Behold! A TF2 fanfiction!

By Balloon Animal


It happened halfway between the forts. Scout had been running high on exhilaration with the enemy's intel strapped securely to his back. Bullets thudded behind his heels, but he was well in the clear before the opposing Heavy's minigun could reach him in time.

Routine stuff really.

He had just made it past the bridge and now only had the homestretch to go. A rocket whistled past his head and exploded in a fiery ball of death rattling the ground beneath him. The doorway of his home base loomed ahead and it wouldn't be long before his team would be slapping him on the back and congratulating him on a job well done. It was all in a days work for a badass like Scout.

A smirk crept across his face at that thought. He couldn't help it that he was fucking amazing.

It could have been a slight misstep, or maybe just the wear-and-tear of an active lifestyle, but for whatever reason Scout's left asscheek clenched in a split second of unbelievably mind-numbing pain.

"Arrrghh!" Scout skidded to his knees. All thoughts of securing the intelligence had been temporarily forgotten as he clutched at his throbbing backside. The briefcase was flung off his back during the commotion, hitting the ground with a thud several feet from his position. White pieces of paper drifted around his head and were littered across the dusty battlefield.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He hissed. Already he could hear the angry shouts of his teammates asking in their own colourful vocabularies why exactly he was taking this unauthorized timeout. Right now though he was preoccupied with what had just happened to his ass.

Now, Scout was no stranger to pain. He had been maimed and mutilated in a whole manner of inventive ways, but he couldn't recall this happening before. At first he thought he might have been shot. His hand clutched at his pants, but he didn't feel the tell-tale warmth of blood from a bullet wound. It was almost as if something had snapped inside of him. Like he had actually broken his ass.

Unfortunately that was all the time Scout had to ponder this unusual incident. The BLU Heavy was close enough now to bear down on him. He didn't take the time to question why the enemy was kneeling, completely exposed on the battlefield. Instead he bellowed his warcry "Leetle man is baby!" and unleashed an expensive volley of bullets onto the grounded Scout.

In the haze of respawn, as his gibs were pieced back together thanks to unspeakably complex mathematical equations, Scout put his jumbled thoughts back into place. He was just as pissed off as he was the moment his innards were minced by gunfire.

It was a marvel of science, really.


"Can you explain just what kind of a sorry performance that was today, maggot?"

"For the last time, I told you. Something hit me in the ass, JEEZE!"

The debriefing was not going well. Scout's throat was getting hoarse defending himself. To make matters worse, for some reason respawn hadn't completely eliminated the twinge in his muscle. He had to resist the urge to rub his butt in front of all his teammates.

"Non, let us hear the boy out." Spy smirked with the usual cigarette hanging from his lips. "Do go on Scout. Tell us exactly what 'appened to your 'ass'." The rest of the team looked towards Scout expectantly.

Scout puffed his chest out in an effort to contain his mounting fury. Clearly no one was going to take him seriously. Whatever, he didn't have time for this bullshit anyway. "Okay, fuck you guys. I'm outta here." He turned on his heel to leave. Unfortunately Scout made the mistake of putting too much weight on his left leg. To his horror, pain bolted down his backside in a series of well-timed muscle spasms. He caught himself on the doorframe panting, and effectively ruining his dramatic exit.

A round of snickering rose up in the boardroom. Slouching against a doorframe clutching his ass like a chucklenut wasn't doing anything for his bad-boy image. Everyone was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and derision. Everyone except for the Heavy Weapons Guy, who had an odd frown across his face.

He salvaged the last of his dignity to flip everyone off before he limped away to the infirmity. Maybe the Doc could figure this out before the humiliation forced him to resign.


"So just say it Doc, what's wrong with me?"

Scout was trying to hide his embarrassment by burying his face in his folded arms. It was bad enough that he had to lie stomach down on one of the examination benches with his pants down to his thighs, but the Medic's insensitive commentary really was the icing on the cake.

