Chapter Text
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Their relationship was one of symbiosis.
It was like that of a hungry bird keeping flies off of a wildebeest’s face, or, in this case, a small fish surviving by desperately cleaning the teeth of a careless shark—always on the edge of danger.
Fuse obtained a nearly endless amount of sex—filthy and rough and impersonal. His appetite for the perverse was sated through hushed fumblings and heated aggression, and he thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it. He was granted the opportunity to engage in his favorite pastime without the unnecessary ropes and cables of a relationship, regardless if it was love or friendship.
And Caustic?
Well, Fuse wasn’t exactly sure.
The chemist’s reputation preceded him, and Walter had found quite a measure of truth in the numerous rumors. It was undoubtable that he truly did enjoy his devious experimentation, most of which came at the expense of lives both human and animal. He was wholeheartedly focused on his research, exactly as the other legends had made him out to be. Because of that, he hadn’t struck Fuse as the type of man to enjoy sex, especially that of the more obscene nature, the type that the Salvonian simply lived for. Fuse had expected him to scoff at the notion of fucking around, to explain how impervious he was to the concept of momentary pleasure. Perhaps he simply held up his end of the arrangement for the opportunity to notate further, although in a much more salacious manner.
Fuse found himself consistently surprised by what the other was willing to go along with. Bondage, role playing, pain, dominance...nothing seemed to be off the table. And the fact that he willingly bottomed? That, was something the Salvonian had never anticipated. However, he found himself in no position to complain. Their agreement, as they had taken to calling it, was exactly what the older legend had been looking for—a quick way to blow off steam and relax after rounds and rounds of bloodsport. Caustic was the perfect partner for these meetings, regardless of how surprising it was. He was quiet and reserved, rarely conversing aside from short remarks that revolved strictly around the act at hand. There was no confusion about what this was, and there were certainly no feelings. Apparently, there were advantages to hooking up with a sociopath after all.
However, all of that had come crashing down around them, and the blame was on nobody but Fuse. The Salvonian had found himself increasingly interested in the other’s behavior, albeit much to his dismay. He had first refused to accept it, simply choosing to ignore the way he found himself staring as the other moved fluidly around his own home as he lay exhausted on his bed. Caustic seemed to tolerate his presence, not bothering to kick him out after their sessions. He would simply return to his desk, silent aside from soft mumblings as he worked diligently on hushed projects. Fuse found the lack of conversation to be pleasing, and it often resulted in him staying late into the night. It was in these moments he had begun to actually see the other, to witness Mikhail Caustic. He watched with well hidden interest as the chemist organized his workspace, everything returned to its specified place by the next morning. He watched as he cared for the various plants around the space, always taking notes and observations, as seemed to be his true nature. He watched as he made himself cup after cup of coffee, always black and always hot. He watched as he put on his compression vest and nebulizer, silently enduring the uncomfortable therapy three times a day, every day.
Fuse soon found himself obsessed by the way Caustic lived, so rudimentary and normal despite the fact that he supposedly found so much enjoyment in eliciting suffering. He appeared so ordinary for a man that felt nothing, and his daily routine hinted at a man who valued privacy and order above all else. The Salvonian carefully tried to peer further behind the curtains, discreetly asking questions as they came down from pleasure induced highs. He pulled bits and pieces of information from the younger man, each one cherished and thoroughly considered like one would a fine wine. Mother ran an orphanage, father worked constantly, no siblings, top of his doctorate class. Fuse committed all of the small details to memory, using them to paint a grander and more complete image of the man he was growing increasingly infatuated with.
The man who was currently railing him.
