Mad Max Villains

Mad Max Villains

You see! There is no escape! The Humungus Rules the Wasteland!

Chapter Thirteen

The Rage

(Words & Music by: Tipton, Downing & Halford)

From a fireball we came crossed sea and mountain
We were drinking beauty with our eyes
We were given all to make our own
Let us be left alone

Laid the tasks and paid the price
Everything survives
Crushed and bolted all the grain
At every wind what a stake we're in
Is pain better than the grave

When we talk without amend
We see red and then
Deep inside our blood begins to boil
Like a tiger in the cage
We begin to shake with rage
~~~

Now he was back at the beginning, laying on a pile of plush sand after driving them over a cliff on the Kawasaki. He chalked the moment up to temporary insanity. They had made the decision to end it all after realizing he did possess a speck of humanity and no longer could he be the maniacal man driven by instinct, killing everything in their path to keep them alive out in the wasteland. They thought they could not go backward or forward. A standstill had been met. Now he realized the Golden Youth's story about their journey and what led them over the cliff was still in the Humungus's tent. He had asked the youth to write the words for their epitaph.

But after laying in the sand for a good two hours, thinking about his entire life and what led up to this event, he realized they could go on. And maybe this is why they survived that jump off the cliff? His thoughts turned back to the night he slept outside, gazing at the tent where his lover had slept.

Strength, agility and death. Beauty, intelligence and life. This is what kept them alive - their forces combined as one. During his walk through life, he searched for that missing piece he needed to make him a whole person. When alone, he was sadistic, cunning, vicious and death. But with the youth, he used the brain he'd been born with, could find his own inner beauty within his blackened soul and life flourished deep inside, drawing upwards so he could love a Golden Youth.

The feelings didn't make him weak after all. These feelings made him strong. Stronger than he ever had been. He thought about the picture he carried as a young boy. He found what he'd been searching for. So many people stood in his path, trying to rob him of his most important dream. Nobody had believed in him. Everyone loathed and feared him. They tried to lock him away in a prison. They blew up his world. They gave him a wasteland to live in that knew nothing but death, where no hope was present.

But he beat them all. While they lay in their graves, he stood tall and all because of a golden youth. He had what he needed, what he searched for. A delicate rose believed in him. This gentle young man did not fear him, did not look at him with horror, repulsion and hate. He had the heart and soul of a beautiful angel that every man and woman living in this hellhole searched for.

He never failed his mate after all. They were together, about to begin a new journey as one.

*****

Wez sat at the fire with Glory Rider, Leather Face, Biff, Mutt, Two Chins and Racer Boy. He wasn't the least bit surprised that the survivors of the grande chase were four Mohawkers and two Skinheads. Everyone else was dead. He glanced to where the red battle truck was, along with three Yamahas and the Kawasaki with the sidecar.

"Will have to scavenge what we can and move out," Wez growled. "Not good to say here too long."

"How he doing?" Glory Rider asked.

"Is resting," Wez replied. "Wound still bother him." Now he glanced to the Humungus's tent where his Golden Youth slept. He knew his mate was fevered and he sure hoped the rose of the wasteland wasn't suffering from an infection. He did his best to dress the deep wound. And with no medical assistance out here, he could only hope the youth was strong enough to survive the fever.

Now he gazed at the burning logs. In a way, he wished nobody had survived. He had no desire to lead another gang. All that he needed lay in the Humungus's tent. He just wanted to scavenge enough capital so he could travel the wasteland with his Golden Youth. But to do so, he would need the assistance of the survivors since it took a gang to build up enough resources.

He knew the drill.

"He was not fit to lead," Leather Face grumbled, disgusted by the events over the last week. "We should have killed him. Thanks to him we stranded out in middle of nowhere. All because he stupid enough to make us chase a truck full of sand."

"We could try make our way to the New City," Racer Boy piped up.

Wez frowned. Cripe, with all that happened this past week, he forgot all about his quest for Iason. And to be honest, he had no desire to go to the New City and wage a war. Man, so much had changed within him thanks to the Golden Youth. No longer could he be leading battles and pillaging compounds. He had a mate to look after, a lover who depended on him to feed and clothe that delicate body.

He almost lost his mate once, and he refused to ever put the Golden Youth in such a vulnerable situation again. All he cared about was keeping the rose of the wasteland alive. Oh yeah, he knew the youth would follow if he did lead an army to tear down the New City. But what for? He had no desire to conquer. All he needed was his mate, a motorcycle and he was set for life.

Wez stood. "I check on my Golden Youth. Two on watch at all times. Others sleep."

The marauders all nodded their heads.

