Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For any simple underling living day to miserable day in the Citadel, things would have started out innocently enough. For Rictus, innocence would not have been the first word to come to mind. It likely wasn't even in his vocabulary.

Supposedly the clan of Immortan Joe was to be looking forward to a new addition to the family line, if Joe's sudden optimistic disposition was any clear indicator. Rictus was nearly beside himself with anticipation. He could hardly wait to welcome the little sprog into the world, to polish him into something quite like himself. Suddenly however many weeks which made up nine months was too long to wait.

This is the one, he told himself. This was the sure thing, the perfect heir.

The very first night he had to himself without distraction, Rictus Erectus celebrated. He obtained enough gut-rot liquor to fill a casket and drank himself nearly into a coma. Before he could pass out into pickled oblivion, he'd had his knob buried into at least three bodies, not all of which into the conventional outlets. None of his subjects had been the wives: even with his brain at its most fermented, he knew not to go near Dad's goods.

The next morning, Rictus awoke with the distinct but mistaken impression that the war drums were calling him to arms. Silly him, it were only his 'ed.

Yawning with the taste of bile and booze practically crawling back up his throat, Rictus stretched his muscle-bound limbs, only to hear a resulting "oof!" to his left. Lifting his head, he examined a bundle of blankets and gangly limbs which turned out to be a War Boy. Though his reaction was delayed, the white-skinned youth started awake, rolling his wiry body over to face his massive sexual conquest. Cracked lips reddened with blood as he grinned. Rictus already wanted the little vermin stricken from his sight.

"It's an honor," the sickly, smaller man addressed him, creeping towards Rictus either for warmth or to again touch what he thought of as pure, tangible divinity. Or both.

"Each of us War Boys, we one day ride to Valhalla for the Immortan, and we hope that perhaps our great war-bringer, our great savior and father, will welcome us under his fold..."

Rictus' pounding headache was not being soothed whatsoever by this weakling's endless babbling.

"To be chosen by one of his own bloodline, to even be made a pleasure slave, is"--

A what?? Rictus shot a look at the wide-eyed youth, then finally shoved him off the bed. An insect flicked onto its back had more grace.

"I don't need pleasure slaves," he retorted, ignoring the lurch of both his brain and stomach as he stood to his full, towering height. "And if I did, you'd be the last choice I'd ever make. You're only here because I could catch you."

The War Boy looked up at him meekly, baffled as to why this turn of events was happening against his expectations.

"Get out, I don't want ya here," Rictus ordered, sweeping his arm across as a dramatic gesture of command.

The War Boy didn't mean to mouth off, but he was genuinely bewildered. However, speaking his confusion only made the situation worse.

"That's not what you said last night."

Rictus roared in anger, backhanding the scrawny creature on the floor. The War Boy yelped and scrambled for the door, tripping in the bedclothes and not getting very far.

"Get out!" the brute above him shouted. "And gimme my blanket!" Grabbing a fistful of the material, he yanked hard enough to flip the youth in mid air. He might have kicked the escaping little todger if he hadn't hightailed it out of the room so fast.

Yelling had only made Rictus' sore head all the worse, and he hauled himself back to bed in an attempt to sleep away the hangover. If he were to be called to a war party, at least the pain would fuel his much needed fury, though he couldn't promise not to puke on anyone in his path.

*

Days later, suspicion of a new heir to the Immortan throne had been confirmed, soon to spring from the dark-haired waif known as Cheedo. The grin on Rictus' face remained for a solid day.

Something needed to be done though. Caring for infants was the work of women, as he'd known well since boyhood, but the urge to begin grooming the newest brother for warriorhood as soon as possible was too great. Rictus never was relied upon for ideas or deep thinking, but the moment this notion occurred to him, it wouldn't leave his mind.

But what if Dad didn't approve? Such a concern stopped Rictus from going straight to the Immortan with his suggestion. He needed to prove himself first. As such, he was going to have to get down the basics. After all, he reasoned, if a woman could raise a little sprog, then a man most certainly could. All he needed was said sprog.

Throughout the day, Rictus Erectus weighed his options. The most obvious choice was to just snatch up the young of one of the underlings on the ground level. Their expendability was ideal, after all... but also guaranteed little time for proper practice.

It'd be a lotta rats to go through. He couldn't be buggered.

