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achromancySome angry raider smut that doesn't necessarily need the context from my main fic Blue Jazz
I didn't want to write flat background characters and then all the sudden they have complex feelings and personalities and I don't know what happened, I don't kn o w . . .
Dub-Con (because Raiders) Hurt/No Comfort (BECAUSE RAIDERS)
Also Available on AO3!
After a big haul, it’s pretty damn customary to take a long night off, especially since Gristle and his crew had taken one hell of a hit from a group of settlers that decided standing up to the men with the guns is a lot smarter than kneeling down and letting them take what they want. After a swift bloodbath, Gristle walked away with more than he planned on getting, and maybe a dozen less men, but that means more for the rest of them.
Lonnie took lead in passing out the good shit; Gristle swiped a couple bottles of vodka and a few hits of jet before the vultures claimed everything else, and then head7 up to the assembly floor. Jared hadn’t been anywhere near the shipment when it arrived and Gristle hadn’t seen him since he left, even then he seemed real fucking distracted. Keeps asking if he’s seen any weird shit when he takes jet, weirder than usual like the walls melting or the skin of his arm twisting and breathing, keeps asking a lot of people that, even Lonnie, and she wasn’t too fucking impressed. Bitch snapped at him the last he asked and that landed her a black eye and the shit job of ordering around the strung out junkies on watch instead of joining Gristle’s raid. She wasn’t going to forget that anytime soon.
“Hey, Jared,” Gristle calls out as he crosses the factory floor, turning one of the bottles in his hand, “If you’re done playing over-boss, I reaped some of the spoils in your honour, you gonna help me drink it, or what?”
From one of the offices overlooking the assembly, Jared saunters out looking like he just woke up from a cat nap, wearing a stained white t-shirt and jeans, all of his war paint cleared away from his face and carelessly smeared against his neck. He glowers down at Gristle, squinting into the glare of the spot light, “You look like shit.”
“Yeah, I was gonna say the same thing, sweet talker,” Gristle calls back, “You hung over, or did you get your ass kicked by the psycho again? Either way, I got a cure for both.”
Jared, with his face halfway scrunched up from post-nap haze, only blinks at him in response. Gristle waves the jet and vodka in the air, walking down near the base of the platform to egg a somewhat decent response out of him. Jared just groans, and turns back towards the office, “Yeah, fuck it.”
Gristle smirks and then begins his assent up the stair case on the left end of the room, calling out as he crosses the extending bridge into the larger office room littered with paper and an old dusty chem bench mostly cleared off for use, “Some people never learn, you know? I point a gun and ask nicely for some corn and all the sudden these settlers think they can pull one over and fight back.”
“How many?” Jared asks.
“About eight, zero now, I lost maybe eleven men during the raid, they were real fucking dug in,” Gristle sets both bottles on the table and then two jet cartridges, “Got a lot of shit when we finished looting the place though, worth a hell of a lot more than the bodies.”
Jared leans against the desk with his arms crossed, but says nothing, and that makes Gristle a little nervous for a lot of fucking reasons, “We can get more fucking people, Jared.”
“I don’t give a shit about more people,” Jared leans forward and grabs one of the bottles, un-screws the cap, and takes a generous swig, “They’re all expendable, worthless sacks of shit.”
Gristle watches him for a second in startled awe, “Christ, the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“I’m tired, the fuck you want from me?” He snaps back.
“Whatever, look, we gonna share that, or break out some glasses, or what? ‘Cause whether you’re up for it or not, I need some fucking R&R.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jared also swipes one of the jet chems and motions him over across the platform and to the other office space, Gristle follows suit with the rest of the spoils just in case they get too high or drunk to get them later. Jared kicks a few tin cans and empty soda bottles out of the way and shoves the two old stained mattresses together. One of which has Jared’s balled up jacket sitting on it as a pillow.
“Lonnie in the basement?” Jared plops down onto one mattress, propping himself against the wall, Gristle joins him with a sigh of comfort, because any old mattress is a hell of a lot better than the ground. The wall is cool against his back, he’s sure there’s a sunburn in patches over his shoulders where his armour usually sits.
“Yeah, passing out the spoils,” He reaches over and grabs the bottle from Jared as he offers, “You can be sure the lot of ‘em are gonna be puking over the rails tomorrow.”
