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the common collective

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He realises it in a fight. The gun thing. It's Roadhog’s fault, anyway, because guns had never been a thing before. And suddenly they were.

Roadhog clicks at the gun, raises his arm, shoots. He doesn't miss.

Junkrat is suddenly a little hot, heat on his cheeks and a curl in his belly.

Raises his arm, shoots. Misses.

(Junkrat is busy himself. He punches a guy in the gut, and it lands solidly, and as the guy drops to the floor, Roadhog-)

Raises, shoots. Hits.

This, Junkrat thinks, is like a revelation.

Pretty soon, he and Junkrat are the only ones standing.

Roadhog lifts the gun, clicks on the safety, and Junkrat’s brain immediately informs him of a desire to see Roadie lick the metal of it.

“That's hot,” says Junkrat. It's true though, it's hot.

“Wh’t?” Roadhog says, stepping over an unconscious body and heading to the door, Junkrat in tow.

“Your gun, mate. Hot.”

“...” Through the mask, Junkrat can just see him raise his eyebrows, then glance at the gun and back.

“The gun,” Junkrat repeats, just in case it wasn't completely obvious. “Shooting your gun back there? I was into it, myself. Can't say for present company, of course, but that thing’s a keeper.”

“Y’never mentioned being into it before,” Roadie rumbles.

“Well, no. I wasn't into it before, was I? You're always telling me to try new things, and that's what I'm doing! S’guns now, apparently.”

“I'm not tellin you to try new things-”

“Sure you are!” Junkrat giggles, cutting across him. “Always on at me about ‘don't blow up this, don't blow up that!’ And hey Roadie, don't seem to mind too much when it's you I'm blowing, do you-”

Roadhog sighs and Junkrat laughs again. Hilarious. Roadie was a funny son of a bitch.

“Shut up, Jamison,” he growls, and Junkrat suspects it's more out of routine than any anger.

But the gun thing. It goes from there that it is a thing, and he can't help it if he’s hot for Roadhog’s skills at shooting.

They get in fights, Junkrat’s hot for Roadhog. Nothing new.

They get in gunfights, Junkrat’s hot for Roadhog and his gun.


The first time they do it, it's on a whim.

“Y’know the risks?” asks Roadhog.

“Sure as fuck. That’s what makes it fun, you know?”

Junkrat likes fire. He likes heat. He likes things that go bang. He also likes Roadhog.

Roadhog had a habit of remembering things Junkrat liked.

And when Roadhog gently presses the gun to his thigh, it's no wonder his pupils dilate and he spasms underneath his shorts.

Roadhog grunts a laugh. “Like that?” He says, voice gravelly.

And yeah. Junkrat likes that. Fuckin’ loves it, in fact, and so far all that’s happened is the gentle touch of metal on skin.

“Yes,” he mumbles, as Roadhog puts a hand up to his mouth. “I like it a lot, mate, reckon you should press a bit harder, put your old creaky back into it-”

Roadhog hooks his fingers into Junkrat’s mouth, pulling his lips open gently.

“Shut up, rat,” he says, not so gently, and he trails the gun from thigh to thigh, delicately over Junkrat’s crotch. It sends shivers down his spine, tiny jolts of pleasure in him until he’s pushing up against the gun and feeling more than a little hot under his shorts.

“Ooh Roadie, talk mean to me! I love it when you do that,” he giggles through Roadhog’s fingers. As the laugh spills from him he twitches, jolting up into the gun and back down again, “Fuck,” he mumbles, hissing as Roadie presses the metal against his shorts. He's not wearing underwear, and when the barrel is pulled up against him he gasps.

“Shit Roadie, yeah! G-good, good work, keep it going-”

Roadie, of course, takes that as his cue to pull away. Bastard.

“Bastard,” he says through Roadhog’s fingers, and then fingers are hooking back into his mouth and exposing his canines.