The milking spawn were out of the question completely. They were important to keep milk production going in the first place, and they never left their mothers' sides until they were dead.

Rictus rubbed at his eyes in frustration that afternoon, at a loss for ideas. This thinking crock was better left to his Dad. Perhaps his plan was useless.

Heading back to his quarters, the hulking soldier happened to pass a raucous gathering of War Boys, swarming over a share of food like ants on a dying lizard. He might have continued on had he not noticed one amongst them that he recognized. He waited until the pale group began to scatter.

"You," he called out, pointing right at the little wretch. "War Boy."

The youth actually glanced behind himself in case he was mistaken. Realizing he was indeed the one being addressed, he scurried toward the Immortan's son, clutching the pathetic share of food he had managed to procure.

Rictus stared down at him, his size casting a shadow over the other. "What's your name?"

Eyes blue as rare gems looked downward, avoiding Rictus' own. "Nux."

"Nux," the goliath echoed. "You remember our time, Nux?"

The youth glanced back up at him, then nodded with trepidation.

"You enjoyed it?"

Hesitating, Nux gave another nod, eyes wide with wonderment over where this conversation was going.

"My quarters," Rictus simply commanded. "At sundown. Tell no one."

Somehow the wide eyes grew wider, and Nux beamed at him. Rictus sneered and turned to leave, wordlessly reassuring himself that this was a good idea.

Nux watched with unbridled excitement at the exiting soldier. Had his obedience won Rictus over on that night after all? He was not sure, but he knew not to question a shining opportunity when it presented itself. The fates were smiling on him. Suddenly the distance between now and sunset felt like too long a wait.

Chapter Text

The sun had set. Rictus awaited the arrival of his little experiment with all the patience of a vulture circling a still moving body. Stocked next to him was food to win his test subject over, as well as more liquor to ply the little grub with in case he suddenly decided to be willful. On top of all this, he also had a small container, the contents of which he would share once Nux was properly placated.

Nux practically flew towards the soldier's lodgings the exact moment the sun disappeared beyond the hills. He shoved past fellow War Boys in the tunnels, leaving confusion in his wake as to what the hell could have him so damn excited. By the time he reached the heavy iron door, he was sagging in his own bones, catching his breath before announcing his arrival. He meant his knock to be strong and resolute, but it weakened after the first strike, his knuckles smarting against the metal surface. The door opened just as he was shaking the pain from his hand.

Rictus took one look at him and stepped aside from the doorway.

"In."

Nux eagerly entered and when he was pointed toward a chair, gladly took a seat, ready to please. The War Boy couldn't believe his good fortune. He had missed the luxury of warmth in Erectus' bedclothes, far better than the chill of the tarpaulins he had the scarce luck to share with his den brothers. Still, he could have been worse off: others in his ilk had lost toes from the humidity and cold.

Rictus returned to his own seat, studying his sickly guest and deciding his choice of test subjects had been ideal. Nux was undeniably male, but he was small, especially compared to the likes of any soldier of the road. In fact Rictus had seen other War Boys stouter than this one. He would be easy to control, easy to exploit. And if they were to ever take a tumble in his bed again, he could easily be imagined as a woman.

Speaking of which...

"How old are you?" the warrior asked out of curiosity, passing his guest some of the liquor.

"Nineteen," Nux replied, timidly taking the proffered drink. "Almost twenty."

Good. Rictus dwarfed every sexual partner no matter their age, but he hated veal.

"How's your know-how?" Rictus continued. "Have you had any fucks before ours?"

Nux perked up. "Yes, plenty!" Not really. But he had to punch up above his weight if he were to get anywhere in this world. Bring everything you had and more and all that. He hoped it was the right answer.

"Hmm." Rictus lifted a plate of food next. Not the usual gruel that the War Boys and citizens were lucky to find, but actual stew, laden with real bits of meat. "Hungry?"

Nux's face lit up like the sun's reflection off of a reworked comby, and he reached out slowly towards the meal suspended by an arm thick as a boulder. "This is too generous, great Erectus..."

Rictus yanked it out of reach, patience stretched like a tendon. "D'ya want the food or not?"

Wincing, Nux nodded, and he tucked into his welcome supper the moment he was allowed to put his hands on it.

"I got a task for you," Rictus declared as he watched the War Boy finish the serving of broth and meat. "You ready to do whatever I say?"

