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“A word, mon fils.” The deep tone causes Scout to jump out of his skin, the cereal box he’d been taking from a shelf clattering to the counter, spilling Lucky Charms onto the floor.

 

He spun around, coming face to face with the damned snake. He’s got that same bored expression he’s always got, posture all cool and suave like he’s in control. And so what if he’d snuck up on him, it was two in the morning, he wasn’t on a battlefield right now. Scout was sleep deprived, it didn’t even count. “What the fuck, man?!”

 

“I thought you may… find pleasure in something I have discovered.” He says it with a lilt that definitely implies this is something with a triple x rating. Porn or hookers or maybe even some nudes of Miss Pauling, his eyes glittered with interest. Sure, the snake sucked eggs, but that didn’t mean Scout would turn down the erotic equivalent of gold. Unless…

 

“Spies don’t just do things for free.” he crossed his arms over his chest, guarded. The spy’s eyes followed the movement, seeming to trace his figure slowly… lustfully? He had only known his teammates a short period of time, but he already had a feeling this guy was a faggot. He caught him looking at his ass more than once, whispering to the doctor and the sniper while making glances. He generally kept a distance from the three, and in his position on the battlefield, he rarely interacted with them, anyways.

 

“Consider this a token of our acquaintanceship. No favor necessary.” His eyes read as mistrustful. But of course they do, no one here is a saint. So it’s nasty, maybe illegal. He just wants someone to share his stash with, whatever, Scout knows not to be a snitch.

 

He relaxes, and nods. The spy finally smiles, and it makes him look even more like a fuckin creep. Whatever, its not like he’s gotta stay in touch with the guy. Get a look at the goods, make a good picture memory, get the hell out and jack off to it later.

 

He follows the spy down the hall from the kitchen. He’s surprised when they turn not towards the bedspaces, but to the more professional wing, where the workshop, infirmary, and armory reside.

 

Even more surprising is when he pushes through the swinging doors of the infirmary. The room is dimly lit within, and the bright red cross above the door shines ominously. Scout grimaces. So it was something the medic was in on. Well, that shouldn’t be surprising. Sniper was probably in on it too, then. They were all creeps, it only made sense Scout wasn’t the spy’s sole confidante. 

 

He catches the door with his palm as it threatens to close on him, stepping forward, past the line that he is no longer in the hall, white laminate tiles beneath his Adidas sneakers.

 

“This better not be some necrophiliac shit or something--”

 

Wham. something metal impacts at the back of his skull. His eyes flash white, and in the middle of a step as he goes blind, he stumbles to his knees. He blinks, frantically searching in slowly muddling vision. He hears the door creak closed, hears it latch. He hears a pair of footsteps in front of him, another behind.

 

“Hold him,” a german accent remarks, and strong arms take his wrists and ankles. Only then does he think to actually act on his panic, and by then it’s too late. He kicks out, and manages to be rid of the hand grasping his left calf. But it’s only for a moment, before the full weight of a grown man presses against the backs of his knees. “What the fuck--!” his arms are pulled flat, so that he’s prone on the ground. 

 

A needle pierces his neck, the gage large enough that it hurts, whatever serum is getting pumped into him a thick ooze he can feel enter his system. His vision is coming back, and with it the sight of Sniper in front of him, hands vices against his arms. He’s fully clothed, and while his gun is nowhere to be seen, his machete is plainly visible at his belt. In the corner of his eye, the blinding white of the medic’s labcoat is visible, the red of his gloves retreating from his neck as the needle is removed. He doesn’t feel anything, yet, but he knows shits about to go down.

 

He flexes, kicks out to get his legs free. He twists and tugs. And he’s not so weak that he’s helpless. But there’s three of them, and the more he struggles the more that shit starts to kick in. he doesn’t know what it is, but he can tell its fucking with him. 

 

“Should be fine, now.” the doctor says in a calm voice. Without further warning, the scout is released, and the two mercenaries jump back from him as he scrambles to his feet. Frantic, he grabs the first thing he sees fit to be a weapon-- a glass bottle-- and swings at the closest man.

