#tf2 tickles

the first thing Scout hears upon sidling into the kitchen for a can of Bonk is Sniper's ridiculous wheezing laughter. accompanied, of course, by a fair share of threats and insults, lobbed at his tormentor, one Demoman who is hugging his teammate tightly from behind and has both hands latched onto the marksman's ribs.

Scout merely wrinkles his nose in amusement, digging around in the fridge for his drink of choice. Demo hardly seems bothered by the prospect of having an audience. on the contrary, it seems to encourage him. he rests his chin on Sniper's shoulder, which would not be possible were the man not curled into himself in an attempt at self defense. Sniper beats fruitlessly at the counter as Demo's fingers travel deftly up and down his ribs, prodding and squeezing.

"damn, Snipes." Scout pops the tab of his Bonk and takes a sip. "what'dja do?"

Demo answers for him. "ye won't believe it, lad!" he crows, looking absolutely delighted. "he lied to me! told me he wasn't ticklish, an' look at him!" one hand drops down to Sniper's belly, which results in a fresh stream of dry, cackling laughter.

Scout has some pity for his friend. being the youngest of his siblings, he was subjected to similar treatment at any perceived wrongdoing, and would react similarly as well: flailing and kicking and shrieking with laughter. but that was ages ago, when he was a kid. he's not only an adult man now, but one who kills for a living, and he prides himself on the thought that he's gotten over that particular weakness.

"sucks," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "I outgrew that stuff forever ago."

Scout earns a scathing glare from Sniper, although it's difficult to maintain such an expression while he is laughing his head off. "oh plehehease!" he protests, making an attempt to pry Demo's hands off of him. "yer probably just as bad!"

this is Scout's cue to leave before Demoman gets any ideas. "whatever, man." he sticks his tongue out at Sniper as he walks past. what he doesn't anticipate is that Demo has already had ideas. in a swift movement, he releases Sniper (who nearly crumples to the ground, grabbing onto the counter so he doesn't collapse) and grabs Scout by the back of his shirt.

"not so fast, laddie." his grin is practically audible in his tone of voice. "yer tellin' me that you are not ticklish, and that you 'outgrew that stuff?'" the demolitions expert asks sweetly, and Scout starts to sweat a little. "Sniper lied to me about that. ye wouldn't do the same, now would ye?"

"what, me?" Scout sputters, trying to find a subtle way to squirm away. "no way, man. I'm not lyin'." and he's, like, a solid 50% certain that he's right, and he did outgrow it. if he's wrong, Demo is going to wreck him, but all he has to do to avoid this fate is just...not laugh. easy enough, right?

"prove it." Demo's eye shines with mischievous excitement. "put yer arms up."

Scout could refuse, but then, why would he? he's got nothing to hide. he scoffs and raises his arms in the air. how hard can it be? just keep a straight face for a while, and Demo will back off. probably go back to tormenting Sniper. Scout can live with that. honestly, it's kind of fun watching his teammate get utterly destroyed.

Sniper seems to share a similar sentiment. he leans against the counter, still catching his breath, watching the scene play out with amusement. he clearly expects Scout to crack, which is all the more reason for the runner to hold out. nothing he loves more than proving people wrong, especially when-

"kh-!" Scout twitches when he feels something against his side. one finger. Demo slowly slides it upwards, tracing over each rib, moving up higher and higher. it takes all of Scout's willpower not to curl into himself, to keep his arms up above his head, and unbeknownst to him the struggle is playing out on his face, too. he wrinkles his nose and squeezes his eyes shut, as if not seeing his tormentor might grant him some respite.

the closer Demo gets to his armpit, though, the more twitchy he becomes. and Demo definitely picks up on this. so he'll draw it out a little, have some fun with it. "maybe ye were tellin' the truth," he muses, tracing his finger back down Scout's side right before he reaches his ultimate destination. his teammate seems completely unaware that he's an open book, unable to keep the struggle from playing out on his face. it's cute, honestly, watching him fight for his life to keep his composure. "it looks like...ye actually...ain't..." back up again. slowly. for all of his big talk, Scout is trembling like a leaf. "...ticklish."

and with that, Demo starts to drum his fingers against Scout's armpit. the runner lets out an amusing squeak, feeling his face flood with warmth. he can't lower his arms, he's got to prove them right, but holyfuckingshit if Demoman doesn't get out of there rightfuckingnow-

all Demo has to do is wiggle his fingers and Scout's arms snap back down to his sides. or rather they would if a certain Australian hadn't caught his wrists just a second ago, holding Scout's arms in place with a wicked grin. Scout's knees nearly give out, but his voice is just as loud as always as he breaks out into cackles, tugging at his wrists and cursing Sniper through his laughter.

