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Chapter Text

     “Argh! I’m down! No bueno!” Octavio “Octane” Silva yelled into his earpiece, sending a quick ping of the enemies location to his last surviving teammate, “Quick bad guy! Right here! Last one!”

     Bloodhound already had eyes on their target, the ever evasive Renee “Wraith” Blasey. From their perch they watched, waiting patiently, as Wraith quickly descended from the roof of a nearby building. She ran towards Octane's retreating form with full force, eager to get the kill, to finish him quickly before tending to her own downed teammates. Predictable . Bloodhound took calculated even deep breaths, trying to steady their racing heart, lining up the shot. The hunt was always so exhilarating, especially in these final moments of the games when only a few teams remained, the adrenaline was intoxicating. Their right hand adjusted the scope slightly, a hair's difference in position meant life or death. With the sniper poised on Octane’s position, eyes tracked as Wraith came into view. Bloodhound released the scope sliding their hand back down the curved body of the gun, lightly tracing it as if it were a lover, gripping the handle loosely, sniper stock tucked tight into their shoulder to steady. Wraith walked directly into view, crosshairs to the back of her head. Bloodhound took one last deep breath, finger poised on the sensitive trigger. Time slowed in this moment, blood rushing in their ears was the only thing Bloodhound could hear, the steady pulse of their heart, the pressure in their chest from the held breath. As they released their tension in a long exhale, finger in motion to apply the smallest amount of pressure for release, they saw Wraith tilt her head to the side as if she heard someone call out to her. As Hound pulled the trigger, sniper kicking back into their shoulder hard, their heart skipped a beat watching as Wraith reached unnaturally quick to activate her tactical on her wrist, disappearing before their eyes in a flurry of purple haze, bullet piercing the wall a moment later where she should have been. 

     Bloodhound cursed under their breath quickly holstering their weapon, raising to their feet to chase. They reached for their own wrist activating their Ultimate with a few taps on the screen. Hound could feel their body surge, an unearthly guttural growl ripped through their chest as they transformed into the Beast of the Hunt. Primal. All senses heightened, vision clear, fixed on the now trace amounts of haze left from their newest prey. Bloodhound knew they only had a few more moments to catch up to her before she was lost to them. Free to revive her teammates. Hounds movements need to be precise.

Trust in the Allfather.

     Bloodhound leapt down from their vantage point in one go, pausing briefly to absorb the shock from such a height on their joints before sprinting after their prey. Their vision was wide, everything dilated to increase the flow of blood to their burning extremities. The generator of their respirator screamed in protest as it was pushed to its limit, whirling to try to keep up with the intake of oxygen Bloodhound needed to stay functioning now. The purple haze was getting thicker. Closer. An abrupt turn had Bloodhound sliding around the corner on all fours, gloved hands dragging through the dirt as their legs threatened to buckle beneath them. Just a little more. 

     Another growl ripped through Bloodhound as they finally saw the end of Wrath’s portal, coming to light with crackling energy as she was about to reappear. Realization hit as Hound saw the Respawn Beacon up ahead, they needed to get between them. With everything left in them Bloodhound bounded down the hill sliding hard on their knees to gain speed on such steepness. The crackling haze came to a head as Bloodhound slid past the exit of their prey's portal. Time slowed again. Hound kicked out their right leg, digging their heel into the ground, locking their leg hard as they spun around. Bloodhound bent forward, reaching around their back as they spun, pulling their R-301 Carbine assault rifle from its secured spot low on their back, drawing it up to their chest, with an extra clip at the ready, trigger already pulled in perfect anticipation. 

     The final loud crack of energy revealed Wraith back on this plain, sprinting downhill, her eyes were fixed on the Beacon. Too slow her vision caught Bloodhound's figure on her right, seated low, gun already firing, bullets spraying towards her. She fixed her gaze on them and reached back for her own weapon, but it was too late. Bullets ripped through her red shield in one clip, cracking it completely. Bloodhound quickly released the spent magazine, inserting the next clip with practiced ease, racking it in place and beginning to unload the final magazine into her exposed body, downing her.

     Wraith’s body collapsed and slid down the hill a few feet in front of Bloodhound. Hound raised back to their feet, adrenaline still coursing hot in their body, chest heaving, ignoring the biting pain they just pushed their body to. Wraith struggled to her knees, bleeding out quickly while still trying to make it to the Beacon. She heard Bloodhound’s surprisingly light footsteps behind her and turned, a gold knockdown shield now lit up between them. Bloodhound growled low as they stocked closer to her, watching her futile pursuit of cover. They had to end her now, no chances for failure. Bloodhound reached out for her, grabbing her shoulder as they knelt behind her. They moved quickly, drawing their dagger from their boot and plunging it twice into the side of her chest cavity, penetrating deep. A clean kill. She collapsed, unmoving, as Bloodhound rose easily to their feet again wiping the blade on their jacket before sheathing it again. 

ATTENTION - There is a New Kill Leader.

Two squads remain.

     “Great kill, Compadre!” Bloodhound barely caught Octane's voice in their ear, they were still running high off of their kill, body vibrating. “Now come get us up!” 

     After one last glance at Wraith’s lifeless form Bloodhound grabbed the gold knockdown shield, securing it to their person then turned and bound after their teammates, marking their adjusted location on their tracker. As they finally made it back into town the stim began to wear off, slowing their speed, tightening their vision and movements, making them more vulnerable. A moment of relief passed over them at the sight of Octane and Mary “Horizon” Somers still alive. Horizon, looking worse for wear, needed aid quickly. 

     “Man, I am definitely glad you’re on our side!” Octane praised.

     Bloodhound knelt beside Horizon, gently easing her onto her back as they reached to retrieve the revive stim they carried. 

     "Arise, félagi fighter. Your time is not over yet."

     "Ack, thanks darlin'." She smiled sweetly at them. As Hound withdrew the stim, they effortlessly popped the cap off with just their gloved thumb before driving it unceremoniously into Horizons chest. She winced hard at the initial impact but breathed deep as the medication started to coarse through her body, easily beginning to repair any damage from their previous engagement. Movement caught her eye though as she focused over Bloodhound’s shoulder. A brief shimmer high in the distance. Battle hardened eyes scanned Horizon’s face, Bloodhound saw her features fall, making their blood run cold, her lips pursed to form words but the damage was done.

     Bloodhound felt the crack of their ribs, the burst of pain ripping through the left side of their chest before even hearing the discharge of the bullet from its home in the distance. It completely annihilated their shield with one hit, like they weren’t even wearing one. The force behind the sniper round propelled Bloodhound’s body forward, throwing them a few feet away from their still downed teammates. Their grip firm on the stim, ripped it from Horizon’s chest. With healing unfinished she collapsed again.  

     Bloodhound’s body rolled until it finally came to a hard stop, lying prone on their stomach, face now pressed hard into the ground, mask cutting deep into their cheeks, previously sheathed weapons now scattered around them. Bloodhound watched motionless as little tufts of dirt danced in the air with each strained exhale from their respirator, their mind reeling about what just happened. Hound blinked slowly trying to fix their vision, everything was coated in a haze, they could hear faint voices in the background, yelling for them to get up, run, anything. Bloodhound couldn’t move, their body was in shock. Every breath was becoming a struggle, becoming raspy and tight, their chest cavity slowly beginning to fill with blood. Their respirator began to crack and gurgle as their mask itself began to fill with the warm liquid that spilled from their mouth. Bloodhound blinked languidly as a shadow passed them, they could hear the clanking of chains being dragged, heavy boots stomping, vibrating the ground under their head. More voices yelling, shouting. They needed to get up, this wasn’t over yet.

     With their remaining strength, Bloodhound lifted their arms to their side pushing up, gasping in pain as the wound stretched further open, chest clicking with each inhale, filling further. Their muscles shook violently under the strain, threatening collapse. Bloodhound felt around their front for the stowed away stim they collected off of Wraith earlier. They lifted their head as much as their neck would allow, seeing  blurred figues start to focus, their teammates. They were creating a barrier between Bloodhound and the last remaining team, who were slowly descending on their location. Hound dropped their head then, stim in hand, resolve firm, they pushed up harder bringing themselves up on all fours, face screwed up in pain. Chest heaving for breath, complete overexertion, they rested back, their bottom catching against their heels, knees splayed open, hands clutching tight to the ground trying to keep them from collapsing forward. Bloodhound’s head was spinning, their heart was thrumming through their body, pulsating. Their vision fixated on the pool gathering below them, watching the blood drip from their mask and splash into the shallow puddle. They knew they wouldn’t be able to crawl away fast enough for cover, so it was now or never. 

     “Well, well, well. What do we have here? Looks like a couple of cracked eggs, eh?” Bloodhound's stomach turned as they heard the voice of the new legend Margeret “Mad Maggie” Kohere. They gripped the stim tight, trembling blood soaked fingers trying to wrench the cap free without notice. “A bunch of sorry sooks if ya ask me.”

     “Well, nobody asked you, did they, perra!” Octane cursed out, drawing Maggie's full attention away from Bloodhound.

     Hound squeezed the stim hard, finally popping the cap off with the pressure. They paused briefly, taking a final tight breath, gathering the energy needed before plunging the stim hard into their chest, needing to penetrate thick layers of armor for the needle to stick. It wasn’t hard enough. Bloodhound’s breath hitched, no longer able to gather air. Involuntarily Hound coughed, forcefully spewing blood out of the broken seal of their respirator, chest muscles clenching tightly. Searing pain took over their entire body as Bloodhound tried to take in another breath, anything, but it didn’t come this time. Hound felt their heart contract out of rhythm, now struggling to fill. 

     Maggie turned at the sudden outburst. A sick smile slowly pulling at the edge of her lips. Octane and Horizon looked too, a gasp tearing from Horizon’s lips at the sight of Bloodhound heaved over bleeding out. Maggie turned, pulling her long chained whip behind her. Bringing her other hand up, she grabbed the middle beginning to twist it in her grasp, raising one of the ends off of the ground. The movement wrenched Octane's gaze away from Bloodhound, he couldn't even begin to imagine how much pain they were in struggling to keep themselves upright, but he saw the stim lodged in their chest from his low vantage. He knew he needed to give Bloodhound some time. Without thinking he reached out quickly, grabbing the end of Maggie’s chain and yanking it back as forcefully as he could. Unsuspecting, Maggie lost her balance for a moment as she was abruptly pulled backwards. 

     A cold sweat began to cover Bloodhound’s entire body, drenching it, heart beating unsettlingly fast now. The last hoorah before it completely gave out. Panic started to kick in. This was their last shot. With a hand still gripping the stim, they pushed themselves completely upright, sitting fully back on their heels. Strained eyes met Octane’s for a brief moment, speaking volumes to each other. A final guttural growl escaped Bloodhound as they threw their other hand up, slamming it back down onto the end of the stim. Hound’s eyes closed, feeling the needle finally penetrate deep into their chest, a familiar stinging pain filling them as the medication expelled into their body. Octane lit up as they saw Bloodhound beginning to heal. It was only momentary however as Maggie caught her footing. With a screech, she used her momentum to turn sharply to Octane, bringing the solid metal end of her chain down, striking him on the back violently, knocking him down hard into cement. 

     “Puta madre!.” He cursed out in pain, before Maggie swung her chain around again striking him squarely on the back of the head, finishing him. She turned and glared down at Horizon’s sickly pale form trying to reach for her.  

     “Weak.” She sneered, before spitting at her and side stepping out of reach. Full attention now turned unbothered onto Bloodhound’s knelt form. Her eyes scanned Hound’s body as she slowly approached them. Taking in the sight of Hound kneeling in a pool of their own blood, chest soaked in red, mask dripping.

     “You, on the other hand…Houndy? Is that what Walter calls you? Heh, you should see yourself right now.” That smile pulled at her face again. She stopped just short, pulling one side of her chain up again, wrapping it tight around her forearm. “You look absolutely…metal.”

     Bloodhound gasped out, finally able to catch some semblance of air as the stim began to clear their lungs. Maggie tilted her head slightly, face crashing into a frown, eyebrows knitting together tightly. 

     “You’ve got fight in you, Hound. I’ll give ya that. I can see the appeal. But…” She began, suddenly kicking across Bloodhound’s chest with her leg, a sickening crack rang out as her steel boot connected with the bone of Hound’s hands, knocking them away, dislodging the needle from Bloodhound’s chest. Hound watched as the needle flew, shattering against the ground, not prepared for the second strike that came around, connecting hard with their shoulder, knocking them down again “...we can’t have you being the hero today, now can we?”

     Bloodhound growled low in their throat, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of hearing them in pain. They tried to control their breathing as they felt the effects of the medication start to fade quickly, unhealed wounds beginning to bleed again. A glint of silver caught Bloodhound’s eye as Maggie began to stalk around them. Raven’s Bite. As quickly as Bloodhound’s body would allow them they reached out for it. As the tips of their injured fingers scraped against the end of the hilt, Bloodhound heard the whirl of chain before it wrapped around their neck tightly. Maggie knelt down straddling their hips from behind. She pulled her arms back, chains secured tightly around both her wrists, constricting Bloodhound’s airways, pulling them back to her, making them arch painfully as she leaned down beside them, cooing in their ear.

     “You know, you wouldn’t be in this predicament if Walter would’ve just made his shot.” Maggie laughed as she felt Bloodhound’s body freeze. “What, you thought all this was courtesy of yours truly? Please, I’m more the up close and personal type, ya know?” Emphasizing with another hard pull.

     Bloodhound reached up with injured hands and began to vainly claw at the thick chain wrapped around their throat as it tightened further, trying to find any purchase to free themselves. Blood soaked gloves slipping over polished metal. The whirling from their respirator died out as the pressure from the chain crushed the tubing and cut the wires connecting the mask to the generator. This was not a clean kill, this was not honorable. This was madness.

     “What in the bloody hell are you doing Mags!?” Walter “Fuse” Fitzroy shouted as he came running to them with his teammate Elliott “Mirage” Witt, who looked absolutely petrified at the scene in front of him. Bloodhound felt their heart all but stop at the sound of Fuse’s voice, feeling some sense of relief as his disheveled figure came into sight. The normally stoic, happy, charismatic man that Bloodhound came to know was gone, absolute fury covering their features, body pulled taught, lips snarled up, baring teeth as he spit out his words. This was a side Bloodhound had never seen before, even in the midst of battle. 

     “Well, speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Your boyfriend’s here to save you.” She whispered near Bloodhound’s ear, making them twist hard against her restraints, before yelling out. “What does it look like, you nut, I’m finishing the piss poor job ya did.”

     “You’ve gotta be fucking jokin’, let ‘em go!” Fuse snarled, taking a step towards them, hands balled into fists.

     “Let this be a lesson in finishing your kill then, Wally. If I hadn’t been here this mutt would’ve healed up by now and come to hunt us down!” Maggie shot back. "You wanna take that chance?"

     “Then bloody finish ‘em Mags! Stop stringing them along!" Fuse flailed out his arm in their direction, still stalking towards them.

     “Like you've been doin' already? It would’ve been over if you wouldn’t have pulled your shot!” Maggie screamed back. Fuse stopped abruptly making Maggie chuckle. “You don’t think I see what’s going on? It don't take a rocket scientist to see the math ain't mathin’, Wally”

     Bloodhound caught Fuse's face falter in anger, a dusting of red settling on his stubbled cheeks before lowering his gaze, with his voice, watching her from under his brow. “You don’t know what the hell you're talking about Mags.”

     “Don’t I? I know you better than anyone, whether you like it or not. This dog has you bloody whipped, you’ve turned soft. Where's the warrior I knew, who would destroy anything in their path to get what they wanted?” She snarled out, softening her voice at the end. “Consider them collateral damage, eh? Just like everyone else…” 

     Bloodhound could feel their body finally giving out, senses beginning to fail them. Voices started to become mumbles, dark spots flickering behind their eyes, as their trachea was being crushed under Maggie’s iron grip. Muscles began to spasm as voluntary movement was being drained from them, an injured hand dropped from its place at their neck, reaching back to try to grab at Maggie herself. With lung’s burning, another involuntary cough ripped through Bloodhound’s body making it convulse sharply against Maggie's restraints as it couldn’t exit their mouth fully. All eyes fell to Bloodhound again.

