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Chapter Text

Wainwright Jakobs was not a hunter. Thanks to his partial blindness and general lack of hand-eye coordination, he could barely hit a still target, let alone a moving one. Luckily for him, he figured out that shotguns were the solution to his problems, and he used a slightly modified one as his go-to weapon. Beyond the issue of his problem shooting guns, Wainwright just wasn’t one for exploring, adventuring, or whatever one wanted to call it. He much preferred staying home, relaxing in a plush leather armchair in front of a crackling fire, a book in one hand and a glass of fine whiskey in the other.

So, of course, his father set him up on a hunting trip.

“Pa, ya know I don’t do huntin’,” Wainwright said.

“Yeah, I know. Ya never shut up about it,” his father, Montgomery Jakobs, replied.

“So why’d ya set me up like this?”

“Ya never leave the house, Wainwright, ‘cept to go to the bookstore or the liquor store. I worry ‘bout ya. Plus, you’re not gettin’ any younger,” Monty said.

“What’s that supposed t’mean?”

“I mean, when I was your age, I had already married your ma,” Monty said. “Isn’t it time ya start looking for that Mr. Special?”

“I’ve had boyfriends, Pa,” Wainwright said. He occupied himself with polishing a rocks glass with his handkerchief.

“And none of them lasted six months.”

“Don’t need t’rub it in,” Wainwright said. He pulled an ice cube from the bucket next to the decanter and used it to wet a particularly stubborn smudge.

“You’re gettin’ older, Wainwright. Gonna get a lot harder to find guys who are single and decent,” Monty replied. He sat down in one of the many armchairs that were scattered around the parlor.

“Maybe I don’t wanna find somebody. Ever consider that?” Wainwright asked, turning to face his father.

Monty laughed. “I’ve seen the books you read, boy. You’re just waitin’ to find the perfect guy to sweep ya off your feet.”

“That’s books, Pa. Those kinda things don’t happen in the real world.” He set down the glass.

“I found your ma, didn’t I?”

Eden-6. The planet— well, moon— with, by far, the most misleading name. Alistair Hammerlock was sure that many a traveler had set a course for the world hoping for warm, sandy beaches and clear, blue seas, only to be greeted by swampy jungle as far as the eye could see. Alistair didn’t mind, though. He wasn’t there to get a tan. He had been hired by Montgomery Jakobs, CEO of the Jakobs Corporation, to lead a hunting expedition through one of the planet’s many untamed woodlands. Alistair had been to Eden-6 once before, not long after the business with Handsome Jack had been resolved, and found that the Saurians that inhabited the planet provided an excellent challenge.

Alistair was also pleased, indeed, flattered, to have been hired by one with as much power and influence as Montgomery Jakobs. He only wondered what the occasion was. A birthday, a wedding, an anniversary, perhaps? From what he had managed to gather, Montgomery had at least one son, Wainwright. Maybe it had something to do with him.

“The guide I hired should be here any minute now,” Monty said.

“Ya hired a guide?” Wainwright replied.

“Well, I’m not exactly gonna send my only son off into the wild without some hope of him comin’ back home in one piece.”

“Real encouraging, Pa.”

“You’re the one who keeps goin’ on about how y’ain’t a hunter.”

“I can handle a gun enough to keep myself alive.”

“Oh, now, can you?” Monty said. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re a right bastard, ya know that?” Wainwright said.

“Good to know ya come by it honestly.”

Wainwright laughed and was coming up with his own biting retort when the holo-doorbell rang.

“Who is it?” Monty yelled, not bothering to leave his chair.

“Um, this is Sir Hammerlock. I’m the guide you hired for your hunting trip. Can you let me in?”

“Let the man inside, Wainwright,” Monty said.

Wainwright stood up from his chair and walked over to the door of the lodge. He opened it, and Sir Hammerlock entered.

The first thing that Wainwright noticed was his height; due to the lack of nutritious food available to most on Eden-6, the average Edenian was rather short. Even though Wainwright grew up in the richest family on the planet, he couldn’t escape genetics, and centuries of Edenian forefathers had left him shorter than most men from other worlds. The hunter didn’t hide his height either, his posture was impeccable, and he carried himself with an air of control and poise, as though his very silhouette was being judged.

The next thing he noticed was his rather large walrus mustache, well maintained, with equal parts black-brown and grey hairs. Above it was a wide and round nose that slightly curved upward, and below it were full round lips. He wore a pair of glasses, though one of the lenses was shattered. Wainwright realized that he wouldn’t have needed it anyway, as the eye it would have covered was a bionic replacement that shone with a soft red light. His right arm and right leg were also prosthetic, at least to the elbow and knee.

He wore a rather odd outfit: a tan suit of a design Wainwright was unfamiliar with, a red undershirt, a leather hiking boot on his non-prothetic leg and a leather glove on his non-prothetic hand, and a number of belts, pockets, and pouches. A hat with an upturned brim on one side and a feather in the band completed his outfit. In addition to these clothes, he had a large backpack on his back.

“Come in,” Wainwright said.

The man who answered the door to the lodge clearly wasn’t Montgomery, so Alistair assumed it was his son, Wainwright.

Though he knew that Edenians were on the shorter side, he was surprised at how much shorter Wainwright was than him; the other man had to look up to look him in the eye. His hair was an even grey and stood up on end like he had been bitten by a shock skag. By contrast, though, his mustache and beard were neat and trimmed. His face was weathered and wrinkled, his nose long and thin, with a bump near the middle that made Alistair believe it had once been broken. His eyes, one cloudy blue, one warm hazel, stood out to Alistair from underneath his thick, unruly eyebrows.

