#I almost just linked the articles I read but I felt impassioned to type everything out

[yellobb]

Y’all I just found out about the 1904 Olympics marathon and I am losing my mind over how batshit insane it was. Buckle up y’all because this is one hell of a story

For some historical context, the 1904 Olympics were held in St. Louis and it was the first Olympics hosted in the U.S. It was paired up with the 1904 World’s Fair, so there was a hell of a lot going on in the city at the time

First, let’s meet some of our contestants:

American Thomas Hicks and four other Americans were all experienced marathoners

American Fred Lorz, who was able to compete after placing in a “special five mile race” sponsored by the Amateur Athletic Association. He did all his training at night

Ten Greeks who had never run a marathon before

Two South African men from the Tsuana tribe who were in St. Louis as part of the World’s Fair. They were apparently the first black Africans to compete in the Olympics, which is super cool. Less cool was the fact that they weren’t wearing any shoes

Cuban Félix Carbajal, a 5ft (1.5m) tall man who had fundraised his journey to the Olympics. This man got to New Orleans, lost all his money on a dice game, then had to walk and hitchhike his way to St. Louis. Mind you, that is almost 700 miles. He shows up to the race, having not eaten in 40 hours, dressed like THIS:

This man gets another bullet point because apparently his trousers were all the way down to his boots when he got there. Another Olympian took pity on him and cut them with scissors

Now for the race itself. It is in the 90s (32 degrees Celsius) and humid. For some god awful reason, they decided to start the race at 3pm, so it’s the hottest part of the day. The course is only 24.85 miles (40km) long instead of a standard 26.2, but that doesn’t mean this was an easier race. On the fucking contrary, it was hellish. I’ll let the Smithsonian article about this explain it because they do it much better than I ever could:

Now, I’ve never ran a marathon before, but I looked it up and the current recommendation is that water stations are placed every two miles.

The race is a go and things are off to a nasty start. American William Garcia almost becomes the first fatality of an Olympic event because he inhaled so much dust that his stomach was hemorrhaging. He was found unconscious by the side of the road by a local couple and had to be hospitalized. Apparently he would have bled to death if he’d been left for an hour longer.

But the dust isn’t the only issue. Apparently, Len Taunyane, one of our South African participants, gets chased a mile off course by wild dogs. He still placed 9th.

Probably my favorite participant is our boy Félix. Félix was stopping to chat with spectators in the middle of an Olympic race. At one point he stopped a car because he saw that the riders were eating peaches and asked if he could have some. They refused, but he snatched two anyway and ate them while he ran. He later came across an orchard and stopped to eat some apples, but apparently the apples were rotten, so he got stomach cramps and took a nap. HE STILL GOT FOURTH PLACE. That’s how much of a shitshow this race was, and we’re not even done.

Fred Lorz starts getting cramps around the 9-mile mark and decides to hitch a ride with one of the cars that is guiding them. He’d been leading the charge for a while and was a crowd favorite to win.

The other leader of the pack and favorite to win, Thomas Hicks, started having to use a support crew at the 10-mile mark. He was begging them for water, but they refused. He somehow managed to keep trucking along, though.

Seven miles from the finish line, Hicks’ handlers started feeding him egg whites mixed with strychnine, which is literally rat poison. There were literally no rules against performance-enhancing drugs yet, so this was apparently above-board.

Lorz gets out of the car he was riding in after 11 miles and just,,,, kept running????? He finished the race and was declared the winner. He was about to be given a gold medal when “someone called an indignant halt to the proceedings with the charge that Lorz was an imposter.” Lorz claimed it was all a joke and that he wouldn’t have actually accepted the award, but was still banned from competing in future marathons. That is, of course, until this decision was overturned in time for him to run in and win the Boston Marathon the next year.

Now Hicks had seen Lorz pass by. He was not doing too hot at all, but finding out that Lorz had been disqualified and he was still in the lead helped his motivation. He was given another dose of egg whites and strychnine with some brandy to wash it down, which, sure. Why the fuck not at this point?

