#trans!scout

Scout grunts when he’s slammed against the wall, snarling as Sniper leans into his space.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Sniper rumbles, kukri lightly tracing a line across Scout’s cheek.

“None of your fuckin’ business, ya’ piss machine,” Scout snaps, glaring at the taller man. Sniper chuckles, leaning in closer to grin cruelly at the runner.

“Oh, but I think it is,” the Australian rumbles, “Since you looks like a corpse walkin’, not a flag.” As he speaks, he toys with the blue shirt Scout is wearing with the tip of his kukri, the knife gently tracing the sensitive skin of the runner’s stomach. Scout swallows, but glares at the RED Sniper, sneering.

“We ain’t on th’ battlefield, so fuck off,” Scout points out, getting a snort from Sniper.

“An’ yet, here you are, in our base. D’ya see any signs for BLU?” Sniper points out, “I think y’ might be lost, Bunny.”

“Fuck off,” Scout sneers, inhaling sharply when the kukri flashing up to his throat as Sniper leans in real close.

“Tha’s not a nice thing t’ say, mate,” Sniper growls, “Now, I’m gonna keep bein’ nice and not kill ya slow, so you best be nice too. Clear?” Scout whimpers, but nods shallowly, cognizant of the kukri’s presence at his throat. Sniper chuckles before drawing back, moving his kukri back down to Scout’s shirt. Scout stays stock still, his hands the only thing shaking from the tension as Sniper looks him up and down.

“Now, start strippin’,” Sniper orders, causing Scout to sputter.

“What th’ hell?!” he yelps, only to quiet as the kukri is brought back up to his throat.

“I said, strip,” Sniper growls, waiting until Scout gives another shallow nod before pulling the kukri away again. Scout pulls off his shirt, throwing it to the ground while glaring at Sniper, who is looking at the two scars under the runner’s pectorals curiously. He lifts up his feet to pull off his shoes, pausing at his socks when Sniper clears his throat.

“The socks… can stay on,” Mundy whispers into the silence of the room. Jeremy’s mouth twitches, fighting back a smile, but he complies, lowering his foot back to the ground. Sniper’s kukri taps at the metal on Scout’s belt, a silent order that Scout fulfills with a scowl.

“Don’ even try it, pretty boy,” Sniper warns when Scout pauses and holds his belt, “I can make you a whole, lot less pretty.”

“Fucker,” Scout spits, but drops his belt to the ground before shoving off his pants, leaving him in his briefs.

“I said, strip,” Sniper repeats, staring down at his underwear purposefully. Scout chews his lower lip before hesitantly complying, pushing them down his thighs and calves. Sniper’s eyebrows raise at the sight of Scout’s t-dick and glistening pussy, humming thoughtfully.

“Well, look a’ tha’,” Sniper growls, his fingers tracing Scout’s pussy lightly, “Pretty thin’, innit?”

“Don’--!” Scout tries to snap, only to jolt when Sniper’s fingers slip into him, finger fucking Scout slowly.

“Look a’ tha’,” Sniper repeats, mockingly, “Yer a fuckin’ faucet. Y’ always this much ‘f a slag?”

“Fuck off,” Scout grits out, whining when Sniper spreads his pussy open roughly. The Australian chuckles at Scout’s whine, cooing mockingly as he continues to stretch Scout’s pussy open.

“What a noisy Bun I’ve caught,” Sniper hums, wiggling his fingers around Scout’s pussy to press against the spongy spot inside him. Scout gasps and keens, clawing desperately at Sniper’s bicep as the Australian abuses that spot, poking and rubbing against it until the arousal in Scout snaps. Scout feels a gush leave him while Sniper chuckles cruelly.

“At least y’ can cum decent enough with that tiny cock,” Sniper mocks, pulling out his fingers and sucking them clean with a moan of his own. Scout pants, leaning against the wall for support as his legs shake, squeaking when Sniper lifts his leg.

“Whoa! Hey--!” Scout starts, only to close his mouth with a click when the kukri is slammed into the wall beside his head.

“Behave, little bunny, or I’m gonna have t’ take y’r head,” Sniper growls, unbuckling his own belt and opening his pants, pulling out his cock. Scout swallows at the sight of Sniper’s erection, realizing just how long and thick it is.