"Yes," Nux replied breathlessly as he licked the bottom of the bowl, returning to the booze once he had every sliver of meat swallowed down. "Anything you want."

The warrior crooked his finger in a beckoning gesture, followed by the indication of his lap. "C'mere then."

Nux grinned, licking his lips not only to retain the remnants of liquor and broth, but keenly anticipating how he might please one of the Immortan line. Hips swaying in what he hoped was his most sensual saunter (it wasn't), he crossed the small distance between the two of them and planted himself onto the enormous man's lap.

How to begin, he contemplated. There was the obvious, sitting snug right below his backside, but as he had learned in the past, a little suspense was preferable to get the mood properly bash-worthy.

A deep rumble emerged from Rictus as he felt little fingertips move over his tight musculature. Yet he grabbed Nux's wrists and pushed his attempts at stimulation away. Tempted though he was to just rut the little bastard, he had more important matters at hand to deal with.

Still as a stone in his superior's grip, Nux looked first at how easily his arm was enveloped in such a huge hand, then up at Rictus with uncertainty as to what was expected of him. The bigger man released a wrist and tilted his head toward a container on the adjacent table.

"Open it."

Obeying without question, Nux peered inside, doubly confused.

"Y'ever had mothers' milk?" his host inquired.

Nux's eyes widened.

"Never!" he softly exclaimed, in awe at the sight before him. He had to be dreaming. His night seemed to get better and better. He watched as Rictus removed the white liquid, encased in a glass bottle. Two others remained in the case.

Jostling his guest in his arms, the warrior unscrewed the lid from the bottle and replaced it with a rubber attachment which resembled a small udder. Nux had never before seen the like.

"Sit back."

The War Boy stared at Rictus, whose expression was now unreadable, which admittedly wasn't difficult for him to achieve.

"Sir...?"

"You heard me."

Alright. Nux leaned into the crook of the other's arm. His lips, already parted, were immediately invaded by the rubber nipple.

"Mf!" He glanced again at his host, who tilted the bottle and nodded sternly.

"Suck."

Uncertain of how to feel about the present circumstances, Nux complied. He didn't regret it. What a taste it was! Hearty and rich, possibly even a little bit sweet... minute details he barely ever experienced when he ate or drank in the past. He only wished he could be allowed to brag when he was to return to his fellow War Boys. Eyes which had widened in surprise over the heavenly essence closed to savor the few moments before the bottle would empty.

When his treat was finished, he was sated but hardly satisfied. Nux could hardly believe he was enjoying the rare moment of a full belly. In fact he couldn't remember the last time he had one. He wasn't sure if he could handle anymore, but he wanted it all the same, greedy for the unexpected indulgence. Opening his eyes with a soft moan, he jumped at the sight of Rictus screwing the nipple onto the second of the three bottles.

"Open up," the soldier commanded, a small smile evident on his usually severe features. Nux could not decide if he liked that smile. Still, he did as commanded. The second bottle was shoved into his mouth and he proceeded to suckle.

Halfway through, his efforts were lessening in their enthusiasm. The next moan which escaped from him was less of pleasure and more of discomfort. Suddenly he didn't like feeling so full. However, when he began to pull away from the source of his torment, Rictus was instantly angry. The warrior tightened his hold on the smaller man and bared his teeth.

"Quiet," he growled, jamming the bottle further into the whining whelp's gob. "Sprogs don't argue, and they don't talk."

Nux gagged a bit when the nipple hit the back of his throat, and he would rather not vomit on the colossus who could easily smash his face in... or die by choking on a bottle rammed down his neck.

Wait, what did he say?

Rictus grinned at the smaller man's obedience. He had chosen well: the perfect little bub stand-in. This child-raising stuff wasn't so hard after all.

Nux was panting by the time he had finished the second bottle. If that third was brought out, he expected he might explode. He felt genuine dread when Rictus removed said bottle, and the relief that washed over him as the other man took a drink for himself nearly caused him to faint.

"What next... oh I have it." Rictus lifted his stuffed little guest to his shoulder, giving him a hearty slap on the back. Any harder and Nux thought he might break a few ribs. He belched and somehow managed not to throw up down the other's torso. He wished he could without being thumped in the skull.