 

But the sniper isn’t where he’d been, or, he swore he was…? He takes another step towards the sniper but it’s odd, the wrong distance, and the floor lists beneath his feet. He slips, and the bottle clatters beside him, rolling out of his reach.

 

Dazed, blinking in the face of his own confusion, he barely hears the rousing laughter around him. “Not so quick on his feet, now.” The sniper says. Another man’s shadow casts over him, causing the sterile white floor to become grey. He looks up to the medic’s face-- glasses fully obscured with light, face cast almost all in shadow as he’s backlit. He looks like a nightmare.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He feels dread creep into his voice. He pushes his palms against the floor, gets the ball of his foot up, pushes off-- and stumbles again, collapsing near the spy’s feet. They close in on him, the brim of the sniper’s hat, the smoke of a lit cigarette between the spy’s lips, and the manic grin on the medic’s face turning them into monsters.

 

If they hear his question, they resolutely ignore it. For being the center of their attention, they act like he’s not even there. “Who’s first?” the spy asks his partners. The medic waves off the offer, points back to Spy. “You’ve done all the hard work this time, it’s only fair. I have data to record.”

The spy looks to the Sniper, who seems content with taking a back seat, if only for a moment. Only then does the spy look back down at Scout on the floor.

 

He swears he tried to kick out, get the man to stumble. If his body would fucking work, he’d be at the door by now. But his leg doesn’t even twitch, and the spy squats beside him unhindered. 

He’s so close that as he takes his cigarette from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke, Scout is engulfed in the acrid stench. 

 

“What to do with you, mon petit…” he stubs his cigarette against the floor, and his other gloved hand cups Scout’s cheek. He flinches away, and sees a spark of annoyance in the spy’s eyes. He turns to the medic.

 

“I thought you said he couldn’t move?”

 

Scout doesn’t turn to see the german’s head dart up, or the non-apologetic sheepish grin he wears, readjusting his glasses and pointing to a clipboard as if to explain everything. “Oh, he can not escape, certainly! But to paralyze his facial muscles we risk him losing sensation, you see.”

 

Fear pools in Scouts stomach. He’s coming to understand what’s happening.

 

The spy’s hand reaches out again, too fast for him to flinch away. He takes Scout more forcefully this time, forces him to make eye contact. His fingers dig his cheeks down into his teeth, and he grunts at the pain.

 

“Look at me, mon fil.” he can’t not, the spy is so close he’s the only thing the scout can see. His eyes are a cold blue, a shock of ice water to his system. “You find yourself biting, spitting or screaming and you will endure a far more painful experience than pleasant, do you understand?”

 

His brain offers no response. He’s kinda freaking the fuck out. This is really happening? He thought these guys were gay sure but not fucking rapists. 

 

“Now don’t take all screamin’ off the table,” he hears the Sniper say with an almost cheerful tone. It chills him to the bone. The medic laughs, makes an affirming sound in the back of his throat.

 

The spy reacts to neither of their assertions, eyes locked on the Scout. “Do you understand?”

 

“F-fuck you, man!”

 

His head is thrown to the ground, and the spy smashes his face into the tile, crushing his nose against the hard surface, pain spiking through it. “You seem to misregard that as a multiple choice test, but there is only one answer. You will be referring to me as sir by the time we’re done with you, and if you desire to keep your tongue and teeth for this iteration of respawn you will keep all biting to yourself and all hollering to a reasonable volume.” The man straddles him, sitting on his upper back, a fist tangled in his hair and pushing his nose further against the ground. He grits out another “fuck you,” only for his head to be raised and thrust forward once again. It’s enough to stun him into silence for a moment. The spy seems to take that as compliance. He stands, taking the scout beneath the arms and carrying him towards an unoccupied examination table. 

 

“I much prefer a mouth to other entrances, but you seem far too unreasonable for such a risky move. Unless one of you happened to bring along a gag?” This seems to be a genuine question, as the spy pauses in his ministrations organizing the scout's torso and arms onto the table. The response seems to be a resounding no, and the spy grunts in irritation.

