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First came the heat, then came the sounds of grinding gears shredding away along the oiled engine and pumping pistons, belts turning and the exhaust puffing as if the diesel engine were but a giant lung groaning in the dry scalding atmosphere, lastly were the whispers in the wind; fresh memories unearthed from the decayed asphalt and periodically-moving streams of sand. Upon two unmarked graves the voices came, at present merely humming and teasing away the grains of his sanity until from far away another voice pulled him from Death's younger sibling, Sleep.
“Oi-” he wrapped his hand around the source, a strained windpipe gurgled beneath his palm, realizing he was no longer chained nor claimed as a blood-bag, his grip slacked as he blinked away moist grains in the corners of his eyes, “You hungry, blood-bag?”
Again he grasped at the young necrotic war-boy, not for the fact that he was being called nothing more than a slave-donor, moreover because what he saw was the face of his wife smiling from one ear to the other and hissing, yet the scavenger shakily gasped, “W-we're stopped-! The Imperator and the Immortan's wives've gone-!”
“Gone where?” he asked, unable to receive an answer from the war-boy, he shook the scrawny neck and hissed, “Where!”
“-To sleep, O'reasonable one!” Nux answered frantically, Max looked beyond the sickly war-boy, his sharp eyes taking in the silent mounds of sand over the war-rig's window, “W-we-we're all starved. They th-thought ignorin' their e-emptiness m-might buy another day with o-only w-w-water.”
Golds, orange, reds and the pale yellow sky shook with the white sun's heat, seeing the desert without the war-rig's rumbling passage or feeling the unforgiving sand sloshing silently beneath the eighteen wheels gave the slightest of calm in the thick of chaos; he opened the creaky door, wrapping his left hand around the back of Nux's neck and pulling him along as he hollowly wheezed, “C'mon then.”
A swaying haze and the sharp stinging breath of hot air first met his dry lips, instantly stealing away the remaining moisture clinging to his tongue – Nux stumbled behind at his left, still held and cowering on in tow, he felt the war-boy crane his neck to stare up at him as they marched along the dunes, Max then answered before Nux could ask where they were going, “Shut up, you'll find out soon 'nough.”
Breathing raggedly, Nux only swallowed dryly. Little by little, Max glanced back towards the war-rig and discovered the leviathan engine resting behind a cover within the fog of the desert's heat, he heard his own heartbeat, the calm thumping and kick against his ribcage, his heavy breaths contrasting against Nux's huffing and gasping, the uninspired pop of grains blowing against the inside of his ear, until there remained the voices; feathery, and lifeless. One were the squeals of Immortan Joe's unborn bastard, and the other sounded slightly muffled, as if it were coming from behind the next dune, coming closer and receding just as quickly.
At first gentle and playful, suddenly becoming more hostile and teasing, images of his dead daughter flashed before him, blood running from her empty eyes, her crushed skull wreathed with her brown curls, she stumbled at his side beneath his left hand whimpering, “Why'd you let me die, Max?”
Involuntarily, his fist tightened about her neck as suddenly, her body turned towards him while still grasped within his grip, her own hands clasped his own, assisting Max as he crushed her air passage – horrified of her strength and the maggots swimming within the holes of her empty eyes, he grit his teeth against his sorrow, “I'm...so sorry-!”
“Why'dn't you stop them?” she shrieked breathlessly, her screams drilling inside Max's ear and rattling the bones caging his brain; Sorrow, Shame, Guilt, and an infinite stomach of unquenchable thirst – his heart died with his daughter, he no longer knew why he Fought to stay Alive if he was in so much dormant pain, her tiny fingers uncurled from his wrists as she whispered, “Mum's waiting, Max-”
Off in the distance, he made out a single form, a shred of a shadow slithering against the heat, his squinted through the tears forming along his eyes, warmth spread across his heart like an oil-fire as his daughter said, “Mummy doesn't like being alone. We expect a visit very soon, Max.”
Without wanting to remember he did so: six years ago, when Melbourne still had peace and order of the roads, he was a part of the Main Force Police – the remaining few whom battled motor-bound killers, thieves, rapists, and all-around scum – he was simply a man whom worked nineteen hours a day and came home to his family. MFP lost their top cop, justice became nothing more than a synonym for 'revenge', Max jumped ship the hours prior to when a mindless bastard blew half of Australia with a bastardized nuke – the land became barren, four-wheeled crime rampant, until even his family fell victim to the Toe-Cutter's Gang; she screamed, “Hell isn't home without You!”
The stupor she held on his mind broke, the world presently came rushing back into his consciousness, all too soon his daughter was lost within a pair of bloodshot blue eyes, Max's hands flew off as if bitten, he shakily withdrew his cramped palms before he could wring Nux's bruised neck; he reached forward and stammered, “I- I'm-”
“Who's-” Nux fell unto the sand, scrambling backwards aimlessly, Max's shred of sympathy dissolved at the whispered question, “Who's 'Sprog', blood-bag?”
“That was- she was-” the pitiful wholly-wretched look in Nux's eyes made Max backtrack, finding that he was in no mood for another's sympathy, or at all ready to stomach the passing of his weakness on one of Immortan Joe's numerous bastards, he instead turned away and spat over his shoulder the words which he had passed unto many others not worth more of his contemplation, “-none o' your concern.”
