Chapter Text
His eyes were locked on the clock that was slowly ticking down his imprisonment. How long had he been here? It felt like forever. How many sunrises and sunsets had he seen? The scratches on the wall, one for every day, seemed endless. Would he ever see freedom? Would he feel the warmth of a free sun on his face ever again? Maybe he never would. This place, this horrible Hell hole was sapping him of not only his energy and age, but his sanity. Just how much--
“Home time!” Jamison cheered as the clock hit six o’clock. He all but vaulted over the counter that was one of those hard plastic ones so it could show off the goods under the protective barrier without threat of them being stolen by daring teens. Just who’d want to steal a Red Hot Chili Pepper belt buckle anyway?
He didn’t care, as he dashed past his co-worker to vanish into the backroom. It was a very small room, big enough for just one to take a nap on a few unopened boxes filled with meme and retro themed t-shirts. But it was enough room for Jamison to tug off the work shirt, not wanting to wear the gaudy Ghostbusters shirt anymore and pulled on a simple black t-shirt.
Just how he’d perfected the act of pinning a button to the shirt with one hand would be a mystery to both, but he pinned the rainbow flag to his left chest and grinned down at it before he went to inspect his reflection in the small, cracked mirror. He had a buzz cut, save for the top part of his head which was long, coloured red, orange and yellow to make it look like some kind of fire. It was held in place by hopes and dreams, as well as a lot of hair gel and hairspray. He grabbed a comb and forced it through the mess, sticking it right back up, before adding another layer of hairspray.
It was Friday night, after all. And Friday nights meant club night.
Feeling a bit of a twinge he reached down with his left hand and rubbed his palm against the stub of his right arm. It was missing half of his forearm from the mid way down, and over the stump he’d had it tattooed to look like a fire back when he’d been 19 years old. Five, six years ago now. Had it really been that long? The same could be said for the same kind of tattoo over his leg stump, a flame that tickled up his remaining calf. He liked it. Just as much as he liked the multiple ear piercings through both ears, and the gauges in both lobes.
Didn’t matter, not at all. Not with a good night ahead of him of drinking, dancing, flirting his way through the club, and maybe he’ll be lucky enough to end up bringing some guy home. Now that would be one Hell of a way to end a working week. Give him someone to pleasure with his pierced tongue, which matched nicely with the piercings below his bottom lip.
Now that he was all dressed up and done up, Jamison dashed out of the door and raced out of the store and into the mall. His boots squeaked against the polished shiny flooring, and he made his way to the nearest exit. The dying daylight sprinkled its fading light across his face as it dipped into the horizon, and Jamison probably wouldn’t see it again until Sunday.
The club wasn’t too far from the giant, hulking mall that he worked at. Which was useful, as he didn’t have to catch a bus, or hail down a taxi to take him somewhere. After all he was without his license, as driving with one hand was kind of hard, and if he was going to get drunk as he thought he was getting behind a wheel would probably cost him a lot more than a few missing limbs. He was a double amputee, after all, but nobody would know by looking at him. His prosthetic leg was hidden with his jeans, and the boot and only when he was stripping for bed, or a shower, would you see his metal and plastic leg that helped him get around all day.
From around the corner he could hear the music playing already, and he grinned toothily as he approached. Already there was a bit of a crowd, and he could spot a few familiar faces so at least he could chat with some guys, and girls. Course, only after he helped himself to a beer from the bar.
“Oi, bar keep! The usual!” he called as he approached, and the young pretty thing behind the bar nodded and soon he had a nice cold glass in his tattooed hand. On the back of his hand was a tattooed face; a round, smiling face that looked like it had been stitched into place. Nobody else had a symbol like this, as he’d designed it way back when he’d been in primary school. It was his symbol.
Cracking open the beer he pushed it to his lips, and tilted his head back to swallow some of the tasty amber liquid before looking around the club. Not too busy, but it was still considered early. He leaned on the bar with his arm stump, crossing one foot over the other as he did. Enjoying the loud ambience of the bar was a welcoming change; the music here wasn’t some selected top 100 pop tunes like those that played at work.
If he heard that highly popular busty blond’s catchy tune one more time he’d chew his good arm off.
That’s when the door to the club opened and in walked the most beautiful man Jamison had ever laid eyes on.
