shankie: (a little prick)
[personal profile] shankie
Fucked-up TF2 three-way rapefic co-authored with hupsoonheng, as she's known on the chan. The thread fell off /afanfic/ and people wanted to read this again, so, here you are.

And if you have a y!Gallery account, enjoy some lovely fanart.

Enjoy your messed up Spy topping Scout topping Medic.


When Scout comes into Medic’s office, it’s not with his usual saunter. He pushes the door open with his ass, and when the door swings open he leans against it, sort of loitering.

“Vhat is it?” Medic doesn’t have the patience to entertain a bored twenty-something with a foul mouth. “If you are not sick or injured, leave my office.”

“Leave your office?” Scout snickers, mockingly imitating Medic’s accent, and Medic groans. “Cammon, doc, I gotta problem.”

“Fine,” Medic sighs. “Vhat is zis problem?”

The saunter comes back and Scout hops up onto the examination table, feet swinging. He toes off his shoes, wiggles his toes. “I dunno, it’s kinda embarrassin’.”

“Just tell me,” Medic says. “I don’t have time for zis.”

“Cool it, doc, c’mon, chill.” Scout smirks. “I’m serious.” His foot curls around the back of Medic’s knee. “See, this problem I got… It’s south o’ the belt.”

Medic sneers. “Didn’t your parents teach you about ze birds and ze bees? Zis is not my job, and you are too old to be asking.”

“Ouch, doc.” Medic thinks to himself that if Scout calls him doc one more time, he’s going to get the bonesaw, and then he’ll be screaming the word over and over. And won’t he be sorry then. “Just take a look, I ain’t kiddin’.”

There’s the small possibility that Scout is telling the truth, so Medic finally agrees to take a look. Scout lays back on the table as Medic reaches for his fly, and it almost seems like he’s arching his back, arms above his head. Medic’s belly tightens, but he chooses to ignore it.

He unzips Scout’s pants for him, pulls them down together with his briefs. Scout’s skin is warm under his gloved knuckles, and this close it smells clean, like the standard soap RED issues, only blended with whatever it is Scout smells like. He pulls both pants and underwear to Scout’s knees, and when he comes back up, Scout is sitting up, albeit leaning back on the heels of his hands. He asks Medic what he thinks.

“Looks healsy to me,” Medic says, but he gives the hem of his glove a little snap. “Do you experience pain or soreness anywhere?” He reaches down, cups Scout. “Tell me how zis feels.”

“I dunno, keep trying,” Scout says, breathing it in Medic’s ear. He wraps his fingers around Medic’s wrist, guides the hand upward to the shaft of his already hardening cock.

Medic looks up. “Vhat are you—”

Scout interrupts with a kiss, and there’s no softness to it. It’s rough and desperate, amateur and hot at the same time. Not unlike Scout. Medic feels like he’s just been electrified, and he pulls back. Scout doesn’t let go of his wrist, though.


"What are you queer or somethin'? Don't wanna fuck, doc?" He kicks off his pants and underwear, grinning toothily.

Medic puts his hand over Scout's on his wrist, attempting to pry it off. "Das is not zhe point," he growls. "Unhand me, bitte."

"Come on!" Scout whines, paper crumpling and tearing as he slides quickly down the table to wrap his legs around Medic's waist, pressing his erection against his stomach. His face is deceptively playful, only a gleam in his eye a tell of something darker. "Worried about makin' the fatass jealous?"

"Nein! There ist something wrong with you!"

Scout just laughs. "That's what I'm sayin' here!"

The time for trying to politely detach the Scout has passed. Medic takes advantage of Scout's obvious weakness with no small measure of irritation, watching the boy arch a bit as Medic reaches for his groin, the edge of a finger brushing the side of the flushed cock. Medic can admit to himself he takes some pleasure in watching Scout go surprised and rigid as the gloved hand squeezes around his testicles instead of obeying the demands. "Off, bitte," he warns quietly.

Scout's face flinches, that cocky expression finally gone.

Medic squeezes to emphasize the point.

"Goddamn fuck!" Scout gingerly lets his leg swing down over the edge of the table. "That's fucked up!"

Medic doesn't let go right away, and Scout's hands fly over his balls when he does, still cursing. The erection flagged forlornly, Scout glaring down at it.

"You fuckin' suck, man."

"I believe ve are done here, ja?"

"Yeah, you think." Scout hops off the table and goes to collect the rest of his clothes.

Medic turns away to give him privacy he's more than happy to give the hormone-addled young man, focusing instead on throwing out the destroyed length of paper over the table.

"Hey, guess what?"

Medic turns back toward Scout just in time to see a steel bedpan flying at his head, Scout's vicious swinging arms giving it enough force to make him black out, coming back to himself on the floor a few seconds later, or so he can guess. His ears are still ringing.

Scout was in his swimming vision, chuckling. "Don't worry. You still look pretty with a bump on the skull."

The view quickly changes to the cracked tile floor, and Medic's aware that he is being tied up, but he doesn't have the mental faculties to worry about head trauma until Scout is done binding his still-gloved hands behind his back.

"Schwanzlutscher! Du verficktes abschaum!"

"Oh yeah, that Nazi shit is hot man, mm."

Medic throws himself bodily into a roll, kicking up at Scout when he starts over his ankles. His boot connects with Scout's face, throwing him off-balance and down on his ass. "Fick dich, Hurensohn," he growls.

When Scout gets back up, he doesn't seem angry; he’s still grinning as he wipes a trickle of blood off his chin. “Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun.”


Scout leans his full weight on the knee he uses to pin Medic’s ankles, and it’s no easy task to tie him up. Scout says so. “Can’t keep you down, can I, doc?” he says with a grin. “Big fuckin’ man like you.” He pulls the tubing tight, maybe a little too tight. “Too bad I couldn’t get all these bastard clothes off you before I tiedja up. Somethin’ I gotta work on, right?”

"Ich werde Sie töten! Schwuchtl!" Medic shouts, and Scout can see a vein pulsing in his temple. He grabs the doctor by the jaw, hard.

“Bet you never saw this shit coming, didja, doc? Skinny ol’ Scout getting’ the upper hand, knockin’ you the fuck out.” He gives the doctor’s face a shake, and he doesn’t look happy about it.

“Well lemme tell ya somethin’, Herr Doktor; grass grows, birds fly, and brother,” and here Scout looks away, grinning as he laughs to himself, unable to bear how funny he thinks he is, “brother, I’m gonna get some.”

“Der drecksker!”

“Yeah, you keep that up, doc.” Scout pats Medic on the cheek patronizingly, and narrowly misses getting his hand bitten. He jumps back into a standing position because a Scout can’t just get up, and he swaggers around, pulling drawers out in search of something. “Don’t worry, I won’t let nobody get hurt. Where d’ya keep the K-Y?” Laughs at his own joke. Medic doesn’t like where this is going. More angry German shouting.

“I don’t fuckin’ believe it.” Scout pulls a tube of something out of a drawer. “Real live lube!” He laughs hard. “I always knew you were good for it, doc.” As he comes back to the corner that Medic is lying in, he bites down gently on the lubricant, and shucks off his underwear in a few easy movements, but the socks don’t come off. He looks painfully hard. Scout looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he flicks the underside of his cap to knock it off his head, and pulls his shirt off. There’s a flash of raw desire when the collar pops over his face, front teeth biting down on a trembling lower lip, but it’s gone just as quickly.

Medic is going nonstop in German, but it’s all gobbledygook to Scout, and anyway he doesn’t give a shit. He straddles Medic’s thighs, and when Medic tries to buck him off, Scout’s pistol comes into play, snatched from the pile of his clothing and whacking across the top of his head. Medic mutters something dark, and Scout says something about not messing up the face.

“You got no idea, doc,” Scout says, and the gun stays in his hand. “You know, this is probably somethin’ I thought about when I was younger, too, goin’ to the doctor. Only like, to the nurse, ‘cept you don’t do that in polite society, and not to a lady. But this ain’t polite society, is it?” The gun waves, taps Medic’s cheek. “And you ain’t a lady.”

When Medic responds with a rude burst of German, what sounds like to be something about his mother’s sexual proclivities, Scout calls it cute and cracks Medic on the crown of his head with the barrel of the gun. He’s got to learn.

His free hand glides up Medic’s pant leg to massage his cock through his pants with the flat of his hand. “Yeah, you definitely ain’t no lady.” He’s grinning with a certain level of sadism, but there’s some breathiness there, too.

He sets the gun aside to undo Medic’s fly, yanks at the elastic of the underwear it reveals. “Bikini briefs?” he snorts, but Medic won’t answer. He won’t lift his hips, either, and Scout grabs his pistol again to push the muzzle against Medic’s throat. “Up,” he commands, and Medic begrudgingly obeys. The pants and underwear come down.

