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No. 3752
So... rather than spam the chan with lots of short threads, I think I'll just toss everything I write about these two in here from now on... the one-shots anyway.

-----

"It Gets Me Places"

Thanks to everyone who first commented on this and prompted me to make it better!

-----

"But... but I don't want to be fuckin' gay!" Scout exclaims as I pull back from his lips with a smirk, my tongue sliding across them slowly as I picked up the last traces of the boy on my tongue.

He does not have much room to dodge the label, though, and we both know it. He brought on the kiss, asking for it with every action and word. The swagger, the infantile jabs at my heritage, his intense lack of knowing what espace is, and his amazing aptitude at being loud, obnoxious and brash.
I snort and his hands are still gripping my mask, only minutes ago trying to pull me closer. He says he doesn't 'want to be gay', but he was responding to me with just as much desire, just as much need.

The kiss had not been just a kiss, it was more of a breaking between us. A breaking of that barrier that kept us from exploring each other's mouths and, in breaking, allowing all the lovely tension between us to shatter as well; like a pane of glass beneath the velocity of one of his baseball toys.
I decide that it is my turn to provoke him and snatch his earpiece without further ado and dance back from the confused boy as I smirk and slide it on. "May I borrow your earpiece?" I ask the rhetorical question with a wide grin, my eyes daring him to do something about it. He begins walking toward me with a frown, seeming to accept my challenge and I take slow steps back to prolong the time that I am out of his reach.

"What're you-"

I flip the talk switch with a barely constrained chuckle, not even bothering to affect the delicious Bostonian accent that the boy bears as I speak into the microphone. "This is Scout! Rainbows make me cry!" I squeal, miming tears with a pout at Scout.

It enrages the boy and I smirk as I see the anger crackle in his lovely grey eyes. He's so beautiful when his spirit is ablaze.

He yells something unintelligible, the last meter between us disappearing and before I know what to think, he backhands me. It is weak, not as strong as it would have been if he had actually meant it; if he didn't know I was 'just fuckin' with him' as he would phrase it. My head is barely turned by the blow and I laugh, grabbing his wrist. His free hand retrieves his earpiece and his finger touches the switch, but finds it already on. He scowls at me and swipes his finger across his throat in the universal sign of 'cut it out'.

"Fuckin' Gay-Ass Spy stole my mic, guys, ignore that!" He orders, flipping the microphone back into non-receptiveness as I press the back of his hand against my masked cheek.

"Eef you are not afraid of rainbows, Amour..." I purr, pulling him closer to me and resting my arm around his waist. "Zen prove it."

The blush across his cheeks is exquisite as he looks away from me, considering my order. It's funny because we both know that there's no thought to it; he's just being a little bitch. With a short huff of air that is so childish it makes me smile, the boy finally turns his face back to me and murmurs, "be in my room after dinner then..." his blush deepens and I am almost leering as I reply.

"Until then, mon cher..." a gentle kiss to his blazing cheek and I cloak before taking my leave. 'I will use that taunt more often,' I decide as I light up a cigarette with a smirk. It gets me places.
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 3753
Every time I see your name I start grinning and fanboying like crazy. I also like the 'Spout' pun - because you totally meant to do that in your first post.
I can hardly wait for more!
>> No. 3754
Somehow, this is even better than the first improvement. Maybe it's the formatting?

Either way, I love this. And I love the idea of a collection. I look forward to its update.
>> No. 3755
>>2
Ah... I've always wanted to make someone fanboy =D my life's complete... and yes I did... but my fingers moved faster than my brain and turned it into "sprout" and hit the send button before my brain could go: wait... wut...

>>3
Thanks, I noticed that having no spaces between the paragraphs as well as no tabs was kinda cramped and meant to do it in the first improvement, but forgot. So I did it in this one! And missed a few... but meh. Glad you like it = )
>> No. 3756
Bahahaha. Scrunchy, you are my favorite. Every time I read this I end up grinning like a psychopath.
>> No. 4664
Hm... so I was on Fanfcition.Net for the first time in forever and I started reading one of the tf2 fics... and four paragraphs down this hit me... and ten minutes, two proof reads later this is what I got. So... enjoy the emo!Fluff?