"It is ironic that ze biggest pain in ze bottom should have one of his own, ja?" He chuckled as his own joke and continued to press his gloved fingers into Scouts firm gluteus muscle, trying to determine the source of this injury.

"Haaa, shit!" Scout rose up slightly when Medic's cool digits pressed into a particularly sore spot. "Jesus! What the hell are you doin' back there?"

"How interesting," Medic murmured to himself as his fingers splayed out across warm flesh, exploring the contours of the muscle beneath the skin.

Scout groaned.

"Does it hurt vhen I do this?" He took hold of Scout's leg and lifted it up, stretching Scout's ligaments whilst keeping a hand firmly on the young man's buttocks.

"It hurts like shit!" Scout gripped the sterile white blankets of the examination table trying not to shriek like a little girl. "Just fuckin' tell me what's wrong, ya crazy Kraut."

The Medic let Scout's leg drop none to gently and tsk'd as he made a note on his clipboard. "Now, now Scout. It vould hardly be proper medical conduct if ve vere not thorough." To punctuate his point, Medic slapped a hand down on Scout's exposed rear.

Scout yelped in protest and threw a glare over his shoulder. He grabbed his pants and squirmed to get them back over his hips. He wasn't going to provide the doctor with any more opportunities to molest him. As soon as the elastic was comfortably snug around his waist, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, making sure to favor his weight on his right side. He gave an experimental flex, and like a poorly oiled machine the unsettling discomfort once again flared up in his backside. He let his guard down enough to stare at the doctor in anguish. He was the team's Scout. What use would he be in this condition?

Medic must have sensed the boy's consternation, because he sighed and lowered his glasses to look at the young man. "Okay Herr Scout. You have an extremely stressed gluteus muscle. It is a common condition amongst athletes. Ze Iliopspoas muscle becomes contracted and effectively limits movement of ze limb. I hear it is quite painful!"

Scout scratched his head as he listened to the Doctor's unnecessarily cheerful explanation, most of it gibberish to his ears. "Alright so, enough of the mumbo jumbo Doc. Just zap me with that gun of yours or whatever."

"Scout, if you mean for me to treat your condition with ze medi-gun, I am afraid zhat vould be ineffectual."

"Waddaya mean? I've seen you put fuckin' arms back together with that thing! Just zap me already."

"Oh! I see. You are a doctor now too?" The Medic was putting on a new pair of gloves, making sure to slap the latex in satisfaction. "Ze medi-gun can only restore your body to its previous condition. Vhat you have, dear Scout, is a chronic injury zhat has most likely been developing for years. Zhere is no quick fix solution. As I am sure you have already discovered, Respawn vill not mend it eizer. Du dummer Junge! Please do not look at me like that."

"So that's it then? I'm gonna have a busted ass forever." Scout rolled his leg in his joint, testing the limitations of movement. Scout could already feel the emotion rising in his chest. Running was really all he had to put his name to. If he couldn't run, well, that was the end of the line for Scout.

"Is that vhat I said?" Medic threw his arms up in frustration. "You have a tight muscle. All you need to do is stretch it vunce a day. It may be tedious, ja, but it is not fatal. You vill recover. Until then I shall prescribe you with some pain medication."

While Scout was left to ponder this, Medic pulled out a drawer and retried a bottle of pills. "Okay," he rattled the container. "Vun for you und vun for me. Haha! That is a little joke of mine."

Scout didn't laugh.


Stretching. Really? Scout's mind drifted back to the days he was on the senior league team back in Boston. His coach used to make them complete a militant warm-up session before practice. He always thought it was pointless. Why waste valuable time doing squats and lunges in a field when they could be playing ball?

Now upon reflection, as he groaned under the strain of his tightening muscle, maybe it wasn't so stupid.

He swore as he pushed his weight further into the stretch. His leg was hoisted on a chair while he grabbed his foot and pulled it towards himself. His hamstring was at its limit. He panted. He had to do this every day? For how long? Scout pulled out of the stretch and kicked the chair away in frustration.

Scout had never been known for his patience.