“Fucker’s on base watch are gonna get rained on.” Jared snickers.
Gristle laughs, swallowing a mouthful of alcohol and relaxing at the sensation of its warmth in his throat. Maybe at one point in his early life, he actually felt the burn of its potency, but at this point, he’s surprised he still gets drunk at all. Even after the bottle is halfway gone between the two of them, he knows he’s still got room for more, and that other bottle is within arm’s reach.
It’s become a kind of custom to combine alcohol and chems, at least to guarantee getting fucked up without draining all the booze in the joint, besides, the hangover isn’t as killer. The best combo he knows of to make the night one to totally forget is moonshine and psycho. However, you’d only combine them in a case of severe forgets, ‘cause that would make sure you forgot the entire week beforehand too.
At some point during the night, right about when Jared got on this story about a settler down south in the Commons that he had to cut up for swapping his caps for some low quality chems, Gristle had slid over from the wall and pressed his shoulder to Jared’s, both too caught up in the story to notice until they both turned their heads to speak at once.
Something must have happened, between the booze and the story, where Gristle thought it would be a good idea to start letting his fucking dick get the best of him, because the minute they lock eyes, he leans in and kisses him. Not a bashful kiss of any kind, the kind of kiss that steals the fucking words right out of his mouth, and it does a good fucking job of it to. It’s been a long damn time since his asshole of an ex decided bending over for half of Corvega was better than fucking him exclusively, at least, that’s what the hard-on in his cargo’s was telling him. What Gristle seemed to forget with the impulse is that it’s not just some assholes throat swallowing his tongue, it’s Jared.
Jared is probably the closest thing to a friend that Gristles ever had and he tastes fucking good, better than he imagined, and he doesn’t feel nearly drunk enough to blame it on the booze. If he were that drunk, he’d be half as hard, maybe not at all.
For the first few seconds Jared doesn’t move, but when he does, he shoves Gristle back onto the mattress with what he might have processed as violent rejection, if not for Jared pinning him down and kissing him back so forcefully that their teeth clash. He parts Gristle’s knees open with the forces himself between them, the other mans legs overlapping and settling around his boss’ hips as if he had expected him to be any kind of bashful. Jared growls against his lieutenant’s mouth, and then he grinds down onto his throbbing bulge with one of his own, “Fuck.”
Gristle hadn’t expected his heart to leap right into his goddamn throat, he can only gasp and curl his hips into the pressure, and try not to come right in his fucking pants. His boss wastes no time, his hand reaches down and loosens the hold on both his jeans and Gristle’s cargo’s, but instead of grabbing his dick like he was hoping he would, he yanks them down and exposes his bare ass.
Gristle pries his mouth away, “Jared, what the fuck-!”
His boss reaches down and grabs his jaw, his nails digging into his cheek and neck as he forces Gristle still, his eyes dark, “Shut up.”
It must have been the jet, or some combination of that and the vodka, because something in Jared’s eyes looked unlike anything Gristle had seen before, some desperation and fear, anger, hurt, and frustration, it all leaked out and was now running down his face.
Gristle had tensed up to clock him right in the fucking jaw, because he wasn’t cool with being dominated without his fucking permission, but seeing that look in his eyes made him go slack, and he stopped trying to fight back. Jared is crying, and he has no idea what to fucking do.
So... he doesn’t do or say anything at all, like the fucking wasted idiot he is, and Jared latches onto him like a bloodworm, biting his neck and painfully breaking the skin, sucking hard and leaving dark bruises as he pulls him closer. He doesn’t know when or how he got his prick out, but he forces it into him without a thought or care to his lieutenants discomfort.
Gristle locks his jaw, strangling a howl of pain as his boss mercilessly begins to pound him into the mattress, his hips slapping so hard against his ass that it echoes. The lieutenant grabs the sides of the frame to try and brace himself, his knuckles going white with the pressure of his grip, and a series of hard whines begin to escape his throat that started sharp but almost immediately turned wonton like he was some kind of wasteland whore. The appeal of Jared fucking him like this is apparently enough fucking foreplay.
Jared buries his face in Gristles neck when he obviously can’t concentrate on making tender bruises anymore, the thrusts turn into spastic jerks that end with Jared’s hand clawing against Gristles hip to angle him up. The lieutenant arches his back into the sudden pressure against a sensitive inner organ and he comes with a white hot splatter against his stained white muscle shirt right as Jared finishes with the last few jerks of his hips and releases into his second-in-command. Gristle won’t admit, at least not aloud, that he curled his head back and moaned into the sensation of being stuffed with what feels like a heavy handful of it.