     “Well, you picked a good one at least. Tough as nails this one.” Maggie praised.

     A feral growl ripped from Fuse’s throat before he took another step towards Maggie, threateningly raising his mechanical arm up, pulling his tactical Knuckle Cluster grenade from within and pointing it directly at her. 

     “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Mirage jumped forward then, putting his hands up in the air between the two Salvonians. “H-hey, Walter come on, don’t do that. You’re gonna get us disqualified. You know the rules, man, no friendly fire.”

     Maggie cackled at the two of them, making Fuse tighten his grip further, debating the consequences. Fuse was shaking from the amount of restraint he was holding, his good eye locked with Maggie’s, wanting nothing more than to shove this grenade down her throat. 

     “Oh my god! Maggie, would you just shut up! You’re gonna get pe-pen-uh, p-pena, you’re gonna get in trouble too ya know?” Mirage quipped back at her cackling form, uncharacteristic irritation bubbling over. Maggie paused in her taunting, eyes hardening to slits, her grip loosening slightly on her chain as she leaned forward.

     “You think I care about that? After all this I get to go back to the luxury of my cell under this god forsaken place, while you imbeciles get to walk free.” She spat. Mirage shrunk back as if she had struck him across the face. 

     “Oh, uh, y-yeah. I forgot about that.” Mirage winced. 

     Maggie snarled as she pulled back on her chain again, constricting Bloodhound’s airways tighter than before. Hound couldn’t help the gurgled cry that escaped their lips this time as they felt something snap. Fuse’s gaze fell as Bloodhound’s previously clawing hands dropped to the ground. Angry brows knitted into worry briefly before returning as he took in the state of his close friend, bleeding out, suffering. 

     “Come on, Wally,” She grinned, eye’s unfaltering, taunting him, as she wrapped the chain around her wrists slowly for one more loop, threatening to pull again, “Finish the job, put ‘em out of their misery.”

     “Fuse, come on,” Mirage begged quietly at their side, “Not like this.”

     A single eye snapped back to meet Maggie’s still smiling ones. Mirage jumped, pulling back, as Fuse sheathed his grenade back into its home in his mechanical arm, lowering it slowly. He inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaling through gritted teeth. Coming to a final decision. No doubts this time. No more hesitancy. He twisted back quickly, drawing his Flatline assault rifle from over his shoulder, pointing it with full assurance at his target.

     “No, wait, Fuse!” Mirage began. 

     The indignant smile on Maggie’s face fell instantly.

     “Fucking cunt.” Fuse spat as he discharged a single bullet.

ATTENTION - Winner Decided!

Chapter Text

     Fuse sat alone on the champion’s transporter as it made its short journey back to the Legend’s Compound on Psamathe, the day's game on Olympus won. The only sound that could be heard was the soft rattling of surrounding metal and the low hum of the engine. The surrounding silence rang loud in Fuse’s ears, enhancing the fact that only he, Mirage, and Maggie were its sole occupants, the other legends being split between the respawn chambers and the medical bay, depending on how severe their injuries were. The recycled air in the ship was thick with unresolved tensions. Usually there were celebrations, boastings over kill counts, and retellings of past battles fought, but now there was just agitated silence. Even the usually unapologetically loud, talkative, Mirage sat back with a pensive look on his face as he glanced between the two Salvonians, each sitting on the opposite side of one another. Maggie sat upright, shackled arms hung loose in front of her, legs spread open and kicked out in a deceptively relaxed demeanor, only her eyes betraying the tension running just under her skin as she stared Fuse down, a look of disdain written all over her face. Fuse on the other hand sat slumped forward, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees, head lowered with his eye closed. Also, presenting as relaxed and unbothered but his hands were gripping each other tight, slightly shaking, the muscles in his back and shoulders were strained tight ready to leap in a moment's notice. 

     Fuse was dreading the return to the Legend’s Compound, they were all contractually obligated to do a series of interviews and meetings after every battle and event. He usually found these to be fun, a good self promotion and opportunity to strut his abilities and fill his need for praise, but he knew this time the tone in the room would be different, that the final skirmish between his and Bloodhound’s teams would be a hot topic of discussion. His face twisted up at the thought. Bloody memories of seeing his friend on their knees in front of him, in pain, beaten and bruised. Choking, being strangled. And you just watched. Images of a single bullet, piercing. Made them suffer. Fuse shook his head to get that thought out. He could easily, on most days, brush off a match if it had turned sour between legends, knowing that whatever happened in the games, stayed in the games, and that it was just that, a game. This time however, he was finding it harder to bring himself out. This was turning personal. 

     “What kind of face is that? Did you finally get a good whiff of yourself?”

Ever since SHE was thrown into the games.   

     At that Fuse opened his eye and looked up at her from under his furrowed brow.

     “Yeah nah, I just can’t take the absolute bullshit coming from you anymore.” 

     Maggie tilted her head, giving a small hum in response. “Should’ve said that from the beginning, think I would’ve taken it better than you running off to play house with the Syndicate.”

     “Give it a rest, Mags.” He sighed out. “It won't change a thing. I ain’t coming back. You made sure to put the final nail in that coffin.” 

This again, it always comes back to this.

     Fuse bristled.

     “I gave you forty years of my life, Mags. I went to the bloody end of worlds for you. And every time, every time, it wasn’t good enough for you. I wasn’t good enough for you!”

     The day's events had been building up and this was the final straw, Fuse snapped, rising to his feet, shoving a pointed finger in her direction. “I finally have my shit together. For the first time in my fucking life. I know what I want, I have a chance to be great, to do great things, to help everyone . To truly belong somewhere. And here you bloody manifest like the devil himself to nuke any chances I have to be happy. To ruin any semblance of peace I can get.”

     Fuse took a deep breath and turned away from her, beginning to pace back and forth near his seat, running his hands down his face in exasperation and back up pushing his hair back before resting both hands on his head. Mirage watched him, stealing a few glances at Maggie who was still sitting back, unfazed by the rage. 

     “I can’t even,” Fuse starts and stops. “I can’t even be surrounded, for a moment, by the people I love, to just be…”

     “Person.”

     Fuse stops abruptly in his tracks, lowering his arms back to his sides slowly as he turns back to her with a surprised look before trying to conceal it. 

     “Surrounded by the person you love.” She corrected again. 

     Fuse paused, recalling her words from earlier.

     “Is that what this is bloody about?” He questioned, his voice dangerously low, face screwing up into revulsion. Mirage swallowed heavily at the sound, both now looking at Maggie for an answer she will never provide. Fuse takes a slow step towards her. 

     “What of it? You gonna ruin my chance at that too?”

     Maggie raised her head back in defiance and began pulling her legs in to steel her feet under her, leaning forward watching Fuse take another step, she saw a familiar sick grin beginning to pull at one corner of his lips. Her heart ached at the memory of the last time he looked like that.

     “Why, Mags?” He all but purred. “Just because it’s not you?”

     Mirage couldn’t hold back the rush of air that escaped him or the flush that crept up on his cheeks, looking away, he slapped his hands on his knees getting up from his seat, eyebrows raised to the sky, removing himself from the vicinity. “Welp! I should not be here right now.” 

     Hitting the right trigger, a primal roar ripped from Maggie's throat as she launched from her seat towards Fuse. His face hardened back as he watched her launch in unbridled fury at him. Quickly assuming a defensive stance, he had little time to counter her first strike. She turned and kicked off of a nearby structure leaping at him, shackled hands raised high to strike down on him. When Fuse raised his arms to block she quickly pulled her hands down adding force to the kick he wasn’t expecting, landing her boot squarely into his chest, sending him flying backwards. He landed hard, the edge of the seat digging dangerously deep into his back. He silently cried out falling to his side, catching himself with his mechanical arm. He brought his other hand up to his chest, holding himself steady as he gasped to get the air back into his lungs. Maggie didn’t hesitate though, another piercing yell as she moved to strike him again. Fuse turned toward her at the sound and was struck across the face with her metal cuffs, whipping his head violently to the side, cutting open his cheek and cracking his nose instantly. With another swift assault she lept onto him, latching onto his hair, pulling him back abruptly, then locking her arms around his neck in an attempt to choke him out. He growled, spitting out blood as it seeped down his throat. He lowered his head as much as her restraining arms would let him before slamming backwards, the back of his head coming into direct contact with her own nose, effectively breaking it. Her grip faltered as he ducked under and elbowed her in the ribs, sending her recoiling. 

     He rose to his feet turning, watching her clutch her bleeding face seemingly unaware of his new position, he wiped at his own nose with his forearm before advancing towards her, fists ready. As Fuse pulled his left arm back to strike her she suddenly kicked out, connecting straight with his knee bending it backwards. Fuse dropped instantly to his other knee at the explosion of pain. As she went to kick him again he blocked her leg, absorbing the hit with his flesh arm and shoulder. With her full weight balancing on one leg, Fuse returned the hit, lashing out hard, unconsciously with his mechanical arm, fist closed he struck the side of her knee, hearing a sickening crack. She wailed out, dropping to her back. He wasted no time climbing on top of her, seated low on her waist, legs locked intertwined, so she couldn’t buck him off. She tried to reach out, but he slammed her hands out of the way, as he grabbed her by the throat digging his fingers deep into her skin, completely sealing her airway. She tried to gasp out. Fuse could feel her throat struggling to move under his grip as she tried swallowing, blood flowing freely from her nose and corners of her mouth. A strangely poetic sight. Maggie reached out again with locked hands, dragging her nails against his chin and neck, leaving deep red marks trying to grab him, before falling to his chest clutching desperately at his blood-soiled tank, twisting it tightly in her hands. 

     Fuse’s chest was heaving, pure adrenaline fueling his body, his mind fractured as he shifted his full weight forward, shoulders directly over his wrist now, applying more pressure to her frail neck, his hand could almost fit completely around it. He twisted his torso then, pulling his right arm fully back, mechanical fist balled up. In all of their fights it had never gone this far. They had always been passionate, ending arguments and winning fights with their fists. Each taking their fair share of blows in the name of being right. But this. This was different. Fuse had never felt this kind of rage. Everything wrong in his life, she had been a part of in some capacity. Even the few good times they had shared together were overshadowed by greed and power, her wanting to control everything, to control him. Fuse just wanted to be free, to be his own man, to be happy. All his frustration came to a head in that moment as he reared back, years of anger, self doubt and loathing gripped him as he gathered all the force he could. Their eyes never wavered from each other, even in this moment. A deep pained howl wrenched from Fuse’s core as he brought his fist down. 

     In their brief tussle neither noticed that the transporter had come to an abrupt landing, having reached their destination, nor did they hear the flurry of frantic voices just outside the ship's doors which began to open. All that was heard was the reverberating clang of metal on metal, as Fuse’s fist slammed into the floor of the transporter, just centimeters from Maggie’s face, leaving a sizable dent in the solid steel beneath. Fuse felt her grip loosen against his chest, realizing he had closed his eye when striking down. He opened it, exhaling heavily as he saw how close he had come to connecting. He shifted his gaze, watching as blood flowed out of the small cut on her ear that he had clipped. A sick sense of satisfaction crossed his mind as his gaze flitted over her blood stained face, that he was finally in control, but as quickly as that feeling came it was extinguished as the angry determination he saw on her face from just moments ago had shifted to…fear? His stomach twisted viciously as he realized there was a thin sheen of tears in her eyes threatening to fall, that her usually healthy tanned skinned had turned a pale blue. He could have killed her. Realization hit him hard as he released her throat instantly, moving his hand to the base of her neck, gently cradling her head, as she convulsed to try to regain air, coughing and sputtering blood that had gathered in its place. As Fuse went to move off of her, he heard the familiar click of an assault rifle near him and froze now realizing they were not the only ones there. 

     “Hands up! Don’t move!” 

Fuck.

     As Fuse raised both of his hands above him, he stole a glance in the direction of the voices and cursed again as camera flashes blinded him momentarily. The media was outside, cameras and weapons now aimed at them, following their every movement. He looked back down at Maggie, who had finally stabilized, their eyes met again the previous events now forgotten. Tears gone, long dried, her eyes hardened in rekindled anger. Another sigh escaped Fuse’s mouth as he sat fully back, unlocking their legs, as guards came up the ramp. Why would he think that this would be any different?

     “Enough with the games, Mags.” Fuse gritted out, staring down at Maggie, brows drawing down in mimicry. She stared at him for a long moment as the guards roughly grabbed him under his arms, pulling him to his feet and back away from her. Her eyes darted to the back of the cabin at a high pitch squeak, watching as more guards rushed to the previously crouched Mirage, who had stowed away in a corner during their fight. She turned back as she herself was hauled up and onto her feet, wincing hard as she put pressure on the knee Fuse had damaged, collapsing back against the guards for support. She pursed her lips together, locking eyes with Fuse, gathering the blood and saliva in her mouth, and spit in his direction. More clicks from the nearby cameras as she then smiled at him.

     “All’s fair in love and war. Eh, Fuse?” 

     He snarled out, causing the guards to place their hands back on Fuse in restraint as she was unceremoniously dragged from the aircraft laughing, followed closely by her own guards and stray reporters, a few staying behind to capture Fuse and Mirage as they were released to leave. 

     “So, uh, what now?” Mirage asked coming to a stop behind Fuse as they both watched Maggie descend out of sight, back to her cell. Fuse, she had used his working name. A sense of dread sat low in his mind at its meaning, this was far from over. Fuse turned to Mirage, emotions clearly written on his face, making Mirage take an involuntary step back. More flashes and clicks of cameras, this time emboldened voices started to ring out over each other, trying to ask the legends about what had just happened. Both Mirage and Fuse’s personal comms began pinging and vibrating with messages and missed calls, surely their Syndicate provided PR representatives just now saw what had transpired, trying to do some semblance of damage control. Fuse reached down, muting his comm and grabbing the collar of his vest trying to wipe his nose clean. He looked down at his disheveled self, covered in dirt and who knows whose blood, shifting his frame tentatively to his other leg before thinking against using his full weight. He took a deep steadying breath before answering. 

     “I need a bloody drink.”

Chapter Text

     Bloodhound awoke with a start, throwing themselves upright and violently out of the bed they found themselves in, pulling nearby machines off balance as the attached cords pulled free, ripping the temporary medical respirator from their face. They landed hard onto the concrete floor, thin flesh on their knees splitting easily, Bloodhound gasped out for air, reaching up to claw blindly at their throat. Residual nightmares haunting their vision. Blunt nails scratched at tender skin instead of chains they swore were still wrapped around them. Bloodhound swallowed roughly, still feeling the suffocating grip pulling them back. Tightening. Unyielding. Sweat engulfed them quickly as their heart raced frantically, beads gathering at their temple before falling over the sharp contour of their exposed face, down the stretch of their pulsing jugular, absorbing into the thin coarse fabric that covered them. Mind still reeling they slid their hands down the path of sweat to the front of their damp chest. So much blood. Pulling on the thin fabric covering them, tearing it completely away from their body with one hard pull, leaving their upper torso exposed, Bloodhound looked down at themselves expecting to see dark red still spilling freely from their open wound, pooling, dripping in front of them but found nothing. Only the faintest new scar in a sea of old. Chest still heaving and eyes wild, Bloodhound spun around the brightly lit room on all fours, frantic eyes taking in the cold sterile white walls and loud incessant alarms of vital machines dripping fluids. The sobering realization hit them hard. The battle was over…they had lost.

Failure.

     A rough pained cry wrenched from their throat as they collapsed onto splayed hands. Bloodhound rocked forward, dropping their head between their shoulders as intense pressure began to build at the base of their skull, breath coming out in tight short spurts, loose tendrils of hair clinging to their damp skin along their forehead and back. Their chest ached as their heart tried to keep up with the drastic shift of adrenaline, their lungs beginning to burn without their respirator. Bloodhound swallowed thickly, struggling to pull down the large amount of saliva that had formed. They winced, tilting their head to the side, eyes shutting tight as memories came crashing back. Maggie’s words flooded Bloodhound’s mind, the sneer of her voice piercing as she spit venom at them. Bloodhound had been a part of many seasons of the Apex Games, had experienced unimaginable things at the hands of their fellow competitors, but this, this was utter brutality. Fuse had warned them at the beginning of the season when she was unceremoniously dropped into the middle of the games. Warned them of her brutality, to watch out for her, but Bloodhound had brushed him off, certain that they could handle themselves in battle. Only to be proven wrong. 

