1 . Name: Venotorus @ 2013-02-22 17:11

Bear with me guys. There's porn. Let it come to ya.

Commission (Oneshot): Apologies (SniperXScout)

“Yo, great job today on field ya fuckup.” Scout’s sour face appeared before Sniper in the dining room after the day’s battle. “You didn’t get even ONE freaking shot right, asshole,” he grumbled loudly, staring at Sniper shamelessly.

All Sniper wanted to do was punch the little git in the face and break that toothy grin. But all he could do was grind his teeth and say, “Guess I just wasn’t lucky today.”

Scout didn’t seem to like that excuse. “I got killed three times dude. Three fucking times by the same fucking Pyro. You could see him the whole time from your little stinking watchtower, but you didn’t do anything! What the hell were you doing there, scratching your ass trying to figure out how to use your own rifle or something?”

Sniper indeed saw the whole scene, the whole three scenes to be exact. He could have shot the man down whenever he felt like. The rubber-covered man barely moved. But, he was having too much fun watching the Runner rolling and screaming for help on the ground as the Pyro burned him.

“Didn’t see nothin’,” Sniper said and shrugged like he didn’t care.

“Yeah right faggot,” Scout hissed. “Next time how about you give ME your useless rifle and I’ll show you how to shoot it like a good boy?”

“WHY YOU BLOODY LITTLE-”

“Alright BREAK IT UP LADIES.” Soldier appeared in the dining room’s doorway with a satisfied smirk. “We’re all tired after battle, but we can’t rest with you two screeching like there’s no tomorrow. Now GO TO YOUR ROOM!” He pointed at Scout.

“Fine. Shit. Chill the fuck out,” Scout muttered, leaving the room stomping loudly and sending hateful glances at Sniper, who watched him with a small, almost invisible smile.

“You too, private,” Soldier added with a grin, then left, turning off the lights in the room, probably deciding to take the young American’s side. Bloody asshole.

Sniper couldn’t count the number of times Scout had embarrassed him like that in front of his teammates. Him and Scout would get into arguments almost every day, and into fist fights every now and then. Sniper would win, but Scout still got the best from him. Since the first time they’ve met on the team, when Scout punched him in the chest as a gesture of greeting and bellowed too loudly, “Welcome to BLU, British-Guy-Person!”, they’ve shared their mutual hatred. They averted each other during battle, were edgy when they passed each other during breaks, and got each other’s asses blown on field while getting revenge on that when the day was done.

Whenever Sniper would win one of their fist fights, Scout would yell that “it’s not fair”. Of course it wasn’t. Sniper had the obvious advantages of a masculine and big build. But Scout was quicker and harder to catch. But they had one thing in common; they were both pretty easy to tip off. But Sniper, to be frank, was becoming tiresome of this useless fighting. No many how many times he’d yell the little prick to leave him alone, no matter how many curses he shot at him, and no matter how many times he broke the little dipshit’s nose, Scout would never learn his lesson. Nevertheless, he seemed to only become more eager to rile Sniper up.

Reasoning with Scout he tried only once, and that was enough for him. The kid was so blunt whatever Sniper had tried to get into his head just went out right through his other ear. The team was no help. They were enjoying the view as Scout tried to tackle Sniper down and Sniper tried to choke him in return. The only person who seemed to have some sort of sympathy to his situation was Demoman, but the Scot was always either very drunk or very mad, and the result of either option was that he’d stomp off to go to sleep or drink some more.

And so Sniper was on his own. He always had false hopes that if he spoke with the American mildly and quietly, perhaps the youth would actually listen to him for once. A man-to-man chat was never a bad idea. But Sniper had never attempted to try so, perhaps because he feared of failure, or perhaps because he was ashamed of having to reduce himself to that level. But he was becoming weary with all of this bickering and arguing and fighting with Scout when all he really wanted was either to chat with his teammates or drink coffee in his van with some peace and quiet.

But after this short conversation with Scout, and after being on the edge of breaking the youth’s nose the who-knows-what time this week, Sniper decided to give up his own pride just for once, and talk to him. And so he found himself knocking on the Scout’s door as night was rising, wearing his simple blue t-shirt and his usual off-work jeans. The idea of talking to Scout already had him embarrassed to the bone, then why not just give it all up, he had thought earlier as he shed his work clothes and put on whatever he found around in his van.

The door creaked open, and Scout’s half surprised half angry face appeared in the slot, wearing a t-shirt two times his size and bright yellow boxers. “Ugh, dude, here ain’t your dirty little van. Fuck off.”

