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No. 4372
beep beep update time, medic likes it and don't let anybody tell you otherwise. other notes: I take full responsibility for my TOTAL LACK OF GERMAN, and also this is a slightly longer update than the usual two or so pages in Word.
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Spy looks a little flustered when he uncloaks, but he certainly doesn’t act like it. He sweeps by Scout to open Medic’s desk drawer. “Ahh!” he says with obvious pleasure, plucking a small tin from the drawer. When he flips it open, there’s a vial and a needle strapped inside; the vial is not entirely full.
“W’sat?” Scout asks, nodding his head at it. He tries to pretend he’s not naked (except for socks), that he can be taken seriously.
“Ze doctor’s favorite candy,” Spy says with a grin, giving the little tin a shake in Medic’s direction. Medic says something biting in German; Spy smirks as he pulls the little vial out, calls him dummkopf again as he unscrews the cap. Scout gathers it’s not a kind word.
“Now, poor Medic, ’e ’as been through a lot today, no?” Spy says, tossing the tin on the desktop as he takes out the needle as well. “Yes, ’e did come, in ze end, oui, c’est vrai, but it was after, per’aps, a bit of ze trauma.” He draws the fluid in the vial into the needle slowly, so Medic can see. “So, we medicate. It is ze right thing to do.” He flicks the needle once he puts the vial down, still smirking. Everything he’s just said has more or less gone over Scout’s head, but he has an idea of what’s coming next.
So does Medic, but he finds he can do very little about it. His orgasm took a great deal of his energy with it, and he has yet to escape his bonds, so all he can do is tense and growl when Spy approaches him with the needle. “Nicht handeln, wie du es nicht magst,” Spy whispers when he presses the point of it against flushed skin. The needle’s point pushing in is a twisting of nerve endings, and Medic takes a few seconds to mourn the control he knows he’ll be losing momentarily.
“Just a touch,” Spy says suddenly, and Medic realizes he’s only been given a fraction of a dose. His first response is to ache for more; his second is his heart beginning to pound. Scout is a nuisance, but Spy is dangerous. Nevertheless, the effects of even such a minimal amount of the pethidine he likes so much begin to appear, and Medic feels loose, in a word. He relaxes more than he’d like to, and he can feel his cheeks heating. At the same time, the air in the room seems to take on a chill, and he feels it on his exposed flesh.
“That’s better,” Spy says, and Scout exhales hard.
“Man, whatever you did, I like it,” he says with a nervous laugh, and he takes a step toward the man on the floor. Spy stops him, points wordlessly at the examination table. Specifically, to the restraints that hang to either side of it. Medic’s teeth clack together without rhythm as the other two men work together to lift his body off the floor and onto the table; his fists between his back and the table make for an uncomfortable arrangement.
Spy reaches under him, deftly unties the rubber tubing and pulls his arms out one at a time to strap them down. Medic wishes his body would respond to his brain’s commands in a more timely fashion; by the time his arm flexes to escape, the worn leather is buckled tight around it. His brain is a whirlwind of panicked thoughts, of dread of what Spy plans to do with him next. He mentally catalogs all the items in his office that could be used against him—not counting drugs—and is alarmed at the length of the list.
Soon he’s completely strapped down, all the tubing is gone, and when Medic curls his fingers into defiant fists, he finds his gloves gone, too. When did they do that? When did his teammates pull his clothes off completely, for that matter? The worst part, though, is definitely his ankles being strapped at the end of the short table; this forces his knees bent, making his nether regions accessible to whoever want to (like his mentally-ill teammates). The sweat between his toes feels like ice. He starts shivering.
“Sind Sie kalt?” Spy asks with a low, deadly laugh. He pats Medic on the cheek patronizingly. “Don’t worry, we will warm you up very soon.” Spy beckons Scout, who’s quieted down a little since relieving Medic completely of his pants. The boy keeps swallowing and panting, swallowing and panting, like he’s sex-starved. As if he hadn’t had his fill of the doctor already.
“You like zis, don’t you?” Spy asks as Scout comes to stand by him. “Seeing ze doctor like zis… It is no matter of power to you, is it, petit?” Scout glares at him, but without the benefit of clothing, it’s hard to hide his body’s reaction. “You want somesing more zan just one fuck. You want ze doctor to—”
“Shut up!” Scout hollers, moving to punch the man standing beside him, but Spy is a better fighter and stops his fist mid-blow, twists it so fast Scout isn’t sure of what’s happening until he finds the barrel of the Ambassador between his teeth. His mother always said he shouldn’t leave his mouth open all the time.
Spy tsk-tsks him, draws the gun out slowly. Scout clamps his mouth shut immediately, and Spy chuckles. “I ’ave many ideas,” he says, “more zan just zis one.” He massages the flesh just to the left of Medic’s cock, and the organ twitches in kind. “Per’aps none of us are as youthful as you, petit, but ze doctor, ’e ’as at least anozer go in ’im.” He looks at Scout with something bordering on seriousness. “Do you?”