     Bloodhound clenched their fists against the cold floor. They had been careless with their surroundings, running off of the high of the kill. They should have known that the battle would have drawn the nearby squad to come finish off the survivors as they recovered. A tactic Bloodhound had implemented many times before. Blood pulsed hard in their ears as blurred memories became focused. The yelling, cursing. The look of fury as Fuse came into view. Weapons pulled, but not at Bloodhound. Maggie. The forlorn look on Fuse’s face as he glanced down at them between haggard coughs, struggling for breath. The sudden flush on his cheeks, as Maggie spoke to him knowingly, muffled, the creeping red that followed that made Bloodhound’s heart skip. Fuse’s face begging for forgiveness. From what? It was the nature of the game. More threats. The leveling of an assault rifle. The returning rage in Fuse’s stare. A low groan escaped Bloodhound’s chest at the memory, nothing like they’d seen before, almost as if Fuse wasn’t there anymore, the intense disturbed look in his eye, that was not the Fuse that Bloodhound had come to know. The sickening crack of a single bullet discharging.

     Bloodhound gasped out again, a stabbing pain erupting behind their eyes. Piercing alarms ringing were sure to alert medical personnel. They needed to get out of here, back to their apartment, somewhere familiar, safe. As thankful as they were for the medical professionals, Bloodhound never made it a point to stay long. The cold artificial rooms of the medical bay made them uneasy, the invasive procedures and unwanted attention made their skin crawl, even though privacy and anonymity was a hard set condition of their contract. Bloodhound shakily rose to their feet, feeling like a newborn fowl, the weight of the day finally crashing into them as the deep aches and pains started to seep through the strong medication flowing in their system. Heavy eyes eagerly searched the room for their belongings, a muffled ping of their Comms Unit drawing them to the loosely folded pile of clothes in the back, their repaired respirator draped over the top. As they made their way towards their gear the communicator pinged and vibrated again. Bloodhound frowned as they approached it, it was very rare that anyone would contact them outside their PR representative, let alone this many times at once. Ruffling through the pile of clothes, noting that someone had cleaned and repaired them, the communicator went off again. Bloodhound quickly snatched the tablet from the pile, not wanting to be disturbed, they flicked the screen on, pausing at the time that flashed briefly across it. Bloodhound had been out the majority of the day, now pushing late into the night. They flicked to the next screen pulling down their missed notifications, eyes wide. Twelve missed calls and almost thirty unread messages. Bloodhound flushed at the sheer amount, quickly skimming through them, the majority being their PR representative trying to confirm and relay stories from the end of the day's match, others were well wishes and speedy recoveries from their fellow Legends. As Bloodhound reached the bottom to the most recent, they froze, hand hovering over the screen. 

Have you seen Fuse? I just saw what happened, it’s all over the front pages. - Loba Andrade

     Bloodhound reluctantly swiped over to the results of the match. The winners banners proudly displayed at the top in victory, looping their poses repeatedly. Bloodhound’s eyes lingered over Fuse’s a little longer than necessary, taking in the nimble dexterity he had with his blade before offering it to the camera, hard lit from his right, the light shone brightly off of the polished metal of his arm, a stern furrow of his brow as he looked expectantly to the viewer. Bloodhound slowly released the breath that they didn’t realize they had been holding, as their finger pressed hard against the tablet screen, trepidation curling low in their stomach as their hand hesitated to pull up the article below. What could have possibly happened after the match? With a flick of their finger, the title of the article came into view accompanied with a grainy video that looped. 

Trouble in Paradise? The two Salvonians square off in a heated brawl after the games.

     Bloodhound’s eyes fell to the bottom of the screen where the video played. What looked like security footage from the inside of the victor's transport ship, angled from above close to Fuse’s side of the ship, the three sitting awkwardly across from each other. Nowhere present, Bloodhound could feel the tension filling the void between the three Legends through the gritty lens. Then they saw mouths moving, a quick touch to the video revealed there was no audio available. Bloodhound frowned, returning to the video, watching as unheard words were passed between the two Salvonians, Fuse becoming visually agitated, arms swinging wide then pointed before rising suddenly to his feet. Bloodhound’s heart twisted as they watched Fuse pace like a cornered animal, body coiled tight, poised to strike at any moment. Then he stopped, turning slowly towards Maggie. Bloodhound’s gaze darted to her, observing the new position she sat in, not catching the words that fell from her mouth as the camera struggled to focus. Back to Fuse as his arms lowered, taking long slow strides towards her, body now poised threateningly. A tilt of his head had Mirage rising to his feet and towards the far side of the ship before Maggie suddenly attacked. The pair vollying hard blows against each other, arms wild, blood flying everywhere as they tussled each other to the ground. Breath caught hard in Bloodhound’s throat as they watched Fuse strike her in the knee with his mechanical arm. Never in their time in the games together had Bloodhound ever seen Fuse use his arm to offensively strike someone. Eyes widened as they watched him viciously clammer on top of Maggie, hand closed tightly around her throat as he reared back his mechanical arm yet again. Bloodhound caught the look of fear in Maggie’s eyes as Fuse brought his fist down. Bloodhound exhaled violently as the camera cut right before the connection. 

No, no, no.

     Bloodhound quickly swiped down the rest of the article, skimming back up as they passed a second video. A new angle, from the outside of the ship, guards poised on the ramp, guns drawn, slowly circling on the Legend’s position. As the camera got closer Bloodhound felt a wave of relief rush over their tense form in seeing that Fuse did not connect, Maggie was alive. Bloodhound placed the tablet on the counter, leaning over it, hands flexed on the edges, gripping tightly. As quickly as that relief came it dissipated as they saw Fuse still holding her down. Trembling hand clenched tight around her neck, veins bulged out over his arm at the shear strain he pushed his muscles to. As the guards got closer, yelling, he suddenly pulled back, releasing her, raising his arms before being dragged off to the side and her up and away, the cameras following after her. Bloodhound shut off their tablet at that, hanging their head low again in thought. A slow intake of air through their nose to still their returned racing heart, as they gathered their thoughts, the low pounding of their headache rising again, pushing harshly against their temples. Whatever had transpired at the end and after the match, that…that was not Walter. It couldn’t have been. Bloodhound usually didn’t get involved in the affairs of their fellow Legends but this, there was something going on with their friend, something unresolved that Maggie always seemed to bring out of him. The haunted looks that would flit over Fuse’s face these last few weeks, like pained memories being dragged to the surface. It looked like he was losing the battle. Bloodhound finally exhaled, rolling their shoulders back in a small stretch. They needed to find him, they needed to bring him back. They knew first hand how much of yourself you could lose to the past, to wrap yourself up so tightly in it that you could no longer see a future. Walter had helped them when they needed it most, now it was their turn. That’s what any friend would do right? Steeling their resolve Bloodhound, nodded to themselves and quickly dressed, affixing their respirator tightly to their face taking a few deep, full breaths. Rest could wait for now, they needed to find him, and who better to track him down than the Blóðhundur. 

     Fuse stared deep into the glass he held, twirling it gently, transfixed at the way the double pour of amber liquid danced against the crystal walls, fluorescent lights of the bar refracting brightly through it. He closed his eye, humming lightly to himself, as the bass of the low music around him thrummed deep in his chest. He straightened slightly from his hunched position over the bar, lifting the full glass to his chapped lips, tilting his head back he downed the pour in one experienced go. Keeping his head back, face pointed to the ceiling, he brought his hand back down to the solid frame of the bar, setting the empty glass down with a clink. One long exhale escaped him as the liquor made itself known, descending within him, pooling low in his stomach, warming him. He felt the familiar tightness at the base of his skull, gripping his mind, the slow drawl of his thoughts finally settling after the events of the day. He stayed like this for a long moment, muscles loose, languid, and feeling…nothing. The injuries of the day faded to the back of his mind, a comfortable numbness. Fuse wasn’t drinking his normal beverage, his usual beers were not going to cut it, not this time. He needed something stronger, anything to make him forget, even for just a moment, to quiet his mind. It had been years since he needed to drown his sorrows. A dull pang struck his temple as memories threatened to tear away the temporary blockade he built. He sighed, then inhaled slowly, lungs pulling deep, holding it in briefly before parting his lips in another satisfying exhale.

     Fuse lolled his head forward re-affixing his gaze back down to his glass, pausing a moment as his vision seemed to lag behind the motion. He closed his eye again, brows furrowing loosely, as he steadied himself, turning his focus to his surroundings, listening to the thrum of the room, the mix of characters, loud and boisterous, cackling and carrying on about their day, the clinks of glasses and bottles in celebration, the low whispers of ominous plots and hushed laughter of soon to be lovers. Fuse gingerly opened his eye again, mind sitting right this time, he stole a glance at the retreating back of the bartender before lowering his gaze back to his now refilled glass. He nodded shortly to no one in particular before taking another drink, a small sip this time, holding it in his mouth, letting the liquor coat his tongue completely before pulling it down. Fuse blinked slowly, lethargy setting in, it was getting time to go. A hot shower and a warm bed sounded like the perfect end to a shit day, even better if there was someone to join him. Fuse felt his body flush at the thought, a familiar low pull growing deep within. 

     The creak of the stool to his right pulled Fuse out of his more vulgar thoughts that had easily surfaced to the front of his laxed mind.  He shifted forward, adjusting himself slightly at the disruption, as the stranger moved close to maneuver around to their seat,  brushing lightly against his mechanical arm in passing. A comforting, familiar, earthy scent wafted to his injured nose, skin peaking as a small shudder ran through him, the muscles in his lower back tightening, making him sit a little straighter, the scent warming his body like no liquor ever could. Pressure built steadily now as his mind slowly began to piece together who that scent belonged to. Houndy. He groaned out at the sudden twist in his stomach, its liquid contents churning threateningly, as the fragile blockade Fuse had built in his mind came crashing down in an instant, the sobering memories of the day rushed back to strain against the walls of his skull, pounding incessantly, demanding immediate release. 

     Fuse swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly tight under the intense silent scrutiny of his fellow Legend. If they spoke he couldn’t hear them in this moment, blood rushed to his ears as restraint became more and more fleeting. Fuse pressed his lips together hard into a thin line, muscles in his face straining as his throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly, as if mimicking words, harsh thoughts unspoken. With both seats open around him Bloodhound had chosen to sit on his right, sitting in his peripheral. Fuse couldn’t bring himself to look at them however. He knew they were there for him, assured that they had seen what had transpired after the match. They had come to make sure he was alright, no other reason for them to be in this hell hole. Guilt twisted deep in his stomach. He wasn’t alright though. Far from it. Fuse was vibrating, loose muscles from before now drawn uncomfortably tight again. Vision still fixed on his drink, he watched as the surface rippled as his hands shook, small waves crashing together. The pressure was becoming too much. His hand tightened further around the fragile crystal. Memories of Maggie under him flitted across his mind, the blood, the fear. How perfect her neck fit in his hand, how easily he could have snapped it. How he wanted to. 

     “Walter.”

     The soft whisper sounded like a gunshot going off next to him. Snapping him from his dark thoughts, flinching. Fuse shakily exhaled the breath he had been holding, clearing his throat as he tried to roll the tension from his shoulders. He re-affixed his grip on his drink and went to lift it to his lips when a gentle hand laid across his mechanical wrist, lightly restraining him. 

     “...Walter.”

     This time Bloodhound’s soft voice was more firm, still a whisper but assertive nonetheless. Whispering just his name, commanding him to stop. Fuse blinked slowly, eye falling to the gloved hand resting on him, noticing the slight comforting motion of their thumb grazing over his forearm in a soothing stroke. Warmth radiated in Fuse’s core at the gesture, relaxing him further. What he wouldn’t give to feel that against his skin, no barriers between them. For the first time that day he felt the tiniest pull of a smile on the corner of his lips at the connection. Movement caught his eye and before he could think he turned to it, meeting Bloodhound’s expressive goggles, taking him back at how close they had moved. Or had they always been that close. That brief smile fell from his lips as he looked into the clouded lenses, seeing his own disheveled appearance reflected in them. His cut cheek and nose highlighted with deep purple bruising growing darker by the minute, dried blood caked on his skin and mustache, staining his clothes. Fuse had come right to the bar after the match, not caring how he looked, he had only one goal in mind. Forget. He grimaced, turning his head away sharply, pausing to steady himself against the bar as his mind stumbled in behind, listening as Bloodhound spoke quietly again.

     “You are injured.”

     Fuse hummed in response, pulling his drink out of the hand that Bloodhound had commandeered, his flesh arm quickly tipping it back, draining the remaining contents in their entirety, drawing what he could have sworn was a low growl from Bloodhound. A deep seeded shiver ran through him, coursing up his spine, as the pour did not go down as smoothly as the others, no other reason for the sudden weight in his stomach. They sat there together as silence crept in again. Bloodhound watching, observing every detail, every twitch that passed over Fuse’s face, analyzing. Fuse looking forlornly at his empty glass. Out of the corner of his eye Fuse watched as Bloodhound nodded to themselves, an unspoken decision made. They stood gracefully, closing the already tight space between them. Fuse tilted his head towards them, breath catching as he was now eye level with Bloodhound’s armored chest, mere inches, as they brush passed him again to leave. Fuse clenched his jaw tight, a snarl playing on his lips, as that earthy scent returned, making his eye flutter shut and tighten his grip on his glass, balling his other hand into a fist in order to not reach out, to capture it. How he wanted to bathe in that smell, sink into it. It was strangely intoxicating, the way that it cleared his mind of everything, calmed him. Or maybe it was just him that was intoxicated. 

     Fuse hadn’t noticed the hand that Bloodhound had rested on his mechanical arm from earlier was now sliding up, agile fingers dancing around plated edges. Not noticing, at least, until the leather gloved hand slid over the sensitive connection of skin at his shoulder port. Fuse was sure that his jaw would snap at the amount of pressure building again. A very different type of pressure this time. Bloodhound opened their palm wide, thumb to Fuse’s back, wrapping lithe fingers around his strained trap muscle, applying subtle massaging pressure as they passed behind them. Their hand stopped just short of curling up Fuse’s neck, fingers gripping his collar almost threateningly, digging deep into the base of his neck as he felt Bloodhound lean in around the other side of him. The Apex Hunter now close enough that he could feel the steady controlled breathing from their respirator rustling the hairs on the side of his neck by his ear, light hairs standing at attention at the sensation. Fuse couldn’t help the low unabashed guttural moan that fled from his clenched jaw as Bloodhound whispered in his ear, no longer able to keep it caged.

     “Come now, Walter.”

Crack!

     Fuse jolted forward as if shot from behind, his breath coming out in short huff. He felt Bloodhound release the scrap of his neck, giving him a firm pat before completely withdrawing their intimidating presence from behind. Wide eye stared down at the shattered glass in front of him, small drops of amber absorbing into the wood, surprised he hadn’t cut himself. His breath hitched as he noticed how eerily quiet the bar had become. He flushed deeply, his stomach sinking to the floor as he noticed everyone around him had glanced his way, some faces drawn down in worry about the remnants of glass, others impressed at the strength, majority irritated at the interruption. Fuse turned in his chair, catching Bloodhound’s retreating back. Their imposing form and confident stride easily parted the sea of people mingled around the exit, most patrons shrinking back in fear as one of the most revered and illusive Legends made their presence known. Fuse couldn’t help as his eye traveled over the expanse of their broad shoulders, the soft furs overflowing from their collar, to their respirator that sat high on their left. Eye drawing down with the slight shake of accessories that adorned their trim waist, a gleam of silver shone brightly from where Raven’s Bite sat secured to their right, jostling in its holster with every powerful step. Fuse’s wandering eye darkened, pupil dilating as it stopped center, just below their belt. Staring at the expanse of canvas that covered their backside, fabric that shifted deftly as they walked. Way too many layers. As if hearing his thoughts out loud, Bloodhound paused briefly, pulling Fuse’s gaze up to meet their inquisitive goggles as they glanced back over their shoulder in his direction. Upon seeing the unabashed brazen look that glinted in Fuse’s eye they tilted their head faintly to one side in curiosity before returning to their stride, disappearing around the corner expectantly. Fuse shakily rose to his feet, shifting slightly in renewed discomfort as he pressed his weight down on his damaged knee. Injuries be damned. Maybe he’d get the perfect end to his day after all. That last whisper. The low filtered hum. The hard juxtaposition of intent versus delivery. It left no room for argument. A command. One that Fuse would surely follow.