He paced across his room, rubbing that particularly sore part of his butt tenderly. What a joke. He'd once taken a crit-rocket to the chest, but a tight muscle was what was going to undo him? When he had finally worn himself out with self-pity, he slumped onto the bed to stare at the cracked ceiling. Fan-fucking-tastic.

It wasn't long before he heard the tell-tale rap of knuckles against his door. Hoisting himself to his feet, he approached the door suspiciously and opened it a fraction to peer out. He had half been expecting to see Spy with some flimsy excuse to continue his gloating, but was surprised to see the Heavy, towering over him with a strangely timid expression.

"Yeah, waddaya want?" Scout asked raising an eyebrow.

"I… spoke to Doktor today. You have problem with behind, yes?"

This immediately rubbed Scout the wrong way. "Oh so you want an update on my ass? Well here's an update for ya; fuck you!" At that he slammed the door shut. Couldn't a guy suffer in peace around here?

He stormed back to his bed, kicking detritus of magazines and dirty clothes out of the way, ignoring the persistent knocks that followed after him. "I told ya man, I don't wanna talk about it. Knock it off!"

Not one to be discouraged, Heavy cracked the door open to watch Scout slump on his bed with more care than usual. He opened the door wider until his massive body filled the space and ignored the heated glares that Scout was sending his way. "I might have solution for leetle man."

Scout perked up at this, but was still suspicious enough to reserve his enthusiasm. He was learning quickly that if something appeared too good to be true, it usually was. He leaned back on his elbows and looked up to survey the large man under the brim of his cap. "Last I checked rooski, you ain't a doctor. What can you do for me?"

To Scout's astonishment, the Heavy looked abashed. This was no mean feat for a 400 pound man. He watched as the Russian fished a crumpled piece of paper out from his back pocket and handed it to the perplexed young man.

"What the hell is this?"

"Is qualifications. Back home was what you call 'masseur'. I am very good if you trust." He cracked his knuckles in an unsettling way.

Scout folded out the paper, which was yellow with age. It looked official enough, apart from being written completely in Cyrillic. He looked back up at the Heavy and his imagination was suddenly bombarded with imagery of this enormous bald man rubbing him up and down in lavender oil, wearing nothing but a nurse's outfit.

He only just held back an incredulous guffaw and handed the certificate back to Heavy. "You can't be serious?"

"Was important skill back home. Body is like machine, must be maintained." He folded the paper tenderly and slipped it back in his pocket. "If you want I can help. Is no problem." He grinned at Scout, clearly very confident in himself.

"Ahh," Scout only had to think about it for a second, "no."

Heavy's face fell, but he persisted. "If leetle man is sore then is no credit to team. I can fix easily. Is like maintaining Sasha. Needs repair every so often."

"Okay man," Scout leaned over to try and explain to this man why exactly he wouldn't want an obese Russian man rubbing him everywhere. "I really don't think that's gonna work. I have some exercises; the doc gave me some pills. It's cool."

The Heavy hovered hesitantly in the doorway. He was sharp enough to know a rebuff when he heard one. "Well, if ever you change mind, I am always here. Hope you are ready for battle tomorrow."

"Yeah okay, whatever." He waited until Heavy closed the door before he plonked his head down on the pillow with a sigh. That was probably the strangest thing that had ever happened to him. The Heavy, a genuine certified masseur. Seriously?

He thought about how Heavy would meticulously clean his weapons every night. If Sasha was ever nicked or scratched he would borrow equipment from Engineer to buff and polish it feverishly until you could see your face in the painfully shiny metal. It was excessive in Scout's opinion. He tilted his head and looked at his prized Sandman resting against the far wall. It had a thick crack right down the centre that was only held together by a piece of flimsy duct tape. It still worked fine.

Scout looked back at the ceiling and unconsciously rubbed his side. Yeah, he'd be okay…


Scout didn't know what the Doc had given him, but it was freaking potent. The instructions on the bottle said to take one every six hours. Scout didn't want to take any chances with this throbbing pain in his ass, so he had swallowed four. He swayed from side to side strangely detached from reality while the team stood in the re-supply room waiting for the battle to begin. As nice as it felt, somewhere in the hazy recess of his brain he knew that it might interfere with his performance today.

