|
>>
|
No. 10441
Due to popular demand I've written a little more of Muscle Management. Yeah, I know, it's taken ages. I got a job and had stuff to do and blah blah blah... If its and buts were candy and nuts we'd all have a merry Smissmas.
Enjoy!
*
By early evening the rain had cleared. Scout's window was partially open and clear, crisp air drifted across him.
He rolled over on his bed with a groan, burying his face in his pillow. He knew he couldn't stay in his room forever. Eventually he'd have to face the day. He'd have to talk to his teammates, interact with Heavy, and pretend like he had never indulged in a homoerotic fantasy about the man. Scout pulled a blanket over his head and heaved another sigh.
It had been more than a day since their last 'session'. Scout could already feel a distant twinge in his backside, demanding more special treatment. He rubbed his ass with the flat of his palm, which did little to alleviate the irritation. He rolled over once more in frustration. How did Heavy make it look so easy?
After once last blink at his cracked ceiling, Scout finally mustered enough enthusiasm to hoist his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat there for a moment, tempted to just to flop back on his bed and forget the day. It was only until his stomach growled that he finally found the motivation to stand up.
It was an uneventful journey to the kitchen. Through the cheap plywood walls he could hear the sounds of his teammates embroiled in a poker game. Scout was relieved to have the distraction. He wasn't sure if he could explain his absence today, or if he could even face anyone just yet.
Dinner had come and gone. Scout was reduced to raiding the fridge for whatever leftovers that had survived the onslaught. It was an ordinary dinner of cold rib and pickle sandwiches. He chewed on it thoughtfully as he listened to the din of a heated argument in the neighbouring room. The poker game had clearly taken a downward turn. He ducked his head as a spray of bullets shot through the wall, scattering a plume of plaster across the rows of tables. The arguing was silenced, but only for the briefest of moments before it started up again, twice as passionate.
Deciding staying in the kitchen was more of a risk to his health and safety than he could be bothered with; he hastily wolfed down the rest of his meal. There was a large sign over the sink reading: 'Keep America Clean, Maggots! Wash Your Dishes'. Scout dumped his plate under it, adding to the already substantial pile, and headed back to his room.
Scout rubbed his stomach in satisfaction, feeling slightly less edgy with some food in his belly. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked down the empty hallway of the RED barracks. After so much time stationed here, almost all the mercenaries had customised their doors to give them a little more homely charm. Solider had ornamented his with long coils of barbed wire, which Sniper had discovered were electrified after one unfortunate night of inebriation and an urgently full bladder. Engineer had a reinforced steel door, keeping out any nosy busybodies, or (according to Demoman's theories) containing some unspeakable creation inside. The Spy at least had modicum of taste with an autographed pinup of a busty starlet in a bathing suit.
Save for a few bullet holes, there was only one door that remained as bare and plain as it was the day they had moved in. Scout passed it without thought, before hesitating and taking a step backwards to give it another look.
Heavy's room. Scout had never considered it before, but after recent events curiosity started to creep down his spine. Heavy was always so evasive about his personal life, and almost every conversation would lead back to the subject of heavy-duty artillery, sidestepping any personal details. What tantalising secrets to his past lay behind that door? The last few had certainly given Scout some food for thought. Distantly he could still hear the sounds of the raucous poker game. He'd have more than enough time to take a quick look around. Who would even notice?
He gripped the handle. For small moment an uncharacteristic flicker of guilt washed through him. Was it wrong to invade Heavy's privacy like this?
Not giving himself another chance for second thoughts, Scout slipped inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. He took a deep breath and turned to lay his eyes on this dark den of mystery.
"Aww," he muttered in disappointment. Heavy's room was unremarkable. It was understandably larger than Scout's, but unlike Scout's room, he didn't have to kick a path through mounds of soda cans and dirty shirts to walk across the floor. Instead, what little possessions Heavy did have were neatly arranged and kept in order. There was a chipped wooden desk with a large map of the USSR on the wall above it. A few writing utensils and an ink well sat on the polished wood. Beside the desk was a small bookshelf with a few well-worn books, with titles all printed in Cyrillic. They provided few hints to Heavy's salacious past.
Next to the extra large, military issue bunk, was perhaps the only item of interest in the room. Tentatively, Scout sidled up to the freshly polished minigun, carefully laid in a handcrafted cot of its own. Its surface gleamed with a sheen that only came with diligent maintenance. Even as its rotors lay dormant, Scout could almost hear the whirr of its engines warming up. His hand reached out, pulled by some magnetic force to this forbidden treasure.
"Yes!" He exhaled as his hand brushed the cool metal. A shiver of delight shot through him as he traced his fingers down the barrel of the gun. Heavy was unnaturally possessive over it, forbidding anyone to even look at it for longer than was necessary. So of course Scout had never wanted anything more in his life. He dared to move closer, curling his finger around the trigger. His own long face stare back from the reflective metal. "Pow" he whispered. "Pew, pew, pow!"
One click and creak later the door opened.
In his alarm, Scout tripped and fell head first over the mammoth weapon. His forehead smacked against the handle with a painfully loud 'clang'.
