- One on One
code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
Sullivan had no fuckin’ clue if he was kind. But he was definitely a true bastard. Well, unless you wanted to get literal with it. Then no, his mum and da were both very much married and committed to each other. Or rather… they were. He hadn’t exactly had any contact with them in the years he’d been marooned in this Godforsaken country. They could be zombie chow for all he knew.
He’d rather not… think about that.
Sullivan may not look like it, but he was paying attention. Closely. And he wasn’t sure he liked the way Church was eyeing his prosthetic. He hoped he hadn’t brought up some scavenging dickhead into his safe house. He liked this one—the safe house, not the dickhead. It’d be a shame to have to move again. And even he wasn’t cocky enough to think he’d be any match to hunt somebody down and kill them with only one leg.
He… didn’t have enough years under his belt as an amputee to be competent without the limb. He supposed he wasn’t getting sleep tonight. Or if he did, he’d be sleeping with the leg on. Fuck.
“Ye a fuckin’ tardigrade or somethin’?” He cocked a brow as the other commented that he didn’t need ‘nutrients’. Nutrients? Who the fuck said it like that, anyways? Maybe he was bein’ cute or somethin’. Word play. Church’s next question didn’t help the way Sullivan was looking at him, either. “Hitchhiker’s Guide,” he said. He doubted that would mean much to the other man, but the reference was poignant. “‘Course I got a towel. Or… they did. Whomever sad fecks that owned this place before. Toilet’s back there.”
He’d rather not… think about that.
Sullivan may not look like it, but he was paying attention. Closely. And he wasn’t sure he liked the way Church was eyeing his prosthetic. He hoped he hadn’t brought up some scavenging dickhead into his safe house. He liked this one—the safe house, not the dickhead. It’d be a shame to have to move again. And even he wasn’t cocky enough to think he’d be any match to hunt somebody down and kill them with only one leg.
He… didn’t have enough years under his belt as an amputee to be competent without the limb. He supposed he wasn’t getting sleep tonight. Or if he did, he’d be sleeping with the leg on. Fuck.
“Ye a fuckin’ tardigrade or somethin’?” He cocked a brow as the other commented that he didn’t need ‘nutrients’. Nutrients? Who the fuck said it like that, anyways? Maybe he was bein’ cute or somethin’. Word play. Church’s next question didn’t help the way Sullivan was looking at him, either. “Hitchhiker’s Guide,” he said. He doubted that would mean much to the other man, but the reference was poignant. “‘Course I got a towel. Or… they did. Whomever sad fecks that owned this place before. Toilet’s back there.”