-----

Ah, the sweet bliss of a cigarette. It calmed him, made him feel whole again. It stopped his hands from shaking as he remembered all the men he had killed that day.

Why did killing people still bother him after so long?

A drag on his cigarette and the thought turned over in his mind as he lay back on his bed and covered his eyes with his arm.

His first kill flashed through his mind:

The beauty of it; the thrill that raced through his body as the man dropped at his feet with a knife in his back. He could do this. He could kill men for money while serving this strange company. Then the trembles set in. His body was racked with such shakes that he thought there was an earthquake before he realized that it was only his body moving, not his surroundings.

His knees gave way and he got a better look at the lifeless eyes of his kill. Had he really done that? Killed another man and thought he'd be perfectly fine? A black gloved hand grabbed his own and his gaze followed his arm to the hand, the cuff of the suit that matched the uniform of the dead man scant inches away, and then to those piercing blue eyes that had a tinge of pity in them.

"Here..." the enemy Spy was mercifully speaking French as he pressed two unlit cigarettes as well as a spare lighter into the still-shaking hand. "This will help the shock," the man assured him before closing his fingers around the cigarettes and lighter with his own hand. Still on his knees, the Spy watched his enemy coolly walk away as he tried to find his voice. It was not forthcoming though, so he turned his eyes to the cigarettes in his loosely clenched hand.

He had never smoked before, it was a bad habit and he knew it, but the trembling wouldn't stop. He shakily placed one between his lips and lit the end. Relief sped through his system and his trembling softened, less spastic jerks and more gentle shivering. Before he knew it, the first cigarette was gone and the second made its way to his mouth as he crouched next to his first kill still. His eyes looked over the body and settled back on the now glassy eyes. He felt indifferent to the man's death now, it didn't shock him so much as made him wonder if he'd do it again today and where he'd get more cigarettes if he did.

However, the Announcer had called an end just as he finished off the second cigarette. He tossed it to the dusty ground with a soft exhale of the last bit of calming smoke. His shivers weren't completely abated yet, but he was able to stand and had good enough sense to brush the dirt from his suit and straighten his tie before heading back to the base. He would put in an order to HQ and there would be a pack of cigarettes for him tomorrow morning. He also noted that they would be getting a new Heavy and Medic as he spotted the prone bodies of the duo across the field.

Spy's mind returned to him as there was a knock on the door. He stood and, pulling on his mask, walked over to the door and flipped the lock. He raised a brow when he saw the boy standing there, the familiar expression of a flighty rabbit on his face as he looked up and down the hall.

"Oui, is zere somezing you would like, Scout?" He asked, leaning on the doorjamb with a small smile. He knew what the child was there for, but if he was going to act like a kid running to his parent's room when he had a nightmare, then he could at least admit it.

"It's... I... c'n I sleep with you t'night, man? They... they won't leave me alone." He pleaded, looking limp and lifeless as he stood there with those big grey eyes. Spy nodded silently and stepped aside, holding the door open for the Bostonian.

'They' were the nightmares, the people he had killed. Either that day or the previous day or the first day... the dreams and nightmares came rarely, but after the fist few times, it had become normal for the boy to wander to Spy's door.

Spy soon realized that Scout either didn't see any implications in their sleeping together, thought they were good enough friends to warrant no awkwardness, or just really didn't care as long as the warm body wrapped around him was keeping the nightmares at bay.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with their demons. Spy smokes, Sniper broods, Demo drinks, Soldier whacks himself in the head until he can't remember the amount of men he has killed, Pyro is a mystery as always, Engineer loses himself in his work, Heavy is used to such things and has no qualms, Medic is a psychotic deviation from the Hippocratic oath who would prefer to cut a man open and explore his anatomy rather than have a conversation with him, and Scout feeds off of any trace of humanity that might still exist.