“It's a pretty name,” he heard the war-boy wheeze behind as if trying both to be heard and at the same time trying not to be noticed, the bite of sadness outweighed the sting of anger in Max's mind, he paused his trek in the sand only to wipe away the crust in his eyes, “'Sprog'. Like 'Sprocket'.”
Nux said not one word more for the duration of the rest of the day as the sky's fire burned out and became the oil-black of night; they had sat behind a dune motionlessly watching the sky and the sand for only Max-knew-what and otherwise left the war-boy in the dark, Max finally murmured after the long stretch of silence which broke with a wheeze, “Might need t'stay the night.”
“Her name's on your lips when you're asleep,” Max heard from his left once more in the same quiet and wondering tone, his mind raced as his muscles tightened at the mention of his daughter, her name unspoken by him for years and having it fall from a war-boy's lips was almost too much for him to bear as a one-time father – his glare was met with an apologetic whisper and broken eye contact, “She must've meant'a great deal t'ya.”
“What part'o 'none'o your concern'-” Max hissed through his grit teeth, jaws working and aching as he whipped around and stood, looping the chain affixed to Nux's wrist about the pale neck and pulling the war-boy along to their feet, effectively choking the war-boy until Nux crumpled unto his knees, “-don't y'fuckin' understand?”
“The part where you're hurtin', blood-bag,” Nux's bloodshot eyes did half the pleading as his lips worked only by motion without producing any pitiful sounds, sympathy came in the form of the war-boy's complete surrender, he was given no defiant buck, no fuck-yous or go-to-hells – Nux simply endured with his wide pleading eyes and honest words, “I don't understand anythin' at'all. You're free, y'shouldn't be hurtin'.”
The chains burned within his hands almost as hotly as the terrified eyes did, Max's hands unclenched the scalding links until it was only he whom stood against the humid black-blue of the late evening sky, he wondered if he should stomp out the life from Nux's chest until he was left with a scrawny body and a stump for a leg, the thoughtless action might alleviate his annoyance for a while, but it was better having an extra pair of hands for his plan. All the same, the war-boy stared up at him with such perfect sympathy that he could almost feel himself fall into the clear watery eyes, before he could drink his fill of sweet ignorance's poison – he steeled himself for the coldness in his chest, the words which validated him as more than 'fuel':
“It's a sickness,” he said flatly, factually, without the reprieve of speaking to a friend, Max pointed with his right hand as Nux's gaze followed, he tapped the grimy leather encasing the upper left side of his chest, “Right here. Never t' go away. Never t' heal. It's jus' There. Got it?”
Nux looked nothing at all like a war-boy, Max realized then how much of his past life he had forgotten – he never was a religious man, yet up until it was too late to believe, a fire greater than the sun burned Heaven out from under God, the same bastard that blew Australia in half cooked God for lunch and served the poor mother to hordes of hollow wraiths born in the same cooking fire – he saw a pitiful angel too weak and scared to ask for directions out of the hellhole he called 'Route Nowhere'.
“That way,” Max said, he pointed down with his right hand, he motioned half-dazedly at a hidden city buried beneath the sand, the only place safe enough for angels – light-headed and dizzy, his stomach growled as his strength gave way to hunger, he fell upon his knees, he gasped dryly, “Heaven's that-a-way.”
The war-boy must have misunderstood because the next thing Max felt were his skin-like trousers being shoved down his thighs and his entire body hauled unto his knees, he reached behind as a breath huffed against his ear, his balled fists pounded the sand, as if expecting the earth to break open and swallow him for all the shit and vomit his life had become. Breathing and surviving was a mechanism, but pride and happiness were nothing more than luxuries afforded to him by chance only when he still had his family – eating was simply one more thing to worry about, it was time-consuming as it was tedious feeding himself drops of fetid flesh and squirming radiation-critters – living itself was a chore.
As if his thought meant anything at all, the last thing he could afford to lose was his dignity; Max squirmed his depleted body, his bones grinding and muscles squeaking as his blood trickled to a stop inside his veins, he felt his stomach burning and rotting within his acids, the tired pounding in his chest ached almost as much as the throbbing in his head. The sand cradled his face and stuck to his sweat-encrusted skin, the briny salt of his breath pushed the tiny granules away from both his mouth and his nose; vaguely, sleep-like, he knew and felt Nux's quick fingers working his clothing off, article by article, he lay powerlessly in the sand until his body was disturbed only a moment by kind hands which pulled his upper torso off the sand.
Nux held unto him, his skin crawling like a fever of radiation and maggots pressing against his skin, his body once more lay only more comfortably being that the war-boy had arranged his discarded clothing beneath his form like a mattress, the warm leather jacket brushed against his cheek and rubbed like a dry tongue over his chest and ribcage, heat from the sand filtered through his clothing and took on a life of it's own beneath Max's prone body, as if it were an animal simply not minding the tick on it's back. The world was asleep, the stars hooded by smoke, fires unseen and engines unheard lit the edges of the desert in weak washes of bright fog, thoughts of his v-8 Interceptor was the last thing he thought of before feeling himself absorb the slick stab in his ass, he wriggled halfheartedly before he gasped the humid air.