Breathe, Sniper. Breathe. You can still break his nose whenever you feel like you’ve tried your best. Sniper desperately tried to calm himself down. Only hearing the Scout’s voice was already beginning to make him want to smash the door down and choke the kid to death.

Still, he said, “Can I come in? I gotta talk to ya.”

Scout eyed him. Tension between them was obviously growing. But surprisingly enough, Scout stepped back and opened the door, allowing the man to come in. “Ok, sure. Just make sure nobody sees ya. Don’t want people asking questions and shit.”

Sniper quickly stepped inside, and behind him, Scout shut the door quietly, locking it to make sure nobody would burst in if they got into an argument of any sort. While fidgeting with the lock, he allowed Sniper to examine the room. It was the first time he saw the youth’s home. The room was quite small, it was so small, that it was barely enough space for the kid to take a few steps in. A huge bed took up most of the room, and it was covered with three messy blankets and two beat-up pillows. On the right wall hung the kid’s proud baseball bat, covered with scars and blotches of blood, and on the left wall shelves held a myriad of magazines and some CDs. Under the shelves there was a pile of clean, folded clothes, that probably didn’t find their rightful place on any of the shelves.

Scout looked around frantically as Sniper examined his room, then said, “So whaddya want?”

He probably didn’t mean the question to sound so annoying, Sniper forced himself to think. Deep breath. Scout sat himself on his bed, kicking his blankets out of his way as he scowled at Sniper. The Bushman sighed and leaned on the locked door behind him, his hands in his pockets. “Listen Scout, I, well... I don’t know how to say things the right way... You and I, we got a problem.

Scout, to Sniper’s small shock, nodded listeningly, still looking wary, but it seemed he was all ears. “Yeah,” he acknowledged.

“You keep riling me up whenever ya can. You can’t keep doing that mate. And you and I both know you’re doing it on goddamn purpose.”

“Yeah.”

“You gotta stop, Scout. You gotta stop embarrassing me in front of the team, and as much as I like smashing your face to bits,” Sniper added, “I’m getting tired of this bloody daily deal.”

“Yeah.”

“Got that?”

“Yeah.”

Sniper’s surprise grew. “That’s it then?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna stop this bullshit and listen to me for once?”

“Fuck no.”

“WHAT.”

“Listen dude,” Scout laid back on one of his pillows with a slightly bored gaze in his eyes. “I understand what you’re saying. I really do. But first of all, I always say the truth. You really can’t do nothin’ with that shitty rifle, you really do miss most of your shots, you do really suck at what you do, and you are an idiot. Just sayin’,” he added as Sniper’s expression grew angrier. “It ain’t my fault you go apeshit so easily, and it ain’t my fucking deal. How about YOU stay out of MY way, and we’ll let this go nice and easy? That’s way more reasonable than whatever you’re suggesting here. Got that? Cool man. Now get the fuck out, the key’s in the door. I gotta rest before tomorrow.” Scout snatched one of the magazines from one of the shelves like nothing has happened, and began placidly reading it.

Sniper felt the heat rush to his head. He was about to smash himself at the boy, when a thought obscured his mind. He could feel the rage streaming in his veins, and together with frustration, it wasn’t a lovely combination. Sniper felt like he was beginning to lose control. His mind and vision were spinning at the same uncontrolled speed as he breathed heavily.

Spots of red passed through his field of vision as he suddenly lunged from his place like a beast, snatching the magazine out of the boy’s hands and throwing it the hell away, and his free hand whipped from nowhere to crack Scout across the face, leaving him a red mark and a very shocked expression.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” Scout yelled. Scout jumped to his legs and his face contorted in fury. “LISTEN FAG. It AIN’T MY fault that you’re SENSITIVE or somethin’! HOW ABOUT you go WHINE about how your life’s all SHITTY to DEMOMAN LIKE YOU USUALLY DO.”

Sniper felt his cheeks burning pink. He had no idea how the Scout had found out he’d go to Demoman for advice, though usually stepping out empty handed. With no further preparations, Sniper struck the boy again, making sure it was the same burning cheek as before. The sudden force of the hit sent Scout staggering back and toppling on his bed, his hand whisking to hold the side of his face as he showed his teeth to Sniper like an animal and screeched in despise.

But Scout was used to their fist fights, and he had a few tricks up his own sleeve. He lunged from his place and his fist got Sniper under the left eye, sending him jumping back. The Bushman released a growl of anger, and waited. The Scout was not as patient. He lunged again, sending his other fist at Sniper, but this time, the man was ready. He swerved around, allowing the boy to pass by him with a surprised look, and struck the boy’s back with the point of his elbow.

