Summary:
Nobody showed up last weekend so Scout figured, no big whoop. He'll just throw his birthday party again and invite the only guy who'll come along.
Student/Teacher AU where Scout has Spy emotionally trapped.
Notes:
This is a high school AU based on Spy being Scout's teacher in Expiration Date, as well as Scout's "brief stint in high school" when "he was 23-years-old and also not enrolled in the school" in the Track Terrorizer flavor text. Only instead of trying to pick up girls, he accidentally picked up a Spy via a shitty blackmail attempt. Scout's name in this story is Ollie, and Spy's name is Basile. I highly suggest that you read Marty's version of the blackmail event! Marty also helped edit this story.
Spy's is not Scout's father in this story, because I've been in this fandom for a decade and I prefer their pre-retcon relationship. This is a BLU Spy and an unrelated RED Scout. There is no incest. But plenty of other extremely unhealthy sexual dynamics.
I hope that if you like the Scout and Spy pairing, with all its flaws and lil peeps of mutual care, you'll enjoy this story :)
Chapter 3: After Party
Chapter Summary
Walk of shame.
Chapter Notes
Almost a year since the last chapter... cool! My last week has been the perfect inspiration I needed to get this chapter's draft cleaned up and edited.
This chapter contains choking, coughing, and various other health things. Also a lot of talking as usual.
Floating in a dead sea, it kissed him and he held tight. It was soft and warm, it held him so powerfully in its arms, tongue against tongue, flesh on flesh as the wet kisses fluttered down his mouth, his torso, his arm and fingertips. Dizzying, a black mass coiled itself around his body to tug at his skin and dig its nails into his back and drag him into the sea. It ripped his spine and dug his meat and organs out until his body was empty, rotted into a skeleton sunk underneath the waves.
Basile opened his eyes . The room was still dark, with just the faintest sliver of light coming through the window blinds. He could feel a thin layer of crust covering his face, as well the bed shaking. One of his arms felt so heavy that he couldn’t move it. He flexed the hand on that arm, and his fingers dug into something squishy yet fuzzy. With his free hand, he traced the trail of crust from his cheek, down to his torso, and brushed against something warm and shivering. He glanced down.
A shaved koala had wrapped its body around Basile’s arm with both arms and legs. No, not a koala. It was young Oliver, pink and naked save for the dirty white socks on his feet. With his eyes shut tight, and brows furrowed in concentration, Ollie sucked on the soft flesh of Basile’s bicep intently. One of the boy’s calloused hands was kneading Basile’s right pectoral. His other hand was clasped on top of Basile’s hand, pushing his palm against his hard little prick while he humped away.
Basile could barely keep his eyes open to watch the boy fondle him, let alone be surprised. Evidently Ollie was having a wonderful time. Knowing him, he wouldn’t last much longer.
With a clench of the hand and a muffled mewl, Ollie produced a pathetic spurt of semen. The thin liquid ran down Basile’s palm and leaked between their fingers. The boy continued to grind against Basile at a slower pace, milking himself for all he had left in his drained little egg testicles.
“You’ve finished. Get off me, boy.”
There was no need to push him off. Ollie untangled himself from Basile’s arm, wiped his hand on his stomach, and backed off with a bright red face. He sat on the chair next to the head of the bed, and closed his legs to conceal his softening penis. Staring at Basile, Ollie bounced his legs nervously.
A suffocating fog of exhaustion fettered Basile’s waking efforts. There was no way he could have gotten more than 2 or 3 hours of rest. His ribs cracked, his joints popped, and with noncommittal effort, Basile pushed himself up against the bed’s headboard. He squinted at Ollie through heavy eyelids. He wiped the mess dripping from his hand on Ollie’s still-jiggling thigh, then reached around in the dark for his cigarettes.
A knobby hand appeared from the darkness and offered him one. Basile looked up to see Ollie had already found the cigarette pack, and had his lighter ready in his other hand.
Snatching the cigarette, Basile placed it in his mouth. The boy rolled his thumb across the sparkwheel a couple times before the flame finally ignited. So clumsy, so inefficient. But still, he leaned in to let Ollie light his cigarette. With a few puffs, the fag was lit. Basile took a deep drag, and leaned back. He let smoke hiss out from between his lips. At least this would keep him awake. With his cloak of fumes concealing him once more, he eyed Ollie’s body.