At this point, he began to hallucinate. He started to believe that he had 20 more miles left to go instead of just two. He kept begging for food and rest, but his handlers just gave him more brandy and two more egg whites because of course he was. By the time he made it to the finish line, he was literally being carried by his handlers while his feet shuffled, but that was apparently good enough and he was declared the winner.

It took four doctors and a full hour for Hicks to recover enough to even leave the area after the race. He apparently lost eight fucking pounds during the course of the race. Hicks pretty much retired from racing after that (I wonder why) and became a professional clown, which really is just the cherry on top

Of the 32 people who competed in the race, only 14 finished. After everything, they literally almost removed the marathon as an Olympic event because it was deemed “indefensible on any ground but historic,” and honestly? After reading all that fuckery, I can’t even blame them.

Another note about Félix, because this man baffles me: apparently he was sponsored by the Greek government to compete in a 1906 marathon in Athens, but he never turned up. Newspapers in Cuba claimed he died, but he just??? Showed up a year later in Havana perfectly fine. Turns out he managed to get the date of the marathon wrong.

Sources:

#m rambles #long post #history #Olympics #st. louis #circa 1904 #the more you know #I just needed to share this with you all #I almost just linked the articles I read but I felt impassioned to type everything out #what a wild ride

[preciousrichard-blog]

Second Thoughts, Second Chances (Sniper/Spy)

Chapter 9: Dim Light

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9419246/chapters/23015601

Rating: Teen+

Chapter Summary: It’ll probably go badly. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or what Spy sees in him. Sniper knocks on a hotel door, and chooses not to run anymore.

This was it, everything the sniper had been nervously avoiding for the last two months was happening tonight. He was either going to really enjoy this evening, or really, really regret it. He concentrated hard into a foggy mirror, pulling the blade of a straight razor down the bottom of his sideburns. He carefully neatened the edges with a practiced hand, stripping away the shaving foam on his face. He’d considered once or twice that he could always busy himself as a barber if he tired of this whole assassin thing, he had the steady fingers for it. He rinsed off what white remained on his face in the sink and looked hard at himself as he rubbed aftershave into his skin. His hair was still wet; he’d taken a shower just moments before and scrubbed parts of his body he’d never washed so thoroughly in all his years. He ran fixative through his hair, taming the front and back into place as usual. None of the ritualism was any different than what he always did and yet he still felt he was making a big deal of things. He wanted to punch his reflection right in the nose for looking so worried.

Once back in his van, he pulled out a thin closet door tucked away in the corner to reveal a tall lonely mirror covered by random articles of hanging clothing. He thought he looked fine in a plain shirt, but unrest nagged at his insides to change into something different, something flattering. He’d stared himself down in at least four different types of similar outfits, growing increasingly frustrated that everything he owned looked the same. His every attempt at looking attractive was proving unsuccessful.

Why am I doing this? He thought, frowning at himself standing in socks and an undershirt. He saw Spy in his mind. Because I like him. No use lyin’ to yourself, you like him. Possibly a lot. He looked over his physique under the fluorescent lighting and sighed, I gotta try.

He rummaged deeper into the shallow closet, finding a jacket and tie he’d worn only once to the interview for his current occupation. He hummed interestedly when he tried them on, picking at the details and looking almost satisfied with what he saw.

He cleared his throat. “G’day…” He said out loud, timidly, “You look nice…” He frowned, no, that sounded dumb. He straightened and put on his best grin, “Evenin’ Spy… I must say you look… Eugh.” He grimaced at the words coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t like he’d arrive with flowers and chocolate; he wasn’t trying to woo the guy. He turned left in the mirror and hummed thoughtfully, then right, and then away, aggressively stripping everything off. That’s it, he hissed, I ain’t goin’.