Scout wasn't the only one to notice this. Engineer tilted his helmet back with his thumb curiously as he watched the kid slowly nodding in and out of consciousness. "You right there boy? Somethin' seems different about you today."

"Hey, I'm fine okay. Get off my fre-freakin' back." Scout slurred. He swaggered a little to far to the left and had to catch his fall with his baseball bat.

The Medic interrupted this scene with a cough, "I have simply given Herr Scout something to alleviate his symptoms. However, slight drowsiness can be a side effect."

"Slight?" Engineer asked incredulously as he watched Scout's eyes droop shut.

Medic waved his hand, "it is only temporary. He vill be more zhan capable vhen we start." He eyed Scout suspiciously, "zhat is if he has taken it correctly."

"Mission begins in 60 seconds."

Everyone in the room was now looking at Scout. If the Boston boy wasn't drugged to the eyeballs, he might have felt self-conscious about it.

"I've seen drunken roo's more alert than he is. He bloody better not cost us the battle, that's all I'm saying." Sniper adjusted his aviators and looked forward with cold hard determination.

Scout was going to throw an insult Sniper's way, but before the words had even formed in his mouth he had forgotten what was happening. Hey, this room was really white wasn't it? It sort of reminded him of fluffy clouds and sheep. Woo, lying down would be pretty awesome right about now.

The siren signaling the start of battle blared. Scout was usually the first to push forward, but today he simply stood there as hazy blurs rushed past him, leaving him alone and confused in that cold white room.

He slowly cocked his scattergun and stumbled forward. It was going to be a long day.


"Yo Snipes, what's up?"

Startled, Sniper looked around to find a slightly inebriated Scout climbing into his lookout. He leaned away as the boy approached. "Bloody hell, you're bleedin' everywhere."

"Huh?" Scout looked down to discover his shirt was drenched in blood and was now dribbling down his pants onto the grimy wooden floor beneath him. He must have taken a few bullets to the gut on his way over here. Somehow, it didn't seem to concern him. "Aw, that's nothin'. I like, don't even feel it. What are you doin' anyway?"

"I'm trying to win a war, and I don't know if you've noticed but the other team is giving our backsides a wallop. Go find Medic and leave me alone." Sniper turned back to the window to watch the chaos of the battlefield through his rifle scope.

"C'mon, ya don't have to be a total asshole." Scout attempted to punch Sniper on the shoulder good-naturedly, instead he misaimed and landed chest first on the Australian, smearing blood all over his leather vest. Scout gave some snorting laughs, finding this hysterically funny.

Sniper was inclined to disagree and pushed Scout away in disgust.

"Listen mate, you clearly ain't fit for this fight. Go and wait in the infirmary before you completely cock things up for the rest of us."

Scout had stopped listening to Sniper, instead distracted by the shiny bullet cartridges strapped to his front. He slumped down on a crate, trying to get a grip on his foggy mind. Oblivious to how obviously he was irritating Sniper, he began to chatter inanely. His hands flicked speckles of blood around when he gesticulated.

Sniper growled, dividing his attention between providing cover fire for his team and thinking of a way to forcibly remove of this pest. He heard some shrieks down near the bridge and realised that their Medic was now strewn in little pieces, courtesy of a sticky bomb. It was something that might have been avoided if he had been focusing on the battle and not preoccupied with an obnoxious brat.

"-So then I said, if it's runnin' you better go catch it. Haha!"

That was it. He turned around to grab Scout by the collar. "Roight, listen you little mongrel, I've had it up to here with you. Get back down there before I shoot you prope-"

Scout never did find out what Sniper was going to do. Sniper had left himself exposed long enough for the enemy Sniper to take a perfect headshot, and was now lying lifeless in a puddle of blood decorated with fragments of skull and bits of brain matter.

