Borderlands 2. Side note that Gamzee is like a bastardization of Brink, except he bashes skulls in with clubs rather than fists, and Tav is, well, the male Mechromancer. (*cough myfavoriteclass)

I like this one. That is all.

Warnings: Smut. And the general language, but it's the smut you care about. Oh, and violence.

Vault Hunting is serious business.

"One bandit, two bandit, three bandit, four…" Gamzee chants in a sing-song voice, pulling the trigger of his sniper rifle repeatedly. As the 'Subjugglator' (a title he's given himself the minute you both hit Pandora, you have no idea what it is or what it means, but you go with it) reloads another magazine in his purple sniper, you took place on your knees in front of him, against the metal guard rail, palming the front of his jeans slowly. You grinned as he released a husky growl, almost forming your name, missing a shot at the assholes gathering below.

"Gamz," you coo, continuing to toy with him as you pull down his zipper and free his half-hard member, keeping your normal hand on his manhood, and your robotic, prosthetic arm to his waist. "Remember; ten, headshots." Ten headshots before Gamzee blows his load. If he wins, he gets the full job pay, if not you get it. You don't remember how the bet came to be (you want to blame the rakk ale), but it was too good not to go through with. Licking a antagonizing slow stripe from base to tip, Gamzee groaned, the rifle in his arms shaking like a leaf. Too easy.

He barely made it to seven before Gamzee came down your throat. You're just that good. You sent out Tinkerbull to pulverize the rest and call the job done.

The ride back to the nearest Fast Travel Station is uneventful, so far, oddly enough. Gamzee fell asleep in the back of the Bandit Technical nearly fifteen minutes ago, and you're trying to drive carefully, making sure not to wake your partner. At least until you get to the Happy Pig Motel.

Oops. Ran over a skag. Oh well, ugly thing deserved it. Gamzee shifted, mumbling something about pie, before falling back to unconsciousness, snoring. You giggled.

You made it to the Motel in record time, and you carelessly jumped out of the drivers seat. You slightly rub your sore prosthetic legs, stopping a moment to pull out your incinerated pistol and shoot the stray psycho chasing after you with blind, insane fury. The bandit staggers, and falls ungraciously to the ground, dead. Normally, you'd send out Tinkerbull for the small stuff, to save ammo and such, but right now you're feeling particularly lazy. Scratching the light stubble across your chin, you make your way to the back of the car. Gamzee's curled himself near the back of the trunk, snoring like he was in a comfy bed instead of a hard seat in a vehicle. A stroke of confidence assails you. You did this to him with one blowjob. You really are good.

"Gamzee," you call out, nonchalantly jumping over the guardrail. He moves slightly but doesn't budge. "Babe," you made your way to your partner, shaking him. He jolted to wakefulness, letting out a few choice expletives that held no true malice before rubbing his eyes with the back of his greased up palm. "Sorry, Gamz," you tuck an arm under his shoulders and lift him. A man who is nothing but sticks should not be this heavy. You blame his guns and clubs. "When we, get back to, Sanctuary, we'll rent a room at, Roxxxi's and you can sleep there."

He grumbles some more unflattering curses under his breath before straightening up, and jumping alongside you from the truck bed. Walking up to the Fast Travel Station, Gamzee leans against you groggily and you press the holographic menu, selecting your current home from the list, giving Gamzee a quick peck on his cheek before confirming. Then blue surrounds you.

As the sky-colored lights blur and fade from sight (you will never get used to that), you arrive at the piss-hole capital of Pandora, Sanctuary. The floating city is home to ruffians, thieves, drunks and wannabe bandits. You hate it here, but it's the only place that won't shoot you on arrival without reason. Gamzee materializes next to you in a haze of digital blue lights. You wait for him to fully form before heading to the bounty board, collecting your rightfully earned money. You refrain from gloating in his face though; he looks like an ugly love child between drowsiness and moping.

You two hit Roxxxi's in record time, with the bar's proprietor, Roxi, giving you both a sweet, welcoming grin. Followed by a drunken wink. You shoot her a nervous smile back and Gamzee waves at her like a child with a cheeky smile. You ask her for the key to one of the back room, and slip her the cost. She hands you the key card with another drunkenly sweet smirk. You stumble out a thank you before dragging Gamzee with you to the back rooms where your quarters lie, dust trails following in your wake.

"Haev fin, boys!" She calls in her inebriated state. "Fun!"

The room came to view, and you slide the in the card, taking in the sight of the recognizable room in front of you. It was a simple set up; table, drawers, a small twin in the corner. It reeks of booze and sex; a scent you both are familiar with, to the point where it feels like home to you both. Growing up on the other shit stain of the universe, Promethea, it's something you're almost glad about. Even the Vault Hunter HQ or whatever doesn't compare. You hold the door for your lovely Subjugglator, giving him a curt bow. "After you."