He’d never seen Ollie without at least a baggy shirt on. Now he could plainly see every scrawny muscle on his body, his shoulder blades protruding sharply from his back, and his visible spine nearly piercing through his flesh as he hunched on the chair. The only part of his body with any solid substance was his ribcage, expanding and contracting as the boy took ragged breaths, trailing down into a concave stomach. His hip bones jutted out like knives, his knees were knobby and scraped, and, worst of all, his calf-length gym socks were thoroughly stained a grayish-brown from walking on the filthy motel carpet.
Just the night before, this was the man who pushed him down into the sheets and left him sobbing. He was so small and thin now. He looked like nothing more than a neglected child.
And the child spoke. “Why d’ya let me do this to you?”
Those words dragged Basile out from his anatomical inspection, into a light-headed daze. He had been holding his breath during his examination of young Oliver’s body, and neglected the cigarette dangling from his fingers. He exhaled, and took another drag.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Ollie coughed into his fist, and rubbed his nose. “I mean. Y’know. You’re a good looking guy. You’re all classy n’ shit You could get any girl -- or uh, guy -- you want. Why’re you with me?”
Basile remained stone-faced. Instead of saying that he was desperately lonely, and painfully tired of living, and the only excitement he’d had in years had been these unscrupulous trysts to let Ollie throw him around like a toy, he fired back a retort.
“Did you forget that you forced me into this?”
Still bouncing his legs, Ollie bit his fingernails and stared at the floor. “The, uh, blackmailing stuff, huh? Yeah, that kinda sucks. Listen, hey, I didn’t think it’d actually work, y’know? I-I uh, I thought I’d just throw that out there, it wasn’t serious, you always see that kinda stuff in movies, and I didn’t think you’d actually-- I wouldn’t actually tell anyone, what would I do, run up to the principal and say I was jackin’ off to some guy whose face you can’t even see? Man, it’s a whole lot of bullshit!” He glanced back at Basile. “But you know that, right? Y'know you could leave anytime you want?”
A sharp cringe crawled up Basile’s spine as Ollie clasped their hands together and crawled back onto the bed. He situated his buttocks on Basile’s pubic bone, soft flesh against scarred tissue. With both hands, Ollie gently brought Basile’s hand up against his jaw.
His coarse, wrinkled fingers brushed against Ollie’s face. Save for peach fuzz and the few hairs on his upper lip that formed a pathetic dirt moustache, Ollie was completely smooth with nary a hair on his chin. Ollie closed his eyes, breath shaking, and brought Basile’s hand up to his cheeks. He nuzzled into Basile’s hand and rubbed his lips against the knuckles. Flushed pink skin, glowing with warmth, contrasted sharply with Basile’s rancid graying meat. The freckles dusted on Ollie’s cheeks met with the age spots dotting the older man’s hands. Basile choked back a retch.
Their hands trailed down together, until Basile’s fingers were wrapped around Ollie’s scrawny chicken neck. Ollie pushed Basile’s hand into his throat and wheezed.
“You could kill me anytime you want. I wouldn’t really mind.”
The pulse of Ollie’s throat thumped in Basile’s hands.
“You ain’t really who you says you is. Some old guy strapped up with guns n’ shit at a school, and a porn star? You don’t really belong here, you got too much goin’ on, who are ya?”
Basile put his cigarette down in the ashtray. He clenched lightly on Ollie’s throat, and felt the hand grasping his own tighten as well. He wrapped his other hand around the boy’s soft throat and carefully pushed Ollie onto his back, reversing their positions. On top of Ollie now, he applied gradual pressure to his neck. Ollie’s breathing became more uneven, his eyes rolled back, his pulse beat harder in Basile’s palms. Those clumsy fingers were still pushing Basile’s hands into his throat, but their grasp weakened with every passing second. His mouth opened and closed like a stranded minnow, gasping for air in a hawk’s talons.
Razor-focused on faltering breath and rising heartbeat, he leaned closer to Ollie’s face. He stared into the whites of those unfocused eyes and felt short gasps of air push against his grip, throbbing flesh between his fingers, hot breathy pants against his face, tighter, tighter, color and life fading from that far-away kitten stare. This is what the boy wanted. And he’d do what the boy wanted, even if it killed the little worm.
