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“Yeah yeah, go ahead an’ laugh,” Scout says, and he doesn’t bother with 'hello' when he knows it’s just asking for a ‘goodbye, Scout, and close ze door vhen you leave’, as if that’s even necessary when the infirmary door is hinged with a spring to make it swing shut on its own. It also has a stencilled metal plaque saying ‘please knock and wait for staff’ and a handwritten note that just says ‘Scout!!!’, and it’s a small satisfaction to see Medic’s fancy pen slash a startled line across the page when he doesn’t do either. Teach the Doc not to pay attention, holing up in here with his papers and files like they’re more important than people.
Scout is pretty sure Medic won’t go ahead and laugh, he never laughs except at things that aren’t funny, like slicing up guys on the other team and watching them scramble for their guts in the dirt, but Scout wishes he would, just once. A broken leg probably isn’t as funny as someone losing an eye or an arm or their head, he’s not a doctor and he doesn’t get the joke, but he’d be good with a small chuckle, even just a smile. He could work with a smile.
Medic doesn’t smile. He caps his pen carefully and puts it down next to the report Scout just ruined and takes a deep breath, and then he steeples his fingers and looks at Scout over the top of his glasses like the world’s scariest school principal. It sends a thrill through Scout, even knowing the Doc doesn’t keep a ruler in his top drawer.
“What did you do,” Medic asks, and breathes out again slowly in a way that’s almost loud enough to be a sigh, and adds, “this time?”
“Hey, I said you could laugh, Doc, I didn’t say anything ‘bout askin’ stupid questions. I’m standin’ here practic’ly bleedin’ to death, y’know, that ain’t gonna look good in your stupid reports, me dyin’ ‘cause you’re too busy bein’ sarcastic to do your frickin’ job. Who’s gonna do my job when I’m hobblin’ around like some old geezer tomorrow ‘cause my leg’s all busted up, huh? Christ, look at this, I walk like I’m a hundred years old! The guys’re gonna come beggin’ me for übers ‘cause they think I’m you.”
Medic leans forward incrementally, tilting his head just far enough to glance over the edge of the table at the smudges on Scout’s pants from where he took that last bad fall and the flaky patches of mud on one sock where the dust has soaked up blood, and he can tell the Doc is rolling his eyes behind the thin wire frames. “Ach, you will be a hundred years old before you bleed to death from that tiny scratch. Why do you waste my time with this?”
“I’m serious, Doc. I can’t walk right. And it hurts pretty bad. Not like, y’know, I haven’t had worse, I had plenty worse, I had my whole leg chopped off once an’ then it respawned wrong, remember? Christ, what a mess. Took Engie all night to fix it too, man, I thought I was gonna be stuck with it all broken an’ stickin’ out an’ shit. I still, y’know, still sometimes wake up an’ I think, fuck, maybe I only dreamed Engie fixed it, maybe if I look it’s still all busted? An’ I don’t wanna look in case it’s all fucked up but I can’t go back to sleep not knowing… Those’re, ah, not the best kinda nights.” Scout fidgets, and realises he’s fidgeting, and stops, and for a moment he’s lost his cool, can’t look at Medic because that’s not what he wanted to say. He just wants to make sure Medic doesn’t think he’s a wimp or nothing, he’s totally had worse. That one time isn’t even the worst of what he’s had, and he doesn’t know why he keeps having nightmares about it.
“Anyway,” he coughs, “I thought maybe you could fix me up with the Medigun an’ then I wouldn’t have to go through respawn just for a tiny scratch, right?”
“Hm.” It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, and Scout dares a peek. Medic’s hand is curled around his chin, thumb and index pulling the corners of his mouth into a worried frown. Then he shakes his head, and Scout is about to give up on the whole thing and just shoot himself when Medic continues, “Sit on the gurney, bitte, and I will have a look,” and it’s all Scout can do not to let out a whoop.
“Thanks, Doc,” he says instead, and tries to keep from grinning. He’s been saving the pain from health kits and respawn, nursing it through the humiliation round even if it meant not getting any good kills in, and it’s been worth it just to feel Medic’s hand on his knee. The doctor pulls his chair around the table to sit in front of him, and the height of the wheeled stretcher means it doesn’t feel weird when his foot is lifted and turned this way and that between tight grips on his ankle and instep.
He’s never been undressed by someone else before, not as far back as he can remember even if he knows his ma must’ve done it when he was a kid, and watching Medic untie his laces and pull off his blood-flecked cleat is nothing like watching her do the same for him after a Little League game. He realises he’s biting his lip when Medic’s fingers feel their up to the edge of the sock under his knickers. It’s slipped off so carefully he almost whines at the blunt nails drawing slow lines down his calf, almost gives himself away because there’s no way Medic doesn’t know, doing that, except the doctor’s expression shows nothing but professional concern when Scout sneaks a glance. Suddenly, he’s feeling more naked with one bare foot than he ever did in the locker room, and it’s not cold in Medic’s office but gooseflesh pimples his skin.
