."

Sudden anxiety washed across the man's features, and he looked in the direction Sniper was pointing, then back to him. "I—I have no idea what you're—"

Sniper looked the man over, ignoring the stammering denial coming out of his mouth. "You're bloody starvin', aren't you?" he asked, interrupting.

The man froze. "I—what?"

"Look at you, mate. You can't retract your fangs, can you? You're all red-eyed and white as a sheet and shakin' like a leaf. Was she your first meal? Good on you for keepin' 'er alive. Not easy for a freshie."

"How... How did you know?" the vampire asked, lowering his voice to a hush, casting nervous glances down the hall and back.

"I'm a tracker," Sniper explained, then stepped aside and gestured to Demoman. "And this bloke's got a sniffer that can suss out blood on the air. And mate, you reek of it."

"Why're you here?"

"We were waitin' for room service to bring us our food. And, well, lo and behold turns out our dinner plans were at odds with one another. 'Course we're hungry, but it looks like you're still more'n a mite peckish. Couldn't've actually drank much off 'er, did you?"

The vampire drew himself up as much as he could, like he was afraid of the answer as he asked, "Are you here to kill me?

"Yeh, nah, not unless you're about to start killin' people first. Wanted to find out what kind of situation we were dealin' with. And now, concerned you need a hand, mate."

Staring Sniper down for a moment, gears churned in the vampire's head. He looked between the mercenaries at the door before letting out a sigh and stepping aside. "Come in. We shouldn't be talking about this in the open."

As his husband looked back to make sure he was on board, Demoman merely met him with a look of mild apprehension. Sniper nodded firmly, hoping to quell his worries, and they entered, closing the door behind them.

The vampire stomped over to his room's kitchenette table and slumped into a chair, looking positively agonized. He scrubbed his hands over his face, then turned back to his guests. "You've got it right. I'm new to this. Brand new. That woman wasn't my first meal, but I haven't had many. I—I have no idea how much is too much to take when I... when I drink. I don't wanna kill people!" he explained, as though pleading his case. "But I'm just. So. Hungry. And I feel less and less like a Person the hungrier I get. I was going to try to go out and hunt, find some darkened alley and some hapless victim and hope I didn't make myself a murderer, but then I saw that hotel employee pushing the cart down the hall, and how there was nobody around, and I just couldn't stop myself. Then she passed out when I dragged her into the stairwell, and I didn't know what to do! And I lost my grip when I bit and made a mess and panicked, so I ran."

The vampire locked eyes with Sniper. "Is she okay? I didn't..."

"She'll be right," Sniper assured him. "She might feel a bit like arse when she comes to, but those bites clot fast, so it's not like you left the poor sheila to bleed out on the stairs."

"Oh thank God," the vampire sighed, his head sinking into his hands. "I just got... turned, last week. Here. In this room. Was invited up by this guy, an exec for a company I'd been trying to get into for a few months now. Said he wanted to do some final interview before any papers got signed but I know how the game's played sometimes. Figured I'd have to come here and Do What I Have To to land this job, if you understand."

"Ye were gonnae sleep yer way intae the job?"

"It'd be my ladder out of upper management into the c-suite. What's a little blowjob or anal if it means I never have to worry about money for the rest of my life? ...unlife now, I guess." The vampire sighed even though he had no need to breathe, the motions of drawing and exhaling breath seeming to soothe him. "Instead, after some talk, some cigars, and getting a few drinks in me to loosen up, he takes me into the bedroom and sinks his teeth into my neck. Drinks me dry then makes me a vampire like him. When I came to, he told me to come find him once I had my feet back under me and figured all of this out, and we'd talk business opportunities now that I'm 'part of the ruling class'. Then fucks off, lets me have the room for a week."

Demoman's nose wrinkled. "Ruling class. Vampires. What a pretentious way tae talk about yerselves."

"Right?!" the vampire agreed, slumping back against his chair. "So now I'm dead, undead, and completely lost."