A hot squirt hit the inside of Basile’s thighs. It dribbled down between his legs. He released his grasp and looked down, scowling.
“This is what gets you off?”
Ollie’s dick was unfortunately hard again, and leaking against his stomach. He gasped for air, coughing with every inhale, and reached up at Basile’s face. Choking on his own words, he moaned lightly.
“Sorry-- I didn’t-” He coughed. “Aw jeez-- I gotta be, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
That familiar ball of disgust rose up his throat once more. Basile wanted to vomit, and not just at the manchild hyperventilating in post-climatic bliss. No cruelty could push young Oliver away. He would always follow behind, lapping at his heels, even as he was led to a slaughterhouse. Subtlety wasn’t an option, passive aggression flew over his head, outright murder was just a game. Anything he did would further endear him in this boy’s heart.
Ollie continued coughing. Spit sputtered everywhere, his chest convulsed and heaved, strings of saliva hung from his lips, and tears formed in his eyes. Basile slumped back against the headboard and massaged his temples.
“Oliver, we need to stop.”
Ollie opened his mouth as if to protest, but was interrupted by a cough.
A coil of smoke pulled Basile’s eyes to the ashtray holding his cigarette, still smoldering. Every claustrophobic corner of the room was filled with miasma. The thin rays of morning light could barely pierce through the smog that filled the air.
He’d lived alone in his own foul stench for years. It had been decades since he regarded another human inhaling his fumes.
Basile pulled Ollie up, and wiped the semen off his stomach with the bedsheet.
“Put some clothes on. Let’s go outside for fresh air.
The sun had yet to fully rise, and the city was still gray, asleep. The streets were devoid of life. The roads were unpolluted by cars as well. On the second floor walkway outside of their room, they would be alone for now.
Basile could only find his pants and shoes to wear, as Ollie had snatched up Basile’s dress shirt on the floor. His naked legs peeked out from under the crinkled shirt like a dress, and the sleeves were so long on him that they dragged down to his knees. As soon as Ollie had found the shirt, he quickly claimed it by using the sleeves as a handkerchief, staining it with every different kind of liquid that a human body could excrete. Basile mentally noted that he would have to buy a new button-up in that colorway.
Both men had their backs against the railway. Basile leaned against the railway with his arms crossed (the morning chill was harsh on one’s nipples), and Ollie squatted with flat feet on the concrete. His current coughing fit had been going on for quite some bit. As soon as it concluded, Basile popped a question.
“Are you asthmatic, boy?”
Who knows why he asked? It was obvious it wasn’t a sudden cold. The information wasn’t useful. The health of some post-pubescent delinquent didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But that brittle, shriveled lump of conscience in Basile’s heart implored him to start their first proper two-way conversation.
With his gaze affixed to the ground, Ollie wiped his mouth with the shirt sleeve, hyperventilating. “I, uh, iunno. My ma smoked a bunch when I wuz a kid, she still does, didn’t seem like a problem cuz I never went to the doc---”
More coughing. Quite unproductive as it was. What was a man to do?
Basile looked behind him, then scanned the lot beneath them off the bannister. Not a soul in sight. With a creak of his knees, Basile kneeled next to Ollie, and Ollie responded by misting Basile’s chest hair with coughed-up spittle.
Ollie turned to embrace Basile, and buried his face into Basile’s shoulder. Basile stared at the sudden warmth on his side. Fuzzy and brown. Basile brushed the sweaty hair stuck on Ollie’s forehead out of his face, palm running through oily scalp, going down the nape of the neck. A long nail scraped the flesh of the neck a bit too deep, and Ollie yiped quietly. But Ollie’s haggard breaths slowed down a bit, and Basile took that as a sign of having done… something. He hesitantly placed a hand on Ollie’s back, feeling his heaving ribs. He tapped his fingers restlessly against the boy. Then he determined that he would attempt to pacify Ollie by touching his back in a warming manner. This was what those who look after infants do, right?
Even with the lightest graze up and down, through the shirt, Basile could trace every vertebrae down the boy’s spine. Ollie shivered a bit, and looked up at Basile with glassy eyes.