"ye were lyin' to me!" Demoman makes a show of looking offended, clutching his chest with one hand. the other, of course, still working away at that horrible spot. "I'm surrounded with fibbers! I cannae believe it!"

Scout throws his head back, fighting to pull his arms down. "lemme go, lemme go!" he manages, jumping around frantically. he looks utterly ridiculous and sounds even more so, squawking out laughter. "Snipes, you suck! I'm gonna freeeheheakin' kill you!"

Sniper appears unbothered by the threat. "ya know," he says helpfully. "I don't think you did outgrow being ticklish. I think you might be a little still." the middle finger of scout's right hand extends above the clenched fist it's held in, but the marksman only chuckles.

Demo takes some mercy and moves back down to Scout's ribs again, although it's not much relief. Scout is a mess, trying to double over to protect himself, cheeks red and only growing redder when an honest to god snort escapes him. dammit, he's never going to hear the end of this.

"I'll stop if ye say yer sorry for lyin' to me." the explosives effort offers, grinning broadly at the spectacle before him. not only is Scout ticklish, but ridiculously so, and he seems unable to stifle any of the many ridiculous noises that are pouring out of him. the cuteness aggression Demo experiences as a result only leads to Scout getting wrecked harder, not that the poor lad knows it.

"fuhuhuck you!" is his victim's response, to which Demoman hums to "suit himself" before wrapping his arms around scout's midsection, trapping him in a hug from behind. the same trap Sniper had been in when Scout had initially entered the kitchen. funny how things come full-circle sometimes.

Scout is only allowed a second to appreciate the irony before Demoman starts to claw at his belly, and it's all over. Scout shrieks and beats at his tormentor's hands, but Demo is persistent. somebody is gonna come in here to investigate the screaming, so he swallows his pride and apologizes. "wait, WAIT, I'm sorry I lied!" he yelps out, letting out another undignified snort.

Demoman beams, fingers slowing to a stop. "see how easy that was?" he asks Sniper, who just rolls his eyes and opens the fridge to dig out a beer. Scout slouches against his tormentor, taking a moment to catch his breath, before wriggling out of the man's arms with a scowl. "you freakin' suck," he informs Demo, who looks remarkably proud of himself.

"aw, c'mon lad!" he calls after Scout, who grabs his can of Bonk and seems ready to make his exit. "stay an' have a drink with us!"

Scout looks at him with narrowed eyes, distrustful after what he'd just been put through.

"won't lay another finger on ye. I swear it." Demo raises his right hand solemnly. not today, at least. with this glorious revelation about two of his teammates, he's sure to cause chaos in the near future. but for now, he'll have mercy on Scout and Sniper.

"fine." Scout concedes. "I'll stick around, but I'm not drinkin' in the kitchen. race ya to the common room!"

the other two follow, Sniper with his beer and Demo holding a bottle of scrumpy that may very well have materialized out of thin air, only to find Scout sprawled out across the long couch. of course. all Sniper has to do is wiggle his fingers in Scout's direction, though, and he scrambles to make room for his friends. and...is Scout blushing?

oh, shit. yeah. definitely blushing. he is quick to distract his teammates by turning on the TV, but this fact did not go unnoticed. all Scout can really do now is hunker down and hope nobody remembers this by tomorrow.

The rest of the team had listened to them bickering as they returned to base, though it had clearly escalated once they got inside. None of the other seven knew what started this argument, as the loss hadn't even been that bad. Sure, it could have gone better, but for Engie and Spy to be at odd all the way back at base was a bit odd. Even Soldier found this strange, as it was he who usually (and accidentally) started fights with who had the poorest performance of the day. 

“You're the reason I was on fire the whole time, tu petit con.”

