“He’s down!” the red-haired woman shouts in the back, and Max turns his head to see a biker falling to the ground. That’s the last one, a dedicated war boy who finally meet his end at the hand of some serious sharpshooting. He glances out the window again just to confirm but no, there’s no one else following them. For the moment at least, they appear to be safe.
He doesn’t get a chance to revel in this fact because the engines start making some pretty unhappy noises almost immediately. Well at least the rig waited until they were out of danger he thinks, glancing over at Furiosa who’s peering out the windshield as though she can diagnose the problem from here.
Obviously not, as she’s soon telling him to stop and hopping out to take a look. Max slips over to the front passenger seat and tries to assess the damage done to his hand earlier. He can’t really focus though, is still too keyed up from the fighting earlier. He’s alive but he can’t stop thinking about the woman, the pregnant one who fell under the wheels. What was her name?
He shakes his head and wraps his back hand up, tighter than necessary. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need to know. What good will it do to remember the names of the dead he doesn’t even know? He has enough of those in his head. Maybe she won’t make an appearance there is he doesn’t know her name.
He wants to start driving again, fang it until they can all calm down. But Furiosa is climbing into the cab again and saying that the engines need to cool down so they’ll be here for a minute.
“Cooling off? You can’t be serious, the dessert’s going to be swarming with war boys in a few minutes!” The white-haired woman exclaims, panic edging into her voice.
“They’re going to recoup before coming out again, we’ll be fine for a while.”
“Oh you’re sure of that are you? Sure enough to-“
“Dag, calm down,” the red-haired one says in a placating voice. “Furiosa knows what she’s doing. We’ll be okay.”
“Glad everyone’s so bloody confident about that.” Dag mutters, mollified but still on edge. As they all are. “How long’s a few minutes then?”
“It’s a few minutes.” Furiosa replies with a steady voice lined with steel. Like she’s just looking for an excuse to punch something. Max knows the feeling.
After a moment’s pause the youngest one pipes up to ask, “And in the meantime?”
Furiosa grits her teeth and Max sees the same fire flashing through her eyes as when they were fighting each other. “Sit and think about how you’re still alive. And tell yourself you’re going to stay that way.”
The women in the back are quiet, and Furiosa turns her intense stare from them after a minute onto Max. He can feel his heart rate tick up as they lock eyes and suddenly everything is too quiet, he needs to move, say something.
“Do you wanna get off?”
For a moment he thinks she’s telling him to get off the rig, and he bristles in anticipation of a fight. That’s what you get for trusting people Max, you help them out of a jam, save each other’s lives a few times, then get kicked out into the open desert as soon as the dust has started to clear. He opens his mouth to retort that he’s not going anywhere thank you very much, but now she’s staring at his crotch with a hunger in her eyes and… oh. That kind of getting off.
He can’t help the way his dick twitches in his trousers once he realizes what she means. She noticed it too, if the glare of defiance and arousal she gives him is any indication. Like she’s daring him to not hid it, to admit that he wants this too.
And honestly, thirty seconds ago getting off was the last thing on Max’s mind. But now she’s climbing into his lap and he can feel the heat of her all around him, radiating off them both and charging the air. A tiny voice in his head tells him this isn’t a good idea, but his heart has started pounding again and his cock is swelling, and she smells like sweat and engine oil and sex, and it’s all rushing through his head, crowding out any voices.
“I’ll take this as a yes?” She’s straddling him now and her tone is impatient but she’s not moving, waiting for him to say something, give her the okay. He turns and looks at the wives sitting behind them. They’re don’t seem shocked or disturbed by the turn of events and Max isn’t sure if he’s relieved by that.
“Don’t worry about them,” Furiosa says as she grinds down on him, causing him to stifle a gasp when his own hips involuntarily jerk up to meet her. “Okay? They don’t fucking matter here. None of it matters. Just…” then she’s grinding back against him again, harder, deeper, with enough pressure to hurt his cock that’s trapped uncomfortably in his trousers.
He can’t help the groan that escapes him, can’t stop himself from ducking his head into the nap of her neck and inhaling her scent until his head starts spinning. “Hm, wait,” he rasps out breathlessly while reach reaching a hand between them to unbutton his trousers.
The sudden clasp of her metal hand over his almost makes him cry out at the tight grip. “No,” she grits out, pushing his hand away. “Keep it in there, just like this.”
They just stare at each for a moment as Max stupidly tries to get enough blood to his brain and understand what she’s saying. It doesn’t look like she wants to stop whatever it is they’re doing, seeing as she’s still sitting in his lap. And she’s let go of his hand, although her metal arm is now resting on the back of the seat, right beside his head.
“So just…” he hedges, surreptitiously adjusting himself in his trousers. She answers by scooting forward, pressing her body more fully against his and mashing their lips together. It catches him off guard and he takes a moment before fully giving in and kissing her back.
How has he not been kissing her before? It’s glorious, harsh and rough, like a blast of hot sand scouring away any imperfections, any bad thoughts. At least that’s what Max thinks is happening, given the heat, the anger at which she’s devouring his mouth. Like she’s purging herself of something.