For one, he was all. That in itself was a sight to behold as Jamison was pushing six foot six but it hardly showed as he had the most awful posture one could imagine. But if he were to stand to his full height he would tower over everyone here. But not this stranger. Not this dark skinned, white and pink haired mystery man wearing a bandana that was adorned with a pig snout over his face.
A black jacket was pulled over those strong, broad shoulders that only helped enhance just how thick his body was. Not only was he tall but he was wide, one would say fat but Jamison would call him solid. So very solid. As were those arms, muscular, strong, capable of probably choking someone in a choke hold and the very idea of being overpowered by him made Jamison’s knees weak.
God he wanted to have unspeakable things done to him by this stranger.
And then he approached the bar, this towering man of strength and size, slapped those huge hands down on the counter and those eyes smiled in place of his lips as he spoke. “Scotch. Neat. And a straw please.” his voice was incredibly deep and only made Jamison’s knees feel weaker still. Being so close, Jamison could now see two pins very similar to the one he wore pinned to the collar of the jacket he wore. There was a pink, yellow and blue flag (pansexual), and accompanying it was a flag of blue, pink, and white stripes (transexual). Jamison perked a bit, and leaned over slightly.
“Scotch man, huh?” he asked, grinning toothily.
“Hate it with rocks.” the man replied, his eyes slowly moving to look him over. “Waters it too much.”
“Beer bloke meself.” Jamison replied. “Nice ‘n cheap like me.” he joked, going so far to wink.
The stranger laughed, amused at the frank openness of the other. “Cute.”
That was a good sign. Jamison perked up a bit, grinning, before offering his only hand to him. “Name’s Jamie! Well, Jamison, but only me mums call me that when they’re pissed at me.”
He watched, and waited to see if his hand would be taken. Maybe he’d come across too strong. Nor not strong enough, judging by how his hand was clasped in the strong, large hand and squeezed like a grape in the fist of a giant. “So, you gonna gimme a name or am I going to have to call you handsome bastard all night?”
“Roadhog.” he replied and Jamison was sure he could feel that smirk behind that mask.
“That ain’t your real name.”
“It’s the only name you need to know.” Roadhog replied before putting the straw under the mask to sip at the clean scotch.
Jamison raised both his eyebrows at this, before a grin slowly crossed his face. Oh, now this was a mystery. "Just askin' mate, cuz I know almost everyone who shows up in this here bar 'n your face is a pretty fresh and new one if you get my drift. New in town?"
"Maybe." Roadhog shut both his eyes as he took another swig of his drink, Jamison taking the opportunity to look at his jacket a bit more. Asides from those two flag pins, there was a round red one that looked like one of those 'no smoking' signs only instead of a cigarette there was a ... leg of ham? Pork?
And one button was a simple round pink pig face. Clearly a fan of pigs. I mean, if he chose a nickname like Roadhog it was clear he had a preference to the snout nosed barn animals. Which was cute, imagining this hulking, huge guy holding a tiny teacup pig. The mental picture alone had Jamison biting his bottom lip, smiling fit to burst.
Then the music shifted and something very loud, and punk-like came on the stereo system. Jamison perked up immediately, stood to his full height and reached over, grabbing Roadhog’s sleeve in his fist. “Dance with me mate!”
“Uh?”
He didn’t have much of a choice; the skinny, one armed guy easily dragged his ass off of his seat and to the dance floor. Had to admit the song was good, and clearly this Jamison had good choice of music for wanting to dance to it. He was a sight though, wasn’t he? Head like a cockatoo, a missing arm, those tattoos... he was interesting. Exciting. Roadhog didn’t dislike that, it was certainly different to the types of guys he had known before from his old town.
Most wouldn’t call what they were doing dancing. There was a lot of head banging involved, throwing of arms up, and stomping feet on the ground as if they were curb stomping someone. But for Jamison and the mysterious Roadhog this dancing would do just as well as any other kind of dancing. It was like they were ballet dancing with one another, the way they would shift and move around one another almost as if they’d done this before. Those swinging fists never connected, always just narrowly missing. Roadhog felt Jamison’s singular fist swish past his face on more than one occasion; the threat of the punch making his heart skip but not with a negative purpose. Jamison had seen those flag pins on his jacket, he seemed to know what they meant and was still talking to him. Even dancing with him. It made his heart race faster still.
