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"This cold suuuucks," Scout complained aloud to himself as he rubbed his shoulders. Snow crunched beneath his feet while he paced back and forth in an attempt to warm himself.
It was quiet, Scout having woken up for his usual morning jog hours before the others. He needed these runs on their off-days to prevent him from getting too stir-crazy, but with this shitty weather, he was debating just heading back inside and going to sleep.
Up against the building laid a cut-out of a smiling, cartoon Smissmas tree. Scout glared back.
"The hell are you lookin' at?"
The holidays were here, and the base was thoroughly decked in tacky red-and-green lights, wreaths, and decorations. It made Scout roll his eyes.
Growing up, Scout had come to resent this time of year. While other kids were decorating their trees and baking cookies with their families, Scout was watching his mom come home late from work on Smissmas Eve to collapse on the couch from exhaustion. She worked two jobs to support the eight of them, and it warmed Scout's heart as much as it made his blood boil. If his worthless dad hadn't left, his Ma wouldn't have struggled so much. She could've actually enjoyed the holidays. They all could've.
Once he got this job, he made sure to send his hefty paychecks directly to her—she'd earned it, especially after putting up with Scout's constant yapping and bouncing off the walls for all those years.
"Trying your luck with cardboard these days?"
Scout jumped at the sudden voice behind him. It was thick with amusement and followed by the flick of a lighter. He relaxed and narrowed his eyes.
Of course he was up.
"Ha," Scout deadpanned without turning around. "Hilarious. Ever think of becomin' a stand-up comedian?"
Spy gave no response, but Scout could practically feel the smug grin aimed at his back. It pissed him off.
"You, uh. Bored or somethin'? Kinda busy here."
When he finally turned around, Spy was blowing out a puff of smoke with a raised brow.
"So I've seen," he replied, eyeing the Smissmas tree.
Scout clenched his jaw.
"No, dumbass, I mean I'm about to go for a run. Hey, you're pretty good at that, huh? Might even be able to keep up with me."
He chuckled at Spy's expression, a mix of annoyance, bitterness, and...something else. What it was, Scout wasn't sure. Not that he cared. It's not like it wasn't true, like Spy didn't deserve every venomous insult his son spat at him.
Twenty-seven years.
Scout had been lied to for twenty-seven years—his whole fucking life—by those around him. Spy, his teammates, his older brothers.
His Ma.
While he couldn't bring himself to ever harbor any resentment towards his mom and siblings, the French bastard was fair game, as far as he was concerned. He's the one who left. He's the one who screwed everything up.
He was absent throughout Scout's entire childhood, all those nights that he'd spent crying, all those Smissmases he'd spent wishing his dad would come back.
Spy fucked up his family, his life. His mind.
Before he could start dwelling on those thoughts, Spy cleared his throat.
"It's freezing," he said simply. Scout scoffed.
"Yeah, no shit. Thanks for the update, pal. I'm out here too, in case ya couldn't tell."
Scout was being a jackass, he knew. But he lived for this. He loved pushing Spy like this. Not in his usual lighthearted, joking way, but really insulting him. Hitting him where it hurt.
Spy snuffed out his cigarette with a sigh, having already grown tired of this childish back-and-forth. Good.
He turned his back towards Scout, and just when Scout thought he was finally going to leave him alone, Spy spoke.
"I'll still be awake when you get back," he said lowly. An invitation.
He walked back inside without letting Scout respond. But he didn't need to—Scout knew exactly what that meant, and it sent a shiver of excitement down his back.
"Alright, focus here. Focus," he tried to will himself to get his mind back on the task at hand and not on what was waiting for him when he was done.
He finished his stretches and set out for his jog, but not before knocking over that Smissmas tree with a rough smack to its ugly face.
When he returned, the sun had finally risen, but it was still early enough for the majority of the base to still be asleep. By this time, usually only Scout, Spy, and occasionally Heavy were awake, the latter most likely in the cafeteria brewing himself and Doc some breakfast tea.
He'd ran past Sniper's van and caught him having his morning coffee by the window, watching the snow fall. When Scout shot him a quick wave, the older man had returned it with a raise of his mug and a soft smile.
