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Size Matters	By : Loni Category: +S through Z > Team Fortress 2 Views: 1847 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or its characters. I simply borrowed them for the sake of writing for fun. No profit was made.

Chapter List
- 1-Size Matters
- 1
“No, fuck you!”
“Ah, c’mon, Scout, we wanna know.”
“I said fuck off, man!”
“Oui, pipsqueak, you’ve piqued our interest. You must indulge us.”
“No, no, no! Leave me the hell alone, ya bunch of creeps!” The Scout shouted, his arms crossed and his lip in a noticeable pout, which only made the Sniper and Spy laugh and jeer more than necessary. They had been harassing the boy ever since they learned his shoe size thanks to him having to order a new pair of running shoes recently, and they began verbally pondering what else on the boy was small, much to his dismay. Why did they want to know anyway? It had to be some sick bet between them over who had the right guess of the size of his—
He shook his reddening head furiously and growled, throwing his hands into the air as he proceeded to walk away. He was not about to indulge in their twisted fantasies about that. At least, that’s what he attempted to do before a pair of strong arms wrapped around his own.
“What’s tha harm in lookin’, mate?”
The youth began thrashing in the bushman’s grip, but it was to no avail; the French bastard had moved before the two and sandwiched the Scout between them, his own hands moving to the hem of the Scout’s pants. The boy’s face began to glow a brighter shade of red with anger and embarrassment as he tried to kick at either man and his mouth all the while spat vulgar obscenities at either man’s ears. It was another futile attempt, but the youngest male was not about to go down without a fight; at least, until a gloved hand ripped through the front of his pants and began investigating his member to the point of making him shudder.
“Bushman, you should see this,” the Spy suppressed a snort and a laugh as he further pushed down the Scout’s pants. The Sniper, in turn, leaned over the smaller boy he held and looked to that which the Frenchman held. “It is so tiny; I can fit my entire hand around it, oui?”
“No way, let me try that,” he responded with surprise, releasing one hand from around the Scout’s torso to grasp the boy’s manhood, causing him to buckle at the knees. “Hey, you’re right! Can’t even see the little bugger in my grip…”
“Guys…”
“Il est si adorable, comme un chiot.”
“Guys…”
“I don’t know whatcha said, but I’ll agree with ya.”
“Will you let go of my damn dick already?!”
The Scout screamed with enough force to cause the two elder men to pause, but both looked to one another mischievously, teeth showing in equal grins.
“Don’t think we’re gonna do that, right, ya spook?”
“Non, monsieur hunter,” the Spy answered as he snubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe before flinging it to the side, “We are merely getting started.”
The boy had no time to even ponder the obvious before he was promptly lifted off the ground by the Sniper’s arms, and the Spy made quick work of his small shoes and pulled off his knee-high socks, leaving the Scout’s feet bare and vulnerable for ridicule. Though, rather than laughter, he felt his body being placed into the bushman’s lap as he found a seat on the bench behind them, and the Frenchman peeled off his own gloves and began massaging his fingers into a pair of small feet.
“Yeah, I, uh, appreciate the gesture, but it ain’t necessary, guys,” the Scout squeaked, trying to regain some of his composure against the odd behavior of his teammates, but he could not deny the pleasurable feeling that was expert fingers working into the bones and muscles of his feet. He also could not deny the low hum of delight that caused two older men to chuckle amongst themselves. The boy had almost—almost!—forgotten his manhood had been unceremoniously grabbed by the same two men still holding him down previously and was deftly reminded when a calloused hand snaked its way into his pants to continue stroking at his length, which was now swelling to the point of being noticed.
“Ah! Ya ain’t as small as before,” the Sniper noted with a pleased laugh which gurgled in his throat.
“He—Hey, what d’ya think you’re doing?”
“You are too tense, mon petit,” the Spy hissed as he worked against clamped muscles in the boy’s feet and calves, “You need to relax.”
“Relax?” the Scout nearly shrieked, “How can I do that when you--“ He was quickly cut off by a rough mouth engulfing his own, courtesy of the hunter who held him in-place. The younger male gave off a muffled groan of protest, but it would be a futile attempt as the elder men were determined to keep him where he sat. And, in mere moments, his distress died down like burning embers as the elder men continued to work at his arousal and feet, a mixture the youth had not taken thought to before, but now, he found himself a writhing and groaning mess as the Spy took to massaging his calves as the Sniper licked and bit and caressed a vulnerable neck to the point of leaving small discolorations in the sensitive skin, all the while gently stroking at the Scout’s member. He hardly at the time to collect his thoughts before the Spy—sneaky as always—moved closer to work at the boy’s thighs, and even closer still as he massaged the tender flesh of his rear.
