spy/scout: the scout has had far too much to drink.

[titusnowl]

Half past four - that unholy time of the morning when no one's still up from last night and no one's yet up for today; the Spy, of course, keeps odd hours, and so he hears noises in the bathroom - which bear investigation.

Beneath the dividers of the farthest stall, a pair of legs in black baseball pants, familiar shoes with two white stripes, one blue-trimmed sock fallen loose from an athletic calf to bag around an ankle. He taps softly on the door. "Scout?"

There is no answer, which is slightly worrying; so he trips the latch and opens the door, repeats himself. "Michael?"

A single hand extends tremulously upward, one finger pointed toward the ceiling. He sighs and half-kneels near the younger man. "Are you sick?"

A voice choked in misery still manages to sound pissed off, echoing slightly in the bowl of the toilet. "Yeah. You fucking knocked me up. I'm pregnant with your ass-babies. What the fuck do you think?"

Marie-René shakes his head and mutters something guttural, French. There's not really any way for the boy to be sick - they're a closed community, after all, where would he catch the flu? "What 'appened?"

"I told you - " the Scout begins; but then he's being sick again, and when he recovers himself he says: "Beer-pong with the Demo. Fucker cheats."

"'Ow can you cheat at beer-pong?"

"Goddamn ass-bastard fills the fucking cups with Scotch. I got motherfucking alcohol poisoning. I'm going to die in a shitter."

Another shake of the head. "Per'aps you should go see ze docteur."

"That fucking sadistic Nazi douche would just start cuttin' pieces off of me - you don't want that, you goddamn cockfag - "

"Tu es con," mutters the Spy. "Pauvre p'tit idiot - " He gets up, returns with a cool, damp washcloth, and settles in on the floor against the door to wait it out together.

Comments

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

heeee. i did write most of that for you. XD

I *almost* wrote you something last night, but I can't swear like the scout. also I know no french. so it wouldn't have been very good.

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

I just like to cuss. Especially right now. So I had to do it even though it's not original at all XD

You should have done anyway! You know I am a beggar and am pleased with any scraps tossed my way.

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

INSTEAD I DRAWED YOU A PICTURE JUST NOW.

only Simon has stupid hair. And i hate drawing hands. and more-than-one-person-in-a-picture. and stuff like that.

akshally if you took simon out it's a pretty good drawing. :( STUPID SIMON U SUCK WITH YOUR - STUPID HAIR AND YOUR - STUPID HANDS.

maybe i should just put a cast on that arm. ahhahaha.

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

hahaha yes do it lol

I've been drinking and I could draw a thing tell me a thing to draw

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

haha how do they cast something like that i mean like - i've no idea haha

UM I DON'T KNOW. UM. DRAW UM. JIM. CALLIN DAN TO FIND OUT IF SOMETHINGS EDIBLE.

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

Individually set and splinted, cast extending over the actual hand to keep the fingers from curling up from the natural tendon-thingy because that would make the bones set crooked.

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

i just drew a sort of a thing what looks rather like an oven mitt.

and then i drew bandage lines and graffiti on. XD

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

lol that works too hahaha

postin dis

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

Re: postin dis

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

Psmith-mun: he looks SO BAKED
Psmith-mun: SO BAKED
Psmith-mun: because of all the erasing and rough work around the eyes
Roger Conway, esq.: HOORAY
Psmith-mun: he's all "man - danny boy, oh man - i found this - this THANG, man"
Psmith-mun: "it's in the CAB'NET - man, well, i mean, like, it ain't NOW"
Psmith-mun: "now i'm HOLDIN it"
Psmith-mun: "anyway MAN ah'm HUNGRY. ah gotta - man, ah gotta EAT."
Psmith-mun: "CAN AH EAT IT"
Psmith-mun: "... what is it."
Psmith-mun: "it's a thang in a BOX, man."
Psmith-mun: "read the box, jim."
Roger Conway, esq.: haha
Psmith-mun: "JUST TELL ME IF AH KIN EAT IT"
Psmith-mun: "read me the box, jim."
Roger Conway, esq.: hahaha it's baking soda, innit.
Psmith-mun: hahahah i bet it is
Roger Conway, esq.: he does look baked
Roger Conway, esq.: that's reefer in his hand innit
Psmith-mun: haha yes
Roger Conway, esq.: Dan is all "put down the pot, Jim, and tell me what the box FUCKING SAYS."
Roger Conway, esq.: "how'd you know i had pot?!"
Roger Conway, esq.: "i'm psychic, Jim."
Roger Conway, esq.: "NO WAY."
Roger Conway, esq.: "whoa, wait - if yer psychic, how come you can't just tell me what the box is?"
Psmith-mun: hahahahahaha
Roger Conway, esq.: "... the box has even less brains than you, jim."
Psmith-mun: <3 XD XD
Psmith-mun: hahaha man i can't even do inkwork on that
Psmith-mun: because it would ruin the supreme potheadedness of it
Psmith-mun: THAT CAT'S BEEN IN THE REEFER

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

JEFFIE DID IT SO HA

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

I need a spy/scout icon lol


He thinks he'll catch him one morning while he's shaving or something - he obviously shaves, enough of his face shows around his mouth to prove that - but honest to fucking God, even if he waits outside the cocksucking door and waits until he hears razorblades scraping on motherfucking stubble, he can pop that goddamn door open and the cuntbastard son of a bitch HAS HIS FUCKING MASK ON.