He went anyway. He settled on his best shirt tucked into a pair of slacks, and left his sunglasses and hat behind. He drove under the street lamps of a much larger city than the one RED had moved from. The roads became highways and the city center had far too many stoplights. He couldn’t really focus; he was never good at planning under pressure and his mind reeled with expectations. He imagined walking into the hotel room to find himself surrounded by burning candles and Spy splayed naked on the bed, beckoning him. He couldn’t decide if that would be bad. The man never gave Sniper any hints about what kind of role he wanted the marksman to play, or maybe he had and the sniper was just too oblivious to catch them. Whatever Spy wanted from him, he’d have to settle for the Aussie’s blatant inexperience with men. He worried his lip at the thought of being disappointing, and worried it harder at the thought of being disappointed. He could fantasize all he wanted but he still wouldn’t know what the real Spy was like in bed, or whether bedding men was his thing at all. Apprehensive as he was, he couldn’t run anymore, he couldn’t take anymore shame in being afraid.  He swallowed down his thoughts and drowned them out with the radio, pushing a spearmint candy past his teeth at a stoplight.

To his relief he found the white three-story hotel fairly easily and walked past the check-in without any badgering. He took the lift to the third floor and found himself outside of a white door with a shiny metal plaque engraved with the number 104. He heard himself swallow, expecting to have his clothes stripped away the second he crossed the threshold into the room. He physically shook off his tension and knocked as confidently as he could. The spy’s familiar, albeit muffled voice curtly instructed him to come in.

Shockingly, Spy was sitting fully dressed in an armchair with his ankle crossed over his knee. He was smoking and reading a newspaper. A rocks glass sat on the desk beside him, but the contents looked untouched. He raised his eyes to Sniper when the door opened, and flashed a lazy, devilish smile as the marksman shut the door and stood stalk still across the room.

“Welcome.” Spy smirked, looking back down to presumably finish the article he’d been reading, “Do make yourself at home.”

Sniper wasn’t sure what to make of the atmosphere, or how to feel, but he did know he really needed to stop sweating. He stepped further inside hesitantly, scanning the décor. The room was spacious with one large bed, chairs, a table, a couch, and an armoire. Across from Spy he spotted the bathroom through an open door, and funnily enough, two unlit candles on either side of the bed. He was positive this had to be the nicest room they had available.

“This looks pricey.” Sniper mused, trying to break the ice as he awkwardly sat down on the edge of the bed. “Knowin’ you, it would be.”

“I spare no expense on matters of importance.” Spy said, attention fixed on the print of the paper.

“I’m important am I?” Sniper laughed breathily, trying to make light of his predicament.

“Yes.” Spy returned seriously, eyes never leaving his paper. The bold response made Sniper shiver.

Sniper forced a smile, “You look uh…” He felt his cheeks heat up, “Nice…” He grit his teeth realizing how he sounded, Bloody fucking stupid.

Spy folded the newspaper with a rustle and put it by the glass beside him. “I should hope so, I make it my business to look nice.” He eyed the sniper sitting rigidly on the bed, looking as though he wasn’t even listening. “You don’t have to sit so far away Sniper, I don’t bite.” He stood from the armchair and held his cigarette loosely in his fingers, “Unless of course you would like me to.”

Sniper didn’t need to think about what that meant. The velvet with which it was said sent heat through his whole body. “Look, er… We both know why we’re here yeah? Let’s just get it over with.”

“Try to contain your excitement.” Spy frowned sarcastically, “I can tell you’re simply overjoyed to be here.”

Sniper’s face got hot; his choice of words always seemed to come off the wrong way. “It- I mean ain’t it normal to be-?”

“Nervous?”

Sniper flushed pink, he was exposed. “Yeah.”

He heard Spy sigh, and when he looked over to him, the Frenchman had stripped his blue jacket and was approaching in a vest and shirt. “Sniper, why did you come here?” He asked, stopping in front of the bed.

Sniper craned his head to meet his gaze. “Well you asked me to didn’t you?”

“Is that all?”

“What?”

“Is that the only reason you’re here? Because I wanted you to be?” He looked impassive inhaling the tobacco in his grasp.

“I…” Sniper didn’t know how to respond, “We’re a thing ain’t we? Ain’t I obligated?”

“No.” Spy said flatly. “You aren’t. I don’t own you, remember?”