Medic trails his hands up Scout’s shin, fingertips digging into the sore mess of muscles on both sides of it and following the edges of bones Scout doesn’t know the names of up into the soft ticklish spot under his knee. His foot is hoisted up to rest on Medic’s thigh, tension fading from tightly-wound tendons and knots of ligaments he didn’t even know he had, the ache of them too constant to notice. His hands grip the steel frame of the bed on their own accord, like his body thinks he’s going to fall if he doesn’t hold on to something.
It’s the most intimate they’ve ever been, three whole points of contact between them, even closer than the time Medic showed him how to wrap his hands to avoid blisters from the bats and baseballs. Scout realises he can smell the last faint notes of Medic’s aftershave, the salty whiff of sweat on his skin.
“Uh. So whaddaya doin’?” Scout asks, just for something to fill the silence when he can’t stand it anymore, when both Medic’s hands come around to cradle his leg, warm palms smooth against his skin, and jiggle his kneecap from side to side. It’s kind of weird, but not unpleasant, and he’s acutely aware of the heat seeping through Medic’s pants where his foot is lodged with his toes in the crease under the curve of Medic’s hip and slowly slipping forward under its own the weight.
“Palpation,” Medic says, a word that means nothing to Scout. “I don’t have access to a Röntgen device, that is, ah, x-ray, at this base, and I want to make sure any fractures are aligned. It will not do to set them wrong. Any of the others, I would not have bothered, but…”
“But what?” Scout asks, too fast, too eager, but he can’t help it at the suggestion that he’s somehow special, different from his teammates, which he is, of course he is, but that he’s special to Medic, that he gets special treatment none of the others do. He needs to know more than ever that he isn’t just imagining the things he thinks he knows.
"Ah." For a second, Medic sounds uncertain, and Scout is pretty sure he’s doing that thing again where he’s not looking at Scout. “Well, you are quite the marvel of Nature, nicht war? I have seen you dodge bullets and make leaps that should not be possible according to medical science, and you are by far the fastest man I have ever met. The tensile strength of your tendons, the hysteresis of your Achilles, oh." Medic’s hands stroke down the back of his leg, round the heel, back up to under Scout’s knee where Scout is sure his pulse is thumping too hard for a guy who’s not moving at all. "Every joint, every ligament and muscle and bone, perfectly arranged, perfectly balanced, every movement at speed precise to the micron, to fulfil the maximum capacity of human physiology, like the most finely-tuned instrument played by a maestro…” Medic trails off, blinking, swallowing, clearing his throat. His hands are suddenly quite, quite still.
Scout grins. He just can’t help it. “Gettin’ into it, Doc?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Naw, you like it, I can tell.” He can tell, the way Medic is still refusing to look up at him a dead giveaway. “Pretty awesome, huh? Bet you’re pretty frickin’ glad I came in here an’ let you put your hands all over me, feel up all my bones an’ stuff. Bet you been wantin’ to do it forever, just waitin’ for a chance, and then I come waltzin’ right in here an’ ask you to, like it’s your frickin’ birthday or somethin’. Bet you thought, shit, this gotta be my lucky day!”
“What are you talking about?” Medic scoffs, but he’s keeping his head down, doesn’t meet Scout’s eyes.
“You know what I’m talkin’ about, Doc.” Heart pounding, Scout steels himself like he’s walking up to the plate, hit or miss. He’s not a praying man, and he’s pretty sure he’s already used up all allotted goodwill besides, both with his ma and the Lord, but now he breathes a silent plea to Raphael, patron saint of doctors and lovers and the incurably insane, a quiet, desperate please don’t let me fuck this up.
“I’m talkin’ about you never takin’ a peek in the shower when everybody else does, casual-like, y’know, just checkin’ if they measure up n’ shit, seein’ who’s cut, whose ain’t, that kinda thing,” he says, and in his mind he hears the shout of ‘play ball’, the rush of adrenaline making him shiver. “I’m talkin’ about you makin’ all that beer in Demo’s shed behind Teufort but never gettin’ drunk, like you’re afraid something’s gonna happen if you do. I’m talkin’ about you always wearin’ those gloves when you’re touchin’ people an’ only takin’ them off for the gross stuff, except when you’re touchin’ me.” The ball is pitched, he swings at it, lets gravity drag his foot where it wants to go. It dips in to fit the curve of his arch against the neat seams criss-crossing Medic’s crotch and stretched tight over not-quite-soft flesh. “I’m talkin’ about this.”