He stalked to the tent and lifted back the flap. For a moment he just gazed at his mate who lay covered in the heavy furs, lids closed, long lashes fanning the delicate skin. He edged his way inside and took a seat beside his lover, drawing the youth's head on his lap. Then he unsheathed his knife and began fiddling with the lock since the chain was wrapped around his lover's delicate wrists. The lock gave and he began unwinding the iron links, setting the chain aside.

"Thank you, Master," the youth softly said. "You're so good to me. Is why I love you so much."

Wez began massaging the slim wrists. "How you feeling?" he asked, bending over to kiss the dressing wrapped around his mate's forehead.

""I'm fine," the youth quietly replied. "I just need to rest. We're not going to move the camp, are we?"

Wez grunted. "Is best to keep moving. Numbers are small. Our bike is gone. Not salvageable. We do have battle truck. Can make you bed up in box so you can rest while we ride."

He wasn't surprised when the youth obediently nodded that golden head, yet the young man did want to protest. He could sense it just by the way his lover stiffened. But, the youth would always follow. He could have announced they were going to walk across hot coals and his mate would have obeyed. Ever since they slugged it out after chasing the Interceptor, the Golden Youth knew better not to cross that line.

He did admire his mate's courage to try and push. But he would not allow such arrogance and disobedience. If he wanted a hellcat, he never would have gave up pursuing Iason. Yet, he knew the youth wasn't even capable of remotely resembling that bitchy minx. He knew his mate just wanted to add two cents to their discussions. The youth was a flesh and blood man after all. Eighteen. That natural instinct was kicking in and his lover desired to be looked on as a man and not a delicate angel who constantly needed protection and someone to make decisions. The older he got, he knew his mate would desire to speak that golden mind. The youth was not an awe struck fifteen-year-old boy any longer. His lover wanted the respect and freedom one should give to a young man.

Clash. He knew there would be a few more clashes between them. That fight after chasing down Max would not be the last. And he thought they handled their heated confrontation rather well. If the youth wanted to stand up and back-talk him like a man, his lover better be prepared to take it like a man.

Yeah, the relationship was changing slightly. And they were both trying to find a medium that could be agreed upon. It was up to him to determine how much rope he would give the Golden Youth. He realized it would be very unfair of him to keep treating the rose of the wasteland as an innocent boy. His mate was a man.

*****

Iason's hands were on his slim hips, the cigarette dangling from his mouth as he gazed at the endless piles of wrecks on the highway. There was a motorcycle here, a dune buggy there, a road racer flipped over, all brought down through a great road battle. A leg was laying on the highway, and a hand edged out on the shoulder. Just a head in an iron mask lay next to what was left of a heavily modified, burnt-out vehicle. He tapped his boot against the cement. "I take it they finally went to war? And it looks like both parties lost."

Now he turned back to the head in the mask. A rather large face it was and only a few sparse hairs edged out from the strapping. He gave a snort when he saw the decapitated, muscular body laying in the dirt about twenty feet away.

He shook his head in disgust as he continued lazily walking down the highway. Just great. Alexander was dead. Well, maybe this was all for the best? Heavens, the man truly changed. The neanderthal couldn't even win a simple road battle for pete sake.

Now he snapped his fingers, calling for Vashta and the big brunette hurried over while the rest of the guards continued to look over the numerous wrecks.

Iason held out his hand and his big lover assisted him down the embankment to where the big rig lay on its side. His evergreen eyes drank in the defense battlement set up on the tanker. Now he curiously gazed at the sand seeping from the rig.

"Well, this is most interesting," he noted more to himself.

"Why would they be carrying sand?" Vashta asked.

"C'mon, hon, surely you must know. This is an old battle trick. They goaded the marauders into chasing the rig while the others slipped off with the gasoline.

"Oh my, Alexander died over a pile of sand." Now he burst into a fit of laughter. "Heavens, I can't believe what an imbecile he let himself become. Oh Lord, this is priceless, just too funny. He deserved to die."

Vashta just smiled. What a bitch. He didn't expect his lover to shed a tear over an ex-flame. He wasn't surprised the hellcat was amused and laughing hysterically over Alexander's incompetence that led to his death.

Finally, Iason quit laughing as he pushed up his sunglasses and lowered the scarf. "You know this means we're going to have to bring down Ramses on our own. Let's find a spot to make camp for the night. I want to speak with our guards. Maybe if we dangle a fine enough carrot, they'll join us."

"Sounds good to me," Vashta replied. He then turned to the guards. "Scavenge what you can. We'll drive down the highway until we come upon the last wreck. We'll then make camp for the night. I want all the weapons, clothing and gasoline. If a wreck is salvageable, take it."

The guards all nodded their heads.

*****

"He's dead," Wez muttered as he held up the water skin and assisted the youth with drinking. "Was quick. Sucked under the tanker."

