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The BLU team had dropped off their Scout near a nuclear bunker, as a part of a mission to hold down the fort until the rest of the team could help out. He had the intel that there was a sole survivor in the bunker, so BLU would assist the site once they arrived.
Scout readied his shotgun as he approached the hatch, it was rusted and caked in filth that glowed green. He used the heel of his foot to knock on the entrance, shoulders squared, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.
He was NOT expecting a curly haired, scrawny kid to pop his head out, and stare at him like he had just learned the term “stranger danger”.
He had a puffball of hair, and Scout could barely tell that he had directed the look at him.
“Pal, I swear I ain’t gonna hurtcha. Just lemme in, I’m freakin’ dying out here!”
He winced at how he phrased it, but his words got the job done.
That wasn’t an exaggeration or a lie, the longer he stood out in the toxic wasteland, the longer he felt the sting and twinge of the acidic air burning his lungs. His short breaths were an attempt to stave off just barely losing his lungs completely.
Without a word, but a confused look, the boy moved down the ladder and ushered Scout in.
For all he knew, he had invited in a murderer or wasteland bandit.
“Jeez, stupid kid,” Scout internally thought, even though his stupidity worked in his favor.
The moment he climbed down the ladder into the bunker, he took in the grim sight. A grey walled concrete bunker, with a curved ceiling, dingier than any base he had ever seen. Hooks littered the walls with miscellaneous broken equipment, children’s crayon scrawls covered the walls and Scout rolled his eyes at the simplicity of each drawing. As the thought crossed his mind, he felt like such a pretentious asshole like Spy. Even though…he could TOTALLY do better; he swore he wasn’t as crap at drawing when he was that young.
He ran his hands along the cement walls and cracks, and spotted a cluster of black and green tally marks. There were about 25 of them that were proper lines, but they tapered off to scribbles after the 25 mark.
The headline above them read “Timmy haous days”.
He ignored just how terrible the spelling was, but the name checked out. So the kid’s name was Timmy.
He scanned the room, maybe there was a second person nestled in a corner somewhere? Nope.
Just a few pieces of furniture, then Timmy and him. A giant wooden cabinet was backed up against the wall furthest from the ladder, stocked up with one soup can and two jars of water. A broken radio sat on a blue plastic table in a back corner of the shelter, a stack of comic books were precariously placed under it, in a neat pile.
Four stools stood smack dab in the center of the room, all empty aside from Timmy’s chair.
As he got a better look at the kid, he noticed how incredibly ragged he looked. His blue and yellow polo shirt was stained with dirt and crusted blood, he wore a pair of brown knickerbocker shorts barely held up by tattered suspenders.
His unkempt ginger hair had puffed up and- seemed to be adorned with a rusted soup can.
The most jarring aspect of his appearance was his broken leg that was fastened to a splint with bandages. How the hell did he manage to climb up and down the bunker ladder?
He clutched a teddy bear that had been long since torn apart so that only the head was left intact.
Due to the tally marks, he assumed Lil Timmy had been home alone for more than 25 days. Poor kid.
Jonesy pulled up a chair, his legs ached from the trip to the wastelands, and he almost gasped at the refreshed feeling of being supported against the back of the chair.
“So- Timmy, whatcha got there?”
Scout scooted closer to Timmy and his stack of comics, and the boy showed him his comic collection with a big grin.
“HEYY you a big Dick Grayson fan, bud?”
Timmy aggressively nodded and opened up a well worn out comic and flipped to a page of Dick and Bruce talking and sitting up on a building.
He flipped through pages and gestured to each panel he seemed to really love. He grinned wide, showing the gaps in his teeth as he went through issue after issue. He specifically pointed out Carrie and Bruce features, and any moments where Damien, Dick, or Jason showed up.
“Aw man Timmy, I mean the robins are all real cool, but Wally and Ace are my favorites- y’know any speedster. Not to brag but- I’m kinda the best scout on my whole team!”
At this, Jonesy rubbed his knuckles against his jacket flap, as if that statement was the coolest thing he had ever said.
In a flash, Timmy whipped out a hardcover green book from under his comic stash. He shoved it into Scout’s lap and pointed at the cover, his movements felt so jittery, like a flitting sea bird.
The book was covered in a thick layer of dust and soup stains, but the moment Jonesy wiped the cover clean, his face lit up.
“Heyy, you’re a scout like me! That’s wicked cool! Lookit this-,” he yanked his dog tags out of his jacket front, before he proudly showed the military tags to Timmy. He beamed at the excited smile as the boy grasped the shined metal and ran his fingers over the inscriptions on them.
As Timmy admired his tags, Jonesy piped up again, “I’ve always wanted ta have a scout buddy n stuff, awww man this is so awesome.”
