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

[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 -"