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lunaticamundapurplepotato · 1 month ago

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SWEET RELIEF

A Clint x Roger Mobile Legends Fic

TW: slight language.

Enjoy!

"UGGGGHHHH....."

Clint let out the loudest groan as he plopped on to a stack of hay with outmost exhaustion, every joint and bone in his body aching like hell.

The sky was already dark and littered with flickering diamonds, along with a large silver crescent moon that lit up the busy town.

He looked like a wreck of pounded flesh with a cowboy hat that survived a meat grinder. His shoulder length greying hair was messy beyond repair, with some of his ends singed by fire. Sand and ash covered a large portion of his face along with splatters of dried crimson blood. His clothes were ripped and wet with scarlet ichor of Waldo Kane's men.

Everyone that passed by either looked at him with curiosity, concern, or disgust, but their lingering eyes were the least of Clint's worries.

Throwing his hat aside, he rubbed the bridge of his nose to try to soothe the pounding migraine in his skull. The very loud yells from the nearby saloon was not helping with his attempts to relax, only making him more irritated.

A good ol' bottle of whisky would have been very convenient but he didn't want to go back somewhere noisy and crowded again, especially in a saloon full of wasted asshats that would surely try to raise his blood pressure as a joke.

The last time they did 5 people got their asses thrown out a window.

"At least thank me for keepin' yer asses 'bove snakes...."

He muttered, closing his eyes for a few moments. But then, his eyes shot open when he heard a familiar growling voice that he admit he missed so much speak right above him.

"Welcome back, soldier."

His head shot up so fast the migraine got ten times worse. He hissed loudly.

"Roger!"

The muscular man wearing the same yellow battered coat let out a eumbling chuckle at the messy cowboy, his sharp canines showing when he smiled.

"You look like you've been through hell."

Roger said, his brow raised and his mouth in a grin.

Clint leaned back in the hay with a sigh.

"Been out AAAALLLL day takin' out.....I don't know how many of Kane's bastards out of an orphanage he was trying to exploit...."

"Yeesh..... Same old antics?"

"Mmmhhmm...."

Roger couldn't help but look at how roughed up Clint looked, his eyes scanning him up and down with something more than curiosity in his gaze. Not that he wasn't always good looking in the first place, but was Clint always this hot after a fight?

Roger shook his sinful thoughts aside. The cowboy clearly needs some help. He looks like he is near to collapsing to the sand. He didn't want that. Not again.

"You need something better than a hay stack to sleep on if you're this roughhoused."

"Mmmphhh...." Clint said with a slur, too tired to answer properly. "I need some rest"

"I know a place. C'mon, cowboy." Roger stretched his hand out for Clint to take.

With another groan, Clint pulled himself up and lazily followed the werewolf to a small, tucked-away cabin on the outskirts of town, hidden behind a rocky cliff and a crooked wooden fence.

The journey there was a blur for Clint, his boots dragging with every step. Roger led the way confidently, glancing back every so often to make sure Clint hadn’t face-planted into the dirt. His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, somewhere between fondness and amusement.

The cabin’s door creaked as Roger pushed it open with ease, the scent of cedarwood and something herbal wafting out—a comforting smell that tugged at Clint’s memory. Inside, it was warm and dimly lit, a lantern casting a soft amber glow on the walls. A stone hearth crackled with a small fire, and a battered leather couch sat invitingly near the flames.

"Sit your tired ass down," Roger grinned, nudging Clint toward the couch.

Clint collapsed into the cushions with another deep groan, his body sinking in as if it finally found a reason to stop fighting gravity. Roger tossed his coat onto a nearby chair, now leaving his torso bare, and rummaged through a wooden cabinet by the hearth. Clint couldn't help but stare at the scarred, hairy, and broad back of the man.

Damn.

"You’ve got some nerve, draggin' me all the way here," Clint mumbled, eyes half-lidded but still staring. "What’s this place, anyway?"

Roger smirked over his shoulder. "A place to lay low. I stay here sometimes when things get… complicated." He pulled out a bottle of amber liquid and two mismatched glasses, setting them on the table in front of Clint.

"Whisky, huh?" Clint’s lips twitched into the ghost of a grin. "You always know what a man needs."

Roger filled the glasses, the glug of the whisky a soothing sound that promised warmth and escape. He handed one to Clint, who raised it lazily in a toast.

"To not gettin’ killed today," Clint muttered.

"And to your ugly-ass hat," Roger added with a teasing grin.

They both clinked their glasses and downed the first shot. Clint hissed as the alcohol burned its way down, but the warmth spread through his limbs, loosening the tightness in his muscles. He could feel Roger’s sharp eyes on him, scanning him like a wolf assessing a wounded companion.

"You really oughta let me stitch you up," Roger said, voice softer now. "You look like you barely made it out alive."

Clint waved him off, though his head was already tipping against the back of the couch. "I’ve had worse."

Roger’s blue eyes flickered with something unspoken—concern, maybe, or frustration. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching as Clint sagged deeper into the cushions.

"You keep goin' like this, one of these days you ain't comin' back."

Clint cracked one eye open. "You worried about me, Roger? Or just missin’ your drinking buddy?"

Roger let out a low chuckle. "Little of both, maybe."

For a moment, the room fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound the gentle pop and crackle of the fire. Clint felt his body easing, the ache in his bones dulling under the whisky’s spell and the quiet company.

He didn't have to worry about Kane's bullshit for once. It felt like the first deep breath of fresh air for Clint, refreshing for the mind, body and soul. It certainly has been a while since he felt like this. He couldn't remember.

Roger stood, crossing the room with that easy, predatory grace. He grabbed an old quilt from a chair in the corner and draped it over Clint’s sprawled form. The cowboy gave a sleepy grunt of thanks, his body too heavy to move, too tired to care about much of anything except the warmth settling into his skin.

"You stayin'?" Clint murmured, his words slurring together.

Roger crouched beside him, resting a hand on Clint's knee. "Yeah, cowboy. I ain’t leavin' you tonight."

Clint let out a sigh—deep, long, and content in a way he hadn’t felt in gods know how long. With the fire crackling, the whisky warm in his stomach, and Roger’s gentle presence steady beside him, he allowed himself to drift off.

For once, sleep came easy. And for once, Clint wasn’t alone.

#writing fiction #Rolint #Mlbbfic #RogerxClint #oldmanyaoi #MobileLegends

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