"Good little ankle-biter," Rictus encouraged, ignoring the heavy breaths against his back. He held Nux at arm's length, mistaking the miserable look of discomfort for drowsy fulfillment. "Ready for a nap?"

"I..." Nux was desperate for an excuse to leave, his earlier wishes to share the news of his pampering entirely forgotten. "I have rounds tomorrow," he finally managed.

Rictus frowned, annoyed, but finally gave in, releasing his grip on the smaller body.

"Fine. Ya coulda been better, but you've been an alright sprog."

Nux couldn't decide how he felt about that. To think he had gone in expecting promotion to pleasure slave status...

"Nap with your brothers," Rictus directed him. "I'll tell you the next time I need more practice."

Easing off of the enormous man's lap on shaky legs and desperate to keep his throat closed, Nux made the agonizing journey to the door.

Don't hurl, don't hurl, don't hurl...

"Remember," he heard behind him before the door slammed shut. "Tell no one."

Nux's belly was tight as one of the drums on the boot of Coma's Doof Wagon as he staggered back to his brethren, all of whom were thankfully asleep. Only when he had reached the tunnels did he finally throw up. The white mess spread everywhere, and he still felt too sick to bother cleaning up. So much for the opulence of a good meal.

In the days which followed, other War Boys asked what the hell the smell was in the South end of the network. Only Nux knew the answer.

Chapter Text

Rictus Erectus finished the third bottle of milk and lay in bed, wide awake and pleased with the turn of events which had occurred that evening. This little War Boy, this Nux, had been the ideal choice for his experiments. Obedient, physically weak... he hadn't even needed so much booze as he thought. Maybe Dad should know about this after all.

Needs more practice, he thought. So do I.

Decision cast in stone, he gave himself a good long wank and finally fell asleep.

*

"The Erectus is lookin' for ya."

Nux tried not to grimace at the news Slit brought him. An invitation for more fucking would have been lovely, but he doubted this was the case. If he resisted during his next visit, he'd likely be given a good thrashing, but if he refused to show, he'd be sought out. And then given a thrashing.

"Is 'e?" he finally replied.

Slit frowned. "Other Boy's seen ya with'im. In fact, we're all beginning to wonder if that smell in the South tunnels was from you."

"Leave it alone, Slit," Nux warned the older War Boy, walking away from him. He pretended to be occupied with repairs on a motor. Slit didn't buy it and he followed, undeterred.

"Does that mean we're right?" he asked, hovering over his hunched over fellow.

"Get off it," Nux muttered.

"Why?"

"Because."

"So is there something going on or not??"

"I'm not allowed to say!" the younger War Boy finally snapped, regretting the response the moment it left his mouth. Slit's eyes widened, and he grinned.

"Ohhh... so I see!"

"You don't see anything," Nux hissed, looking up at him venomously. "And it better stay that way or else neither of us'll be seeing Valhalla, just the bottom of the pits."

Slit tried to keep a solemn expression but found avoiding a smile difficult. His curiosity burned at the thought of what his fellow War Boy had been made privy to, but he knew better than to get on the bad side of anyone remotely close to Immortan Joe.

"Anyway, he's looking for you," he reminded him before taking off. Nux sighed. He felt as though he were about to go to his execution. Except worse.

Rictus found him soon after that and gave him the "invitation" to his quarters for the following evening. For the next twenty-four hours, Nux had to deal with Slit's smug smile.

*

Efforts at knocking were less assertive this time around. Rictus answered so quickly that Nux suspected his host had been waiting at the door the whole time.

"In."

Nux obeyed. As the door closed behind him, he scanned the room. He could smell food but saw none present, assuming it had already been eaten. The container still sat on the table, though the lid was closed, leaving contents therein a mystery. Nux doubted he would be able to stomach three bottles this time either.

"On the floor." The command startled him from his thoughts and he promptly parked his scrawny bottom onto the concrete surface. Rictus took four vast strides away from him and knelt down, beckoning with both hands.

"Now come'ere," he ordered. "Crawl."

Nux didn't hesitate. He had been made to pleasure others on his knees in the past, and though he wasn't the most experienced, he knew the basics. Approaching him on all fours, he parted his lips, knowing Rictus would open his pants at any moment.

But Rictus made no move to unbuckle his belt or unfasten his trousers. He kept his arms outstretched toward his guest, nodding in encouragement.

"Come on," he said, a smile spreading on his face. "That's it!"

