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Broken Arrows

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He could feel the tension in the humid air—tension that could dull even the sharpest knife attempting to cut through it. His teeth were grinding and his hand was clenched over his bow, sweat dotting on his brow as sharp eyes bore into the other man in a deep yellow tint.

The BLU Sniper was not so easily a jealous man. However, that would quickly change during ceasefire as he and his counterpart clad in RED clothing found themselves deep in the forest, away from the bustle of the war ground, testing one another’s archery skills by way of shooting rusty old food cans perched on the highest boulder they could find in the seemingly middle of nowhere. (Climbing onto the thing to place the targets was another story neither would care to tell.) And, after a few rounds, he could feel the jealousy rising.

He was good—damn good—but the BLU Sniper’s skill paled in comparison to his enemy, who could easily knock away each can with little effort, even going so far as to lodge an arrow into one despite the fact that he wasted good supply on this feat. And, the shit-eating grin the RED Sniper wore caused his blood to boil, and he made very little effort to hide his emotions as his counterpart made very little effort to hide his smug attitude.

Sure, he could just storm off and get revenge on the battlefield later on, which seemed to be the remedy for blowing off steam on occasion for all parties involved, but something held him still, kept his stare on the other Australian. He needed to know how.

“I can see it in your eyes, mate,” the RED Sniper sneered, his last word heavily emphasized with a hint of poison, “You’re not used to bein’ bested. An’, I am simply better.

The BLU Sniper’s upper lip curled into a snarl. He did not think highly of being read like an open book. It made him…vulnerable. And, that was the very last thing the lanky man wanted to be, especially in the presence of his foe or to any living being for that matter. He dared to shorten the distance between their bodies and thrust an accusing finger in the other man’s face, which did not faze his cool demeanor whatsoever. The grin never faltered.

“Don’t try to fuck with me. You’ve got some fancy, technological shit goin’ on.”

It was a good argument. After all, the RED Sniper’s bow was noticeably newer, made of light metal while his own was a simple piece made from wood he found and worked with himself. It made sense that the enemy Engineer would have helped create something advanced for the team’s benefit. But any doubt of that was erased as the other man dumped his bow in his hands and he meticulously inspected it. There was absolutely nothing special about it as far as looks were concerned, other than it would definitely outlive his own bow by many years with good care.

He would still not be convinced. The bow was carelessly flung to the ground, an act that would finally cause the RED Sniper to break face and raise an eyebrow. The weapon was a dime a dozen, mass-produced by Mann Co. by the minute, but his enemy’s action was still worth retaliation. And, seeing the BLU Sniper riled up was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

“It’s like I told you,” the enemy in red laughed, “I’m simply better.”

The RED Sniper was right, and that was what hurt the other hunter’s pride the most, his own past record of kills on the battlefield be damned. But, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, the BLU Australian could feel a tinge of awe in the face of his enemy—he would not show this, but instead, gave a grunt of displeasure and took a step backwards as if sizing up the other man. And, watching the other standing there, so sure of himself, so full of natural ability, so…handsome…the man could not bear to waste another moment in ignorance.

Wait, handsome? The BLU Sniper jolted upright suddenly, garnishing a tilted head from the other male.

“Teach me!” he blurted out, regretting the words as they spewed forth like a geyser as if they held their own will. Focus—he had to put his focus back on the main priority and take the enemy’s attention away from the pink hue that suddenly splotched across his face that not even the heat of day could have produced. A moment seemed to take an eternity to pass, the sound of nearby crickets chirping and one bullfrog croaking in the distance was the only sound to be heard for what could have been miles on all sides.

“There, that’s the spirit,” the RED Sniper grinned again, breaking the near-silence. He sauntered towards the large rock and leaned his weight against it, crossing one leg over the other casually. A curved finger motioned his foe to follow, and the BLU huntsman found it hard to resist as he stalked towards the other hastily. The finger continued to bend, causing him to move closer, even closer, until the two men were at one another’s nose, a mirror image of the other save for the color of their shirts and the blush on the Australian clad in blue. Just what magic was at work to be so effortlessly convincing?

He could not see his RED enemy’s smirk for their close proximity; otherwise the BLU Sniper might have seen those dry lips move in to tastes his own. There was nothing special or meaningful behind the chaste kiss, but it was enough to surprise the man and cause him to stumble backwards, spitting on the ground once he caught his footing and wiping the offending saliva from his lips with the back of his hand.

The bloody fuck was that for?” he nearly shrieked as he felt his face burn like the surface of the sun. His question was rewarded with a deep, throaty chuckle.

“There’s a price, mate,” was the simple reply that had the undertones of something of which angered him and made his lower gut flutter. There would be no need for elaboration.

“Are you out of your damned mind?”

“No, you are. You’re already considerin’ it. You want it. You also want somethin’ I have, and I ain’t givin’ things away for free.”