This time Scout keeps the gun in hand, and he squeezes the lube around the base of Medic’s dick, which he can’t help but notice is half-hard. “You like this, don’t you? Like it almost as much as I do,” Scout says, smirking as he reaches to rub the lube up the shaft of Medic’s cock, massaging it to a salute. The doctor squirms, his breathing labored and erratic, livid.

“Ich hasse dich,” Medic growls. It’s like he’s forgotten English, and it seems that way even more when Scout pushes cold lube against his asshole. He slams his thighs together, traps Scout’s arm between them, but then the gun kisses his cheek, and he’s forced to relax his legs.

“You scared, doc?” Scout asks, tracing a finger around the pucker of Medic’s ass. “See this?” He points with the gun at his cock, light on the trigger as he does. “Think about that goin’ up here.” And he pushes a finger just inside Medic, relishing the doctor’s shouting and writhing.

“Wischer!” the doctor is shouting, the cords of his neck straining as he curls his body up to spit in Scout’s face. The wad lands just under Scout’s eye, and he sneers as he wipes it off with the back of his gun hand.

“Fuck it, that’s it,” Scout says with finality, and Medic tenses everything, waiting for it. He has every intention to shut his eyes and pretend he’s somewhere else, will it to be over quickly, and then wrest his way out of all this tubing and strap Scout to a table to cut him up. Piece by piece.

And then he feel something different.

When he opens his eyes, Scout isn’t pushing into him; rather, Scout is pushing him into himself. He’s going slowly, his face screwed up and turning bright red. He braces himself with a hand on Medic’s stomach, the metal of the gun against Medic’s hip. Medic can feel it shaking, much like the rest of Scout. It’s when Scout’s pushed Medic in to the hilt that the shakes really hit him, biting his lip again, eyebrows pushing upward in the center of his brow. His legs shake the hardest. And then he brings the gun up again, this time pressing it between Medic’s eyes.

“Now you’re gonna fuck me.”


Medic doesn't immediately obey; it seems to be due to confusion lacing the rage in every fiber of his body, giving him pause. The torrent of insults and hatred stops as well, his mouth still and hanging open.

"That's right you'll shut the fuck up," Scout says. He lifts up his hips with a groan, just a bit, the muzzle pushing Medic's head against the floor firmly. "Now fuckin' do it, don't act like ya never wanted to, I got yer goddamn number, man, c'mon! C'mon, fuck!"

Scout impatiently grabs Medic's hip in his free hand, muscles in his arm flexing as he pulls, Medic still clearly unwilling to help him, making him sink back down to push his cock in all the way, wincing. When he pulls up, he reaches for more lube to squeeze into his fingers and lather over himself and Medic.

A second thrust attempt is prevented by Medic's rigid body pushing back against the floor.

"What the fuck d'you think you're doin', you dumb kraut cumstain!?"

Delicious, raw loathing radiates from the prone man under him.

"Just fuckin' c'mon!" Scout roars, grabbing Medic's tie and yanking it towards him. He glares back into Medic's face, the barrel of the gun pressed along his chin. For a moment, the expression falters, and Scout seems less than a violent rapist. "C'mon," he says more evenly, quietly, more like a polite request or perhaps a withheld longing.

The change of tone does nothing for Medic's disposition; he launches himself forward in a narrowly avoided attempt to head-butt him viciously.

Scout yanks down on the tie and jumps off Medic's body in a single motion, howling in frustration as Medic’s glasses clatter down on the tiles. "What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

"Fahr zur Hölle," Medic snarls.

“Love that shit!” Scout crows in complete contradiction to his earlier statement about Medic’s silence, nevertheless kicking Medic back down flat, leaping back on him, this time straddling his stomach. “I’m gonna blow yer goddamn head off if you don’t shape the fuck up, buddy.” He grins, running his hand over Medic’s chest with an appreciative purr. “I can blow off a few other things here and there or somethin’ to prove it, if I gotta. You do look good in red.”

In a surprising move, Scout plucks the lost glasses up and puts them on himself, blinking a bit as he adjusts to the lenses. “Hey, these are great! I’m fuckin’ stealing this shit, man, no wonder you got good aim.”

Medic just bares his teeth like a rabid dog.

Buttons fly off Medic’s coat as Scout grabs the fabric of it and pulls hard, doing the same to the neat white shirt underneath, exposing more taut flesh coiled to attack at the next opportunity. He continues until the tie is more or less holding the shirt collar in place but the rest is falling over Medic’s arms and the floor beside him. Thanks to the Medigun, perhaps, he may well be the only RED not marred by battle scars or ugly burns somewhere. The gun still aimed at Medic’s face, Scout runs his fingertips from Medic’s collarbone, down his sternum, perhaps in appreciation of that lack of marks, perhaps the well-balanced tone of a form generally, unfortunately, masked by layers.

“Main got,” Scout laughs, a terrible attempt at mimicking one of Medic’s more frequent oaths. He twirls his index finger, brushing the hairs about one of Medic’s nipples, grinning wider as it hardens in response. “Fuckin’ slut, I love you. Alright, I’m getting’ back on the ride and you’re goin’ to be a good boy, doc, ‘cause I really dun want to shoot you in the leg. But I kinda do, if you know what I mean.”

Medic throws his head back in frustration. “Nein,” he hisses, but about what is unclear, and Scout ignores it, anyway.

Another dollop of lube and Scout is holding the base of Medic’s cock, carefully lowering himself with satisfied moans. Medic turns his face to one side as he does, eyes closing, his jaw clenching. His hips rise ever so slightly before Scout is all the way down, which pleases Scout to no end, but makes Medic’s jaw clench so tightly in anger his teeth are audibly grinding together.

“Good, huh?”

Medic howls and bucks, which only serves to make Scout arch and moan.

“Yeah, like that!” he encourages.

There’s a moment of more hesitation, but the business end of a Walther PPK touches Medic’s thigh, and he flinches in response.

Scout rises up a bit again, stroking the length of his own cock, waiting for Medic to finally do what he wants. He gazes down at him expectantly.

Turning away again, Medic inhales deeply through his nose, then his ass and abdomen clench, thrusting up, then again.

It makes a lustfully satisfied look break out all over Scout’s face, enthusiastically stroking himself more rapidly. “So fucking good,” he sighs, toes curling against the rumpled pants pushed down around Medic’s knees.

Spy grins to himself, the first motion of any kind he’s made since coming in here to investigate the commotion.


“Talk more German to me,” Scout says, husky-voiced as he strokes himself. “Gimme some more o’ that Nazi shit.” Medic obeys this command readily, calling Scout all sorts of names, and Scout moans. His back arches and the hand not wrapped around his cock—the hand toting the gun—snakes up his own torso, tracing the muzzle of the gun across his nipples as he writhes.

“Might as well say it,” Scout breathes, eyes half-lidded with desire. “Ain’t nobody but us, and I know, doc, I know you ain’t gonna tell nobody about this little encounter, right?” The gun gives Medic another light kiss on the cheek.

“I always,” and here Scout pushes himself up a bit, calf muscles rippling under the knit of his baseball socks, “always,” and he steadies himself on Medic’s tense abdomen again, “always fuckin’ wanted this. Wanted—” Scout lets himself drop back down on Medic’s cock, and he groans, loud and throaty. “—Wanted you, doc. Wanted you to fuck me on the exam table, you know?” He pushes a hand up Medic’s body, groaning again as he revels in the musculature beneath the straight body hair. “But you wouldn’t take a hint.”

He braces himself now with both hands on Medic’s ribs, though the Walther PPK never leaves his grip. He takes a moment to slap the side of Medic’s ass with the gun, and then replaces his hand as Medic’s hips surge up. He yelps, in a good way, and the arms holding him up are shaking as the movement propels him forward. Scout bites his lip where Medic kicked him earlier, reopening the cut.

“So I did,” he pants, “what I had to do, an’ here we are, Herr Doktor. You forced my goddamn hand.” He moves to slap Medic’s ass with the gun again, and Medic beats him to it, pushing upward into Scout. Scout loses his balance, gets pressed chest to chest with the doctor and the glasses fall off his sweaty face, but Medic’s prepared for it, raises his hips so his dick doesn’t fall out. Scout repositioning himself would only prolong things. Scout yells when Medic shows him that thrust wasn’t a one time deal, when he starts thrusting rhythmically into Scout’s ass.

Scout pushes himself back upright, grabs his cock and jacks it furiously as he rides each thrust like a mechanical bull. Between the look on his face and the way his balls are tightening to his body, Medic can see the boy is near release, and to his extreme displeasure, he finds that he wants to see what that looks like, what this young body looks like in the throes of orgasm. He appeases himself by reminding himself that it will be Scout’s last, and that later today Scout will be in several lifeless pieces.