He wore a light grey suit with red edging, darker grey slacks, a warm grey vest, and a white dress shirt. A rather wide red tie and thick belt completed the look.

“Come in,” he said. His voice carried the typical accent of an Edenian.

“Thank you,” Alistair replied. He followed Wainwright into the parlor.

“Hello there, Sir Hammerlock. I’m Monty Jakobs,” Montgomery said. He stood up from his chair, and offered his hand for a handshake. Alistair shook his hand. “This is my son, Wainwright Jakobs.” He gestured toward the man who greeted him at the door.

Wainwright offered his hand to Alistair, and he shook it. His grip was strong, firm, practiced, but his hands were surprisingly soft and delicate for a man of his age hailing from such a rough planet. Unconsciously, he hesitated to let go.

“So, where’s the hunting party?” Alistair asked. “Are they here, or shall we rendezvous on location?

“You’ve already met him,” Montgomery said. “You’ll be taking my son here on a private expedition. Y’see, my Wainwright’s a bit of a homebody. He needs to get out and about more. That’s where you come in. Y’take him on a bit of an adventure, nothin’ too challenging, but still plenty of thrills. I’m sure y’have somethin’ in mind.”

“Oh, of course,” Alistair said. In truth, he had planned his expedition for a party of at least four, but most likely closer to six. A party of two, where one member was a “homebody”, would require much different planning.

“Great! You two can leave tomorrow!”

Chapter Text

It nearly took an all-nighter, but Alistair managed to completely rework his hunting plans to work for the much smaller party size. Thankfully, Montgomery was the one providing the equipment they would use, otherwise, Alistair would have to have a stern talk with him about the financial resources of freelancers.

Said equipment was of high quality, as to be expected from a man of Monty’s net worth. There were compact tents, bedrolls, canteens, rations, and, of course, ammunition, traps, and rope. Next to the equipment was a Jakobs hunting rifle (one of the lower-capacity models, with a scope and a bayonet) and a Jakobs shotgun (double-barreled with a set of iron sights). Alistair presumed they were for Wainwright, though a shotgun was an odd choice for the kind of creatures they would be hunting. He’d have to ask him about it later.

Wainwright was in the kitchen, enjoying a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, when Sir Hammerlock walked in from the guest suite.

“Sleep well?” Wainwright asked.

“About as well as one can when he must stay up half the night fixing problems he did not cause,” Hammerlock said. He glanced at Wainwright’s plate. “Is there any more bacon?”

“Should be more in the skillet on the stovetop. Help yourself,” Wainwright replied. He took a bite of his eggs. “What kinda problems?”

“The kind where your father did not tell me that you were the only one I would be hunting with,” He placed several strips of bacon onto a napkin and took a seat at the table, across from Wainwright. “I was hoping to track down and slay the dreaded Queen Tyrant. Oh well. Perhaps another time.”

“Now, who says we couldn’t take her down?” Wainwright said.

Hammerlock raised an eyebrow. “The Queen Tyrant stands twenty-five feet tall and has teeth the size of steak knives. As skilled as I am, the two of us could not take her down,” He paused. “Do you have any tea?”

“We’ve got sweet tea in the icebox,” Wainwright said. “Brewed it myself.”

Hammerlock made a face. “Not that cold, saccharine excuse for a decent drink. Tea. Served hot and strong.”

“Hey! I won’t have ya in my house besmirching the good name of sweet tea. It’s a delicious and refreshing beverage. Y’want somethin’ hot and strong, have some coffee,” Wainwright said.

“Do you have no culture? Coffee and tea are not the same thing,” Hammerlock replied.

Wainwright was taken aback. “I have plenty of culture. Have you ever been to a grog run? Didn’t think so.”

“What in heaven’s name is a grog run?” Hammerlock asked.

“It’s when ya find a bunch o’ grogs and chase them off a waterfall. Don’t ya do that where you’re from?”

“That is absolutely barbaric.”

“The grogs survive. Usually.”

Hammerlock sighed. “Besides,” he said. “Grogs don’t exist outside of the Eden system.”

“Oh,” Wainwright said. “I’ve never left Eden-6.”

“I figured,” Hammerlock said. “Daddy wouldn’t want his only heir to hop on the first ship off-world and never come back.”

“Actually,” Wainwright said. “I’ve never wanted to leave. What’s out there that I don’t have here?”

“Plenty of things,” Hammerlock said. “This galaxy is full of creatures, some of them beyond your wildest imagination.”

“That might be your thing, but it ain’t mine. I’m more than content to stay where I am, which is right here on Eden-6,” Wainwright said. He downed his coffee.

“We should leave soon, so we have plenty of daylight,” Hammerlock said. He stood up from the table.

“Y’know it never gets very dark ‘round this time of year, right?” Wainwright asked. Thanks to the nature of being a moon orbiting a gas giant, Eden-6’s day-night cycle was different than a planet’s would be.

“Still,” Hammerlock replied. “I don’t care much for waiting around. Tell your father that we’ll be heading out.”

“Will do,” Wainwright said.

He tracked down Monty, who was sitting in the parlor, listening to an ECHOnet show.

“We’re headin’ out, Pa,” Wainwright said.

“Make sure y’come back in one piece, why don’t ya?” Monty replied.

“Bye,” Wainwright replied. He left the parlor.

His family was never one for sentimentality.

Alistair and Wainwright took an outrider to the jungle where they were going to hunt: the Greedy Woods. Once they had arrived, the two of them stopped and got out. Alistair donned his rucksack and buckled the straps across his chest, and slung his rifle across his back. This was the way he liked to live: nothing but him and the great wild.

