#trans!junkrat

 Before he could decide if his peg leg was really up to the task of booking it to the nearest car, much less the city, they were slowing to a stop at a bungalow. It was low and squat against the backdrop of the outback, with a scrubby garden out front and a green door. It vaguely reminded Junkrat of something he’d long forgotten, some little home on the outback with a scrubby garden and a swing out front. Roadhog’s place even had the swing, though it was on the porch, like all those after school specials. Roadhog pulled up into a side driveway, walking the bike under an overhanging awning before turning off the bike. The rumblings immediately stopped and Junkrat slid off, jumping to try and get the tingle out of his lower half. Half the ride to the little bungalow, his crotch downward had been tingly and numb, and not in the fun types of lube way.

 Roadhog laughed, a true little chuckle, and Junkrat’s cheeks colored. He swiped a hand across his face to try and rub the blush away and turned to look at the house. It had white siding, a brown roof, all together not all that noticeable in a stretched out line of houses that looked just the same. There was a mailbox out front, with a peeling number on it and Junkrat giggled, he didn’t even know the street they were on, he couldn’t even order take away, much less a cab. The idea of being so isolated roused mixed feelings. Isolation meant no junkers. Isolation also meant no shitty tea shops that sold boba tea on Sundays when the shipment came in. Isolation meant cops wouldn’t be called on every little thing. Isolation meant the cops couldn’t save him, not that he wanted them to. The police in Junkertown were a joke anyway.

 “So this is where you live?” Junkrat asked unnecessarily as Roadhog hefted his bulk off of the chopper. He grunted in reply, going to the side door and unlocking it with a key from his wallet chain. A little pig, the size of Junkrat’s thumb, hung off the chain with a little button on its butt. It looked like a little flashlight maybe. Junkrat giggled. Hog liked pigs, huh? He snorted, following the other man into the kitchen of the home. It was quaint, in a way, with dirty dishes in the sink and beer bottles waiting for the recycling bin. The fridge was yellowing with age, with the recycling schedule magneted to the front and a few business cards stuck alongside it with tape. There were pans on the stove, ready to be put away, and a small dinner table on the right with three chairs.

 Roadhog reached into the yellowing fridge, pulling out two bottles of four x and handing one to Junkrat. His hands were massive cupped around the cool bottles, and Junkrat intentionally brushed his fingers against his massive hand when he pulled the bottle away. He pulled out his bic lighter to pop the bottle cap, using it as a lever and Roadhog simply pulled out a real bottle opener from a drawer, popping the top. “So what, I’m just your new roomie? Don’t have a job mate, not like I can pay you half yet.” He pointed out, sipping the cool beer. It tasted awful, Junkrat was of the opinion most beers did. Most alcohol in general was just to get drunk, anyway, he mused.

 Roadhog grunted, pulling his surgical mask up to drink his own beer. Junkrat caught himself inspecting what little of his face he could see, but looked down at his beer quickly before he could get caught. He tapped his metal fingers against the bottle neck, thinking aimlessly. Roadhog finished his beer in a few good swallows, putting it next to the sink before heading through the door to the living area. There was a doorway outside on the right, to the porch with the swing, and a hallway to the left with doorways to whatever rooms were in the home. Roadhog sat on the couch infront of the telly. “Empty room’s yours. Get a job. Go to Uni. Don’t bother me.” Roadhog was a man of few words, it seemed, and Junkrat giggled as he turned to go look down the hallway. Time to explore, he supposed, finishing his beer in a few more swallows than Roadhog did, the mouth on that guy could probably… he stopped that thought, putting the beer bottle on the counter.

 First doorway was a bathroom, and he noted the location for later. Second doorway was locked, so he assumed it was Roadhog’s. Third, on the left behind the kitchen, was unlocked and empty, only an old queen sized bed, a bookshelf, and a desk inside. Junkrat fidgeted. Besides the motel, he’d never had his own room, and he wasn’t sure living on the run for two and a half years counted as the luxury having his own room, own bed, own desk provided. He stared for a few moments, antsy all of a sudden.

 What did Roadhog want from him? “Get a job, go to Uni, don’t bother me” was specific enough, but why? University had never particularly interested him, just a way to learn more chemistry but he could find anything chemistry related online at the library anyway. Why would he even care if Junkrat went to University anyway? They barely knew each other. Junkrat scoffed, throwing his bag down on the bed before flopping down beside it. He felt... he didn't know what he felt. A lot of things, he supposed. He felt a little irritated, a lot grateful for the plush, soft bed, a little bit antsy to see what else was in the house, and very much hungry. He realized belatedly he hadn’t eaten anything that day.

 Instantly he was back up on his feet, stretching as he headed for the kitchen. He passed Roadhog who was watching trash television, one meaty arm across the back of the couch while the other carefully held the tiny remote control between his fingers, flicking between channels during the commercials. Junkrat watched him for half a moment, admiring the muscles in Roadhog’s shoulder and arm, before heading to the kitchen. If he was living there now, he decided, he had full run of the kitchen too. Opening the fridge was a disappointment, only a few beers and raw meat in the meat drawer. He checked the freezer up top and grabbed a few pieces of ice to crunch from the trays.