Roadhog smiles at him, almost devilish, mouth wide and teeth shining. “Sure,” agrees Roadhog, prodding fingers into Junkrat’s tongue. Obediently, he swirls the wet muscle around his digits. He can't really resist the urge to push the fingers up into his sharp teeth, just to see what Roadhog would do, but Roadhog just responds by pushing his fingers more insistently into his mouth, trapping his tongue between two fingers and squeezing. It doesn't hurt, but Junkrat frowns indignantly anyway.

The pressure on his tongue makes some indescribable feeling rise in his gut, heating, coiling in his crotch. It's hot, what Roadie’s doing, and he breathes out a pornographic moan with their eyes locked.

“Y’like that, Jamison?”

“Y’ve already asked me th’t,” he slurs, tongue still thoroughly engaged. He swirls and curls it for good measure, spreading his legs wantonly.

“Yeah,” the fingers grab firmly at his tongue again, forcing a stop to his movements. “An’ I asked again.”

The gun presses into him, and Junkrat feels his head loll back.

“Agh,” he says, unable to talk with the fingers in his mouth. “G’d,” he manages, when Roadhog relinquishes a little of the grip on him.

“Good,” he growls, voice low and sending a twinge into Junkrat’s gut.

Hot. Roadie’s sex voice was hot, even more gravelly than normal, and it hits all the right notes in Junkrat’s brain.

He giggles, opening his mouth wider and smiling as Roadie grins, shoving another finger in so that only one props open his mouth. Hot.

All of this was very hot, to the gun, to the fingers, to Roadhog.

His canines are exposed on one side, mouth still pulled up and open. Roadhog’s other hand clenches at his thighs, gripping hard. He hisses, revelling in the sharp ache of it.

The grip on him lets up at as he releases his breath, and he almost sees stars as Roadhog presses the gun in through his shorts again. The hand is keeping his head up, forcing them to keep eye contact, though he desperately wants to look down and see exactly what's going on to make him feel so hot.

He makes an odd noise as the gun traces over him, nudging at him in a bright spot of pleasure. “G’d!” He says again, word mangled by the fingers in his mouth.

There’s a click.

A flush of warmth up his spine.


The gun is cocked. Is the gun cocked? Was that- Is the gun cocked?

His head is suddenly reeling, sweet and sticky and fuzzy at the edges as another wave of it hits him, purring in his gut. He feels- it’s like a sauna, sloppy like he’s been drinking or something. Adrenaline sparks up him as Roadhog presses the gun into his thigh, under his shorts and into his crotch. God, fuck, it feels like- electricity, now, tense as the pressure of metal on skin spirals him higher.

At this rate, he’s gonna come from gentle pressure and the idea of a gun.

Roadhog seems to get the picture of his insistent murmurs, removing his fingers slowly from Junkrat’s mouth.

“Know how to wield that thing, don’t you?” says Junkrat, noticing despite himself that his voice is frayed at the edges, breathy and soft.

“Gettin’ a little hot there, Jamison?”

The mention of his name is usually a matter of tension, but- Roadie had this way with words, you see, a gravel-toned musicality, and Junkrat is fuckin’ into it.

“Yep, yeah, lil’ warm here, and you know what’d cool me right down?” Junkrat says as Roadie smiles toothily. “A right good dicking, that’s what-”

He’s hot and ready anyway, so when Roadhog pulls off his shorts in one swift movement by grabbing his hips up and pulling, he shifts his legs and sheathes himself on Roadie’s big cock.

“Nnn-fuck!” He says, ripped from him as friction and heat hit him, swirling and buzzing in his brain, he’s warm and coiled tight like something metal and shining.

The gun is back, suddenly, and he gasps as his jaw slackens, open in pleasure as it presses over the little nub of nerves.

“Jamison,” says Roadhog, and Junkrat can just manage a weak sound of assent as his legs start to twitch from the rising tension. “Y’gonna come?”