Or fuck, who knows, Max thinks dizzily. All he can tell is that the heat and press of her body on top of him is causing hot pleasure to pool low in his groin, spreading in a way that feels familiar and alien at the same time. He can’t get enough oxygen between their kisses and it’s making his heart pound and his chest heave.
There’s not much coordination, they don’t have time for that. This isn’t about taking their time or finding the best rhythm. This is about letting adrenaline give way to arousal instead of violence, embracing that fire and allowing it to consume them. This is about feeling alive, proving it with your whole being that you’ve stared Death head on, and Death is the one who blinked. At least for now, at least for this round….
But there’s no time for thinking about that. Not while the smell of her is intoxicating him, not while his cock is rock hard in his trousers and throbbing deliciously against the rough grind of her pelvis on his. All he can do is rut back and groan against her mouth, try and gather a semblance of coordination against the onslaught of arousal that is overwhelming all his senses.
Furiosa seems to be on the same track if her gasps are any indication. The way she's jerking her hips against his crotch like she’s chasing her own pleasure without thought shouldn’t be so appealing he thinks. But here he is, getting off on her getting off, letting her tug his hair and bit at his lips, letting her moans go straight to his cock.
Max pushes back against her, grips her hips and bottom while spreading his own legs wider to give her better access. He urges her on with his hands, pressing her to move faster, harder. Her breath is hot on his neck where she’s biting under his jawline and the squeeze of her fist in his hair is painful, borderline too much.
But it’s not too much, it’s not enough actually. Max can feel his orgasm start to coil in his gut as the syrupy warmth travels through his balls, his abdomen. All the way down to soles of his feet, causing his toes to curl in his mismatched boots. It’s building faster than he’d thought, oh shit, it’s coming, he’s going to….
Furiosa must be able to interpret the change in pitch of his ragged groans and the rhythmless thrusting of his hips, because she suddenly stops moving and scoots her body back on his legs. Before he can so much as moan in protest her metal hand is on his crotch, hard and unyielding, rubbing him frantically to completion.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes against her skin, shivering as the pressure continues ruthless and perfect. “I, shit, I’m –“ He doesn’t get it out because her mouth back on his and the taste of her tongue is enough to punch his orgasm through his body. His balls tighten, his stomach clenches, it’s almost, fuck it’s almost –
And then he can’t breathe the release is so strong. It floods all his senses, blasts him like a high-pressure hose. For an eternal minute it consumes him, is him. He’s filled up and drained all at once, and as the force of it starts to subside Max feels like he’s been purged of something.
His doesn’t have a chance to figure out exactly what he’s been purged of, because as his awareness comes back he realizes Furiosa is still above him, moving against him. Her mouth is on his neck, her body is back on his and he wants to just close his eyes and bask in the warmth of her surrounding him. But she’s still moving with urgency now, clearly working toward her own release.
The rub of his oversensitive cock against damp trousers is quickly becoming too much and he shudders and squirms beneath her. “Here,” he croaks out, trying to move his hand between them so that she can run off against it instead. But again she grips his hand to stop him and all Max can do is look at her.
Before he can say anything she’s pressing her forehead to his and closing her eyes. He wants to watch her, meet her gaze but the press against him is becoming more intense and they’re both closing their eyes against it. He knows when she comes by the harsh cry against his ear and the way she stills above him, taunt and rigid like a live wire.
For a few seconds there is no sound, nothing but Max’s own harsh breathing and the distant hiss of the engines. He wonders how he got here, escaping in a war rig with four wives and one imperator, the later of whom is sitting in his lap pulling herself together after causing Max to come, hard. He’s just trying to survive, get through one day at a time.
It doesn’t take long for Furiosa to pull herself together and move back over to the driver’s seat. Her face is flushed and he notices a slight wobble in her knees, but her eyes are sharp as they look at him. He meets her gaze, waiting for her to say something, daring her to make anything out of what they just did. But all she does is give him a slight nod and glances at the women in the back.
“Everyone good? I’ll see if the engines are cooled now.” Without waiting for a response she hops out of the rig, leaving Max and the wives in a suffocating silence. He waits it out for five seconds but gives in the awkwardness and gets out to look over the engines with Furiosa.
They look over the rig in companionable silence for a few moments, and Max wonders if the wives know anything about mechanics and can tell that they’re just staring at perfectly cooled down engine that anyone with half a brain would be able to diagnose. Eventually he grunts, “Looks like they’re good.”
Furiosa nods, “Yeah, they’re good.” She looks at him with a sharp expression. “Everything’s good.”
Max might not be a master of human communication, but even he can tell she’s asking about more than just the rig’s mechanical health. He nods to her in return. “Everything’s good.” Nothing changes, no one’s feelings are hurt, and no false expectations have been given. They’ll continue as before, trusting and fighting together. Furiosa will keep searching, Max will keep surviving.
There’s a perceptible release of tension in her shoulders when he says it, but otherwise she simply nods while looking out into the expanse ahead of them. “Good. Well then.” She closes up the hood and faces him. “Let’s get going.”
Without waiting for a reply Furiosa walks past him and climbs inside, leaving Max to swallow the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and follow her.