Edit: This is the rewritten version. It's a little less derpy than the first one.
Because you always wanted to know what this phrase really implies.
Disclaimer: Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve and their catchy ability to make artful catch phrases...
"But... but I don't want to be fuckin' gay!" Scout exclaims as I pull back from his lips with a smirk. My tongue slides across them slowly as I pick up the last traces of the boy on my tongue. He tastes like that horrible Bonk! that he guzzles mixed with bubble gum and something else that I can't identify. It's not unpleasant, though, and I lean forward to brush my lips against his own again. He doesn't jerk away, just stares at me when I pull back, looking confused and a little betrayed. By himself, I am sure, it is obvious that he never thought that this might happen, that he would end up in a secluded place on the map and kissing one of his teammates like a desperate little fool.
We both know that he can't honestly say that he isn't gay. It was he who brought on the kiss, asking for it with every action and word: the swagger, the infantile jabs at my heritage, his intense lack of respect for espace, and his aptitude for being loud, obnoxious and brash.
I snort, his hands are still gripping my mask, only minutes ago trying to pull me closer. They are no longer pulling, but they are not necessarily pushing either. He is holding me there, perhaps hesitating. He says he doesn't 'want to be gay', but I think that he doesn't really know what he wants.
The kiss wasn't just a kiss, it was an affirmation of his worst fears. Scout hated being different, he hated being younger than the rest of us, though he put on a front to make it seem like he didn't really care. Being gay was one of the worst possible revelations he could have.
The kiss had broken a barrier between us, one that existed solely to keep our mutual attraction out of the team's view. When it broke, it allowed all the lovely tension between us to shatter like a pane of glass beneath the velocity of one of his little baseball toys.
After several months of him provoking me, I decide that it is my turn to provoke him. So, I snatch his ear piece without further ado and step back from the confused boy, smirking and sliding it on. I can smell the sweat on it; he runs around all day and is not the type to clean his headset every night. I don't mind, though, it is not an unpleasant scent.
"May I borrow your earpiece?" I ask the rhetorical question with a wide grin, my eyes daring him to do something about it. He begins walking toward me with a frown, seeming to accept my challenge and I take slow steps back to prolong the time that I am out of his reach.
"What're you-"
I flip the talk switch with a barely constrained chuckle, not even bothering to affect the delicious Bostonian accent that the boy bears as I speak into the microphone. "This is Scout! Rainbows make me cry!" I squeal, pouting at Scout and enjoying the look of rage on his face. His grey eyes are narrowed and his fists are clenched. I wink at him and smirk cockily.
He yells something unintelligible, the last meter between us disappearing and before I know what to think, he punches me. It is weak, not as strong as it would have been if he had actually meant it; if he didn't know I was "just fuckin' with him" as he would phrase it. My head is barely turned by the blow and I laugh, grabbing his wrist. His free hand retrieves his earpiece and his finger touches the switch, but finds it already on. He scowls at me and swipes his finger across his throat in the universal sign of '"cut it out," still clutching the piece of equipment.
He slips it back on and yells into the mic, "fuckin' Gay-Ass Spy stole my mic, guys, ignore that!" He flips the microphone back into non-receptiveness as I press the back of his hand against my masked cheek, aiming to embarrass him with the intimate contact.
"If you are not afraid of rainbows, cher..." I purr, pulling him closer to me and resting my arm around his waist. "Then prove it."
The blush across his cheeks is adorable as he looks away from me, considering my order. It's funny because we both know that there's no thought to it; he's just being a little bitch. With a short huff of air that is so childish it makes me smile, the boy finally turns his face back to me and says, "be in my room after dinner then..." his blush deepens and I am almost leering as I reply.
"Until then, mon cher..." a gentle kiss to his blazing cheek and I cloak before taking my leave. 'I shall use that taunt more often,' I decide as I light up a cigarette with a smirk.
It gets me places.