“Yeah,” He says, despite himself. Roadhog pushes himself in, lifts Junkrat bodily and shoves his cock in, hitting Junkrat deeply and in all the right places.

It feels like slipstream, acceleration, the smack of skin on skin and the scratching of an itch that Junkrat hadn’t known he had. The gun trails up his chest, sketching something like art into his skin, until it’s over his throat. He shivers.

The gun, he remembers, is cocked. Or- probably cocked, he thinks, possibly, probably, maybe-

There’s another smack as Roadhog pushes into him again, stretched wide and groaning. The gun is at his throat, and as he giggles he can feel the vibrations of it against his skin. Adrenaline pumps in his veins, ticking up his heartbeat in a flush of something warm. It’s good, moment almost sweet in his mouth, twisting and rolling up and down his spine.

Roadhog’s cock is thick in him, good and god-given, ramming into him dirty and messy, grunting as he went. His hands grab desperately at Roadhog’s arms, grappling with tightly corded muscle. “Good,” he gasps, “Fuckin’ love this, love your cock, love you! God, Jesus fuckin’, harder-”

Roadhog meets his eyes and for a second, time stops. Everything freezes. There’s a dangerous glint in his gaze, something in his grip that says ‘fear’, something that says Junkrat should get away as soon as possible-

Then there’s a gun in his mouth, a voice in his ear rumbling out, and fingers at his clit, and he’s-

“Shut it,” says Roadhog, which is unfair because he’s gasping behind the gun, twitching under his fingers, tensing around his cock, feeling every inch of everything and whirling, Junkrat’s fingers twitching and eyes locked tight with Roadhog, gun in his mouth and fear and lust and something that might be addiction because my god, he’s never gonna get enough of this. He feels encompassed, completely, overridden and taken care of in the best kind of way, twitching from nerves and lust and pleasure.

“Good,” he tries to say, but Roadhog’s gun is in his mouth and it’s barely possible to remember to breathe, let alone how to speak, and he’s writhing, stimulation and harsh feeling of metal on his tongue, he’s-

And then Roadie’s fingers press harder in just the right way, and he’s coming.

His eyes roll up, mouth lolling open and gun quickly withdrawn from it, bright spots in his eyes as he screeches, an unearthly noise drawn from the very depths of him, spasming and spasming and spasming and spasming and-

“Aah!” It’s a lot, it’s too much, sitting on the dangerous precipice of pleasure and pain and balancing, and he can barely see, head fuzzy and legs kicking without permission, arms tense and clawed at Roadhog’s arms. Pleasure and something more dangerous are flooding him, kicking at the synapses of his nerves and making him squirm, he breathes, barely, still coming, still writhing and desperate and groaning and moaning and-

Roadhog removes his hand, and Junkrat realises that Roadhog’s come inside him.

“That’s hot,” he mumbles, once he feels like he’s returned somewhat to reality.

“What is?” rumbles Roadhog, gently pulling him up and off and sitting him on the bed.

“Everything,” he says, and Roadhog laughs. “The gun, mostly.” He flops over, burying his face in a pillow. His thighs already hurt. “I’m g’na be feelin’ this in the mornin’,” He slurs, as Roadhog sits opposite him and he feels the bed dip down.

“Yeah,” agrees Roadhog. Junkrat lifts his head up and squints at him.

“You loaded that gun,” he says suddenly, frowning. “You cocked it,”

Roadhog looks at him like he’s a few chemicals short of a firework.

“Coulda killed me, you great fuck!”

Roadhog grins. “Thought you said you were into it?” When Junkrat just frowns harder, his smile turns toothy. “Won’t do it again then,” he says.

Junkrat pauses. “I didn’t say I wasn’t into it, did I? Certainly didn’t say that wasn’t not into it, but that shouldn’t mean that you shouldn’t do it again, right?”

Roadhog looks at him.

“Fuck me with the gun again, Hog.”

Roadhog laughs.