Comically straddled over the minigun, he blinked up in a daze.
Wearing a lime-green poker visor, and with his hand still gripped on the door handle, Heavy looked down at Scout in pure bewilderment.
Scout swallowed, knowing he would have been luckier if the fall had killed him.
A nanosecond later, he was slammed against the wall.
"You touched my gun!" Seethed Heavy as he pushed Scout further up the wall. Scout's feet dangled above the ground, kicking to find some traction.
Scout could feel his vertebra popping as Heavy's powerful fingers closed around his throat. He wheezed in a desperate attempt to explain himself. "Didn't…"
"Never. Touch. My. Gun."
Black spots danced in Scout's vision. He futilely tugged at the hand clasped around his neck. He could see Heavy gearing up a fist, taking aim to punch Scout's tiny skull into smithereens. Panic shot through him, and Scout used the last of his breath to gurgle out one final plea. "Accident… tripped… stop!"
Heavy squinted in suspicion. His fist still hovered in the air, but in an act of mercy he decided to give Scout the benefit of the doubt. His hand slackened, releasing the boy. Scout slid down the wall, gasping and coughing.
Scout had to take a minute just to clutch at his bruised neck and suck ragged breaths into his lungs. He glanced up to see Heavy towering over him, cracking his knuckles and eying him warily. This was far from a reprieve.
"You think you can come into my room and touch my things? What is the meaning of this?"
"I swear I didn't mean to! I just came lookin' for ya. Honest to God, cross my heart."
"You come looking for me and find Sacha? This is not so believable." Heavy took a step forward, fury gleaming in his eyes.
"It was an accident man. You gotta believe me!" Scout wracked his brain for a better excuse. He knew he had a very short window of opportunity before Heavy pulverized him. "My leg! It's acting funny again. I thought you could look at it! Oh god, please don't hit me!"
Heavy took swift steps forward. Scout squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact. He waited several excruciating seconds, and when the blow didn't come he cracked an eye open, wondering what the holdup was. He expected to find himself languishing in respawn. Instead he was still sitting in Heavy's room, watching as the man cradled the minigun in his arms. He muttered soothing words in his native tongue as he inspected the casing for damage.
Scout decided to take this as a cue to make his escape. He began to crawl away on his hands and knees, eager not to draw attention to himself. Before he could even reach the door a fist grabbed his collar and yanked him back. Heavy lifted him by the scruff of his neck until they were facing eye-to-eye.
"You are lucky, tiny man. I do not see scratches on Sacha. But, if you do this again, I will kill you. You understand, yes?"
Scout nodded dumbly.
"Good." Heavy lowered Scout to his feet. "Sit." He commanded.
Scout wordlessly obeyed. With no other option, he sat on the edge of Heavy's sturdy bed, waiting for the next instruction.
Heavy pulled a chair over and sat before Scout. A frown still crossed his face. "Give me your leg. I will fix this."
No knowing what else to do, Scout lifted his leg and let it rest on Heavy's thigh. The large man carefully peeled off his socks and shoes. He kept a grip on Scout's ankle and worked his free hand up Scout's leg, kneading his muscles through the material of his pants.
Scout's breath hitched, his excitement flaring just having Heavy's talented hands on him again. He watched with intrigue as Heavy used a circular motion with his thumbs, searching for the tension trapped in Scout's ligaments. It was only a cursory check-up and hardly the intense massage Scout had previously experienced, but Scout still Scout squirmed when Heavy's fingers moved closer to his pelvis. He now knew what those hands were really capable of, and he wanted more.
"Hey, uh, listen," Scout was slightly hesitant to engage Heavy in conversation. The large man was still in a sour mood, and most of his attention was focused on attending to Scout's malady. At the sound of Scout's voice he paused and raised a suspicious eyebrow. Scout pressed on, letting his desperation overrule his common sense.
"I was thinking. You ain't always going to be around to do this for me. I thought, maybe, I mean if it's no trouble, you could show me how to do it..."
Heavy frowned. "You want me to teach you this?"
Scout looked down at the dextrous hands that were currently wrapped around his hamstring, remembering with vivid clarity how intimately they had touched him. He looked up again, his decision unequivocal. "Yeah."
"This is very secret technique. I train for many years to lean these things. You think you can come in and expect me to just show them to you?"
"Uh, yeah?"
Heavy let go of Scout's leg and leaned back with crossed arms, scrutinizing the man.
Scout got the creeping sense that he had just said something very stupid. He gripped the bed sheets, trying not to feel like such a dumbass and decided now was a great time to do some backpedalling. "Whoa hey! Look, don't worry about it. Maybe I should just go. I've bugged ya enough. Forget I even said anything." He scooted to the edge of the bed, preparing to leave.
A large hand clapped down on his shoulder and pushed him back in place.
"Stay. I will show you something."
Scout froze, not quite believing what he was hearing.
Heavy rose from his seat and lumbered to the bookshelf on the adjacent wall. He trailed a finger across the worn spines until he stopped at a particular volume. He blew dust off the cracked cover before he returned to the bed. When he sat next to Scout the bedsprings groaned with his weight.