The music only seemed to grow louder, ringing in both their ears, as well as the other people in the crowd who were dancing along with them with a feverish abandon. A wild Friday night at one of the only ‘punk’ friendly bars in the town, of course it would be jumping before 7pm. And that was without happy hour which begun at 7:30 and ran until 9:30. Jamison never understood that, they claimed it was happy Hour, not happy Hours. But on the other hand, it meant drinks half price, so who could argue that?
Just how long they’d spent dancing with one another was lost on both of them; neither had a watch on their wrist, nor the desire to pull out a phone to check since they were too occupied with the dancing.
When the dancing finally came to an end, despite the music still blaring and easily melting into a new song, the two men were a wheezing, sweaty mess. Roadhog wheezed as he moved back to the bar to find something to lean on that could manage his weight while Jamison was excitedly talking to someone else he knew in the crowd. He looked half dead, yet still had the energy to bounce on his heels as he yelled above the loud music to be heard by his friend.
Mako reached into his back pocket and froze, eyes widening. In his excitement, and haste, to get to this club he'd gone and done the stupidest thing imaginable. He'd forgotten his inhaler back home and his lungs were wheezing in those early signs of needing their medication, and he was without it.
Shooting a look to the back of the cockatoo hair styled man he offered a weak smile beneath his mask before rushing to the door. Stepping outside the cold air blasted at him, making his lungs burn even more since he was going from a very warm environment to the cold air outside. He tugged his jacket as close as he could, kept his breathing as under control as humanly possible, and began to make his way through the darkening streets.
Some night out.
The apartment block he called home wasn’t too far away, if he really felt like it he could return to the club after getting his breathing back under control but he’d have to consider that pretty hard considering how cold it already was out here. Making his way up the steps to the front door he makes his way inside, and into the elevator which took him to the 8th floor. Stepping out, he pulled out his second pair of keys and fumbled with the new door handle and key, before making his way inside.
“Hey?” he called out quietly; the apartment was in darkness for the most part, though there was an ever present glow coming out from beneath his roommate’s door. “Sombra?”
He jolted when the front door opened, and he spun around to see the young woman make her way inside. She was wearing her purple parka over her jeans, scarf wrapped around her neck but the most important accessory she had was a dog leash that led down to the small, skinny, brown tanned dog who was utterly hairless save for a few white curls sticking out of the top of its head.
It wore a purple coat too, and little black booties over her feet. The collar was covered in sparkly sequins, the name tag ‘Ascii’ clearly displayed.
“Oh hey Mako,” she brushed a long lock of purple hair out of her eyes as she shut the door behind her. “Didn’t think to see you home so early. Cold feet? It is pretty chilly out there.”
“Forgot my puffer.” he admitted as he finally made his way to his room, throwing the door open and walked in. Sure enough there it was, left on his bed where he’d put it. Picking it up he sits down, beginning to use it as Ascii came scurrying into the room and leaped onto the bed besides him, her cold nose sniffing at his hand. Inhaling his medication he holds his breath, reaching his hand down to pet the bald dog’s head.
“So did you have fun?” Sombra asked, shrugging her parker off as she stood in the doorway to his room. “Run into other punks?” she grinned cheekily.
She waited for his answer patiently, as the medicine did its job. Mako lowered his inhaler and smiled weakly. “Didn’t really get to meet anyone save for one guy...”
“Oh? Do tell!” she moves into the room and sits on the edge of his bed. “Was he cute? Handsome? Sexy? Ugly?”
“Can a person be all four at once?” he asked before sitting up a little straighter, clasping his hands around his inhaler. “Because he really was. Real sharp face, hair done up all red and orange, missing an arm, skinny as all Hell too. Really, really energetic. Dragged me to dance, even.”
“Someone dragged you into a dance?” Sombra asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “Dude, you’re like a brick house, how could anyone drag you anywhere?”
“I know but he did.”
Sombra whistled. “Impressive. So you got a name? A number?”
“Jamison. His name was Jamison but that’s all I got. Couldn’t get his number, didn’t give him mine.” he replied, before offering a weak smile. “The way I left it’s like some punk Cinderella but without the slipper.”
“Aw dude,” she got up off the bed, pausing to scoop Ascii up into her arms. “That sucks. Think you’ll see him again?”