When Scout comes, his face screws up again as he gasps, pants, screams as he does. The fist pumping his cock in short strokes is almost a blur as he finishes, and the hand with the gun travels up to his mouth, where the top of the gun rests on his front teeth, metal heated by his labored breathing. He lets go of his cock when threads of semen shoot onto Medic’s belly, moaning wantonly as the gun hand goes behind his head and his newly freed hand takes its place with fingers in his mouth.

He slumps in his afterglow, saliva-slick fingers returning to his dick to touch and tug slowly. He can feel Medic still rock hard inside him, and though he’s come it’s an erotic thought. “Fuck,” he murmurs, grinning down at his captive. “Nobody’s ever gonna believe me, y’know.” He trails the mouth of the gun down the center of Medic’s body, taking care not to disturb the droplets of semen. “I wish I could take a picture. Even if it’s just for whackin’ off to.”

“As long as you don’t mind waiting a little for ze photos to develop,” Spy drawls as he rises from the corner, startling both men. “And perhaps a little compensation, no? Nothing in zis world is free, mon ami.” A tiny camera appears in Spy’s hand, and he snaps a shot before Scout can react. Scout notes with no small amount of alarm that the camera is flash-less, so there’s no way of telling how long Spy may have been taking pictures.

“So,” Spy says, strolling toward them with hands behind his back, “zis is certainly an interesting little factoid, eh? Ze Scout, monsieur I-Am-Not-Une-Tante—” He grabs Scout by the back of the head for this, pulls it back as he leans over him.

“A what?” Scout asks, forgetting for a moment that he’s not got the upper hand here. “Fuckin’ frog—”

“Une tante! Une homo!” Spy clarifies with a laugh Scout doesn’t like. “And now look at you, begging for it from an unwilling Nazi!”

“I am not a gottdamn Nazi!” Medic barks, seemingly remembering English just to point this out. He doesn’t appreciate the stigma, though it’s a much lesser issue than the fact that Scout is still sitting on his cock, at the moment. The smug look on what can be seen of Spy’s face, though, tells him Spy has no intention of helping him. If anything, Spy looks like he’s going to fuck them both over and keep the evidence for future blackmail. A Spy-like thing to do.

Still, Spies are human. He lapses back into the German he knows Spy is fluent in, tells him there’s a reward in it for him if he can get Scout off, help Medic get untied so Scout can die. Scout looks confused, nervous, unsure where to point his gun; nobody seems to be taking him seriously anymore, even when he shouts for attention. He doesn’t stop to consider that this is because all he’s wearing is socks.

Spy looks pensive, asks in fairly good German what the reward might be. Desperate, Medic offers carte blanche, and Spy smirks.

“So,” Spy says in English, “you say you want me to…get Scout off?” He kneels behind Scout, straddling Medic’s knees. “Please, my German is like my English sometimes. A little fuzzy, maybe.” He meets Medic’s eyes, and there’s a wickedness there that fills Medic with dread. Spy is not going to help him. Carte blanche doesn’t seem like much, he supposes, when there’s already enough blackmail fodder to last a lifetime unfolding in front of you.

The tip of Scout’s gun presses hard into the soft part under Spy’s jaw over his shoulder. “Don’t you fuckin’ try it, man. You better stand the fuck up and walk outta here like you never saw nothin’, and you leave that camera.”

“Surely you jest,” Spy snorts, and Scout feels the cold metal of another, much bigger gun pressing into his temple. “Drop ze watergun, petit, or you will not ’ave a ’ead left to panic with.”

Scout’s shaking again, but it’s not from where he’s sitting. He drops the gun with a small clank; he doesn’t like this shift of power. Spy’s ruining his fantasy, that motherfuckin’ frog—

Spy’s hand is wrapping around his dick, is caressing his balls. He bites down hard on his abused lower lip, refusing to give any kind of a response, but Spy rests his chin on Scout’s shoulder and bites gently at his earlobe, and Scout feels himself getting hard again. “It seems to me,” Spy whispers, “that Scout ’as already gotten off. Poor Medic, ’e is still so hard, with a young thing sitting on ’im, and does anybody worry about ’im? No.” The gloved hand shifts, reaches now from behind to grab Scout where his inner thigh meets his ass. His other hand does the same with the other leg. “’O will think of Medic?” And with his head still on Scout’s shoulder, he lifts the young man bodily, keeping him on Medic’s cock.


Medic's body twists against the other two as the Spy pushes Scout back down forcefully, his knees rising as much as they can, which is not much, against Spy's ass. A husky cry of pleasure is angrily cut short, his teeth snapping together. He doesn't want to come, doesn't want to give his backstabbing teammates the satisfaction, biting down on his tongue in the hopes that the pain might stave it off.

"Ugh! Let go of me you fuckin' loser, get the fuck out!"

"Zat would be no fun at all!" Spy laughs into Scout's ear, the barrel of his heavy revolver playfully batting up the tip of his cock gently, as if that could help it return to it's upright position.

"Cut it out!" Scout tries to pull forward, but Spy just turns it into another move up and down Medic's erection. "Who's goddamn side are you on!?"

"Mine, of course." He grins ear to ear, then licks up the side of Scout's face.

"FUCK!!" Scout cringes and slams his elbows back.

It just makes Spy laugh again and put the muzzle of his gun back against Scout's temple. "I apologize, Scout. I thought you nozzing but a pest, mais tu are so very amusing."

"Ich werde das nicht länger hinnehmen!" Medic yells at nobody in particular, slamming the back of his head against the floor. "Nein nein nein!"

"Dich hat niemand gefragt," Spy purrs back. "Dummkopf."

Spy fucks Medic with Scout a bit longer, until youthful stamina allows Scout's own erection to grow again, wet and reddened.

"Oh yeah," Scout sighs, eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the gun to his head and all his objections before. He wants Medic more than he hates Spy or anything he'd do, and his hips begin working with only the lightest guidance from the gloved hand.

Sardonically kissing Scout's cheek, Spy lets go of him, then rises gracefully, sliding the Ambassador back in his shoulder holster. "By all means, continue," he says, hand held out as if offering his permission.

Scout rolls his eyes and snatches his own gun back. "Fuck him," he tells Medic. "Spook don't matter."

Medic doesn't reply, with anything other than increasingly desperate noises that match his flushed skin. He can't stop writhing and moving now, beads of sweat rolling off his forehead.

Groaning deeply, Scout wipes some off with his thumb, then sucks it like a lollypop. "C'mon, doc, come for me, come in my ass."

Mostly forgotten, the Spy disappears, a barely audible clicking noise and the new smell of cigarette smoke all that's left.

Medic bends his knees up again, further this time, so it's easier to thrust up. He isn't fighting it anymore, lust a haze polluting his mind, making it more and more difficult to think.

Scout bounces up and down in his enthusiastic attempts to keep pace with him, mindlessly rubbing the side of the gun over his chest. "You look so goddamn good, doc, goddamn, I wanna keep you in a cage and fuck you all the time, fucking good, oh fuck!"

"Halt einfach die Fresse," Medic whimpers defeatedly, knowing Scout will never really shut up until he makes him, knowing he's not going to last, but not knowing much else, just the movement of his body into tight pleasure, that he has to have more of it, all of it he can get.

"Do it, doc, do it!"

"Glorioso," whispers the cloud of smoke.

Medic hollers like Scout is tearing his insides out when he finally gives in and comes, throwing his pelvis and digging his heels down, which nearly throws Scout right off him.

"The best!" Scout whoops, frantically rubbing his cock in an attempt for another of his own, discarding the gun to push down and fondle Medic's abdomen at the same time.

Spent, Medic falls back limp and gasps for breath, eyes squeezed shut. His traitorous body is still pulsing with the aftermath of his orgasm, as if trying to convince him Scout is in the right in a moment of weakness.

Medic almost misses the sound of a zipper pulling open and a soft "Merde" from the smoke, but is at a loss for anything to do about it. The idea that his team has all gone quite mad drifts through the static of his mind, and almost, almost, makes him laugh.

"Scout," Spy speaks up, without revealing himself, "wait."

Glaring irritably in the direction of the voice, Scout stops for the moment, simply squeezing the head of his cock, rising off Medic's rapidly softening one. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I 'ave an idea,” he slyly replies.


Spy looks a little flustered when he uncloaks, but he certainly doesn’t act like it. He sweeps by Scout to open Medic’s desk drawer. “Ahh!” he says with obvious pleasure, plucking a small tin from the drawer. When he flips it open, there’s a vial and a needle strapped inside; the vial is not entirely full.

“W’sat?” Scout asks, nodding his head at it. He tries to pretend he’s not naked (except for socks), that he can be taken seriously.

“Ze doctor’s favorite candy,” Spy says with a grin, giving the little tin a shake in Medic’s direction. Medic says something biting in German; Spy smirks as he pulls the little vial out, calls him dummkopf again as he unscrews the cap. Scout gathers it’s not a kind word.