Scout blinked at this unexpected turn of events. Now who was he going to talk to?

He sat for a few more moments listening to the distant din of mayhem outside until the Respawn system picked up on Sniper's body and it slowly faded from sight. Oh well. You win some you lose some. He picked himself up and wandered back over to the hatch. Maybe Demoman wanted some company.


It wasn't just the physical pain that came into sharp focus as the medication wore off; Scout also had to deal with the reality of his actions on the battlefield, not to mention the eternal shame he had earned because of it.

Fucking up for one battle was bad enough, but twice was unforgivable.

"The bloody lad got me blown tae smithereens!"

"I do believe they stole our intelligence five times. 'Ow can we even show our faces in ze next round?"

"Mmmpphh mmphh mmmrr!"

Scout sunk into his seat, pulling his hat over his eyes. It didn't help. He could still feel the collective intensity of eight pairs of angry eyes boring into him.

The team was once again in the boardroom. The theme of the meeting today was their repeated failures and how it may or may not have been entirely Scout's fault. Soldier was hard enough to handle in a good mood. After a solid half-hour of yelling, head smacking and degrading with the occasional interjection from another teammate, he was finally beginning to wrap up his demoralizing speech. Scout was ready to hang himself.

"This is the final straw private. If you are not in ship-shape condition by oh six hundred tomorrow you can consider yourself dishonorably discharged. Do I make myself clear!"

Scout nodded mutely, ignoring the rain of spittle that flew from the Soldier's mouth.

"Tomorrow I'm expecting to see a team of MEN, ladies. Meeting adjourned!"

One by one each of the disgruntled team members filtered out of the room. Scout kept his cap down because he couldn't bear to look anyone in the eye just yet. He was rolling over his options in his mind, and it was looking more and more likely that tomorrow could be his last day at 2Fort, unless some miracle intervened.

Finally the room was quiet, so he slowly rose from his chair to leave. He almost didn't notice the Heavy was still sitting across from him. His broad arms were crossed and his wide face etched in a frown.

"Leetle man was not credit to team today."

Scout took of his cap to run a hand through his hair. He was too tired to be angry anymore. "Yeah, I get it okay. I suck. Are we done yet?"

Heavy closed his eyes and hummed thoughtfully. "I can still fix problem. Come to Docktor's office tonight. I will prepare everything."

The very nature of Scout's personality meant that he was ingrained to automatically reject this, but a day of failure had worn his defenses down. Right now he just felt drained. If tomorrow really was going to be his last day then what the hell did he have to lose? Why not let a fat Russian guy rub him up? Great idea.

He heaved a sigh and looked Heavy in the eyes. "Okay fine. But I don't want any funny business or I'll break your skull in, ya hear?"

"Da," agreed Heavy, and then chortled. "Leetle baby man will be good as new tomorrow." He stood up, walked over to Scout and slapped a friendly hand on his shoulder, nearly crippling the boy. "Eight o'clock in Doktors office. Bring towel."

Scout watched him lumber out of the room. He was suddenly not so sure what exactly he had gotten himself into. "Wait a minute," He wondered, looking towards the door "Why do I need a freakin' towel?"


Scout paced the hall a few times before he summoned the courage to enter the office. He was mortified to discover that Heavy had gone to the effort of lighting candles and had strategically placed them around the room, creating warm shadows to flickers across Medic's desk and filing cabinets. It was almost enough to make him walk straight back out.

"What the hell is this shit?" He waved a hand at the closest candle, which was dripping wax onto Medic's polished oak desk.

Heavy, who had been preoccupied with his preparations, turned around when he heard Scout. He was dressed in a white singlet top that showcased the full expanse of his muscular arms. It was an odd sight since he never usually seen unequipped without his ammunition belt. "Ah Scout! You have arrived! Are you ready to start?"

"No really man, what are the fagsticks for?"

"Oh," The Heavy perked. "Is for creating mood." He wiggled his fingers like that explained everything, "important that you are relaxed. Is necessary for proper massage."