Chapter Text

     Bloodhound stared out blankly into the night sky of Psamathe, eyes surveying out beyond the harsh flashing city lights that threatened to blind them as they rode the glass elevator up to their apartment. How they longed to retreat back into the forest that hid just beyond the horizon, into the far mountains, out of the densely packed city of Malta, no longer surrounded by thick concrete and metal, breathing in fresh air instead of the heavy smog and slick stench that seemed to linger here. A heavy sigh slid easily past Bloodhound’s lips as they reclined back against the cool glass, folding their arms delicately across their chest to rest on the armor that protected their torso. The day had indeed been a trying one, pushing everyone well past their mental and physical limits. Bloodhound pulled their gaze away from the city, closing their eyes for a moment as they dropped their head back, their helmet lightly tapping against the glass. They could feel their muscles straining under the intense fatigue that was creeping steadily through them, a heavy weight pulling them down, quicker than anticipated. Even with their eyes closed for just a few seconds Bloodhound could feel their breathing even out and their heart rate drop drastically. A quivering tremor from their heart had them inhaling sharply, straightening their back, eye’s struggling to reopen evenly, as they pulled in a deep breath. 

     “You alright there, Houndy?”

     Bloodhound’s eyes snapped to the opposite side of the elevator where Fuse stood, his feet crossed over each other as one leg bore his weight, his backside resting against the hard railing, shoulders up as he gripped the solid bar for stability. Bloodhound stayed silent for a moment looking him over before answering. They could feel their chest tightening as they glanced over the deep gashes and dark bruising across his worried face. A flash of Maggie striking him flitted across Bloodhound’s mind drawing an unconscious low growl from them. It must have been loud enough for Fuse to hear as his brows drew up, a slight flush falling over his cheeks as he leaned back. Bloodhound cleared their throat quickly trying to conceal it.

     “My apologies Walter. I am just…a little tired is all.”

     Fuse hummed at that, nodding his response before turning his head down and away to look out over the city himself. It was Bloodhound’s turn to tilt their head as they watched a series of emotions cross over their friend’s face dramatically, before settling on what looked to be frustration. If only Bloodhound knew what was going on in there. Bloodhound frowned at the thought, shaking their head shortly to get rid of it. The Apex Hunter was never one to care what others thought, never keeping up on the other legends or being deeply invested in their dealings outside of the games. Then why was this different? Bloodhound found themselves, more often than not, caring…about this man in particular. Even when first introduced to each other in the games, in the heat of battle, there was always something that drew the hunter to him. A warm familiarity. Even with his loud crassness, Bloodhound always felt a comfort, an ease around him. One of the reasons they had become close friends. Now, seeing Fuse in this state, so uncharacteristically quiet, emotional, made them want to protect him. To do whatever it took to bring him back. To make him happy again. 

     “Walter,” Bloodhound started softly, drawing Fuse’s attention back to them. The hunter paused, unsure of what to say as Fuse waited patiently for them to speak, exhaustion reflected in his eye, jaw tight, muscles clenched firmly, trapping every word, every thought the man was having. He was certainly never one to hold back in conversation. So, what was he holding back now?

     “Speak your mind.” 

     Bloodhound watched as momentary surprise flashed across his face, lips parting slightly as his mouth fell open at the soft command. As quickly as it fell open it snapped shut, that peculiar dusting of red crept over his cheeks again as he dropped his gaze, eye flicking around, from side to side, seemingly searching for the right thing to say. A thick silence fell between them as Bloodhound watched Fuse shift uncomfortably, muscles slowly tensing again with each passing moment. His demons were back in the forefront of his mind. Eyes fell to his clenched fists, arms shaking slightly as he twisted the bar in his grip, knuckles white, the low creak of metal as the railing threatened to give around Fuse’s mechanical grip. 

     “Walter.” 

     “I almost killed her.” 

     Bloodhound was taken aback at the sudden outburst, blinking at him as he panted heavily, his breathing short, tight. The small confession being his release. He pushed off of the railing, pacing slightly in their confined space before moving to the adjacent curve of the elevator, leaning forward, catching the bar in his hands again as he pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

     “I almost killed her. I-i almost killed her…” He repeated himself, softly this time, almost in disbelief. “It’s never…I never, fuck!”

     Bloodhound watched as a light condensation gathered on the glass from the heat Fuse was exuding, from the shallow puffs of hot air expelling from his lungs. Bloodhound didn’t speak, giving him time to cool down, to gather his words on his own, as the initial blockade of his thoughts seemed to have broken down. 

     “I can’t bloody escape her. My past keeps rearing its ugly head and biting me in the ass. Everything she does, everything she says gets to me. She knows me. Knows what I can do, what I have done…what I will do. I can’t escape it.”

     “Then embrace it.”

     Fuse turned at their friend’s bluntness, confusion on his face.

     “You cannot run from your past, so it is better to embrace it. Learn from it. You say that she knows you, but I’m sure you…know her as well.” Bloodhound frowned as the words slid passed their lips, leaving a sour taste in their mouth. They pushed off of the glass they reclined against and slowly made their way over to stand abreast to Fuse, arms still folded, looking out into the night. “You know what she is capable of, you know her tricks. Do not let them consume you, Walter. Do not give her power over you. You are stronger than that.”

     Bloodhound watched Fuse in the glass’s reflection, stand slowly to his full height and turn to them, mimicking his previous reclined stance.

     “I am glad you did not kill her though.” They stated honestly. “Whether a part of you wanted it or not.”

     Bloodhound could feel Fuse’s gaze boring into them as they spoke. 

     “This is just part of your path, Walter Fitzroy. Learn from it, and be better for it. There is more to this life than momentary pain. It is time to move on, you have grown beyond her.”

     Bloodhound turned their head at the end, meeting Fuse’s eye. The expression that stared back at them made the Apex Hunter pause, the intensity behind the look made the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end. It was becoming more frequent that Bloodhound would catch this expression on the grenadier's face, usually a quick glance before covering it, looking away or laughing it off. It was strange that he would be so open with it now, maybe it was the liquor that made the man so brazen in his staring, whichever it was Bloodhound found themselves curious at what Fuse would do. What it meant. Bloodhound tilted their head to the side as they watched Fuse swallow thickly, goggled eyes catching a brief flash of the tip of his tongue as he coated his seemingly dry lips. Bloodhound’s gaze now locked on the parted lips that seemed to struggle again to find words. 

     “Houndy, I…”

     The sudden loud delicate chime of the elevator arriving at its destination cut Fuse short, his mouth snapping shut again, as he turned to look at what floor they were on. Bloodhound hummed low to themselves. Maybe they’ll find out later. They still had work to do. With one last lingering glance at Fuse, Bloodhound turned on their heel and exited the elevator, their stride a relaxed amble as they heard Fuse’s heavy boots catch up quickly behind, a slight unevenness to his gait. Bloodhound turned to glance over their shoulder, but Fuse stood a little straighter, posture uncomfortably stiff as he tried to hide his limp. Bloodhound felt a small smile pull at their lips at the thought of Fuse thinking he could slip something that obvious past them. They turned back without a word, letting Fuse have his moment, they would make sure to address it at a later point. The two legends fell into a comfortable silence as they walked the wide hallway. Basic decorations adorned the walls, little pops of color here and there to break up the monotony of repeating patterns. They finally made it to the large dark grey filigreed door at the end, Fuse leaning heavily against the adjoining wall with his shoulder as he watched Bloodhound enter a long code on the keypad. 

     With a soft click the lock unlatched and Bloodhound pushed the heavy door a jar, stepping through and flicking on the dimmed overhead amber lights before sidestepping, making room for Fuse to enter. Bloodhound noted the slight hesitation as Fuse passed the threshold into their apartment, standing just off to the side as they glanced around the room, seemingly taking everything in. It was rare, if ever, that they had a guest here. In this moment Bloodhound was made acutely aware of their asocial behavior, aside from a few personal items, trophies from past hunts, small trinkets and fur pelts thrown over choice pieces of furniture, there was no sign that someone actually lived here. Everything was tidy, properly in its place. Bloodhound frowned to themselves as the feeling to ruffle a blanket or two became strong the longer Fuse surveyed their surroundings. Shaking it off, Bloodhound gently shut the door behind them, the click drawing Fuse’s attention back to them. As they walked past, they reached out placing their hand firmly on the small of their friend's back, the innocent gesture pulled a small noise from the man, almost imperceivable as anything but a breathy exhale. Bloodhound gently pushed him forward in a small attempt to take away any of his remaining hesitation, guiding him over to the overly stuffed couch. 

     “Sit. I will return momentarily.” Bloodhound announced, releasing their hold on him before striding to the adjacent room. As they passed through the doorway Bloodhound could hear a long content sigh come from the older man as the thick cushions gave way, sinking under his weight to form around him. Bloodhound felt satisfied that they could provide Fuse with some kind of relief, even if it was temporary in nature. Bloodhound maneuvered easily in the darkness of their bedroom, carefully unlatching their gear as they went with practiced ease, stopping at the foot of their bed to drape everything across, making a short promise to themselves that they would put things away properly in the morning. With the majority of their battle gear off Bloodhound still felt heavy, movements starting to lag behind their mind, eyelids struggling to remain open. The appeal of their large bed called to them, enticing them with promises of all encompassing warmth, under large furs and weighted blankets. Every muscle in their body wanted to collapse in it and indulge to the fullest. A groan escaped Bloodhound’s lips as they had to forcibly turn away. They reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow before stalking over to a nearby chest of drawers, searching low to find an old pair of baggy sweats just big enough for Fuse to switch into, if he wanted. An option he could be comfy in, instead of day old, sweat and blood soaked gear. With clothes in hand, Bloodhound made the short trip into the attached bathroom grabbing some personal medical supplies they kept on hand for their less traumatic injuries, as well as a couple washcloths, dampening one and keeping the other dry. With everything they needed, Bloodhound exited the rooms back to the main landing. 

     As Bloodhound rounded the couch they paused briefly, taking in the sight of a dozed Fuse. His head lulled back against the cushion, one arm resting over the arm of the couch, the other covering his abdomen, flesh hand snaked partially under the front of his tank, legs spread comfortably wide, breathing deep and heavy. Bloodhound gently set down the clothes beside him, placing the medical supplies on the side table. Standing over him, between his outstretched legs Bloodhound took the opportunity to inspect his injuries closer, absentmindedly sliding off their gloves in the process, placing them deftly on the table as they bent closer. Eyes passed over Fuse's relaxed face, taking in the deep lines that usually held so much expression when he emoted. Bloodhound placed their left hand on the back of the couch to hold their weight as they leaned closer, making Fuse’s head shift slightly over, bearing more of the angry marks across his face. Unconsciously, Bloodhound reached out, bare hand gently touching the side of his face, thumb lightly running under the deep bruised cut. Bloodhound’s hand warmed as they pressed it against Fuse’s skin, brushing over his stubbled cheeks, enamored with the rough texture against their fingertips. As they studied further, their gaze lowered to his parted lips, their hand moving down his jaw towards them. Bloodhound’s stomach twisted violently as their eyes shifted further down, pulling a deep rumbling growl from them, as they saw faint red lines on his chin. They turned their head to the side, lowering it, sliding their hand down further, circling around his throat to the back of his head, thumb running alongside the marks that ran deeper down his neck and chest below his tank. An unfamiliar feeling bubbled up deep in Bloodhound’s chest at the sight of those long nail marks, a tight piercing feeling of wanting to cover them with their own. To claim. Bloodhound was pulled harshly from their dark train of thoughts however as Fuse stirred to their handling. Bloodhound felt a pang of guilt in their stomach for having disturbed him. The hunter pulled their hand away, missing the warmth of his skin as he awoke, eye slowly opening focusing to find them leaning over him. Bloodhound once again felt a warm flush pass over as Fuse looked up at them, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

     “Mmm hey, Beautiful.” 

     Bloodhound’s chest tightened at the endearment. A sinking flutter.

     “My apologies, Walter.” Bloodhound stated pulling away. 

     “No need, Houndy.” He yawned, sitting up straighter in a tight stretch back arching off of the couch, pausing as he realized how close Bloodhound remained, almost draped across him. He turned his head following Bloodhound’s now outstretched arm looking curiously over at the supplies there. “What’s all this?”

     Bloodhound grabbed the damp cloth that had now cooled, returning to him. “For your injuries.”

     Still looking away, Fuse pulled a face. 

     “Houndy.” He started, voice rumbling low. “You don’t have to do all this.”

     Lifting some of their weight, Bloodhound removed their hand from the back of the couch to grab Fuse’s chin, careful to avoid the scratches, pulling him back to look at them. A little rougher than was necessary, the surprise clear on Fuse’s face. 

     “You have neglected yourself, Walter. I am here to remedy that.”

     Fuse went to respond, opening his mouth partly, before Bloodhound turned his face the other way sharply, baring his injuries to them again. Bloodhound slid their hand down circling around Fuse’s neck, thumb and forefinger gripping the sides of his jaw to keep him in place as they brought the cloth to his cheek, gently patting away the crusted blood there. Bloodhound could feel the long gulp as Fuse swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing gently against their splayed palm. Both legends fell silent as Bloodhound worked around his face, cleaning the dirt and dried blood from his wound. Once satisfied with their work Bloodhound turned Fuse’s face forward, adjusting the cloth to swipe it under his nose, through his bloodied mustache, passing a clothed finger over his dried lips before descending to his chin. Bloodhound could feel the intense stare Fuse was giving as they worked down his front. They pulled their hand away from his neck exposing it completely, replacing it on the back of the couch giving themselves room to work. 

     “I’m sorry.”

     Bloodhound raised a brow at the small confession. Slight confusion passing in their mind.

     “There is nothing to be sorry for.” Bloodhound brushed off, returning to their task.

     “For today…”

     Bloodhound stopped mid pat, hand hovering above his chest. Fuse wasn’t apologizing for himself. He was apologizing for her. Bloodhound stared hard at the angry marks on his body, forcing themselves to take a steadying breath as that foreign burn in their chest returned, they unclenched their tight grip on the back of the couch, readjusting the cloth in their hand before commenting thinly.

     “You are not responsible for her actions, Walter.”

     Bloodhound took another deep breath, the legends falling back into a still quiet. Fuse breathing out a small sigh.

     “You’re too good to me.”

     The whispered statement took Bloodhound off guard, the gentle sadness behind his words. Almost as if he thought he didn’t deserve such kindness. Bloodhound pulled their hand away, setting the wet cloth down for the dry one, beginning to gently pat his skin dry without a word, taking care around his cheek. Silence descended between the two as Bloodhound finished, placing the cloth back on the table before reaching to open the jar of medicine, setting the lid to the side. Bloodhound shifted their weight again as they dipped two fingers into the jar scooping out some product before placing their other hand back around Fuse’s throat to hold him at just the right angle to see. Fuse flinched slightly as Bloodhound made contact with the cold jell, trying to be as delicate as they could. After the hunter applied the majority of the product on, they used their thumb to gently spread it around the wound, covering the wide spread bruise as well. All the while, being innately aware of Fuse watching them work. As they leaned over to grab more for his neck Fuse spoke.

     “Do you have to wear that all the time?”

     A simple question. With a not so simple answer.

     “No, I can take it off when I so choose.”

     “Oh,” Fuse tried to cock his head to the side in curiosity, but Bloodhound held firm, digging their fingers a little harder into his jawline, pushing back to expose his neck. 

     “For how long?” Fuse gritted out between clenched teeth.

     Bloodhound thought about the answer as they applied a thin long line of medicine along his throat, fingers gliding easily across.

     “A few hours if I am sedentary.” Bloodhound paused, focused, rubbing the last of the medication needed down his collar and chest, their other hand unconsciously sliding down the side of his neck to grip his shoulder for leverage as they pressed down. “Certainly less during more…rigorous activities. Though I have not had the opportunity to test that last theory recently.”