The BLU Sniper took another step back, realizing the other man’s intentions, but very clearly understanding his words. He did want it—the knowledge, talent, or whatever the RED male had that surpassed his own ability—and he wanted it badly. He could not live another day knowing he was inferior to another huntsman, especially his own foe. These thoughts, along with the peculiar sensation in his lower body, left his face twisted as he was held in mental limbo, weighing the pros and cons and repercussions.

The other male merely watched on, amused, though his eyes were hawk-like beneath his sunglasses. Then, he was up against the BLU Sniper again, their hips colliding with the force as a hand gripped the hair at the base of his head. It seemed his mind had been made up for him, though he resisted with hands wedging between chests to press the RED enemy away. But, his inferiority was further evident as the other man was stronger, and he was forced against the trunk of a pine tree.

The BLU Sniper tried in vain to push at the other hunter. Inside, his mind raged with how weak he was being portrayed, yet there was a musty feeling of excitement to the way his body was being roughly handled. His mouth was claimed again, this time more demanding, the other man’s facial stubble scratching against his own. He moaned—or growled; he could not tell nor was paying attention—and felt a slimy tongue pass through his lips as the hand gripping his hair yanked his head to the side.

And, the blue-clad Australian allowed it, though he would still put up a fight to show he was not entirely weak. His fingers clenched in the RED’s shirt, and he made attempts to fight the intruding tongue with his own; for the moment, he won the battle, but the other man’s mouth moved away abruptly and teeth were then biting into the tender flesh of his neck, enticing a gasp. A knee forced his legs apart and rubbed against his crotch, sending an electric bolt up his spine which arched at the sensation. He paid no heed to bony fingers ripping his shirt open, removing buttons from their stitches—another product easily replaced by his employer—but was made aware at the coarse licks and bites along his collarbone. The BLU Sniper was being marked, made to be the lesser one, and he reveled in the ministrations as his own ragged nails raked against wrinkled clothing.

The humid day did nothing to help the rising heat radiating off both clothed bodies as sweat leaked from every pore imaginable. And, clothed is what the RED Sniper did not want his adversary to be. With lack of even the most miniscule hint of care, he made quick haste of the other man’s buckle, yanking it away and tearing away at his pants until they were at his ankles, hindered by boots. And, with equal lack of kindness, he pushed the BLU male to the ground, ignoring the yelp as his head bounced off the base of the tree.

He chuckled and motioned at the erect manhood of his enemy. “Yeah, you’re enjoyin’ this.”

The BLU Sniper shot a glare at the other hunter, his glasses having slid to the end of his nose and his hat lost somewhere in the fall. The man in red stifled a chuckle as he inspected the visible flesh below him, admiring the old scars and his own doings, which began to dot in hues of purples and reds. The sight caused a tightness in his pants and he hastily allowed his manhood freedom from denim constraints and gave it a rough stroke as he kneeled down to loom over the lying man.

“Somethin’ tells me you’ve never done this before. I’m right. Tell me I’m right.”

Fuck you.

“Tsk, and here, I was gonna be gentle…”

The RED Sniper rose on his haunches to where his arousal brushed against the other Australian’s face. He seemed defiant to comply and craned his neck away from the offensive member, futile an attempt as it was.

“Come now, it’s gonna hurt like seven hells if I go in dry. Get it good’n slick like a good boy.”

There was hesitance in the BLU hunter’s actions. He remained still, lying on dead pine needles, weighed down by the other’s body. Parts of him screamed to rebel, to not give in to the temptation. He knew he was better than submitting to his foe—or anyone—but his body screamed otherwise. The heated flesh at his cheek beckoned him. He could do this; just a few minutes, and it would all be over and he would gain the knowledge he sought. Slowly, unsure, his lips parted, and before he had a chance to lick the chapped flesh, the other man rammed his manhood into his mouth and hit at the back of his throat, forcing him to suppress a gag. His fingers desperately clawed at the RED Sniper’s thighs, but the other man was relentless and the organ swelling in his mouth made breathing unbearably difficult. But, the ordeal ended as quickly as it began, leaving the BLU Sniper panting for breath—at least, for the moment. His rival moved off his body, wasting no effort in hoisting his bony hips over equally-bony thighs, his arousal hovering over the BLU’s backside.

He finally showed a gentle gesture, pressing against the reclining man, slowly entering his body, but even that felt like knives ripping and slicing at the tightened muscles around the throbbing member. The BLU Sniper grit his teeth and winced against the pain, refusing to allow tears to form at his eyes. He uttered something a kin to a pained animal’s cry, and his moment of weakness fueled his anger, and his eyes opened again to stare daggers into the other’s face, though that would go unnoticed. The RED huntsman mumbled under his breath—words of encouragement, perhaps, but unlikely—and fully entered the other man. Only then did he see the cold stare he was receiving, and that only gave him reason to give another devious grin that would make even the largest of predators slink away in fear.