 

“Young blood doesn’t arrive often, that may not shock you. Our sniper here is younger than thirty and the youngest of us all before your arrival, though it may be impossible to tell.” He places scout’s arms above his head, wrists crossed over each other though he makes no move to bind them as their position suggests. “I can speak for everyone when I say your presence was much to be celebrated.”

 

He takes a step away from the table, examining his work. 

 

The soft clink of a belt being loosened rings out. “And so, we celebrate.”

 

The leather strap falls to the ground, and the sound of fabric on fabric suggests the further removal of clothing. This is really happening, then. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He tries to move his fingers. Nothing. Sniper comes into his vision, taking a seat on the edge of the table. He is drinking from a bottle, and his eyes are hidden beneath shades. There’s no mistaking where his eyes are pointed: he’s glued to Scout’s face.

 

“A good expression, mate. He knows whats coming.”

 

The click of the spy’s heels come closer. “Only an idiot would not make such a conclusion by now,” hands touch Scout’s sides, and he feels his body jolt though it fails to actually do so. Adrenaline courses through him, but without anywhere to go it can only beat at the walls. His blood is pumping like he’s run a marathon, and his breathing comes in just as heavy. The spy’s roaming hands reach as far as they can to his front without lifting him, fingertips just barely brushing the edge of each nipple before falling lower, finding the younger man’s hips and tugging the fabric of his pants down and over a revealed ass in well fitted white briefs. In this position, bent over, his ass is accentuated, the flesh of it two round mounds of soft flesh, perfectly fitting each of the spy’s hands. He cups him through the fabric before sliding his hands beneath his shirt, touching his bare back, repeating the explorations he’d done over fabric just a moment before. As his fingers graze his nipples once again, the Scout struggles in mute irritation at how eager his body is for those fingers to linger, to truly explore the hardening buds. When his hands once more reach the hem of his pants, threatening to pull his underwear low, to cross one last boundary, Scout’s mind seems to stir once more. “Come on, man, I’ll forget you ever did anything, just stop here and we’ll act like nothin’ ever happened, cut this shit out, guys!”

 

The spy’s only response is to release one hand from his ass. And for a moment, he thinks it might mean a change of heart. Then the hand comes smacking down, and red hot pain ripples through his body. There’s no doubt in his mind that a red imprint of the spy’s palm now decorates his right ass cheek. 

 

“Enough with the begging, it annoys me.” the Spy grits out. In the corner of Scout’s vision, he sees the Sniper pout.

 

From the desk which Scout had last seen him, the doctor pipes up, “Fear not, mein junge! You will indeed remember none of these events, so please enjoy them as much as you can, and endure the rest. It is my pleasure to wipe your memories of all of this, rest assured you shall feel no fear towards us by dawn.”

 

“Just like last time.” Scout can’t tell if the sniper is joking. It doesn’t matter, because Spy’s not waiting for Scout to come to terms with the idea of his mind being wiped, or what his memory is going to be wiped of . Leather gloves tug his underwear down, and his bare ass is visible to the three men. 

 

He realizes, faintly, that there are tears in his eyes, that he’s clenching his teeth so hard that he thinks he might break something, that his breathing is too fast, that there are hands spreading him wide, that the sting of the spy’s palm is still tingling on his ass. Something cold drips onto his ass, and a leather glove smears the cold substance across a place Scout was certain only an hour ago no mans hands had or ever would touch aside from his own. 

 

“Please...” His vision blurs, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye and dripping onto the table. With his head tilted sideways, only the sniper in his view, he feels as if he’s the only person who might listen to his plea.

 

But the sniper doesn’t stop the spy, and the pad of a finger pushes against his entrance, the foreign feeling causing his stomach to churn. He tries to squeeze, to keep himself shut tight against the intrusion, but his muscles don’t listen, and soon the finger eases in.

 

“No, no no...” he blinks away the tears, tries to focus on anything but the probing sensation. The only thing to focus on in his vision is the sniper, who, beyond the blur of tears, is found rubbing a growing tent in the front of his pants. 