Wainwright, by contrast, looked far less prepared. His hunting clothes were ill-fitting, having been sourced last-minute without time for tailoring. His rifle, while also worn across his back, wasn’t even loaded, and he was carrying the shotgun Alistair had seen earlier.

“Why did you bring a shotgun on a hunting trip?” Alistair asked. “The bullets will make a mess of the head. Don’t you want a trophy to bring home?”

“Can’t use any other kinda gun,” Wainwright replied.

“Well, you have a rifle. I could teach you how to use it,” Alistair said. “You’re a Jakobs. Should be in your blood.”

“I mean I can’t ,” Wainwright said. “I’m blind in one eye. Can’t see well enough to take a proper shot. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Why not have it replaced?” Alistair asked.

“And have a chance of someone mucking up the good one? No thank you. I’m fine with what I’ve got.” Wainwright replied.

“I suppose you should let me do the shooting then,” Alistair said. “I’m interested in my prey staying in one piece.”

“Perfectly fine by me,” Wainwright replied. “Let’s head out.”

Chapter Text

Wainwright and Sir Hammerlock had been in the Greedy Wood for several hours, and, so far, nothing had tried to kill them. What few creatures they had encountered so far were mostly small and timid, and had run away at the sound of their footsteps. 

Well, Wainwright’s footsteps.

“Can you walk any more loudly, Jakobs?” Hammerlock asked, exasperated.

“I’m tryin’ my best,” Wainwright replied.

“Let me see how you walk,” Hammerlock said.

“What’d’ya mean, how I walk? I walk like anyone else does.”

“That simply won’t do,” Hammerlock said. “You need to walk nearly heel-to-toe to muffle your footsteps.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Watch.” Hammerlock walked forward. He was bent slightly forward, rifle close to his chest. His feet were nearly in line with each other, with only a slight gap between them, and he waited until one foot was fully planted before lifting the other.

“Y’look completely ridiculous,” Wainwright said.

“It doesn’t matter how I look, so long as I am not heard,” Hammerlock replied indignantly.

“You’re all, ‘Oh, look at me, I’m Sir Hammerlock, the animals can’t hear me!’,” Wainwright said in a mocking rendition of Hammerlock’s accent. He pranced around, mocking the prim and proper hunter with a gait that was a mixture of skipping and tip-toeing, when suddenly his foot hit a rock, and he tumbled over.

With all the swiftness and grace of a pouncing beast, Hammerlock rushed forward, catching Wainwright before he fell. One hand supported his upper back, the other his lower. Their faces were mere inches apart. Wainwright saw the other man’s remaining eye, behind the thick lens of his spectacles, was the deep brown of the knots of an aged oak barrel.

Alistair wasn’t quite sure how he did it. One moment he saw Wainwright fall, the next he had caught him. He could feel the warmth of Wainwright’s breath, the muscles of his back underneath the cotton of his shirt. It felt like something out of a dramatic illustration; if one of them moved, it would all be over.

“I’ll be more careful next time,” Wainwright said, finally breaking the silence.

Alistair helped him to his feet. “You better,” he replied. “I may not be there to catch you next time.” He brushed himself off.

“You make a habit of that? Sweeping people off their feet?” Wainwright asked with a smirk.

“Um, well,” Alistar said. He never knew how to respond to those kinds of remarks. It was a wonder he had ever gotten a boyfriend.

“I’m just messin’ with ya,” Wainwright said. “My ma always said I was too much of a flirt for my own good.”

“You know, while I was at the lodge, I didn’t get a chance to meet your mother. Where was she?” Alistair asked.

“Well, um,” Wainwright said. “She passed away. Last year.”

Alistar was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Y’know, gets easier each day.”

“My mom’s gone too,” Alistar said. “My dad too. Now it’s just me and my—” he tried his best to hide the revulsion in his voice— “sister.”

“What’s the matter with her? Y’say ‘sister’ like y’stepped in jabber shit,” Wainwright said.

“My sister, Aurelia, she hates me. Always has. Tormented me when we were children,” Alistair said.

“That sounds awful,” Wainwright replied. “Almost makes me glad it’s just me and my pa.”

“Just you and your pa?” Alistair asked. “No special someone for Mr. Jakobs?”

Wainwright laughed. “I haven’t had a boyfriend in years, let alone a husband.”

So, Wainwright was attracted to men. Perhaps Alistair had his suspicions; he usually did when it came to such matters, whether he had evidence to base it on or not.

“Boyfriends, eh?” Alistar replied.

“Yeah, and a lousy lot of ‘em, too. Seems that most of Eden-6’s eligible bachelors are too scared of my pa to take me up on a drink,” Wainwright said. “And the ones without that particular hangup had plenty more of their own. The last fella I seriously dated was convinced that Big Eden was actually just a satellite made by one of the megacorporations to mind-control us all.”

Alistair chuckled. “And why did you ever date him?”

Wainwright shrugged. “He knew his liquor. I didn’t know he was completely bat-shit until the third date,” he said. “How ‘bout you? Any luck in love?”

Alistair sighed. “All my boyfriends have had a bad habit of getting themselves killed. I suppose it’s what I get for being the adventurous type.”

“Sounds like the confession of a serial killer,” Wainwright said.

“Oh! I can assure you that I had nothing to do with any of their deaths.”

Wainwright laughed. “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Alistair blushed. He normally wasn’t the type to fall for such an obvious joke.

“My, you’re gettin’ awfully red,” Wainwright said.

Alistar froze for a moment. “Well, just because you can’t shoot doesn’t mean I can’t teach you anything. Let’s learn tracking.”