     Bloodhound felt Fuse stiffen completely, a low rumbling vibrating their chest under their palm before pulling their hands away to grab the dry towel, wiping off the residual medicine from around their fingers. When they returned back Fuse had turned away, his cheeks an unhealthy shade of red. Bloodhound reached out gently placing their left hand on the side of his face, almost pulling away at how hot his skin had become, applying some pressure to guide him back to look ahead.

     “Did I say something to upset you?” 

     “No, no, no,” Fuse huffed out, breathing becoming a little labored, “ God no.”

     Bloodhound hummed, tilting their head to the side as Fuse still averted them. Interesting.

     Reaching with both of their hands they placed fingers on either side of his nose, running them firmly down from bridge to tip feeling for any break, pleased that there was none. The firm pressure however elicited a loud curse from Fuse, as he grabbed both of Bloodhound’s wrists, snatching them away roughly.  

     “Bloody hell, Houndy!” Fuse exclaimed, pulling his head back and scrunching his face up, his eye watering slightly. “A little warning next time, ay?”

     Bloodhound said nothing, just watched the wildly different emotions play out on his face as he wiggled his nose dramatically, his mustache curling up on the ends as he moved. Bloodhound couldn’t help the smile pulling on their lips at the sight, a natural reaction that had become more and more prominent the longer they spent time with the grenadier. They found themselves growing very fond of the feeling, always finding his company pleasant. Bloodhound lowered their gaze as they felt Fuse’s grip soften on their wrists, about to slip them out of his grasp when they were abruptly recaptured again this time by the palm. Bloodhound had to step back as Fuse leaned forward suddenly. Realization hit Bloodhound, their hands were exposed and Fuse finally noticed. They had become too comfortable, maybe it was their sleep-addled mind that made them lapse or maybe it was just Fuse’s doing, letting their guard drop around him. Bloodhound felt their stomach drop to the floor as they stared at their deeply scared fingers, grimacing at the uneven textures, pale ribbons of marred flesh weaving up the back of their hand and palm like ivy. A miniscule glimpse of their past failures on display for Fuse to judge and push away.

     “Bloodhound.” Fuse breathed out, his voice dark, ominous.

     Ice ran down Bloodhound’s spine at the tone and use of their full name, their breathing picking up. Bloodhound couldn’t bring themselves to look at him, to meet his face in this moment, a thick curtain of shame wrapped itself around them tight, their mind reeling at the blatant mistake they made. Bloodhound could feel him looking, his gaze taking everything in, dissecting. They didn’t want to see his reaction, they didn’t want to hear it. They didn’t want to see the revulsion on his face, the disgust. Bloodhound began to pull away, trying to back up and turn away, maybe he would release them, push them away but Fuse held steadfast, his mechanical hand unrelenting in its grip. 

     “Who did this to you?”

     Bloodhound froze.

Who…what?

     That anger radiating off of the older legend, was not meant for them. Bloodhound stood there dumbfounded, just staring at Fuse with wide eyes as he glanced between scarred hands and masked face, brows drawn down in a threatening glare and small snarl on his lips. Perplexed, Bloodhound lowered their eyes to their hands still encased in his, now feeling the small circles Fuse’s thumbs made over their tight skin, rubbing gently over the scars, comforting, seemingly unfazed by their marred appearance and more concerned about who put them there. He was concerned with their well-being, not repulsed. Bloodhound swallowed the thick lump in their throat, relief and guilt flowing down with it. They had assumed the worst of their friend. Of course, he wouldn’t judge them, that wasn’t in his nature.

     “Walter…” They whispered, a mere exhale. Fuse pulled himself to the edge of the couch, closer, pulling his legs in around them, looking up earnestly, brows drawn up in intense worry, a soft rage still behind his eye. 

     “Seriously Houndy. Tell me who’s ass I have to kick?” He wanted to know who hurt them. Defend their honor. For scars that they themselves caused by being so reckless as a child. The look on Fuse’s face was so adamant in his resolve to avenge them. The tight pressure that had been building in Bloodhound’s chest couldn’t be held back anymore, it burst forth flowing freely in the form of…laughter. The loud, sudden bark of laughter felt foreign in Bloodhound’s ears, like it wasn’t even coming from them. They hadn’t heard that noise in decade’s, and they couldn’t stop themselves. Bloodhound wanted to blame the stressful day, the lack of sleep, anything as it flowed freely from them, in waves of relief and irony. As they doubled over in laughter, the muscles in their abdomen contracting harshly, they chanced a look at Fuse before closing their eyes as tears welled up in them. Fuse was just staring at them in sheer disbelief, wide-eyed, mouth slacked, looking at them as if they had gone crazy. Maybe they had. Fuse just sat there, still holding on to their hands, as Bloodhound trembled with fits of laughter, their hands squeezing his in return as they shook with mirth, only stopping when their body was at its limit. A deep burn started to seep through their lungs, tightening their airways uncomfortably. Bloodhound stood again, trying to take a calming deep breath, hitching a couple times with residual chuckles. After a few moments Bloodhound looked down to the awaiting grenadier, noticing his own expression had returned to his usual open grin, causing Bloodhound to flush a little at the sight.

     “I am sorry, Walter,” Another chuckle, “I mean no offense.”

     “Perfectly alright, Houndy,” He shrugged, raising his brow questioningly, “But, uh, what brought that on?”

     Bloodhound looked down to their hands, taking another small breath, a little more confident at seeing them exposed in his presence. 

     “The ass you would be looking for, would be mine.” Bloodhound replied with another short chuckle, not thinking of the implications of the statement, drawing a choked cough from Fuse. 

     “W-what, uh, what do ya mean?” He finally bit out.

     Bloodhound twisted their hands over in his grip, still held together, finding themselves not minding the warm touch. 

     “These scars are of my own doing.” They stated, pulling a small ‘oh’ from Fuse before continuing. “I was careless as a child, not as proficient in combat as I am now.”

     They paused for a moment thinking of the deeply personal incident. They had never told anyone else about. It was their burden to bare, alone, but looking back up at Fuse, the calm, attentive stare they received in return, no judgement, made them want to continue. 

     “I was tasked to hunt down a prowler that had been terrorizing my village for some time, as a final test of my youth, but it had already succumbed to larger beast. I foolishly tracked the Goliath down into an abandoned tunnel. Thinking I had it slain, I returned to my village thinking myself victorious.” Bloodhound paused at the painful memory of being exiled in their deceit, failing their task. They felt a small pressure, Fuse squeezing their hands in a light reassurance, sensing their pained hesitation. With that comforting gesture Bloodhound continued. “The Goliath had followed me back and attacked my village, killing my Uncle. I wounded the beast. In its retreat I tracked it back to its shelter where I almost succumbed to it as well. I struck out at a nearby pipe, the gas that expelled froze the beast in its place but in return lashed out at me as well. I could not escape it. You would think the air around me was fire the way it burned my exposed flesh. Taking my hands, my face, scarring my lungs beyond repair as I struggled to get to safety. If it weren’t for this gríma, this mask, I would not be here today.”

     At that Fuse’s attention fell to their mask, lingering there before dropping to their hands as Bloodhound twisted them in his grip again. 

     “They are a reminder of the mistakes I have made…the people I have lost. I cover them to hide my shame from others.”

     “You don’t have to cover them around me, Houndy.” Fuse stated simply, taking Bloodhound back again. They sighed gently, a small smile forming under their mask. Maybe one day. Another intrusive thought entered Bloodhound’s mind, making them chuckle briefly, causing Fuse to tilt his head in curiosity, a responding smile forming.

     “It is nothing, Walter.” The resounding silence and pressing stare from Fuse made them continue again. 

     “I just thought of one of your sayings.” Bloodhound cleared their throat, trying to do their best impersonation. “ Every scar tells a story, mate. ”

     Fuse stared up at them blankly, his mustache moving as his lips twitched beneath it. Bloodhound felt an embarrassed flush as they watched his reaction, growing anxious that they had offended him. Reassurance filled them when a large toothy smile spread across his face before he burst out into boisterous laughter, pulling a few stifled chuckles from them as well.

     “Oi, that was bloody perfect!” Fuse praised after he caught his breath. Bloodhound felt warmth spread across their cheeks at the compliment. 

     “With how many scars I have, I’m afraid I could fill a library with the amount of stories my body could tell.” Bloodhound chuckled, their smile quickly fading as they watched that familiar dark look slowly slide across Fuse’s face, his large smile creeping into a sly grin, his eye beaming mischievously before he lowered it to their entangled hands. Bloodhound watched as Fuse brought one of their hands up, adjusting his grip as he let their hand slip partially out of his flesh hand, catching it gently at the knuckle, bending it up to his face, as if to inspect it. Bloodhound’s breath caught in their throat, their heart twisting painfully as they felt the gentle press of Fuse’s lips against their scarred knuckles, his mustache lightly grazing the surrounding flesh, tickling the sensitive skin it traced. The soft inhale and exhale through his injured nose traced warmly along the back of Bloodhound’s hand, slipping through the end of their sleeve up their forearm, causing the hairs to peak. A long forgotten pull curled uncomfortably low around Bloodhound abdomen, as they watched the grenadier pull his lips away, sliding over to capture the next set of knuckles in another tender kiss, a rumbling hum vibrating against them.

     “If that’s the case.”

     Bloodhound couldn’t help the responding groan as they watched Fuse trail his gaze back up, teasingly slow over their wrist, sliding leisurely up the length of their arm, stopping for a moment to take in the breadth of their torso and chest, humming in appreciation from his vantage, before ascending the rest of the way up, the intensity of the look they received made Bloodhound’s heart skip. From under brow, unwavering in their intent, gaze locked on Bloodhound’s face, Fuse pulled the hunter’s hand away, turning it gently in their grasp before bringing their palm a breath away from his hovering lips.

     “Then, I would very much like to read them sometime.”

     A foreign noise escaped Bloodhound, the pitch unfamiliar to their ears, as they watched Fuse slowly press an open mouthed kiss to their wrist, holding unbidden eye contact with them. Bloodhound felt their heart racing in their ribcage, beating harshly against it, their pulse thrumming low in their veins. The sudden spike of adrenaline was pushing their body to move, to respond in kind, but all they could do was stare in shocked disbelief as he adjusted his grip on their hand again pulling it closer, planting another press of lips further up their exposed wrist. The blatant innuendo that statement held was not lost on Bloodhound, the soft touches they had been receiving, the hungry leers they would catch him giving. Bloodhound’s hand twitched in his grip, wanting to touch him again, wondering what it would feel like to run their hand through his hair…to grab a fist full of it. This was clearly a mistake . They didn’t want to believe it, any of it, that another person would ever want them again.  He wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t… A sobering realization washed over Bloodhound, instantly stifling the tight pressing need growing deep within them. 

     “Walter…you know not what you say.” They began to pull away. “You are not of sound mind right now.”

     Bloodhound had to turn away quickly as they saw Fuse’s face fall instantly at their words, a sharp stab in their chest at the crestfallen look. The hunter finally pulled away completely, pulling their hands out of the grenadier’s grasp, Fuse’s hold on them dropping instantly making Bloodhound cringe at the sudden loss of heat against their body. They stepped back out of reach from the man, circling around the other side of the table, unnecessarily far, to gather their supplies into their arms before retreating back into their bedroom. Lightheaded, Bloodhound stumbled into the bathroom, dropping everything onto the counter unceremoniously as they caught themselves abruptly on the edge, their breathing coming out in short labored puffs. They lowered their head as their mind raced, a pulsing ache behind their eyes as they tried to clear their mind of the pained look Fuse had given them. He couldn’t possibly want them. Bloodhound was eternally grateful for their close friendship, but this, this was something the hunter did not expect. Bloodhound had only ever had one other. A pained cry wrenched from their core as memories of him came crashing to the forefront. Decades worth of longing. Bloodhound gripped the edge of the counter hard, digging their fingers painfully into the surface, previously rouged knuckles turning a stark white. He had been the only one to ever see them, all of them, to touch them tenderly, not judge them for their scars, their mistakes…to love them. To betray them.

     “Houndy.”

     The sudden firm touch on the back of their neck surprised them, making them lash out in its direction, striking hard. Spinning around, Bloodhound recoiled their second strike as they saw Fuse catch his footing, momentary shock on his face as Bloodhound had connected with him, luckily just his metal arm. They both stood there silent, both unmoving, the only thing to be heard was the uneven ragged breathing from Bloodhound’s respirator. Wild eyes took in Fuse, his worried expression, his defensive stance, his clothes…his clothes. He had changed. How long had they been in here? Bloodhound looked to the floor where his dirty clothes were strewn at his feet, knocked from his arms when they swung at him. Bloodhound looked back up at him, stomach twisting painfully, as they saw his expression change from shocked concern to…nothing. The lines on his forehead relaxed, smoothing his brow, his mouth neutral, no cocky smile, no clenched jaw, no clever retort, nothing. His gaze becoming unfocused, falling away to look at anything but Bloodhound. 

     “Walter, I…” 

     Bloodhound was lost for words as they watched Fuse bend down to pick up his clothes, balling them up in a tight wad, movements tight, staccatoed, tucking them in the crest of his arm. 

     “That’s alright.” His voice sharp, empty. “You’ve done enough for me already. I’m just gonna head out, y’know…sleep it off.”

Bloodhound flinched at that. Not knowing what to do, they watched him stand and quickly turn away, without another word. Bloodhound followed behind him into the bedroom, grabbing Fuse by the elbow, latching onto their black sweater they borrowed, pulling him back slightly, making Fuse pause for a second. Bloodhound felt their heart stop as Fuse lowered his head to where they held him, their hand shaking against him with how hard they were holding him. He turned then, glancing in their direction, still not meeting their eyes, a tight smile pulling his lips back into a straight line, no real emotion behind them at all.

     “Thanks for everything, Bloodhound. I’ll get these back to you sometime,” motioning to the sweats, “Get some rest.” 

     Bloodhound felt their grip falter at their name, the finality of his words. They reluctantly released him as he pulled his arm out of their grasp roughly, causing Bloodhound to jerk forward. All they could do was stand there in the doorway as they watched his retreating back, his posture uncomfortably tight again as he walked, a small shake of his head as he neared the door, running a hand through his hair roughly. Bloodhound felt their heart sink with each step he took to the door, somewhere hoping he would stop and turn around, come back to them. With bated breath they watched him open the door and without even a glance back slam it behind him, the noise jarring Bloodhound out of any hope of his return. The hollow sound echoing, resounding deep in their chest. Bloodhound stood in the now empty apartment, alone. As always.

…having failed again.

Chapter Text

     “Bloody idiot…” 

     Fuse cursed under his breath as he adjusted his rifle bag over his shoulder, the explosives within clanking dangerously against each other. He had spent the greater part of the day alone in his apartment contemplating the events of yesterday, every word spoken, every action taken, still circling in his mind, repeating over and over like static of a jammed receiver. Rest had not come easy that night for Fuse, sleep only claiming him when his body finally gave in to the pure exhaustion that had been mounting the entire day, only waking when the piercing rays of the midday sun glinted brightly across his bedroom, curling strategically around haphazardly closed blinds to illuminate his sleeping form sprawled out over cover. Disheveled sheets and strune pillows evidence of his fitful night. Hours had passed since the sun’s first contact on his bare skin lulled him into a much needed repose, it was only fitting the sun would wake him from it as well. After wasting hours in self isolation, tendrils of guilt eating away at his mind, he decided he needed to blow some shit up. Up for anything else he could focus on. Explosives were something he was good at, something that he couldn’t fail at. Something he couldn’t mess up.

     Fuse pulled in a deep calming breath as he stepped off the transporter, the sudden dry air tightening his lungs as he pulled his face squinting, swinging his arm up in front of him in a vain attempt at blocking the harsh glare of the direct sun. As he walked down the dirt path to the expansive firing range below he lowered his arm as his vision slowly adjusted to the brightness, gaze downcast as he walked, watching the shifting dirt under foot. He closed his eye for a few steps, soaking up the heat for a moment, a small sense of peace as the gentle warmth of its rays caressed the side of his face, slowly warming his exposed skin, like the hand he longed for the night prior. Fuse step faltered as the memory of Bloodhound's touch surfaced in his mind, pulling a disgruntled groan from him. He couldn’t escape the control they seemed to have over him, the firm grip around his neck, clutching his jaw to hold him still, the gentle press of fingers coating his wounds, sliding effortlessly down his neck to his chest just below his collar, the feeling of their bare skin finally against his. The press of his lips to their wrist. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander.

