#sniperspy

[tf2-love-and-war]

MEET THE ARTIST

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You got a postcard from Loumi!

Loumi will be featuring Sniper x Spy ship on his spread, very excited! More of their work can be found on @louminouz

[catpixi]

“ℳ𝒶 𝒹ℴ𝓊𝒸ℯ 𝓅ℯ𝓉𝒾𝓉ℯ 𝒸𝒽ℴ𝓊ℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ.”

[str4wberryartz]

Some military Ragatha doodles

Also she's dancing below

Inspired by the raggedy Ann reference from episode 4

@justtheclippy

[theheylols]

yummers

[lyricalt]

fic_promptly - theme: trips

sniperspy - rated G - prompt: traveling mishaps

----

“Ah, yeah. She’s blown,” Sniper reports from the passenger side of the car. He ducks his head back in, no doubt smudging the bottom window line with his fingerprints. There’s a slight greasy feel to the exterior, meaning Spy has recently waxed his beloved Bizzarrini Strada to a high shine before the trip. Nearly blinded Sniper when he took off his sunnies. He wipes his fingers on his shirt.

Three hours into a long drive ain’t bad for the first mishap to happen. All things considering, Sniper had thought maybe they’d last thirty minutes.

Spy is in the process of getting out from the car and rolling up his sleeves. Sniper’s eyes inadvertently go to the folded cuffs sitting above Spy’s elbows. Spy’s a slim fellow, always fitted perfectly in his suit, so the chance to see the fabric of his shirt strain at his shoulders and forearms is always a treat, doubly so with the top two buttons undone. 

Spy shuts the door, putting an abrupt stop to Sniper’s ogling, and Sniper belatedly climbs out of the car himself. He stretches, rolls his shoulders some, and saunters over to join Spy at the back of the car. 

It’s midday, the sun at its peak. Nothing but them and the long stretch of highway in the desert. Sniper flips his sunnies back down from his forehead.

Spy has a slight look of annoyance by the whole ordeal. He throws Sniper a sidelong glance. “It must have been the weight distribution. I don’t often have a passenger riding.”

“Or,” Sniper says, leaning against the car just to further aggravate Spy. “Maybe you don’t have to go speedin’ two hundo kilometers an hour over a patchy road.”

Spy pops open the trunk, which nearly smacks Sniper in the face. Sniper takes the hint, pushing himself off the gleaming polished surface, and peers inside.

The Bizzarrini’s trunk is as deceptively roomy as Spy’s pockets. Spy pulls out a spare tire, wrench, and jack. Before Sniper can get a better look, Spy shuts the trunk, almost taking out Sniper’s fingers. A red glare reflects straight into his eyeballs in admonishment and leaves Sniper temporarily blinded despite the sunnies.

Forget the driver. The car itself is a menace. Sniper blinks away the flashes of light and turns just in time to see Spy on the dusty ground setting up the jack with practiced ease. 

Sniper hadn’t been surprised that Spy would have a car to match his expensive tastes, but he has always wondered if Spy was simply a collector of fancy things or if he was a true car enthusiast—maybe even a greasemonkey not afraid to get under the hood. Judging from the way Spy starts clamping on the hydraulic jack and inspecting the wheel, Sniper thinks Spy might actually be a real rev-head. No wonder Spy seems to go into conniptions any time he has to ride in the van for an extended amount of time.The land rover is a good ol’ reliable gal that Sniper keeps trim, but she ain’t no pretty roadster.

“Do you plan on only watching?” Spy asks pointedly from the ground. He’s taken the wrench to the lugnuts with all the expertise of someone who may or may have not had a decent career as a mechanic in another life. Any bloke can change a tire in a pinch. Not many can measure out the balance or think to check under the chassis and suspension. 

“Watching’s the only thing I’m good for, mate,” Sniper says, moving slightly. “Told me yourself. Many times.”

His shadow falls over Spy, saving him a little from the sun’s heat. A damp patch of sweat has built up at the back of Spy’s collar, making his shirt cling to his back. Sniper stares while he wrestles with the silly urge to pluck the shirt loose and wave a bit of air through. 

“Watching,” Spy repeats without looking back at him. He sounds both skeptical and amused as he rolls the bum tire off. “But not because you’re curious about how to properly install a custom tire on a custom car, I assume.”

Correct assumptions aside, Sniper pulls his weight by stopping it from rolling off into the desert and pushing the spare towards Spy’s waiting hands. “I’m surprised you’re letting something so mediocre as a spare touch your Bizza. Shouldn’t you have another tire that’s made from a nigh extinct rubber tree only grown on some remote island off the coast of India with hostile natives?”

Spy grunts. “That tire is on the drivers’ side.”

It’s still hard to tell if Spy is lying or being truthful. Sniper’s going to let this one slide in favor of letting Spy concentrate. Man’s even got his hands dirty with grit and grease and nails looking as bad as Sniper’s after a day’s work.

“Good grief. Engie know you’re this slick with a wrench?”

“Do not tell him. The last thing I want is for him to know who is stealing his torque wrenches.”

“Piss. That’d be me borrowing his impact wrenches,” Sniper says with a sigh. “No wonder he’s been feeling tetchy ‘bout his stuff lately.”

“Two more secrets we will both take to the grave,” Spy mutters, sitting back with a gentle thump. He considers the newly placed wheel, not looking very satisfied but there is little else he can do until the next pitstop or town or however he’s going to obtain another custom tire. 

Sniper is about to haul him back to his feet, but Spy tips his head to look up at him. There’s sweat at his collarbones, skin flushed from the heat and working over the burning highway pavement, and now Sniper really can’t resist reaching down to pluck at the back of Spy’s shirt to fan in some air. 

“Merci,” Spy says, like Sniper’s been some big bloody help the entire time.

They spend some moments cooling off in the car before Spy starts to argue that the best way to dry the sweat from his back is to roll down the windows and go two hundred kilometers an hour, and not with Sniper's hands under his shirt.

Hard to win against that logic, but Spy doesn't complain when Sniper's hand makes its way under his shirt anyway.

[spidercat-karma]

I don't care that Valentine's Day is long gone. Happy Belated Valentine's Day :3

[pepperchipper]

they're silly

[vogelys]

Obsessed

[nishentka]

🚬

[800db-cloud]

you’ve almost convinced me i’m real!

[pignk]

Let’s cook a full hell of a fanfic with 30+ episodes outta this one pice of drawing😔

[lead0]

happy pride month !!

[asenok-openok]

Definitely

[louminouz]

i am very normal about spy in comic 7 obviously

[theheylols]

PLS can WE escape to somwhere beautyifulll.... JUST this once? OK, YRAHHH:]

[mocndu]

guys is it gay to accidentally light your rivals cig while you're screaming at him