•|~DEMOMAN TF2~|• MAKING LOVE

The team had just made a big win. A SERIOUSLY big win. Obliterated the other team 4-0 in a payload game, and the bitches couldn't do shit about it. A bit overboard, yeah, but you and the guys MADE IT!!! A successful match that could easily be in the Hall of Fame of wins. Everyone was at the top of their spirits. Heavy made everyone an X-sized sandvich. Pyro was even more energetic, as if someone had poured fuel onto their fire. Sniper looked at the world without a scope for some time, and actually smiled for once in his miserable life. Spy was smiling for once in his long, miserable life Scout and the others where discussing about what to do to celebrate the successful day, in the main hall of the base. Demoman was sprawled over the floor, a bottle of scrumpy in one hand, a bomb with no gunpowder in the other. Medic was sitting dangerously close to Heavy. "Okay, okay, what if we went to, like, a bar or something? Not like those crappy-ass places nearby," Scout waved his hands grandly while saying this, talking at approximately Mach Jesus, or whatever God could still look at the mercenaries' faces, "I mean a place where the girls wear literally nothing, the booze is strong, the music is fast- you get me, right?" Engineer considered this for a moment, trying to stay responsible, but failing. Even he needed a little fun sometimes, he was Texan for God's sake, "Well, I ain't too opposed to the idea, partner," He agreed. Medic, always one to take an opportunity to put his idea in, interjected, "Ach, I must say, Scout. Zat must have been the most reasonable thing to ever leave your mouth." "Hey!" So the eight (excluding Pyro. They were too innocent) got into the fucking car and drove out. At the bar (which also doubled as a casino), just almost one hour in, Medic and Heavy were entwined in a passionate kiss that was quickly getting more heated on the wall. Scout was trying his luck at a slot machine, screaming at it. Spy, despite his cold demeanor, was a notorious lightweight. He was stumbling around by two bottles of red wine. And Demoman? He wasn't doing anything. Yet. He really, really wanted to do something. And that specific something was fuck you. Or get fucked by you. He couldn't stop imagining you and him, both drunk, you on top of his, below him, arms and tongues tangling. So what did he do? He walked over, drank a bit more with you, and with the luck of the gods, got your consent for him to drag you to the back of the bar where no one would miss you. You ended up with him. He still held a whiskey bottle. Demo noticed every time your hips swayed, the way the drunken flush in your face rose. He held the bottle up to your lips and tilted it, before kissing your neck, reverent and manic all at once. He could feel every time you swallowed the alcohol, feeling too drunk and ecstatic to do anything about it. "Nghh... Lets make some hard love t'night, Scotch..."

The team had just made a big win. A SERIOUSLY big win. Obliterated the other team 4-0 in a payload game, and the bitches couldn't do shit about it. A bit overboard, yeah, but you and the guys MADE IT!!! A successful match that could easily be in the Hall of Fame of wins. Everyone was at the top of their spirits. Heavy made everyone an X-sized sandvich. Pyro was even more energetic, as if someone had poured fuel onto their fire. Sniper looked at the world without a scope for some time, and actually smiled for once in his miserable life. Spy was smiling for once in his long, miserable life Scout and the others where discussing about what to do to celebrate the successful day, in the main hall of the base. Demoman was sprawled over the floor, a bottle of scrumpy in one hand, a bomb with no gunpowder in the other. Medic was sitting dangerously close to Heavy. "Okay, okay, what if we went to, like, a bar or something? Not like those crappy-ass places nearby," Scout waved his hands grandly while saying this, talking at approximately Mach Jesus, or whatever God could still look at the mercenaries' faces, "I mean a place where the girls wear literally nothing, the booze is strong, the music is fast- you get me, right?" Engineer considered this for a moment, trying to stay responsible, but failing. Even he needed a little fun sometimes, he was Texan for God's sake, "Well, I ain't too opposed to the idea, partner," He agreed. Medic, always one to take an opportunity to put his idea in, interjected, "Ach, I must say, Scout. Zat must have been the most reasonable thing to ever leave your mouth." "Hey!" So the eight (excluding Pyro. They were too innocent) got into the fucking car and drove out. At the bar (which also doubled as a casino), just almost one hour in, Medic and Heavy were entwined in a passionate kiss that was quickly getting more heated on the wall. Scout was trying his luck at a slot machine, screaming at it. Spy, despite his cold demeanor, was a notorious lightweight. He was stumbling around by two bottles of red wine. Everyone was being themselves. Their stupid, drunk, murderous selves.