It isn't fucking fair.

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

HAHHAHAHA

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

this is sort of what I almost wrote last night off your thing

"I don't even know what the hell you look like."
"Mystery is ze 'eart of lust. One wants what one does not know - familiarity breeds contempt."
"In other words you're really fucking ugly under that thing."

"Is zat what you would like to think, Michael?" the Spy drawls, and before the Scout can even react, he's on his stomach, the Spy behind him - he has to turn his head to see what's going on, and then the Spy's holding his shoulders down so he can't *move*. "You would like an ugly man doing zese things to you?"

He's still pretty well stretched out, but the Spy's fingers are *cold* and he's not going slow at all, two fingers and, "oh, fucking fuck -"

"You would like to be moaning like zis underneath a - how you say. An ugly son-of-a-bitch?"

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

The fingers twist almost viciously inside him, making him sob as they rub over his prostate, and then - they're gone. "Hmm, mon cher?" the Spy says, his voice low and sweet.

"Bullshit, man, what are you -" thicker pressure - three fingers, and he can barely *breathe* for a moment, "-quit fucking around and goddamn -"

"You want I should stop?" Marie-Rene says far too softly in his ear.

"FUCK -" the Scout swears, as the fingers inside him still, and the Spy won't let him push back against them. "Motherfuck - no, you bastard, I bet you're a goddamn movie star, just fuck me already, you fucking cocksucker -"

this is now the tf2 flashfic archive thread

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

When the Scout went back to his room that night, the Spy was already there, lying on his bed, smoking a cigarette and reading a magazine. He looked up at the Scout's entrance, folding the magazine down against his chest, and said without preamble: "Take your clothes off."

"What the fuck are you doing in my room? Why the fuck should I take my clothes off?"

"Take zem off, Michael."

Well, fuck - he'd used his fucking *name* -

He took them off.

"Kneel."

He knelt.

The Spy picked his magazine back up and continued reading.

"What the hell, man? This is bullshit - "

"Shh. I'm not done wi' ze article yet. It's ver' inairesting."

"You're a fucking cockfag, you know that, you son of a - "

"Shh."

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

There's a second there where he doesn't quite see through the disguise and thinks "Oh shit," and then there's a second where he recognizes the Spy despite the red Pyro gear, and then there's another second where he thinks he fucked up and he's fucking screwed forever, because whoever the shit it is, anyway, just fucking jumped him, right when he hit the landing and before he had a chance to do shit-all.

Then there's another second where he realizes that it is, in fact, Marie-René, and he realizes this because the cocksucking bastard gets him slammed face against the wall - it actually fucking hurts - and whispers something gay as shit in French in his ear, all he catches is "c'est vrai," and he's surprised he even catches that much because if you asked him he'd say he didn't know any of that shitfucking Frog bullshit anyway - then fucking grinds against him. He fucking knows what that does to him -

"What fucking side are you, cockfag?" the Scout hisses. Then the Soldier finally blasts through the door, checks his weapon at the last second before he blows a hole right through the Spy - but he's an old veteran, he makes a show of fumbling the bolt to make the miss plausible, keep up the Spy's charade for a couple more minutes, and the Scout's left with the Spy's mocking eyes and the Soldier's confusion to deal with.

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

"What were you before?"

Why the hell he always feels like asking stupid girl-ass questions like that after a good fuck he doesn't fucking know. Anyway, the Spy just looks at him, doing that thing where one eyebrow goes up and drags that side of the mask with it - you know, it ought to look retarded but it actually gets his point across - and makes the act of tapping ash off his cigarette speak volumes. Volumes with titles like "Jesus Christ, You're An Idiot, Aren't You?" and "How To Be Stupid For Dummies." Only maybe in French.

"I'm a spy, cheri. What, do you think zey go out to ze Burgair Keeng wi' ze recruiting papers and say 'Oh hello M'sieu ze Fry Cook, would you like to be a Spy?' You can come straight from ze - how is it in America? High school, ze baseball team, but I need to have useful skills."

"I have useful skills, fuckface - "

"Einh, I suppose - " and he's smirking and looking down.

"Fuck you!"

"Ozzer way around."

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

" -- And I went to BU!"