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My lips may promise but my heart is a whore

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Gave up trying to figure it out 
My head got lost along the way
Worn out from giving it up 
My soul I pissed it all away
Still stings these shattered nerves
Pigs we get what pigs deserve.
~ Nine Inch Nails, Last

 

“Can’t believe that crook bloody cycle carked it again,” Junkrat says. “No... wait… ‘course I can ‘cause it always fuckin’ carks it. Broke more’n it runs. Should just bin the piece of shit. Hell, still got a couple a mines left. Let’s blow it up. Least that way we’d get somethin’ useful outta it.”

Waits for a response. Nothing. Fuck. “Probably go farther in an explosion than it’s ever actually driven. Maybe send it into space…” Taken with the idea for a minute, Junkrat considers how much explosive that would need. Probably more’n he’s got, at least right now.

Roadhog’s not looking at him, not saying anything neither. Just walking, focusing on the bike. Like their last heist didn’t get fucked. Like the sun isn't beating down over their heads. Like they haven’t been walking for hours. Like sweat isn’t dripping down his back, making rivulets in the soot and dust and gunpowder. Like everything is just fuckin’ apples, mate. 

The sun keeps beating down and they keep walking, boots and peg crunching on the hard packed dirt of the road. A wisp of breeze taunts with the possibility of relief, but is just as hot as the rest of the day. Feels like someone opened an oven. Dust coats the inside of his nose and his mouth tastes of ash.

Irritation rubs at Junkrat like a pebble in his boot, sharp and painful. His leg aches where it connects to the peg and he just wants to fuckin’ blow something up and since he can’t he wants to start a fight and the only person with him is Roadhog so that’ll have to do. Just gotta figure out how to get a damn reaction.

“You’re just as useless as the fuckin’ bike. Queered the pitch on that job. What were you thinking? Do you even think? Any thoughts at all in that hog head?” Still no response. Not even a sideways look. What is it going to take? Roadhog’s not exactly a patient man. 

“Bet the mask’s cutting off oxygen to your brain.”Junkrat reaches out, maybe to take it off, maybe just pretending like he’s going to, when suddenly Roadhog grabs his wrist. His grip is tight enough that the bones grind together and Junkrat grins. Struck a nerve. “Problem, mate?”

Roadhog, of course, doesn’t say anything. He just squeezes tighter.

Desire washes over Junkrat like a wave. A giggle bubbles up and spills from his lips. “‘Fraid I’m gonna get an eye-full of yer ugly mug? No chance. Don’t wanna chunder.”

“Shut. Up.” Roadhog’s voice is barely more than a growl and it makes the hair stand up at Junkrat’s nape.

“Make. Me.” Junkrat copies his tone exactly. 

Roadhog doesn’t bother with an argument. Just drops the jiffy stand and yanks him around the front of the bike. His shoulder wrenches and Junkrat stumbles, off balance in more ways than one, but this just makes him laugh more.

“What’re ya gonna do, huh, old man?” Can’t keep his mouth shut. Doesn’t want to keep his mouth shut. Wants to do something else with it. Wonders how far he can push Roadhog. How far he’ll need to push. He stares up at Roadhog, tries to discern the expression behind the mask. Can’t. His heart jitters and he squirms in Roadhog’s grip even as laughter still spills from him.

“Think this is a joke,” Roadhog says.

Junkrat shrugs with his free shoulder. “Think you’re a joke.”

“Enough. Gonna regret every single word out of your stinking gob.” 

“Who’s gonna make me? So old you’ll probably have a heart attack tryin’.” 

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” Roadhog’s tone goes dark. Dangerous. 

Junkrat licks his lips. Oh he’ll bet on it, right. Bet everything that by the end of it they’ll both get what they want. Because he wants with an ache deep in his center. Wants with a desire that’s ticking in him like a bomb - like the violence in Roadhog only banked for the moment. Ready to flare. “Try it,” he challenges, chin lifted.

Roadhog’s control doesn’t snap, never does. For all his capabilities in causing pain, he’s always in complete control. He just loosens the reins sometimes. A slight slip and he wrenches Junkrat’s arm behind his back. turning him away and pushes him forward. “Walk, idiot.”

“The bike,” Junkrat starts to ask but Roadhog twists his arm and he gasps, cutting off his own question.

“Quiet.”