The younger scout finished his observation of the metals and relinquished them. As he did, Jonesy carefully gave back the guide book and glanced around the bunker once more.
“Tim, you ever get bored down here? Not much to do-“
As Jonesy said this, he rested his hands on Timmy’s shoulder and slid his thumb under his suspender straps, and subtly started to slip them off.
The ginger stared at Jonesy before he slowly nodded and continued his perusing of the comic pages. His hand lightly swatted the older boy’s hand off to no avail.
“Dontcha want more friends? I mean geez I’d go crazy bein’ down here for weeks on end, y’know, if I was you, I’d take what I could get.”
His bandaged hand massaged along Timmy’s shirt and against his collarbones. He felt like such a creep, and, to be frank, he was. There was no hiding it.
“Hey Tim? Look up from your comics for a sec, yeah?”
The boy could have been just like Jonesy if the nuke hadn’t struck his town and blasted it to smithereens. Everything the kid did reminded Scout that Timmy was gonna miss out on his childhood just like he did. It would just be in a different way.
“Do you wanna do somethin’ fun?” Just like Timmy’s gap ridden teeth, Jonesy grinned to show off his buck teeth, another sign of similarity.
The way the kid fidgeted throughout their conversation ticked off Jonesy that something was dearly wrong in Timmy’s brain. How he tore at the teddys eye button, or continued to rip the seams. For god's sake there was a soup can on his head!
“Now Timmy, promise this won’t hurt a bit. Scout’s honor!”
He put his right hand over his heart and raised his left hand in a signal to swear he was telling the truth.
He patted the table and helped hoist Timmy up, and made sure to pay careful attention to the boy’s left broken leg and his capabilities.
“This is a really fun game, me and my pals used ta play it back on base. Y’know the military, where I’m from. Only the BEST scouts can win at this game,” he didn’t even know what had spewed out of his mouth at that point. But, if he worded this carefully, maybe he could get what he wanted from the kid.
“I figured- you wanna be a great boy scout for your family, right? Prove to your old man that-,” he slowed his words, and practically choked the last part out. “That when he comes back, you’re as much of a man as he is.”
Timmy parted his puff of hair just enough to make eye contact with Scout. For the first time, Jonesy saw the boy’s scared and confused expression as he searched the older scout’s eyes for the guidance he needed. Silently asking if his family was actually alive, if they were actually gonna come back and they’d go back to normalcy.
Now this- this lie felt like he crossed a line.
False hope pulled in Timmy just as he expected, and his eyes lit up just a little more. Jonesy felt so guilty at the look, and opted to instead look at the soup can on the boy’s head, and to remove it.
“Y’know the bandits out there are really scary, my team’s gonna be down here in a few days, give or take, and it’s all gonna be okay after that. Your ma and pops will be just fine.”
He slipped off one of the suspenders, and hoped that the fact he was running his mouth covered it all.
“On my team, it's real cool, I run around all day and shoot bad guys. I’m pretty much like a superhero if ya think about it.”
Second suspender pulled down, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of Timmy’s knickerbocker shorts.
“Yeah and- oh I’ll need you to shimmy down a little.”
When met with a frail hand grabbing his wrist, he added, “Ah no it’s all part of the game, dontcha wanna do it?”
With a pause, Timmy hesitantly nodded and slowly let go of Jonesy’s wrapped wrist.
Jonesy took a firm hold of the fabric as he nodded for Timmy to shimmy down the shorts. His body was emaciated under the clothing, starvation had set in, and drained the boy of every ounce of energy. His hip bones stuck out, and his ribs poked out awkwardly from under his shirt.
Jonesy ran the pads of his fingers along the boy’s neck, and pressed each strained muscle, his aim to soothe the boy and relax him. Truly it was only to make himself feel better. He looked down at the boy’s tighty whities, his name lovingly embroidered into the hem with blue thread. He palmed between Timmy’s legs, and felt over his flaccid penis in the underwear. He groaned at the idea that Timmy sat so still for him and didn’t retort.
The younger boy had held onto Jonesy’s shoulderpads on his jacket, his afro had puffed back over his eyes, and so his expression was unreadable. Timmy’s teeth worried away at his lower lip as he picked skin off them. He tried to squirm his legs away from Jonesy’s grasp, and ended up with his legs folded. He winced in pain from how the splint pressed down to his infection, but it was better than being touched on his private bits.
“Now I’m gonna get somethin’ out- waitaminute-“
Jonesy unzipped his trouser front and fished around in his boxer briefs for a moment, before he pressed back his pants and slunk his dick out of the front.
He didn’t pay heed to Timmy’s look of confusion at seeing the foreskin still present on Jonesy’s tip, instead opting to rub along his shaft and get himself fully hard.