Why he hadn't gone to Engineer for that humanity, Spy wasn't sure. The man was certainly one of the more sane of the bunch. Perhaps he had and the man had told him to go back to his room and suck it up. It certainly wouldn't be too far off the mark for the no-nonsense Texan.

Scout was slipping his shoes and top layer of clothes off before Spy even got the door shut. He saw the boy a little better now that he wasn't in the dim light of the hallway. He looked tired, having run around all day and now, in the middle of the night, was forced into sleeplessness. Spy pulled his mask off and ran a hand through his short hair before replacing his cigarette back in his mouth and beginning to undress for bed himself. Scout watched him blankly from beneath the covers, taking up very little of the twin-sized mattress that each room was equipped with.

After putting his suit unceremoniously down the clothes chute, Spy moved over to slide into the bed next to Scout, the boy moving closer immediately before Spy could even settle himself upon the mattress. With a sigh, he removed his cigarette from his mouth and tapped it out in the ashtray on the beside table behind Scout before giving a soft grunt as he shifted both of their weight to the middle of the mattress, springs complaining as usual until they settled down with Spy's arms loosely drawn around Scout.

"Bonsoir, mon ami." Spy murmured with a soft yawn.

"Yeah, g'night..." Scout said, a bit of life returning to his voice as he absorbed Spy's heat and scent, glad for another warm body while the last vestiges of his nightmares plagued him. A hand started brushing through his hair soothingly when Spy saw that the boy wasn't sleeping yet and he found his eyes drooping and his mind clearing of anything that might keep him awake. He was soon softly snoring, cradled to Spy as the man's hand made a few more passes through his messy brown hair, attempting to tame it a bit with a small smile before giving up and settling down to close his eyes. His breathing soon matched Scout's and they both slept on, neither bothered by their conscience, at peace for a few hours until they would wake up and do it all again.
>> No. 4665
I think I've overdosed on cuteness.
You'll have to imagine my spastic and garbled reaction to reading this lovely bit of character study.
You have won an internet for this.
>> No. 4667
>>4664
I'm pretty sure it's not Bonsoir but Bonnuit, or something like that...
But don't mind me, I only studied french long enough to say I can't speak it.
>> No. 4669
>>4665
Glad you liked it~

>>4667
I'm pretty sure it's "bonsoir", the site I got it off of said that bonnuit was wrong. Yay for my lack of culture if it is wrong? =D
>> No. 4670
>>4669

(frenchfag)

Actually both are fine in that context, although it's two words: bonne nuit, not bonnuit.

(/frenchfag)
>> No. 4671
>>4667
I'm pretty sure it's "bonsoir", the site I got it off of said that bonnuit was wrong. Yay for my lack of culture if it is wrong? =D


As I said. I know enough French to make clear I don't know a thing...So I think it's me who is wrong.

Maybe it can be like in Italian? Buona Sera like Bonsoir. And Buona Notte as Bonnuit, like when you are about to sleep?
>> No. 4672
>>4670


Ohhhh

I knew there was something wrong about the way I was spelling it.
>> No. 4673
>>4670
I can now sleep knowing that I have not screwed up a language that is not mine. = ) Thanks.
>> No. 4674
>>4673
Typically you say Bonne Nuit when you're bidding someone a good night and a sleep well. Bonsoir is a greeting. You never say "Bonne Nuit" as a greeting, just like you never say "Bonsoir" when you're retiring.

That, however, doesn't take away from these darling fanfics. I love them so hard, you have no idea. <3
>> No. 5161
Because somebody had to do it after the Announcer's friendship spiel.