“Now, poor Medic, ’e ’as been through a lot today, no?” Spy says, tossing the tin on the desktop as he takes out the needle as well. “Yes, ’e did come, in ze end, oui, c’est vrai, but it was after, per’aps, a bit of ze trauma.” He draws the fluid in the vial into the needle slowly, so Medic can see. “So, we medicate. It is ze right thing to do.” He flicks the needle once he puts the vial down, still smirking. Everything he’s just said has more or less gone over Scout’s head, but he has an idea of what’s coming next.

So does Medic, but he finds he can do very little about it. His orgasm took a great deal of his energy with it, and he has yet to escape his bonds, so all he can do is tense and growl when Spy approaches him with the needle. “Nicht handeln, wie du es nicht magst,” Spy whispers when he presses the point of it against flushed skin. The needle’s point pushing in is a twisting of nerve endings, and Medic takes a few seconds to mourn the control he knows he’ll be losing momentarily.

“Just a touch,” Spy says suddenly, and Medic realizes he’s only been given a fraction of a dose. His first response is to ache for more; his second is his heart beginning to pound. Scout is a nuisance, but Spy is dangerous. Nevertheless, the effects of even such a minimal amount of the pethidine he likes so much begin to appear, and Medic feels loose, in a word. He relaxes more than he’d like to, and he can feel his cheeks heating. At the same time, the air in the room seems to take on a chill, and he feels it on his exposed flesh.

“That’s better,” Spy says, and Scout exhales hard.

“Man, whatever you did, I like it,” he says with a nervous laugh, and he takes a step toward the man on the floor. Spy stops him, points wordlessly at the examination table. Specifically, to the restraints that hang to either side of it. Medic’s teeth clack together without rhythm as the other two men work together to lift his body off the floor and onto the table; his fists between his back and the table make for an uncomfortable arrangement.

Spy reaches under him, deftly unties the rubber tubing and pulls his arms out one at a time to strap them down. Medic wishes his body would respond to his brain’s commands in a more timely fashion; by the time his arm flexes to escape, the worn leather is buckled tight around it. His brain is a whirlwind of panicked thoughts, of dread of what Spy plans to do with him next. He mentally catalogs all the items in his office that could be used against him—not counting drugs—and is alarmed at the length of the list.

Soon he’s completely strapped down, all the tubing is gone, and when Medic curls his fingers into defiant fists, he finds his gloves gone, too. When did they do that? When did his teammates pull his clothes off completely, for that matter? The worst part, though, is definitely his ankles being strapped at the end of the short table; this forces his knees bent, making his nether regions accessible to whoever want to (like his mentally-ill teammates). The sweat between his toes feels like ice. He starts shivering.

“Sind Sie kalt?” Spy asks with a low, deadly laugh. He pats Medic on the cheek patronizingly. “Don’t worry, we will warm you up very soon.” Spy beckons Scout, who’s quieted down a little since relieving Medic completely of his pants. The boy keeps swallowing and panting, swallowing and panting, like he’s sex-starved. As if he hadn’t had his fill of the doctor already.

“You like zis, don’t you?” Spy asks as Scout comes to stand by him. “Seeing ze doctor like zis… It is no matter of power to you, is it, petit?” Scout glares at him, but without the benefit of clothing, it’s hard to hide his body’s reaction. “You want somesing more zan just one fuck. You want ze doctor to—”

“Shut up!” Scout hollers, moving to punch the man standing beside him, but Spy is a better fighter and stops his fist mid-blow, twists it so fast Scout isn’t sure of what’s happening until he finds the barrel of the Ambassador between his teeth. His mother always said he shouldn’t leave his mouth open all the time.

Spy tsk-tsks him, draws the gun out slowly. Scout clamps his mouth shut immediately, and Spy chuckles. “I ’ave many ideas,” he says, “more zan just zis one.” He massages the flesh just to the left of Medic’s cock, and the organ twitches in kind. “Per’aps none of us are as youthful as you, petit, but ze doctor, ’e ’as at least anozer go in ’im.” He looks at Scout with something bordering on seriousness. “Do you?”

“Verpiß Dich,” Medic mutters, but he can’t find it in himself to shout anymore. It’s not just the pethidine; it’s that this nightmare keeps dragging on, keeps inventing new ways to torment him. Scout is a simple problem that Spy can only compound. He feels dangerously close to mental surrender. God help him, he felt good.

“I got plenty left in me,” Scout breathes, as if responding to a challenge. “I got more in me than all you ancient motherfuckers in this fuckin’ fort, pal.”

“Zen climb up,” Spy says, offering a hand up as he would a lady. Scout ignores the hand, pulls himself up onto Medic’s body. When he touches Medic’s body again he feels a fresh wave of desire, and when he looks into Medic’s furious blue eyes, he suppresses a groan of raw need. And somewhere behind that, he thinks he might feel kind of bad. It would’ve been nice if Medic enjoyed this as much as he did.

Then the doctor makes a clumsy grab for a hand that’s strayed too close to his own, like a drugged wild animal, and whatever guilt he has dissipates. He pounds Medic in the chest and sneers. “You’re strapped down for a reason, doc.” The desire doesn’t go away, though.

Spy’s hand on his waist is startling, especially because there’s no glove on it. Nor on the hand that curves around one asscheek, the longer fingers pressing cold lube against his opening, to add to the minimal amount that’s already there. “G-get outta there, faggot,” Scout says, but his voice is husky and shaky when he does. When Scout looks for a reaction, Spy’s jacket is gone, too, and with it, the fabled balaclava. Under it is just a man with black hair brushed back against his head and eyes that are clouding over a bit. When Scout glances down, his fly is undone, though nothing has been taken out.

The hand at his waist replaces the one probing his asshole, and that hand moves to Medic’s re-lubed dick, where Spy guides it back inside Scout. “Nice and easy, oui?” Spy whispers to Scout. “We ’ave done zis before, you know what it is you are doing now… Get ze tempo back.” He puts one hand now on Scout’s ass, the other on his abdomen just above his engorged cock, guiding the younger man back into that rhythm. Scout is moaning again, and probably this is the most noise he’s made without words. Spy finds he doesn’t mind Scout’s noise, for once.

Spy takes his hands away slowly, leaving Scout to ride Medic on his own, and the boy’s certainly lost in his own world. He curses between moans, guttural and vulgar. Medic himself looks torn between hating everything and enjoying the tight heat around his cock, teeth ground so hard his jawline seems hyperdefined. Spy doesn’t wonder, though, when Medic will give up, because he has every intention of making that happen.

He divests himself of his waistcoat, of his tie and shirt, steps out of his pants and shoes in as dignified a manner as a Spy will. Not that his teammates are paying him any attention. He watches the pair of them as he slathers his dick with lube, pumps it a few times to bring it to full attention. Scout probably doesn’t realize how hot he can be when he stops trying to be so macho and just enjoys himself.

And then Spy is climbing up, too. “What the fuck’re you—” Scout begins breathlessly, but Spy shushes him as he adds lubricant to Medic’s asshole, unmindful of how the man’s entire lower body seems to tense up even further at the sensation. He hears the sound of metal being struck, and of leather creaking; Medic banging his head again, Medic pulling at the restraints that both he and Spy know will hold. Spy notices there was already some lube present, and he wonders just what happened before he slipped into the room.

“As if you don’t like zis, Herr Doktor,” Spy murmurs, touching Medic’s hip briefly, and Medic knows from that touch that Spy knows he’s near the end of his rope, that he’s been bucking his hips against Scout’s ass more for his own pleasure than to try to get things over with, now more than ever.

Spy pushes an insistent and well-lubricated finger past Medic’s tight ring of muscle, curling the finger inside. He knows what this is doing to Medic, and he can tell, too, from the loud groans that are too deep for them to be coming from Scout. Impatiently, Spy pushes in a second finger, scissors them both with tight, short movements, and he hears Medic make a noise like someone is gutting him. Only the way Medic’s toes are curling and uncurling give away that it’s a good noise.

Spy loses patience entirely, and he removes his fingers only to lay the tip of his pulsing cock against Medic’s entrance. He pushes in slowly, very slowly, and Medic starts his head-banging again, this time with violent shakes of the head between every couple of bangs. And then Spy is inside him to the hilt, and he exhales on the relatively smooth skin of Scout’s back. He presses his chest to that back, throws arms around Scout’s skinny waist, and Scout yelps, but when Spy cranes his neck to bite his earlobe and reaches down to jerk him off, Scout’s remarks die in his throat, coming out instead as high-pitched whining.