Sniper pressed his lips together, he was right, they’d agreed to those freedoms from the start. He fidgeted under that steel gaze. “I guess then… I’m here ‘cause I wanna be.”

“Do you truly want to be here?”

“I do, but…”

“But?”

Sniper winced; he couldn’t just say he was both excited and afraid. “It’s just… New.” Spy cocked a brow at that and Sniper felt inclined to continue, “It wasn’t all that long ago that we were just mates. Now yer gonna- we’re gonna-” He froze at the sinking of the mattress as Spy took a seat next to him and began pulling off his gloves. Sniper propped his heels up on the bed frame and sighed. “Just, why me?”

Spy shook his head, and looked across the room at something Sniper could not see. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching memories play back before him. “Why you?” He repeated.

“Yeah… I’m not your type am I? What makes me so special?”

Spy braced himself on an arm and leaned back, “Type hm? May I tell you a story?”

“…I don’t see why not.”

“Years ago, I was a lusty scoundrel of a young man.” Spy noticed the way Sniper’s mouth twitched knowingly, so he sighed. “I slept around with more women than I can remember. Men as well, although they were scarce.” He looked down at the gloves in his lap as if searching for words. “Eventually I grew up. I sought companionship. Sex alone would never fill the emptiness I felt.” Sniper listened, and rolled his thumb into his palm thoughtfully at the words. “I’ve worked in espionage for a long time mon ami. I’ve killed more men than I care to admit.” Spy’s tone became grave, and Sniper could only nod when Spy looked at him with a firm glance. “Women love with grace and abandon. But they demand a man who will settle down. They expect you to become a father, raise children, forget who you were. More than once I’ve been asked to give up my life’s work for these… Sentiments.” He looked down, “That is something I simply cannot do.”

Sniper squeezed his hands together, and tried to ignore the insinuation that Spy could be disappointed in his lack of feminine grace or abandon. He remembered instead, that he too was no stranger to the pressure of family. He begrudgingly pushed away the times his parents asked him when he’d bring home a nice girl. He then fought the memories of the girls he attempted to date in secondary school only to break up out of guilt when he inevitably felt nothing for them.

“So you stick with men?” Sniper asked quietly.

“I turned to men in my field of expertise. I found many of them quite open minded.” Spy continued, “But men of our professions, they are cold. We have to be if we take our work seriously non?” He took a long drag as something hard crossed his features. “Distant. All of them. Empty promises and meaningless words that amounted to nothing of value. I was, how you say, a quick fuck.” Sniper winced at the phrase. “I had accepted that I could not have my cake and eat it as well. So of course, I simply gave up on romance. That was years ago.” His voice tapered off, the hint of his accent under every syllable. He then turned so sharply to the sniper that it made the Aussie jump. “Then you. You came along and I hated you.” He said, and Sniper frowned, a bit annoyed despite the truth of it. “You were barely human to me. Repulsive, uncouth, aggressive-”

“I get it.” Sniper scowled.

Spy cleared his throat, “Yes well, that was before. Then one day I caught you making a phone call at some dirty old telephone booth in the badlands. I snuck out to listen, for blackmailing purposes of course.”

One corner of Sniper’s mouth curled down in a disapproving sneer. “Of course.”

Spy ignored it, “But the more I listened, the more I realized you were quite the well mannered and thoughtful man.” His tone was gradually growing brighter, and Sniper leaned in just a bit, “Every week I would find you there, calling your mother and father. I was drawn to it somehow, amazed that the disgusting wild-man I despised could sound so polite- so affectionate and articulate despite your… Grimy, Australian surface. Ever since then I hadn’t known what to make of you. I prided myself in knowing everything about my enemies and yet, your true nature eluded me. You turned out to be more unpredictable than I gave you credit for. You were more than a mere mercenary.”

Sniper swallowed hard, he hadn’t noticed when his heart began to hammer the way it now did. “You eavesdropped on my private calls.”