They crest a ridge and come upon a small copse. The temperature in the shade drops a good ten degrees. Sweat cools on his skin and this, combined with a heady mix of anticipation and adrenaline make him shiver once, sharply. 

Roadhog shoves him back up against a tree, the bark scratches his skin. It soothes the itch of drying sweat and he just waits while Roadhog loops a length of rope around a branch and ties his hands above his head.

“Do you trust me,” Roadie asks.

“No,” Junkrat says, but his whole body leans yes. Yes, Roadhog will hurt him the way he wants, the way he deserves, will use him the way he needs to be used, and whatever else happens doesn’t matter.

“Good.”=

Was only a momentary reprieve, he realizes as the breeze sighs through the leaves above with a familiar sharp, cold scent. Fuck. “Why,” Junkrat asks even though he knows Roadhog won’t answer. He doesn’t. Just waits, watching with a steady gaze. 

As if the knowledge alone is a trigger, his eyes begin to tear and his nose to drip. He sniffs reflexively and immediately regrets it as he can practically feel the pollen invading his sinuses. He groans, breath already coming in shuddery hitches. 

“Hiih… ihhh…” The sensation is driving him mad. Feels like he’s got about a thousand tiny feathers tickling the inside of his nose. Manages to rub his eyes on his arm, but it only makes them itch more. Everything itches. Eyes, nose, the roof of his mouth, his ears. “Roadie… I…” he starts to say when the need to sneeze suddenly peaks. “Hi’t!” But just as the sneeze is cresting Roadhog reaches out, pinches his nose, and the stifle is a bomb going off behind his eyes.

Can’t see his expression behind the mask, but Junkrat can feel Roadhog’s grin anyway. “What…” he tries to ask but another sneeze hits faster than he can get the words out. “Ih’t!” Again the pinch, the contained explosion. And maybe because the sneezes aren’t actually getting rid of any of the pollen, they keep coming and Roadhog keeps forcing them in. 

There’s something oddly intimate about the way Roadhog’s playing with him, with his need, how it keeps building and building and not quite making it to climax. Weirdest thing about it is he feels himself going hard even as the cycle of need-to-sneeze, almost-sneeze-but-not, build-to-need makes him feel like he’s caught in a loop.

“Roadie…ihh...hihh… uh’t!”

“Do you regret it, yet?” His voice is low and tinged with amusement.

“Y..eh...Yes…” He’ll say he regrets it, say whatever Roadhog wants just to finally get relief.

“Then beg.”

“Ple...eh...Please, Roadhog, please...iiih..huh… huh’t!” His head is starting to hurt, and his abs too… but he keeps trying. “I… I re..eh… really need t..to fu..uh...fucking sneeze. I ju...uh… just really need… Everything itches so fucking much. Please.” Tears slide down his cheeks, and he’s not sure whether it’s from the allergy or the humiliation. 

Roadhog doesn’t say anything, but he takes a step back and this time when the sneeze slams Junkrat forward, Roadhog lets it happen. “Huh Rrr’ussshah! … R’ussh-uhshh!” The relief is immediate and all consuming and he shivers with it.

Unfortunately the sneezes keep coming as his body frantically tries to rid him of the allergen. He tries to turn away from Roadhog, to hide his face because he’s sure he’s a complete disgusting mess, but feels a firm hand on his chin, not allowing him even the smallest bit of privacy and he’s forced to just continue sneezing while Roadhog watches him fall apart. 

Slowly the fit begins to ease. He’s able to catch his breath between sneezes and finally Roadhog releases him from the rope. Junkrat drops to his knees, exhausted, but still aching with want. He fumbles at Roadie’s fly, then takes him in his mouth with a sigh. Snakes a hand down his own pants and begins to stroke. Roadhog fists his hands in Junkrat’s hair, tugging on the edge of pain. They move together. The pleasure builds, builds like the urge to sneeze, burning bright and hot, seconds ticking down to detonation. 

An unexpected sneeze rises sharp and swift enough that Junkrat can’t hold it back, just turns his head slightly and releases against Roadhog’s thigh.  “Huh-iissshhuh!” And whether it’s the relief of the sneeze or the sharp movement of his hand as he does, his climax crashes over him. To his surprise, Roadhog follows a moment later.

Junkrat’s still catching his breath when Roadhog hands him a packet of tissues. “Clean up. I’ll get the bike,” he says and as he walks away, he runs one hand over Rat’s head, gently.