The rhythm between the three men is awkward, at first, and obviously Medic would take no part in trying to better orchestrate it other than thrusting his hips, but eventually Spy and Scout come to a silent understanding where Scout rises when Spy is buried in Medic’s ass. The way they move, it’s almost as if Spy is fucking Scout, instead, nipping and caressing and stroking the young man. But Spy knows that all this is far better than simply fucking the brash young American ever would be.


Medic toys with the idea that he's gone completely insane. It can't be real, what he's seeing; Scout's eyes darting back and forth between his own eyes and over his shoulder at the astonishingly tactile Spy. Spy was supposed to be secretive, stand-offish, hiding and skulking about to avoid everyone. Nothing made sense anymore.

"Get back here, doc." Scout leans his elbows on Medic's knees, keeping them apart.

The strain is making Medic's thighs quiver around him, legs shaking, but it's not all that, it's the suction and pressure and slippery force pulling him back out of his head and all into the rocking of his hips quite outside his control. He knows as soon as the drug wears off it's going to hurt; he never fears pain, but this time... No! He won't let them see him afraid, not of them. His lip stays curled in revulsion.

They can do whatever they like, he'll still be better than them in every conceivable way.


Spy nips at Scout's cheek, toward his lips, beckoning him to turn closer, and he does, licking out clumsily toward Spy's mouth, both their tongues meeting before brief kisses that pull back, then rush forward again, like a duel of who will be the kisser or the kissed. Their pace into and over Medic remains steady as they do, Scout's thumbs moving in small circles on the sensitive insides of Medic's knees. Spy is determined to win their little fight, but so is Scout, so they keep their eyes open, burning into each other challengingly.

Gutteral, wordless outbursts never cease out of Scout, his own language of gibberish and moans that Spy finds all too easy to translate. "Hnn, hnn, hyanna!" he takes to mean, "harder, faster!" and Spy is happy to oblige, thrusting into Medic with more gusto, feeling the German tighten around him with each one, fruitless, entertaining attempts to pull back that just send him up into Scout like a direct push from his cock.

Scout leans more into Spy and his own quicker motions begin undulating, trying to get Medic's cock to hit more inside him, until he finds just the perfect spot. He squeezes his nails into Medic's skin and lets out a long "nnnnngghhhh!" that makes Spy chuckle, something he feels vibrating against his shoulder more than hears.

“Fnnng frrrnnnggg!” Scout yells, unwittingingly leaving angry scratches on the shaking legs, resting his head back on Spy’s shoulder with his face twisted in pleasure. “Fugger!”

“Calm down, chere, ‘e won’t be coming again too quickly for you.” Spy pinches one of Scout’s nipples playfully. “I won’t let ‘im.” His voice is nearly hoarse-sounding, the edges of orgasm beckoning through his groin. He won’t last as long as the other two in this round, but he finds he doesn’t mind, imagining all the other things he could do to Medic. It sends a tingle of excitement down his gut and makes him thrust even harder.

Medic murmurs something they can’t make out, and then goes limp, letting them more easily move him back and forth between them, but he’s still very awake, his fingers moving in the empty air, hands pushing at the restraints as if something is just out of his reach, mouthing words without any sound.

Scout hesitates, briefly, then stops.

“He fucking got off,” Scout snarls. “You fuckin’ liar! You fucking whore!” Scout slams his balled hand down on Medic’s stomach, making him jerk upwards in a hopeless attempt to protect himself, but Medic only grunts in pain when Scout does it again furiously, lifting his shoulder as much as he can and turning his head as if he wants to turn over and crawl off the table, away from his tormenters.

Spy tisks in Scout’s ear and puts a firm hand on his forearm to keep him from striking again in sex-crazed frustration, now fucking Medic more slowly, to better multi-task. “Eet would be better to coax ‘im into putting those lips to work, non? Poor man ‘as done so much for you already, be nice to ‘im.”

“Yeah, right. I don’t feel like having my fuckin’ dick get bit off.”

“Patience, Scout. Just look at ‘im.”

Scout fumes, but does so, anyway. He likes looking at Medic, after all. Medic is the only person Scout’s ever seen and had the word ‘elegant’ pop in his head, even though he’s pretty sure it’s wrong. It’s there even now, hair clinging to the edges of his face in sweat, a face washed in something like pain, eyes squeezed shut as if that alone could keep the world at bay, so he can’t really say the way he’s gone all pliant is relaxed.

“Yeah? So?”

Spy chuckles ominously and nips Scout’s ear again, the hand on his arm moving over his chest, tangling in the chain around Scout’s neck while moving his fingers in slow circles. “Do you zink ‘e would have come again so quickly without enjoying eet?”

Scout doesn’t really have anything to say to that; he’s pretty sure where Spy is going with this, but not entirely. He gets off Medic’s hips and scoots forward, until he’s resting on the come-sticky stomach. He wants to wash him off now, make him pristine again.

“Lemme get that,” he mutters, but doesn’t jump off immediately. He leans over Medic’s face and waits a moment, until Medic knows he’s there and turns up towards him, opening his eyes. It makes Scout shiver, the way they’re not the cold, calculated sharpness, or the angry fire he’s so used to seeing. Always one or the other, not this… Scout doesn’t even know what. “Yeah.” He jumps on the floor and heads toward the small sink in the counter.

“So thoughtful,” Spy teases.

“Fuck you!” Scout grabs at a handy roll of gauze and snaps it at Spy, watching it bounce off his shoulder as he continues fucking Medic. “Aren’t you the one going on with your gay shit about being nice?”

Spy just snorts and grabs Medic’s knee in the crook of his elbow, forcing himself in hard until Medic makes noise again, even if it’s just this quiet, low sound. He’s still not really there, they both know it, but he’ll be back soon; Spy knows that.


Scout returns to Medic’s side as Spy arches and holds Medic’s legs in his arms, squeezing himself up against him with his head thrown back and his mouth hanging open in a long moment. He murmurs French to himself a bit, then sighs and pulls away, rolling his shoulders as he does.

“Non, Scout, in all truth it would be good to ‘ave you wash him up. We’re not done with him, after all.”


“Not—how much fuckin’ more can we do, man?” Scout wants to know, gesturing widely at Medic even as he walks to the sink. He says this even as his cock aches for a second release, even as he resents Medic for denying him that. When he turns the sink on though, there’s no hot water, so the washcloth he brings to Medic is frigid. The first drops that splash Medic’s belly make the muscles go rigid. It makes Scout reflect again on what’s happening as he massages Medic’s taut stomach with the washcloth.

Spy moves somewhere behind Scout, and he can hear him rattling drawers and shit, but he’s off Scout’s radar now. It’s just him and Medic again, him and those goddamn hateful baby blues that make Scout’s knees turn into butter. “Gotta clean you up, doc,” he murmurs. “Ain’t right I leave this shit all over you, you know?”

“Vhat is right?” Medic snorts quietly, jaw still tensed. “You vant to say vhat is right after zhis?”

There’s a moment where Scout feels like Medic has torn right through his everyday façade, peering into his mind, his goddamn soul. He wants to tell Medic he knows he didn’t do right by him, that he’s just an asshole who doesn’t know how to connect or whatever.

Then he tells Medic to shut up as he mops the last of the dried cum off his stomach, and clams back up. It’s like Medic sensed his moment of vulnerability, too, because something inside Medic seems to deflate.

“Don’t lookit me like that,” Scout mutters angrily, tossing the washcloth to the floor. “I got your fuckin’ number, doc. I said it before and I said it again. I got your goddamn jizz up my ass not once but twice, so don’t lookit me like you didn’t fuckin’ want it too.” His fingers lazily walk up the line of hair that trails up from Medic’s dick, slick with freezing tap water. “And look, I even got you talkin’ English again, Fritz. You ain’t hatin’ it.”

The fingers reach the center of Medic’s chest, and wander over to a nipple. Scout strokes himself with his other hand slowly, and then he leans down just as slowly, that other hand coming up to rest on Medic’s shoulder. He pauses inches from Medic’s face, breathing shaky like a nervous virgin, and he chides himself mentally. The doctor is strapped down, the doctor is helpless. He can’t do anything.

So Scout kisses him.

He tells himself over and over that this doesn’t make him queer, later on, but in the moment, the contact with the older man’s lips sends lightning straight to his groin, even when Medic bites his lower lip with a growl. It’s a hostile action that only turns Scout on more, sucking the blood out of their mouths and pressing deeper into the kiss. He wants to climb back up onto Medic’s body, wants to take Spy’s place and fuck Medic with the man’s knees hooked over Scout’s shoulders, and so he pulls away before the feeling becomes too strong.

“Zhis is not vhat you vanted,” Medic says under his breath, and it’s a statement, not a question. Scout’s heart jumps into his throat when the doctor psychoanalyzes him so easily. He slaps Medic, shaken.