     Fuse’s vision became unfocused as he walked, his body moving on autopilot as his mind recreated images of what could have been. What if Bloodhound didn’t pull away, what if they had reciprocated, giving in to the blatant teasing. What if Fuse hadn’t let them go, but instead gently tugged, pulling them into him on the couch, Bloodhound catching themselves on their knees above him, straddling his thighs. Fuse felt his heart stutter in his chest, his abdomen pulling tight at the image, thoughts quickly turning vulgar. Strong hands gripping Bloodhound’s outer thighs, flesh and metal alike, to steady them. Feeling taut muscles quivering with restraint beneath rough canvas, Fuse wanting nothing more than to relieve them of that barrier, to bare them completely for him to consume fully. Beautifully slender scarred fingers dancing at his waistband, tentatively tugging at his tucked tank top, wordlessly asking for permission he gave willingly. Cool hands slipping under to briefly explore his torso, firm pressure and blunt nails dragging along hard muscle and tender flesh before dipping lower, curling around the first buckle of his pants, popping it loose. Fuse pulling a hand away from its settled home to find new purchase on Bloodhound’s lower back, pressing down lightly to bring them closer. A quipped moan ground out of Fuse at the image of Bloodhound arching into his touch. A small growl escaping them, as they spread their legs around him to sit firmly onto his lap, still not quite where he wanted them though. Bloodhound still working the front of him open at a now fervent pace, almost there, as he placed both hands on the crease of their hips. Curious fingers sliding back and around over the swell of their backside, under the fabric that always concealed them. Firm hands finally able to dig into their pliable muscle as Fuse navigated passed their waistband and under, soft flesh giving way to his aggressive manipulations, kneading and pulling the hunter deeper into his lap. Fuse basking in the soft sounds falling from their filtered mouth as he moved them together. Bloodhound’s hands abandoning their position to clutch his shoulders bruisingly tight as Fuse pulled them forward, rolling his own hips up as he ground them down firmly against his released…

CRACK!

     The loud discharge of a Longbow sniper abruptly pulled him from his lewd daydream, bringing him firmly back to reality, to the fact that he was currently no longer alone. Fuse flushed as a few more shots went off in the distance, signally more than one party here. He cleared his throat, his cheeks burning hot as he approached the raised landing. He discreetly pulled his bag forward as he walked, quickly adjusting himself and his growing situation as inconspicuously as he could, thankful that he had forgone sweats for jeans instead. Fuse briskly dipped into the closest empty slot, not paying attention to who occupied the other sections, just thankful for some cover. He unceremoniously dropped his bag onto the dusty bench, weapons clanging within, as he paced between the thin wooden partitions that shielded him, raising his arms above his head, catching his wrist in his hand as they sat on top of his head, breathing deeply to still his racing heart. 

This is getting out of hand.

     Fuse paused after a few strides, turning out towards the open range littered with various metered targets and empty shells. He needed to get over this, whatever this was. It was distracting him from the reason he joined the games in the first place. He wasn’t a child, he wasn’t here to find…he wasn’t here for anything else but winning the Apex bloody Games. He needed to focus or someone could seriously get hurt. More often than not he found his mind wandering during matches, unable to focus, second guessing his decisions. He felt his stomach sink at the thought of his closest friend getting hurt because of his negligence, yesterday being too close for his liking. Fuse wouldn’t know what to do with himself if the trulely unspeakable were to happen to them. Everyone knew the chances when they joined the games, but becoming close to the other legends, it left a sour taste in his mouth thinking about it. The unlikely friendships were his closest, the highly talented, mysteriously aloof hunter had become his peace, someone he could confide in, someone to talk him off of that cliff he found himself at more often these past few weeks, but they also had become something else entirely to him. He couldn’t lose them. Not now . His attention snapped over as someone further down the way fired a barrage of bullets at one of the small mid ranged targets in the distance, emptying a full magazine into the center of the circle, one bullet straying just slightly to the side.

     “Bloody hell…” Fuse exhaled, impressed.

     Right, he was here to get out of his head, and yet here he was deep in its trenches. He came to reestablish his focus, de-stress, relieve a little…pent up frustration. Fuse dropped his arms, rolling any kinks from his shoulders as he pulled his bag towards him, peeling the long zipper back, flipping the top back securely to reveal his pride and joy. Nothing more reliable than his girl. He trailed his hand over the worn steel and wood grain of the stock, running his thumb along the scratched metal surface of the loading chamber. Fuse smiled softly to himself, the familiarity of his weapon bringing a much needed smile to his face. Oh, the battles they’d seen together.

     “Come ‘ere, you beauty.” He cooed softly to his 30-30 Repeater marksman rifle. He gripped the weapon securely, pulling it from its tight confines, hand sliding intimately low as he dropped it towards the floor, his finger catching the lever, spinning the rifle up and around with practiced ease, eyeing the empty chamber quickly as he cocked it back, spinning it closed into the crook of his elbow, waist high, aimed down range. Safety first kids . With his empty hand he reached over grabbing a case of heavy rounds, adjusting it in his grip so he could easily slide his index and middle finger inside the exposed slit of the box, curling the tip of his digits around the flap before pulling it open, the tight fit slightly tearing the tucked edges on the corners of the box before shaking out the contents, bullets rolling out into his bag. Another round of bullets being fired pulled his eye away, looking down range as he grabbed a handful of ammo, rolling them loosely in his hand counting six, the perfect amount without looking. This time the shots were sticattoed between multiple targets, ranging from fifty to seventy-five meters. Bullets again not straying far from their kin, hitting the center of each target. Fuse whistled softly as he placed one of his bullets between his teeth to hold as he slid the rest into the magazine chamber on the side of his rifle, index pushing the tip of the bullet in partly as he deftly finished with guided pressure from his thumb. 

     Whoever was firing downrange was more than impressive. Fuse took a few steps back, leaning back on his good leg as he strained past the partitions to try to see who occupied the stall where the bullets were coming from. He dipped his head down trying to see anything distinguishable, frowning when he couldn’t. Whoever it was had their gear within the bracketed walls, blocked off from view. Fuse rocked back forward, pulling the last bullet from his mouth, blindly loading it as he turned back to find a target of his own. He decided on a close target to start, about fifty meters away, starting with a couple practice shots before he pushed further out. Rifle still at his waist, Fuse quickly pulled the lever down, chambering his first bullet, before single-handedly hip-firing successfully into his target. He felt his adrenaline spike with the kick of his weapon as it discharged downrange. He cocked the lever back, expelling the spent round while simultaneously chambering the next. The pungent smell of gunpowder reached his nose, curling loosely around his nostril as he took a deep inhale, a light shiver running up his back at the power behind it. This is what he needed. This was perfect.

     Fuse hip-fired another round before bringing his rifle up, tucking it securely into the pocket of his shoulder before wrapping his flesh hand firmly around the angled foregrip for stability as he found his next target further down range with his iron-sight, the next bullet already chambered, awaiting its release. His mechanical arm buffered the kick of the rifle as it expelled the next round, hitting the bullseye squarely, knocking the target red as it swung back and around to reset to blue for the next hit. As Fuse was about to pull the trigger on the second hit, the target kicked back again as someone else hit it squarely in the middle. Fuse dropped the barrel of the rifle slightly down as he watched the target spin back to reset. He squinted slightly as he brought the rifle back up, brushing off the other marksman's hit. He was at a firing range after all, no one target was solely his, of course others were going to take shots, not a big deal. Fuse readjusted his stance, focusing back on his target, firing another perfect shot spinning the target back red. Fuse grinned as he chambered the next shot, expelling the previous. Before he turned to find his next target another crack pulled his attention back to the target he just hit, spinning red as it was hit again. His grin faltered slightly as he recognized where it had come from. Purely coincidence that they hit the same target after him, again. Fuse shook it off, turning away the other direction aiming another fifty meters back, adjusting the butt of the rifle in his shoulder, he focused on his target as other marksmen fired around him, some bullets connecting, majority missing. He took a short breath in concentration before pulling the trigger, knocking his target back red. As he prepared to fire again, body stiffening slightly with anticipation of the kick, another crack of a discharge rang out as his target flipped red. Fuse caught the trajectory of the bullet, the same section as before. This had Fuse frowning now. He lowered his rifle as he searched for a harder target to see from that angle. After finding a small target about one hundred and fifty meters away, almost hidden behind other targets and hills, he resituated his weapon. There was no way they could hit it from their vantage. Fuse lined up the shot, not hearing any other discharge from that same section of the range. Almost like the gunner was waiting for him now. He exhaled as he pulled the trigger, rifle kicking back at the expelled last round. Fuse kept his eye on the target as it spun around, lowering his rifle all the way down after a few moments of nothing. Satisfied with himself, he turned towards his bag, reaching for another handful of bullets. As Fuse reloaded his last round he heard the release and resounding crack of a bullet hitting their target. Fuse closed his eye as he took a short breath, in through his nose and out his mouth, before turning to his last target, knowing full well that was the target they just hit. Fuse couldn’t help the snarl that pulled his lips back, baring his teeth.

This Son of a Bitch!

     Fuse pulled the lever of his rifle down, harshly cocking his weapon back more aggressively than he should have, chambering his next set. Fuse felt his adrenaline spike again at the silent challenge. He turned sharply back to his bag, digging around until he found his 2x-4x variable AOG optic, tucking his rifle tightly into his side as he attached the sight quickly with practiced ease. If a challenge is what they wanted, that’s certainly what they were going to get, there was no way that Fuse was going to back out. After pocketing a few extra bullets, Fuse moved back into position facing downrange. He found a larger target one hundred and fifty meters away to sight his scope to, lining center and firing, the bullet striking just right and up three marks. Fuse quickly adjusted his scope accordingly, clicking his turrets the necessary amount to center. He lined up the same target, not paying attention that the other gunner had not counter fired yet. Fuse released his next sighting shot, hitting perfectly center. He dropped the barrel of his weapon, taking a necessary step back as he reloaded two bullets back to max capacity, pulling in a much needed deep breath as he felt his blood pumping in his ears, competitive pressure starting to build within him. 

     Fuse took another breath as he stepped back up into position, pulling his rifle securely back into his chest, searching for an appropriate target. He pulled the barrel up, looking down his sight at his chosen target two hundred meters away. Fuse tightened his hold on his foregrip as he pulled the trigger snapping the rifle back as it discharged, watching as the bullet hit its mark center. Fuse cocked the lever down, chambering the next round, unmoving from his position as the target reset itself for his opponent. He didn’t have to wait long before the crack of their opponent's weapon echoed through the range, striking the same target. Fuse snorted shortly out of his nose as he turned curtly to his next target. Now at two hundred and fifty meters, Fuse adjusted the focus of his scope as he centered his cross-hair, his breathing coming in shallow as he fired on the inhale, his target spinning red with contact, but lower than he intended. He waited, muscles growing tense as the other marksman hit their mark, closer to center than him. Fuse growled as he picked his next set of targets, this was child’s play. His eye jumped around a few moments before settling far on a target three hundred and fifty meters away. Fuse rolled his shoulders back, trying to relieve some of the growing tension, craning his neck to the side as well, before lining up. With his sight trained on his target, he reached up, clicking his optic’s zoom up to the next setting. As he peered down sight, he tried pulling in a steadying breath, raising his barrel slightly to counter the drop as he exhaled tightly through his nose before pulling the trigger. Relief flooded him as he watched the target flip in contact. However, that soon faded as a breath later the reset target flipped with a perfect counter hit.

     “Are you bloody serious mate?” Fuse whispered to himself, not able to believe they set up the shot that quickly. Irritation now bubbling inside him, his next round of shots rushed. 

     Both marksmen continued hitting their targets, one right after the other, at varying distances. Fuse exhaled heavily as he spent his last loaded round, feeling the strain in his upper body, the added heat of the high sun making it harder for him to concentrate as beads of sweat started to form on his brow. He turned abruptly to his bag, placing his rifle on top momentarily as he reached over his shoulder to his back grabbing a fist full of the sweater, he now regretfully threw on when he woke up, pulling it up and over his head. Fuse swiped the inside of it over his face as he pulled it the rest of the way off and down his arms, balling it up and placing it beside his bag. He walked a small circle around his section, taking a few breaths, adjusting his now soaked tank, tucking it back inside his fitted jeans. Fuse stopped short, looking out at the range. They had hit almost every target there was to hit, with only a few long distance shots left. Fuse leaned forward slightly as he finished tucking his tank into the back of his pants, he was sure he could make one of those shots with his rifle, the others though, he’d have to switch weapons. There was a chance he could still make it, but with the precision of his opponent, he didn’t want to take any chances. With a quick comb through his hair with his fingers he turned back to his weapon, loading only two more bullets as he eye’d the distance to his next target, a small one about four hundred and fifty meters away. These next two shots had to be perfect. 

     With a final swipe of his brow, Fuse brought up his rifle, placing it tight to his chest, hands loose as he lined up, refocusing his sight. He lifted the barrel just slightly, marking the needed adjustments on his scope, taking a breath and holding it as his body tightened, his hands becoming more firm around their grips, index finger curling slowly around the trigger as he released his breath through clenched teeth. The kick felt good, as he watched the bullet travel, dropping just right to make the target spin with contact, not entirely where he would have liked it, but a hit nonetheless. Fuse chambered his last round for his rifle, the spent shell lightly singeing his tank as it fell to the ground. He stood unfazed as he watched the reciprocating hit from his opponent. Nodding slightly, Fuse turned to the second to last target, approximately five hundred yards away now. He knew he was taking a chance with this shot, knowing he’d have to over compensate. Fuse set up again, the strain letting itself be known as he felt his flesh arm quivering, his back growing tighter. Looking down sight, he watched his target jump lightly in time with his rushed heartbeats, as the butt of his rifle tucked deep into his chest. Fuse took a few calming deep breaths trying to still it, adjusting the stock further into his shoulder. With everything accounted for, he pulled the trigger on his inhale, rifle kicking back. Fuse cursed instantly as he saw the bullet stray, pulling his lips into a tight line as he lowered his rifle, resting it at his hip, watching distastefully as the round barely hit the corner of the target flipping it red, brows drawing down in disappointment. 

     Fuse reached down, pulling the lever to discharge the spent round, cocking it back an additional time to clear the chamber. He walked over to the bench, unfastening his optic as he went, the small cracks of gunfire filled the air as he waited for one shot in particular. Fuse tidied up his bag, pinching the ammo box closed and tossing it to the back, capping his sight and placing it in its proper place alongside his rifle, tightly encased. Before closing it completely, he gently ran his hand over the well-loved exterior, a small smile reappearing.

     “Ya did good, kid.” Fuse whispered as he shut the case, pulling the zipper closed. His smile pulled into a grin as he heard the crack and resulting hit of his opponent's shot. “But Daddy’s gonna need a bigger gun.”

     With a passing glance at the spinning target, Fuse turned to the back of his section where a variety of provided weaponry were stocked; pistols, assault rifles, light and sub machine guns and other ordnance. He made a b-line for the snipers, the last shot was about seven hundred to eight hundred meters away, he would need something sturdy, reliable in distance, with little drop and all power. He passed over the ‘peculiar’ Sentinel ESR and the beam Charge Rifle, leaving the semi-automatic Longbow DMR and the bolt-action Kraber .50 Cal to choose from. Fuse brought his hand up, running it down the sturdy body of the Longbow, a powerful and more than capable weapon, one that came in handy multiple times within the games, making shots Fuse didn’t think he could have made in tight situations. Fuse’s hand dropped away as his eye gravitated to the Kraber, a beast of a weapon, absolutely devastating for anyone who had the displeasure of being down range of it, always making sure he was on the firing end during matches. Fuse grimaced as he pulled it off of the rack, recalling the last time he used it, maybe this was a chance to redeem himself with it. Practice makes perfect, ‘ey? 