Sniper sighed. "Vampires in positions of power are just as bad as humans in positions of power. But at least they're honest about being monsters." He turned to Demoman. "No offense."

"Aye nae danger, I ken the difference between literal and metaphorical."

Looking back to the vampire, Sniper approached, coming up along side him to lay a hand on the top of the chairback. "Look, you're clearly still very hungry, and a hungry vampire is a dangerous vampire." He smiled warmly. "Want we should sort that?"

The vampire's eyes snapped to Sniper. "What?"

"What?" Demoman echoed.

"I've been fed on before, no worries."

"The lad said he doesn't ken how far is too far," Demoman reasoned.

"This'll be a good way to teach 'im," Sniper countered amiably. "You and I know what bleedin' out is like, both from the perspective of the one causin' the bleedin' and the one doin' the bleedin'. So I'll be able to tell, and with you keepin' watch, that's the safety measure right there. When you're gettin' fed on, you can't much do anythin', but you can look around. So how 'bout I make direct eye contact, and that's my sign I think somethin's wrong?"

Demoman grumbled, grabbing Sniper by the arm to pull him aside, the mercenaries turning away from their companion to convene in a huddle. "How is this in any way a good idea?" he asked.

"We can't leave this bloke hungry in a hotel fulla people, and we can't just kill 'im for bein' what 'e is. Especially when he clearly doesn't wanna hurt anyone."

With a deep breath, Demoman nodded, conceding the point.

"Plus, you've got your cameo, yeh?" "Aye," Demoman confirmed, tugging it out from under his shirt.

"You can take a vampire in a fight."

"Aye, and ye can take a vampire other ways," Demoman replied with a roll of his eyes.

Sniper's eyebrow flicked up as a grin crossed his face. "That a suggestion?"

Demoman pursed his lips in thought. "Wasnae the intent, but..."

Straightening up, the mercenaries turned back to their host, and Sniper smiled warmly. "What's your name, mate?"

"Grant," the vampire replied, a little nervously. The offer of a meal had him trembling in a mix of need and anticipation, and he dearly hoped it wasn't about to be rescinded.

"I'm Mundy, this is me husband, Tavish," Sniper replied, gesturing between himself and his husband. "Cards on the table, I've an offer for you. A hungry vampire in a hotel is a recipe for disaster, especially one who doesn't know 'is limits yet. I'm willing to 'elp you figure that out, but on two conditions."

"And what are they?"

"First, after we're done, you call room service and order us a new dinner since it's your fault our tucker went cold. Plus, I'll need a good meal after givin' you yours anyway," Sniper chuckled affably.

"Done. What's the second?"

"Second, you take a request into consideration. Request itself ain't the condition, just that you consider it. A 'no' is a perfectly fine answer, and won't deny you your meal. I'm tryin' to 'elp you first."

Grant's brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concern. "And your request is?"

"I want you to shag me while you drink from me."

"WHAT?"

Demoman whooped a laugh, and Sniper couldn't help but crack a snicker at it himself.

"Done it once before, and it's a unique experience. Bonzer one at that, and I'd love to 'ave it again, if you're amenable."

Grant turned to Demoman, "Is this not your husband?"

"Aye, but I enjoy the show."

Grant gawped, stunned at the two brazen men before him. "You're serious."

"Nah, yeh, but like I said: I'm just 'opin'. No worries if not."

Grant licked his lips in thought, looking back to Demoman who wore a smile of pure amusement at the situation. Swallowing hard, he said, "I don't even know if I can get it up anymore. I don't... it doesn't...," he sighed settling on the delicate explanation of, "I don't use it for anything else anymore."

"Since you're not completely ravenous after your light snack of that sheila who works 'ere, you'll be able to rise to the occasion, no worries. Strewth, with enough blood in your belly you can even shoot, but it won't be able to get anyone preggo anymore. Not like there's danger of that with me, 'course," Sniper chuckled.

With a nod, Grant said, "Okay."

"You sure, mate? Don't sound too excited about the idea."