The Scout jerked and gave a whimper of protest as his pants were tossed away and he was made to lie back against the hunter, but the ministrations never ceased, even as the Frenchman pressed his fingers at the boy’s entrance, massaging and stretching the opening as the Sniper stroked in-tune with the other man’s workings. His groan was muffled again by the mouth of the bushman as the Spy removed himself from his slacks and pressed himself into the smaller backside, slickened with only saliva and forced until his entire length was swallowed whole. The massaging continued, though it was moved to the Scout’s hips as the Frenchman worked against his rear, all the while cooing in his native tongue. Soon enough, the groans became moans and the Sniper released the boy’s mouth and looked to the Spy.
“I hope ya planned ta share, spook.”
“That was part of the deal, oui?” the Spy gave a grin as he slid from the Scout and allowed the hunter to flip the boy over, resting his upper half against his legs while the Frenchman made quick work of entering his body once more.
Before the youth could give much protest—how little of that he had left—the Sniper unbuckled his own pants and allowed his member to be exposed. One raised eyebrow from the elder told the boy all he needed to know and without further instruction, he opened his mouth and engulfed the elder man’s member in one slurping motion, enticing a moan from above. The Scout gave a moan of his own as the Spy began pumping him from behind, and the three began rocking into one another in a rhythm, the Frenchman pushing the youth onto the bushman and back again.
The Spy, despite his usual demeanor, began to grow impatient at the lack of friction and picked up his pace, causing the Scout to bob on and off the Sniper in a hastened and uncoordinated pace, which was fine by him judging by the low growling and fingers clenching into what strands of hair on the boy’s head he could grab, and the Scout, in turn, could only keep lapping at the man’s arousal as his own was pumped harshly as was the one in his backside as it thrust against him repetitively, sending his mind into a massive wave of euphoria and dizziness. And, the room began to spin and every touch was like fire; the Frenchman had to loosen his tie and the hunter ripped open his shirt to expose his chest in an effort to cool down. The boy merely allowed the men to do as they wished, though the Spy yanked his shirt up and began playing and massaging at his chest and teasing nipples while the other ferociously kept pumping the boy’s hardened arousal.
It finally became too much to endure, and the Scout gave a muffled gasp as his body shuddered and he released into the elder man’s hand. Rather than go limp with his release, the boy gripped the Sniper’s knees with wrapped hands, and with a heave, carried a pace of bobbing that made the older man roll backwards on the palms of his hands, just catching himself from falling off the bench altogether. The Spy’s pace also quickened to the point of losing rhythm altogether, and he began to breath heavy with his excursion and heated movements. A few more thrusts and a gargled growl emitted from the masked man’s throat as he spilled his seed within the smallest male, thrusting until every drop had left his body. Only then did the bushman take control and attacked the Scout’s mouth with his own fast thrusting, the man biting his lip to the point of bleeding as the boy held onto the man’s legs for dear life and sanity. He would not have to wait long as a surge of hot liquid hit the back of his throat and drizzled onto his chin in one quick sweep.
All three men collapsed into a pile, the Spy and Scout at the floor and the Sniper on the bench, all panting to catch their breath.
“That’s what I call a massage!” the youngest of the trio finally wheezed with a cheeky grin about his face as he sat up to retrieve his pants.
“I win.”
“What?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. I’ll pay ya next week, ya bloody spook.”
“What?”
The elder men merely laughed among themselves, leaving a very confused Scout in their wake. He tossed his pants on and puffed up, pointing fingers at both of his elders. The Spy merely lit a cigarette and the Sniper rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“No, what were ya bettin’ on, huh?”
The Frenchman shrugged nonchalantly. “I merely said that you have an erogenous area in your dainty little feet. Zhe bushman did not seem to think so. So, we put it to the test. And, as I stated before, I win.”
“I can’t believe you guys,” the Scout scoffed as he pulled his socks and shoes on to hide his embarrassment, but it was to no avail. The elder men knew a secret on him that they would haunt him with until he went to the grave. He turned to leave when the Sniper grabbed his shoulder.
“Alroight, next massage is on me then.”
His answer was in the form of a small but lethal foot to the face.
“Massage that,” the boy spat as he left the two men to themselves.
“It seemed to have really been on you,” the Spy chortled with an undignified snort through his nostrils.
“Ah, shaddup.”
- 1
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Size Matters