“Hey, hey man, what-- what’d you say back there? We uh--” He paused to clear his throat. “We gotta, we can’t-- what? Doin’ what?”
Basile stopped patting Ollie’s back. “This.”
He released Ollie from his hold, and pushed him away. Ollie swiftly closed the gap in between them by snapping a shove back. He continued to bump into Basile with his sternum, attempting to go chest-to-chest in some gorilla-like display of masculinity, but too small to properly see him eye-to-eye.
“Y’breaking up with me?!”
Basile lolled his head back and sighed. “No. We were never a thing”
He slumped against the railing, and rested his face into his palms. “I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not your babysitter, or therapist, and I’m certainly not your mother.”
Ollie shook his head, and gesticulated incoherently while grabbing his own face. “No, no, no, aw man, this sounds like a break up to me! We’ve been goin’ steady for MONTHS. I told my ma and all my buds and-- and--, aw jeez, what’d I do wrong?!” Ollie grabbed Basile by the arms. Basile tightened his lips at this invasion of personal space.
“Was it the blackmail? Oh man, it’s gotta be-- We can start over, right?” His fingers squeezed Basile’s shoulders, his arms, and his lower lip quivered. “C’mon, square one, just you n’ me, don’t need no classroom shit, we just bump into each other in the grocery store, and-- and-- I-- I’m sorry!”
Ollie threw himself into Basile’s chest, knocking the air out of the older man, and squeezed him tight. Basile wriggled in Ollie’s arms fruitlessly. The stained shirt between them created a suffocating moat of moisture. In his state of debilitation, Basile contemplated how he would best explain things to Ollie, with words even he could understand.
“It’s not you--” He attempted to shake off Ollie with a grunt, succeeding only in making the boy tighten his primate grip. “--it’s me.”
Ollie whimpering turned into wailing, into nonsensical hollering, only to be interrupted by his cough. He recovered, and muffled himself deeper into Basile’s bristly chest.
“So you ain’t my girlfriend anymore? Can’t we ‘least be friends?”
Light-headed and exhausted, Basile gave up his half-hearted struggle. His shoulders and arms fell limp. The boy’s insistent affection was narcotic. Nothing he did could free him from his embrace. He accepted his current status as the capuchin’s captive, and lay his head on Ollie’s bony shoulder. Maybe he could get some sleep.
They retained that position until Ollie finally tired himself out, and slumped his head into Basile’s lap. Basile felt an errant hand move to cup his buttocks.
“Man, MAN. It’s gonna suck seein’ you everyday in class, y’know. After everything we did together, n’ stuff.”
Basile sneered into Ollie’s ear. “Don't worry. I won’t be teaching any more after today. By summer, I’ll be long gone from American soil.”
He paused, and stopped smiling. He had said too much, far too much information to give to the boy. Ah, but what did it matter? What could an impoverished simpleton do? Book a flight to France at an exact date, and pinpoint his exact location? Bah! Technology couldn’t possibly be so advanced.
The sweaty mass on Basile’s lap rustled. “Aw JEEZ! I ain’t even THINK ‘bout summer… when school’s gone I won’t be able t’see you anymore, huh?” Ollie rolled over on his back to look up at Basile. “Can I call? Visit? Man, I’m gonna save up so much, gonna quit splurging on cans of Rockstar, gonna graduate--”
“Go find yourself a real girlfriend. Someone closer to your age. Someone who can share your generation’s interest in …” Basile rubbed his eyelids and wracked his brain. “...soldier boys cranking hoes and whatnot, perhaps Korean popular music. Forget about me.”
Ollie shifted his body, and began planting small kisses up Basile’s abdomen, up his chest, mumbling all the way and leaving a slug trail of snot. “I can’t just forget you, man, I love you more than anything I ever really, really, really liked before.” The boy kissed the side of his cheeks, haggard and hollow, and placed his lips on the protruding cheekbone. “How am I supposed to go back to normal real life after we met? I dunno if we’ll meet again and I love y--”
Basile snorted.
“Do you fall in love with everyone who throws some small scrap of attention your way?”
“Naw. Just the hot ones.”
Ollie rested his head against Basile’s breast, and snaked an arm behind Basile’s back to place his hand on the older man’s shoulder.