“And for that I apologize. Truly.” Spy returned, leaning in closer to the other. “But I will never be sorry for what I found.” He looked up into the sniper’s blue eyes, swallowed now by black.

“And what would that be?” Sniper asked gently, his subtle annoyance dissipating.

“I found precisely the companionship I’d been searching for. I found that I wanted you.” Spy answered breathily, “I’ve never met someone like you.”

Sniper’s lips parted to speak, and Spy watched them with a dark eyed hunger. But the taller man turned away instead, rubbing his hands into his face and groaning. It shocked the spy who wondered if he’d said too much, pushed too hard, or worst of all, lost his trust. He hadn’t meant to suffocate him. He’d done everything in his power to give the man his space for so long. Sniper was a bit like an abandoned stray, running from contact, withdrawing from intimacy, despite being acquainted with them deep down. Spy had known this early on, known to be straightforward and accommodating. Oh the patience it took could only be rivaled by the patience of a worn and solitary sniper.

“You’re too much.” Sniper mumbled, and Spy felt a wave of worry that he’d come on too strong.

“I don’t mean to smother you.” Spy reassured him sadly.

“No- you bloody git. You’re more than I know what to do with!” He exclaimed, letting his fingers drag down his face and chin. Spy started, but steadied when Sniper turned to him with an almost desperate expression. “You, the untouchable ritzy wanka with all the right words! You always know what yer bloody doin’. Yer bleedin’ gracious n’ snotty n’ proper. You could have anyone ya wanted couldn’t ya?” He ranted, “And you come along when I don’t expect nothin’ n’ ya pick me, the last bloody fella I’d expect ya to…” He breathed, “What’s a bloke like me supposed to do?” The speech went quiet at the feel of skin against his cheek.

Spy graced his cheek with ungloved hand, feeling out the warmth radiating from it. “I’ve told you before. Do whatever feels right.” He reminded softly.

“What is it ya want?” Sniper furrowed, looking increasingly frustrated.

Spy turned on the bed, his knee dipping into the sheets as he pushed his arms over Sniper’s shoulders and around his neck. “I want everything you have to give.”

So Sniper kissed him. And Spy kissed back. And all the frustration, affection and greedy desires of their confessions were articulated in a slow dance of hot tongues, hands, and moving hips. They fell back into the bed, Spy poised on all fours over the marksman’s body. They were panting, starving for nearness.

“Wait.” Sniper croaked.

Spy’s face drained of all emotion at once, and he could feel his right eye twitch as he looked down at the marksman. There was a deafening silence between them, and neither moved save for the rise and fall of their chests. Sniper’s eyes briefly widened when the atmosphere dawned on him.

“The neighbors.” He corrected. “Won’t the neighbors hear us?”

Spy couldn’t have felt more relieved if he tried; all of the tension in his shoulders from the fright of being denied ebbed away. He didn’t know what he would have done if he’d been rejected yet again after getting this far. He looked down at the sniper in an offended fashion, and the marksman looked up at him with a hot and awkward face.

“Give me some credit.” Spy scoffed as he lowered his body closer to the other’s, “I’ve booked both of the neighboring rooms as well.”

“You’re mental!” Sniper gasped, “How much did all this cost?”

Spy frowned at the lack of reciprocation he was getting for pressing closer, looking annoyed that expense of all things was on Sniper’s mind. “First you claim I waste money on useless things.” He huffed, rising back up to perch high over the sniper’s body, “Now I invest in something that benefits us both and still you are not satisfied.”

Sniper squirmed, the man had a point. “That’s an awful lot of trouble for something keeping quiet would solve.”

“Sniper, if you are being quiet then I am not doing my job.” Spy smirked, watching the sniper’s eyes turn to saucers at the Frenchman’s innuendo.

Sniper’s heart was racing, he felt frozen in place. “The lights.” He rasped lamely after a beat, stalling just for a second more.

Spy blinked at him, “Off?”

Sniper shrugged, feeling even fussier than he made the spy out to be. “Is’at… Alright?”