“Oh, is it tha’ scary? Seein’ a real cock beside y’r baby one? Don’ worry, I’ll make it fit,” Sniper assures Scout.

“Like hell, y’ will!” Scout snaps, wiggling to get away, only to choke when Sniper slams into him. Sniper chuckles again, leaning closer to Scout’s face.

“Now, be a good boy an’ let me breed ya’.”

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Mundy pats at the bed blindly, furrowing his brow at the cold sheets beside him. Jeremy isn’t beside him. Reluctantly opening his eyes, Mundy looks around the room, frowning as the bathroom door is still open and dark. Huffing, he climbs out of bed and trudges out of the bedroom, wrapping his robe around him. He pauses at the holes in the wall and winces again, reminding himself, again, to patch it up. Honestly, he shouldn’t have shoved his kukri into the wall during that roleplay, but then Jeremy tightened so nicely when Mundy would pull it out of the wall before slamming it closer to Jeremy’s head.

“Mundy, ya’ up?” a familiar voice calls out softly, at the perfect volume to be heard without waking anyone in the bedroom.

“Yeah, Roo. ‘M up,” Mundy answers, entering the kitchen only to stop short and blink. Jeremy beams at him from beside the oven, where a nice looking bread is sitting on a backing sheet inside it. Mundy blinks, once, twice, as he tries to understand what he’s looking at. It’s a small bread, a dinner bun really. But…

“Jer, why is there a bun in th’ oven?” Mundy asks, before it clicks. Jeremy’s smile widens, his shoulders shaking from repressed laughter or how happy he is. Hell, right now, Mundy doesn’t care, as he turns to his husband, “Y’ got a baby? We’re gonna have a baby?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy answers, “Jus’ got back from Doc’s wit’ th’ results. We got a baby comin’.” Mundy crosses the kitchen and scoops Jeremy up, spinning his laughing husband around the room. They’re having a baby! They’re makin’ a little family! They—

Seven days earlier…

Mick watched the sun rise from the steps of yet another porch and hoped this wasn’t going to become a habit. At least this time he had managed to catch a few hours of sleep, even if it was while sprawled haphazardly over the veranda's unforgiving wooden steps. Mick yawned and stretched, diligently ignoring the pain that sparked at various points along his poor mistreated spine.

It was beautiful here. Mick had almost forgotten how the morning sunlight flared bronze over yellow ochre and red stone. He listened to the sound of magpies warbling in the paperbark trees and watched a line of shadow as it retreated across the yard. Eventually, it surrendered completely to the coming day, and the only shadows left were behind him. Mick turned.

The house on Adelaide Street had a wide veranda, tin roof hung low to keep the sun out. When Mick was young it was a sanctuary; He’d spent countless spent hours there, waiting out the hottest part of the day while learning new knitting patterns with his mum. Now it stood empty and dark, the shade once so comfortable turned entirely to gloom.

The front door creaked back and forth in the morning breeze. Chips of wood and mangled lock still littered the floor from when they’d kicked it in. Mick hadn’t thought there was much point in repairing it. If he was honest, he’d been resigned to let the house fall to ruin. Half of his home was dead and gone, anyway, it had seemed only right he should leave the house to rot with them.

Bracken crackled underfoot as Mick stepped on to the veranda proper. It was the furthest he’d gone since he left to find his birth parents. Further than he’d ever intended to venture again.

Mick trudged onwards. His feet followed steadily a path, even as everything in him reeled backwards. Mick felt taut as a rubber band, shaking with energy. His bones yearned to release the tension, to snap away, to launch himself as far from here as possible.

And still Mick strode forward, through that door and into the stale air of a house that had once smelled like home. It looked less decrepit than he imagined it. In his dreams, Mick saw it crumbling to pieces, furniture decomposing like bodies on blood-slicked floors.

But the house looked almost normal. Sure, dust coated everything in a downy coat, and the curtains had been eaten away at the bottom. Dust and debris obscured large swathes of the hardwood floors, and the kitchen stunk to high hell, but the bones were there, strong as ever. The house was unbowed.

Mick was furious.