Jonesy slid his dick in between Timmy’s thighs, the congealed blood from the axe wound stuck to the glans, and just added to the cooled feeling. Jonesy’s hands rubbed over Timmy’s knees, and he ground his fingernails into the cuts and bruises scattered along them.
Timmy let out a sob as the bright bunker light flickered and went out, just as Jonesy grabbed his calf, and compressed the splint against his broken and infected leg.
“Ohh Timmy- you’re telling me no one has taken their go at you? No chicks or nothin?”
Timmy wanted to shout, say how he was just a kid, he didn’t want anything like that. He just wanted to look at his mutant ants and comic books. He kept his mouth shut, he didn’t want to seem like less of a man in front of the man. He wanted to prove he was strong enough to be
“You’re so fragile babe- I could snap you in half If I wanted.” Just to emphasize his point, he folded Timmy’s frail legs above his head, and pressed HARD on the boy’s broken left leg. At this, Timmy bit his lip hard, his lower lip dented and blood started to trickle out. He squeezed the teddy bear so hard that stuffing bursted out from the seams.
“Man oh man I’m gonna knock you up-“
He thrusted his dick in between the bony thighs and relished in how the sick boy’s body heat fluctuated with each touch. Jonesy badly wanted to press his dick into the boy, but he knew that would be traceable. If someone took one look, they’d know what had happened. Wasn’t worth losing his job as a mercenary if the team found out.
He scooped up some soup residue off the inside of the can before he lubricated his dick. Would the team care if he had done this? The rationale was sound. He worked with a team of cold mercenaries who cared little of what their teammates had done. They wouldn’t hang and bleed him if he- just slipped it in, right?
He wore away at his lip, and his dog tags clinked as he shifted forward and took in a breath.
“He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t- that was too far,” he thought to himself as he gripped his dick and shifted it lower. He smeared the mix of soup and blood over the head, and around his foreskin.
“Timmy. Hey- hey- it’s gonna be alright. I’ll getcha something.” With that he zipped over to the wall and grabbed a ratty gas mask from the floor that had slipped off a hook. He went back to Timmy, “You don’t havta look, lemme put this on you, ‘kay?”
The kid didn’t make much attempt to respond in any fashion, so Jonesy tried his best to fit Timmy’s head and hair into the green mask.
He was being selfish. He knew he didn’t care one bit how Timmy felt, the mask was for him. At least this way he wouldn’t have to see the boy scout’s reaction.
“I’m gonna take off your undies now, alright?”
He didn’t wait for approval, of course, and instead paused to take in the sight of the boy adorned in a ratty gas mask that hid the expression of fear on his face. His little dick looked like it was gonna slip out the side of his underwear, and beads of liquid pooled at the edge outside the fabric.
Jonesy peeled down the sweat soaked underwear and dropped them to the floor. He pressed his own dick to the others, and frotted them against each other in his fist. He hadn’t gotten a chance to feel a warm body in so long, and keeled over, towering over Timmy as he puffed into the air.
With his other hand, he slathered the blood and soup mixture on Timmy’s butthole, and watched as the boy squirmed at the two feelings that overwhelmed in. How had no one touched him in so many years?
“Freakin loser,” Jonesy thought to himself snarkily, “What kid hadn’t been touched by now?”
He bit back that thought, and shoved it into the corners of his mind. He gripped the underside of Timmy’s knees and hoisted up the boy’s legs so that they were right up against Jonesy’s sides.
He leaned over and kissed the very top of Timmy’s grimy gas mask, and heard his breath get more ragged the more he rubbed against the boy’s dick.
He finally took his own dick in hand, and thumbed under the foreskin just to hype himself up before he pressed the tip to Timmy’s entrance.
He braced one hand against Timmy’s broken shin, and the other held his shoulder as he shoved his way into the tight space. He heard sobs muffled from the gas mask, and the ventilator pump as it expanded and constricted.
The soup helped only slightly with the lubrication, but as he slid himself in, all the difficulty was worth it. The boy’s fever had made him that much hotter internally, and he felt like his dick was being smothered in the canal.
Jonesy experimentally thrusted in just to feel the tight heat and feel how deep he could set himself. Timmy screamed from within the mask, and gripped at Jonesy’s waist, as he attempted to tear at the jacket.
Oh god, the kid was sobbing. The older scout tried to ignore the cries, he didn’t want to face what he was in the process of doing, but the sound wouldn’t be drowned out by thought. Timmy thrashed in his grip as Jonesy leaned over to comfort him, the pace of his hips unrelenting as he snapped them back and forth.
“Timmy, no no don’t cry, it's okay, it’s gonna be over soon and you’ll feel good. Don’t cry, Timmy-“
He thought to himself like he sounded like a camp counselor attempting to reassure a hurt camper.
