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If the Soldier wanted him to put on the Pyro’s Madam Dixie and call himself Charlene, that was fine.
If the Spy wanted to be bent over and spanked until he shouted before he’d even think of putting a cock in his mouth, that was fine too.
Turned out the Medic was the easiest. All the Scout had to do was lean against the wall in the waiting room outside the infirmary and cant his chin up, show a flash of tanned throat, and the Medic was all over him, dragging him into the sterile confines of his surgery with a whispered curse and a whimper. The Engineer at least admitted that someone as convenient and willing as the Scout was an elegant solution to the minor inconvenience of morning wood. When propositioned, the Demoman stood up, cracked his neck and said, “Alright. I’m just dyin’ for a shag, me,” and claimed that the Scout would make a fair lass, at least from behind. The Sniper would only fuck him from behind, muttering quietly, and wanted the Scout to vacate his space almost immediately after. But that was fine. It was fine when the Pyro tapped him in the kitchen and pointed a thumb toward the Rec Room, apparently having heard that the Scout was offering a service. The Scout’s heart leapt at the thought that someone was actively seeking him out without him having made the first move, even if he’d been enjoying his team mates’ reactions to his overtures.
Hell, when he’d caught the Spy shaving, balaclava rolled up only enough to scrape a straight razor over his angular jaw, leaned against the mirror and asked, “Hey Spook, wanna fuck?” he’d counted it as a personal victory that the Spy didn’t slash his throat and go back to shaving with the very same blade. The man had only glared at him flatly for a moment before flicking lather into the sink.
The Scout persisted, saying he was dead serious, and that he decided to leave all the subtlety and nuance to the Spy. The Spy had him naked against the lockers in a matter of seconds, claiming he was searching the Scout for a wire. The Scout allowed the excuse, and took cues when it kinda looked like the Spook liked it rough, kinda looked like he’d rather catch than pitch, kinda looked like he wanted to be ordered around, punished, humiliated.
It wasn’t a big deal.
The Medic wanted to be fucked six ways from Sunday with barely any preparation, except the one time when the Scout jammed three fingers into him, and the doctor arched off of his own exam table and wailed and begged for another finger, and another, until with some effort and surgical lubricant, the Scout was wrist-deep in the Medic’s ass, listening to the way the man howled and sobbed until he came.
If he was gonna bed the Sniper, though, he was damn well gonna have to prepare himself. He’d have to guess the guy used up all his patience on the field, because he sure as hell didn’t have ANY in the sack. Soon as the Scout asked how long it’d been since the wiry man got laid, and asked if he wanted to break his dry spell, the Sniper was shoving pants out of the way and trying to drive home. The Scout had to kick the man in the shin to get him to wait a second and at least get a rubber on, like, shit.
Demo, though, once you got him warmed up, he was in for the long haul. He seemed to want to get his tongue across every inch of the Scout’s skin, into every crevice, to the point where the Scout was squirming and way, way past impatient and edging into tortured.
The Engineer was too damn heterosexual for his own good, and the Scout said it had to have been a pretty long time since the guy had seen his wife, and the Engineer wanted to know what in the Sam Hill made the Scout say that, and the Scout said there was no other reason for a guy to have a plain gold band in his top left drawer, and the Engineer looked like he was gonna belt him one for going through his things until he explained that it was the Spook that did the actual snooping, the Scout just happened to overhear, which Engie said was nearly as bad but by that point the Scout was in his lap and he didn’t think that the guy had any space to complain when his hands went immediately to the Scout’s hips.
He almost felt a little bad about how quick the Soldier changed his tune about relations between men being something that only long-haired freaky flower children did in the grass and the mud in their commie hippie communes, as soon as the Scout said it was pretty common in the Army. “But you’d know that, right Sarge?” he said, and the Soldier agreed and nodded so fast his helmet thudded against his nose. He was told to meet the Soldier in his bunk at eighteen-hundred hours, and when he sidled into the man’s room at six sharp, he was only a little surprised to see him sitting naked save the helmet and boots on his precisely made bed, with the flowered hat in one hand and the Disciplinary Action in the other.
That was alright, so long as he got his.
And even if the Pyro never took off that dang suit, or even a single glove, it was okay, because body language implied that watching the Scout jack off was a huge turn-on, and even if the Pyro left after Scout finished, and presumably took care of business elsewhere, the Scout loved being watched, loved being the center of attention.
He loved it enough that he put up with pretty much every weird-ass thing any of his team mates asked of him, went along with everything they did, except for the Heavy straight-up refusing to participate.
The Scout couldn’t stand for that. When the Heavy said, “Leetle man should look someplace else,” he took it as a personal insult. If he could get the Engineer to fuck him over his drafting table, if he could get the fucking Pyro coming after him, how the hell could the Heavy turn him down? It just wasn’t right. He was a damn good lay, the guy could go ahead and ask anyone on the team. Presented with this logic, though, the Heavy said, “Why you don’t go see one of them, then? Is not possible you are lonely.” The Scout wasn’t sure why that hurt so much.
He took every opportunity to talk to the huge Russian man, tried to discover what his interests were outside of mowing down enemies with a gatling gun. The Scout found he couldn’t really parse through even an English translation of Pushkin, and was a little disturbed when, after the lady at the library’s circulation desk recommended a few other works by the guy who did that translation, he realized he was reading an account of pedophilia. He waved the hardcover under the Heavy’s nose and asked “Is this the reason you won’t fuck me?” The Heavy only laughed and walked away, shaking his head.
In the armory, the Scout tried to discuss weapon specs, but found himself in way over his head. In the Rec Room, at least, they could watch boxing together, and the Scout could appreciate seeing some guy hit some other guy, but he didn’t know the names of the moves or anything and didn’t quite get the commentary. “I thought this was about a couple’a guys punching the shit out of eachother,” he muttered, hearing the on-screen announcer’s talk of various jabs and cuts and hooks. The Heavy smiled and patted him on the shoulder. Mid-way through the Heavy’s explanation of the difference between a hook and a haymaker, Demo strolled in and leaned into the Scout’s personal space, arching an eyebrow.
"Not right now, man, I’m busy," the Scout mumbled, never looking up from the Heavy’s demonstrative hands.
In the kitchen, a few days later, he found the Heavy with a sandwich and a chess board laid out in front of him.
"Ah, leetle Scout. Come, sit. You eat? Take sandwich. Do you play?"
The Scout found himself falling into the chair opposite and shaking his head. “Naw. I seen old men playin’ chess in the park where I grew up, but I was always on my way to the baseball diamond. Never learned.”
"Then you will, now. Smaller pieces in front, in English, are called ‘pawns’. They are frontline infantry, can move two spaces on first move, one space straight forward after that, diagonal only when capturing another piece. Cannot capture head-on. If you are going to sacrifice a piece, is better it is pawn. A pawn is worth less than other pieces."
"Well, jeez, I know how that feels," the Scout grumbled, fingering one of the pawn’s round heads.
"Is still possible to capture king with pawn," the Heavy replied. He looked up from the board with a small smile, and met the Scout’s eyes. The Scout felt a flutter in his chest, and asked about that king.