#(at least undo that one button omfg. bro.)

[russellius]

SINGAPORE, SINGAPORE - SEPTEMBER 22: George Russell of Great Britain and Mercedes walks in the Paddock prior to the F1 Grand Prix of Singapore at Marina Bay Street Circuit on September 22, 2024 in Singapore, Singapore. Photos by Mark Thompson.

[phobiadeficient]

Wait i just had another idea Omfg sorry for sending too much requests :'c Top!Sniper and Bottom!Spy angry sex? Im very angry today myself 'cuz y'know, life And touchstarved too. Fucc i need them good ol' cuddles Love ur stuff! -🐑

bro name a person who isnt touch starved. you cant its impossible

(warnings for aggressive behavior and minor violence)

-

“You bloody fuckin’ rat,” Sniper all but spat, shoving the Spy bodily up against the wooden wall of his nest so hard that it creaked alarmingly, almost as if it threatened to give way.

Apparently not alarmingly enough, as that combined with a knife the size of his forearm at his throat didn’t wipe the smirk off of the BLU Spy’s face. “Oh, mon cher, I’m so sorry,” he said faux-sympathetically, voice sickly sweet. “How terribly clumsy of me. Perhaps next time you shouldn’t leave your mug on a windowsill like that, who knows what might happen?”

“What’s going to happen is I’m going to put a few new holes in you,” Sniper snarled, fury boiling hot in his gut after this, the latest in a long string of antagonizations from the Spy that day, and by far the most severe.

“Oh, and then what?” Spy purred, leaning forward until the edge of the knife was pressing lightly into his skin, and that was when Sniper caught on to his little game.

Oh. Oh, so that was how it was.

“Seem to remember you being the one to say we keep this discreet and outside of work hours,” Sniper hissed under his breath.

“And I seem to remember you saying you would have time for me for the past two weekends, but apparently circumstances change,” Spy replied airily, and there was only the slightest tic to a muscle in his face to betray that Sniper wasn’t the only one who was a little bit fed up, and then it was gone, replaced by that smug smirk again.

“You absolute buggering—“ Sniper started to growl before giving up on words and just crushing Spy into the wall with his body and leaning in to fix him with a dominating kiss.

He found Spy’s hand and crushed his wrist hard enough to make him drop his knife, then kicked that and his own across the room and out of the way before quickly disarming him in every other way he could think of and forcing his jacket off of him, popping a button or two and some of the stitching in the process, which made Spy pull back and try to protest such rough treatment of his clothes. Sniper bit down on his bottom lip hard for the infraction and moved to change their positions, bending Spy over the nearest medium-high surface, which happened a few crates covered badly by a tarp. They were slightly uneven and of varying heights, and would be uncomfortable to be bent over. Sniper considered that a pro rather than a con just then.

“Did you bring slick at least, or did you want this to hurt even more?” Sniper snapped.

“I prepared before I got here, but I have more lube in my front left—“ Spy started to say, but cut himself off when Sniper found the lube he was talking about and quickly undid his pants. Spy started to shuffle those off with an amount of care, and Sniper moved to loosen and undo his tie. Once that was off, he snatched up Spy’s hands and shoved hard until they were stretched a good distance above his head, and then they were quickly tied together. “Ouch, tight, tight—”

“Like this being rough isn’t what you were looking for,” Sniper snarled into his ear, and it made Spy tremble, going quiet and lax for a moment until he got ahold of himself.

“I was looking for a quick fuck, thank you, emphasis on quick,” Spy snarked right back, trying to get a glance over his shoulder as he clearly heard the sound of Sniper’s buckle rattling.

“Well, lucky for you I’m out of patience,” Sniper muttered, and drizzled lube carelessly, and pushed in with exactly enough care not to hurt Spy outright.

That said, he didn’t give Spy much time to adjust at all, and the pace he settled into from the start was rough, punishing. And he knew it had to be uncomfortable, probably right there at the edge of what Spy could handle, but he didn’t complain outright, just groaning and clenching his fists there up above his head.

And the pace, though heavy, wasn’t something that Sniper thought could get him to the edge particularly quickly. No, it wasn’t so much to get himself as much pleasure as possible, it was more a punishment. A way to vent his frustration after Spy tormented him for the large majority of the day. To make him really get a feel for how much he’d pissed Sniper off.

Pissed off enough that he would break his otherwise unshakable professionalism to fuck his enemy senseless in the middle of the battlefield.

Pissed off enough that he wouldn’t even undress either of them to any reasonable standard for vigorous sex.

Pissed off enough that he’d tied Spy’s hands above his head and didn’t do him the courtesy of tugging him off.

Spy seemed contented with that for a while, but it didn’t take long before he seemed to notice that he couldn’t touch himself, one of Sniper’s hands lying weight on his back to pin him down while he pounded his brains out of him. And soon that awareness turned to discomfort turned to desperation.

“Bushman,” he managed through gritted teeth, very much out of breath.

Sniper ignored him.

“Bushman,” he tried again. “I’m—I need you to touch me.”

Sniper ignored him.

“Sniper, touch me!” he said more demandingly.

“And what if I don’t?” Sniper asked, admittedly a little breathless himself from the pleasure and movement, jaw tight as he held on to his concentration in an iron hold. “And what if I bugger you until your eyes cross and then leave you here to sort yourself out, what then?”

“You wouldn’t,” Spy hissed, but he couldn’t quite look over his shoulder, and he fought Sniper’s weight on his back. “Just—just touch me!”

“Beg,” Sniper snarled, and Spy was reduced to shivering and moaning for a good few moments by the heat of it before he got enough of his brain together to speak.

“Fine, please, please touch me,” he managed, shame palpable as he did, and Sniper did, and all Spy’s groaning and carrying on and finally the noise he made as he reached his peak were enough to push Sniper there, too, and he gave a couple more thrusts for good measure before he swore hard into the overheated air between them.

He disengaged one point of contact at a time, breathing hard and having a little trouble keeping his balance as he did so. “You right?” Sniper asked, voice rough.

A noise of affirmation from Spy.

“You done having a tantrum? Ready to go back to being a buggering professional about this?”

Another noise of affirmation.

“Good. Next time you see me, you try to kill me and that’s it,” Sniper said firmly.

Spy murmured an agreement, and probably meant to say more, but Sniper promptly picked up his kukri and put it through Spy’s back.

He at least got back dressed and took a few shots before Spy next stabbed him.