Wainwright had to admit, Sir Hammerlock was mighty cute when he got flustered. Wainwright was no stranger to the wordplay of flirting, but it was unusual for him to hold such a strong upper hand. He enjoyed it, of course, but he enjoyed this kind of ragging with anyone. There wasn’t anything special about Hammerlock, or the way his shoulders would tense up when he was caught off guard, or the way he would blink twice when he was confused, or how his nervous smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

Nope, nothing special.

“So, trackin’,” Wainwright said, trying to redirect his focus to more concrete things. “Y’mean like followin’ footprints an’ shit?”

“Yes and no,” Hammerlock replied. “Footprints aren’t everything an animal can leave behind, and, depending on the environment, sometimes they aren’t left at all. Here, in the jungles Eden-6, where the ground is soft and damp, footprints are left readily. However, in more rocky soil, or places with high amounts of wind and rain, footprints may not be visible at all,” He moved to examine the small bushes that were scattered around the forest floor. “Animals may damage the undergrowth as they move, and that kind of damage is far more permanent. You can also look for items such as feathers, fur, or shed skin, as well as the remains of any kills. The art of determining the amount of time that has passed since a creature was killed is a whole other thing to be learned.”

“Well, what do ya want me t’do?” Wainwright asked.

“Search around. See if you can find any signs of a beast that passed through here. I will do the same,” Hammerlock replied.

Of course, because of his partial blindness, perception wasn’t one of Wainwright’s skills either, but he wasn’t about to say that, not after Hammerlock had given such a long and clearly passionate speech. He figured he could find a broken branch or something, and that would be enough. 

What he was not expecting to find, then, was a massive footprint.

It was at least one stride long, half as wide, and deep enough to have a small amount of water pooling in the bottom. Whatever creature had made it had four toes— three facing forward, and one facing backward.

“Uh, Hammerlock,” Wainwright said. “I found something.”

“Oh goody!” Hammerlock said. “What is it? A broken branch? A clump of fur? Perhaps, if we are lucky, a hint of the creature’s diet—” He continued walking forward, and nearly fell into the footprint, when Wainwright put out an arm to stop him. He looked to Wainwright, who nodded downward.

“Oh,” Hammerlock said. “This— this is simply astounding. To make a footprint of this size, you would need a beast twenty, thirty feet tall. I shudder to imagine what it might be.”

Wainwright thought back to their conversation at the breakfast table. “The Queen Tyrant?”

“I mean, perhaps, but this is not her usual territory. I specifically avoided it in my plan for this hunt,” Hammerlock said. “This is bad.”

As if on cue, a loud, screeching roar sounded off in the distance.

“Now, I’m not a master hunter like you, Hammerlock,” Wainwright said. “But I’ve lived on this planet long enough to know that sound. That’s the roar of a saurian in heat.”

Chapter Text

A hunt was always about balancing risk and reward. Whenever Alistair went on a hunt, there was always a non-zero chance that he could die. But he tried his best to minimize that chance. The way he had planned it, this hunt was one of the safest he had ever been on.

Now, it was significantly less so.

“Any big ideas, Hammerlock?” Wainwright asked.

Alistair was frantically searching through his ECHOmap for the best place to shelter and regroup. “There’s a small hunting lodge about a half-mile from here that we could stay in. It appears to be available for anyone to rent.”

“So?” Wainwright replied.

“We head over there.”

“And then?”

“We plan our survival in safety,” Alistair said.

The pace that they took to get to the lodge was significantly faster than their previous one, as moving quickly would create more noise. Normally, Alistair disliked causing such a disturbance. Now, it was about keeping him— and, more importantly, Wainwright— alive.

Before long, they had crested the top of a hill, and the lodge was in sight.

“About damn time,” Wainwright said.

“Agreed,” Alistair replied.

However, as they got closer to the lodge, certain details stood out to Alistair as unusual. The trees surrounding the property appeared to be of a flowering variety, though they were not in bloom, and not native to the area. There was a path of brightly colored stones leading to the front door, and the lodge itself was painted a deep red.

“Is it typical for cabins in this region to be decorated like this?” Alistair asked.

“Nope,” Wainwright replied.

When he opened the door and the sultry tones of Digby Vermouth greeted him, Alistair realized he had misread the map. This wasn’t a hunting lodge.

This was a honeymoon lodge.

“What the hell is this?” Wainwright exclaimed.

“I appear to have misread the listing,” Hammerlock replied, frantically tapping on his ECHO. “This is, in fact, a novelty honeymoon suite.”

“Well, that’s just perfect,” Wainwright said.

“It can still provide us with shelter. We should take stock of the place,” Hammerlock said. He walked into the kitchen. After taking a moment to weave a string of curses that’d make a bandit blush, Wainwright followed.

“The refrigerator and pantry appear to mostly be stocked with champagne, chocolates, and novelty pastries,” Hammerlock said, opening cabinet doors. “Can you check the other rooms?”

Wainwright walked back into the parlor and checked the other connected room. It was, of course, the bedroom. The floor was dark wood, with a bright red shag carpet that surrounded the bed. Save for two nightstands on either side and a stand-alone wardrobe, there was no other furniture. The bathroom was attached, and contained a heart-shaped whirlpool tub and a free-standing shower with mood lighting. He returned to the kitchen.

“Well, there’s a bed,” Wainwright said.

“Oh good,” Hammerlock replied, already arranging the lodge’s supplies along with their own into a passable meal.

“Bed, singular ,” Wainwright said.

“Better than sleeping in a bedroll.”

“I don’t think you get my point, Hammerlock,” Wainwright said. “There’s no other furniture. We’ll have to share the bed.”