“Aye lads,” Demo walked away from the two combatants and threw an arm over both Sniper’s and Scout’s shoulders, “let's go have a drink. Leave these two alone fer the time being.”

“Bloody annoying wankers.”

“Bunch of damp nuts.”

“C’mon, Solly,” Demo gestured for the man to follow him with a tilt of the head. “Want to tell us about what happened at Dunkirk?”

Bursting with energy, Soldier’s words began to pour from his lips with a vigor; and explosion of information he had memorized and stored in the back of his brain for years. Yapping merrily as Scout groaned and Sniper let out a quiet snicker at Scout’s response, the four of them headed out of the room to leave the others to deal with the world's most stubborn Frenchman and Texan.

“Yer such a good fer nothin’ snake,” the two were practically nose to nose at this point, Engie looking up at the taller man, wishing he had also lopped off his legs to make them longer when he installed Gunslinger. 

“Putain de merde, t’es tellement con,” Spy’s lips were contorted into a snarl, just shy of foaming at the mouth like a rabid beast. 

“If they're going to fight like savages, they should at least start taking swings at each other. I hope Herr Engineer rips Herr Spy’s limbs off so I can…study them,” Medic then let out a laugh, crossing his arms as he stood between Heavy and Pyro, the only remaining mercenaries willing to watch the duo fight.

“They argue like children,” Heavy groaned, crossing his own arms like a disapproving parent. Pyro noted this action, then crossed their arms so they didn't feel left out. As Pyro did this, a metaphysical and metaphorical lightbulb appeared over their head. 

“Mrmmm,” Pyro uttered, untangling their arms to flap their left hand, drawing in both Medic’s and Heavy's attention.

“Little maniac has thing to say?” Heavy asked, leaning forward to look at Pyro. Nodding in response, Pyro walked behind Medic to whisper into Heavy's ear; the taller man having to lean over dramatically to compensate for the significant height difference. “Ah. That is stupid idea.”

Dropping their shoulders ever so slightly, Pyro glared at Heavy. The other mercenary could tell immediately by the sudden rigidity of Pyro’s posture and slight turn of the head that they disapproved of Heavy's statement. 

“You are right though. They are being stupid children. They deserve stupid punishment as well.”

Pyro nodded once, before Heavy made his way forward to the combatants. 

“Yer all hat and no cattle,” Engie seethed, the two still face to face. 

“You're as repulsive as the cattle you were raised by,” Spy’s eyes burned. 

“You both act like small babies,” Heavy stated between the mere seconds of silence as Engie was developing a comeback. 

Without giving the two men a moment to think, Heavy grabbed them both by the backs of their shirts and lifted them, scruffing them like a mother cat with her kittens.

“Put me down, ya damn snake,” Engie grumbled, angrily kicking his dangling legs. 

“Unhand me, you heathen,” Spy hissed, disgusted by having Heavy's hands on his suit jacket. 

Instead of obeying their orders, Heavy dragged them down to the floor, side by side. Having wrestled them into a position that Heavy was pinning them both down by their legs, him seated on one of each of their legs, Heavy stared down at his prey. 

“What are you going to do now? Are you going to pummel us to death, you oaf,” Spy’s glare was sharper than his knife. With their arms still free, Spy’s arms were crossed, while Engie had his hands clasped together, twiddling his thumbs in a patient annoyance. 

“Small firestarter had an idea to get you two to shut up,” both men raised an eyebrow to Heavy’s statement. 

“Medic has a rule about starting fires in the base,” Engie replied, flatly. 

“That I do,” Medic crouched down beside Spy, looking over the two men, “but no one said anything about fire,” Medic’s words switched from his normal vocal cadence to something more sinister. “Heavy. If you’d please.”

“Of course, Doctor,” it took little effort for Heavy to untangle Spy’s arms and yank them up over his head. Spy swore in German, just for Medic to hear, as the man took Spy’s wrists in his own hands to pin them. 

“What a horrible thing to say, Herr Spy,” Medic laughed, squeezing Spy's wrists when he felt the man struggle, “oh no you don't. No struggling until we begin.”

During this brief discussion, Pyro had wandered over to mimic Medic, though opposed to holding Engie's wrists, Pyro sat on the man's hands. Pyro knew the risks of this operation, and if Gunslinger was able to wrap its strong, metallic fingers around Pyro’s, every bone in Pyro's hand would shatter into a fine powder. Thus, both hands are palms down with Pyro's weight on top. 