Hit. He imagines the cheer of the crowd, almost laughs with the giddy relief of being right, until Medic finally, finally looks up at him, and Scout recognises the fear behind the shock in his eyes. The doctor isn’t moving at all, not even to push Scout’s foot away. In all the time he’s known Medic, the doctor has always been the one to unsettle him, coldly aloof off the battlefield and kind of scary with his bloody bone saw and that manic laugh during fights, but when Scout reaches out to push his luck, the Doc flinches, actually flinches, like he expects Scout to punch him. It dawns on Scout that somehow, somewhere, his plan has gone awry.
“Hey, nothin’ to be scared of, Doc,” Scout promises, in the most soothing tone he knows, the one his ma used to coax him out from under the bed after losing fights with his brothers. “Relax, you’re actin’ like it’s a fuckin’ big deal when it ain’t. You get wood from touchin’ dudes, so what? Practic’ly a compliment, right? I mean, I just gotta expect that kinda stuff when I’m this good-lookin’, y’know, bet you ain’t even the first guy rubbin’ off to me.” He grabs Medic’s hand, twines their fingers together like teenage lovers on their first date before moving it to rest on his other knee. “C’mon, ain’t you gonna check my other leg?” When Medic starts rubbing him through the knickers with hesitant motions, thumb making tiny circles, he nods and smiles with all the patience in the world. “Yeah, that’s it, Doc. See? Ain’t nothin’ to it.”
Emboldened, the hand creep upwards, massaging his thigh, until Medic’s fingers crest the bend near his hip and stall, so close to their prize that Scout can’t help the low sound of disappointment that’s not quite a groan.
“You gonna check that too?” he breathes. “You can if you wanna. I mean, if you gotta, y’know, make sure everything’s workin’ all right an’ shit. Like, you’re the Doc, if you say you gotta check it I ain’t gonna tell you not to, I’d be frickin’ stupid to tell you not to do your job, right? I bet it’s a marvel a’ Nature too, y’know, just like the rest of me. Go ahead an’ touch it, Doc, c’mon.”
Medic clears his throat. “That would be,” he coughs, thick-voiced, sharply-accented, “unprofessional.”
Scout slips his hand on top of Medic’s, squeezes it with what he hopes the doctor takes to be reassurance. “But I could show you, right? If you didn’t do it but I just happened to show you, that’s not unprofessional. I mean, it ain’t like you were gonna touch it or anything, no way you were gonna put your hands on my dick, how stupid wouldya be to think you were gonna like actually touch it, but if I just kinda nudged your hand a little, just one a’ those frickin’ accidental accidents nobody ever talks about, an’ you just happened to touch it without wantin’ to ‘cos I was gonna show you how I’m feelin’ so much better now, like a million bucks, Doc, thanks to you, that wouldn’t exactly be unprofessional, right, that’d just be—yeah. Fuck. Yeah, that’s it.”
Rolling his hips is all it takes to close that last half-inch between them, Medic’s fingers closing on the half-hard bulge in his boxers. It’s like an electric shock, every nerve frizzling with static, the way the Doc dimples the rough cotton, digs in to take him fully in hand through the fabric. He keeps Medic’s hand steady with his own and arches up into it, friction rubbing him just a little raw and making him wince, but he’s happy to take what he can get. Then Medic’s flexes and shifts, strong fingers probing him through the fly that’s teased open, pulls him out, and Medic’s palm against his feverish skin is sweaty and slick and so much better than he’s ever dared hope.
“C’mon, Doc, c’mon,” Scout urges, “don’t hold out on me, man.” He can see the outline of Medic’s erection, feel it against the toes of the foot still nestled in Medic’s lap, but when Medic unzips Scout can’t believe he’s is actually doing it. “Fuck, Doc, that’s the spirit, that’s what I wanna see,” he laughs. “I knew you were rubbin’ off to me all this time, fuckin’ jerkin’ it and thinkin’ of me, yeah, lemme see you do it. Aw Christ, that’s hot, that’s the fuckin’ dirtiest thing I’ve ever seen—”
Medic hits the gurney lever, cutting off Scout’s praise when the hydraulics drops him a foot and a half with a metallic screech. The Doc rolls his chair right in close, lifts Scout’s legs up over his, and their dicks are touching, both of Medic’s hands around them and both of Scout’s around his, spotting his handwraps with precum. They’re both grunting and gasping, all animal noise and curses and staccato German growled between moans, the rustling of clothes and the clicks and chimes of loose belt buckles and the rhythmic squeaking of Medic’s chair in counterpoint, and right as it’s getting really, really good, right when Scout thinks he’s going to lose himself in that private space of heat and want and low whispers between them, he rolls his hips forward and cries out in pain, loud and shrill and not anything like sexy at all.