"I'm just... a little overwhelmed, you know? An Australian and a Scotsman show up at my door, understand more about vampirism than me, tell me you'll let me feed on you, then ask me to fuck you while I do. It's... it's a lot. What even are you?"

"Ah, I'm just—"

"A great whore with a thing for monsters," Demoman interrupted, dodging a smack with the bushman's hat and laughing.

"Read me for bloody filth why don't you?"

A laugh finally broke through Grant's malaise, dispelling the tension in the room. He rose from his seat. "To the bedroom?"

*

As the trio entered the bedroom, Demoman immediately made a beeline for the room's chair and brought it closer to the bed, giving himself a good vantage point for both the show and for Sniper's planned safe gesture, just in case. Once he was satisfied with its positioning, he stripped down and sat down, settling in to watch as Sniper and Grant stripped, clothes quickly dropped to the floor with little ceremony.

Sniper was a lovely sight as always, tanned skin and soft, fluffy hair and scars here and there, particularly around his hips and shoulders. And while Grant paled in comparison to Demoman's gorgeous husband, he was quite braw himself. He had an athletic build, not built particularly but definitely nicely toned, his pale skin dusted lightly here and there with golden hair that would have been practically invisible on peachy skin flush with life. As he finished undressing, Demoman noted with approval that the man had more than a bit to brag about between his thighs, if his size while flaccid was anything to go by. It was going to be a treat watching Sniper take it.

Gently, Sniper cupped Grant's cheek, bringing him in for a kiss. Nerves melted away as lips touched and parted, tongues chasing one another almost immediately as Grant's arms wrapped around Sniper and pulled him close, his skin so warm against the vampire's undead flesh. Sniper chuckled into the kiss and threw his arms around Grant, matching the man's enthusiasm with his own.

The poor bloke was going through a lot right now, his entire existence changed in a bare moment and left to flounder alone, afraid, and utterly lost for a week. A bit of kindness and tenderness probably felt like coming up for air, the warmth of skin against his own like a life raft.

Sniper slipped a hand between them, gathering their hardening cocks into his hand and relishing the difference in temperature. Slowly, he stroked them, drawing more moans for him to swallow, and offering his own breathy grunts in reply.

"Aye, lovely," Demoman hummed, lazily running his fingers up and down his cock as he watched. They were taking their sweet time, but that was fine. He was in no rush, and the more he got to watch Sniper in pleasure, the hotter he got.

Grant broke from Sniper's mouth, kissing down his jaw, kissing to his neck. His tongue ran along the bushman's artery, a soft, needful sound rising in the vampire's throat as he felt his pulse there. "Mundy, I need—"

Sniper's hand sped, making him gasp. "You ready, then?" he asked, giving them both a squeeze. He was sure Grant was, and he himself was hard as diamonds just at the threat of the vampire at his neck. It was dizzyingly arousing, and he was panting a little already just from anticipation.

"Yes, please."

"On the bed, on our side. We face Tav," Sniper instructed, letting go.

Grant did as he was told, climbing onto the bed and taking up the position. Sniper calmly laid down and rolled to face away, scooting over until they were flush, back to belly, Grant's cock hard against the curve of his ass.

"Got lube in 'ere?" Sniper asked.

"Got lotion," Grant offered, gesturing to a little squeeze-bottle of hotel lotion on the nightstand.

"Good enough," Sniper shrugged, snatching up the bottle and handing it back to Grant. "Slick up, mate."

"Do you need fingers?"

"Tav's been back there not too long ago, so I should be able to relax just fine," Sniper assured him warmly, waggling his eyebrows at his husband who smiled in reply breaking into a grin as he lifted his leg to allow the vampire access.

Grant squirted the whole bottle onto his cock and spread it around the head with two fingers and a shiver, until he was satisfied. Then, taking hold of himself, he guided the tip to Sniper's hole, hissing as his cool, undead cock pressed against the human's hot flesh. "Oh my God," he hissed.

