Characters belong to Valve

Anyways, there isn't much of a point to this story other than Spy trying to mind-fuck Scout into essentially losing his identity as a kid.
It isn't about the sex, just sayin'.

Even with his pants around his ankles, Scout struggled like any man should. It was only in those brief creeping moments that he allowed his voice to crack and escalate in fear, those startling small seconds where he realized his scatter gun was not to be found. His heart was racing faster than he imagined it ever had in battle, his nails scraping up dirt from the floor as he pawed at it, desperate in finding some traction. He slid his knees up, trying to stand, but fell and flopped hopelessly as the Spy stomped a foot down on the fabric bridging the gap between his ankles. The older man groped at his thighs, breathing heavily as he knelt over Scout; The boy could smell the gasoline he used as cologne, so close.

"Get offa me!" trying to furiously flip himself over Scout kicked and screamed "Get offa me!" his eyes were pumped wide with terror and adrenaline. Spy chuckled, revolver in hand, he held the cool mouth of the gun to the back of his victims knee. "Zis is a warning, cocotte" he pressed the gun harder "Keep wiz your struggling and you will be receiving a bullet here, also...Arrêter avec les cris, s'il vous plaît." But Scout hadn't ever been good with fair warnings and if-you-pleases, he was especially bad with French so instead his struggling only intensified, like hell he would give up. "Lay off you French faggot, fuck you! Fuck you and your fancy-AUGH!" the shot resounded in the cramped space, but went relatively unnoticed in the spray of sounds waging in the war outside. Scout could feel that familiar warmth spreading into the dirt below him, tears had sprung to his eyes in shock, this was outright torture.

The pain in his shattered knee cap was so immense, he could barely twitch away as the Spy warningly pushed the revolver to the other one. His trembling reactions lasted for a few pulsing minutes, his gaze avoiding the gloved hands peeling away the remainder of his clothing. He was naked from his ass to ankles, his pants, socks and briefs pooled at the top of his shoes. He watched his tags swing in and out of focus, fading into the blue of his shirt back into gray.

"Please understand, I do not do zis for my own pleasure-" Spy grunted , probably having some sort of trouble undressing himself "I do zis as a favour to you. Consider it as if I am helping you, camarade. Realize what you are, where you are. La Guerre, mon grand." he hissed out the last few words, the tone echoed the heart of a hollow dead man.

The revolver pushed harder, daring Scout to keep fighting.

Shamefully, he balled his hands into fists and slumped, he wasn't resigning to the inevitable onslaught, he was simply removing himself from the situation. The best way to escape was within his mind, for now. Even as he felt Spy enter painfully, without preparation, Scouts thoughts were already in the further recesses of his precious memory. He felt his body being rocked back and forth, but the penetration was momentarily dulled, Scout recalled his first few days of practice on the diamond. His brothers would tie his laces together any time he was next in line to bat, they'd laugh at him in chorus if he tripped while rushing towards the base. The one time he'd stayed behind, his knees were so badly scraped the coach was treating him with some first aid, he received the most important advice he'd ever hear. There was the coach leaning towards his knee, talking in that slow...French drawl "Je vous déteste" Spy hissed in his ear, a long groan escaping his thin lips. Spy was purposely keeping the thrusts erratic, there was no pleasure for his prey.

Scout could feel the mans muscles clenching behind him, his eyes darted along the wall, tempting to be lost again.

When he wasn't at the diamond with his brothers, he was at the slummy park just outside of his family's apartment. One day they'd all been smashing bottles and light bulbs on the basketball court, someone had thrown a shards at his face and he'd gone home bleeding. As Scout ventured on in his memory, the image of his mother fussing over him became so strong he felt an aching in his heart; how badly he longed for her right now. Scars were being made inside of him, wounds re-spawn wouldn't take away. Her black bob and blue dress were so stark in his mind, and then there she was being violated by Spy fucking her, her legs spread. "Je veux votre enfance, j'ai perdu le mien. Zis war is not for...c'est pas pour des petit garçons"

Scout couldn't understand what he'd done to deserve this, from his own teammate no less.

The little sense it made drove him insane. He was just a god damn kid compared to these guys, why couldn't things just be simpler? His thoughts whirled ceaselessly, until the Spy came inside him and pulled out roughly. While collapsing on the dirt Scout began to understand, the damage wasn't meant to be physical at all, he shivered as he reemerged to reality; there was a lesson to be learned here.

The Spy coldly regarded his supposed teammate as he tucked himself back into his pants, Scouts unfocused vision barely took into account the blue suit melting into red, back into blue...was it red as the man sauntered to the door, heading back to battle? Spy gave Scout one last backwards glance, a fine snort exiting his long hooked nose, his voice was patronizing

"Tell me cocotte, how does it feel to have a man inside you?"

My French writing is pretty bad across the boards, but anyways here are some translations (in order):
Cocotte is an affectionate term used for little kids, specifically girls (i.e Darling, Love)
Stop yelling, if you please
Comrade
The War (Mon grand is another term used to adress kids, although older ones roughly it means 'My big one' as apposed to Mon petit 'my little one' kind of thing)
I detest you
I want your childhood, I lost my own.
It's not for little boys