“Scout—?” Medic asks, and the sound of his name spoken in that low, rough voice would’ve make Scout’s cock throb if he wasn’t too busy clutching his throbbing, fucking useless leg.
“Sorry, sorry,” he groans. “It ain’t, I mean, it’s my leg. I just, I can’t—aw, fuck!”
“Idiot,” Medic says, and pulls away, tucking himself back into his pants with hard, angry motions. “Idiot.” Then he’s gone, out of Scout’s sight, with a last hiss of “Scheiße”, and Scout’s veins flush with ice like someone just dumped a bucket of freezing bay water over his head.
This is bad. This is really, really bad.
“Medic?” Scout calls. Then, “Medic!”, panic seizing him, realising he’s left alone, to hurt, to die and go through respawn, to never speak of this again and never get another chance, and he’ll walk a mile on his busted leg just to apologise for whatever he’s done wrong, crawl the last half if he has to, but he doesn’t know where Medic has gone. He doesn’t know how to make this right.
Then, a click, the whine of charging capacitors, and the hot beam of the Medigun envelops him, makes his hair stand on end with static electricity and a sob of relief creep into his voice. “Doc—”
“I’m an idiot,” Medic says, and Scout realises belatedly that the reproach in the doctor’s voice, the disgust, the loathing, isn’t meant for him. “I’m your physician, verdamm it, I should never— I shouldn’t have—”
“Medic, c’mon, it ain’t your fault, I swear it ain’t,” Scout pleads. Medic has yelled at him hundreds of times, chewed him out in all kinds of ways for all the crazy shit he’s done to get the Doc’s attention, but he’s never sounded like this before, never this angry, this disappointed. It makes Scout’s heart ache to think Medic hates himself for letting things get out of hand, when there’s really only one person to blame.
“Shit, I did it, all right? I busted my leg, jumped off the battlements so you’d have to look at it. I just wanted a chance. You always kick me outta here when I just wanna talk, you’re always so fuckin’ professional when I been dyin’ to tell you that I know, I know, an’ I want it too, I want you to touch me so bad. When I saw you not lookin’ in the showers, man, when I figured what that meant, shit, I didn’t know what to do. You’re always shootin’ me down before I can make my moves. I don’t know how to flirt with guys, I thought maybe, if I could just make you touch me… Fuck. I fucked it all up, I didn’t mean to but I did, I always fuckin’ do. I’m real sorry, Doc.”
The pain is gone, leaving just the memory of it and a prickly tingling like his foot is asleep, but his stomach is clenched so tight it hurts and Scout feels like he’s going to be sick.
He’s the one who flinches this time at the hand on his shoulder, the one on his face, but he is only pulled up into a kiss so soft he doesn’t even feel the press of lips against his own, tasting Medic’s tongue first of all. For a long while that’s all they do, kiss awkwardly, bite and lick and move a little to find the best angle when they’re both nearly the same height, slipping their arms around each other, and when that becomes too much, too hot, Scout fumbles Medic’s fly open, then his own, two obscene little zippy sounds that makes Medic murmur appreciatively against his mouth. The Doc is a nice half-hard handful, fitting between his fingers just right when he hooks his own cock with the thumb, and it’s the first time Scout’s touched a dick that isn’t his own, but he’s already imagining doing so much more with it, wants to do everything with it. Not now, not their first time, but there’s going to be other times, he’s sure of it the way Medic drags out a “jaaa” on every upstroke, gasps a “Scout" when he flexes his wrist.
It’s the most awkward position he’s ever gotten off in, even worse than standing up in the shower and having to stop every time someone walks by, and his arm keep getting stuck between their bodies, and Medic is still wearing the Medipack, shoulder-strap buckles nipping at him where they’re pressed together, but it’s worth it, so worth it, to lean in and whisper in the doctor’s ear, like a dirty little secret just between the two of them, “goddamn, Doc, yeah, that’s it, lemme feel you come in my hand, right between my fingers, Doc, c’mon, look at me,” to watch Medic’s face when he does, a sudden wet warmth on Scout’s hand and his cock, to moan Medic’s name with more rough desperation than he’s ever heard in his own voice and let himself come undone.
For a while, they just stand there after, supporting each other and enjoying the buzz. It nice to feel Medic’s arms around him, almost as if they’ve been dancing a slow dance and the music just stopped. It’s like they’re the only couple left on the dance floor at the end of a perfect night out, except the sun is still up and they never even had a first date, and moving his fingers to feel the stickiness between them Scout is pretty sure it must be some kind of record. Something like that is worth bragging about, even to the guy he’s just done it with.
“Dummkopf,” Medic says, but Scout can hear the chuckle in his voice, and it’s not the crazy battlefield kind either. It’s softer, warmer, and it makes Scout heart flutter.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, nuzzling his face against the side of Medic’s neck. “Go ahead an’ laugh.”