“Oh,” Hammerlock said, looking up from the food. He blinked twice. “Well, I’m alright with that if you are.”

“Sure, I suppose we can,” Wainwright said, trying his best to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Perfect,” Hammerlock said. “Dinner’s ready. Eat up.”

Their dinner of pastries, chocolate, and champagne, while deeply satisfying to his inner child, had left Alistair quite drowsy.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to leave our planning for the morning,” Alistair said. “I don’t think I can stay awake for very much longer.”

“That’s fine by me,” Wainwright replied.

The two of them made their way to the bedroom.

“I’ll just change in here, if that’s alright with you.” Wainwright said, pointing to the bathroom.

“That’s all good,” Alistair said. Wainwright walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Alistair undressed himself to his undershirt and drawers, and began about the business of removing his arm and leg. First, the leg, as it was much harder to remove with a single hand. He unbuckled the winding straps that secured the leg to his body, and then began the delicate process of decoupling the nerve interface wires from the ports in his stump. A slip of the hand would produce a sensation akin to hitting one’s funny bone that would travel all the way up his leg.

The straps for his arm were largely similar to his leg, but the port had even more delicate connections, as far more fine motor control is required in a hand than a foot. There were plenty of newer, more expensive models out there, with automatic magnetic couplings and suction-sleeve grips, that would make the process of attaching and removing his prosthetics far easier, but Alistair had no interest in them. His prosthetics served him just fine as they were.

Wainwright walked back in, wearing a tank top undershirt and plaid boxers.

“You can take those off?” Wainwright asked.

“Oh, yes,” Alistair replied. “It would be awfully uncomfortable if I couldn’t.”

“How did ya lose ‘em?” Wainwright asked. “If you, uh, don’t mind me asking.”

“A thresher— nasty beasts, those are— named Old Slappy took them,” Alistair explained.

“I see,” Wainwright said. “The eye, too?”

“Oh, no,” Alistair replied. “That was a gift from my dear sister.”

“What?” Wainwright exclaimed.

“An accident,” Alistair explained. “At least, that’s what she said. I doubt it. You don’t accidentally shoot out someone’s eye while miraculously causing no other damage. She acted sorry, of course, and offered to pay for a replacement out of her own pocket money. But I know why she did it. She wanted to remind me that she would always be the one in charge.”

“I’m so sorry,” Wainwright said.

“What’s done is done, I’m afraid,” He sighed. “We should go to sleep. I want to leave as soon as possible in the morning.” He pulled back the covers on one side of the bed and got in.

“I don’t usually get in bed with a man without at least knowing his name,” Wainwright said.

Alistair smiled. “It’s Alistair. Alistair Hammerlock.”

Chapter Text

Wainwright was normally not an early riser, so he was surprised when he opened his eyes to the first light of morning streaming through the curtains. They had gone to bed fairly early, so waking up earlier was to be expected. What was even more surprising, though, was how Hammerlock had snuggled up to him in the middle of the night.

Hammerlock— no, Alistair— was still sound asleep, his head resting on Wainwright’s chest and his arm thrown across his torso, the other man’s hand almost touching his. Without the brown glove that usually covered it, Alistair’s hand seemed vulnerable, the long and limber fingers exposed to the elements. The skin of his palm was soft against Wainwright’s forearm, and his nails were short and clean, clearly maintained with dedication and care.

Wainwright had no clue how he hadn’t woken Alistair up already with the pounding of his heart in his chest. He was ensnared in the most brilliant trap the hunter had ever devised, and he had no clue how to escape. If he moved, he would wake up Alistair, who would notice the pose they were in, and it would all be over. But if he stayed, Alistair would wake up anyway. Could he leave the other man to his slumber and enjoy the bliss of this waking dream?

Unfortunately, that dream quickly came to an end as Alistar woke, lifting his head from Wainwright’s chest to look him directly in the face. At first his eyes were half-lidded, still heavy with sleep. Then, they opened fully. Wainwright panicked and threw Alistair off him and practically leapt out of the bed. He could feel the blood burning in his ears and the blush spreading across his cheeks.

Alistair laughed. “Sleep well, Wainwright?”

“Uh, yeah,” Wainwright replied. “We should get movin’.”

“FIrst, I must wash myself,” Alistair said. “I have not showered in quite some time, and it will not be long before I start to reek.”

“I’ll get to packin’,” Wainwright said, eager to find some way to distract himself from what had just transpired.

Alistair had not been in the bathroom long when there was a loud rattling sound.

“Oh dear,” Alistair said. He opened the door back to the bedroom. “It appears that the water is off.”

“What?”

“The owners of this property most likely shut off the water when there aren’t any guests staying, to save on maintenance costs,” Alistair said.

“Well, we’re stayin’ here,” Wainwright said.

“But we did not rent the property. The owners don’t know that we’re here,” Alistair said.

“Well, let’s turn on the water, then,” Wainwright replied.

“It isn’t that simple, Wainwright. We would need to contact the utility company to turn back on the water, and then we could be accused of trespassing,” Alistair sighed. “I suppose I will have to forgo my cleanliness for some time longer.”

Wainwright was quiet for a moment. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh?”

Alistair and Wainwright had packed up their bags, and now he was following him to… well, somewhere. Wainwright hadn’t been clear, only that it would help the two of them clean up. Before long, the trees started to thin out, and they arrived at a small clearing.

“If there’s one thing that’s good about Eden-6—” Wainwright said. “It’s the waterfalls. Nature’s showers. Better than a pool, better than a lake. Used to spend lots o’ afternoons in ‘em as a boy.”