Scout grunted in pain and fell to his knees, trying to get up in time for another try to hit Sniper, but he had enough. The Bushman crushed Scout’s back with his leg with enough force to pin him down squirming to the floor, and with his other hand caught the boy’s wrists and raised them above the Runner’s head.

“Get the fuck off of me!” Scout squirmed, so Sniper raised his leg and brought it down again on the Scout’s back, the kid huffing a breath in pain and continuing to squirm desperately in his grip. It made Sniper think of a fish that was yanked out of the safe waters of the sea, and at the same time it made him smile. He looked around the room, and from the corner of his eye he saw that on the top of the patch of clean clothes were Scout’s hand wrappings, perfectly rolled. Without thinking he grabbed one of them, and with a quick yet sturdy knot he tied the Scout’s hand together.

“What are you doing?! Are you fucking crazy?!” Scout tried to kick Sniper’s legs or roll around to try and knock him off balance, but Sniper was way bigger and way heavier than the Scout, therefore rendering all of Scout’s attacks pathetic and helpless.

Sniper was glad the rest of the team was asleep and that Scout’s room was the furthest away from any of the other rooms (for obvious reasons). And he was ever happier that whenever him and Scout got into fights, the team would be slightly reluctant to help them, especially because they regarded their fights to be small and insignificant daily happenings.

Sniper pressed his leg tighter to the Scout’s back, and the Scout screeched at him, “WHAT THE FUCK MAN?! LET GO!” He rolled around and waved his legs trying to get Sniper in his tender spot, but to no avail; the uncomfortable position he was in and the bonds around his hands allowed him no such privilege.

Sniper stepped back toward the door, allowing Scout to jump to his feet, his hands to rising protectively in front of his face, still tied. But the suddenness of his release had caused Scout to stumble and fall backwards onto his bed, and that’s when Sniper was looming above him, one hand gripping his throat in an iron grip, and the other holding the Scout’s hands above his head once again, their faces so close their noses nearly touched.

“Listen here, ya little mongrel,” Sniper hissed. “I came all they fucking way here to bloody settle things down like men. I’m sick and tired of this shit, and I’m not stepping out until you’re ready to apologize, settle things, and back the bloody hell off.”

“Fuck you!” Scout hissed back, narrowing his eyes and biting his lower lip in anger.

Sniper paused for a moment, rising slightly above Scout to take a good look at him. A low, rasping chuckle built in his chest and slowly made its way to his throat, vibrating through both of them. Sniper’s mouth twisted in an ugly smile, and perhaps a guilty smile at the same time, causing Scout to freeze under him and stare at him with visibly growing stress.

Sniper bent down again, faces close again. “It might be the other way ‘round, mate,” he whispered, hot breath pouring out of his mouth. It made Scout shudder and his eyes to snap wide open. The Runner opened his mouth, but no words made their way across his lips. The only sounds in the room were his own heavy breaths and Sniper’s angry exhales.

An eery silence spread in the room, soon becoming awkward and uncomfortable as both men simply stared each other down, each of them swallowed in their own thoughts. But it seemed being a smartass and careful at the same time was a hard thing for Scout. “Get the fuck off of me you fag,” he hissed as colour spread across his cheeks.

Sniper has made his point clear. Scout refused to listen. Punishment ahead. Sniper had no idea what he was doing or thinking. All he could see was Scout, and all he could feel was how much he hated him, and how much he wanted to cause as much pain and suffering as possible. His head spun, then he acted.

His hand gripping Scout’s throat pull him toward him forcefully, the hand holding the Runner’s arms twisting them above his head. And then with no further adieu, Sniper bent down and fastened his lips to Scout’s, smiling as the boy inhaled sharply and winced back with shock, one of his knees making painful contact with Sniper’s stomach. But Sniper only bent further down, his lips moving on the Scout’s, never minding the knee digging into his torso.

Scout tried to pull back, pushing with his legs and squirming, but Sniper’s grip of his throat tightened, closing the boy’s airway as he entered his tongue to Scout’s mouth, feeling the reluctance of Scout’s reaction to him. He tasted of a bit of toothpaste, and a bit of beer, and both tastes fresh and almost solid. Sniper let his tongue slip across the smooth pattern of Scout’s tongue, feeling the escaping flesh. He felt Scout’s jaw tightening, and recoiled just as Scout’s jaws clumped together, clearly prepared to snap his tongue right off. He growled in what might have been amusement as he kissed Scout again, this time making sure to keep his tongue away, sucking his lower lip softly.