Fuse bit his lower lip firmly, head dropping between his shoulders as the force of the other’s thrusts jolted him forwards. He had came moments ago, and now his body trembled with oversensitivity. Nonetheless, he endured it for a while longer, exhaling sharply with relief as the larger man’s hips stuttered against him. He heard a deep, rumbling groan above him, and he moaned softly at the feeling of the other’s thick length throbbing within him. After a moment of silence, aside from their heavy breathing, of course, Caustic pulled out with a slight wince. Fuse immediately let himself drop to the bed with an exhausted sigh, and, after tying off the condom and disposing of it properly, the other joined him. They remained silent as they recovered, laying a few inches apart on the soft bed. Fuse let his head fall to the side, taking in all of the details the other’s body had to offer. He was large, in every sense of the word. His shoulders and chest were very broad, and his extremities were thick with muscle. His age was becoming apparent through the subtle greying of his hair and the way that fat began to soften the contours of his muscles. However, he was still in incredible shape and possessed a raw power thanks to the size of his frame. And besides, Fuse wasn’t exactly the one to speak on that matter. His own habits had led to the early formations of a relatively impressive beer gut.
Fuse sighed and eyed the scars littering the other’s arms and hands, the skin warped and burned from volatile chemicals, as he had previously been told. The Salvonian just knew that the texture would be pleasing beneath his calloused fingers, and it took a large amount of restraint not to reach out and touch them. The younger man wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type, as he had discovered. Caustic had made it very clear from the start that he wasn’t fond of being touched in any manner that wasn’t purely sexual. Any attempt at physical contact after the act would result in the chemist wordlessly rising from the bed and heading to the bathroom, the sound of the shower droning out anything Fuse had tried to say. But that was ok, the Salvonian kept telling himself. He wasn’t exactly the cuddly type either. He was a rough and tough brawler, a manly man that thrived on impersonal hookups. And so, it was all the more concerning to him when he found himself unable to go more than a few days without seeing the other.
Fuse had always had the bad habit of falling for those he couldn’t have. Or, more specifically, those that weren’t good for him. His and Maggie’s relationship had always skirted the line of friendship and love, regardless of the fact that she was batshit crazy. He always found himself interested in people that played hard to get, those relationships that simply couldn’t be. He hated leaving questions unanswered, hated not knowing what could’ve been. And so, when he found himself staring at Caustic’s body with an odd sort of reverence, it wasn’t exactly surprising. He felt a thrill when he thought about being around him, a man so violent and ruthless that he supposedly got turned on by the sight of death. It was dangerous, and danger is what Walter Fitzroy knew best.
It wasn’t outright love that Fuse felt. No, it wasn’t the longing for companionship and affection that he imagined somebody like Mirage or Gibraltar yearned for. He was too old for that. Years of violence and killing had changed his outlook on life, and he now realized that being self sufficient was one of the best traits one could have. However, when he looked at the scientist, who’s chartreuse eyes were now trained blankly on the ceiling, he felt a certain pull—a desire to uncover all of his secrets and to see him for who he truly was. He wanted to tear away the layers of armor he had built around himself, to remove that defensive persona of Caustic. He wanted to learn who he really was. He wanted to know what he was capable of behind all of the rumors and slander.
“Ya wanna’ grab a coupla’ coldies at Mirage’s tomorrow?”
Those intense eyes shot to him immediately, impassive and indiscernible. The silence had now developed into something tense and taught, and Fuse felt his chest tighten at the feeling. The question had come out of his mouth without a single moment of thought preceding it.
“Are you inquiring as to if I would be interested in drinking with you?” Caustic retorted lowly, the question asked more out of disbelief than lack of understanding.
Fuse nodded curtly.
“I have no desire to find myself at an establishment filled with drunken dullards, especially one ran by Elliot Witt.” He chided, his eyes once again staring carelessly at the ceiling.
“What if I brought some here, then?” Fuse pressed, white teeth peeking out from behind a lopsided grin.
The chemist took a deep breath and sighed, and Fuse mentally winced at the rattle that vibrated deep in his lungs. He was in worse shape than he let on.
“Acceptable.”
And with that, Caustic rose from the bed. He made quick work of redressing, pulling on a clean pair of slacks and a black, long sleeved shirt. Fuse listened as he made his way to the kitchen, and the familiar sound of him starting to brew coffee made him smile softly.
Tomorrow.
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