How dare this house live on. Didn’t it know its occupants were dead? It shouldn’t have been habitable. It should’ve been falling apart at the seams. Mick should have found it rotting, and then it would have been so easy to rot too, to lay down on a bed of wilting domesticity and decompose alongside it.

But the house on Adelaide Street hadn’t obliged.

The sound of the television meeting the ground wasn’t nearly loud enough. Nor was the thud of a bookshelf crashing home, or the clatter of pictures struck off of the wall. The crystal vase on the sideboard, the family china in the hutch, even the kitchen window – none of it was enough. Nothing abated the fire behind his eyes, or the way his breath hitched and hands quaked. Mick screamed, and it cracked in half.

Then the world reduced to nothing.

Two days, Mick spent in a haze.  He operated on pure instinct, mind blank and body stiff. Time lost all meaning. He salvaged canned spaghetti and baked beans from the cupboard when he was hungry and slept where and when the urge arose. The steady rise and fall of the Aussie sun might as well have been in code for all the sense it made to him.

When he came back to himself, Mick was tucked into an armchair in the living room clutching an old throw blanket to his chin. It had been his father’s chair for as long as Mick could remember, and no-one else was allowed to sit on save for very in special circumstances; he’d only ever been allowed on his birthday, and when the world became too much.

Mick didn’t remember sitting on that chair, nor did he remember draping that blanket over himself, though he knew – rationally – that he must have. But as he sat there watching the sunlight paint dust floating in the air, he swore he could feel his parents perched on each sofa arm the way they had done when he was little and afraid, and they wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. And if he closed his eyes, Mick could almost imagine it was his father who’d sat him on his prized throne, and his mother who’d drawn the old blanket to his chin once again.

Mick wept. For the first time since his parents died, he let his sorrow loose.

In the end, when the quaking subsided and the great pool of sorrow in his chest was finally siphoned away, he found that the pieces of his heart finally fallen back into place.

And there was Jeremy, scrawled on every waterlogged inch of his heart as if Medic had torn it out of his chest and let the bugger scrawl all over it.

Jer and his wicked grin and summer-sky eyes. Jer, for whom everything was a race, but who always slowed down just for Mick.

Jer and the little promise growing inside him that Mick had left him to raise alone.

"You can't do this."

Scout turns his head to see Pauling in the doorway, her eyes full of sadness and desperation.

"Do what?" Scout asks. "Doing this...top surgery nonsense!" Pauling snaps, walking over to Scout. "You're perfect the way you are, please Julia-"

"Jeremy." Scout corrects her. "I'm Jeremy now, remember?"

"No, you're Julia, even if you think otherwise." Pauling snaps with a glare. "It was bad enough when you cut off your beautiful hair." Pauling frowns at the haircut Soldier gave him recently, missing the shoulder length ponytail Scout donned before.

"The hell is your problem?" Scout asks. "I told you how long I've been planning this and now that doc is offering to do it, you see a problem with it now? I thought you cared about me."

Pauling bites her lip, taking Scout's hand. "I do, I really do. But just...not this. I can't let you change yourself when you're already perfect."

"So you want me to stay Julia for you?" Scout asks in disbelief. "Even when I told you I hate being her? When I told you I've never felt like a real girl?"

"Look, you can still call it off." Pauling says. "Stay Julia for me and soon you'll see. I promise."

Scout looks at her, jaw dropped and eyes hurt. Why was she so against this? They had been dating for a few months and Scout thought they were happy. He thought things were fine between them. Pauling knew Scout would do anything for her.

Just not stay Julia.

"No." Scout glared firmly.

"What?" Pauling gasps.

"This is the first time in my life I'm doing something for myself. I'm getting enough shit from ma and my bros about this. I don't need it from my girlfriend. I'm doing this for me."

"YOU CAN'T!" Pauling yells, making Scout take a step back in shock.

Seeing Scout recoil, she sighs. "I'm sorry...but you can't do this to me."

Scout glares. She was still making this about her.

"Then we're done." Scout says, turning his back to her. "Goodbye, Elizabeth."

Pauling tears up. "Fine," she whispers. "but don't come crying to me when no one else accepts you."

Much later...

Scout picks at his cereal glumly. Pauling had been nothing but cold to him since their break up. She kept eyeing his chest with a glare everytime she had come by.