“What a toy to keep around, zis,” Spy interrupts, sauntering back into Spy’s line of vision holding an unmarked box. “Sie haben interessante ideen der therapie, Medic!” he laughs. Scout doesn’t know what the box is, but Medic obviously does, because he starts to look panicky. A strange look for the doctor.

“What’s that?” Scout asks, licking his lips. He can still taste his own blood.

“Somezing ze doctor has not told anybody he had,” Spy says with a sly grin. He drops the box on a side table with a heavy clunk. “Zis will be much more fun zan I anticipated.” And he opens the box, which elicits a primal roar of fear and hatred from Medic.


Scout peers into the open box skeptically, poking what looks like a misshapen light bulb amongst what looks like a few different misshapen light bulb-tube-things cradled in purple velvet beside little knives and prongs. "You ain't scared of a bullet but this makes you shriek like a girl?"

"Now, now, Scout, don't taunt 'im." Spy takes out a long black cord nestled with some other crap in the bottom beside another box with a set of dials on it. "Plug zhis in, s'il vous plait."

"Uh." Scout takes it with deeper skepticism. "Okay."

While he looks around for an outlet, finding one conveniently by the table, Spy saunters over to Medic's desk and clicks on the lamp, then over by the door to flick off the rest of the lights, leaving the room darker, more ambient.

"The fuck?"

"Patience!" Spy plugs that into the back of the thing, and begins fiddling with some kind of handle on another cord, murmuring to himself as he does.

Medic is drawing rapid breaths, his eyes transfixed on what Spy is doing. He's pulling hard on the restraints again, like his life depends on it, and a sound suspiciously like a whine comes out of him.

Fascinated by this, Scout runs his hand over the heaving chest, until he can feel Medic's heart pounding wildly under his palm. Scout lingers there, looking back and forth between the two.

"What the fuck is that?" Scout asks, noticing all of a sudden the provocative size and shape of one of the tubes. "Is that a... dildo?"

Spy's response is a sinister little chuckle, his face going downright evil as he slides one of the not-light bulbs into the black handle. "Why don't we ask?"

Both Scout and Medic jump when a flipped switch makes the whole thing buzz like a downed power line, the flared, round glass filling with sparking purple.

"So, is eet?" Spy asks, grinning wickedly from ear to ear.

Medic mutely shakes his head, all his muscles tensed, trying in vain to pull away from Spy.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't 'ear you."

Very, very slowly, Spy lowers the wand toward Medic's abdomen, watching him squirm until a bright line of electricity arcs like a tiny bolt of lightning. Medic jerks and cries out, and Scout sees why Spy turned down the lights, the electricity glows off Medic's writhing muscles, bright to dim as what little Medic can do makes it go weaker and stronger all by himself.

"NEIIN!" he screams, balling his hands into fists, curling his head forward, and he's shaking before Spy presses the glass right against his skin, which strangely makes him stop and drop back.

Scout finds he's been stroking Medic's shoulder, yanking his hand back like it's on fire.

"Better," Spy coos, running the bulb of the thing over Medic's skin.

It doesn't seem to hurt, but Medic's still making little sounds like it's doing something, and he's shifting his heels around.

That is, until Spy begins lifting it up and down, making Medic jump and twitch with every spark, just a few times at first. Then faster, and faster, until Medic's pressing his cheek against the table, a high, desperate sound in his throat.

Scout wants to pet his hair, but touches himself instead.

"Now," Spy barks. "Tell me all about 'ow Scout felt on your dick."

Medic shakes his head again; Spy fiddles with the dial.

"Zat is not an answer!" Spy teases in a sing-songy voice, the bulb creeping toward Medic's pelvic bone. He still doesn't get an answer, so raises it back a few inches away.

The yell that tears out of Medic hurts Scout's ears, and it doesn't stop as Medic's head slams back, going red in the face and hollering until he runs out of air.

Smirking, Spy rubs the bulb around against his hip, letting Medic get his breath back in shaky gasps.

"You were saying?"

Medic looks panicked and confused, like he can’t remember the question.

Spy inches closer to his balls, massaging in little circles.

“It.. it vas.. Keine Ahnung!” Medic tries to shift his hips away and actually whimpers.

“Yes you do,” Spy tells him smugly.

Scout almost comes right then and there, forcing his hand off his cock, but the only other place it wants to go is Medic, caressing his straining neck. “It’s cool, doc, you can say it,” Scout murmurs in his ear. “Say it.”

“It vas garbage!” Medic snarls unexpectedly, but his teeth aren’t bared for long this time, and he immediately braces himself.

“Tisk tisk! So ungrateful!”

The wand zaps at Medic’s inner thigh viciously, eliciting a strangled shriek as his leg pushes toward Spy in an attempt to escape it. Spy just puts his other hand on the inside of his knee to hold it there, running the evil little line of purple-white back and forth, up and down.

Scout just wants to touch Medic all over, he can hardly stand just watching him so... out of control. Like he couldn’t possibly be the same person that always looked impeccable and gave him that hard, cold stare whenever Scout looked at him over dinner, except he was. And that was the best part.

"And one last question," Spy says, suddenly turning to Scout. "Was zis your first time with a man, petit?" he asks, touching the wand dangerously close to Medic's cock.

“Fuck you spook!”

Medic lurches so hard the heavy table shakes, opening his mouth silently before the scream comes out. Scout’s gotten a little too close, getting clipped in the ear by Medic’s head thrashing around; he yells about it, but Medic doesn’t notice at all.


Spy continues.

“Alright! I... I’m fuckin’ Sniper! Alright! I suck his cock all the time!”

The bulb presses back against Medic’s thigh while Spy cackles.

“You are a terrible liar.”

“Alright, alright. You got me. Just.” Scout lets go of Medic to face off with Spy. “Leave him outta my shit.” Scout’s irritated that Spy’s brought him into the interrogation routine, and that he didn’t even have the decency to believe him the first time. It was the truth. He hadn’t. Never even really wanted to before Medic, most guys weren’t even all that interesting. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

“My apologies,” Spy says, sweeping his free arm out dramatically. “Perhaps I can find a way to make it up to you?”

Scout narrows his eyes suspiciously. “With what?”

Spy gives him a toothy, leering grin. “Medic, of course. Did I not promise you that mouth could be useful?”

Medic silently rolls his head back and forth, his attempt to shake it.

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Scout says, crossing his arms. “Told ya man, not gonna risk the junk.”

“We’ll see.”


Scout admits that if there was a chance his dick wouldn’t get bitten off, he would go for it in a hot second. He can’t even count the times he’s jacked it to fantasies of Medic sucking him off, although in those fantasies, Medic is doing it of his own free will, pressing his body against the exam table as he leans down to lap at the head of his cock. His dream self arches his back, pulling at Medic’s tie as he groans, and that would be when not-dream Scout would come.

And now Spy slides his fingertips along Medic’s lower lip, brushing canines as he does. “See? ’E does not bite. Ze dog ’as been trained well.” He grins again. “Medic will do what ’e is told, petit.”

Scout licks his lips; he can’t see Medic’s exact expression from this angle, but goddamn if he wouldn’t like to come again. That, and the look on Spy’s face—and the gun still within grabbing distance of Spy—tells him that saying no now could get him a bullet in the gut.

“Put down the electro-dildo,” Scout mutters, moving to stand between Medic’s feet. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ when that thing can get near me.”

“Fair enough,” Spy says delicately, and he puts the whole thing aside. Scout tries to ignore the fact that it’s still plugged in. “Go on, get up.”

So Scout pulls himself up onto the table again, the metal uncomfortable under his kneecaps. He sits on Medic’s thighs, waiting nervously as Spy works to free Medic’s arms. Medic is aware of the gun, too, and either way his ankles are still strapped down; he’s not going anywhere. Spy gets the second arm free, and holds both wrists behind Medic’s back with one hand. With the other, he pushes at the base of Medic’s neck to get him to sit up, the man’s spine curling slowly with the effort.

And when Medic is finally up, he looks into Scout’s eyes, and mouths, Help me.

Scout is taken aback enough, shocked enough that he doesn’t even realize Spy’s picked up the wand again until Medic’s body whips around, the glass bulb lightly brushing a nipple.

“I told you to put that shit away!” Scout snaps, and Spy smirks.

“I cannot ’elp myself, I suppose,” he drawls, and when he pulls the wand away, a little current jumps to make contact with the skin near Medic’s nipple, and it doesn’t break away. Medic howls, back arching, and Scout jumps when the current hits him too, in the groin where he makes the most contact with the man beneath him, making him yelp and thrash until he’s pressed chest-to-chest with Medic.

“Fuck you!” Scout pants, glaring at Spy. “Fuck you, I said to put that fuckin’ shit away and you just hauled it out again! Fuckin’ A!” He pushes the heel of his hand across his forehead, exhales hard. “Fuck, man!”