“Probably not.” Mako kicked his boots off, setting them down on the floor. “It’s a big town and I doubt he’ll be thinking of me any time soon. Still it was fun while it lasted. Next time I go I’ll be taking this guy,” he rattled his inhaler. “So I don’t have to pull a Cinderella again.”
“Maybe you will see him. And sweep him off of his feet!”
He chuckled at that, before standing up and moving over to the drawers to pull one open and take out his pajamas. “Doubtful.”
She tsked, bent down and picked up Ascii into her arms. “Well, g’night man. If you feel better later, you should just head out again. Wrap up a bit more, and really enjoy yourself for once!”
“Not tonight.” Mako muttered as he showed her out of his room fully, and shut the door behind her. “This kind of knocked my want of adventure in drinking out.”
“Gotta be made of tougher stuff boy.” Sombra scolded playfully, but with a wicked little smile, as she set Ascii down on the floor after removing her little booties. They were only put on when they were going outside in this kind of weather, since she didn’t want her suffering cold paws. She looked behind her one moment longer, hearing him shuffle through his room, and she sighed. It was his first night out; maybe it hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped it would but at least he went out. Better than staying in on his computer or something like that.
...Which wasn’t what she did most of the time, no of course not.
Outside the nightclub scene continued on into the night, wild drinking and partying, hookups and breakups, fights, and of course fucking. It was a den of stimulation and Jamison wasn’t immune to it but while there was drinking, partying, and a bit of a fight for him when some random asshole made a comment that made him see red the young man had no hookup. He left the club in a bit of a daze, the face of that masked, pink and white haired man danced still through his head. Why’d he taken off like that? Had he done something to insult him? Was he just not interested and ticked off to avoid an awkward ‘you’re not my type’ talk? What a coward! What a bloody beautiful sexy piece of cowardice he’d found, and lost. Frustration tinted his cheeks red as he caught the bus he always did this time of night, resting his head on the cool, vibrating glass of the vehicle as the city lines twinkled and shined outside.
His stop was a half hour away, what many considered the part of town where it wasn’t necessarily bad but it wasn’t the best living spaces either. Jamison staggered out of the bus, having had a brief power nap, so he didn’t feel as dazed as he did beforehand. He made his way down the street, and an old cinema came into view. Tonight it was playing the classic Great Expectations. Jamison’d had great expectations tonight, when he’d locked eyes with that gorgeous creature and his flirting hadn’t been entirely shut down. He should be with him now, pawing at him with those massive hands as they’d trip their way up the stairs, stealing kisses from one another hungrily as he’d be pushed up against the door to his apartment.
Alas he opens the door alone and stumbles in, shutting the door behind him, before tripping over his feet and hissing in pain as a familiar throb went up his leg. Phantom pain. And if it was starting in his leg, his arm would soon be picking up on the feeling as well. He never liked how that worked; never could he just deal with one limb going all stupid on him but both had to throw a hissy fit around the same time. Making his way through his very small apartment, Jamison managed to reach his bed as he unhooked the prosthetic leg and dropped it unceremoniously on the ground. Once upon a time he’d been so very careful with his first prosthetic, as his mums had paid a lot of money for it.
Now he saw it as just a lump of metal and plastic that weighed him down a lot of the time.
Collapsing onto the bed Jamison stared blankly at the wall which was anything but blank. It was smothered in posters of bands, and singers, he admired. Some pasted on top of one another so it was hard to tell just how many layers there were on the wall. The colours brought him a sense of calm, despite how to somehow anarchic it looked. This was something he was used to. Rolling onto his back he forced himself to sit up, reach over to his bedside set of drawers to grab his medication.
He stared out the nearest window, watching as some rain was beginning to drizzle outside. The light reflecting off the red sheen of the movie theater sign below him, it glowed in his window. Putting the joint to his lips he inhaled slowly, and exhaled; Roadhog was still in his mind. As if he’d pulled up a chair, sat himself down, and refused to move. Still he imagined the thought of those hands on him, helping him out of his clothes as the two would no doubt crush his flimsy bed beneath their combined weight.
Fuck. Now he had a boner. Jamison rolled back onto his bed, joint clenched between his teeth and lips, and stared at his ceiling which was just as chaotic as his wall.
“Mystery man.” he mumbled to himself as his lone hand reached down to unzip his torn, ripped jeans. “Mystery man.”
To be continued