There air was stale and unmoving. It was hot and heavy as it settled down on its surroundings. The buzzing of a fly that had been caught between the screen and the glass of the old window near the front of the room hummed with a subtle annoyance. The loose screen door tapped against its frame in the light breeze. It was a slight breeze. Not nearly enough of one to lift the sticky, miserable heat. The far off cries of lonely Rakks calling to each other faintly kissed the ears of the half awake vault hunter. He laid still in the dirty, sad excuse for a bed, his arms folded underneath the pillow propping his chin up. The fly continued to buzz weakly and beat itself upon the dusty glass.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The vault hunter squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced against the pillow. His short cropped dirty blonde locks were caked with dirt, blood and sweat. His body wasn't much better off. He had been in desperate need of a shower since three days ago and he was sure he didn't smell much better than a dirty skag by now. He yawned into the pillow, his breath stale and crude with the morning. The stench of booze and sweat clung to him and the sticky sheets wrapped around his aching body. He was sure they must have been white at some point, but they had long since faded into a dirty grey. The bedding was hot and uncomfortable on his bare skin. He groaned out lowly and lifted up on his tired elbows. He was sore and sluggish having had too much to drink the night previous and too little actual food in his belly this morning. He blinked irritably in the new morning and slowly roused himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his dirty hair and flexed his sore arms. He was covered in perfect little bloody and bruised circular marks. The blood was dry and crusted having sat overnight. He frowned at the wounds. His eyes darted from the perfect little wounds over to the other side of the small dirty mattress. The other man laid partially covered in sheets, his naked ass on full display to the commando. Axton grimaced.
Fuck, he thought.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
There was a large purple bruise blooming on the other male's left ass cheek and he looked about half dead in the heavy throws of slumber.
He snored softly into the old pillow, one arm thrown carelessly over his head, his sleep hard and booze induced. His dark brown locks were frazzled and disheveled as he slept, chest rising and falling with every deep breath. Axton's frown deepened as fragments of memories from the night before crept back to him.
Fuck.
He ran his hand through his short hair and groaned out. He was never fucking drinking again. Never.
For fucks sake what had he gotten himself into. The other man gave a little grunt in his sleep and rolled onto his back, scratching his crotch lazily. Axton pressed his palms over his eyelids and groaned out miserably. He looked down at himself then back to his sleeping bed partner. He was lean and more muscular than the posters slapped around pandora made him out to be. His skin was stupidly pristine except for a jagged scar spread across his left peck and an array of fresh looking bruises. The Hyperion logo was scribed in old ink just above his groin, and Axton was pretty sure it was just about the stupidest thing he'd ever seen. Axton couldn't make it out last night when the other man's clothing had first come off. Between the drink,the haste and the commotion it had looked about like a kindergartener's scribbles to the commando. All Axton could think about was staring at the illegible tattoo as he sucked the other man off. His cock hot and heavy on his tongue, brain scrambled by skunked beer and too much sexual tension. The thought turned Axton's stomach. Half because of his biting hangover and the thought of anything alcoholic was sickening, half because that man next to him...was none other than fucking Handsome Jack.