"Go on," Sniper urged, his voice pinching out into a groan as Grant did as he was told and pushed in, spreading him wide around his thick cock. He bore down as best he could, breathy and needful as Grant slid in to the hilt, sheathed entirely within Sniper's warm, welcoming depths. "Crikey," he moaned, letting his leg go and hitching it forward as he assembled himself into a comfortable position to lay there and get fucked.

"You good?" Grant asked, petting down Sniper's flank as he savored just how hot Sniper felt inside, the temperature difference nearly drowning out the hungry clenches of the bushman's eager hole.

"So bloody good," Sniper moaned, his hips rolling a bit. He tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck, and made final eye contact with Demoman before the gesture became something less intimate and more immediate. "Ready when you are."

With a needful sound, Grant wrapped his arms around Sniper, pulling their bodies flush together, and dove for Sniper's neck. There was no foreplay, no teasing, no preamble as he sank his teeth into his artery and clamped his mouth down around it, a creaking, desperate moan leaving him at the taste of the bushman's blood.

It was ecstatic, the liquid heaven on his tongue, filling his mouth, and with a gulp, warming him all the way down his throat into his belly. He shuddered and resisted the urge to suck, to force the blood out of the man, instead letting him just bleed into his mouth and drinking it down.

Sniper went limp in Grant's arms, his limbs and neck slack, his lips parted, his cock twitching. Still, his eyes darted around the room in slow, obvious sweeps to show Demoman that he was still in control of that. As Demoman took proper hold of his cock and began to stroke, he gave him acknowledging nod to let him know he'd been seen.

Those eyes rolled back as Grant's hips began to move.

Slowly, with languid rolls of his body, Grant filled Sniper, chasing the heat in his depths even as he drank that heat from him, whorish moans spilling out against Sniper's warm neck. Feeding and fucking, he took his pleasure from Sniper and found it all-consuming, even as the bushman lay motionless and silent in his arms.

It was almost masturbatory, almost somnophilic, almost something darker, and even though Sniper had been the one to ask for it and the one to tell him to begin, Grant couldn't help but feel that this was terribly perverted on his part, like he was some kind of monster fucking a man who couldn't even moan in response, paralyzed by the teeth in his neck as he drank the blood from his body.

Well, he was some kind of monster, he supposed, and that was what Sniper found so hot, apparently.

And Sniper was quite hot himself.

Grant looked to Demoman, who reclined in the chair, stroking his own cock, watching them with rapt attention. Terribly perverted, indeed. If he weren't so hungry he'd consider some sort of flourish to entertain the bomber, like a different, more lewd position or something, but he wasn't about to let go of Sniper's neck. Though he wasn't sure he could right now even if he wanted to make the attempt.

Pleasure filled his mouth and choked his cock, the motionless man still so tight around him and so hot inside, his living body welcoming him and refusing to let him leave. Grant snapped his hips, slowly building speed and force as he rutted into Sniper, his strength returning to him with each swallow.

Sniper lay there silent, still, and salivating, his body wracked with pleasure indescribable as the vampire's fangs in his neck sent throb after throb of pure sensory bliss through every nerve as though the sensation of hammering into his prostate could be transferred to his entire body. The fact that Grant was also now hammering into his prostate, bucking up into him aggressively, only served to heighten the experience. His cock throbbed, ached, untouched yet overwhelmed as it bounced and bobbed with Grant's motions. Heat and pressure and electricity coursed through his whole body even as the chill of the grave cooled his skin and pierced his insides, beckoning shivers that could not come, and making his senses go haywire with energy that couldn't be directed even as it built and built, unable to bubble over.

Grant grunted, drinking deeper, deeper, fucking harder, harder, energized by Sniper's blood in his belly and spending that back into the bushman's ass, clutching him close to his body and humping into him with force and need, driving deep inside of him with every pass. Soon, his hand strayed to Sniper's cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.

Sniper wanted to scream, wanted to cry out, to beg, to curse, to come, but could do nothing but lay there immobile, limp and useless and completely at Grant's mercy. He was food and fun, a toy and a treat all at once, and it was driving him mad as he could do nothing but take it and love every single moment.