 

“Keep makin sounds like that and I won’t be able to wait my turn,” he says in a husky voice, though he makes no move to come closer.

More cold liquid pours onto his ass. The finger exits, only to return and scoop the lube into his hole. He forces it in and out, the length of the digit invading him, twisting and bending to stretch out the unused space.

 

The spy makes a sound of interest. “He is tight, even with the relaxing agent.” A second finger slips in beside the first, Scout can’t help the whine that it draws out. 

 

“That’s it,” Sniper purrs beside him. He pauses in rubbing himself to tug at the zipper holding him in, untucking himself to reveal a 6 inch cock. It curves upward and quickly slicks in the sniper’s hand as he slides a steady flow of precum across it’s shaft. A third finger enters Scout’s ass, and it hurts. The Spy’s patience is running thin. He crooks his fingers at just the right angle, ushering a shocked moan from the scout. Because it feels good . And why the fuck is that possible?

 

Before he can question it, it happens again. Pleasure courses through his ass and straight up his cock. Its like his brain and his body are completely disconnected. He’s not gay, he’s not into this shit, and he does not want to be here. And yet his body lays pliant, eagerly responding to each touch. 

 

“He looks cute when you get him blushin,” the Sniper comments. He hops off the table and rounds it, out of view only a moment before a hand-- the one he’d been holding his cock in-- pulls his head up by the hair.

 

“You like your pussy getting stretched open baby?” His grin widens, and Scout can feel himself grow redder at the phrase, at the words. He babbles-- trying to form a coherent denial, or response that isnt “I’m a guy” because no shit, but all that comes out is another jaw-dropping whine as that magical spot inside him is pressed again.

 

Given the opportunity, Snipers fingers dive into his mouth, deeper than is comfortable even with a lover. He keeps his thumb between his teeth, pressing his jaw down so that he can’t bite. His fingers taste salty and bitter, and scout’s mouth quickly attempts to deter the intrusion with a torrent of fresh saliva. It coats the bushman’s fingers as they roll across his tongue, over his teeth, across his palate and down his cheeks. Combined with the fingers that repeatedly press against his prostate, he is feeling far too many new sensations at once. He can’t help but moan against the bushman’s fingers, and if his body is pushing back against the spy’s fingers, it’s not of his own control. He can feel his dick hardening below him, blood flooding into his balls as the spy’s palm brushes against his thigh, so close and yet giving him nothing.

 

The sniper pulls his hand from Scout’s mouth, strings keeping his fingers attached to the scout’s lips. He can’t find it in himself to shut them, tongue lulling out, dribbling spit onto the table. The sniper’s slick hand finds his cock, and with the abundant lubrication the squelch of his hand rubbing up and down his cock is audible. “What a good little cunt,” he purrs, and as his cock bounces beneath him, he can’t find it in himself to fight back. 

“You want this fat cock in your mouth, slut?” His voice is almost sweet, it doesn’t make any sense. 

 

Even less so, he can’t deny it. He can’t shut his mouth, and he’s drooling like a hungry dog. Maybe he really does want it. 

 

A hand gropes his ass firmly, a threat. “Answer him, boy.”

 

“Yes...” he mumbles, and the grip goes tighter. 

 

“Yes what?”

 

“Yes… i want your c-cock...” he lets his chin rest in the small pool of drool building up below him. The Sniper beams. Scout feels pride bubble in his chest. The hand in his hair strokes him, and the fingers inside of him slip out. He whines, empty at both ends. 

 

But it doesn’t take long for the sniper to arrange himself so that he’s kneeling on the tabletop, hips angled so that his cock stands proud just before the scouts wet lips, just out of reach. From behind him, the spy’s hands are absent, but the sound of fabric rearranging convey that it won’t be much longer before he’s full. 

 

The Sniper slides his wet cock against the scout’s face, leaving streaks of wetness across his cheeks, across a closed eyelid. The smell of sweat and musk penetrates the younger man’s senses, and the new desire for cock swells within him. He wants to taste it, the heady smell making him dizzy, making his dick twitch beneath him. The soft velvet texture of the pink skin is a soothing texture against his nose, raw and bloodied from the scuffle before. But he wants it inside of him. 

