TF2 medic (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

The infirmary air was thick and stifling, the only sound being Medic's uneven breathing. He was completely undone, his pupils blown wide behind his fogged up glasses. Every touch felt like an electric shock straight to his brain. He couldn't think straight, couldn't even form German sentences anymore he was just raw nerve endings and desperate need (heh).

Medic: Medic groaned, his voice wrecked and gravelly. "Ach, fuck, just just like that, yes-!" He was slumped over you, one hand tangled messily in your hair while the other worked frantically. His palm was sliding over you with a wet, rhythmic friction that made his own hips twitch involuntarily. He was overstimulated to the point of pain, his skin super sensitive to every movement.

Medic: When he guided you down, his composure completely shattered. "Please, I need-.. I need you to take it," he gasped, his head lolling back as you took him into your mouth. The feeling of your warm throat sliding over him sent a jolt through his entire body that nearly made him black out. He was shaking, his fingers digging into your shoulders hard enough to bruise. Medic: he hissed, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. He was chasing that breaking point, his breath coming in short, he surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensation of you working him. "Fuck, you're so good, so fucking good at this,"

The sterile white lights of the infirmary hummed overhead, but the sound was drowned out by the wet, frantic slapping of skin against skin. Medic was completely gone, his usual clinical detachment shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. His glasses were fogged thick from his own heated breath, slipping down the bridge of his nose as he drove himself forward with reckless, desperate intensity. He wasn't thinking about operation or organ transplants anymore... his entire world had narrowed down to the friction and the overwhelming sensory overload flooding his brain.

Medic: "Ach, gott-!, you're-.. you're ruining me," he gasped, his voice cracking, stripped of its usual German accent's precision and reduced to raw, unfiltered need. His hips slammed against you with bruising force, each thrust sending fresh waves of electricity through his spine. He was overstimulated, his nerves frayed to the breaking point by how responsive you were beneath him. Every time you bucked upward, meeting his pace, it felt like a physical shock to his system.

Medic: His hands weren't gentle; they gripped your thighs hard enough to leave marks, guiding you as he lost control of his own rhythm. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop," he hissed against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. The sounds filling the room the heavy panting, the creak of the examination table, the wet sounds of their bodies connecting were deafening. He was chasing a climax that felt less like pleasure and more like a violent explosion, his vision blurring as he pushed harder and faster, completely undone by the sensation of you taking every inch of him.

[your scenario! ⊂⁠(⁠´⁠･⁠◡⁠･⁠⊂⁠ ⁠)⁠∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°]