“Fuck,” Jared exhales with a growl, “Fuck...”
Gristle’s head doesn’t un-fog right away; he’s trying to process what just happened. He feels even drunker now, his body like a bag of wet sand, and he doesn’t even feel how badly his ass probably hurts. With the pressure of Jared lying over him, still inside him, he just wants to stay right where he is.
“Get out.”
Gristle had let his eyes flutter closed with the afterglow, but they open again and all of his relaxation suddenly tenses as a hard and unpleasant feeling coils in the pit of his stomach, and all he can utter out in response is; “Fuck you.”
Jared pushes himself up and away and Gristle flinches with a ripe new pain as he isn’t any kind of gentle when he pulls out.
“I said get out.” There’s no fire in his voice like before, there doesn’t seem to but much of anything but exhaustion and for some reason it’s hard for his lieutenant to hear.
“Jared-”
“Get the fuck out!” Jared suddenly snaps, and Gristle flinches a second time for an entirely different reason.
Like before, he doesn’t have words. This shit isn’t what he’s used to, Jared is a fucking asshole but he’s never acted like this before. It’s like he’s lost and defeated and Gristle can’t find the words to respond other than a crass, ‘go fuck yourself’ but even that stops in his throat and all he does is do what he’s told.
He pulls his cargos back up and leaves.
The burn he feels as he tries to walk is nothing compared to how fucking angry he is.
He’s fucking pissed at Jared for acting so different and leaving him without knowing how to respond, but he’s even more pissed at himself for not just saying something to him, anything. Anything would have been better than letting him have his fucking way. He could have gone off and told him he’s not some fucking whore that he can kick out after he’s got his dick wet, he could have punched him, kicked his ass, because they both know that Gristle is stronger out of the two. He’s leaving, but he could go back. He could still kick his ass for acting like a fucking asshole, but all he can see is that look on his face before he fucked him.
There’s only one thing he can do...
He has to deliver that old bitch to his front door.
I didn't want to write flat background characters and then all the sudden they have complex feelings and personalities and I don't know what happened, I don't kn o w . . .
Dub-Con (because Raiders) Hurt/No Comfort (BECAUSE RAIDERS)
Also Available on AO3!
After a big haul, it’s pretty damn customary to take a long night off, especially since Gristle and his crew had taken one hell of a hit from a group of settlers that decided standing up to the men with the guns is a lot smarter than kneeling down and letting them take what they want. After a swift bloodbath, Gristle walked away with more than he planned on getting, and maybe a dozen less men, but that means more for the rest of them.
Lonnie took lead in passing out the good shit; Gristle swiped a couple bottles of vodka and a few hits of jet before the vultures claimed everything else, and then head7 up to the assembly floor. Jared hadn’t been anywhere near the shipment when it arrived and Gristle hadn’t seen him since he left, even then he seemed real fucking distracted. Keeps asking if he’s seen any weird shit when he takes jet, weirder than usual like the walls melting or the skin of his arm twisting and breathing, keeps asking a lot of people that, even Lonnie, and she wasn’t too fucking impressed. Bitch snapped at him the last he asked and that landed her a black eye and the shit job of ordering around the strung out junkies on watch instead of joining Gristle’s raid. She wasn’t going to forget that anytime soon.
“Hey, Jared,” Gristle calls out as he crosses the factory floor, turning one of the bottles in his hand, “If you’re done playing over-boss, I reaped some of the spoils in your honour, you gonna help me drink it, or what?”
From one of the offices overlooking the assembly, Jared saunters out looking like he just woke up from a cat nap, wearing a stained white t-shirt and jeans, all of his war paint cleared away from his face and carelessly smeared against his neck. He glowers down at Gristle, squinting into the glare of the spot light, “You look like shit.”
“Yeah, I was gonna say the same thing, sweet talker,” Gristle calls back, “You hung over, or did you get your ass kicked by the psycho again? Either way, I got a cure for both.”
Jared, with his face halfway scrunched up from post-nap haze, only blinks at him in response. Gristle waves the jet and vodka in the air, walking down near the base of the platform to egg a somewhat decent response out of him. Jared just groans, and turns back towards the office, “Yeah, fuck it.”