     Fuse maneuvered back towards the targets as he inspected the sniper, deft hands sliding over polished steel, making sure all was intact and to his liking before grasping the large magazine and ejecting it in one pass to inspect inside, fully loaded, then reattaching and pushing it firmly back in place with the heel of his palm. He got to the end of the concrete platform, tucking the stock of the sniper into his side as he reached towards the barrel, grabbing the bipod on the underside, pulling it down with a click in place. Fuse took a deep inhale, eyeing the final target a half a mile away, an intimidating shot by any means, one he needed a clear head for and a steady hand. He exhaled as he grabbed the front of his jeans, hiking them up at the crease of his hip before lowering himself gently to his knee, grimacing at the sting, planting his free hand firmly on the floor as he extended his leg back, shifting his weight to his elbow that held the sniper, as he slid down into position. Fuse pulled his right leg up off to his side as he leaned into the sniper, resting the weight of the weapon on the bipod’s feet, pulling the stock tight against his chest and curling his hand around the foregrip, raising his other hand and lightly wrapping his open palm against the bolt action lever, maneuvering it with guided pressure to chamber the first bullet. He scooted a little closer, digging down and bracing himself, lining up his previous target to sight his optic to, getting ready for the full kick of the sniper. Fuse exhaled as he pulled the trigger, breath cutting short as the Kraber kicked back into his chest hard, the obscene crack of the weapon making his stomach curl. He swallowed thickly, pushing down bile, watching the target flip violently. A perfect hit. 

Unlike last time.

     Fuse dropped his head, closing his eye tight as yesterday’s game came flooding back into his mind. The image of Bloodhound running to aid their fallen teammate, the broad expanse of their back, the perfect target, one last shot to win the game. Fuse flinched as the other marksman released their sighting shot, sniper cracking loudly, reverberating in his head as he watched the bullet travel, in his mind not to the range target, but pulled last minute to strike Bloodhound off center launching them forward, brutally wounding them, creating enough of an opening for Maggie to get to them, to torture them. Fuse snarled as he opened his eye, refocusing to the range in front of him. That was yesterday, it was over with. The game was over. Bloodhound was okay, alive and unbothered. Then why was it affecting Fuse so much, they had shared killing blows with each other for seasons, his throat meeting Raven’s Bite intimately more times than he would like. Fuse shook his head trying to clear the intrusive thoughts as he turned to his final target. He loaded the next round, snapping the bolt in place, reaching to click the sight to the max setting, zooming in as close as he could, lining up the cross hairs center and lifting vertically for the estimated distance, the target still looking so far away. He drew in a shaky breath, his pulse growing too fast. Fuse paused, readjusting his hands, wiping sweat that had gathered across his damp chest. He needed to make this last shot. Fuse stilled, finger pressed against the trigger, body unbelievably tense from strain. He couldn’t mess up again. Fuse began his exhale, barrel dropping with his chest. He couldn’t let them down. Gentle pressure on the trigger. He couldn’t see them like that again.

So much blood.

     Thinking of Bloodhound laying in a dark pool of their own blood, clawing at their throat for air, suffering because of him. Fuse exhaled sharply, his heart sinking as the sniper kicked back aggressively into his chest, snapping him from his thoughts. His face fell as he watched the bullet sail through the air, dropping just left barely an inch away from striking the target. Another missed shot. He set the stock of the gun down abruptly, the stock clanging against the solid cement, bringing a hand up to his face, running it over his features before resting his head into it, staring expectantly at the target, waiting for the inevitable hit. It didn’t take long as the resounding crack filled the air, making Fuse swallow again, sighing irritably as he watched the target flip, almost tauntingly. He frowned as it reset itself. The friendly competition was over, he needed to hit this for himself. It was a matter of pride.

     Fuse shifted back into position, shouldering the stock of the Kraber. He reached back around the side, gripping the lever and maneuvering it to expel the shell of his previous round, chambering the next. Two rounds remained in the magazine. Fuse gripped the sniper tightly, muscles straining holding it steady, determined to bend it to his will. He tilted his head to the side, propping his cheek against the stock of the weapon to look back down the scope, finding his elusive target again. A rain of distant shots fired around him as he tried to focus. His body drawing rigid, his chest tightening as he held his breath, finger curling around the trigger, adrenaline still coursing hot in his veins. As he concentrated on his target, a pair of quiet footsteps approached cautiously from his side, stopping just short of him, inquisitive eyes peering down his aim before taking in his posture, lingering, analyzing. He raised the barrel of the sniper, adjusting slightly from his previous mistakes. Fuse knew he could make the shot. Any other time this would have been a breeze but the lingering guilt ate at the back of his mind, if he couldn’t clear his mind, he could at least try to quiet it for a moment. What if this happened in the upcoming game, he couldn’t freeze like this. He knew Bloodhound would not give him the same reprieve in battle. Fuse shifted his shoulders, ready, breath still held staring down the target, as he applied firm pressure to the trigger, the figure behind him spoke.

     “Breath.”

     “Fuck!” Fuse exhaled, jumping slightly off the ground as the bullet discharged down range, the sniper almost kicking out of his now loose grip, stock dropping aggressively to the ground as he snapped his head up to the figure standing beside him. His breath catching as he stared up wide-eyed at a collected Bloodhound, shocked by their presence. More gun fire sounded off around him as he took in the Apex hunter who took a few steps forward, standing close, aligned with his shoulder. Their arms folding securely across their chest, eyes trained out onto the range, watching as his bullet clearly pulled again.

     “Houndy.” Fuse exhaled softly, pulling the hunter’s gaze away, instantly regretting gaining their attention as their masked face turned slowly down to him, large goggles peering hard into him.

     “...Fitzroy.”

Chapter Text

     “...Fitzroy.” 

     Fuse flinched at the quipped formal greeting, Bloodhound’s filtered voice strained, tight. The tension seemingly still hanging between them from last night, even now as they stare at each other, unmoving. A bead of sweat ran down the side of Fuse’s face pooling below him as the sun pressed down harder on them both, a brief thought passing his mind at how unaffected Bloodhound was to the elements, always so composed.

     “You are letting your emotions get the best of you. I could feel your overthinking in every shot taken. If it is of no use to you in battle, you need to let whatever is troubling you go. It will only serve to get you or someone else killed.”

     Fuse frowned at that, turning back to his sniper. He knew all this already.

     “Easier said than done, mate.” He gritted out, reaching for the lever to expel his previous round. Fuse cocked it back more aggressively than he should have, his grip slipping momentarily as the lever revolted against his manipulations, snapping harshly away from him. “Son of a…”

     Frustrated, Fuse reached out again to try and chamber his last round but froze at the gentle whisper of his name, hand stilled, hovering over the lever. In his peripheral, Fuse saw Bloodhound shift closer towards him, boots gliding easily over dirt and rubble to position them one in front of the other as the hunter knelt down gracefully by his side. Fuse groaned, dipping his head away as he felt Bloodhound place a hand on his sweat soaked back, their gloved palm open wide as they slid it upwards to grip around his left shoulder, their thumb grazing just below his collar. The grenadier couldn’t help the shudder that ran up his spine, his mind insistently teasing him with thoughts from earlier. Fuse felt his face warm further as Bloodhound tightened their grip, applying weighted pressure on his back, innocently holding him down, pushing him into the concrete as they leaned over him to reach for the sniper.

     “Here.” Bloodhound stated calmly, the underlying velvet tone of their voice relaxing Fuse’s hold as the hunter placed their hand gently over his, guiding it around the lever. Fuse watched as Bloodhound slid their hand around his to a better angle, manipulating the bolt with ease, the self-assured motions gliding smoothly, cocking back and loading the round, securing the lever back in its proper position while maintaining a soft pressure against his hand. “With a weapon as powerful as this one, you cannot force your will upon it or it will retaliate in kind. You would not dominate a lover, would you?”

     Fuse almost choked on air, turning to stare up at Bloodhound, hyper aware of how close they were, the position they were in, the placement of their hands. His eye slid down their figure, taking in the evenness of their breathing as they continued to speak, collected, unaffected by what they had just said, Bloodhound’s gaze never straying from the sniper in their grasp. A slight adjustment of the hunter’s hand on the weapon brought Fuse’s attention back to their words.

     “Treat it as such, give it its due respect, a gentle but firm touch, and you will produce a more than adequate result. Hopefully, a satisfying end…for you both.” A shaky exhale escaped Fuse as he felt Bloodhound’s hand fall away from its place on his, returning it by their own side, draping it casually over their bent knee. Bloodhound shifted their weight, sitting back on their heel, as they released their hold on his shoulder, sliding back down to their initial perch, resting openly on the curve of his spine.

     “Now, show me.” Bloodhound gently commanded.

     Fuse took a long breath, filling his lungs deep before releasing it, his heart racing now with adrenaline and something more, that prominent ache that has been chasing him. He was sure Bloodhound could feel his heart beat through their gloved hand pressed against him, pounding mercilessly against his ribcage. Regardless, he shifted into position again, to line up his last shot. As he maneuvered around the sniper this time he made sure to do so with softer smooth motions opposed to his rushed agitated ones before. He tucked the stock of the Kraber firmly into his shoulder, cradling it, as he ran his cheek up against the thick padding before finding the ideal position to see. He looked down the scope, finding his target quickly, centering it, and making the necessary adjustments for distance, dropping the stock, raising the barrel. As Fuse looked down at the target, a brief flash of yesterday crossed his mind making him tense again. At that, he felt Bloodhound move their hand against his back, making his breath hitch.

     “Remember to clear your mind. Nothing else matters in this moment. Just you and the andskoti.” 

     Fuse tried to clear his mind, tried to forget what happened, his mistakes, the proceeding results, the current effect Bloodhound’s presence was having on him. In battle none of that mattered. He knew that more than anyone…

     “Relax.”

     Another press against his back, Bloodhound’s thumb caressing the divot of his spine in slow circles. Fuse exhaled shortly, his hands loosening as his muscles began to sink into a familiar memory, finger curling slowly around the trigger as his chest rose with his last breath. Fuse felt Bloodhound apply pressure against him as they leaned forward, the reassuring circles stopping completely as they both looked down range. Fuse almost didn’t hear the whisper beside him as the blood rushed in his ears, his focus finally clearing. He parted his lips as he exhaled a hollow whistle as he timed the spaces between his heart beating, everything slowing. Years of training and fighting, surviving , falling into place once again. It finally felt right.

CRACK!

     “ Perfect .”

     Fuse bristled as he watched the round travel, unaffected by the sound this time, the hard kick into his shoulder, unaware of the quiet praise spoken at his side as Bloodhound stood back over him, focus trained on the trajectory of the bullet as it sailed through the sky. He watched with bated breath, for what felt like an eternity, before the round connected solidly into the target spinning it red. Dead center.

Finally.

     Fuse released his hold on the weapon, planting both of his hands flat against the ground by his shoulders before lifting himself up, pulling his knees in under him. He sat back heavily against his heels, bringing both arms up to run his fingers through his wet hair before resting them behind his neck as he took a couple of breaths, his last coming out as a long sigh as he felt the built up pressure of the past couple days finally fading away. He felt a smile pull on his lips again, an easy grin as he glanced in Bloodhound’s direction. All of this, the overwhelming pressure, sense of dread that seemed to be plaguing him, he couldn’t have done it without their help. Always them. Fuse felt his grin fade back into a soft smile as he looked up at the hunter, their masked face silently watching him, arms back across their chest. A small chuckle escaped Fuse as he dropped his arms down to rest a moment on his waist. Oh, what a day.

     “You look…relieved.” 

     Fuse raised his brows, his grin returning in full, making his eye crinkle in delight, as he grabbed the bottom of his tank with both hands pulling it from its tucked confines. 

     “Oh, you have no idea, kid,” He purred, pulling the loose ends of his tank up to his drenched face, pressing it firmly against his skin with both hands before sliding it down, wiping the layer of sweat away, muffling through the cloth.

A shower would definitely be in order.

     Fuse lowered his tank away from his face, his eye catching Bloodhound’s extended hand, offering him assistance up. Fuse hummed, as he leaned forward grabbing the Kraber bodily in his left hand before clapping his mechanical hand onto Bloodhound’s forearm.

     “I am no child, Fitzroy.” Fuse’s grin faltered at the threatening tone behind Bloodhound’s voice, his gaze lowered to their still connected hands. Feeling lighter, Fuse felt that sly grin from last night pulling at his lips as he tilted his head to the side to see around their joined arms, his vision falling to Bloodhound’s sturdy legs, their concealed torso. He slowly began to sketch the intricate details of Bloodhound’s form into his memory as he felt them begin to pull him up with ease.

     “That my friend,” Fuse began, his gaze finally catching up to his height as he rolled his head to the other side, staring the Apex hunter directly into the eye through their goggles, unwavering, “Is a fact, that I am painfully aware of.” 

     The two legends stood in front of one another, hands still clasping each other's arms mere inches from their torsos, neither backing away, neither letting go. Fuse let his gaze fall back to their hands, raising a single brow as he looked back up at them from under it. A dark glint appeared in Fuse’s eye as he heard the small uptick in Bloodhound’s respirator, noting that their breathing had changed. It was a small notion, but a reassurance that Fuse wasn’t the only one affected by this. Now whether it was from the same vulgar thought process he was having or from a thinly concealed urge to punch him, he didn’t know, but he would take his chances if it meant being closer to the hunter. His throat tightened suddenly as his wandering thoughts came together, making him swallow hard to clear the words trapped there. Fuse was thankful for every moment he had with the hunter, for their close friendship. It was something he cherished, something that he would always try to protect. He looked down again, expression softening as he looked back to their still clasped hands. “Thanks, Houndy. For always helping me…even when I don’t deserve it.”

     Fuse paused, his brows lacing together as he became uncharacteristically nervous, suddenly vulnerable, his breathing becoming slightly labored as he traced his mechanical thumb reassuringly across the worn fabric of Bloodhound’s jacket, trying to focus. He took a small inhale through his nose, closing his eye for a moment as that subtle intoxicating smell wafted into his nostrils, calming his racing heart. He gave a light chuckle raising the Kraber he still held into view between them, looking it over before continuing.

     “You know, I’ve shot this thing hundreds of times, but never like this, that precise. All because of you.” Fuse released a shaky breath before he looked back up at Bloodhound, the hunter standing silently in front of him, waiting. Always so patient with him . “I…I almost forgot what it was like…to hold something that you loved.” 

     “…Walter.” 

     As they spoke out Fuse watched Bloodhound shortly tilt their head to the side, towards the back of the platform, before dropping their hand aggressively, folding it back into their chest, leaving Fuse’s hand empty, still raised. Fuse’s face fell at the sudden loss, slight confusion furrowing his brow, “...wha?”

     “Hey, hey! I thought that was you two over here. Nice shootin’ old man, didn’t think you’d be able to get that last one. I mean, I could’ve totally made that, made it plenty of times, so easy.” Mirage hollered as he stepped up onto the platform, his strut loose, full of false confidence . “I mean I get it, I’d be a little nervous too going against this stud. Am I right, Houndy, Blood, er, ah, Bloodhound?” 

     Mirage extended his fist to Bloodhound, a brief tense moment passing between the two legends as the Apex hunter just stared down at him, before Mirage nervously laughed it off making finger guns at Bloodhound as he took a step to the side.

     “Aaaanyways, a couple of the other Legends and I, mostly I, are putting together a little shindig tonight for Natalie’s Birthday. Wanted to extend the invite, I know it’s a little last minute and all but you don’t gotta bring a gift or nothin’, you can just show up whenever you wanna show up, not gonna start for another couple hours. M’sure she won’t mind. Ya know, the best presents are just your presence. Ha, ha! Classic…gotta tell Ramya that one tonight.” Mirage trailed off. 

     “Enough, Miklimunnr!” Bloodhound snapped, taking a pause afterwards to breath, bringing their hand up to pinch the bridge of their mask where their nose would be, in visible irritation. “We will join you.”

     “You will?”

     “We will?” Mirage and Fuse asked over each other. Fuse was shocked at Bloodhound’s willingness to attend, it was very seldom if ever they showed up to a gathering. 

     Bloodhound dropped their hand away from their face as they stared blankly at the two legends. “Yes. Now if you are done here, I am sure there are preparations that you need to finish elsewhere, are there not?”

