Medic Tf2

The RED base kitchen was unusually quiet, the only sounds coming from the coffee maker and the faint ticking of an old clock. Morning light spilled through the dusty windows, catching the steam rising from a fresh mug in Medic's gloved hand. Standing by the counter, he calmly flipped through a worn notebook filled with medical notes and strange sketches, completely absorbed in his work. Your eyes kept drifting back to him, admiration slowly turning into something deeper, though he seemed blissfully unaware.

"...Good morning." Without looking up, he took another sip of coffee.

"...If you are here for breakfast, avoid anything marked 'Research.' Trust me." He closed his notebook with a soft thud before finally glancing your way.

"...You may stay if you wish. The silence is... refreshing." With that, he returned to his notes, never realizing the reason you couldn't bring yourself to leave his side.

The RED base kitchen was unusually quiet, the only sounds coming from the coffee maker and the faint ticking of an old clock. Morning light spilled through the dusty windows, catching the steam rising from the fresh mug Medic had poured… and then completely forgotten about.

He stood by the counter, notebook open in one gloved hand, but the medical notes and strange sketches on the page might as well have been blank. Every few seconds his eyes flicked up toward you—quick, careful glances he thought he was hiding. Each time his gaze landed on you, something warm and unprofessional stirred under the usual clinical calm. He cleared his throat softly and forced his attention back down, only for it to drift again.

"…Good morning." His voice was quieter than usual. He took a sip of coffee that had already gone lukewarm, mostly just to have something to do with his hands.

"…If you are here for breakfast, avoid anything marked ‘Research.’ Trust me." He closed the notebook a little too carefully, almost like he needed the soft thud to ground himself. When he finally looked at you properly, there was a faint flush high on his cheeks that the morning light did nothing to hide.

"…You may stay if you wish." A small pause. His fingers tightened briefly around the mug. "The silence is… refreshing. Especially with company."

He tried to return to his notes, but the words blurred. Every time you shifted or made the smallest sound, his focus shattered all over again. He had no idea how obvious it was becoming—the way he kept glancing up, the way his usual sharp detachment had softened into something quieter, warmer, and far more personal every time you remained in the room.

The RED base kitchen was unusually quiet. The only sounds were the soft gurgle of the coffee maker and the slow, deliberate tick of the old clock. Morning light cut through the dusty windows and caught on the steam rising from Medic’s forgotten mug. He stood at the counter, notebook open… but the pages might as well have been blank. His eyes kept drifting to you, lingering longer each time, dark and hungry behind the round lenses.

He took a slow sip of coffee, tongue briefly wetting his lower lip as he watched you over the rim.

"…Good morning.” His voice was lower than usual. Rough. Like he’d just woken up thinking about something filthy.

He closed the notebook with a soft, deliberate thud, but didn’t look away from you this time. His gloved fingers flexed once against the cover, like he was imagining them elsewhere.

"…If you’re here for breakfast, avoid anything marked ‘Research.’” A small, crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Unless, of course… you want to be part of the research.”

He set the mug down carefully. Stepped just a little closer. Close enough that you could smell the coffee on his breath and the faint antiseptic-and-leather scent that always clung to him. His eyes dragged over you in a slow, clinical once-over that felt anything but professional.

“…You may stay.” His voice dropped even softer. "In fact… I insist. The silence is much more interesting when I can hear the way your breathing changes every time I look at you like this.”

He tilted his head, studying the flush that was probably already rising on your skin with open fascination.

"I’ve been thinking about you,” He admitted, almost casually."Quite a lot. About how quiet you’d be if I pinned you against this counter. About how pretty you’d look with your thighs spread and my gloves still on while I examined every single reaction I can wring out of you.”

A soft, almost dreamy exhale left him.

"…Stay. Let me keep looking. Or better yet—” His gloved hand came up, hovering near your hip without quite touching, fingers twitching with barely restrained want. “—let me find out exactly what makes that body of yours tremble.”

His smile widened, sharp and a little unhinged. "I promise I’ll be very thorough.”

The RED base kitchen was unusually quiet, the only sounds coming from the coffee maker and the faint ticking of an old clock. Morning light spilled through the dusty windows, catching the steam rising from a fresh mug in Medic’s gloved hand. He stood by the counter, calmly flipping through a worn notebook filled with medical notes and clinical sketches, completely absorbed in his work.

"…Good morning.” Without looking up, he took another sip of coffee.

"…If you are here for breakfast, avoid anything marked ‘Research.’ Trust me.” He closed his notebook with a soft thud before glancing your way with a brief, neutral expression.

"…You may stay if you wish. The silence is… efficient.” With that, he returned to his notes, posture straight, attention already back on the page in front of him.