-----

I first noticed the small scar at the base of my neck almost a week after my physical for being BLU's Spy. I passed with flying colors of course, since my hobbies and previous work had kept me at the utmost peak of physical potential. Though it was odd to have a scar and to know nothing of its origins annoyed me slightly, but I assumed that it was merely nothing and went on with my job. It was not vanity that made me annoyed (I wear a mask for the majority of my work), but the fact of not knowing where it came from. I supposed it could have been from my employers, but I did not feel pain at any time or fall asleep in order for them to perform any procedure on my person.

I thought anyway.

But now there's a throbbing at the base of my skull and I'm standing over this little boy, this Scout.

Ah, yes... he might be a man in age, but the way that he's staring up at me like I've somehow betrayed him by raising this knife against him makes him look like a four year old whose parent has drawn back a hand to strike: scared, shocked, and vulnerable.

What is wrong with me? The thought passes through my mind and prods my conscience like a lance. The pain intensifies.

Something in my head is telling me that if I do this- ruin our friendship, kill him- the pain will go away. The headache and the throbbing at the base of my skull that has plagued me for the last week will recede... but only if this boy ends up dead.

My eyes drift closed as I try to stay my hand and logically think this over. Waves of pain pulse from the base of my skull and wash over my brain, making thinking almost impossible.

Then I hear it. The soft, almost imperceptible, urging echoing in my ears at a decibel level that only my subconscious can unravel. The voice is unmistakably an old woman, perhaps sixty or seventy in years and all too familiar to us all.

Kill the whelp. The pain will fade into nothing and there will be nothing holding me back from my job...

I try to convince myself that he wasn't impeding my work, but I know that he was. I have refused to kill him many times when the chance arose and have recently approached killing his comrades in a less than professional way, often allowing them to escape with their lives and a little blood shed.

He has made me weak. He causes my pain. Him. Him. Kill him and I will be strong again, kill him and-

His voice rips me from my listening, it is tentative, questioning and only one word: "Spy..."

"S-Scout, je..." I can't even speak English anymore. The pain, the throbbing... it intensifies so much that I drop my knife, fascinated as I watch it pinwheel towards his foot, sticking in the ground and barely missing the boy's beloved appendage.

Even though his uniform is red, my mind tells me that he is my friend. I collapse to my knees, begging the voices to go away.

Friendship is insubstantial and- I block it out by holding my breath and focusing so that it sounds like a storm is raging in my ears. It calms the pain and I wish that I can stay like this for eternity, but I have to breathe and am soon gasping for air.

"Spy, you okay, man?" Scout sounds worried and I hear him shift closer through the rising volume in my head. My hands come up to ward him off. It seems like the closer he gets, the louder the voice gets and the more my ears feel like they are about to burst.

"We... we can no longer be friends." I murmur in French, pushing him away when his hand touches my shoulder. Oh, the pain diminishes a bit. I repeat it, this time in English and Scout looks at me like I have struck him while offering him a treat at the same time.

"Wh-"

"You heard me, boy." I attempt to be detached, my voice is stern and harsh from the last few moments of torture. "Go. Now." I state as I reach for my knife and tug it from the dirt.

"B-" he is cut off by my knife to his throat.

"I will spare you this last time, you insolent little fool, but the next time that we cross paths...!" He is gone long before I get to the threat, but I continue on anyway. What will happen the next time we cross paths? Will the voices come back again and drive me to madness? If they don't, will Scout ever forgive me for my crazy behavior?

No, he wont. I sigh as the information sinks in and that same voice that had previously been echoing in my head calls down from the speakers that we have captured the RED intelligence.

They are the enemy, familier... not friends.

"Oui... I have no choice but to agree..." I sigh up at the nearest speaker and flick my knife back into my pocket. "You hold all of the cards and we are merely the chips, eh?" I murmur sardonically before turning to walk away, to catch an enemy in the back before they can shoot down our Scout. He's so incompetent that he needs directions to the opponent's Intel spelled out for him. It's not like the bases are exactly the same.

At thoughts of my own team's incompetence I realize that without my friend's moral support and (though I will never admit it to his face) quite funny jokes, this war will seem to last forever.


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