Scout admired Sniper. For one, he was the only teammate aside from Pyro that never seemed to get tired or annoyed of Scout's talkative, hyperactive nature. Or, if he did, he never voiced his complaints to Scout's face. He could ramble on and on about how pretty Miss Pauling looked, or how much weight he could lift (way too much for the naked eye to even comprehend, thank you), or his favorite Flash comics, and Sniper would hardly bat an eye. He'd give little hums of acknowledgement here and there, listening but hardly ever contributing, yet never told Scout to shut up or go away.
He was also one of the first people to find out about Spy and Scout's familial ties. Scout only knows this because Sniper himself had told him after the cat was already out of the bag, apologizing for lying while still firmly maintaining that he'd had enough "integrity" to not get involved.
"Family business should be handled between family, don'tcha think?" Sniper had defended, and though Scout was bitter about it at the time, he'd eventually forgiven the Australian. After all, Scout understood that was just Sniper's awkward, roundabout way of saying he was waiting for Spy to talk to his son himself, as that would've been the right thing to do. Scout couldn't argue with him there.
Man, if he only knew.
The faint feeling of apprehension and disgust began to settle deep in his gut, but he managed to squash it. What did he have to feel guilty about, anyway? It was Spy's fault. All of this was his fault. These stupid feelings, these repulsive urges. His absence throughout the majority of Scout's life created this horrific amalgamation of sorrow, anger, raw pain, and...longing. Hunger. A desire for his father to never look away from him again. A desire to let him feel just how much Scout had been hurt.
He didn't love Spy. How could he? They didn't have much of a relationship, thanks wholly to Spy's past cowardice. As teammates, they barely tolerated one another. They protected each other on the battlefield because that was their job, but off the clock, they avoided one another like the plague. Sometimes, Scout felt eyes on him when he was alone, a presence that was watching over him when he least expected it. He ignored them.
And as father and son, they were...working through their issues, in their own fucked up way.
In hindsight, Scout should've probably been more wary at how quickly Spy had accepted his initial offer. Spy should've recoiled in confusion, shock, revulsion. He should've laughed in Scout's face with that stupid, condescending, snort-laugh of his. Instead, he seemed to have been fully prepared to participate in Scout's sick fantasy, almost as if he'd been desiring it as well.
Guess they weren't as different as Scout thought. He suppressed a dry heave.
He made his way through the base, kicking the snow off his shoes as he walked. When he approached the door to Spy's smoking room, he opened it without knocking. He knew he didn't need to; Spy rarely had visitors aside from Scout, so he never bothered locking it.
Either that, or he was just so confident in his abilities that he figured any enemies dumb enough to actually intrude had a death wish. Cocky bastard.
When he entered, Spy was sitting at his usual spot in front of the fireplace, cigarette in hand. Scout closed the door and locked it, his own paranoia gnawing at him.
"How was your run?" Spy asked casually. He sipped a cup of coffee without looking at Scout. His eyes were glued to the crackling fire.
"Was fine," Scout mumbled. He hated this part of their little routine. Normally, Scout could talk anyone's ear off for literal hours on end. It was his specialty, something he considered himself more proficient in than even his incredible speed. He never ran out of things to say.
But these moments were so fucking awkward. The ones right before they got down to business, where Spy always tried to genuinely connect to Scout in some way. He'd ask about his day, how his training was coming along, whether or not he'd spoken to his family recently. It made Scout angry, it confused him.
The guy lies about his identity for almost three decades but now that they've fucked, suddenly he wants to be an attentive father? What a fucking joke.
"Snipes was up," he added with a shrug. Spy hummed.
"I know. He's always awake at this hour."
The slight annoyance in his tone didn't go unnoticed, but Scout resisted the urge to mock him for it. Whatever weird rivalry the two older men had wasn't any of his business, and he didn't really care much, anyway.
"Anyway," Spy said, "Smissmas is in a couple days."
"Yeah. And?"
Spy took a drag of his cigarette, a sign he was trying to keep his cool at Scout's bitterness.
"And I was wondering if there was something in particular you wanted."
This time, Scout couldn't hold back his laughter. It was humorless and sharp. He feigned wiping a tear from his eye as he approached Spy.
"You wanna know what I want? You're jokin', right? You can't be serious."
"Would I have asked otherwise?"
Scout fumed at Spy's arrogant expression, bending down to get on his level.
"You know what I want, old man?" He grit out. From this distance, the smell of smoke, coffee, and Spy's cologne assaulted his senses.
"I wanna wipe that stupid fuckin' look off your face."