Gristle smirks and then begins his assent up the stair case on the left end of the room, calling out as he crosses the extending bridge into the larger office room littered with paper and an old dusty chem bench mostly cleared off for use, “Some people never learn, you know? I point a gun and ask nicely for some corn and all the sudden these settlers think they can pull one over and fight back.”
“How many?” Jared asks.
“About eight, zero now, I lost maybe eleven men during the raid, they were real fucking dug in,” Gristle sets both bottles on the table and then two jet cartridges, “Got a lot of shit when we finished looting the place though, worth a hell of a lot more than the bodies.”
Jared leans against the desk with his arms crossed, but says nothing, and that makes Gristle a little nervous for a lot of fucking reasons, “We can get more fucking people, Jared.”
“I don’t give a shit about more people,” Jared leans forward and grabs one of the bottles, un-screws the cap, and takes a generous swig, “They’re all expendable, worthless sacks of shit.”
Gristle watches him for a second in startled awe, “Christ, the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“I’m tired, the fuck you want from me?” He snaps back.
“Whatever, look, we gonna share that, or break out some glasses, or what? ‘Cause whether you’re up for it or not, I need some fucking R&R.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jared also swipes one of the jet chems and motions him over across the platform and to the other office space, Gristle follows suit with the rest of the spoils just in case they get too high or drunk to get them later. Jared kicks a few tin cans and empty soda bottles out of the way and shoves the two old stained mattresses together. One of which has Jared’s balled up jacket sitting on it as a pillow.
“Lonnie in the basement?” Jared plops down onto one mattress, propping himself against the wall, Gristle joins him with a sigh of comfort, because any old mattress is a hell of a lot better than the ground. The wall is cool against his back, he’s sure there’s a sunburn in patches over his shoulders where his armour usually sits.
“Yeah, passing out the spoils,” He reaches over and grabs the bottle from Jared as he offers, “You can be sure the lot of ‘em are gonna be puking over the rails tomorrow.”
“Fucker’s on base watch are gonna get rained on.” Jared snickers.
Gristle laughs, swallowing a mouthful of alcohol and relaxing at the sensation of its warmth in his throat. Maybe at one point in his early life, he actually felt the burn of its potency, but at this point, he’s surprised he still gets drunk at all. Even after the bottle is halfway gone between the two of them, he knows he’s still got room for more, and that other bottle is within arm’s reach.
It’s become a kind of custom to combine alcohol and chems, at least to guarantee getting fucked up without draining all the booze in the joint, besides, the hangover isn’t as killer. The best combo he knows of to make the night one to totally forget is moonshine and psycho. However, you’d only combine them in a case of severe forgets, ‘cause that would make sure you forgot the entire week beforehand too.
At some point during the night, right about when Jared got on this story about a settler down south in the Commons that he had to cut up for swapping his caps for some low quality chems, Gristle had slid over from the wall and pressed his shoulder to Jared’s, both too caught up in the story to notice until they both turned their heads to speak at once.
Something must have happened, between the booze and the story, where Gristle thought it would be a good idea to start letting his fucking dick get the best of him, because the minute they lock eyes, he leans in and kisses him. Not a bashful kiss of any kind, the kind of kiss that steals the fucking words right out of his mouth, and it does a good fucking job of it to. It’s been a long damn time since his asshole of an ex decided bending over for half of Corvega was better than fucking him exclusively, at least, that’s what the hard-on in his cargo’s was telling him. What Gristle seemed to forget with the impulse is that it’s not just some assholes throat swallowing his tongue, it’s Jared.
Jared is probably the closest thing to a friend that Gristles ever had and he tastes fucking good, better than he imagined, and he doesn’t feel nearly drunk enough to blame it on the booze. If he were that drunk, he’d be half as hard, maybe not at all.
For the first few seconds Jared doesn’t move, but when he does, he shoves Gristle back onto the mattress with what he might have processed as violent rejection, if not for Jared pinning him down and kissing him back so forcefully that their teeth clash. He parts Gristle’s knees open with the forces himself between them, the other mans legs overlapping and settling around his boss’ hips as if he had expected him to be any kind of bashful. Jared growls against his lieutenant’s mouth, and then he grinds down onto his throbbing bulge with one of his own, “Fuck.”