It hurt.

A chair being pulled out next to him snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked at see Sniper with a plate of toast with butter and jam. "Hey mate." Sniper greeted, taking a bite of his food. "What's got you down?"

"Just...Pauling." Scout mumbles, pouring some milk from his spoon back into the bowl. "She absolutely hates me now that I'm officially Jeremy."

"Shame." Sniper shrugs. "Jeremy's great, change is good for ya."

Scout manages a small smile at the marksman. "Thanks shades."

"Hey, tell ya what." Sniper smiles. "Wanna go to the shooting range with me this afternoon? I'll let you use my rifle."

Scout grins.

"For real?"

Sniper nods. "It'll do you some good. Be ready at noon."

Scout nods, now taking his spoon and eating his cereal that was now slightly soggy.

Dell sips on his beer, amused as Pyro seems to be arguing with their balloonicorn about crayon choices. He glances at the table, mulling his own choices over at the seven remotes on his table. While they’re all red, they each have a small emblem on the bottom, showing Dell just whose is whose. Humming thoughtfully, Dell picks up the one with Spy’s emblem and switches it on low.

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Spy jolts as his vibrator turns on while he’s reading, shuddering as it rubs against his prostate. Taking a shaky breath, he returns to his book, even as he occasionally shudders at the feeling of the vibrator practically fucking him.

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Dell chuckles, turning when Pyro tugs at sleeve and holds up two crayons. They’re two shades of blue, obviously being used to color the pony’s mane in their coloring book.

“Go with the lighter one, Pyro. It’ll match the pinks and purples you’ve already used,” Dell offers, smiling when his teammate perks up before turning back to their coloring book. Settling back in his chair to nurse his beer and picks up Heavy’s remote. He knows the big guy’s in the med bay at this time of day, either helping Medic with an experiment or fucking the man. Perhaps Dell’ll take the chance… Why not? It’ll make a very interesting story from Medic either way.

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Mikhail freezes and tenses, gritting his teeth as the cock ring around his cock starts to vibrate. Herbert moans as the feeling, his grip on the leash tightening enough that Mikhail can see his love’s knuckles turn white around the leather.

“More!” Herbert orders, even as the cock ring continues to vibrate, and Mikhail complies.

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Dell sips his beer, smiling while Pyro happily shows one of their finished pieces to him.

“Great work as always, Pyro,” Dell praises, patting Pyro on the top of their mask, “An’ ya’ didn’ let that balloonicorn get their way!” Pyro flexes happily, showing off that they’re stronger than their stuffed animal opponent. Dell chuckles, watching as Pyro turns back to their coloring book, before idly grabbing one remote and cranking it all the way up.

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Scout lets out a short scream as his hips arch suddenly, startling Sniper from his gun care. Turning to check on his boyfriend, Sniper’s mouth goes dry as Scout squirms in with tears in his eyes.

“Bastard… Cranked… High,” Scout chokes out, immediately telling Sniper just what’s happening. As the only person on base without a cock, Sniper’s poor boyfriend had a vibrator shoved in his entrance. Fuck, Sniper needs to see.

“Lemme see, Roo,” Sniper begs, sliding around to be level with Scout’s crouch, “Lemme see it fuck ya’, Pretty Boy.” Scout complies.

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Dell glances at the remote and flinches, feeling a little bad for the Scout. While he doesn’t turn it off, Dell turns it down a few notches while hoping Sniper’s helping the poor guy out. Although, Dell doesn’t feel any guilt when reaching back to his most fiddled with remote. After all, Solly needs a reminder that Dell ain’t a fuckin’ plumber or similar employee. He’s the fuckin’ Engineer and he will get some respect about his expertise.

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Soldier grits his teeth, even as his legs shake. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have taken both a cock ring and a vibrator…

“No!” Soldier assures himself, “I am a strong American! I can handle this! I am better than this! I--!” He is cut off as both toys turn on again. Immediately, Soldier humps into the air uselessly, growling and clawing at the table he’s using for support. Within a few moments, his already soiled underwear gets more cum dribbling into it as he has a mostly dry orgasm. His legs give back out and he lays on the floor for a bit.