Continued on behalf of Becca-Blossom and Solo-chan.
Edit: Went through and edited this a bit. No content was changed, just the presentation, punctuation and grammar. Enjoy : )
(Also fixed that damned disappearing accent.)
I am the first to disappear to my own room after dinner. As always, I am the first finished since I see no reason to take part in the crude conversations that make even Pyro's uninterpretable mumblings seem like first-class fare. I see Scout watching me and wink at him before leaving. I am sure that he will take his time in finishing; he doesn't know what to expect from me yet.
It wouldn't surprise me if he is nervous and intends to prolong his time to think- to wonder what will come.
I chuckle at the thought, imagining him blushing for me again. I begin planning what I will and won't do as I enter my room and sit myself at my desk to wait. How long the boy will take to finish eating, I do not know, but waiting in his room seems a bit too needy for my tastes. Walking into his room and not seeing or feeling me as he searches for my possibly cloaked figure would make him doubt that I had ever been sincere in my challenge. However, that can easily be nullified by my showing up at all. Therefore, I wait.
I wait for an hour, listening to the other members of my team returning to their rooms. I go through a few cigarettes as time passes and the latest one still smokes a bit, sitting on its crushed end in the ashtray on my desk.
At long last, his light footsteps can be heard down the hall and the cigarette that I am about to light falls back into my palm before I place it back in my cigarette case. With the ease of old practice, I cloak myself. It would not do for our teammates to see me walking to Scout's room at such a late hour while he is—as Americans put it- still in the closet.
I exit my own room and wait for him to disappear into his. As soon as the door closes, I start counting in my head as I pace slowly toward his door. I can picture him methodically combing his room for my cloaked form, his lovely grey eyes looking under his bed, in his closet and in the corners of his room. Fruitless attempts to see if I am there or not.
Once I stop in front of his door, a reasonable amount of time has passed for him to search the whole room. I can just see him sitting on the edge of his bed and thinking about what a fool he was for wanting to become involved with a man such as myself. I am, of course, the man that his mother would have warned him about had he been a woman. A soft curse from within alerts me that it is time to knock and let him know that I did not forget about our little 'meeting'. Scout peeks out as I uncloak, arms crossed casually.
"What the fuck d'you want, fa-" he cuts his insult off when he realizes that it's me. I can tell by the combination of relief and fear across his face that he is glad that I did not lead him on and yet he is still in denial about why he is glad of that.
"Hm... should I return some other time?" I ask with a small smile and a quirk of my brow.
The suddenly apprehensive look on his face is exactly what I want from him. He shakes his head and turns around, leaving the door open for me to enter. I shut the door softly behind me and watch him walk nervously over to his bed, think better of sitting on it, and turn around to retrace half of the distance back to me.
"Uh... so... what exactly do fags do?" Scout asked finally, scratching his head and further messing up his hair.
"What do you think?" I ask with a short laugh, moving to perch on the edge of his bed with my legs crossed habitually.
"Uh... cross their legs when they sit down?" He snorts, moving to sit next to and mimic me. When he tries, however, he falls over sideways with a short whoop of surprise.
"That is more etiquette than faggotry," I answer with a bemused smirk. He grumbles something and my hand pulls him up gently by the shoulder to which he blushes with a small 'yeah, thanks.' Ah, that attitude will go over well in the bedroom. "How does a straight man sit, then?" I ask curiously, withdrawing my hand from around his back. I watch him attempt to try it again, smiling a little.
"Uh... like this, duh." He states, spreading his legs and planting his feet firmly before leaning forward on his elbows. "This is the 'I'm listenin' to ya' straight man sittin'." Scout explains before leaning back on his elbows, leaving his long, lean legs as they are and looking over at me with a small, cocky smirk as my gaze sweeps over him. "This is for relaxin'... or invitin' a girl..." Scout trails off with a blush, his cocky demeanor going out the window as soon as he realizes that he is talking to his potential lover. I personally have no intention of taking things so far on the 'first date,' so he need not worry.
I merely chuckle and shake my head. "Not on the first date, petit." I assure him, that cocky smirk now across my own lips as I move to mimic him. The position is quite comfortable and, though it messes up my suit, I stay in it. The boy's eyes are on me, after all, and I want him to get his fill and possibly find out what is so interesting to him.