Nux lost a bit of his sense of allure at this behavior, but he continued, crawling along towards his ever-excited host until they met.

"Atta boy!" Arms nearly thick as his own waist closed around him and squeezed, lifting him as long legs straightened. He was bounced up and down as the praise was heaped upon him.

"This has been fun," he finally had the boldness to say, "but aren't we going to, uh..." His knee was exactly at the level of Rictus' groin, and he gently nudged, trying to ease some life into the inexplicably still organ.

Rictus chuckled, grinning at his little test subject. He hoisted Nux up so that he could look at him a little closer, distancing the knee from his groin. His voice was rumbling, faraway thunder as he whispered into a pale ear.

"Sprogs are a little too little for that."

Nux stared blankly, in utter disbelief over what was going on.

Hefting the white-skinned youth into one brawny arm, Rictus carried his charge towards the table and took a seat. He lifted the lid on the container and allowed Nux to look inside. A single bottle lay within.

Thank everything above and below.

The room shifted as Nux was tilted back on Rictus' lap. His fate was inevitable. He couldn't even delay things with sex. What an unforeseen vocation this was; he was not to be exploited for pleasure, but for playing a part in some elaborate and not at all sexual game. He wasn't sure if he could understand this revelation completely, but he didn't exactly have much of a choice in the matter either.

The bottle hovered in front of his face. He opened his mouth.

Nux thought he played his part quite well. As instructed from their previous session, he didn't talk or argue. He relaxed and suckled, and in no time at all he was finished. He almost fell asleep in the process until he felt himself lifted and slapped on the back.

Oww.

Rictus frowned. "Nothing?"

Nux tried to burp to no avail, shaking his head. "Please don't hit me again."

"I'll hit you if I want. Now keep your gob shut." The soldier stood up, jostling the small body in his arms and sitting Nux down on his chair. No other bottles of milk were visible, but Nux didn't like where this seemed to be going.

Reaching under the table, Rictus produced another small crate. When the lid was opened, the smell Nux previously detected filled the room. Oh no...

The massive warrior picked up a spoon and smiled.

"Open up," he said, then added in a firmer tone, "be a good boy."

Licking his dry, cracked lips, Nux obeyed. Rictus dipped the (very big) spoon into the container and scooped out a helping of thick stew. The spoon entered Nux's open mouth and he dutifully took the food. Chewing was not difficult, not with this thick mush, but he wanted to lengthen his meal as much as possible. Perhaps then the night wouldn't end with half-digested stew on the floor and one War Boy returning to the tunnels covered in bruises.

The crate was small. He could manage.

The thickness of the soup proved to be his undoing, however. Halfway through the meal, Nux was just about on the blink. If Rictus hit him now, he could care less. Closer to reaching Valhalla by being beaten to death than from stomach rupturing.

In between spoonfuls, he moaned, lips smeared with broth. "Please..."

Rictus looked him in the eye, leering. "'Please more'? I knew you'd see it my way."

Oh fucking hell. Another helping was shoved into his mouth.

Three spoonfuls later, Nux wished he had undone his trousers. He whined and squirmed in his seat, reaching for buttons and zip before either could break against the pressure of his pinched skin. Rictus was quick to stop him. A huge hand clamped down on Nux's own, pressing into the already sensitive waistline. He ignored the yelp of pain.

"Stay still or I'll tie you down!" he snapped.

The threat was hardly effective. Nux couldn't imagine moving much under his stretched and sore middle, much less struggling. Breath shallow, he indicated his distended belly.

"If..." he concentrated to speak. "If you undo... I can take more."

He cursed himself for possibly making the circumstances worse, but... he really wanted to slacken the strain of his clothes.

Rictus seemed to see reason. He smiled and lowered the spoon into the container - Nux brightened at the sound of the utensil hitting bare metal. Thick fingers pressed painfully into the tight skin for a few agonizing seconds before finally managing to undo buttons and pull down a zip. Short little breaths drew out from the small but welcome relief.

"Little bub got a tummy-ache?" Rictus asked. Nux didn't know if he was allowed to answer or not, not that it mattered. A moment later he groaned in an odd mixture of pain and comfort as a huge warm hand spread over his straining abdomen and began to rub. Nux tried to focus on the sight of his belly seemingly diminished by the other's hand.