Demoman tugged back his foreskin and let his fingers dance along the crown of his cock, hissing at the sensitive touch. His eyes were locked on Sniper, laying there completely boneless as Grant railed him, his cock flopping obscenely with every thrust. A trickle of blood had escaped the corner of the vampire's mouth and run down Sniper's neck onto the pillow, leaving a red line over his throat that Demoman found he wanted to lick up.

Fuck, he wanted to lick him all over.

Phantom shivers caught in muscles that couldn't even twitch, Sniper's limp body wracked with pleasure as Grant luxuriated in the taste of him, in the tight heat of his ass, the hot iron tang of his blood, and how good it felt to have both. With Demoman watching him, touching himself, soft needful sounds puffing out with his breaths as they grew deeper with his lust, it was bliss.

Demoman stroked himself in earnest, now fully grasping himself and jerking off to the undulating bodies on the bed, to his beloved husband laying boneless at another man's mercy, being fucked out of his mind. He tried to keep his strokes slow, careful not to bring himself off. Not yet.

Grant reached a hand down to take hold of Sniper's cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts as they slowly grew faster, more intent, the vampire finally chasing his release in the human in his arms. Sniper could've cried, every nerve alight, the loss of control combined with just how fucking good the bite felt, the prickle of pain and hot throbs of pleasure there matching the lovely stretch and pounding of his hole, the cold hand on his cock tugging him toward a release that could not come.

It was maddening. He would have come by now, he knew it, but like a cork in a bottle, the fangs in his neck kept everything stoppered up, and he felt like a swollen lake desperate for the dam to give.

With a shuddering moan, Grant bucked up into Sniper a final time and came, pumping cool undead seed into the bushman as he gulped down a large mouthful from his artery, crooning his pleasure against the heated flesh of his neck.

The effort was nearly monumental in the face of such overwhelming sensation, but Sniper's eyes rolled down to make contact with Demoman.

Demoman locked eyes with his husband and nodded. "Right, lad, that's enough. Yer meal's done."

Grant hesitated, looking at Demoman with furrowed brows. The Scot met his eye, ready to abandon the lurid scene to fight him at a moment's notice. With one last swallow, Grant nodded subtly and pulled his mouth from Sniper's neck, a line of red-tinged saliva trailing from his lips.

Immediately and abruptly Sniper screamed, his whole body wracked with paroxysms as the sensation and strain and pleasure and pain all slammed into him at once and he bucked up and bore down and nearly fucked himself on the man inside of him as he jerked and cried out in hoarse ecstasy. He came over Grant's hand, bucking between it and the cock filling him, his hole clamping down around it desperately as a tsunami of sexual furor crashed down onto him.

Grant rode it out as best he could, fucking him through it as he wailed and convulsed, slowly petering out into juddering shudders and whimpers, the bushman in his bed gulping down air, utterly spent.

When it was finally over the men on the bed sagged, Grant slowly pulling out of Sniper, leaving him trembling and quivering in the aftermath.

"Holy dooley," he mumbled.

Demoman chuckled and stood, his still-hard cock bobbing as he strolled over to the bed. He reached over, rolling Sniper off of Grant to allow the vampire to extricate himself from the sticky, sweaty mess of the human against him. "Mickey, yer bloody gorgeous."

"Get off on me helpless, eh?" Sniper teased breathlessly, limply wrapping a hand around the bomber's erection.

"Ye already ken that," Demoman huffed, leaning into his grasp regardless. He looked to Grant, who sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and just idling there for a moment. "Ye good, lad?"

"That was..." Grant murmured, his voice quiet, reverent, "wow."

"Aces," Sniper agreed muzzily.

"Right, well, how about that dinner, aye?"

"Sure thing, I'll call down," Grant said, reaching for the phone.

"Ye may wannae take that call outside the room, lad," Demoman cautioned, climbing onto the bed and atop Sniper, settling between his legs and lifting them. "There's somethin' I need tae do right now."