Sniper felt Scout’s terror, and quickly pulled away, lifting his hand from the Runner’s throat to allow him to breathe. Scout sputtered and gasped raggedly, a bewildered expression twisting on his face. Scout’s eyes were lit with burning hatred as he spat aside.

“Are we now ready to apologize and move on, mate?” Sniper hissed, making sure Scout was looking him right in the eye.

Perhaps Scout did not assess Sniper as well as he thought he could. Perhaps he was thinking Sniper was through causing him pain and humiliation, and perhaps he thought the man wasn’t going to go ahead with this and simply stop right there. Whatever reason, Sniper couldn’t find a sensible one for Scout’s answer.

“Fuck off you faggy son of a bitch,” Scout said and then spat in Sniper’s direction.

“Fine then, wanka’, have it your way.” Sniper shoved a fist into Scout’s stomach, and ripped his shirt off his head, the cloth getting stuck at Scout’s hands where the bonds were. He cried out in frustration and anger at the same time, and a leg was sent to hit Sniper’s chest, only the Assassin was ready as ever, stopping the leg with his own knee, pushing it aside and grinning as Scout huffed out an angry breath. Sniper dove in before Scout had a chance of opposing him. He twisted Scout around so the boy lay on his stomach, and lay on top of him, taking a small moment to wriggle off his vest and tear open his shirt, allowing his own lips to find Scout’s nape and kiss it ferociously. He couldn’t help but chuckle as Scout inhaled sharply, surprise and fear beginning to show more violent signs across his body.

Sniper’s fingers dug into Scout’s hips, where they coiled in the rubber waistband of his boxers, tugging at it cruelly. Scout thrashed under him, swearing him with the vast harmful vocabulary he possessed (which in Scout’s case, was a lot). Sniper bit his ear, whispering in a ragged voice, “I wouldn’t speak if I were you, mate.” That was enough to shut him up, the fear of what might follow greater than his will to protect his amazingly large ego.

The Bushman began grinding against Scout’s body, first gently. Slow, measured movements just above the body beneath him, barely brushing against him, but enough to feel his own blood rush to his lower regions. Scout’s breath was already hitched, but Sniper could not tell if it was fear or pleasure that was driving him to arch and reluctantly moan. Perhaps both, Sniper smiled. His fingers dug further down into the boy’s boxers, slowly tugging them off his hips with small movements, the boy yelping in what might be annoyance as Sniper attached his chest to Scout’s back, not allowing him to try and knock them both off the bed.

Scout moaned reluctantly, then hissed, “Get the fuck off fucking-”

“Ya’ better keep your bloody mouth shut, cobber.” Sniper’s tongue found Scout’s neck, where the boiling main artery throbbed and ached for attention, warm skin shivering in his mouth as he made small indefinite patterns across it, leaving wet trails of saliva. His fingers were still working fastidiously on the boy’s boxers, the fabric falling away from Scout’s hips and to his ankles, where only a little tug released them from his legs. Sniper and Scout huffed a breath at the same time; Scout in rage as Sniper cupped his balls in one hand and gave them a forceful squeeze, and Sniper because the slight surprise of feeling Scout’s length harden in his hand left him in a state of cruel amusement.

“Better be careful mate, lest you enjoy this too much,” he whispered in Scout’s ear, the young man beneath him groaning in frustration to his words, reluctantly having to cling to Sniper’s chest as the man’s hand explored hungrily between his thighs, stroking and squeezing the growing erection. Sniper kissed Scout’s nape and bucked forward lightly, one hand reaching his own jeans, kicking off his shoes as he fought to remain in control and possession yet gracefully lose his clothes.

Scout wriggled in his grip, realizing the opening, and forcing Sniper to smash on top of him and press his chest to Scout, holding him under as one hand remained holding his hands to not allow him any advantage of strength. Sniper’s specialty, as ever, was patience. With slow, gentle movements, he kept loosening the jeans’s grip over his hips, but managed to concentrate on grinding against Scout, his chest brushing cruelly yet playfully over his back, pressing thousands of kisses on his neck and shoulders, licking the beads of sweat that began gathering on the Runner’s back, collecting them fastidiously.

Sniper’s hand was busy between Scout’s thighs, stroking along his length forcefully, giving his cock long squeezed and pulls, laughing quietly each time Scout gasped under him and cursed his name. Scout’s shaft was getting harder and warmer with each elongating stroke Sniper’s hand made, feeling the persistent heartbeats of Scout knocking faster through them both.

And he could no longer ignore the noises that Scout emitted; soft, almost pitiful moans, nearly escaping the Runner’s lips as he tried desperately to hide his emotions and unstoppable reactions, aching groans that vibrated across his body and became gasping cries of deepening pleasure, Scout’s body becoming almost unable to control itself. The Runner suddenly bucked upward, then exhaled in shame as Sniper chuckled into his ear, pressing further down on him.