He let out a groan at the sensation when Timmy grabbed at his arms, and instead of attempting to pull them off, he just braced himself and continued to cry into the mask.
He thrust his hips forward and muttered praise half to himself, half to Timmy. How beautiful he was, that he was such a good scout, better than all the rest, and that's why he wasn’t fighting back. He reveled in the feeling of the boy caressing up and down his arms, maybe attempting to have some sense of grounded control? Yeah right.
Jonesy jolted forward at a sharp cry from the younger scout, as he hit a spot inside, and the grip on his arms tightened. The kid made little mewl-like sounds as he rammed the same spot repetitively. The noises went straight to Jonesy’s head, effectively telling him “He wants this so bad- he wants ME so bad.”
He leaned over to box in Timmy with the arm that wasn’t holding his leg, and leaned close enough to kiss the fogged gas mask glass.
He could see the boy’s eye squeeze shut from beneath all the fog, and he opted out of making eye contact right after.
Scout could feel the warmth build in his stomach, and he sped up his pace to try and catch the release. He felt his words as they spilled out without rhyme or reason in between groans and pants.
“Oh Timmy I’m gonna getcha all knocked up now- your old man’s gonna be a grandpa when he comes back. Ain’tcha glad it was me that found you? The other guys would’ve just sat here playing cards like boring old guys, you should be thanking me that I’m showing you some fun.”
As Jonesy got worked up, he let the pooled drool in his mouth spill out and it trailed down his chin and dripped onto Timmy’s cold stomach.
He could tell the younger scout fully believed the start of his little rant, the kid probably thought he could get pregnant. The hands that scratched at the seams of his collar panicked, as Timmy wanted Jonesy to pull his wiener out.
He felt like he was real close, and disregarded the now frantic yelps muffled by the mask, and focused on the fact that he could see the stomach bump in the boy’s abdomen, and deluded himself that he was going to get the boy swelled up.
The more Timmy was pressed into, the more he felt his stomach swirl, and he felt like he was gonna pee real bad. He called out to get Jonesy off him, that the pee would make the man even scarier to him, but to no avail, his shouts fell on deaf ears. His weiner was stroked and caressed, the tip rubbed harshly by the bandage-clad hands. At this he felt his knees weaken, as he let out a shrill yelp, as the coil snapped in his stomach, and he felt warm liquid ooze out of his penis.
He didn’t get a moment to recover from the sensitivity, as Jonesy continued to ram into him, and hit the same spot that pushed him over.
Jonesy’s breath hitched as he stuttered his pace, and clung his arms tight around Timmy’s head, the gas mask was firmly pressed to his dog tags, which displayed Jonesy’s mercenary dates right up against the fogged lens.
The younger scout let out a choked sob as he felt the vile warmth in him, and could do nothing but helplessly cling to the uniform-clad arms of the other. Rushed kisses were placed on his gas mask, as Jonesy muttered to himself.
Jonesy knew that when he looked down and slowly pulled out his softening dick, that he was expecting something. A sick part of him wanted to mess up the kid’s innards so badly, that his guts would pour out with the slick trail of cum and blood.
He lightly rubbed his own softened dick, and wiped the tip of it against his own trousers.
It felt as though his heart was about to explode, and every nerve in his body had decided to perceive every little stimulus sent to it by the slightest of touches.
He took in deep breaths, and leaned over to remove Timmy’s mask.
“See? Wasn’t so bad, you took it like a real champ.”
He hooked his fingers under the fabric, and yanked off the mask, and the boy’s curly ginger hair puffed out like a mushroom cloud as he did.
Jonesy felt like shit the moment he saw Timmy’s face. The bloodshot eyes from how he had sobbed, the mucus from his nose had cascaded down to smear over his chin, and his lips were torn up from how he had been chewing on them from the stress.
Exactly why he didn’t want to see the boy’s face.
“Timmy? Hey, nonono don’t cry, it’s gonna be okay.”
He wasn’t about to take the blame for this, the kid was crazy, who would believe him?
He wrapped the boy in a warm hug, as though there was no malice, as he ran his hand through his matted curly hair.
“The bandits are gone, I barely saved you from ‘em. Woulda been real bad if I wasn’t here to scare 'em off.”
With that, he kissed and licked softly at Timmy’s face, and the snot and tears mixed in his mouth as he lapped it off.
The kid seemed too dazed to respond, to move his face, to even turn his head towards the older scout.
“When the team gets there, we’ll get those Bandits, ‘n then you can see your old man and I’ll vouch for ya! Tell him you were a wicked smart scout, and you were braver than I’ll ever be.”
He waited for a response to his bold faced lie. He knew the kid wasn't crazy enough to forget something from a few seconds ago. But he still waited as the boy sat there, entirely silent.
“A real brave scout.”
Jonesy patted Timmy on the back.