He looked around for any kind of cover. “They do not seem to offer much privacy,” Alistair said.

“Alistair, we’re in the middle of the damn woods. It’s just the two of us.” Wainwright said.

“Well, I—” What exactly would he say? “ Due to the fact that I cozied up to you in the middle of the night, I fear I may be unconsciously attracted to you, and seeing you in the nude may only confirm this, ”? Absolutely not.

“I fear I might make you uncomfortable,” Alistair said.

Wainwright unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. “I’ve seen plenty of naked men, Alistair. You don’t need to flatter me with protectin’ my innocence,” He took off his pants. “You can bathe in your underclothes if ya want, but then you’ll just end up with a soggy ass later,” He removed his undershirt. “I’ll even look the other way, if you’re feelin’ modest.”

“No, I will not need that,” Alistair said. “I will partake in this communal bathing, as it were. It is always good to participate in local customs.”

“That’s the spirit,” Wainwright said. He removed his underwear and waded into the pool.

Alistair took his time in disrobing, both because of the complexity of the fastenings, and because he hoped to minimize the amount of time that he and Wainwright would be nude together. However, to Alistair’s dismay (and secret satisfaction), Wainwright was taking his time in the waterfall.

Though the rapid water obscured some things, Alistair was able to see a fair amount of Wainwright’s body. His arms and shoulders were surprisingly well-built, though the muscle was subtle rather than defined. His chest was covered with grey hair, darker than the hair on his head, which also grew on his forearms and soft belly. 

Alistair had to admit: physically, Wainwright was very much his type. But he, like many of the suitors Wainwright had described, was intimidated. Not by Montgomery Jakobs— he knew that men like him were mostly bluff and bluster. No, it was rejection that scared him. It wouldn’t be like his previous flings and ended relationships, where there was a high chance that the two of them would never cross paths again. Eden-6 was Wainwright’s planet, and if something went sour with him, the whole planet would too.

“Ya gonna get in?” Wainwright asked.

Alistair blushed. “I suppose I shall.” He removed the last of his clothes and walked into the water.

The water was cold, surprisingly so, and Hammerlock shivered as he waded in. He hesitated to douse himself fully underneath the waterfall, as he could already feel from the spray that it was the same temperature as the pool below.

“You’re not gonna get clean if you don’t get wet,” Wainwright said. “Don’t make me shove you in.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Alistair said. He took a deep breath and stepped into the waterfall.

The water pressure was surprisingly intense, and Alistair nearly lost his balance. He was caught, however, by Wainwright, who grabbed his arm with a surprising strength. He pulled him upright.

“Looks like it’s my turn to do the catching,” Wainwright said. He still held onto Alistair’s arm.

“I suppose so,” Alistair replied with a nervous laugh. He didn’t let go. In fact, he allowed himself to be pulled even closer. His prosthetic arm wrapped around Wainwright’s back. Their noses were almost touching.

A deep and lingering silence, and then a roar that split through the air like a crack through the surface of a frozen lake.

“We need to run. Now.”

Chapter Text

Wainwright didn’t need to ask what the sound he heard was. He already knew.

“She’s gotten closer,” Alistair said. “Get dressed. We don’t have a moment to lose.”

The two of them scrambled out of the pool and onto dry land. Wainwright tried his best to dry himself off before putting on his clothes, but comfort was the least of his concerns. He slung his pack over one shoulder and cocked his shotgun. Alistair was still getting his clothes on when the trees started to quiver and shake.

“Alistair, y’might wanna hurry it up,” Wainwright said.

“And why is that?”

Wainwright had no time to reply. The trees parted, and a massive Saurian stepped out.

She was incredibly tall, and could have easily crushed either of them underfoot, but that was the least of the ways that she could kill them. Her teeth were curved and sharp, and already stained with the blood of some poor creature to slow to outrun her. The crest on her head was ornate, and shone with iridescent scales. But by far the most terrifying part of her was her eyes: beady, reptilian, and intelligent .

Wainwright raised his shotgun, and aimed it at the Queen.

“If we move slowly, she will not notice us,” Alistair said.

“This ain’t an average Saurian, Alistair. She already knows we’re here. We need to run,” Wainwright replied.

“Nonsense,” Alistair said. “Saurians navigate almost entirely through smell. Those four eyes are practically just for show.”

“Alistair, I need you to trust me on this. We have to run,” Wainwright said, his shotgun still aimed at the beast.

“I understand your hesitancy. This is your first hunt, after all. But I know Saurians. They’re dumb as rocks.”

The Queen Tyrant moved closer. Her snout was nearly a foot away from the two men. Her eyes narrowed and she let out a low growl.

Wainwright aimed at her nostril and fired.

The boom of the shotgun, and the scream of pain that followed, chilled Alistair to the bone.

“While she’s hurt, run!” Wainwright yelled. He sprinted off into the woods. Alistair grabbed his rifle and followed.

“What the hell did you do?” Alistair yelled.

“Bought us some time,” Wainwright replied. “There’s no way we can outrun a Saurian at top speed. But against an injured Saurian with an impaired sense of smell? We might just have a chance.”

“You’re mad,” Alistair said. “You’re absolutely stark raving mad.”

“But not wrong!” Wainwright said.

“We’ll know that if we get out of this!” Alistair yelled.

“ When we get out of this!” Wainwright shot back.

“Bless this man and his optimism,” Alistair thought. “We need to run in a zig-zag pattern. She can’t turn as quickly as we can,” he said.

Wainwright nodded, and the two of them ran like hell.

