Shots rang out and anguished screams could be heard all about the battleground on this particular summer’s day. The heat could be physically seen rising from roofs and other metals in clear waves, and bodies were sluggish to perform their duties against enemy fire. Of all places to wage a war, the Badwater Basin in the middle of Texas this time of year was the worst idea imaginable. But, the RED and BLU teams were respectively placed here for yet another battle without so much as an explanation from their employers, which was often just the usual for them.
The Scout had to wonder how in hell some of his teammates were capable of enduring the ravishing heat; the Heavy was accustomed to colder climates of Russia, and the Pyro…well, that freak could not be human tolerating the rising temperatures in that ungodly outfit. The youngest of the team ironically wore the least clothing, but Boston was never this scorching! He seemed to be suffering the worst as he ducked into an empty shack to dodge a few bullets and to catch his breath. He slumped to the floor and started tugging at his red shirt collar in an effort to fan himself and cool his chest with the small breeze it caused, never minding the jingle of his dog tags as they bounced with his efforts. Of all seasons to be stuck somewhere with no running water! His ears could almost hear the Administrator’s shrill laugh in delight as she watched her little puppets dropping from heat strokes and dehydration.
The boy huffed in spite of that thought as he casually removed his headset and placed it around his neck, then set his hat next to his gun so he could wipe at the sweat forming on his brow with a bandaged forearm. This room was no more pleasant than the outside climate, but at least he could be left alone for a bit in the shade and out of the blistering sun’s reach.
Or, so he thought.
He instinctively felt a presence within the room, but his exhaustion only slowed his reaction, and a familiar man appeared in a puff of smoke just in time to kick the boy’s weapon out of reach as he now stood over him. The BLU Spy. The Scout’s surprised face turned to that of an aggravated one instantly, and he gave a growl in welcome to the masked man who merely smiled casually as he held his pistol in the general direction of the boy’s face. The elder male took the cigarette from his mouth between two fingers to nonchalantly flick the ashes onto the youth’s leg. He reveled in the disgust of the smaller male as he wiped the offending crud from his pants. Then, the Spy lowered himself onto his haunches, the tip of the gun now at the Scout’s temple and smoke exhaling to choke the boy.
“Bonjour, un peu.” The elder murmured in the nicest of manners though his words were dripping with acid. His cigarette found itself at his lips once more as if it were a vital part of his existence.
“Yeah, yeah, hey, monsewer rat,” the boy spat back, wincing against the pressure of the gun digging into his head for his defiance.
The masked man let out an amused chuckle. “Ze heat ‘as made you forget your place, oui? For a moment, I thought you to be trying to threaten me. You would not be meaning to do this, would you?” He closed his eyes as his face was quickly covered in saliva from a now-grinning Scout. The Spy wiped it away with the sleeve of his jacket. “It seems I was incorrect in my assumptions.”
Though his face remained calm, the force of the hilt of the gun against the boy’s face was clearly announcing his anger as he sent the other male to the floor, his cheek pressed against the wooden floor as the gun once again pressed into his head.
“You are a camel now, thinking it funny to spit in my face?” The Spy’s voice growled as his teeth bit into his cigarette. “Zat is fine by me; I will treat you as the animal that you so choose to be.”
The Scout grunted as his body was twisted around, his face and chest pressing at the floor beneath the weapon as he was made to rest on his knees with an unforgiving gloved hand gripping at his hip. He didn’t register the tearing of his pants beneath the weight of panic now spreading through his body, but gave out a small yelp as his backside became bare and was met with a harsh slap.
“Is zis what you want? To be whipped like an old mule?” the masked man questioned as he repetitively smacked his hand onto the reddening flesh, using more force with each strike.
“Stop it, ya bastard!” The Scout whined helplessly as the tears threatened to spill over his face in anger and embarrassment. He eyed his gun across the room through blurred vision, wishing beyond all hope that it would suddenly crawl towards his outstretched hand. The Spy would not be so smug if it was a fair fight!
The elder man gave something of a disgruntled snort. “Zis worthless animal needs to be shown who is the master, it seems.”
A ruffling of pants echoed in the boy’s ears, and he suddenly prayed to whatever god would listen to allow the trigger to go off and put a bullet in his head. Death would be kinder than what seemed to be taking place presently. But, all deities merely laughed in his face while he gave an ear-piercing howl as the Spy entered his backside without proper preparation or care, tearing his insides and sending a rippling pain all the way up his spine and into his brain; it could only send a warning shock to the rest of his body to clench up and attempt to fight against the intruder.
This would easily prove to be another futile attempt as the Spy ripped into his smaller body with no care for comfort as the slaps continued relentlessly. The boy could merely lie there helplessly, fully at the mercy of the man atop him, all the while spilling tears and hiccup as his screams became nothing more than whimpers and whines. The Scout hardly registered the burning sensation of the elder male putting his cigarette out on his raw flesh until he spoke up.
“I have branded you like cattle, oui? Now, you are mine.” He sneered as he traced the mark on the boy’s cheek, all the while thrusting to the point of tearing the youth in half.
The heat in the building began to work against both men as they both panted to keep their breath in the slowly-rising temperature of the room. The younger one was coated in sweat, his body glistening and enticing the elder, though his own perspiration was secretly covered by his suit and mask; only beads forming around the revealed parts of his face would be the proof that the man was affected as well. And, just as it seemed the torture would continue until all of eternity, the Spy’s body went rigid and he let out a gurgled growl. The boy could only shut his eyes and try not to get nauseated as his backside with burning with the semen now spilling out of him.
The elder held his position as he calmly caught his breath and reached into his jacket to pull out another cigarette and lighter and began puffing. He gave the boy’s backside one final slap as he pulled from the body now slumping on the floor and withdrew the gun from his head.
“You may still be of use to me. Perhaps I will not put you down so soon, petit agneau.”
Before the Scout had time to retaliate---despite his loss of will and control of his weary body---the masked bastard flicked a switch on his watch and was whisked away in a cloud of smoke. The youth could only lie there as he tiredly tugged as his pants, struggling to get them pulled back onto his hips before the footsteps of allies would flood his ears in a hasty and very confused rescue. It mattered not at this moment as the poor fellow allowed his subconscious to take over and drift into a world more pleasant than his current reality.