Scout slid down into the dip on the mattress. Their thighs nearly touched and he stiffened at the proximity. Heavy's stature seemed even more immense when he was this close.
"This," Heavy held up the weathered book so Scout could see. "This is training manual."
Scout blinked at the worn tome, not sure what to make of it. Reading wasn't exactly an interest of his.
Heavy must have sensed Scout's indifference because he gave a little chuckle and opened the first page. "Do not worry. It is mostly pictures."
He flipped through a few yellow pages, revealing intricate diagrams of the human body. Lines and circles crisscrossed an outline of a man and Scout was clueless to their meaning. The notations were all in Cyrillic, so Heavy stopped at certain pages to translate. "Here it is showing pressure points, they are connected in many ways. All bodies have them, even tiny bodies like yours. I use them on you to heal your leg."
Scout nodded, feigning understanding.
"Here," Heavy turned the page to show an illustration of an arm. There was a point on the wrist with several circles that radiated outwards from the mark. Before Scout could pull away, Heavy reached down and took a hold of his forearm. He turned Scout's palm upwards, mirroring the diagram. "Notice what I am doing."
Scout watched as Heavy began gently massage the taper of his wrist. His enormous hands practically engulfed Scout's arm. Scout would never have considered himself petite, but when he was close enough to compare, Heavy's bulk dwarfed him. The large man continued to work at the spot, gradually increasing pressure. Despite his reservations Scout watched on, deciding it wasn't worth offending Heavy by making a sceptical remark. He relaxed into the gentle touches, content to let Heavy do as he pleased.
It happened so quickly all Scout could do was squawk in surprise. It felt like a firecracker had been set off in his spine, and was now shooting stars of pleasure throughout his solar plexus. He arched his back from the intensity of the sensation, eyes wide in shock.
"You see," said Heavy, not taking his hands off Scout. "There are many ways to make a man feel good. But-" His touched changed. Now instead of a soothing rubbing motion, it became more aggressive. His fingers dug in deep, squeezing with uncomfortable pressure.
"Hey, what gives?" This was all Scout could say before white-hot pain knocked the breath out of him. What had once been waves of bliss had now been transformed into spindles of razor blades. It felt like they were rotating through him from the inside out, slashing every nerve he had. Scout nearly retched at the unbearable sensation. He yanked his arm away from Heavy, desperate to make it end.
Heavy leaned back with a sly smile. "This can also be used to harm. I have tortured many men this way."
Scout pressed his trembling arm against his chest, gaping at Heavy's casual demeanour. The pain had stopped, but his muscles continued to spasm from the memory of it. He couldn't believe he could feel so much pain with such a simple touch. "Fuck man," he panted, "that was amazing. Don't ever do it again!"
"It is okay. This is only demonstration. I save this for enemies, like cowardly spy. You do not need to worry unless you really make me angry." His eyes flickered to the minigun, which was now sitting safely in the far corner of the room.
Scout swallowed, getting the message loud and clear.
When Heavy was satisfied that Scout had recovered from his ordeal, he rolled back the sleeve of his own arm and presented it to Scout. "Here, now you try."
Scout looked down at the broad arm, not entirely sure if he had understood Heavy correctly. "Wait, you want me to do that to you?"
"You wanted to learn, didn't you?"
Scout didn't want to say that he intended to learn these skills for entirely selfish reasons. Using these techniques on himself in the privacy of his room was one thing. Applying them on a grown man three times his size was something entirely different.
Taking a deep breath, he tentatively wrapped his fingers around Heavy's thick wrists, trying as best he could to imitate what he'd seen. It was stupefying. He glanced at Heavy, hoping for a clue. "So, like this? Am I supposed to make it feel good, or what?"
"Close," Heavy placed he free hand over Scout's fingers, splaying them apart to cover more area. "Like this. My pulse, can you feel it?"
Scout's hand was trapped between the warmth of Heavy's wrist and his open palm. Faintly he could feel the rhythm of Heavy's steady heartbeat beating beneath his skin. "Yeah. Yeah, I can feel it."
"Good. Now, your fingers, move them like this."
Heavy guided Scout's digits over his pulse point, moving them in a gradual circular motion. When he was sure that Scout had the basics down, he pulled his hand away, letting Scout continue unassisted.
"Tiny man is doing well." Heavy's eyes fluttered shut in appreciation.
Scout was transfixed by the motions of his own hands and was amazed that he had the power to make someone feel that way. A tingle of delight shot through him knowing that he could reciprocate Heavy's skilled touches. A part of him wanted to trace his fingers down the rest of Heavy's arm. It bulged with muscle definition that his own body woefully lacked.
Unsettled by these urges, Scout extracted his hands from Heavy's wrist.
At the loss of Scout's touch, Heavy opened his eyes. His arm still hovered in the air, as if waiting for Scout to continue where he had left off. He hummed in thought. "Tiny Scout did well for a beginner. Did you want more practice?"
Scout looked away from Heavy, unsure what he wanted.
|