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little boy blue

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He kept his eyes open while they fucked him. Even when he could not discern much more than a hulking shadow, grunting and thrusting above his line of sight, he never took his gaze away. It did not make things any less bearable in the end, he could hardly pretend they were anyone else but his own teammates. But he told himself to look, to not cover his eyes, and before he realized it, they had finished, the shadow would become a man again, and it was time to clean up and get ready for the next.

They never took long with him. Not this far out from town, from a woman’s embrace, from any other sort of release from boredom.

He could not guess whose idea it was, and did not want to know, but perhaps they had intended this for him from the start. Better him, then, he had eventually concluded, after that first time with Scout, who broke down and cried pitifully in relief in his arms. At least he knew what to do, to soothe the rage and lust that drove a powerful man, how to please and flatter the ones he worked with, even if he could not hope to receive any valuable bits of pillow talk to use against their opponents.

Well, nothing he could use in the battlefield, at any rate.

The second time was less awkward, and by the fourth time, he felt a sort of insane sense of accomplishment. Then they started the hitting. And he could not help but wonder how the friendly fire mechanism never broke down during those long nights, even when it always seemed to break down in the middle of fighting for him.

Engineer did not have an answer for him, but he never talked shop while fucking anyway.

Fortunately, the bruises and cuts and soreness never lingered to the next day, not after a quick session sucking off Medic in the infirmary, and he would face the morning, whole and hale, ready to fight. He fought to win, of course, even though victory and defeat felt the same to him at night, the only difference being the tone of Soldier’s tirade in his ear. Which nonetheless was more interesting than Demo’s drunken blubbering, or Sniper’s guilty muttered “fuck fuck fuck…,” or Heavy’s oppressive silence broken only by the creak of the abused bed.


Yet for all of that, Spy could hardly blame them for treating him as little more than a convenient warm hole. Because he was bored, too.