Work Text:
Nux’s new lancer looks like he’s ready to spit metal when he sees who he’s been paired up with, but Nux doesn't let it get to him. “You Slit?” he asks, although it’s hard to confuse this war boy with any other. He’s got quite a face on him, Yarra said. You’ll know ‘im when you see him.
And what a face indeed. What’s left of it.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Slit rolls back a shoulder and crosses his arms over his chest. He makes it look casual enough, but both of them know he’s showing off. A lancer’s worth is in his arms, and his eyes. Slit has had to make up the latter with the former.
Nux pretends he’s not impressed. His eyes trail down Slit’s body, taking in his war scars. The lancer is still in one piece, but if he’s clumsy and gets himself banged up on the regular, Nux has no used for him. “You any good?”
“Are you?” Slit throws back. Rust, look at this little shit of a pup. Slit could break his arms, easy. But no. He’s in need of a driver and the wheel has spun them together.
Nux huffs. Every war boy keeps taking him for a pup, thinking he’s too young to know a stick shift from his cock. “Shiny and chrome.”
Slit rolls his eyes. “Shiny, sure. Brand new, you are.” The pup isn’t all bad. He’s earned a bit of black around the eyes, and the art on his chest is pretty chrome. But he’s still a lanky pole of a war boy, even if he’s taller than Slit. (Real shitty, that.)
“And you’re what, rusty?” Nux jerks his chin at Slit’s staples - on his cheek, more on his belly. A bad scrape, he guesses. Whether due to a shitty lancer, or a shitty driver, that's the question.
Slit’s cheek twitches, then pulls back into a disturbingly wide sneer. “Rust’ll poison your blood.”
Nux stares at Slit, grinding his teeth. He has to be the one in control here, has to be the one with the hand on the wheel, but damned if this war boy isn’t slippery. “Answer the bloody question.”
Slit’s eyebrows shoot up. For the first time, Nux actually registers his black forehead, and what it means. Aw, shit.
“I’m not fucking rusty.” Slit steps up right into his driver’s face. The boy doesn’t back down. “There. Happy, pup?”
Nux holds Slit’s gaze for a long moment, then, just as Slit starts to relax, starts to get cocky, thinking Nux is going to let it all slide like oil over metal, Nux presses his face forward, his forehead grinding against Slit’s. Their noses smash up against each other. Slit doesn’t even blink.
“It’s Nux. Not pup. Nux.”
Slit stares at him a moment. Their breaths mingle. Nux can almost feel Slit’s tongue as he licks his lips. “Right. Nux it is, then.” With that, Slit takes a step back and hooks his thumbs into his belt. His whole demeanor has changed. He seems… Well, calm, is the best Nux can come up with.
Nux is the opposite of calm. His organic engine is thudding hard in his chest. He feels like he squeezed every last drop of bravado out of his balls for that stare-down.
Oh Valhalla, why did the wheel pair him up with a Greasy? Nux might as well be a pup, compared to Slit’s experience, his war victories.
Slit cocks his head to one side. “We gonna pool our kit or what?”
Nux blinks, then cringes. It must be pathetically obvious Nux has never had a lancer before. “Oh. Yeah. Right, right.”
Slit raises his eyebrows and makes a questioning gesture with his hands. After an awkward moment, during which Nux stares at him like he’s forgotten how to speak, Slit sighs. “You gonna lead the way? To your den?” he prods.
“Right.” Nux raises an index finger. “Right. Um, this way.” He turns on his heel, index still raised, and points down a corridor.
It gets easier after that, when it's just them talking shop, showing off their tools, trading a few. Slit has a truly wicked arm brace with a spring-loaded knife that Nux is particularly envious of.
Slit smiles when Nux peers and pokes at it, trying to figure it out. “Get me the parts and I can make you one,” he says.
Nux stares at Slit. “Fuck, really?” He doesn’t care that he sounds exactly like a pup in that instant. He doesn’t even care that Slit laughs at him, a sharp bark, and Nux’s stomach coils a little, seeing how wide Slit’s smile splits his face.
“Really. But,” and here Nux frowns, waiting for the price, “you’ve got to fix up your lancer’s perch if I say it needs fixing. The way I say it needs fixing.”
Nux frowns. “Oh. Is that it?”
Slit turns his wrist, offering Nux his hand. “Deal, pup?”
It’s the easiest deal he’s ever made. Nux wants nothing but the best for his car, and that includes the best perch, now that he’s got a lancer. “Deal.” He grips Silt’s hand. Slit squeezes it and Nux has to hold back a wince because the damned lancer almost breaks his bones without even trying.
“Let’s see her, then,” Slit says, winking.
Nux nods, and he can’t help a proud grin at the thought of his car. “She takes a bit of scrambling to get to, but -”
Slit waves off Nux’s words. “I know you’re not in the main garage. Or the one next to it.”