Finally he belched, the feeling euphoric. He didn't care that he did it right Rictus' face, but Rictus didn't seem to mind either.

"That's a good little ankle-biter," the bigger man said. He was pleased with how his guest was coping. Nux was helpless and harmless. Rictus liked when he had them at his mercy, no matter the situation.

"A few more bites and you're full up," he declared, picking up the spoon again and directing the now cold food to parted lips. "Get ready! Heeeere comes a war rig!"

Nux's vision was starting to blur. Even with his trousers undone and the air jarred loose, he still feared the outcome if he finished the entire crate. He knew one day he would die under the loyal services of Immortan Joe, but doing so in the present scenario never crossed his mind until now.

"Last bite, sproggins." The spoon approached a final time, and Nux could barely open his mouth. He forced his jaw to work. Swallowing actually hurt.

Rictus practically cheered as though he had won a battle. The spoon clattered into the bottom of the crate and Nux felt arms lift him from the chair and settle him on his knees. He wailed in agony as he collapsed to the floor.

"What a good little grub," Rictus praised him, perhaps a little too condescendingly. "Now, who's up for a nappie change?"

Nux thought he might cry. He collapsed on his side and curled up around his engorged gut. If he moved, he was sure to chuck-up, so he stayed in as tight a little ball as possible, resisting the jabs of pain his stomach dealt him. He'd had enough.

Please, no more.

When the War Boy hadn't moved for more than a minute, Rictus became suspicious. What a fuss his visitor was making. Granted the little wretch was bloated like a tick, but growing boys needed to eat. Rictus nudged the complaining figure with his foot, and Nux resisted the urge to let loose all over the floor.

"Get up," the warrior commanded.

"I can't," Nux managed to say as he moaned.

"What now?"

"Sick."

Rictus tilted his head in (limited) contemplation. "Your blood?"

Sure. "Yes."

Bollocks. He'd worked the little sook too hard. Had he been this way when he was small? He doubted it. Sighing, he considered his options before walking off. When he returned, he had another serving of stew. Nux tried not to sob loudly enough to be heard, but his tears quickly stopped when he watched his host sit down and eat.

The meal passed slowly. Rictus hardly looked in the smaller man's direction. Nux began to wonder if he had been forgotten. Once he finished, the soldier rose to his feet and approached the sick little War Boy.

"Still need blood?"

It's not something that goes away, Nux considered explaining. He would get a slap to the face for that though. He simply nodded. Again Rictus sighed, but he placed his hands under Nux's arms and lifted him until both were standing.

"Go then," he said, guiding the smaller man to the door, holding it open for him. "You'll know when I need you again."

Nux hoped he would die on the road before then.

This time he didn't even make it to the tunnels before he covered everything in front of him with his own spew. He vomited until nothing came up, though he suspected he still had plenty leftover. His belly was still swollen and sore from the torture it had been dealt. A few more of these visits and it ran the risk of staying that way. The others would suspect... something, he just wasn't sure what.

As he struggled to find sleep an hour later, still belching, he couldn't help but ponder over Rictus Erectus' strange games, and the possible reasoning behind them. He knew it wasn't his place to inquire, but perhaps if he knew, he could figure out a way out of his predicament.

Either that or convince the behemoth to take Slit instead.

Chapter Text

After his guest was gone, Rictus had himself another wank as he retired to bed. As he pleasured himself, his thoughts were of the War Boy, specifically how he looked in the chair minutes before. The way his sprog could barely move, was so helpless after his feeding, it was almost enough to crack a horn on him so big it could pierce concrete. He tugged and twisted as he remembered how tight and firm the smaller man's belly felt under his hand, almost like how Dad's wives looked when Rictus caught sight of them, full with any of their failed attempts at new warriors. For a fleeting moment he considered the chances of treating the War Boy after one of their bouts of feeding like a female heavy with child, but he didn't see any real benefit to it.

Perhaps it was the orgasm talking, but Rictus had a really good feeling about his experiments with that boy.

What was that little grub's name again?

*

Rictus was awoken not by war drums, not a hangover, but someone pounding on his door.

"Rictus!" Scrotus bellowed from outside. "Where the fuck are you?! Do you know how late it is??"

How late? It wasn't late, he had slept as long as usual--

He jumped out of bed at the light filling his quarters. He had to have been sleeping past dawn for at least three hours. Stumbling to the door, he opened it to find his brother's fiery eyes practically staring daggers into him.