“You take comfort in vulgarity,” Spy chuckles, and Scout tells him to get off his high fuckin’ horse. Spy purses his lips, and a surge of fear hits Scout, because when Spy puts the wand back, it seems like his fingers are dangerously close to the gun. Scout tells himself he’s not going to say anything like that again.

Spy doesn’t pick up the gun, though, and instead strengthens his hold on Medic’s wrists. He comes over Medic’s shoulder, cheek to cheek, and says in a low voice, “Open.” It’s amazing what Spy’s done to Medic in the span of an hour, because Medic obeys without any outbursts, albeit slowly, shaking. The rebellion is all in his eyes, now.

Scout rises on his knees, runs his hands down his hips to the tops of his thighs, and then back up to his cock, breathing like he’s been climbing stairs forever and trying to breathe steady. He wants this. When Medic pleads with him silently to help him escape, to do something, please, please, he feels like shit because he wants this. He runs a finger along the underside of his dick, sucks on his abused bottom lip as his heart pounds, and then he places the tip of his cock on Medic’s lip.

Spy transfers Medic’s thick wrists to one spidery hand again, and he does something deft with an outstretched foot to flip a tie up into the air and into Spy’s free hand. It looks too bright to be Spy’s. He wraps the strip of silk around and around Medic’s wrists in quick motions, and then pulls it tight with a smirk, making sure Medic can’t pull it apart.

And then Scout isn’t paying attention to Spy anymore, because Medic is leaning forward, tongue pushing strong just under the head of Scout’s member. Scout whines in the back of his throat, and it turns into throaty groaning when Medic’s mouth closes around him, tongue wrapping around the bottom of the shaft. He jumps when the cold metal of the Ambassador touches his belly, and Spy is holding his hips steady. Spy kisses the skin near where Medic is attending to Scout, and when Medic draws back on Scout’s shaft, Spy licks there, too. Scout starts cursing, loud and breathy, close to screaming, even with the threat of the giant Ambassador just above his dick.


"Goddamn spook, you can put the fuckin' gun away." Scout wants Spy gone so bad now, like if he ever sees him again it'll be too soon. "It's fuckin'... fuckin' distracting."

Spy snorts and nips at Scout's hip, makes him jump a little before conceding, insofar as he's willing to put the gun against Medic's hip instead. It must still be cold, because Medic jumps a little then, just a little shift between Scout's knees.

Scout leans his head back and finds his hand drifting over Medic's head, his fingers pushing through his hair. It's soft, sweaty by his scalp, and he keeps stroking in lieu of grabbing down to pull him forward. He'll never get to do it again, he thinks, and he knows it's a strange thought to be having right now, touching Medic’s hair is the most benign thing he’s done yet. He groans hoarsely as Medic's tongue hits just the right spot, and it's so hard not to thrust down his throat.

So this is what a blowjob feels like, so wet and amazing. Medic’s lips pass back over the head and back, and it’s like his cock is wired into his toes or something because they all tingle and flex each time. It gets so good he has to look down, to see Medic going at it all sloppy and enthusiastic, eyes closed, just like he's really into it, he's really enjoying it.

So Scout closes his own eyes and pretends the warm sensation is just like how he'd always wanted.

“You can do better than that,” Spy chuckles, ruining the illusion again.

Scout doubts Medic’s ever done this before, but he can’t complain about that, or say anything at all when he starts sucking him down while still licking. Scout can’t help but buck forward, hitting the back of Medic’s throat.

Gagging a little, Medic pulls back sharply and coughs, but Spy pushes him right back where he was, and this time he’s got his hand firmly on the back of Medic’s head. Neither of them hear Scout’s mumbled apology.

“None of zat, now,” he chides.

Scout snarls a little at Spy, but Medic completely ignores all of this and just goes right back to what he was doing, making Scout reel a little with a good hard suction that sends jolts up his belly. “Goddamn that’s good,” Scout murmurs, finding himself cradling Medic’s face, feeling the way his cheeks are contorting around him. He can’t help but watch now, trying to ignore Spy’s hand painfully tight in Medic’s hair threatening to ruin the image.

He’s glad when Spy finally lets go, mumbling shit in Medic’s ear, but it lets Scout touch Medic’s head again without worrying about touching Spy, which he doesn’t want at all. If Medic’s even listening to Spy he can’t tell, but it doesn’t seem like it, he’s started making these little noises, groaning, hungry noises, like Scout’s cock is the best thing in the world.

Or so Scout likes to think, because it’s making so much better, he can already feel his balls tightening up again.

“I think... think I’m gonna...” Scout gasps, goddamn it’s so good. He lets go of Medic, but Spy’s right there to push again, making sure Scout comes right over Medic’s tongue and down his throat, making him swallow and cough, just a little, and Scout keeps his eyes open and just watches Medic take it. He can’t even believe he’s seeing it for a moment there, it can’t be real, and then afterglow sets in with unease... and he knows all too well it is.

Scout impulsively bends down and grabs Medic’s face again, planting his lips on Medic’s even as he’s still licking come off, tasting himself, licking into Medic’s mouth anyway. He doesn’t care, because Medic’s melting against him so acceptingly, kissing back wantonly, eyes still shut, but Scout follows suit and keeps kissing him.

They both keep entwining their tongues and sucking and swallowing until they just taste each other, their lips sore and raw and teeth occasionally bumping and nipping in raw lust, mindless lust accompanied by rumbling from one another’s throat spurring each other on, like it’ll keep away their audience or the rest of the world as long as they stay in their own little reality. Scout’s afraid that as soon as he stops Medic will hate him again, Medic’s afraid that as soon as he stops Spy will just dispose of him without a second thought, they both want the illusion.

It can’t stay forever, though.

When Scout finally does pull back, he realizes that Spy isn’t even on the table anymore, he’s rattling around the counters and drawers again. Medic looks drugged, or something, even though Scout is pretty sure he isn’t anymore, so he watches Spy for both of them, his eyes narrowed at Spy’s long fingers finding something that makes him grin in a sinister mockery of a smile.

Steel comes back up from the drawer, scalpels that are no doubt sharp and well-tended, if Medic’s attention to detail in everything else is any indication.

“What the fuck are you doin’ now?” Scout demands, but Spy just ignores him. “Seriously, what the fuck, just...” he trails off when Spy marches over triumphantly, a small leather case full of the things in his hand, folded open to show them both; or at least, they both would see it if Medic was even looking.

“No fuckin’ way man,” Scout tells him, reflexively bending closer around Medic’s body, as if to defend him. “You’re fuckin’ done, alright.”

“Is that so?” Spy laughs, slapping the case down on top of the now closed box full of electrical tormentors. “I beg to differ, petit.”


“No, that’s fuckin’ it,” Scout growls, sliding off Medic’s body. “You stay the fuck away, spook! You sick fuck!”

“’Sick fuck?’” Spy throws his head back and laughs. “Who was it zat started this ’ole situation? Wiz ze medical tubing, yes, you remember?”

“That’s not important right now,” Scout mutters. He remembers, alright. “No, listen—listen, the point is, okay, the point—”

Spy pulls out a scalpel, grins sinisterly.

“The motherfucking point! is that you ain’t got no more say in what’s happenin’ in this room, aright?” He jabs the palm of his hand with his finger for emphasis. “That’s… That’s it. Get out.”

“And what do you expect me to do, exactly, when I ‘get out?’” Spy wants to know. Scout hates the way his mouth curls when he talks. “Don’t tell me you forgot my little…keepsake.”

Scout’s mouth goes a little slack; he almost forgot that. The goddamn definition of be careful what you wish for. “Fuck,” he whispers to himself, and again, and again, though Spy only hears the first one.

In fact, Spy strolls right past him, twirling the scalpel like it’s his butterfly knife, tongue lascivious as he licks his lips. He clearly relishes the pain he foresees inflicting upon Medic.

“I said that’s fuckin’ enough!” Scout shouts, and without thinking, he grabs another scalpel and buries it in Spy’s shoulder. Spy might be physically stronger, but Scout is fast, faster, fastest, and by the time Spy yelps and turns, by the time he tears the tiny blade out of his shoulder and winces, Scout’s hands are on the polished handle of the Ambassador.

Spy holds still, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He’s got his back pressed against a filing cabinet, irises flicking about the room for some means of escape, some spark to a scheme. Scout barks out a command that makes him pay attention again, though he suspects it’s the gun, not his voice, that’s really grabbing Spy.

“No more,” Scout says, low and lethal. “This went way too fuckin’ far, I didn’t sign up for even half o’ this shit.”

“What are you going to do wiz zat?” Spy asks, nodding at the gun. “Come now, you are not going to kill me. I am a teammate! A comrade, no?” Scout thrills to hear the nerves jangling, if ever so lightly, in Spy’s voice.