“Now, there need be none of this nonsense, Pyro,” Engie caught on to this ploy, he could tell by Pyro's eagerness that something mischievous was afoot, and he was pretty sure he knew exactly what it was. This notion was all but confirmed once Engie felt Pyro fiddle with the straps on his overalls.

Despite the size of Heavy's fingers, he managed to unbutton Spy's waistcoat with ease. The thin white dress shirt beneath was crisp, unwrinkled, despite the onslaught of enemies Spy had experienced that day. Somehow, Spy’s clothes always looked freshly ironed even if they were covered in blood, dirt, and the eviscerated insides of an incinerated enemy. 

Brows furrowed, Spy watched confusedly as his outer two layers were peeled away, muttering insults about Heavy’s lack of perfect precision. He was equally confused as to why Engie began to anxiously panic, wiggling his torso in an anticipation only he had. 

“Are you still sure about this, Pyro?” Heavy glanced up from his prey. 

“Mhm hmph,” was their audible response, accompanied by a quick nod. 

“Okay,” Heavy's voice lacking any clear inflection; face lacking emotion as he laid one hand on each of the two pinned mercenaries’ bellys. 

Still confused, Spy eyed the man trapped next to him, searching for any answer for what was going to happen. Looking absolutely flustered, the Engineer was biting back a smile. Based on the way his face was contorted, Spy could tell his eyes were crinkled shut despite the goggles shielding them from view.

“N-no,” the other man stuttered out, body tense as Heavy's fingers gently tapped his belly, “we can talk about this.”

Unresponsive, Heavy simply curled his fingers into both of their bellies, gently kneading and prodding across their middles. In an instant, Engie's laughter was as explosive as his attitude was in combat. 

Silently, Spy watched Engie as he turned his head side to side, wheezing out creative southern curses between bouts of hysterical laughter. Frankly, Spy was a bit flabbergasted by the situation he had found himself in. On one hand, one of the world's best weapons experts had him and a man who came from one of the greatest military engineering families in the world pinned to the floor in their high clearance security base, tickling the daylights out of said engineer. And on the other hand, said engineer was apparently too ticklish to hold back his laughter for more than half a nanosecond. Spy would never allow himself to crack that easily; that was a guarantee. 

“Hmm umph hmph,” Pyro's tone was one of confused irritation. While they were overly excited by their best friend cackling wildly next to them, they had also wanted to see Spy lose his composure. This "punishment" was supposed to affect them both, as they both needed to learn their lesson. Spy, however, was being stubborn. 

What Pyro didn't know was that Spy was, in fact, ticklish. Quite ticklish even; something he hated. However, it was rather situational. He had trained himself to resist most stimuli, both physical and mental. Just as he was good at hiding his emotions, despite being a fairly emotional person, he was good at hiding any pain or distress. This was the same with tickling, where he was unable to make himself not ticklish, he was able to suppress the feeling and put himself in a headspace where it didn't affect him. However, as with all things, there were a few exceptions. 

If caught completely by surprise, a true rarity, he could be tickled until he realized who the perpetrator was, which is where either one of two things happened. Spy would either realize the person was someone he didn't want touching him, which always led to Spy stabbing the person, fight or flight taking over all of his senses and numbing each nerve ending, or he would realize the person was someone he liked and didn't mind having them touch him; allowing him to relax and let himself be tickled. This was a scarcity until he was over a year deep into his work at Mann Co., in which he had developed a decent enough bond with a few of the other mercs. However, at this point, only Demo dared sneak up on him to give him a quick tickle; the rest were still a bit iffy on whether or not they thought they could touch him without getting their arms lopped off. Medic was the exception, though he was never stealthy enough or in the right situation to do this. 

Another exception would be if someone managed to get his worst spots right away. This, however, was incredibly difficult as his mask always covered two of them, his neck and ears. His shoulder blades and the area between them are almost just as bad, but through his multiple layers of clothing, any sensation is dull enough that Spy can resist it or not feel it at all. 