“Verpiß Dich,” Medic mutters, but he can’t find it in himself to shout anymore. It’s not just the pethidine; it’s that this nightmare keeps dragging on, keeps inventing new ways to torment him. Scout is a simple problem that Spy can only compound. He feels dangerously close to mental surrender. God help him, he felt good.
“I got plenty left in me,” Scout breathes, as if responding to a challenge. “I got more in me than all you ancient motherfuckers in this fuckin’ fort, pal.”
“Zen climb up,” Spy says, offering a hand up as he would a lady. Scout ignores the hand, pulls himself up onto Medic’s body. When he touches Medic’s body again he feels a fresh wave of desire, and when he looks into Medic’s furious blue eyes, he suppresses a groan of raw need. And somewhere behind that, he thinks he might feel kind of bad. It would’ve been nice if Medic enjoyed this as much as he did.
Then the doctor makes a clumsy grab for a hand that’s strayed too close to his own, like a drugged wild animal, and whatever guilt he has dissipates. He pounds Medic in the chest and sneers. “You’re strapped down for a reason, doc.” The desire doesn’t go away, though.
Spy’s hand on his waist is startling, especially because there’s no glove on it. Nor on the hand that curves around one asscheek, the longer fingers pressing cold lube against his opening, to add to the minimal amount that’s already there. “G-get outta there, faggot,” Scout says, but his voice is husky and shaky when he does. When Scout looks for a reaction, Spy’s jacket is gone, too, and with it, the fabled balaclava. Under it is just a man with black hair brushed back against his head and eyes that are clouding over a bit. When Scout glances down, his fly is undone, though nothing has been taken out.
The hand at his waist replaces the one probing his asshole, and that hand moves to Medic’s re-lubed dick, where Spy guides it back inside Scout. “Nice and easy, oui?” Spy whispers to Scout. “We ’ave done zis before, you know what it is you are doing now… Get ze tempo back.” He puts one hand now on Scout’s ass, the other on his abdomen just above his engorged cock, guiding the younger man back into that rhythm. Scout is moaning again, and probably this is the most noise he’s made without words. Spy finds he doesn’t mind Scout’s noise, for once.
Spy takes his hands away slowly, leaving Scout to ride Medic on his own, and the boy’s certainly lost in his own world. He curses between moans, guttural and vulgar. Medic himself looks torn between hating everything and enjoying the tight heat around his cock, teeth ground so hard his jawline seems hyperdefined. Spy doesn’t wonder, though, when Medic will give up, because he has every intention of making that happen.
He divests himself of his waistcoat, of his tie and shirt, steps out of his pants and shoes in as dignified a manner as a Spy will. Not that his teammates are paying him any attention. He watches the pair of them as he slathers his dick with lube, pumps it a few times to bring it to full attention. Scout probably doesn’t realize how hot he can be when he stops trying to be so macho and just enjoys himself.
And then Spy is climbing up, too. “What the fuck’re you—” Scout begins breathlessly, but Spy shushes him as he adds lubricant to Medic’s asshole, unmindful of how the man’s entire lower body seems to tense up even further at the sensation. He hears the sound of metal being struck, and of leather creaking; Medic banging his head again, Medic pulling at the restraints that both he and Spy know will hold. Spy notices there was already some lube present, and he wonders just what happened before he slipped into the room.
“As if you don’t like zis, Herr Doktor,” Spy murmurs, touching Medic’s hip briefly, and Medic knows from that touch that Spy knows he’s near the end of his rope, that he’s been bucking his hips against Scout’s ass more for his own pleasure than to try to get things over with, now more than ever.
Spy pushes an insistent and well-lubricated finger past Medic’s tight ring of muscle, curling the finger inside. He knows what this is doing to Medic, and he can tell, too, from the loud groans that are too deep for them to be coming from Scout. Impatiently, Spy pushes in a second finger, scissors them both with tight, short movements, and he hears Medic make a noise like someone is gutting him. Only the way Medic’s toes are curling and uncurling give away that it’s a good noise.
Spy loses patience entirely, and he removes his fingers only to lay the tip of his pulsing cock against Medic’s entrance. He pushes in slowly, very slowly, and Medic starts his head-banging again, this time with violent shakes of the head between every couple of bangs. And then Spy is inside him to the hilt, and he exhales on the relatively smooth skin of Scout’s back. He presses his chest to that back, throws arms around Scout’s skinny waist, and Scout yelps, but when Spy cranes his neck to bite his earlobe and reaches down to jerk him off, Scout’s remarks die in his throat, coming out instead as high-pitched whining.
The rhythm between the three men is awkward, at first, and obviously Medic would take no part in trying to better orchestrate it other than thrusting his hips, but eventually Spy and Scout come to a silent understanding where Scout rises when Spy is buried in Medic’s ass. The way they move, it’s almost as if Spy is fucking Scout, instead, nipping and caressing and stroking the young man. But Spy knows that all this is far better than simply fucking the brash young American ever would be.
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