Spy couldn’t hold back his smile. He was getting better acquainted with the Aussie’s latent self-consciousness since he began delving into his personal space, so he understood. It wouldn’t bother him at all if the man needed a bit of darkness to feel comfortable, it was almost innocent. He sighed and pecked at the crease in the marksman’s brow. “Bien sûr.” He hummed before slipping from the bedside.

Sniper squinted at the response, whatever it meant it looked as though he’d get his wish. He eyed the Spy’s curvaceous backside as he sauntered across the room, and it sent a rippling of want through his body. His attraction to the masked assassin certainly hadn’t wavered with time, quite the contrary. Spy pinched the light switch between his fingers, and turned to look the sniper in the eyes and smirk before flipping it. Sniper shuffled to the edge of the bed in the pitch blackness; maybe it was a bit too dark. He could only just barely make out the spy’s silhouette in the little bit of white light that filtered through the drawn curtains. He could vaguely see the Frenchman’s movement, and heard the rustle of fabric as he seemed to be stripping away more clothing on approach.

The spy could sense the delicious shudder in Sniper’s breath and chuckled fluidly. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the engraved silver lighter that had more or less started all of this, months ago in the snow. He clicked it to life and lit the wick of the closest candle, the orange glow colored them warmly in the deep blue of night. Sniper was looking up at him expectantly, sitting on the bedside and fiddling with his fingers. The Aussie bit into his lip when he peered at the vest and tie behind the spy on the floor. That type of wanton indifference about his wardrobe seemed so voraciously unlike him. This was a Spy he’d yet to meet.

“Better, mon loulou?” Spy cooed happily as he leaned down to unbutton the marksman’s shirt.

Sniper’s breath hitched, this was it. There was nothing left to do but roll with whatever happened next. But something seemed off, or missing, or perhaps more accurately, unsaid. He processed the words that spilled affectionately from Spy’s lips, and locked eyes with the man until the spy’s movements stilled.

“Ben.” Sniper whispered.

Spy’s eyes looked over his face in confusion, a hint of panic unfolding beneath them, “What?”

“My name. It’s Ben.” He repeated, trying his best not to break his stare or let his voice falter. “Bennett, actually. But, y’know…” He glanced away, damn, “Ben’s fine.”

Spy released his grip on the buttons of the man’s half undone shirt, leaving the bit of hair on his chest just barely exposed. He stared down at the skin showing under the unbuttoned clothing and the feeling of dread set in. Even with the delight of this new development, he was crippled with the fear that Sniper would demand his invaluable name, more personal to him than his own physical body. As much as he cherished that charming, wonderful, wild man, he could never bring himself to so casually share something that dangerous to them both. He felt cold run through his blood, but the concerned hum of Sniper’s voice snapped him out of it.

He looked up, “You… Don’t expect me to…?” Spy asked soberly, quietly, eyes pleading for a “no” lest the sensitive topic spoil the entire night.

“Oh...! Nah- no, no.” Sniper floundered awkwardly, making sense of Spy’s reaction. “No worries, really, I get it... The whole spy, identity thing.” He scratched his neck, “I didn’t mean to put ya on the spot. I just- I reckon I just wanted ya to know, before we, got on with it.”

A sharp sigh punctuated the spy’s relief. It then manifested in frantic touch as he firmly eased the man backward, forcing him to scoot to the center of the bed while he climbed up on his knees to straddle him. “Bennett.” He said enthusiastically, the wisp of his accent and urgency making it sound worlds different than when Sniper said it. Spy couldn’t have been happier to erase the passing panic from his mind with the sound of the gunman’s private, personal name.

“Er, yep.” Sniper laughed breathily to Spy’s slow and easy grin. He felt the weight of his presence swallow him up. “Ben’s fine.”

“Not Bennett?” Spy asked as he let his hips sink down to rest atop Sniper’s pelvis.

Sniper squirmed, heat rising rapidly from his lower half up into his neck and face. “N-Nah… That’s too proper in’nit?”

“I quite like it.” Spy whispered, dipping down to lightly kiss the Aussie’s pensive lips.

