HARD TRUTH (A Cuanta Vida Story)

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SUMMARY: In the current Cuanta Vida canon, Blue Scout becomes angry as the Blue Spy continues to avoid him, so he seeks out the new Red Spy, who is, in fact, an asshole, but helps the Scout come to terms with the hard truth.

WARNINGS: Darkfic, with mostly noncon/rape (you could argue against it) and terrible language.

ALSO, N00B WARNING and the fact that I'm not cool enough to use Heironymus' characters. T^T
I'm trying very hard to jump into the TF2 fandom, so please let me know if I did anything terribly wrong.

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Two weeks after the Blue Scout admitted his feelings for the Blue Spy, the men continued avoiding each other. The former did this out of embarrassment, the latter, confusion. But as the Scout's embarrassment faded, his impatience grew, and when the Spy insisted that he needed more time, this turned into anger.

It was in this way that the Blue Scout found himself in Red Base; more specifically, the room of the Red Spy. The layout of the enemy base was identical to his own, so the Scout knew exactly which window to climb through. What happened next, however, he did not expect: the lights turned on to reveal the Red Spy sitting on his bed, knife drawn, waiting for him.

The Scout threw up his hands.

“I'm not here to kill you.”

“No, no you're not.” The Red Spy said knowingly, then slid the knife into his well-pressed jacket. His hand did not emerge empty, however; he removed a cigarette and lighter, which he ignited and inhaled. “That is se only reason you're still alive.”

This calm response unnerved the Scout, perhaps more so than the fact that he'd been expected. He slowly let his arms drop. “How'd you-”

“I know everything I need to know: my equipment, my allies, my enemies.” With this, the Red Spy reached into his jacket once more. The Scout tensed, but what the Red Spy revealed was not a weapon, but a folder, labeled: PHOTES: BLU SCOUT. “You watch him sleep—that's so cute.”

“Fuck you!”

“Of course,” the Red Spy continued, discarding both the file and exclamation, “that doesn't explain why you'd come to me.”

The Spy then inclined his head towards the Scout, as though expecting an answer. Scout's hands, a minute ago clenched tight, quickly unraveled.

“I ain't no queer,” he said pointedly. “Blue Spy is the on'y guy I'd make an exception for. But...”

Scout faltered. Red Spy nodded encouragingly, giving the impression of a teacher, waiting for his student to work out a problem.

“But... you could look like him... couldn't you?”

“Yes.”

“...will you?”

The Red Spy released a swirl of smoke. “No.”

Again, Scout faltered. His mouth stood open—the know-it-all student corrected.

“Why not?!”

“Because that's not what this is about.” The Spy tossed away his cigarette with a flick of his middle finger. “This isn't about how you feel for se Blue Spy, but about accepting what you are: a faggot.”

The Scout almost lunged across the room, but settled for a raised voice and middle finger. “Screw you, asswipe! This is bullshit—I'm fucking gone.”

He turned to leave, but found a knife at his throat. Too late he realized that this Spy is as fast and nimble as his blue one.

“No, no,” chided the Red Spy, breath hot in the Scout's ear. The taller man pressed the younger from behind, blade equally close to his skin. “You came to me, and I will not let you leave until you admit what you are.”

The Scout then found himself on the his back, sandwiched between Red Spy and the floor. One of the Red Spy's hands held both of the Scout's above his head, while the knife-hand slid itself gently down his chest. The blade made quick work of his shirt, which was quickly discarded—the Scout struggled, but even to him it felt like a charade, as though he merely was playing the part of the victim. His face burned hot with embarrassment, which he channeled into his eyes; Red Spy got the feeling that Scout was trying to set him on fire with his mind. He laughed.

“That's right, I want you to look at me, a man you don't even know. You came into a s'ranger's bedroom for a quick fuck because you're desperate for cock.”

Scout shook his head back and forth, eyes wrenched closed, trying to expel the words from his mind; he hardly noticed when the Spy unbuttoned his pants and removed his prey's.

The knife was gone but that hardly mattered, Scout was clearly overpowered. He kept his eyes shut tight as his knees were pushed up to his chest.

“You look just like your mother,” he heard the Red Spy observe, but his voice seemed very far away. “I wonder if you'll scream like her.”

The Spy spit unceremoniously into his free hand and applied it to the Scout's backside. Then, with equal carelessness, he worked the head of his manhood into the Scout's tight ass.

Even now the Scout's eyes were firmly shut—no, no—his head turned left and right—he wanted this, no, he didn't, it was supposed to be different—

“Ah,” the Spy's voice cut through Scout's thoughts, though he clearly could not read them, “You are perhaps pre'ending to be a girl. Unders'andable. If you were a girl, this would all make sense. But look-” Red Spy released one of Scout's hands, only to grasp it and force the Scout's fingers around his own cock, which was responding to the Spy's penetration, “You are a boy. A perverted boy. Worse than that: you're a whore. Tell me, whore—tell me what you are.”

Scout wanted to swear at him—he could feel insults writhing in his chest—but he couldn't make any words. As he silently opened his mouth, the Red Spy began to work Scout's hand up and down.

“Touch yourself, boy. Don't hold back. You have no shame any more.”

The Red Spy released Scout's hand, but the boy did not cease the motion on his shaft. Hating it (loving it) he worked every inch of himself, bringing it to full hardness.

Red Spy pulled out of him, and then thrust his entire length inside.

The Scout screamed, but he could not drown out the Spy's words.

“This is what you wanted!” came the Red Spy's taunts. “This is what you ALWAYS wanted!” He continued to pound into the Scout, again and again. Scout's eyes were closed so tight he could not stop tears from escaping their hiding place.

“Maybe,” said Red Spy thoughtfully, actually pausing his thrusts, though this do not stop the Scout's hand, “Maybe you saw two men fucking in se community shower, and you told yourself that it was disgusting, because of course you weren't like that. But in the back of your mind you wanted them to touch you, too. You wanted to explore their cocks and feel it for yourself. And now you're trying to convince yourself that there's only oneman you'd do that with? NO!”

He slapped the Scout's hand away—the boy actually opened his eyes and found the Spy's hard, angry green ones.

“You've always been this way. You've always been a man-loving faggot.”

And with this the Red Spy thrust into him again, harder, deeper, rougher than ever before. He did this once, twice—six times and the Scout came explosively, with a long scream that echoed off the walls.

But when his cried were done, his tears were not, and it was not until the boy quieted down that the Spy spoke again.

“What are you? Say it.”

The Scout opened his mouth, closed it again, swallowed, and then spoke—his voice was surprisingly bold, as though trying to retain his dignity.

“A faggot. I'm a faggot.”

Satisfied, the Red Spy withdrew, stood, and zipped his pants. The Scout wasn't sure if the Spy had likewise climaxed, but he noticed with almost sadistic disappointment that the Spy retained no signs of enjoyment. He merely wiped his gloved hands on a red handkerchief and returned it to his pocket.

“I expect you to be gone when I return.”

When he was at last alone, the Scout knew he should pick himself up, or at the very least find his clothes, but he didn't move. All he could think about was the Blue Spy, his Spy, who would have been so different, so understanding, who would have quietly helped him come to terms with what the Red Spy had beat into him: the realization of what he truly was.

And that was all that really fucking mattered.