Alistair didn’t know if the pounding he heard was the sound of the Queen Tyrant’s footsteps, or just his heart pounding in his chest.

“A burrow!” Wainwright yelled. “She won’t be able to fit inside!” He turned and slid out of sight. Alistair followed. He landed on something soft and fleshy, and readied his rifle.

“Don’t shoot! It’s me!” Wainwright said. “Y’landed on me.”

“Oh,” Alistair said. “Apologies.”

“S’alright,” Wainwright replied. “We should be safe in here.”

Alistair felt around on his back for a flashlight, before realizing he had none.

“I neglected to grab my bag before we ran,” Alistair said.

“Y’have your gun?” Wainwright asked.

“Of course, yes,” Alistair replied.

“Then that’s all we need. I got mine, should have enough supplies for the two of us, ‘specially since we had that food in the lodge,” Wainwright said. “Plus, this cave will be good for shelter. I’ll take stock of our supplies if ya can get a fire goin’.”

Alistair nodded, and pulled a firestarter out of the many pouches on his pants. As the cave they had found appeared to be the abandoned nest of some sort of jungle creature, there was plenty of dried leaves and wood scattered around inside to build up a small fire. Once the fire seemed to be self-sufficient, Alistair turned to Wainwright.

“My pa seems to have overestimated the amount of food I’d need to eat on this trip, so we’ve got enough for at least three days. The waterfalls are safe to drink from, so that takes care of water. The only thing we don’t seem to have redundancy for is bedrolls,” Wainwright said.

“I’ve used that type of bedroll before. It should be large enough for the both of us,” Alistair replied.

“What’dya mean?” Wainwright asked.

“There is no way either of us is sleeping without a bedroll. It will be far too cold without a fire, and seeing as we don’t want to die of smoke inhalation, this is the only solution,” Alistair said.

Wainwright sighed. “I suppose so.”

After the fire had been snuffed out, Alistair and Wainwright went about the difficult business fitting the both of them into the single bedroll. Thankfully, due to Alistair’s missing limbs, there was slightly less to fit than there would normally be.

“Wainwright is an awfully long name,” Alistair said, his voice already tired.

“Well, y’can blame my parents for that. Runs in the family,” Wainwright replied. “No CEO of Jakobs’s ever been blessed with an easy name.”

“And will you be the CEO of Jakobs?” Alistair asked.

Wainwright sighed. “I reckon I’ll have to, someday. Either I take it, or some distant cousin will. Though I don’t think I could do much better.”

“I think you’d do a wonderful job.”

“Alistair, I can’t even shoot one of our own rifles. What kinda gun company CEO can’t use his own products?”

Alistair sat up as best he could in the sleeping bag and looked Wainwright in the eye. “What you did back there, shooting the Queen in the nose, was the most foolish, stupid, brazen, bravest thing I’ve ever seen. That’s what a Jakobs does. He looks death and danger right in the eye and says ‘not today’.”

“Been a while since someone believed in me like that,” Wainwright said.

“Well, you’re worth believing in, Winny,” Alistair said.

“Winny?”

“Oh, um, I must be half-asleep, I’m shortening my words like you do,” Alistair said.

“I like it.”

Alistair smiled. “Goodnight, Winny.”

Chapter Text

It had been some time since Alistair had slept with another man, in either sense of the word. And, now, thanks to this hunt, he had spent two nights in bed with one. And Wainwright— Winny— had no idea of his feelings for him. It would have to come up sooner than later; Alistair didn’t think he could keep such a secret for much longer. He was just, well, terrified of rejection. When they were running from the Queen Tyrant, Alistair’s thoughts were on the moment he and Winny had shared, under the waterfall, and whether something like it would ever happen again. What might have happened if the beast hadn’t appeared? What glorious possibilities were just out of reach, now and forever?

He had to end this. End this hunt, and escape his doomed longing. He shook Wainwright awake.

“W-wha?” he said, still groggy.

“We’re going to do it,” Alistair said.

“Do what?”

“We’re going to kill the Queen Tyrant.”

“What the hell?” Wainwright exclaimed. “You just said not that long ago that there was no way that the two of us could kill her.”

“That was before I had seen her,” Alistair said. He wiggled out of the sleeping bag and began attaching his arm and leg. “She is large and intelligent, yes, but she is also arrogant and narrow-minded. The way that she pursued us, she wasn’t imagining it as a hunt. A hunt is a challenge, a test of one’s skill and prowess. To her, killing us would be like stepping on an insect.”

“Ok, so she’s more powerful than us in every way,” Wainwright said. “How do we stop her?”

“We trap her,” Alistair said.

“You want us to trap a twenty-five foot tall Saurian. Sounds like it’ll go off without a hitch,” Wainwright said.

Alistair put his hands on Wainwright’s shoulders. “Remember at the waterfall, when you told me to trust you about the Queen?”

“Yeah.”

“I am asking the same of you right now, Winny. Trust me.”

The two of them emerged from the cave and set about creating a trap for the Tyrant Queen. The cave was quite close to two trees, between which Alistair hung a rope net.

“There’s no way that’s big enough to catch her,” Wainwright said.

“It doesn’t need to catch all of her,” Alistair replied. “Just her legs.”

Wainwright paused. “You’re gonna trip her?”

“For all the might and power of the Tyrant-type Saurian, they have one weakness: their arms. They are far too small to support the creature’s body weight. So, if one falls over…”

“...She’ll have a damn hard time gettin’ back up,” Wainwright said. “I get it. But what happens once she’s down?”

“Oh, that part is simple. I just shoot her,” Alistair said matter-of-factly.

“You… shoot her.”

“Yes.”

“And that’ll stop her?”