 

Without thinking, he opens his mouth wide, tongue over his lower lip, offering himself completely. He looks up at sniper doe-eyed, and a purr falls from the man’s lips. “You make a damn good whore with eyes like that. A natural.”

 

He slaps his cock against his cheek two times before finally slipping the warm flesh against the scout’s tongue. He’s overcome with that scent, with salt and a touch of bitter tang. It’s not delicious, but he finds he craves it. He sucks at the head, eagerly taking in all that he can reach, exploring every inch of its surface. From behind, he finally feels another slick head against the crevice of his ass. 

 

Whether they coordinated or it was a pure stroke of luck, the spy enters just as the sniper bucks his length forward, meeting the back of the scout’s throat and triggering his gag reflex. From his other side, he combats the feeling of being full for the very first time. It feels good . He wants to rock back against spy, both to pull away from the sniper so that he can breathe, but also to feel even more of the man’s length inside of him. There’s something about his ass, unexplored, virgin and new, that the spy seems to be attending to so perfectly. His cock, untouched since this all began, feels better than he’d ever made it feel with a pumping fist and a picture of tits. Theres something about a man’s cock inside of him that is taking him to the moon, just about now.

 

He’s dazed, languidly sucking at the cock in front of him as the spy pulls his full length out before thrusting back in. He must be longer and thicker than the sniper, by how deep he’s hitting. Scout briefly considers the frenchman’s cock being the one in his mouth instead, how much deeper it would push into his throat, and he moans around the one already present.

“Good whore,” The sniper moans at the vibration, taking Scout’s head in both hands and rocking it back and forth, up and down his length. He buries Scout’s nose in an unkempt tuft of dark curls, where the heady scent is strongest. Drool slips from the boy’s mouth and onto the bushman’s balls, and as he gains in pace, they slap against the scout’s chin.

 

Soon enough, he’s an accordion between the two mercenaries, empty and then full all at once, back bent in an extreme ‘U’ as his head and ass are lifted by the force of the two men’s thrusts. His limbs uselessly dangle, his legs just short enough that he is off of the floor, his arms slack at the sniper’s sides. He moans with every pounding against his ass. Sniper purrs out disgusting names that make him feel used and ecstatic at the same time. The spy’s hands grip his waist so tight that it becomes painful. Occasionally, a hand releases only to deliver a resounding slap against his ass. He loves it. 

 

When the sniper pulls out suddenly, Scout can’t help but mourn the loss of fullness. His throat is fucked raw, his hair sore from the tugging, but he doesn’t want it to stop. The Sniper fucks into his fist millimeters from the scout’s face, before hot ropes of cum splatter against his cheeks, nose, and lips. A glob of it catches in his eye, which he closed just in time, the white dripping from his eyelashes.

 

“What a pretty picture,” Sniper purrs. In the midst of his climax, Spy does not stutter in his pace. “You had better thank Monsieur Sniper,” he orders, sounding just as annoyed as when he had started.

 

“Thank you, sir” Scout replies without hesitation, his voice coarse from the throat-fucking. Sniper rubs his cock against Scout’s face again, smearing his cum over his eyes and lips. Without prompting, Scout laps up what he can reach with his tongue, and sucks at the head to clean what lazily dribbles from it. 

 

When Spy cums, he does not give any warning. But sniper seems to see it coming. “You better ask the good man fucking your hole to give you his cum, Scout.”

 

And he begs, not for spy, or for sniper, but because he really, really wants to feel cum bathe his insides. “Please sir, fuck my ass and cum deep inside me! Fuck!” He’s rewarded with a kiss against stubbled lips, that taste much sweeter than anything he’s put in his mouth in recent memory. Sniper takes his tongue like he owns it, sucking it and replacing the scout’s saliva with his own. He takes in every crevice of his mouth, finding the taste of his own cock between every tooth and fold of flesh. 