Waves of nausea washed over Max more than pain – pain was the one thing closest to an ally he had next to water, at least feeling himself bleed or burn let him know that he was still in the game, half as capable but still somewhat sane enough that he could understand bitter sensations on his body – his body heated and his blood rushed past his brain as much as he pushed himself to think, to contemplate his situation better. The sweet thrill of adrenaline mixed in his veins, rushing along the miles of nerves lining his skin, twisting his stomach until hunger no longer kicked him square, he strained his neck far back, half his face pressed into the leather as Nux rocked into his pliant body, Max watched the dead angel thrusting in and throwing his head to and fro in the sufferings of rare pleasure.
The cock placed unceremoniously within his body was not so much comfortable at first, the pale dipstick stabbing his spine unlocked him one muscle at a time, gradually easing him into relaxation as complete and true as trust, the length scraped him inside and out, lighting different nerves upon exit and rhythmic entry, his ragged breathing became strained as he bit the collar of the leather jacket and stifled each groan. Wet squelches and shocks of sensation punctuated Nux's movements, Max endured the same way their dead God endured being picked apart and eaten by His own believers – his fists dug into the formless sand, pushing his fingers into the dune and raking trails of hollow earth in his wake – flashes of pain lit up the lights behind his eyes, pushing through the murkiness covering his thoughts and sharpening the hot-cold lightning in his spine.
Slim hips as narrow and fragile-looking as glass slammed into the mounds of his ass, slapping, smacking, and insatiable; Max's eyes shut against the sensation of Nux's hand enclosing his cock, squeezing his hardness so perfectly in a soft grip that he groaned aloud, “-fuck-! Fuck!”
His mind could not be bothered to form a phrase or another word other than 'Fuck', and before he lost himself completely to the sensations, Nux suddenly pulled away, Max nearly finished himself off, just then he felt his cock being slowly bent, his engorged cock stood nestled between his balls and the head leaked a drop unto an awaiting tongue, just barely he saw over his shoulder the war-boy bent down low between his ass-cheeks and sucking hard on the head of his cock. The shocks became too much and overpowered his will-sapped body, an inhuman torrent shot into Nux's mouth, and the war-boy swallowed, sucking hard and greedily as if nursing, Max clutched at the hand planted on his left hip and rocked backwards into the mouth still nursing on the tip of his cock; the world just then seemed to fracture, leaving him somewhere between the sky and the sand, a weightlessness and calm he had exiled from his mind overtook him as easily as the air leaving his chest.
Somewhere in the night, Max awoke completely restless and jittery, his clothes still strewn about beneath his still-naked body, behind him lay the war-boy, asleep and moaning as if they were still intertwined like two desperate snakes fighting over prey, he pulled the soft cock from his ass and disentangled himself from the war-boy's long arms; half the world glowed peacefully, scrubbing a hand over his face, he glanced to his left and spied Sprog kneeling over Nux, she said, “Hell is a lie, Max.”
Her voice was like the breeze as were her dark curls around her face, Max closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking back for the ghost of his daughter, he found himself alone and still whispered, “I know.”
Max dressed quickly, his body slightly numb and sensitive beneath his lower back, he half-limped towards the hopefully-eastern direction and made sure to leave behind a trail.
Pallid light from the east leaked steadily until the sun took its rightful place in the sky, uncloaking the earth of the night which was digesting in Nux's stomach, he licked his scarred lips and sat up at the bottom of the dune, he watched a figure in the distance shuffling and seeming hauling a load upon their shoulders; gradually, he looked on as Max approached, he stood from the sand and reverted his gaze once they were face to face.
He flinched at the sound of Max's gravelly voice, “Y'have any'thing t'say for y'rself?”
Nux traced Max's shadow from the motionless ground, lastly ending at the softened blue eyes which simply stared up at him expectantly; Nux admitted finally as his dry mouth tasted the faint salt of Max's cum, “I found heaven.”
Max emitted a satisfied huff and hauled the load higher over his shoulders, he jerked his chin in the general direction back to the war-rig and said, “C'mon, you.”
“Y-you're not angry?” Nux asked meekly as he followed after Max.
Max looked up over his shoulder beyond the bundle of dead irradiated birds, he questioned almost accusingly, “Y'want me to be?”
“N-no! Not at'all,” Nux stumbled, he knew that he could not reason with his blood-bag if his blood-bag was angry with him for some reason or other, “Just surprised 's all, blood-bag.”
“ 'Blood-bag',” Max huffed, his cock twitched at the sudden realization of Nux's eyes on his ass, they stumbled up the dune and over before he said, “My name isn't 'blood-bag'.”
Nux clumsily yanked the chain along in hopes of not annoying the other man any more than necessary, he trailed after, being that he had nothing else to say or wish for that would not get him in deeper trouble, he stated, “So then y'aren't.”
Nux did not think the nameless man would take too kindly being called 'Scruffy-Angel' or 'Tasty-Cock'.