“You like this, eh, wanka’?” he murmured into Scout’s back, feeling the reluctant reaction to the hot breath and the lustful words. “Any second thoughts?”

Scout’s mouth clamped shut, trying pathetically to protect his pride. Sniper growled as he led his own cock to Scout’s rear, the already hard and throbbing tool aching for attention. He rubbed the tip against Scout’s opening, and heard the boy inhale sharply in terror. Scout was just about to tell him something, maybe a plea, maybe even an apology, but whatever it was, it was silenced when Sniper pushed his pulsating erection into Scout.

Scout released a voice between a rasping shout and a cry of pain as Sniper slid fully into him, feeling the tight warm walls of Scout’s rear pressing on him. His expression stiffened with visible pain as his mouth fell agape, his back arched and spasmed as he was helplessly thrashing in Sniper’s grip, shaking in effort to regain control over himself. Sniper pulled out slowly, then pounded back in a little harder, extracting the same excruciatingly delicious sound of Scout’s rasping scream and moan, the boy’s eyes rolling back and his teeth catching hold of his lower lip in a lost attempt to hush the voice.

Sniper began thrusting into him, making sure his pace was slow and painful, allowing himself to enjoy the powerful smack of Scout’s backside against him every time he thrusted. His hand left Scout’s hands hung in the air, and settled on his hips, the other hand still occupied by Scout’s length. He steadied himself as he began feeling the unbearable pressure in his own aching cock, thrusting faster and stronger, beginning to groan heavily, shuddering and closing his eyes.

They rocked together, both closing their eyes in what could be translated only as pain and pleasure at once. Scout was nearly shouting and crying, gasping for air and begging whisperingly for cease. He tied hands fought to steady his body, elbows just above his head as he tried to bite his lips so the noises he produced would be muffled. He could feel the burn and stretch of his rear as Sniper slid in and out over and over with growing strength. The blissful elation spreading in him was almost disgusting to acknowledge, feeling Sniper’s strong hand sliding again and again across his cock.

Then Scout arched back into Sniper, head thrown back and mouth falling agape with a silent scream as he came into Sniper’s hand, slippery semen squirting into Sniper’s palm and dripping from in between his fingers. Sniper’s hand flew to Scout’s throat, holding him arched back in a painful position, and his mouth caught the Runner’s own mouth, clamping shut the following scream that was building in his throat. He kept pounding into Scout as he explored his mouth, licking the rows of teeth, sucking the quivering lips, mashing their lips together. Sniper moaned into their kiss, burying his head in Scout’s shoulder as he climaxed into him, his thick fluids filling Scout.

He fell on top of the boy, causing them to crash onto the bed panting and gasping for air, sweaty and slippery. Scout’s cheeks were blotched with red marks of effort and humiliation, and small tears were brimming in his eyes as he inhaled raggedly. Sniper huffed a short breath as he fought to calm himself as quickly as possible, catching Scout’s neck in his hand and pressing him down. He pulled out of the boy, a vile mixture of semen and blood dripping out of Scout’s rear.

“Now,” he murmured into Scout’s ear, taking his time to enjoy the boy’s shaking in his grip. “Is there anything you’d like to say, or do we start over?”

Sniper waited, holding the hot, slippery and weakened boy, one hand over his neck, the other on his hip. And he waited, and waited some more. And then, Scout said, “No fucking way.”

Sniper’s eyebrows popped up as he pushed Scout away from him, taking a step back from the bed, fighting to stay on his vibrating feet, and assessing him with his stare. “Are you kidding me, ya’ little git?”

Scout brought himself to his own feet, a small tear sliding down his cheek. Sniper presumed the pain of standing was unbearable. Scout’s arms hand close to his lower regions, hovering just above his still erected member. He stepped up to Sniper, and stood on his fingertips, his eyes narrowed. “You fucking heard me,” he whispered. “No fucking way am I apologizing for any shit.”

Sniper brought his face closer to Scout’s. “Ya’ do realize I won’t be taking that for a bloody answer.”

He could barely believe his eyes when against all chances Scout smiled weakly. “That’s your fucking problem.”

“I’ll be coming back,” Sniper promised him with a growl, collecting his clothes from the floor and putting on his boxers and jeans. Scout sat on his bed, fidgeting with his bondage.

“Whatever,” Scout hissed loathingly, but as Sniper stepped out of the room, the Bushman couldn’t miss the small, satisfied and triumphant smile that twisted on Scout’s face.