"Maybe if I were in the mood for a satanic ritual. Blow em out."

Although he looked disappointed, Heavy conceded. With a thumb and finger he pinched out each of the flames, he then motioned towards the makeshift massage table slightly more disgruntled than earlier. "If you are happy now we can start. Take off clothes and lie down."

Scout hesitated. He fiddled with the towel slung over his shoulder and looked between Heavy and the table in the centre of the room. "Do I have to take off ALL my clothes, cuz, y'know, that's kinda…"

"Is necessary." Heavy then chuckled in his deep voice. "Leetle Scout is shy! Do not worry. We are both men here."

That was exactly Scout's problem, although he didn't say it. Breathing deeply, he stripped as quickly as he could, making sure to wrap the towel around his waist before he could be exposed for too long. He hoisted himself up onto the table and lay belly down, trying not to think to hard about what was actually happening here.

"So, if ready to begin. Tell me where you feel sore most?"

"Well uh," Scout turned his head to the side, more comfortable looking at the far wall than the large man beside him. "I guess over here." He waved his hand over his left asscheek, hoping that was specific enough for the Russian.

"Ah, is common problem. When I am done you will feel like new man!"

Scout breathed out, and hoped this would be over sooner rather than later.

The Heavy reached over to the far table and retrieved a bottle of viscous yellow liquid. He poured a small amount into his large hands and began to slowly rub them together. "Is cooking oil," he admitted, "not so many supplies to work with."

"Nah, that's great," muttered Scout, still focusing on the far wall. "I've always wanted to smell like a deep fryer. No problem."

He jumped a little when he first felt warm slick hands touch his back. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but the surprisingly gentle touch was a welcome relief. Heavy was only using his thumbs at first, starting at the top of Scout's neck and moving in slow concentric circles down his spine.

"Uuurrgg." Scout squirmed. He didn't know how this was going to cure his ass, but it sure felt nice. He had half expected, knowing Heavy's strength, that this might be a brutal affair. After all, he had seen those same hands crush bones like chalk. It was amazing how well the large man could hold back when he wanted to.

The fingers were now working on his shoulder blades, digging in with just enough pressure to elicit another groan from Scout. Fuck, this felt amazing. The fingers trailed dangerously close to the edge of Scout's towel, and Scout didn't even care. Heavy was giving some extra attention to this area, kneading and stretching the skin, soothing aches and pains that Scout didn't even know he had. Scout could have melted into the table.

"Scout is very tense. Too much running for tiny body to take."

"Haaa, auuurh." Scout answered. His face contorted in bliss.

Bypassing the toweled area for now, Heavy moved on to Scout's thighs, only pausing to re-oil his palms. Large hands glided down the skin, radiating warmth into Scout's neglected muscles. He spent a good deal of time kneading the boy's hamstrings, which over Scout's lifetime had become has hard as cement.

Heavy's gentle method was now giving way to a firmer touch. He used the strength necessary to penetrate the muscle and relieve the deep-rooted tension trapped under the hardened flesh.

Now they were walking fine line between pain and pleasure.

Scout gripped at the table and tried not to cry out. It was becoming a squeeze away from being unbearable. Heavy was kneading his calf muscles like play-doh, working his way up until he reached the arch of Scout's tired feet. He relented the pressure when his thumbs caressed Scout's heels almost lovingly, and Scout sagged in relief.

Perhaps if it was the extended period without human contact, or maybe just the inexperience of youth to blame but something was becoming increasingly apparent to Scout. And it was very, very unwelcome.

Scout moved slightly in discomfort, hoping to God that Heavy hadn't noticed he had a painful erection trapped between his stomach and the table.

Fortunately it seemed that Heavy was preoccupied with Scout's feet, rubbing his fingers between each toe. Kudos to Heavy for his attention to detail, but now Scout was wishing it wasn't feeling quite so nice. A whine slipped from his mouth and he resisted the urge to clap a hand over his face.

"Okay," Heavy said as he finished with Scout's right foot. "Now it is time for real business."