My own shameless staring was simply because his physique is so beautiful. The lean torso muscles that his shirt pulls against and the belt around his impossibly slim hips leaves little of his shirtless form to my imagination. He probably has a few scars from his delinquent's life in Boston and I will bet good money that they contrast beautifully with the rest of his soft skin.
The boy seems to realize that he is staring and a soft blush tinges his cheeks before he looks away. I still have no clue what he was looking at, however.
"Hm... what were you looking at, cher?" I ask him innocently, my own eyes looking over my slouching body. Certainly, there will be wrinkles in my suit, but Scout is not one to care about such things.
"Nothin'... you're one to talk, stare-fag..." he combats quickly, as if I had accused him of being a Peeping Tom instead of watching me slouch back on the bed.
"Ah... do not be so harsh with me." I chide, frowning at his tone and turning onto my side with my head propped up on my palm and my elbow braced on the bed. Apparently, we are still having some admission issues. By 'we,' I mean Scout. "I was merely admiring the way that your shirt gives me a peek of flat stomach..." my fingers brush over the triangle of skin teasingly as I smile at him, innocent as ever. My own shirt is tucked in and would allow no such view for him. "... and the way that your shirt is pulled tight on your torso makes me slightly interested in getting it off." I smile, trace my fingers up his stomach and let them rest gently over his heart before my palm presses down on his chest. Throughout this session of teasing, his eyes are wide and his breath comes short. His face flushes a gentle shade of pink as he complies with my wishes and lowers himself back against the mattress.
My smile widens into a soft smirk as I move over him, taking it slow and letting him get used to being on the bottom; it is where he will be for the more intimate parts of our relationship. He seems to read this in my expression and his bandage wrapped hands suddenly come up to rest on my hips before rolling me onto my back.
"Fuck no; I ain't gonna be your bitch," he growls, scowling down at me with an expression that clearly says 'you fuckin' kiddin' me?'
"Ah... I was merely initiating a bit of intimacy, cher. I did not mean to give you the-" my witty half-lie is cut off by his lips and my mouth curls into a smirk.
It is inexperienced, something I did not notice in the heat of the first one we shared on the field. Ah, but for what it lacks in experience, the eagerness and that certain flavor of want is still there as he slips his tongue past my slack lips and quickly goads my own into action. While he has the upper hand in the tongue war that ensues between us, I am more experienced. My tongue quickly pins his into submission and the vibrating groan of defeat that bubbles forth from his throat is truly a delight to my senses. This is why the mouth is one of the most sensitive places of the body, so that the noises that a lover makes are both felt and heard. I chuckle as my tongue retreats from his and presses against his cheek obstinately when his tongue attempts to entice it into a rematch. My breaths are quick, short and nasal as we enjoy the other's taste and feel, but such methods cannot sustain me for forever and, after pinning his tongue to the bottom of his mouth for a second time, I push him back with a gentle hand on his chest and a soft gasp for lung-filling oxygen.
Those grey eyes are boring into me as I stare right back with my own piercing blue gaze. A string of saliva pops between us, the trail down both of our chins is ignored for the moment as we search the other for a hint at what is happening.
'Why are you here?' His gaze asks accusatorily as I raise a hand to loosen my tie and pop a button or two open so that my breathing is less restricted.
"I do not know..." I murmur in answer after a few seconds of watching those eyes watch mine. "Why did you ask me here?"
He seems startled, as if I have read his mind and that lovely scowl rolls across his face like a thunderhead. "Because I wanted to prove to you that I'm not fuckin' afraid of being gay." Scout growls with a frown. "If I've got an answer so do you," he prompted, finally wiping that mixture of our DNA from his chin with the back of his hand.
"Hm..." I muse on the question. Why am I here? Certainly it is not because I have feelings for the child. Spies are not allowed to be caught up in things as trivial as feelings. Sex? Two words: James Bond. He set the standard for Spies everywhere whether we acknowledge it or not. Sex is fine, but feelings? I am afraid not, do not all of his lovers die in the end? It reads like a prophesy. Get close; get hurt.
"So that you could prove that you are not a homophobic twelve-year-old." I finally answer him and he draws back to sit up with a small, frustrated frown. It was (obviously) not the answer that he wanted.
"Mission accomplished." The boy above me quips in a harsh voice before slipping off of me. "You can leave now..." he mentions it like an afterthought and I feel a sliver of guilt pierce me.
"Bonne nuit, Scout," I bid him softly before crossing to the door and allowing it to shut softly behind me. It seems we are both officially in denial.