“I might,” Scout says softly. “I dunno, man, you gonna fuckin’ push me?” It’s Scout’s turn to lick his lips. The power he’s regained over the situation fills him up, makes him wanna go all Clint Eastwood. He’s gonna protect Medic from Spy, the big bad. Yeah.

“Zis is stupid,” Spy snaps. “Put down ze gun, petit.” He flinches when Scout feints a lunge forward with the gun, but continues. “You think zis will solve ze very problem you have created? You think Medic will just forgive you, as easy as zat? Think again, imbecile! Even if you kill me—”

“—Shut up, man, just fuckin’ shut up—” His fingers are so tight they’re bloodless, his teeth ground so hard it threatens to give him a migraine. “Shut—shut up—”

“—even if you kill me! You raped Medic, you stood by while I did ze same, and more, and ze best part is zat Medic took it all like some stupid slut!” Spy laughs too hard, as if he’s trying to convince himself of how little he believes in Scout’s resolve. “You lose, Scout! You—”

The first bullet tears through Spy’s uninjured shoulder, and before Scout can even realize he’s missed, another bullet is eating its way through Spy’s ribs, deflating a lung. Scout doesn’t even know he’s screaming yet, not until after the third bullet makes a neat little hole between the man’s eyes, and a not-so-neat hole in the back of his head.

Spy collapses, and Scout falls to his knees next to him.

There’s blood splattered liberally, on the floor, the walls, the cabinets, on Scout. A little on the side Medic’s face, too. And when Scout pulls fingertips across his cheek, he recognizes that the gunk that comes off uses to be what did Spy’s thinking for him. He swallows what little saliva’s left in his mouth, and then the gun clatters to the ground as he rises.

He undoes the tie binding Medic’s wrists, first, and Medic groans and rubs the feeling back into them gently. Scout undoes an ankle restraint, and then the other, and when he looks up Medic sucker-punches him, smack in the jaw. Scout staggers briefly, but when he looks up, Medic only stares him in the eye. No more punches are coming.

Medic stands up slowly, slides to the floor, flexes his toes almost experimentally. Then he gingerly picks up each article of clothing that belongs to him, giving Spy's corpse a wide berth. He dresses himself while Scout watches, and Scout tries to not notice his bowlegged stance. He pulls his tie back into place, smooths his hair, and wipes his face.

And then he pulls the camera out of Spy's jacket, and tucks it into his own pocket. His message is clear. Scout hops into his pants, scoops up what he can reach of his belongings, and flees.

Epilogue - Shankie

Scout finds himself in a moment of lucidity after it seems Medic is almost done with him this time. It's dull and sharp agony all at the same time, seeming to take up his whole body, and that's keeping him in a haze now that the drugs are wearing off. He doesn't want any more of the drugs, and hopes that Medic ignores the pathetic little whimper he makes.

Medic is whistling cheerfully, and seems to be unaware that Scout's able to think and feel again. In glancing down ever so briefly, Scout can see he's smiling as he hooks the curved needle through his flesh, unhurriedly stitching his abdomen back together. Scout doesn't want to see it, so he looks up at the blinding light over the table. The table that still smells new, replacing the one Heavy 'accidentally' broke, shortly after informing everyone the BLU Spy killed their Spy in there.

Heavy is watching in the corner, but Scout never looks at him. Looking at him makes him too afraid that one of these times, Medic is going to leave him strapped down on the table and encourage the giant Russian to fuck him half to death. He doesn't know if he would. He's not about to ask. Scout just knows that Heavy is always watching him now, without a trace of the friendly rapport they used to have. Always glaring daggers at him, always near Medic, like he’s just waiting for the German to murmur some suggestion about a horrible way for Scout to be found as a mangled corpse on the front steps of the fort. Scout used to like Heavy, and he misses that. He misses not being terrified of him.

The light is making him see spots dancing in front of his eyes, it burns, but it's distracting from the methodical pinch of the needle going in, pulling the thread through the tiny holes it makes. He begins to think it would have been better to come out of it after this part, but reminds himself of what the drugs make him say. Anything Medic wants to hear. No, the pain is better.

He hates the half-formed memories he’s collecting in his head. The dreams they give him at night, every night.

But he still hopes that maybe, maybe, even if it’s after this finally kills him, Medic will forgive him. Somewhere in those hazy recollections of his sessions on Medic’s table, he knows he’s asked - no, begged - for Medic to forgive him. When he knows what he’s doing, when the drugs aren't fucking with his head, he can’t, he won’t, he wants to but it’s not like it’d do any good.

“Zhere we are,” Medic announces. “You’ll have another lovely scar. And vhat do we say?”

“Thank you, doctor,” Scout mumbled.

Medic nods once, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

Scout looks again; this incision was shaped like a U, overlapping a few other symmetrical patterns with their neat little zipper-like impressions. He had them on his legs and his back and everywhere his clothes would hide them, too. Constant little reminders that he traded That Night staying a secret, and thus staying on the team, for being Medic’s little science project. Or experiment. Or work of art. Or whatever the man would choose to call it at any given time.

Medic’s gloved index finger begins tracing lightly over the tops of the tied-off sutures, and it is the weirdest uncomfortable feeling. It makes Scout’s leg try and kick against the restraint all by itself, and the look on Medic’s face while he’s doing it, this pleased expression, just makes it worse.

It’s Scout’s fault that Medic is like this, he knows that. Medic was always a little too enthusiastic about medical procedures and a little too happy to get out the bonesaw before That Night, but he was never this batshit-creepy-crazy. He’d never get a look in his eyes like the one he had right now, like he was seriously considering what Scout would taste like in a stew.

“Heavy, could you excuse us, bitte?” Medic looks over his shoulder, and for once, Scout follows his gaze to the man in the corner.

It doesn’t look at all like Heavy wants to leave, a disapproving frown all over his face. “Are you sure doctor?”

Medic grins toothily at that, patting Scout’s leg. “Vhat do you zhink he can do? Nothing, mein lieber Freund.”

Heavy hesitates before he strides toward the door. “I will not be far,” he says, looking down his nose at Scout with dire seriousness. It makes Scout wants to laugh, what the hell threat is he now? But he doesn’t laugh, he just watches Heavy leave, Medic locking the door behind him.

Not immediately walking away from the door, Medic instead leans back against it, hands on the handle. He smiles ominously, as if immensely pleased with himself.

“Do you still think about me, Scout?” he asks. “Still think me such ein Badhur when you’re alone? Your pretty nurse?”

Where the fuck did that come from? Immediately apprehensive about where this line of questioning is going, Scout squirms back a bit, dearly wishing he wasn’t tied down. He sincerely doubts there’s any good answer to that question.

“Hm?” Medic is still smiling as he walks back to the table, and Scout could swear there was an extra swing in his hips, something different about the way he was holding himself. Like a stripper in a lab coat, except he was a big scary German that had him at his mercy. “Come now, Scout. Tell me.”

“Not... not like that, man. Not anymore.”

“Ah, I see. I can understand zhat, you know,” he says, leaning against the side of the table with his hip cocked out a bit, a remorseful expression that can’t possibly be genuine on his face. “You need more incentive.” Medic nods with a sly little smile that grows slowly, as if just the right idea is blossoming in his mind.

“No, I’m... I’m good,” he chokes out.

Medic just smiles, then saunters over to his desk, unbuttoning his lab coat as he does. Instead of just taking it off, he lets it slide down his back, off his arms dramatically, then just leaves it on the floor. He sits down in his rolling chair, letting it spin so he’s facing his drawers. It’s like he’s putting on a performance. And then he pulls out that little tin that Spy had used against him.

“Do you know vhat ‘Schadenfreude’ means, Scout?”

Scout doesn’t have a clue. He shakes his head mutely.

“I wouldn’t expect you vould, no,” Medic replies thoughtfully, opening it up and arranging the contents with painstaking neatness on his desk, the little glass vial and the syringe. “More the pity, it’s so applicable to you.” He reaches for a bottle of alcohol and a ball of cotton out of a jar in front of him, joining the other items in a tidy row. “So, I vill tell you.”

Scout wants to scream at him to just be out with whatever he’s going to say or do, but on the other hand, he doesn’t want that at all. So he keeps silently watching Medic do everything with calculated grace, down to removing his gloves and rolling up his right sleeve with care.

“It means,” Medic begins, as he fills the syringe. He does so, possibly, more than Spy had, then depresses the plunger just enough to let a little spray fly out of the needle. “To take pleasure in the pain of others.” He smiles at the needle almost lovingly and just holds it, rotating it so it glints in the light, admiring it a long moment before he actually pushes it into his arm and depresses the plunger again, slowly, seeming to melt euphorically into the chair as he does.

There was going to be more, but it was never written; so this will have to satisfy you all. In retrospect, it's not the worst ending. Not all conclusions have to wrap everything up neatly, do they?
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