The final exception was tied to the first; if Spy liked the person enough, he would allow himself to react. A rarity in itself, Spy only had a few people in his life that he allowed this with the last being twenty-odd years ago. A woman whose love he still holds dear; Spy was never a stranger to touch with her, leaving him to never shy away from a gentle back massage that lead to long nails gliding over his sensitive shoulders or a kiss on cheek that led to him giggling like a damn fool as she peppered his neck and ears with all the affection she could give him. Nostalgic, these were the moments Spy would sometimes remember when he tried to sleep at night, and it would take a lot of trusting on his end to allow for another to create new memories with. 

So now, lying flat on his back as Heavy pawed at his belly; jaw set and body tense, Spy just looked around, almost bored. Fortunately for him, neither Heavy nor Pyro knew anything about his ticklishness, something he was keen on maintaining, as he figured after a few minutes of this, they would get bored. What he forgot, however, was the man who was holding his wrists. 

“Worry not, dear Pyro,” the doctor's voice sent an electric shock through Spy's mind. “Our friend here is just a bit stubborn.”

The best part about Medic was that he was a sociopath. Many would argue that he was a psychopath, but there were a few negating factors for this. However, this man would exploit any weakness without thinking. This worked well for a man who craved knowledge, yearning to learn everything one can about the human body. Any noticed reaction garnered piqued curiosity.

 Why do certain nerves react worse to colder temperatures than warming? What internal organs react the best when put in a blender? Would his sexuality be questioned if he ate another man's penis? One of the questions he had was one that had even stumped Charles Darwin (“that pretentious prick” - Medic): what the hell was tickling and why was it a thing?

Not a question he constantly had at the front of his mind, though it would occasionally present whenever someone flinched or reacted oddly during a medical exam. 

Due to these exams, Medic learned about his colleague's sensitivities earlier than the others. He had discovered Spy's peculiarities and through persistence, learned as much as he could before Spy had sliced the doctor’s hands off using a broken scalpel and a toothpick. Now, whenever Medic performs medical exams on Spy, either after a battle, a routine exam, or when Medic cannot sleep so he “kidnaps” one of the other mercs from their rooms, he has Spy’s wrists bound; granted this usually only gives the doctor an extra minute of time, as Spy has the tendency to dislocate the joints in his hands to break out, then pop them back into place why he is beating Medic to death with the examination light. It's a fun time, really. 

Medic discovered that Spy was exceptional at holding back most sensations, however if the person was persistent enough in a few select places, Spy’s stoicism would falter. 

“If we do this,” Medic leaned forward, hooking a finger around the base of Spy's mask; having manipulated his positioning so his knee was pinning both of Spy's arms in place; his weight pressing into a pressure point in Spy's wrists to prevent the man from wriggling around too much. The soft fabric slid slowly up Spy's neck, the newly exposed skin prickling involuntarily with the sudden change in temperature. Eyes locked, Spy could swear he saw a demon peering back in the depths of Medic’s black pupils, “Herr Spy will have a wonderful time.”

Having not noticed the doctor had taken off his gloves, Spy's breath was caught in his throat the moment he felt one cold finger slide down his neck. Mask now pushed up to the base of his jaw, Medic now had access to the soft, rarely seen skin. If it hadn't been for Heavy's hand still kneading into his lower belly and the Engineer cackling and wheezing desperately next to him, Spy would think Medic was about to dig his canines into his neck, showing off a hidden vampiric quality no one knew he had; but alas, Medic did not seek Spy's crimson blood…this time. 

Refusing to look away, Spy and Medic were caught in a battle of wits. Spy knew he was intimidating, though so was Medic. They both knew neither of them were intimidated by the other, however, unlike some of the other team members. 

“I can do this all day,” Spy said with his eyes, causing Medic’s grin to widen; animalistic. 

“So can I,” the ferociousness in Medic's vibrantly blue eyes was vivid. 

Breathing steady, natural; Spy knew the sensation of Medic’s somewhat soft fingertip dragging across his rarely touched skin was going to get to him eventually, but Spy was not one to back down from a fight. At least, not against one of his teammates. With this encounter, Spy was hoping that Heavy and Pyro would get bored and make Medic leave with them. He was also hoping Engie would either lose his mind, so they had to stop or he spontaneously combusted. Either way meant freedom. 