Sniper’s eyes grew hazy, and it was getting difficult to think. “Call me what ya want…” He slurred between the quiet puckered sounds of eager kisses, every nerve in his body jittering with energy.

“Repulsive Bushman?” Spy teased, trailing kisses along his jaw and feeling out the terrain of Sniper’s upper body with his palms and fingers.

Sniper huffed at him unconvincingly while his shirt was being pulled away, “Filthy Spook.” He shot back, a smirk defying the tone.

“Hm, humor me.” Spy hummed against his neck, “Tell me, what is it you like about moi?” He felt Sniper’s hands latch on to his arms and squeeze.

Of course, Sniper should have expected the man got off to flattery, it was almost comically appropriate. “You… got real nice eyes?” The sniper grinned sheepishly, craning his neck to allow better access for the teeth that pleasantly scraped his jugular.

“Tell me more…”

“Fer a bloke whose job it is to kill me, yer awful sweet on me.” Sniper snorted.

Spy laughed gently against his skin, “Oh? Go on…” He allowed the sniper space to turn his head and rub his cheek into the fabric of the blue mask. The spy nearly purred into the chaste gesture.

“I like what ya do with yer hands.” Sniper rumbled, letting his own hands find the buttons to Spy’s shirt and begin working them free.

“Ha!” Spy guffawed, “I assure you, I am only warming up.”

Sniper chuckled, his heart was filling so quickly he couldn’t stand it. Buried under the anticipation and excitement was a spilling sea of affection in his chest. Spy too was practically submerging in the waves of enchantment and all-consuming desire. Every delicious fidget he pulled from the marksman drove him further down his bare chest, kissing feverishly into the hot flesh and nuzzling at dark hairs that ran down the middle.

“Fair warning-” Sniper panted, his arm coming to rest across his forehead as he let Spy proceed as he liked. “I’m no expert at this.”

Spy looked up at him from kissing sweetly at his navel and gave a knowing smirk. “If I was the first man you’ve kissed, I expect I’m the first man you’ve slept with.” He said, and Sniper felt immediately that his face was burning red. The marksman was grateful the lights were out when the spy pawed lower with his hands, provoking his lower body to stir. “And by this reaction it’s safe to assume you like it.”

“Oh piss off.” The sniper sputtered, covering his eyes, and Spy chuckled back.

That night wasn’t at all what Sniper expected. In fact, it was far better than he had ever imagined. Spy led him with all of the gentleness of a silver screen lover, and pushed for nothing more than what the sniper was certain with doing. It was simplistic, and adventurous, and while Sniper experienced blinding highs he’d never been able to grasp before, Spy felt more certain that he was right where he’d always belonged. The vacant rooms beside them would never divulge the secret sounds of passion and beautifully strained words of adoration and admittance. No one but they would hear the feverish coaxing and whispered names they uttered. And at last, when the quieted air would cool their dampened skin deep into the night, they found a rest in each other’s arms they never expected to want so desperately. Sniper, drained and pliant, curled into a comfortable spot against the rise and fall of Spy’s chest, nosing at the dark fuzz there coyly. Spy held him close as he settled, reclining into the pillows with a tired sigh.

“Hm, tell me mon beau,” Spy groaned happily as his muscles found a relaxing position, “Do you feel as good as you look?”

Sniper snorted, rolling his eyes and nudging his face into taut skin, “What d’you think?”

“I did ask.”

Sniper grunted, every instinct in him told him not to admit how intensely he’d enjoyed everything about that night. He didn’t want to provoke a man already so smug and well-aware of his talents, but Spy did love praise, and Sniper was a pretty honest man. “Bloody… Grand. Absolutely grand. Happy?” He muttered.

“Mh, very.” Spy smiled, looking up at the white ceiling.

“And you…?” Sniper hesitated, “Ya sure I did alright?” He tensed worriedly at the slow undulations of amusement coming to life in the Frenchman’s ribs.

“You gave me exactly what I wanted, Sniper. I couldn’t be happier.” He replied earnestly, joyously, shifting to leave a kiss atop the other’s head. “Fantastique.”