Gristle hadn’t expected his heart to leap right into his goddamn throat, he can only gasp and curl his hips into the pressure, and try not to come right in his fucking pants. His boss wastes no time, his hand reaches down and loosens the hold on both his jeans and Gristle’s cargo’s, but instead of grabbing his dick like he was hoping he would, he yanks them down and exposes his bare ass.
Gristle pries his mouth away, “Jared, what the fuck-!”
His boss reaches down and grabs his jaw, his nails digging into his cheek and neck as he forces Gristle still, his eyes dark, “Shut up.”
It must have been the jet, or some combination of that and the vodka, because something in Jared’s eyes looked unlike anything Gristle had seen before, some desperation and fear, anger, hurt, and frustration, it all leaked out and was now running down his face.
Gristle had tensed up to clock him right in the fucking jaw, because he wasn’t cool with being dominated without his fucking permission, but seeing that look in his eyes made him go slack, and he stopped trying to fight back. Jared is crying, and he has no idea what to fucking do.
So... he doesn’t do or say anything at all, like the fucking wasted idiot he is, and Jared latches onto him like a bloodworm, biting his neck and painfully breaking the skin, sucking hard and leaving dark bruises as he pulls him closer. He doesn’t know when or how he got his prick out, but he forces it into him without a thought or care to his lieutenants discomfort.
Gristle locks his jaw, strangling a howl of pain as his boss mercilessly begins to pound him into the mattress, his hips slapping so hard against his ass that it echoes. The lieutenant grabs the sides of the frame to try and brace himself, his knuckles going white with the pressure of his grip, and a series of hard whines begin to escape his throat that started sharp but almost immediately turned wonton like he was some kind of wasteland whore. The appeal of Jared fucking him like this is apparently enough fucking foreplay.
Jared buries his face in Gristles neck when he obviously can’t concentrate on making tender bruises anymore, the thrusts turn into spastic jerks that end with Jared’s hand clawing against Gristles hip to angle him up. The lieutenant arches his back into the sudden pressure against a sensitive inner organ and he comes with a white hot splatter against his stained white muscle shirt right as Jared finishes with the last few jerks of his hips and releases into his second-in-command. Gristle won’t admit, at least not aloud, that he curled his head back and moaned into the sensation of being stuffed with what feels like a heavy handful of it.
“Fuck,” Jared exhales with a growl, “Fuck...”
Gristle’s head doesn’t un-fog right away; he’s trying to process what just happened. He feels even drunker now, his body like a bag of wet sand, and he doesn’t even feel how badly his ass probably hurts. With the pressure of Jared lying over him, still inside him, he just wants to stay right where he is.
“Get out.”
Gristle had let his eyes flutter closed with the afterglow, but they open again and all of his relaxation suddenly tenses as a hard and unpleasant feeling coils in the pit of his stomach, and all he can utter out in response is; “Fuck you.”
Jared pushes himself up and away and Gristle flinches with a ripe new pain as he isn’t any kind of gentle when he pulls out.
“I said get out.” There’s no fire in his voice like before, there doesn’t seem to but much of anything but exhaustion and for some reason it’s hard for his lieutenant to hear.
“Jared-”
“Get the fuck out!” Jared suddenly snaps, and Gristle flinches a second time for an entirely different reason.
Like before, he doesn’t have words. This shit isn’t what he’s used to, Jared is a fucking asshole but he’s never acted like this before. It’s like he’s lost and defeated and Gristle can’t find the words to respond other than a crass, ‘go fuck yourself’ but even that stops in his throat and all he does is do what he’s told.
He pulls his cargos back up and leaves.
The burn he feels as he tries to walk is nothing compared to how fucking angry he is.
He’s fucking pissed at Jared for acting so different and leaving him without knowing how to respond, but he’s even more pissed at himself for not just saying something to him, anything. Anything would have been better than letting him have his fucking way. He could have gone off and told him he’s not some fucking whore that he can kick out after he’s got his dick wet, he could have punched him, kicked his ass, because they both know that Gristle is stronger out of the two. He’s leaving, but he could go back. He could still kick his ass for acting like a fucking asshole, but all he can see is that look on his face before he fucked him.
There’s only one thing he can do...
He has to deliver that old bitch to his front door.
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