While Spy and Medic fought through their internal monologues, Engie was fighting for his life. Completely oblivious to the man lying next to him, Engie bucked and twisted frantically. Not only had Heavy slipped his hand beneath Engie's work shirt, blunt nails lightly scratching the center of Engie's belly, but he kept worming one of his fingers into his navel and dagnabbit, did that tickle like hell. Every time a finger would return back to that tiny, sensitive spot, Engie would let out a snort and fall into silent laughter for a moment, before being thrown back into his loud, wheezy hysterics because Pyro kept circling a particularly sensitive spot just beneath each armpit, driving the man mad. 

It wasn't Engie's fault he was so damned ticklish. Frankly, he had no idea he was ticklish in general until Team Fortress had been finalized and the nine of them began to live together. It was Pyro's fault, naturally. Pyro had unlocked something in him that no one else had before, and for the first time in his life, Dell Conagher allowed himself to be vulnerable to someone. Too vulnerable, apparently. 

Touch has never been Engie's forte, so when Pyro eased the man into not flinching away from physical affection, his walls crumbled all at once. The second he learned that touch was good, that touch was friendly, and that touch provided safety and compassion, Engie began to just allow it without any concern. No one in the team should hurt him, sans the occasional scuffle, though Engie was usually the one stopping those (except for today apparently). Leaning into touch became the norm, though after Pyro discovered that he was ticklish, Engie was never quite able to build back those walls and fight off the electrical sensations. And at this moment, having Heavy and Pyro targeting his two worst spots didn't help either. 

In most occasions, something like would bother Engie; others seeing him in such a vulnerable state unless it was one-on-one instant. He would be inherently conscious of the fact that Spy was judging him with those dangerous eyes of his, but he was currently too focused on his own demise (ever the dramatic) to notice any such thing. He also would not be this keen on having people see him a blubbering mess, his words incoherent as he babbled out pleas to cease this torture; but again, it was not something he could actively wrap his head around at that moment. 

The minutes went by and Heavy has slowed the pace with Engie, the man’s wheezing more pronounced; though he was still giggling like a mad man as Heavy and Pyro switched to less sensitive spots, with Pyro teasing his neck and Heavy tapping away at the man's ribcage as if it were a piano. This place was something Engie could live with, and after a bit, could enjoy. His pitchy, bubbly giggles were outright contagious, more so than anyone there would have thought. 

Blaming Engie was what he planned to do once this was all over, a smile crept onto Spy's face against his will. Unable to bite it back, Spy’s heart began to race, quickening as each of the three perpetrators of this attack started noticing. 

“There it is, mon ami,” Medic beamed, eyes sparkling as his words sent a jolt through Spy. The man knew that both Medic and Heavy knew French, but Spy was still always a bit shocked when they used it, especially in such an evil capacity. With this small crack in his stoic walls, Medic wasted no time to get to work on breaking them further. 

Sending out his full arsenal, Medic began to gently scratch Spy's neck with all ten fingers. Spy jolted, quickly hiding his face in his arm as the maddening sensation intensified. It also didn't help that at this moment, Heavy began to knead into Engie's belly once again. 

“Yer evil! Y'all are snakes!” Engie's laughter rose back into his loud, booming, wheezy hysterics and resumed thrashing like a worm on a hook. His cheeks were a beautiful shade of red, which Soldier would say: ‘great job supporting your team, maggot!’

This laughter was as contagious as the flu, a catchy earworm one would find themselves humming for days on end. It was like a drug, a high caliber cocktail of serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin all in one bubbling symphony. It was cute, pulling at Spy's heartstrings like a marionette. This, the ten fingers skittering along his neck, and Heavy moving his fingers up to tease one half of Spy’s ribcage (Medic seemingly using telepathy to tell Heavy that the ribs are way more sensitive than his belly), was what made Spy crack. 

Light, bright, and airy: that's how Spy's initial laugh could be described. Quiet at first, Heavy paused the hand he had on Engie’s torso so the only sound they could hear was Spy’s rich laugh. Wanting to hear more, Heavy moved his hand from Engie's body to mirror the one he was teasing Spy with; both hands now scratching at the thin ribcage with a gentleness Heavy rarely revealed. 