“A shot through the eye will be enough,” Alistair said. He held up his rifle. “If it took more than one shot—”

“—You weren’t usin’ a Jakobs, I know, I know. But that’s people. A beast like this… it’s different,” Wainwright said.

“I’ve been a hunter most of my life. The only important difference between a person and an animal is a handful of legal rights,” Alistair replied.

“I’ll have to take your word on that,” Wainwright said. He paused for a moment. “How do we get her to fall for the trap?”

“That I’m not so sure about,” Alistair said.

“You’ll need bait.”

“We can track down some carrion,” Alistair said.

“No, that won’t work. She’s a predator. She’ll want somethin’ live,” Wainwright said. “Use me.”

“Absolutely not,” Alistair replied.

“You said it yourself. She’s smart. Why wouldn’t she want revenge on the bastard who shot her in the nose?” Wainwright said.

“You could get killed,” Alistair said.

“So could you!” Wainwright said. “You’re takin’ a damn big risk with that shot. Why won’t ya let me do the same?”

“Because I love you!” Alistair yelled. “Because I love you, Winny, and I can’t let you put yourself in harm’s way like that. If something happened to you… I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

Wainwright didn’t say anything. He thought back to the waterfall, and how, at that moment, they had been so close. The way Alistair’s body felt sleeping against his, warm and steady. The way his fingers might feel, entwined with his own.

He stepped forward and pulled the hunter into a kiss.

Alistair didn’t know what might come of his confession, but it certainly wasn’t this. Winny’s lips, pressed against his own, softly, sweetly. Alistair rested his hand on Winny’s chest as his left hand cupped Alistair’s cheek and the right held his waist. It was perfect. And couldn’t last.

Alistair pulled away slowly. “Not right now. I have to stop that beast.”

“ We have to stop that beast, Alistair,” Wainwright said. “Together.”

“You’re right,” Alistair replied. “Do be careful.”

“If you’ve got more where that came from,” Wainwright said. “I’d be a fool not to.” He kissed Alistair on the cheek. “Don’t miss.”

The two of them reluctantly separated from their embrace and moved into position: Wainwright in the center of the clearing, just beyond the makeshift netting, Alistair perched atop a rock formation, lining up his shot.

Wainwright fired his shotgun twice in the air. “Listen up, ya cold-blooded lizard bitch!” he yelled. He reloaded his shotgun and fired again. “I’ve got Jakobs lead right here with your name on it!” He fired once more. “So come and get it, ya yellow-bellied, beady-eyed devil!”

A roar sounded through the woods, followed by the sound of footsteps. The Queen Tyrant burst through the trees and let out a roar that made the blood in Alistair’s veins run cold.

Wainwright waved his arms around and stomped. “Come and get it!”

The Queen Tyrant scraped the ground beneath her mighty feet once, twice, and then charged. Her knee caught in the rope trap, and she fell. Wainwright had to run backwards to avoid being crushed. She tried to lift herself up, but to no avail. Her legs, tangled as they were in the rope, could offer no support, and her arms were far too weak to push. Alistair looked through the scope, and lined it up with one of her four eyes. He fired, and the Queen was no more.

Chapter Text

“Y’did it…” Wainwright said. He looked up at Alistair on his perch, smoke wafting from the barrel of his rifle.

“I did it!” he exclaimed. He let out a mighty holler, and slid down the rock into Wainwright’s arms.

The two of them kissed deeply, intensely, a celebration of their victory.

“I can’t believe you made the shot!” Wainwright said.

“Oh, that was easy. I can’t believe you stared down that ravenous beast again!” Alistair replied.

“Nothin’ bolsters a fella’s courage like a kiss from an attractive gentleman,” Wainwright said.

“Oh, you find me attractive?” Alistair said, putting his hand on his chest.

“Attractive, dashin’, fetchin’—” He took his hand. “Sexy.” Wainwright pulled the other man in and dipped him.

“Oh, my,” Alistair said. “I must confess, I am not used to this kind of attention.”

“You certainly deserve it,” Wainwright replied.

“So, will we be heading back to old Knotty Peak?” Alistair asked.

“I was thinkin’ the manor,” Wainwright replied. “Easier to find privacy.”

After spending several blissful days together at Jakobs Manor, Wainwright had decided that he should pay his father a visit, “just to make sure he doesn’t think we’re dead”. Alistair agreed. And so they drove back to where everything had started, a trip that felt significantly shorter the second time around.

“So, what will you be telling your father about the trip?” Alistair asked.

“Well, we felled the mighty Queen Tyrant. That should impress him,” Wainwright replied.

“I mean, about this,” Alistair said. “About us.”

“My pa’s been wantin’ me to find somebody for a while now. He’ll probably say it’s about damn time. Long as ya don’t end up like the others, he won’t give ya any trouble.”

“And if I do?”

“Then you’ll find yourself chased off the planet with a shotgun,” Wainwright laughed. “I kid, I kid. Mostly.”

They arrived at Knotty Peak, and Wainwright walked up and rang the holo-doorbell.

“Who the hell is it?” Monty said.

“It’s Wainwright, pa. We’re back,” Wainwright replied.

Montgomery Jakobs opened the door. “Well? What’dya catch?”

“We killed the great Queen Tyrant!” Wainwright said.

Monty looked around. “I don’t see no Queen Tyrant.”

“She was too big to carry,” Wainwright replied.

“Well, trophies or it didn’t happen,” Monty said.

Wainwright paused. “I got a different kinda trophy on this hunt, pa,” He put his arm around Alistair’s shoulders. “This is Alistair Hammerlock. My boyfriend.”