Gamzee laughs, too tired to form a coherent response and pats you on the ass, winking and kissing you on the nose before making a bee line toward the cot at the end of the room and collapsing on top of it. You snigger as you make you way to the table, arranging your guns and counting your money from today's job.

$382. Not including the hundred you looted. At least you know how much your lives are worth. Probably not even that. You absentmindedly started to massage your sore thighs, being careful not to press to hard at the sensitive skin that meets metal. Maybe one of these days you can get stabilizers for your legs so-

"Taaaaav," you rose from your thoughts momentarily to see Gamzee perched on his elbows, staring at you through his messy bangs. He chuckles, low and husky, and you just noticed he's topless and when did that happen. "You mumblin' all crazy like, again." Oh.

"Um," elegant Tavros. "Thanks, Gam." You smile at him with a nervous snort and he pats the sadly empty spot next to him, beaming back at you with that small mischievous glint in his dangerous indigo eyes. No matter ho many times you try, you can't find it in you to resist that glint, let alone him. You rise from the flimsy table and journeyed the few steps to the dirty bed (you don't even want to know what these stains are), taking a seat in that lonely spot next to him. You rack your normal hand through his grease, blood, and dirt matted hair, careful of the knots that you catch.

Gamzee mewled under you, grabbing the wrist of your prosthetic, and kissing the palm all over, twining his warm fingers with your cold ones. You count it as a blessing that you can even feel it. "Tavbro," he continues to play with your fingers, kissing the smooth plates of each finger. He always blames himself for this. He blames every little flaw on your body on himself, from your arm, to your legs, to the electrical burns on your good arm, to the small barely visible scar under your left eye. Even though none of it was his fault. He was just raised to hold in shame. "D'ya ever motherfuckin' think 'bout those old days?"

You frown. Those days. Those days when you used to play with Gamzee in the dirty streets of Promethea. Those days when you used to come home to a drunk father and your brother MIA for another night and you used to watch old Peter Pan vids on your stolen ECHOplayer. Those day when you tripped in front of a street sweeper, effectively nearly wiping your legs clean off your body. The days Gamzee cried next to your bed for weeks because he wasn't there to protect his friend. The day you made a pair of robotic ones in your run down garage with the help your brother's boyfriend because you hated the looks you get in a wheelchair. The days Gamzee and his brother both sleep under a bridge when his father brings home more hookers. The days you and Gamzee started to make Tinkerbull with spare rover parts from the scrap yard. The day he first kissed you. The day when a vengeful ex sawed your arm off because she wanted you to be more like her and make you 'stronger'.

The day Gamzee found out about that and nearly killed her, and four other people included. The day he was sent to a Hyperion 'Correctional Facility'. The day you first tested out Tinkerbull out in the bulk of the place with the sole hope of getting Gamzee out, only to find out that he nearly got himself out halfway. The day you two stole away on a shuttle to Pandora. The day you two became Vault Hunters.

Nether of you were thinking straight that last day.

"Yeah," you say, brushing his knuckles with your thumb softly, "All, the time." You lean in to kiss him, aiming to quell those evil thoughts no doubt already forming in his head.

Time is a funny thing. One minute you're gently kissing him like he's the most fragile thing in the universe, the next he's under you, naked as the day he was born, with you only halfway undressed, much to his dismay. You reach under the bed to fumble at the assorted bottles of flavored lube, courtesy of Roxi. It's always an adventure going through them. There're usually always a few new flavors every time you stay here.

"Let's see, what we have here, today, shall we?" You pull out six bottles (really? That's a little much, even for you two) of the slick and stand them up comically on Gamzee's chest, who shivered visibly at the cold bottles, but chuckles at the numerous flavors of lube lined up in front, and top, of him. His eyes narrow at the first bottle.

"Pumpkin? What the motherfuck? Who wants their dick to up and smell like that shit?"

You absentmindedly massage the inside of Gamzee's thighs as you toss aside the pumpkin flavored bottle. You pick up another, eyeing it farcically, "'Cotton Candy'?" your nose crinkles as you take a whiff of the candy scented gel.

"Hell naw, if you up and smell like sugar, I ain't never gonna motherfuckin' get off ya. Next." Toss.

"PepsiCola? What they, can't choose one?" Toss.

"Rosemary? Ain't that a motherfuckin' plant or sommat? I ain't all up for my ass smellin' like rosemary chicken." Toss.

