This Homemade Pork Rub Will Have Everyone Squealing With Delight ... - Overwatch: Junkrat/Roadhog

Junkrat taking care of an injured Roadhog


Hurt comfort, fluff

It was Junkrat’s fault.

A simple job he’d said. Just stroll into an unguarded building, set up a bomb, and blow it up. The people paying them didn’t want anything stolen, just wanted the records in the building destroyed.

Couple timed bombs in the server room would take care of that, and they could be safely on their way before anything started to detonate.

That was before he’d seen the safe on their way out. It was probably just some petty cash, but they’d agreed that no score was too small for them. It wouldn’t take long to blow the lock, they could still easily make it out in time.

They were pulling out the loot when the first bomb went off, eyes meeting in panic before sprinting for the door. The second explosion sent Junkrat tumbling to the floor, and Roadhog didn’t hesitate to throw himself over his partner, shielding him as the ceiling began to cave in.

It came down all at once, a sudden blanket of pain.

Roadhog couldn’t move, muscles frozen in place and shaking with the effort of holding the weight of the rubble above them. Shale and plaster slid to the floor, invisible behind clouds of dust.

He almost didn’t notice Junkrat wriggling around underneath him, barely heard the small explosions as Junkrat tried to clear some of the debris surrounding them. It wasn’t until Junkrat fully crawled free that he collapsed, the weight above too heavy to even draw a breath.

Everything was fading out fast, and he couldn’t find the strength to push himself free. Was he really going to die like this, surviving a hundred police shootouts, surviving the apocalypse, just to die in a shitty office building because they were too greedy to run from a ticking time bomb?

Eyes sliding closed, he resigned himself to his fate.

Hopefully, Junkrat had managed to get himself free and had the sense to start running.

The blast above snapped his back into alertness, as his Junkrat’s panicked screeching as he pushed the remaining rubble from Roadhog’s broad back.

“No! No! No! Get up!”

He felt Junkrat's hands pat him down until they pulled a canister free, shoving it into his mask with a soft hiss. Desperately pulling in shallow breaths he could feel the gas start to take effect, body twitching as he coughed wetly. His mouth tasted of blood.

Another canister clicked into place and he took deeper breaths, feeling joints snapping back into place as he slowly pulled himself upright. Junkrat slipped under his arm, helping keep him upright as they made their way to the bike. slower than either of them would have liked, but even with the gas Roadhog felt like he’d been hit by a truck

Collapsing on the bike with a wheeze, he started the engine with Junkrat clinging to his back. They were moving by the time they heard the first sirens, Junkrat shouting directions right into Roadhog’s ear as he drove on auto-pilot, muscle memory handing the driving while his brain hadn’t quite caught up after the near-death experience.

He made it three steps into their hotel room before collapsing on the bed. Junkrat hovered nearby, nervous energy radiating from him.

“Roadie? You still with me?”

A grunt.

“You want some more gas?”

He slowly shook his head. He wasn’t wounded anymore, just tired and sore.

“Alright, You get some rest, I’ll-”

It felt like he’d only closed his eyes for a moment, but when Junkrat shook him awake the sun had risen. Junkrat had changed too, scrubbed mostly clean and wearing the baggy hoodie and trackie-daks he wore when they pretended to be citizens.

“How ya feelin’? Went out to pick up a couple of things. Figured I’d try and, well, I ran you a bath.”

Roadhog sighed. Sleeping had helped, but now he was alert enough to feel how filthy he was. He raised a hand, letting Junkrat pull him from the bed.

Clothing and armour fell to the floor, leaving outlines in the thick dust covering his skin. He looked like a tanning session gone horribly wrong.

The en-suite bathroom was the best part of this hotel, a large green room with a bath big enough for even Roadhog to fit in comfortably. It looked inviting, steam rising through the thick layer of bubbles.

He was about to climb in when Junkrat put a hand on his shoulder. “Want your mask off? I can wash your hair.”

What was this?

He nodded, closing his eyes as Junkrat undid the straps and pulled it off. When he opened them Junkrat was looking at him with a pained expression. Blood was spattered all over the inside of the mask, he could imagine how bad his face looked.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the strangely spicy scent in the air before the steam flooded his lungs, leaving him clinging to the wall as he hacked up what felt like half a lungs worth of blood.