Before Spy could respond—always needing to get the last word, the asshole—Scout straightened himself and unzipped his pants. For once, he wanted Spy to be caught off-guard, ask Scout what he thought he was doing, stutter out some kind of nervous plea for Scout to wait, please, I just wanted to talk!
Instead, Spy discarded his cigarette and took his gloves off, expression neutral. Always calm, always knowing exactly what's coming next. And always so damn accepting of it. No matter how hard Scout tried to have the ball in his court, Spy was two steps ahead of him, holding onto all of the control.
God, it was infuriating.
Without thinking, Scout reached down and grabbed the top of Spy's mask. Before he could lift it, cold, long fingers gripped his wrist and squeezed, hard.
"Stop being childish," Spy warned. Scout didn't budge. He stared into Spy's eyes and internally groaned at how similar they looked to his own.
"Jeremy. Let go."
At the mention of his name, Scout released his hold on Spy's balaclava. Spy smoothed the creases in his mask and darted his eyes to the fist flying towards his face. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't quick enough.
Scout's punch landed on his jaw with a crack that sent him reeling back.
"Aw, c'mon, Pops," Scout spat, trying his best to ignore the pain shooting up his arm. "Can't believe you let that hit you! All that special trainin' and fancy tech and ya still ain't as fast as me." He watched as Spy coughed and spit blood from his mouth.
Spy marched over to him, eyes wide and furious, but Scout's victorious smile only grew. Finally, finally, his father wasn't the one in control anymore. No, for once, he was playing right into Scout's hands.
"Some spy, huh?" Scout teased. "Jeez, I'd be pretty embarrassed—"
He was cut off by Spy grabbing him by the throat and pushing him up against his wooden bookcase.
"You want me to be rough with you? Is that what you want?"
Spy's breath smelled like an awful mix of copper and cigarettes, and the shelves of the bookcase dug into Scout's back uncomfortably, but the lack of oxygen and the closeness of their bodies was intoxicating. He needed more, so he pushed his luck even further.
"What do you think, genius? You're a spy, figure it out."
"Fine."
Scout barely had time to react before he was spun around and shoved onto the floor. He landed on the rug in front of the fireplace, the warmth from the flames quickly becoming overwhelming. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spy reach inside his desk for something. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was lube.
Damn, already?
Normally, Spy was extremely gentle, almost to an obnoxious degree. If you asked Scout, his dad was a bit too considerate, given the nature of their actions. He treated Scout like he was some delicate flower, and often fixated on the foreplay and kissing. He'd ask for constant reassurance that what he was doing felt good, that Scout was alright, that this whole thing was still okay.
Except it wasn't. Just, objectively speaking.
Nothing about what they were doing was okay. It never would be. They both had their reasons for indulging in this, none of which Scout wished to analyze.
Leave that to the eggheads, he mused absently.
His thoughts were interrupted by Spy's heel digging into his groin. Fuck, when had he gotten so hard? Scout bit his lip.
"Are you going to take your pants off or do I have to do it for you?" Spy demanded. Scout scoffed, a flimsy attempt at regaining some dignity.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll do it, gramps. Just gimme a damn minute," he complained. As much as he wanted Spy to wreck him until he couldn't think about their fucked-up relationship anymore, his stubborn side was a difficult one to suppress. He hated being bossed around.
Then again, so did Spy. He tossed the bottle of lube to Scout harshly.
"Great! Then you can prepare yourself, too. And make it quick, I'm not in the mood to be patient. Speed is your strong suit, isn't it?"
Scout wondered just how long the two of them could bicker back and forth like this, which one of them would cave first. Probably Spy, because Scout would never let himself lose.
The raging hard-on in his pants had other plans, though. With a grunt, he kicked off his shoes in Spy's direction, hoping one of them would hit him. Spy watched them fly past him with an amused snort.
"You really are such a child," he said, more to himself than to Scout. His expression had softened briefly, before he seemed to catch himself. "Hurry up, boy."
Jeez, obvious much? How lame.
Scout prepped himself hastily, admittedly turned on by how intensely Spy was watching him. That's when it dawned on him.
"What about you, huh? You gonna take your clothes off or are we just gonna dry-hump like I'm back in high school?"
Spy narrowed his eyes at that.
"Sounds like you had quite the adolescence," he accused.
"Sure did, no thanks to you," Scout replied coldly. "Now I'm just about done here, if you wanna maybe participate a little."