"Ya better get out, cuz Pa's about as mad as a cut snake."

"I will, I will!" Rictus grabbed for his clobber and hurried out the door, throwing on articles of clothing and armor as he did. Whatever had happened this morning was only made worse by his absence, and now the Immortan was in one of his worse moods.

What if Dad was too angry to hear his suggestion?

The rush toward the balcony was interrupted by Rictus tripping and falling. By the time he arrived, the Immortan was storming off, leaving Corpus Callosum and Scrotus behind.

"Pa!" Rictus blurted out. "Pa, I've got something to tell you!"

His father ignored him, heading for the stairs leading to his quarters beyond the gardens.

"What happened?" he asked Corpus, who turned his motorized chair toward him and smirked.

"Nice to see you could make it," the elder sibling remarked sarcastically before explaining the issue at hand. "Cheedo turned out a dud. Didn't last more than ten weeks."

"That's two strikes," Scrotus remarked, giving a nasty grin. "One more and she's out on her ass. I call dibs."

Rictus hesitated at the landing, watching his father ascend the flight of stairs. Halfway up, the Immortan remembered his youngest and wheeled around, looking down the steps at his son.

"Well? What is it?" he snarled.

This wasn't the time or the place for his suggestion, and the more he thought about it, the less important it seemed. Rictus finally shrugged, shaking his head. "Forgot what it was."

The Immortan glowered at him, making his son feel less seven feet and more seven inches, but he seemed convinced by the reply. He stormed to the top, adjusting his breathing apparatus as he hacked and coughed.

Rictus glared down at the Triumvirate far below. He had a good mind to descend from the railing, using the screaming masses to break his fall, and beat the life out of any others he could get his hands on. How could he have thought his idea had any real significance? The War Boy was no real sprog. All of this hard work had been for absolute shit.

He was angry. He needed to do something about that.

Where was that little pile of smeg?

*

Nux's thoughts had been preoccupied for days by the night he had been filled beyond capacity with stew and milk. All his life, he had been made familiar with the beatings and back-breaking work his life and duties called for, but he had grown accustomed to such treatment. It steeled his bones and hardened his flesh. As long as he had blood to keep his illness at bay, he could keep going... but not if Rictus Erectus had his way with him much longer. Beatings were preferable at this point.

Slit approached him en route to a transmission he had been working on. Nux hoped that look in his eyes didn't mean what he feared it meant.

"Rictus is lookin' for ya," the other said as he passed.

Nux grimaced. He dropped his own project and took off, hoping perhaps he could hide, at least for a little while before he was dragged off to another one of those awful games...

Looking around for pursuers kept him from looking ahead, and he collided into a human wall. Bouncing off, he landed on his backside, realizing with dread who had found him.

Rictus glared at the youth as he towered over him. Bold blue eyes stared up at him in nervous uncertainty.

"Come with me," he demanded, turning on his heel. He knew he didn't have to look back, to make sure he was being followed. All knew to obey him. They knew the consequences if they did otherwise.

He almost knocked into him again when the massive soldier came to an abrupt stop within five minutes of their walking. The enclave where they stood was quiet and without unwelcome eyes or ears.

"You're not useful anymore," Rictus declared. Nux wasn't sure if he was supposed to understand the implications of the statement.

"I don't"--

"Maybe I should kill you."

Again, Nux had not expected this to be the way he would die. Did getting slain by one of Immortan Joe's legacy qualify for entry into Valhalla? In this case, he doubted it.

"Why?" he genuinely asked.

"Because..." and here was where Rictus' mind went completely blank. For several seconds, he genuinely couldn't think of a legitimate reason. "Because..." He searched every inch of his brain for the answer, until he finally had it.

"Because no one can know about what we did!" he snarled, leaning down and jabbing a thick finger into the other's chest.

"I agree!" Nux replied in defense, pinned against the wall behind him by the warrior's finger.

Rictus lifted an eyebrow and slowly pulled his hand back. "You do?"

The War Boy nibbled his dry lips. "Yes."

Hand came back, and Nux was sure he would have a distinct bruise at the center of his chest.

"Well, you'd better!" Rictus threatened, their faces inches from each other. "It never happened, you hear me?" Straightening himself, the soldier turned and exited the tunnels.