“-need more gas?”

“I’m fine.”

The bathwater was almost scalding, and he slowly sank into the tub with a heavy sigh. It had been a while since he’d had anything other than a quick scrub down in the shower, they rarely had time to rest and recover.

“I got some bubble bath that said it was good for muscle pain, also got you some good shampoo and- Oh!” Junkrat bolted from the room, nearly slipping on the tile. Three steam filled breaths and he was back, carefully carrying a glass of orange liquid. “Thought I’d get ya some juice too, might make you feel better?”

Honestly, he’d rather have a beer, but the cool sweetness of the drink was welcome, washing the taste of blood and dust from his mouth. He handed the glass back to Junkrat, closing his eyes and trying to relax.

It was a little difficult when he could feel Junkrat’s orange eyes boring into his skull. He cracked one eye open, staring back.

“Do you want me to help you clean off or anything? You can just relax and let me take care of ya.”

Roadhog nodded, zoning out while Junkrat grabbed a loofah.

He’d gotten hurt on heists before, and Junkrat was rarely this attentive afterwards. The last time he’d gotten like this had been… Italy maybe? When they’d started that oil fire in the kitchen. When Junkrat found out that Roadhog had been burnt he’d been beside himself with worry. It wasn’t serious, not even worth wasting gas on, but he’d insisted on applying burn cream every day, constantly asking Roadhog to remind him when it needed doing.

Then there had been the time back in Australia when he’d crashed his rip-tire into a pile of scrap in the middle of a fight, bringing the whole thing down on top of everybody. Back then he thought Junkrat’s attempts to help were born from fear that Roadhog would end their partnership, throw him out of the farmhouse and leave him to fend for himself.

He wasn’t so sure now. Junkrat trying to himself feel better about his mistakes, or an attempt at an apology he would never say aloud?

Either way, it was nice.

Junkrat was humming something as he carefully pulled bits of debris from silver hair, a soothing half-waltz. It sounded familiar, and if he had the energy he’d ask what it was.

By the time he was clean, the bathwater had turned into a cold grey slurry. Junkrat gave him a quick rinse with the showerhead before helping him to his feet, towelling off before they headed for the bedroom.

“Want me to give you a rub before we go to sleep?”

What.

His confusion must have shown on his face, Junkrat barking an embarrassed laugh before looking away.

“A massage, just a nice friendly massage between mates! I’ve done ‘em before, I know what I’m doing.”

Doubtful, but he followed Junkrat’s instruction to lie on his front anyway, shoving a couple of pillows under himself. He always found lying on his stomach awkward, worried about putting too much pressure on his lungs.

Long fingers trailed over his exposed back, and he shivered. There was the snap of a bottle cap, and oil was poured onto his back. He recognised the smell, the ginger oil Junkrat used on his own muscle pains.

Exploratory fingers spread the oil out, roaming over muscle groups to find the places where the muscles were at their worst.

They found a spot to the left of his spine, pressing harder and rubbing the muscle until it relaxed before moving on.

The slow unwinding of his muscles felt both amazing and terrible. Junkrat seemingly knowing just how far he could push without causing actual pain, moving to different spots as soon as it got too much. Had he always been so tense?

“Should do this for you more often.”

That sounded good.

Roadhog had no idea where or when Junkrat learnt massage techniques, he seemed unlikely to land a job in any of the places in Junkertown that offered the service.

“Had a mate teach me.” He was never sure if Junkrat was able to read him that well or if his chatter just happened to align with Roadhog’s thoughts.

“He did it for a living, helped me with the muscle pain when I first got my prosthetics. Returned the favour for him whenever he had a bad day.”

Junkrat continued to work away the ache of the day and the tension of years. Groans of pleasure began to slip from Roadhog’s lips, too tired and relaxed to fight against it. He felt like he’d melted into a puddle. Even when Junkrat moved away he just lay there, idly watching his partner put things away and missing the feel of those hands on his skin.

“What do you say we order some food in and figure out where we’re gonna go next? Reckon we can find somewhere that does those dumplings you like.”

Roadhog pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. “Thanks.”