 

And with a tongue in his mouth, Spy’s cock stutters in his ass, hips flush to hips as hot jizz gushes into his insides, pooling deep inside of him. He moans against Sniper’s mouth, and as the cock pulls out of his hole, he almost feels content.

 

Spy watches as he pushes the cum out, spreads his cheeks and demands he do so. With some effort, the globules of white seed drip from his puckered hole, sliding down his swollen balls and splattering onto the floor. He swirls a gloved finger in his hole, and brings it to Scout’s mouth. He laps it up eagerly, enjoying the distinct flavors of both spy and himself. As the moment cools, all that is left unappeased is his raging cock. 

 

Medic, forgotten to Scout, rounds his desk. He’s plenty content with the data collected-- the cocktail of drugs presented to the Scout had taken full effect, no doubting his libido and compliance during the endeavor. He likes to think of himself as a man of science. But even with the study in mind, he is only mortal. Well. in theory.

 

Mortal or not, watching the three fuck had him hard, and there was still one more sample that needed collected. As he neared the examination table, Sniper and Spy adjusted the Scout, pulling him onto the table so he lay flat, erect cock leaking lazily onto his stomach. Scout’s glazed eyes watched him come closer. There was no fear, only anticipation. 

 

He stripped himself patiently, removing his gloves and coat, as well as his boots, for his pants would be much too annoying to tug off had he kept them on. With his pants come his underwear. Otherwise, he remains clothed. 

Scout is clothed but for his pants, barely tugged down to his knees. With a gesture, sniper helps the Scout out of his pants and underwear. The medic pulls himself up onto the table, straddling the scout’s oozing cock.

 

“Do not fear you must be patient for very long,” He cooed into the Scout’s eyes. He didn’t seem to notice. From beside him, Sniper tugged the red t-shirt higher, exposing the boy’s nipples and teasing the nearer one with meandering touches. Medic reached behind himself, grasping the glass plug within him, easing his muscles to pull the bulbous shape from within him. It was a large ornament, and as it fell free from the medic’s hole, it left him gaping, an ooze of wet slick already drooling out from it’s removal.

 

He spared no time in lining himself up with the Scout’s cock. It was a virile thing, with a prominent vein and light curls of hair at the base. It was longer than average with a leftward curve, though not impressive in girth. Medic was not particular about these things. As long as it could meet the angle of his prostate, he was a happy man. He pressed it into himself, and sighed as the man beneath him moaned. 

 

He did not ease into a pace for the Scout, taking the road of efficiency rather than drawing things out. He found his prostate as soon as was manageable, and angled himself so that it would be struck every time. He held himself up with one hand, and fisted his cock in the other, riding the scout’s limp body at a fervent pace. The smell of a cigarette touched the air, and a few steps away he could see the spy had already redressed himself and gathered his composure. If he hadn’t been here to see the man rut relentlessly into their new guest, he would have been none the wiser of Spy’s participation. Sniper stayed at the Scout’s side, teasing his body and massaging his own cock in sluggish motion.

 

The Scout was quick to find his climax, whining relentlessly, begging without a coherent word, as he shot his load into the medic. Only a short while later the medic finished without flourish, though he happily watched as his cum decorated the Scout’s stomach. 

 

Rising from the Scout’s body, he once more plugged himself, content to hold the mess within him a moment longer before taking it in to study. He found his pants and began to dress while he watched the Sniper do what he always did, at the end of these things.

 

Back up on the table so that he was taller than the Scout, the sniper let out a torrent of piss, marking the Scout with the warm, rank fluid. He rinsed the cum off of his stomach and face, piss pooling in the Scout’s mouth, dampening his shirt, and pooling beneath him on the table. 

 

Spy, from the shadows, grimaced at the display. He never failed to decree it as disgusting. At the same time, he never left until the deed was done.

 

---

 

The next morning, Scout wakes with a sore throat, and the same pain he’s been feeling all week still hasn’t gone away. Medic says it's a hernia, and that all he can do is wait. That he’ll sweat out the sickness in his sleep.

 

And it seems like that’s working, cuz he’s soaked, and his sweat fucking stinks.