"Huh?" Was all Scout had time to say before Heavy grabbed the towel from his hips, and moved up to expose his bare ass.

Scout squeezed his legs together.

"This is source of pain, yes?" Heavy placed a warm oily palm on Scout's left buttocks.

Scout nodded dumbly.

"Leetle man might want to hold on to something." Heavy laughed when Scout stiffened and gripped the sides of the table for support. "Do not worry. You are in good hands. I am professional."

"Okay," Scout swallowed and mentally prepared himself for the fact that another man was about to grope his ass for the second time this week. "Good to know. Do what ya gotta do man."

Just as he had done with his back and thighs, Heavy started gently on the left glute. Even though years of running had done Scout's ass no disservice, it also meant the muscles were as hard as granite. It wasn't long before thick thumbs were digging into the ridges that defined the muscle, searching for the spot that had caused all the trouble.

"Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Scout bucked as Heavy pressed deep into the inflamed tendon. It hurt. It hurt beyond belief. But it was so, so satisfying. Scout choked out a sob and quickly pressed his hips back onto the table. Stars tingled in front of his eyes as Heavy eased up slightly.

"Hmm," Heavy frowned, kneading the skin slowly. "Worse than thought. Might need second session."

Scout wasn't sure if he should be happy or horrified to hear this. He still didn't know why his body was reacting this much. It wasn't like he was attracted to this brute, jeeze! Scout guessed it was probably just because he hadn't been touched so intimately in a long time. Or ever, actually.

All he knew is that he really, really didn't want Heavy to get the wrong idea.

Each one of Heavy's hands had taken a cheek, and was now rolling them in tandem, easing the soreness right out of Scout's poor ass. Motherlicking Christ! Nothing had ever felt so good. Scout's breathing was becoming increasingly shallow. Fuck, if he came on this massage table right now, he'd probably have to leave the compound area and shoot himself to save face.

Fortunately, Heavy was wrapping up this session. He had finally moved on from Scout's bottom, carefully drawing the towel back in place, and was rubbing the boys back up and down in soothing strokes.

He stepped back and clapped his hands together, clearly satisfied with a job well done. "Doh hoho! Is done! How does baby Scout feel now?"

Scout could only lie on the table, motionless and speechless.

"Was good, yes? Scout should be fine for battle tomorrow."

It didn't appear to concern Heavy that Scout was incoherent. He moved away to wash his hands in the sink at the far end of the room, whistling cheerfully.

Scout continued to lie still, watching Heavy and waiting for his hammering heart to slow down. What had just happened here? It was like he had been shredded apart and put together in the best possible sense. He didn't think he could ever look at Heavy in the same way. Beneath that dim exterior and that intimidating stature was a veritable God of touch. Who knew?

Heavy looked down at Scout, who still hadn't moved from his position. The large man quirked an eyebrow and headed towards the door. "We are done for today. I will leave you be if promise to tidy room. Doktor will not be happy if you don't." He pushed the door open and looked over his shoulder. "Goodnight Scout. You will be in good form tomorrow. Promise."

The door snapped shut and Scout finally breathed out.

Reasonably assured that Heavy wouldn't return, Scout shakily sat up and threw his legs over the side of the table. Everything was in a strange dreamscape. His entire body felt like jelly and he nearly collapsed when his bare feet touched the ground.

With considerable effort he stumbled over to the door and made sure it was locked. The towel had slipped off his hips but he was beyond the point of caring. He braced himself against the wall and took a hold of his cock, hissing though his teeth at the touch.

His body was still covered in oil, so the entire affair was slick and fast. He came messily in his hand and for a long time could only lean against the wall panting and staring down with half lidded eyes at shaking hand which was now covered in sticky white fluid.

Eventually he composed himself enough to wipe himself down, and push the table to the back of the room. He unceremoniously threw the candles in the bin and collected his clothes. A slightly mystified Scout sighed again and flicked the lights off, before he headed off to take a long, cold shower.

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.