“God, just look at you,” he sneered, daring to caress a reddened check with a calloused hand. The offending hand was slapped away and he paid no heed to the petty act of defiance. “It ain’t all that bad, now, is it?” The same hand moved to grasp the BLU Sniper’s obvious arousal, and the RED enemy observed the twisting conflictions displayed on the other man’s face—disgust, disbelief, anger, enjoyment, self-hate, and a sudden wave of pleasure that clouded all other emotions.

Again, his spine arched as his fingers took to the piles of pine needles around him, fingernails dirtied by the earth as they scraped against it. His body registered the pain as the RED Sniper took to rocking against his backside, slowly at first, but his mind was overrun by rising euphoria. And then, the pulsating member rubbed against an area within him that made the bushman cry out and shudder. This, in turn, enticed the other man to continue to strike against that sweet spot, pounding his full weight into the BLU hunter vigorously, all the while pumping at his enemy’s aching arousal and listening to the melody of his pants and moans that could put any orchestra to shame.

Minutes flew past and the forest went silent as if the sounds of two men intertwined and engaging in carnal acts frightened any remaining life away. They continued their dance, the RED Sniper’s pace quickened to the point of losing rhythm and the other male too overwhelmed in his own ecstasy to argue the point. His backside was raw, the skin and muscle burning, yet he remained fixated on the hand at his manhood and the pleasant rubbing in that one particular place within him that was endlessly thrust upon. He was losing his wit and caved in to the actions, his body going rigid as the build-up to his release was neigh. His RED foe sensed this, and took on an almost inhuman speed, panting through grinning teeth and thrusting with enough force to wedge the other body between himself and the tree—enough that the BLU Sniper appeared to bend on himself, his chin touching his chest as the tree’s bark scraped against his head.

But, finally—oh, finally!—he felt every inch of his being wash over and his body seized; he emitted a garbled cry as his erection twitched and spewed forth hot seed, coating the RED Australian’s hand as well as his own exposed stomach in a sticky mess. And, no sooner than he had time to relax into the earth, unforgiving as it was at the time, his counterpart gave a low growl, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he rode out his own orgasm, immediately filling the BLU Sniper’s backside. He hovered over the other man’s body for a moment, before rising to his feet and adjusting himself back into his pants in a casual manner that suggested he had not just exerted his energy on another person. Yet, that confident stance remained as he stared down to the other bushman, who was crumpling against the tree and ground, heavily breathing and trying to regain his composure—difficult as that may be with another man’s seed leaking from his body.

Finally, the BLU bushman looked to his enemy. “Tell me everything.”

The other hunter tilted his head slightly to the side, the persistent grin chiseled into his face. He stepped towards the lying man and squatted down beside him, lips heaving hot breath into his ear. “Why am I better than you? It’s simple.” He rose again, paused a moment, and quickly delivered a booted kick to the BLU Sniper’s rib cage, causing him to twist and howl and wrap arms around his side.

“It’s simple.”

Another kick.

“I’m better than you—“

Another kick, this time to his back, which was now open for attack as the BLU hunter curled in on himself for protection. He felt the wind rush from his body.


Another kick, now to the back of his head, which made the reeling bushman see stars.

“—I hate you.”

The kicks stopped. The injured Sniper tasted copper on his tongue. He wheezed and coughed, and dared to crane his neck around to face his abuser. “Why?

His RED adversary looked to the shaking body before him, curling his lip with disdain and utter cruelty. “Hatred makes me stronger, makes me strive to be the best, and leaves no room to be soft and weak like you.” He let out a haughty laugh, one that chilled the other man to the bone despite the heat, and grabbed the BLU Sniper’s jaw, jerking it upwards. “I want to see the hatred boil within you over my very existence. Do not think of anything else. And, when you have enough hate for me as I do for you, come and find me. Earn my approval. Until then, you’re not worthy to be my rival.”

With one last kick to the head, the beaten bushman fell into a world of bitter unconsciousness as everything flashed and then, was nothing more.


He was stirred from his forced slumber by the chirping of a bird in the tree above him. The BLU Sniper wearily rubbed his tender head and slowly rose into a sitting position, his knees brought up to his chest. He looked around; there was no sign of the other man, not even his weapons or the can with the lodged arrow through it. However, his own bow and arrows remained, carefully resting against the large boulder in the evening sunlight. Despite the protest from his battered body, the bushman stood up, his shaking hands bringing his pants to his waist. He adjusted his glasses and ignored the cry of his spine as he leaned over to fetch his hat. Feeling somewhat satisfied, the hunter went to his weapons and reclaimed them. In his head, the RED enemy’s words shot their own arrows into his brain, tattooing them in-place. His jaw jutted outward and his brow lowered, the feeling of absolute hatred coursing through his being and being the necessary fuel that kept him on his feet.

He placed his sharpened projectile at the bow and drew back the string, taking a long, heavy breath before releasing it.

The arrow pierced through a rusted can with a sickening crack and disappeared into the wilderness, as did the man who shot it with a bit more determination in his stride.