1 . Name: ʎʇɹɐıɹoɯ ɹossǝɟoɹd @ 2009-07-27 10:22

All right, to be honest, I'm a hell of a sucker for lead ups, and as a result, my stories tend to get long as hell before getting to the actual fucking. Especially since this story is from someone's idea from the kink meme about an Engineer/Scout story that consists of more than random fucking (which hell, would be easier for me0. So I decided, why the hell not? Besides, I'd like to make myself look better than a few fucked up kink requests or snarky replies.

Feedback is totally appreciative, and even though this story is pretty long and the first bit might not even have the mention of sex, it will come (though, I'm wondering if I should put the first parts in /fanfic/ instead?). But yeah, any feedback from characterization to spelling/grammar, as I'm more accustomed to writing Scoot than Engie from far too damn much roleplaying, but I'm digressing.

___________

The way Scout sits and listens to his explanations of how exactly sentries work, or, more accurately, how they are able to pick out a moving enemy target ad shoot, is flattering, even if the boy does not, and probably will not ever get it. He still asks questions, which really are nothing more than repeats of something he had said, and a subtle request for some elaboration. It’s the reason they’ve spent so many damn nights on the subject, and he is surprised that the blond teenager hasn’t grown bored enough to wander around and pester the other teammates. For that, though, Engineer seems oddly content, possibly because he is used to the all too familiar whine from the boy, usually in regards to needing a dispenser, in the way only someone his age ever needs anything.

In all honesty, though, he has never really taken Scout for much more than some speedy little rabbit who can’t keep his ass planted for more than a few minutes, and who can’t keep his mouth shut for even less. Even now, as he sits cross legged, he is constantly shifting, or reaching over for one of the two bottles of beer that stand besides them, which logically, the teenager <I>shouldn’t</I> be drinking, but he allows this to pass, just this once.

“Sounds pretty science-fiction t’me.” The boy murmurs, and it’s the first time he notices a drawl in the New England accent. Of course, he’s also noticed how the emptier that one bottle gets, the less he moves, and the more the barrage of questions from the inquisitive youth become a series of nods. A lightweight, not surprisingly, despite his earlier claims of drinking all the time. He shakes his head, still musing over the idea of a machine having some intelligence, and he inclines towards the overall-clad man, palm hitting the ground before he falls straight into him. The bottle falls from his hand, rolls over the blood-stained concrete, and it’s a small miracle that it’s empty.

The pause was enough to make him realize just how long they had been talking, and how an almost unsettling silence has suddenly befallen the base, save for the light, barely distinguishable sound of music playing from somewhere far off, followed by something shuffling over the ground, and the sound of metal hitting metal. It is then that the Engineer decides it’s a good time for a break on their current subject.

“Why have you been hangin’ around here, boy?” Scout winces at the name, though there have been times when he has done a lot worse in response to the term of endearment everyone calls their youngest member. His lips part, as though he’s about to speak, about to protest, perhaps? Or answer, and the Texan waits only to have his mouth close again, before he shakes his head. Scout hums, and the Engineer wonders if he should elaborate, yet again. “I don’t mean t’cause offense,” he adds apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck, hand still clad in one thick, rubber glove, “But ya’ usually talk more than listen.”

“Boredom.” Scout replies before he’s even finished, his brows furrowed as the metaphorical gears behind his forehead start churning, analyzing what would happen to him. The look alone, of Scout thinking about something, actually makes the elder of the two grin, an expression that goes unnoticed as the teenager, under the assumption that he did not finish his one bottle, reaches past the other, grabbing his beer (the Engineer’s fifth), before taking another sip.

As dumb and loud, and, dare he say, obnoxious, as Scout was, he had a certain charm which made it easy to… well, not loathe the boy. Perhaps it was his youthful exuberance, or the fact that one could easily see him as a younger brother (Engineer was not ready to compare him to a son, as such would only make him feel older).

“Well, okay,” The Scout started again, tearing Engineer away from a short reverie, his shoulders, bared by red sleeves rolled up, rising and falling, and the Engineer could not even count the light freckles over both, “You’re smart, y’anno? And you’re the only person thus far who hasn’t chased me off with some dumb chore or just outright sayin’ it. There’s Pyro, but he ain’t talking his mask off for no-one, so it’s hard to keep a conversation.” It was faint, but even someone who hadn’t studied human behavior would note the way Scout’s hands became animated as he talked, and the pauses between bursts of words, as though he were nervous about something. “An’, well…” He continued, and the most interesting aspect of his reaction occurred – his cheeks darkened, slight pink against skin that remained fair and freckled, despite the over exposure to son, “What you say is interesting, even if I can’t fucking understand a good deal of it.”

It was almost, dare he say it, cute, the way he continued to fidget, staring at the pilfered bottle more and more than he made direct contact with a man who still wore his goggles, a man whose vision never left the boy’s. He thought of an adequate response, something a little more than the timid ‘Ah, shucks’, that his mind and body were all ready getting ready to say. But then the most peculiar thing happened – Scout raised his hand, as though gesturing him to stop.

“And, okay, don’t laugh, I came here to ask you something, but put it off, ‘cause it ain’t an easy thing to ask, but because you’re smart and ain’t too intimidating, I thought you would be the best person to ask.” The return to normality on Scout’s part—the constant talking, as well as the interrupting to continue—was something he was accustomed to, as were questions, even before their discussion of how sentry guns work had begun. Scout would occasionally ask him questions that should have, and would have, been answered better by someone else, but the recent explanation had finally made him realize what that was.

“I’ll try my best to answer whatever ya’ gotta ask, Scout.” He replied, before taking the bottle back, the youth relenting it far too easily. He took a swig, before remembering whose lips those lips had just been on. But if Scout didn’t really care, and recent physicals had determined them all healthy, than why should he?

“Well, all right.” The capped male took a deep breath, the gesture more show than necessity, before he started, then stalled, before starting again, “You’ve heard about, uh, situational homosexuality, right? Like, how they sometimes work in prisons, or where there is no pussy for *miles*.”

Well, he was not expecting that sort of question, and the Engineer could not help but blush at the sudden outburst. He wasn’t even away Scout could agknowledge such a concept as situational sexuality, but he was just full of surprises. The kid was blunt and gutsy, he’d give him that. But regardless, he had to act as some sort of mentor, so he nodded, taking another drink, while figuring more alcohol might make it easier to answer.

“What are you getting’ at?”

“Well… ya’ ever try it?”