Spy took himself out of his pajama pants and gave himself a few short pumps. Scout felt a surge of pride at how hard he'd gotten the older man. He could even see pre-cum leaking from Spy's tip.
Rather than walking over to Scout's face for a quick blowjob like he usually did, Spy loomed over him, holding his cock.
"On your stomach."
Scout obliged, if only to finally get things going. Spy grabbed his hip with one hand and pushed his head down with the other, fully presenting him. Scout felt his face heat up in embarrassment. They were alone, nobody could see them, but this position always made him feel shamefully vulnerable.
Spy didn't deserve to see him like this. But damn if it didn't feel good once he started pushing himself in.
Despite his earlier dominance, Spy took his time getting fully seated. He wasn't all that big—in fact, his old man was pretty average, and actually on the smaller side compared to some of their teammates. But what he lacked in size, Scout begrudgingly had to admit he made up for in technique and passion. It had been obvious from their first time together that Spy had lots of experience with several different partners.
Something within Scout snaked around his heart at the thought. He tried to convince himself that he was angry on his Ma's behalf. The alternative made him feel sick.
He needed Spy to make him stop thinking so fucking much.
"So, uh. You waitin' for me to get as old as you, or...?"
Spy didn't reply to his petulance, but when Scout snuck a glance at the man above him, he was smirking.
With that, Spy pulled out and slammed back into him without warning, causing Scout to yelp. He tried to scold his father for catching him off-guard, but the brutal pace Spy had set was clouding his thoughts.
Just what he wanted. Instead, he babbled drunkenly in-between his gasps and pants.
"You're...fuckin' gross, y'know that?"
Spy chuckled lowly and picked up his pace, Scout's words obviously having an effect on him.
What a freak.
"Can't—shit—c-can't believe you're doin' this. What would Ma think, huh?"
His goading earned him a harsh smack on the ass and a rough tug at his hair.
"That's enough of that," Spy chided.
Scout couldn't help but snort. So, Spy was totally cool with fucking his own kid, but bringing up his mom was where the line was drawn? What kind of fucked-up high horse was Spy on?
"She'd be h-heartbroken," he continued with a sneer, "I bet she'd think you were the most disgusting fuckin' perv—"
The hand that was fisted in his hair suddenly shoved his head back down to the floor, pressing it firmly into the rug. His body now flush on the ground, his cock rubbed against the plush floor with each of Spy's rough thrusts. Dazedly, he watched the fireplace, mesmerized by the dancing flames feet away from his face.
Being set ablaze by enemy Pyros on a regular basis made Scout fearful of fire these days, though he'd never admit that out loud. But seeing it now, as his dad pounded in him hungrily, made him feel calm. Warm.
Spy usually warned Scout before cumming, but by this point, he was either too angry or too lost in chasing his orgasm to give him that courtesy. Before he could react, Spy's movements became erratic and fingers were shoved into his mouth.
"You always take my cock so well," he purred by Scout's ear. Scout moaned around Spy's fingers. He felt drool drip down his chin.
"You're such a good boy."
God fucking dammit.
Scout threw his head back and came untouched, the friction of the rug and Spy's words pushing him over the edge with a muffled groan. He was thankful for the fingers preventing him from crying out, afraid of what he might've said in the heat of the moment.
Spy came inside him moments later, whispering something to him in French. He did that every time they fucked, and Scout suspected it was probably something Spy was too ashamed to say to him directly.
He didn't have much time to dwell on it, as Spy was already pulling out slowly. Scout sucked in a breath through his teeth. He grimaced as he felt Spy's cum drip out of him.
For awhile, they said nothing as they collected themselves and got dressed. The silence was deafening in this room, it made their emotions hang heavy in the air. A part of Scout hoped Soldier would bang on the door with his usual wake-up call before he suffocated.
"New shoes," he said abruptly. He cringed at how hoarse his voice sounded. When Spy simply raised a brow, Scout cleared his throat. "You asked me what I wanted for Smissmas, right? Well, I could use some new running shoes." He lifted his foot for emphasis. "These ones are gettin' kinda cashed."
"That's all?" Spy sounded wary.
Well, there were a few new comics he'd been eyeing, another Tom Jones album for his collection obviously couldn't hurt, even just more Bonk! would've sufficed. Scout let out a chuckle.
"I'll, uh. Keep ya posted. How's that sound?"
He could always tell Spy next time he inevitably ended up back in this room. For now, he needed a shower, some hot chocolate, and a nap.