“Y’know, I just hated you at first. You smell and you’re weird, and you’re a dick. I didn’t give a shit about you. I dunno why alluva sudden seein’ your old videos and having you talk to me for once turned out like this. I dunno. Somethin’ crazy goin’ on.” Ollie looked up at Basile. The boy’s face was shiny with mucus, drool, and errant tears. The boy had stopped violently coughing, surely he would have stopped crying by now too. “Weird that you can see that much, y’know, everything from your tits to your butthole online. Drives me crazy knowin’ all that personal shit, knowing that much ‘bout you? But I ain’t never gonna get to know you. Y’know? Real deep brain shit, man.”
Basile took the opportunity to push his way out from Ollie’s grasp while the fool was soliloquizing. He stood up and started walking back to their room. Then he turned his head to look behind him. Just as expected, Ollie followed him. The boy resumed his position by Basile’s side, arm-in-arm, staring into the distance. Basile followed his gaze.
The first cars of the day made their way down the road, slogging off to work and live and sleep and repeat the cycle once more. A few errant early risers, ne’er-do-wells and the elderly, wandered the streets. Ollie was fixated on the pink sun breaking through the endless smog, forcing its way to be seen through the noxious fumes.
To the young man, this meant everything to him. For the old man, this was nothing but another error he’d forget and bury amongst the others throughout his weary years.
Ollie scooted closer to Basile’s side.
“Hey, it’s Monday y’know.”
Basile turned his head from the cityscape to look at Ollie once more. Ollie was beaming at him, the tips of his large front teeth peeking out from his smile. Tear stains were still dark and visible on his cheeks.
“Can I get a ride to school?”
Basile glanced downward and saw a pack of cigarettes in his shirt’s chest pocket. The familiar urge to smoke welled up within him.
Then he saw Ollie’s small frame through the unbuttoned top of the shirt, those thin clavicles heaving, and he felt his heart drop into a pit. Noticing Basile’s stare, Ollie took the cigarette pack out of the pocket and held it towards Basile.
“Those’ll kill you, y’know. My mom says my pops died of lung cancer.”
He decided against taking that pack of Gaulouises slims.
He turned away, and as he walked back to their motel room, he pondered the existence of young Oliver: 7th period French class, always tardy, never enough, a young man of little consequence in the world, who wandered the sea of life untroubled by the tendrils dragging him down. But at least his mother loved him. Or so Basile hoped, from how fondly young Oliver spoke of her. She should feed her son more healthily.
Basile coughed into his elbow as he opened the door. He didn’t care if Ollie followed him or not. The boy could keep his snot stained shirt, and masturbate in it daily for all that he cared. Because he didn’t care, and he was tired of caring, and he didn’t want to have to care for anyone ever again.
End Notes
This draft is much softer than the previous ones that I’d been toying with since January. Spy chokes Scout at Scout’s urging, rather than Spy trying to kill Scout after being fed up. Scout has more bodily autonomy.. and he's even creepier.
Scout’s allergy to cigarette smoke actively conflicts with Spy’s addiction -- they’re naturally incompatible!
I love ScoutSpy... great ship. Love these two personalities mashing up against each other in any universe, there's so much chemistry in their incompatibility! And a lot of similarities between their personalities, despite the contradictions. And for all the silly folks who cry "INCEST" at my version of the ship, they miss the point completely! It's not DADspy that's the draw, it's classically Oedipian! Spy's a replacement figure for Scout's absent mother!!! READING COMPREHENSION FOLKS!!
Whenever I write fic, it's rarely "just for fun" like I do for drawing lololol, it's cuz I wanna capture specific interactions and FEELINGZ and put them into a tidy lil bible for no one's reference. The first draft of this was posted on tumblr like 2 years ago LOL, it was a lot messier and shorter than this and written during a single sleepless night, but there was something in there I still wanted to pull out years later once I had developed my ideas further. Writing this was cathartic, and occasionally embarrassingly personal. But at least I had fun :^)
This will be Ollie n' Basile's little bible tale in a bubble, their only character arc, and where their story in this timeline ends. It has the gist of what I want to do with their characters for comics and drawing, so while I doubt I'll be personally writing more about them in this universe (it's hard to write!!!), I'm definitely using this energy to draw more of them :) And my brain can move on to other projects....