“Bâtard!” Spy's laugh predictably became more desperate, though the sensation was not enough to make him try to break free of his hold, to struggle beneath Heavy's weight. The man was still in a bit of control, for now. Unfortunately for Spy, Medic knew one of the only two ways to fix that. 

“Would it be a bad idea,” Medic leaned over Spy so he was looking at the man upside down, fingers now sliding up further so his thumbs could just now graze the bottom of Spy’s earlobes, “if I did this?”

“Me-herde,” he swore, and kept swearing as Medic's thumbs trailed over his sensitive ears then scratched just behind them. “No!”

Beaming in delight, the other four mercenaries’ eyes lit up the moment they heard Spy snort. 

“Would ya look at that?” Engie turned his head to look at the other trapped man, glad it was him that was finally suffering through the wrath of their teammates. “Ain't that just the cutest sound?”

Spy was glad his face was hidden, his cheeks now flushed.

“Hudda huh!” Pyro clapped excitedly, leaning closer to Medic to get a better view. 

“Me too, Pyro,” replied Engie, his smile and expression softened, “I didn't think that was part of his real laugh.”

Referring to Spy’s crude laugh he would utter after slicing someone's throat open in the field, the rest of them had heard it before and the occasional accompanying snort. Most had figured it was something he could do on command, add a bit more personality or humiliation in the kill. Now, everyone in the room realized this was not the case. 

“Engineer,” Heavy's attention turned to the mentioned man, though his hands did not still fit one second, “do you…” Heavy paused wracking his brain for the word he needed in English, “apologize! Do you apologize for fighting with Spy?”

“What? No, why the hell would I?” Engie's brows furrowed. The man quickly changed his tune the second Pyro began to scribble their fingers along the exposed hollows of Engie's arms. Howling out a laugh, Engie began to bargain: “Okay! I'm sorry! I apologize.”

Instantly smug, Pyro withdrew their hands and rolled their legs around so Engie could finally pull his arms down. Using his newfound freedom to hug himself, Engie panted in recovery; shooting a glare at Pyro as he did, which Pyro responded with a sassy shrug. 

“Do you apologize, Spy?” Heavy asked, his attention now back on the other stubborn man beneath him. 

It was hard for Spy to think, though he managed. Weighing his options proved that there was nothing that would benefit him, as he would either have to endure the mental ridicule of giving up or having to endure it until he basically died, which would have him respawn, where Medic would likely corner him and force him to have to go through this treatment again. There was no waiting it out now, not with Medic here. It would be one thing if Engie was still holding out; stubborn and hardheaded, both in personality and attire, but Engie was now watching him. His Southern drawl and teasing words definitely did not help the matter. 

“Want me to take over Medic? That positionin’ of yers seems awfully uncomfortable.”

“Why yes I would!” Medic sounded way too happy at this prospect. “Give me a moment to move him so I can get his scapulae.”

Spy was not about to let that happen.

“Stop! Stop! I'll apologize,” the man yelled through his panicked laughter. Both Heavy and Medic pulled away, all four of the mercenaries were surprised by this sudden exclamation. Quickly, Spy took in enough air to recompose himself, he locked eyes with Engie, “I'm sorry I argued with you. And I'm sorry for calling you a piece of shit.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Hub huddah!” Pyro exclaimed, patting Engie on the shoulder merrily. 

“You both have apologized. Very good,” Heavy nodded, agreeing with Pyro. The large man pushed himself up with ease, Medic following suit as Spy quickly shot his arms down to rub his sore joints. Smoothing out his white jacket, Medic looked up at Heavy as he continued speaking, “If you two act like children again, I treat you like you like children again. Yes?”

“Yessir.”

“Oui.”

“Good,” Heavy patted them both on the back, jostling them so they both stumbled forward, “Demo makes dinner tonight. Should be done soon.”

Heavy trudged toward the door, Medic and Pyro followed closely behind, invigorated by the prospect of food. Only Spy and Engie remained in the room. Silent. 

“So…” Engie looked up at Spy, who was rebuttoning his vest, “your shoulders, huh?”

“You mention this to anyone and I'll skin you alive,” Spy glowered, trying to ignore Engie's gaze.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Engie replied, following Spy as he began to move toward the door. “You've got an awfully cute laugh. Wouldn't hurt to hear it some more.”

“Dell.”

“Yeah?” 

“Please stop talking now.”