"Mustard and Ketchup? The, hell? I knew it- our dicks, are concession stand food."

"Why not? Your cock's as salty as motherfuckin' fries anyway." Toss right at Gamzee.

You both opted for the final flavor, PB & J ("If my ass is gonna up and smell like a food, might as well be our favorite motherfuckin' sandwich."), as you let the clear gel run down your good fingers, the strong scent of grape and peanuts filling the small space between you and him. Letting your prosthetic hand drift over his stomach, rubbing in small comforting circles, you let your lubed-up finger tease Gamzee's entrance, before pushing in a finger gently to the knuckle. You still for a minute, watching your partners reaction. Gamzee's breathing is slow and haggard as he shallowly bucks against your hand. His erection is throbbing against his stomach, nested in black curls, already dripping with pre-come. Gamzee looks so beautiful like this. He mewls as you start pumping the digit slowly, deliberately brushing those special bundle of nerves inside him. You add another finger and he hisses at the burn as you scissor them, adding the third when he calms down enough. He starts getting vocal then, making empty threats at you if you don't get started for real.

You deem him ready and pull out of him, Gamzee crooning at the loss. You lean down to kiss his chest before finally ridding yourself of the rest of your clothes, unzipping your pants and quickly discarding them somewhere unspecified. You hiss as the cool air hits you and again when you coat yourself with the pungent scented slick.

You're hard to the point where it heavily aches. Pressing the head to Gamzee's opening, you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. This is where you're always nervous. The first time you topped him, you slid in too fast (you blame the legs), and he howled in so much pain it nearly killed you when you heard it. You spent the next ten minutes lamenting Gamzee's ass locked in the bathroom. The clown rolls his hips, edging yourself almost head in. Someone is eager.

"If you don't get this shit motherfuckin' in, Imma steal next jobs pay an' not suck ya for a week!" Well, when he puts it that way…

You slowly slide in, relishing in the tight heat and intense rapture, only stopping when you reach the hilt, waiting for him to adgust. Your metal arm moved to his chest, massaging the area, careful not to press to hard, while your lubed-slicked good hand reaches Gamzee's neglected cock, slowly pumping to your breathing. The Subjugglator's already a moaning, writhing mess, even without you barely moving. Slowly you pull out, dragging out a moan from your partner as you go. When you snap your hips back in place with a grunt, his breath hitches and you already lose yourself, setting a pace that's at first achingly slow developing to something deep and rough. Teasing is only good when there's a point behind it.

"Messiah's Tav! Taavbro Tav, Tav, motherfuck Tavros!" You've long decided that's the best things to ever come out of his mouth.

Gamzee's rolling his hips to meet with yours and you grip him tighter, pumping him faster and thrusting quicker. You're only partially worried your leg's will hurt him. You let your prosthetic limb grope everywhere it can, his sides his hips, his legs, and finally his hand, gripping tightly, like an anchor. His legs hook at your back and he's thrusting harder against you. You twist his hips to ram in even harder and Gamzee brings you close with his free arm, chanting your name like a prayer. Your mouth was moving too against the skin of his neck, but you don't think you said anything. If you did, Gamzee drowned them out.

When he finally comes, his lithe frame arches off the bed with a cry that shook the walls around you as he shoots ribbons of white across his chest. His muscles clench around your length and you groan, giving a couple of more thrusts before finally finishing inside of him, bucking uncontrollably. "Fuck, Gamzee-!"

Your legs gave out from under you and you land on top of Gamzee's oversensitive body, you both struggling to catch your breath. Pretty soon, your partner grunts under you and you weakly wiggle to the spot next to him, laying on your side and sliding your good arm across his waist. The room smells like sex and sweat, more so than when you both first got here, and small traces of peanut butter and jelly. It seemed more comfortable now then it did before.

Gamzee kisses the underside of your jaw, and lets out a content sigh. "Mmm… What's on the motherfuckin' to do list for the morrow?"

Random, but whatever. You clumsily reach over with your prosthetic, finding your forgotten pants to pull out your ECHOdevice, reading the organized list of missions you planned the night before. "Um, bullymongs." You cough, attempting to get rid of the grind in your voice. It's not as sexy on you as it is on Gam. "In Three Horns Divide again… Then more bandits, in-"

"Bonerfarts?" He laughs.

"Bullymongs."

"Fine, fine." He snuggles up closer beside you, his breath ghosting over your collarbones as sleep slowly pulls you both in. "Ain't no rest for the wicked, eh bro?"

You laugh, because oh fuck no. But you're okay with that.

The next day you both end up roughly dry humping each other in the middle of a heavily populated bullymong nest. Just another day in the lives of two professional Vault Hunters.