     “Oh, uh,” Mirage stammered, looking between the two, a quick intake of Fuse’s disheveled appearance, slightly labored breathing, and Bloodhound’s break in composure, how close they were standing, a slow realization creeping in. 

     “Oh!” Mirage exclaimed loudly, a burst of heat prickling the tops of his ears and cheeks. Fuse flinched, turning his face away, sticking a finger in his ear to clear the short high pitch ringing from the outburst. “Yeah, totally! Almost forgot to get, uh, streamers, that’s it. Got to get more streamers. Totally got caught up with Bloodhound chatterin’ away, y’know this one, never stops talking. I’ll let you guys get back to doing each oth…Whatever! Doing whatever it was you were doing before I got here. I’ll send you the coordinates later, yeah? Alright, cool. I’ll see myself out!”

     Fuse shook his head, releasing an amused chuckle, as he watched Mirage all but fall off of the platform in his haste to leave. He turned back to Bloodhound, his heart feeling at ease, a playful grin pulling at his lips as he studied their profile for a silent moment, the hunter still watching Mirage’s retreat.

     “So…” Fuse drawled. “A party, eh?”

     “Hold your tongue, Fitzroy.” Bloodhound gritted out, residual irritation still simmering away at the surface.  

     Fuse raised his brows at the quip, his grin turning devious as he leaned in close, dipping his head under the brim of Bloodhound’s helmet, his eye sweeping along the exposed stretch of fabric along their neck. Fuse drew in his lower lip, biting down hard, as his mind raced with images of the fragile skin beneath. How it would feel to bury his face along the graceful curve of their jugular in the throws of passion, inhaling them deeply as he tasted them, claimed them, feeling their heart beating frantically against his tongue, under his lips, betraying their strong stoic demeanor. Fuse’s grin faltered, his brow pulling down as he bit back the lewd noises trying to escape his throat as he surveyed the covered terrain that dipped below their jacket collar, wondering how easily their skin would take a mark, a firm hand, how it would feel to gather them in his grasp. Fuse hummed low, a rumbling deep in his chest, his voice trudging through gravel as he worked his throat to growl for Bloodhound.

     “And here I thought you liked my tongue.” 

     Fuse held his position as Bloodhound snapped their attention fully back to him, tilting their head down slightly to meet his gaze. Fuse couldn’t help the tightness he felt in his chest at hearing the sudden uptick in Bloodhound's respirator again as they stared down at him, the hitched breaths as they struggled to find words, quipped noises of starting then stopping a thought, staccatoed exhales. Fuse lifted a single eyebrow, taunting the Apex hunter to respond, waiting patiently as they struggled. The grenadier chuckling as Bloodhound huffed out in frustration.

     “Does your vulgarity know no bounds?” They finally snarled at him, their voice slightly breathless, as if their words had been stuck between images of what that sentence conjured. Oh, what Fuse wouldn’t give to know what situations they had thought of. Would they be the same as his. He straightened back up, noting Bloodhound’s masked face following along with his every movement as he looked away briefly, scrunching one side of his face up, his mustache curling up as his nose twitched in mock thinking.

     “Yeah nah, don’t think so mate.” Fuse looked back at Bloodhound, lips pinched as he tried to hold back his smirk, giving them a quick wink before failing miserably, his smile stretching wide.

     “Buuuut,” He pushed further, taking a shallow step closer to them, his voice dropping an octave as he purred, “if it makes you uncomfortable I can stop, just say the word Houndy.” 

     Bloodhound looked like they were absolutely simmering underneath their regal stance, their muscles drawn taught, Fuse barely noticing the gentle vibrations as they clenched and relaxed their fists tucked tightly against their chest, the usually pliable leather straining hard against their curled lithe fingers. Their fragile composure teetering on the edge of sanity. Fuse looked back up, holding their eyes behind tinted goggles, grin spreading, as Bloodhound continued to not speak. Fuse felt his heart kick hard against his chest at the implications of their silence. He wasn’t the only one. Good to know.

Who was he to stop then…

     “The great Bloodhound attending a little girl's birthday party, hmm? Didn’t think you liked those kinds of things.” Fuse continued to tease. 

     “I don’t.” Bloodhound bit out tightly. Fuse hummed at that.

     “And you roped me into going too, huh.” 

     Fuse watched Bloodhound’s back snap straight, their head moving with it as if they had been shocked. He looked expectantly up at the hunter, as they struggled to find their words again. A slight tremor of panic cracking through as they thought they had offended him.

     “M-mit apologies,” They pressed urgently, a sudden switch in tone. “I should not have assumed you would want to go.  I-i only agreed to get him to stop talking. You do not have to attend because of me, I only thought-”

     “Nah, s‘alright, mate.” Fuse interrupted, shrugging lightheartedly, enamored with how Bloodhound stuttered, backpedaling. “It gives me more time to spend with ya. That’s really why you agreed, isn’t it?”

     “What? Nei!” Bloodhound exhaled, their breathing becoming thin.

     “Just wanted to spend more time with yours truly, eh? You cheeky rascal!” He sang out. “It’s okay, really, you can say it.”

     “Enough of this!” Bloodhound growled, frustration evident, breath ragged. They took in a long inhale before huffing out again, looking away briefly. Fuse couldn’t hold his amused snicker as he imagined the most revered hunter in all of the Outlands pouting. It was cut short however when Bloodhound snapped back to him, head tilting to the side in a silent warning. Fuse’s grip on the empty Kraber became uncomfortably tight as the legend slowly lowered their gaze, eyes roaming down the front of him, as he had done to them on multiple occasions now. He shifted his weight as nonchalantly as he could the longer Bloodhound took, suddenly feeling like prey caught in the sights of an Apex predator. Fuse almost forgot how to breathe when the legend paused in their travels, tilting their head curiously at something before coming back up to rest on Fuse’s face. 

     “If you are going to attend…I would suggest cleaning up first. You are filthy.”

You have no idea how filthy I can be, mate.

     Fuse relaxed at the comment, pulling back to feign hurt, as he looked down at himself in turn, dramatically pulling at his clothes, before raising his arm for added flair, taking an exaggerated sniff.

     “Oi, mate, I know I’ve had a rough couple of days but I don’t smell that bad, do I?”

     Another dangerous growl slid from Bloodhound’s throat, making warmth pull low in Fuse’s abdomen, as he lowered his arm back down to his side.

     “You know that is not what I meant, Fitzroy…”

     “Yeah, yeah,” Fuse placated, waving his hand up as he looked away. Bloodhound made to move around him to leave, but halted when Fuse placed his mechanical hand high on their chest, pressing flat against their collar, carefully fitting around draped wiring and gear, sitting comfortably at the base of the hunter’s neck. Bloodhound turned their face back to him, slightly caught off guard at the abrupt handling. 

     “You’re right. A shower does seem really nice right now.” Fuse stated matter of factly, reaffirmed as he felt beads of sweat gathering heavy across his body. Thankful that the hunter could not feel the pounding of his heart through his metal arm. Bloodhound stood quietly as they waited for him to speak. They watched their friend slowly lawl his head to the side, leaning in close to them before speaking in a hushed tone, the gravel back in his voice as his line of sight met theirs intensely, that lewd grin crawling over his features as he pressed his hand more firmly into them, metal fingers curling slightly against the bindings of their jacket, seemingly pulling them in at their own volition, making Bloodhound suck in their breath.

     “It’d be a whole lot nicer if you’d join me…”

Chapter Text

     “Ugh, fuck that’s good.” Fuse moaned aloud, unable to hold back his pleasure, letting his head tilt back, eyelid falling shut as a satisfying shudder ran down his spine, “Just what the doctor ordered.”

     He could stay like this forever, just basking in the comforting heat, the gentle warmth encasing him. Fuse rolled his head back up as he exhaled heavily before stepping forward to completely submerge himself under the cascade of water. He slid his hands over the slick surface of his skin, helping the water clean away all the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the past couple of days, lathered suds easily slipping down his body to wash down the drain. Regretfully, as good as it felt he had to make this a quick one. He wouldn’t want to keep them waiting. The corner of his mouth pulled dangerously to the side at the thought, a small snicker sliding past his lips as he recalled a flustered Bloodhound fumbling over their words at the suggestion of them joining him. Fuse just waiting patiently while the hunter finally gathered themselves enough to throw a curse at him in their native tongue before harshly shoving passed him to escape anymore torturous teasing. It was for the best anyways, if they really had called his bluff and joined him…it would most certainly be anything but quick. Another moan pulled from Fuse’s chest at the thought, fingers seemingly forgetting their tasks as they danced dangerously low across his abdomen, wondering the same path as his thoughts. He lowered his head, tucking his chin into his chest as he clenched his jaw feeling that familiar, pleading, pressure build. Fuse opened his eye, vision becoming unfocused as the water slid along his face. His brows knitted together as he turned into its warmth, vainly trying to nuzzle something that wasn’t there, to press his cheek into a lover's hand. Their hand.  

     A pained groan escaped him then. He needed to stop this, he was only torturing himself. Fuse knew he was pushing it, with the incessant teasing, but the hunter's reactions were too good. He loved the break in their normally stoic demeanor, hearing them stutter over their words which were usually so carefully chosen, their body readjusting in their brief lapse of composure as they flustered about with his insistent heckling. Seeing a different side of Bloodhound that not many others were privy to, being the one to bring genuine laughter from them, to have them open up to him in such a personal way was something that Fuse savored, leaving him longing for more. He wished he could see the faces Bloodhound made under that mask. Fuse would give anything to see how many times they rolled their eyes at him, how their mouth would pull when they smiled, if it would pull to one side, if they had dimples when they grinned. If their face would flush when he teased them, how their cheeks would redden when he touched them. 

Walter... 

     How their lips would part as they whispered his name, how their chest would hitch as they held their breath in anticipation for him. Fuse ran his tongue briefly across his lips trying to recall the feeling of their scarred knuckles against them, the soft uneven surface of their skin, the slight saltiness as he ventured further down their wrist. How would the rest of them taste? Fuse exhaled sharply as his hand finally settled in the crease of his hip, resting lightly against his open thigh, fingers pressing against slick skin as they spread, sliding purposefully through dense curls. 

     “Fuck...” Fuse mulled out as he wrapped his hand around himself, finally giving in to the self-inflicted torment. A small veil of bliss wrapped low around him, his hips rolling forward as he dragged his fist down his shaft and back up in a firm but languid stroke. His brows drew down as steady tension settled at the base of his spine, slightly surprised at how hard he was already at just the brief thought of them. Walter had had many conquests in his fifty-four years of life, but none of them had consumed him like this, wholeheartedly enraptured him, dominated him so completely. 

You would not dominate a lover, would you…

     Fuse bit back a choked moan at the image that conjured. Remembering how innocently those words were spoken, the question still hanging in the air. An assumption Fuse wanted to know more about. What kind of lover was Bloodhound? Fuse saw the passion they fought with in battle, the attention to detail, precision, and meticulousness in their movements. Would they keep that same aire in the bedroom, that same control, or would they become completely undone by the hands of a lover? By his hands. Fuse cursed under his now labored breathing, reaching out to steady himself against the solid wall of the shower, splaying his metal palm wide, his knees threatening collapse with every vulgar thought. He titled his head back, face contorting tightly as he tried to swallow, saliva thick as he struggled to even his breathing, the air becoming too thick around him as his wrist snapped faster. 

Would they beg?

     Fuse dropped his head between his shoulders, pulling in his bottom lip, snagging it harshly between his teeth, leaning hard into his hand as he took an unsteady step to balance, a moan ripping from his throat as he felt his end coming faster than expected. His hips stuttered violently in his grip, the delicious friction edging him closer, the steady rhythm he set becoming staggered as pleasure coursed through him. The thought of Bloodhound on their knees before him, waiting, always so patient for him. Their soft voice calling to him, coaching him to his end, praising him as they so willingly awaited his release. A long shiver ran up Fuse’s spine making his skin peak, his flesh becoming overly sensitive to the warm caress of water sliding along his back, wishing for the scrape of blunt nails in its place. His grip faltered as his fingers twitched against him in urgent short strokes. Fuse wanted nothing more than to have Bloodhound with him in this moment, to run his thumb along their exposed lips, wet and swollen from use, as they slowly parted open for him, their elegantly scarred hands sliding up his thighs, their fingers gently massaging as his grip falls to their chin, tightly holding them in place as they roll out their tongue to receive him, a long held look, a silent promise to him that they wouldn't spill a drop.

A promise to be so good for him.

     Fuse felt his eye roll back into his head as his jaw clenched unbearably tight, his mouth filling with a coppery tang as he pierced his lip with his canine, as the pent up pressure finally snapped, chest burning at the breath he held, his hand coming to an abrupt halt as he pushed his hips into his fist in short spurts, spilling his release, thick ribbons painting the shower wall in front of him instead of the warm mouth that awaited him only in his mind. Fuse finally exhaled, a rushed gust of air as he let go of himself slamming his flesh hand alongside his metal one in front of him as he hunched over trying to steady his racing heart. Chest heaving, he panted as an aftershock pulled at his groin, his legs quivering at its intensity. He tossed his head back, drenched hair clinging to the back of his neck, a long moan pulling from his chest at how utterly wrecked and relaxed he felt at the same time. A feeling he had begun to get accustomed to when dealing with the Apex hunter. After a few breaths, heart rate just under control, he lowered his head back down as he opened his eyes, blurry vision slowly coming into focus as he eyed the tiled wall in front of him. He swallowed hard watching as tendrils of his release slid down teasingly slow, pooling, leaving glistening trails in their wake. How beautiful they would look covered in it. Fuse snarled, pushing off of the wall suddenly. He reached up grabbing the shower head and redirecting its spray to clean the filth he left behind, watching as it all slid down the drain completely before turning off the water, his abdomen twisting in rekindled pressure. He cursed under his breath as he gathered his hair, pressing it flat to his head to push the excess water out, leaving his hands at the base of his neck as he stared at the ceiling. 

Delicately scarred fingers sliding across their soiled cheek gathering every missed drop before pushing them into their already filled mouth…their tongue curling around each covered digit, lapping at the tips of their fingers to savor the taste…

     Fuse dropped his hands away shaking them lightly as he pushed the shower door open, hissing lightly at the shift in temperature, the water droplets that still clung to him cooling much faster than his overheated body. 

…presenting their open mouth to him, showing him just how much they could take, and so much more, before swallowing thickly, throat working to pull the heavy load down in its entirety…

     Fuse stepped out over the ledge onto the awaiting mat, legs shaking slightly from strain. He reached overhead, snagging the towel he had draped over the stall earlier, giving his face a few gentle pats, minding his healing wound, before running it roughly through his hair.

… gentle weight pressing against him as they lean into him, saliva coated fingers leaving a snail’s trail as they grip his thighs hard, coated lips pulling to smile sweetly up at him…

Vrrt! Vrrt! Vrrt!

     Fuse jerked suddenly as a series of unexpected low hums vibrated against the bathroom counter reluctantly snapped him out of his trance. A fleeting moment of confusion passed across his face as he turned to his phone perched haphazardly on the ledge of the sink, the dimly lit screen staring back at him expectantly. He reached out for it, snatching it before running his damp thumb briefly over the protected surface to pull down a preview of the missed notification. Coordinates from Mirage.

Right. The party.

     Fuse let out an incredulous chuckle, the mirth not quite reaching his own ears as he swiped his thumb back up, sliding the notification up and out of view before shutting the phone down with the pad of his finger and giving it a light toss to the side again. He was starting to lose track of time, if not reality itself. They really did have him in the palm of their hand and they don’t even know it.  Almost every waking thought revolved around them, he couldn’t shake it now even if wanted to. He’d be lying if he said he ever wanted to. Fuse pulled down the towel left on his head, his hair sticking up in all directions as he continued with his previous task. Drying himself off with absentminded dabs, a deep flush creeping over his chest as he happened a glance out of the bathroom’s open door into his adjoining bedroom, thoughts of his favorite hunter returning to the forefront of his mind. His gaze landed heavily over his too large bed, softening to linger on his disheveled sheets, his eye flitting across it…to the unused side.

In your dreams, mate.

     Fuse cleared his throat, pulling himself abruptly away from the tempting view, his face burning slightly at how easily he was being swayed, trying in vain to push down a sudden uncomfortable feeling building up in his chest.

The night hadn’t even started yet…