Sniper huffed, but the squeeze of Spy’s arm around him and the strong drum of the man’s heart eased his tension. It was affection, it was truth. It satisfied the Aussie’s self certainty to hear. He thought himself pretty skilled to have successfully pleased a man as demanding as the spy. Perhaps he had some sort of untapped natural talent. It was vain, but he did feel silly all the same, acknowledging that he’d been guided and taught. He felt as though he was glowing, and he thought to himself that it was nice to trust like this, and feel like this. For once he really understood why the rest of the world eternally chased these things.

To Spy, the night had been a leap, and a breach of the barrier that had kept him from the side of his sniper he wanted most. He had it now, thanks in part to his brilliant planning and eagerness to please of course. Nothing in his mind could compare to the complete and utter gratification of having his ideal in his arms. Just the thought of it made his heart swell, made his arm draw the man closer, made him that much more excited to do more, see more, have more. He realized he was smiling, and glanced down to peek at the sniper, finding him with heavy eyelids, staring thoughtfully at the light filtering through the curtains.

“Won’t you get some rest, Bennett?” Spy cooed, running his hand along Sniper’s bare back and through his hair.

“Might…” Sniper drawled, “But oi, don’t go blabberin’ that name anywhere at work, you hear me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Spy grinned.

Sniper looked up at him for a beat. “…No whisperin’ it either.”

“Oh come now.”

“Spy.” Sniper chided.

“No one would hear it.”

“Spy.”

“Bennett.” Spy cooed.

“It’s Ben.”

“Ben.”

“Spy I mean it.” Sniper frowned.

“Oh, fine.”

“Have you got yer fingers crossed?”

“Must you ruin all my fun?” Spy exclaimed, waving his free arm exhaustedly.

“Are you…” He snickered, “Are you kidding? Dooley, you’re too much.” He was grinning now, he knew Spy was persistent but this was almost adorable.

“I think I am just enough.” Spy huffed.

“You’re positively insufferable.” Sniper shook his head, lifting himself on his arms to hover face to face with the man, locking eyes before he briefly slipped their lips together.

“And you are absolutely intolerable, beau.” Spy added with his certain cockiness.

“Gee, thanks darl’.” Sniper rolled his eyes, but eased into the pressure on his lips and the tongue brushing his own when the Frenchman kissed him again.

“But of course.”

“Just curious…” Sniper said innocently, moving to rest his head into the pillows beside the man. “You thinkin’ of tellin’ me your name someday?”

Spy turned to him, a flickering of honesty in his eyes, “I will say that I genuinely hope to.”

“And the mask?”

“The day I give you my name will be the day I remove it.”

“Fair enough.” Sniper sighed, letting Spy pull the covers higher over their bodies and rest his hand on the marksman’s waist. He mumbled a content sound; this bed was the softest he’d slept on in a long time.

“Monsieur Bennett I’m beginning to think you’re rather fond of me.” Spy grinned, a serious note to his jest as he edged their bodies closer.

Sniper looked at him with a blank expression. “You’re alright.”

Then Spy’s palm was playfully pushing his face and Sniper’s beaming laughter pulled the others lips into a crooked grin. A grunt, squawk and exchange of wisecracks later, they’d laughed themselves into a quiet stupor, and Spy was the first of the pair to fall asleep. Sniper’s thoughts however kept him awake long enough to see the spy turn unconsciously, exposing his vulnerable spine to the man who was in all respects meant to be his enemy. Tentatively and carefully so as not to wake the other, Sniper eased up close to that pale and unguarded back. Snaking his arm around his sleeping body, he let skin settle warmly against skin. He held him then, closely, like the lover he wanted to be, and like the lover Spy deserved that night.

He kissed the nape of his neck, but had to hold his breath and try his hardest not to shake with laughter when he heard a drowsy, ridiculous, and surprisingly enchanting snort in return.

#tf2 #sniperspy #sniper/spy #down undercover #fanfiction #fresh chapter 9 here get it while it's hot