Nux stared at the wide, muscular back of his former tormentor as he realized he wasn't about to be smashed into a stain on the grated floor. Apparently this was going to pass as a secret between them. Warily watching the exiting hulk of a man, the youth returned to the tools and parts he had dropped moments ago, resuming his work. He likely would never forget what he had been subjected to by Rictus, but if this meant it would never happen again, he could easily pretend.

Slit had asked him on several occasions afterwards what the hell he was grinning about, but Nux always managed to change the subject. In truth, he was elated he didn't have to torture his gut ever again. Or his shitter.

Chapter Text

A lot had happened within the past two days. A lot had changed. Nux was amidst strangers which he now called friends. It was all very confusing, but he was making an effort to accept his present situation. Whereas Immortan Joe had deemed him useless, didn't even care about what happened to him, he seemed to have been judged as otherwise by Imperator Furiosa and the Immortan's wives.

Former wives, he reminded himself. They weren't just breathing figures kept in their own places, they were... themselves. He and the women had more in common than he had been previously led to believe.

Night in the desert was cold as the network of tunnels where Nux was used to sleeping. Others amongst him were bundled in extra layers while he remained naked to the waist, indicating that he was, once again, the odd one out. Still, they treated him as one of their own in very little time. It was a strange notion to him. Years under the service of the Immortan and promise of sacrifice had gotten him shit. He didn't know whether or not Rictus Erectus had even recognized him when he'd been tossed onto the very war rig he was perched upon now. He hoped not, anyway; their brief tryst had been years ago, and after Rictus' decision to not kill him, he had never again been approached for the strange, painful game.

Footsteps softened by sand approached him from behind, which then became harsh as someone climbed up the hull. Fiery hair was caught in his peripheral vision and he finally turned to regard Capable.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," was Nux's immediate response. He then added, "... maybe."

Capable gave him a sympathetic smile, climbing in with him. She wasn't alright either, nor were the rest of their little caravan. Things weren't looking good concerning their future. Chances that none of them would have an earthly on the salt flats were distinctly high.

"Is there anything I can do?" she offered. If she provided her new friend with some level of comfort, perhaps it would distract her from her own worries. After all, he wasn't so bad. He deserved a little reassurance.

"It's fine." He said with a small, forced smile. Then something occurred to him. "Well... could you..." he trailed off, regretting having regained her attention instantly.

Capable stared at him. "What."

No going back now. He carefully took her hand, feeling her tense as he guided her below his chest. She clearly thought he wanted her fingers to keep going downward beyond his navel.

"It's nothing," he reassured her. "Just..." He stopped at his midsection, lean and lightly muscled from his harsh underground life. The abuse doled out to his gut so few years ago had not left a permanent mark, at least not externally. Even so, he had come away changed. His ideas over what comforted him had been granted one more option, though presently he felt too bashful to form the words. Nibbling the cracked skin of his bottom lip, he adjusted his grasp on the redhead's hand and guided it into the motion of a small circle. Capable caught on quickly and proceeded to rub of her own accord.

A tiny whisper of a moan escaped him. He had tried this on himself in the past, but it never seemed to work, not like the motions of another's hand did. Capable's gentle touch, which had soothed him into tranquility a day ago, did its trick once more. His life had been revved motors and dying screams, the most settled moments still rife with the clamoring of metal and chrome from every reach of the Citadel. The hand against his belly brought him quiet.

He mused that the quiet had been the possible reason why not every moment of his time with Rictus Erectus had been complete torment. The quiet felt familiar, from somewhere long, long ago. Somewhere safe. He curled around the hand rubbing at his middle and his fingers unconsciously did the same on Capable's upper arm.

"Better?" she whispered.

"Mmn." Realizing he had been gripping her arm, Nux let go, and she stopped in turn. He shifted in his seat as she edged closer, allowing her the space to sit beside him. Still, the room within the little truck frame that was the improvised crows' nest was such that she had to press up against him. He didn't mind. It was nice to have friends. Real ones.

The two of them watched the stars before drifting into the realm of sleep. He would probably see that big knob-headed brute again before all of this was over. Toss him. The wives had taught Nux that like them, he wasn't a thing to be used. He was an ally and a friend, someone who deserved acceptance and gentle touch.

To think he gained all that without having to be made full as a goog.