“…Or the one next to that,” Nux adds, with an apologetic wince.
Slit looks like he wants to bury his face in his hands at the knowledge of how low-tier a driver he’s been lumped with, but instead he just closes his eyes and sighs. He’ll just have to crawl his way back up the ranks, and drag his driver up with him. This is what happens to you when all that’s Witnessed is your failure to actually go out chrome. “Whatever. Let’s go see her.”
It’s a glum walk down the corridors, and every step towards the shit-hole of an engine room where Nux’s car is waiting is a little harder than the last. As they pass by a chalk room, Slit grabs Nux by the elbow and drags him into it. The car can wait just a bit longer. He’s in need of a laugh.
“What’re you - Get off,” says Nux, shaking himself free.
“Your paint’s shit,” Slit says, not even looking at Nux, too busy already chipping away at the chalk from a deeply gored wall.
“No it’s not,” Nux snaps back. He pauses, then glances down at himself. Well, it’s not shit, but it’s seen better days.
Slit turns back to Nux, bucket of chalk in one hand and squirt bottle of oil in the other. “It’s shit. Your car’s probably shit too. But it’s our car now, and your my driver, and by Joe, you are going to look like a proper war boy.”
Nux gives Slit an incredulous look. “Really?” He finds it hard to believe that Slit’s one of those war boys who likes to strut his devotion to the V8, but… Slit’s own paint is pretty impeccable, actually.
Slit gives Nux a piercing look as he mixes up the paint. “Bet you don’t even know how to put it on right.” Easy, now. Play with the pedals, give the pup just enough…
“I know how to put paint on. Every pup knows that,” Nux snaps, then quickly adds, “and I’m not even a pup.”
Slit fights to hide his smile, biting on the ragged insides of his cheeks. Steady, steady. “Bet you don’t know it’s supposed to go on your dick, too.”
Nux gapes at Slit. His jaw actually falls open. “The paint’s supposed to go where?” A cold weight drops in his stomach. Oh, rust, he’s been doing it wrong after all. Nux starts fumbling with his belts, cursing under his breath.
Slit looks up at Nux, and he can’t hold back any longer. The utter look of horror on his driver’s face is truly amazing. One for the ages, it is. Slit throws his head back and laughs, then has to bend over double to laugh some more because when he glances at Nux, the pup is still standing there with the most lost look on his face and his trousers around his knees.
Slit wheezes, swallowing his laughter, having it bubble back up in a giggle, and stands straight again. He slaps paint onto Nux’s chest.
Nux stumbles back a little and Slit follows him. Nux is frowning now, feeling like he’s been had. Knowing he’s been had. He pulls his trousers up again and buckles his belts.
“Your face. It’s -“ Slit grabs at Nux’s face with paint-smeared hands. “Oh, that was beautiful, the look on your face.”
Nux tries to shake his head free of Slit’s grip, but the odd joy on Slit’s face - and again that strange calm from before - stop him. Instead, he offers a smile. Slit’s hands slide over his face with the paint, their touch as soft as a pup’s, and for a second, it feels nice.
Then Slit’s hands slide off to grip Nux by the shoulders, kneading the muscle there a little, as if testing him, and that feels… Nux bites his lower lip, trying to pin the word down.
It flies off into the wind when Slit presses his forehead up against Nux’s, his smile the widest it’s ever been. “You,” Slit says, breath right on Nux’s mouth, “have a lot to learn.”
Nux pushes back against Slit, and he’s sure he’ll end up with a smudged grease stain on his forehead. “I know plenty. You were messing with me.” He takes a step forward, crowding into Slit. “Don’t.”
Slit seems unfazed by Nux’s show of intimidation. He even goes so far as to close his eyes, and Nux can see his shoulders sag, relaxed. He should push the matter, should make it clear that it’s his wheel, no matter how much grease Slit has, or how many wars he’s been in.
But he doesn’t. He stands still, Slit’s hands on his shoulders and his face pressed up right against his, and waits. After a moment, Slit lets him go and flicks off the paint still on his hands back into the bucket. Then, Nux takes a leap.
“I wanna climb the chain,” he says. “Plan to. Got the fastest car already, I reckon, so it shouldn’t be too hard for us to be in the first garage. Maybe even make first platform out.”
The way Slit’s face lights up tells Nux he’s guessed right. “You’ve got the best lancer, too. Truth.”
Nux smiles. A demoted lancer, he thinks. (But then, Nux is an untried driver, so he’s not one to talk.) One aching to get back up top where he used to be.
“Stick with me, then,” Nux says, “and we’ll go out historic.”
Again that face-splitting grin. “Yeah?”
Slit shuffles a little, excited, and Nux crowds close again, steadying him forehead to forehead. “Yeah.”