The youth stopped sipping the liquid and his eyes widened in disbelief. Now he pressed his fingers against his lips. "Oh God," he murmured. The pain filled his chest since Rebel meant so much to him. The blue-haired Mohawker had been his master's right-hand and he admired that big lug who faithfully followed Wez. Now he glanced at the master. No emotion was present in those dark eyes. He knew Wez summed it up to just another casualty but still, he wished the master would show some grief.

Wez sighed. "Is why I have you," he growled. "You care and will cry for him. Is good you cry. Someone must care about his death."

The youth nodded his head in understanding and the tears came then. He let the master draw him against that powerful, strong chest. The gentle sobs were silent. He couldn't stand the loss. The master was right. He did care. He cared about the blue-haired Mohawker so much. And what an awful way to die: sucked under the spinning wheels of a tanker, crushed to death while the pavement of the road skinned the flesh from Rebel's body.

Wez pressed his lips against the youth's forehead. Yeah, he was glad someone mourned his comrade's death. At least one person gave a shit Rebel died. How ironic a hardened killer like Rebel mourned the loss of the Golden Youth when they all thought the rose of the wasteland to be dead? Only his mate had touched something in the blue-haired Mohawker who never experienced love during his thirty-one year life. And now it was only appropriate his lover cried for Rebel's loss of life. Yeah, he knew his crony of nineteen years and his golden mate had shared a bond, both faithfully following him, and those two had cared deeply about each other without realizing their own feelings until they both lost each other.

And Wez knew if he would have gotten killed, Rebel wouldn't have flinched either. His comrade would have simply picked up his mate and would have taken his place as the keeper of the Golden Youth. He knew Rebel would have cherished, protected and cared for his lover the way he did.

Mourning. How ironic the only person he and Rebel mourned for was the rose of the wasteland.

Now came the jealousy. Yeah, better Rebel bit the bullet instead of him. Because he didn't want anyone to take his place. He'd rather the Mohawkers kill the youth and lay his lover next to him in the grave instead of someone else daring to step into his boots. There was only one keeper of the Golden Youth.

Life and death, so close, walking hand in hand. And even though his lover was so weak, and it would be selfish of him to have his way, the ache was too deep. He needed to reaffirm life would go on with the youth.

Wez gave a grunt and he turned the youth on his side so his lover faced away from him.

"Master?" the youth asked.

"Quiet," Wez grunted since he could hear the pain in his mate's voice. Yeah, the youth was still so wounded but he pushed aside any sympathy. He needed to feed his seed into his lover. So he set another fur under the Golden Youth's head so his mate could rest. He then drew the lithe body against his strong chest. Then he removed his groin strap. He hooked his arm under the youth's knee and drew the slim leg up so his lover was spread and ready for his massive shaft.

He pressed his lips against the delicate neck while sliding his free arm under the youth and he covered the rose colored lips with his hand. Then he buried his face into the silken hair.

“I know you weak but need this,” Wez grunted.

The Golden Youth nodded his head. Then he gasped when he could feel the master's thick, swollen shaft entering him. The movement was slow, very gentle. He knew it took all of Wez's self-control to take him in this manner. The master's body demanded that the lust be fed but because of his fever, he knew Wez wouldn’t use his body in such passion-driven way.

Wez sighed with pleasure, his thrusts languorous, teasingly slow as he glided his shaft between those supple cheeks. Oh yeah, always his lover felt so damn good. His lips moved from the youth's hair and settled on the flesh of the slim neck. He suckled at the delicate throat, drawing the skin between his teeth. Hmm, he wanted to mark his mate, leave those love bruises on the silken neck.

His grunts were soft, a fight to keep just a low gasp since the other marauders were just a few feet away. He drew the youth's leg tighter against his own body and his hand searched for the slim, long manhood. His rough, strong fingers encircled the shaft and danced along the head, playing with his lover's pre-seed. Oh yeah, so moist, so wet and his hand easily glided up and down his mate's erection.

The Golden Youth shuddered. Oh God, just feeling the master's fingers fondling his manhood sent that familiar sensual feeling slithering up his soul. He then moaned into Wez's hand while the master drew those strong fingers harder against his mouth to try and silence the hissy breaths.

“So wet,” Wez quietly growled, his voice laced with the heat filling his soul. “My hand so wet from your seed. So horny, aren’t you, Golden Youth?”

“Yes,” the youth whispered.

“Tell me,” he murmured.

“Please jerk my cock,” the youth huskily moaned.

“And . . .”

“Please keep fucking me,” the youth softly beseeched him.

“Only my cock,” he grunted.

“Only yours,” the youth gasped.

“You like me spreading your legs?” he grunted while he continued to thrust his manhood in a languid rhythm.

“Yes.”

“It feel good,” he softly growled. “Show me how much you want it.”

Wez gasped when he felt the youth tighten up, locking his shaft within. Then the youth relaxed and once again flexed those muscles. He gave a low growl, grunting with pleasure since the youth was taking his cock prisoner. Each time he thrust, he could feel that hole tighten up and he pushed hard to slide his head deep into that narrow portal.

The rhythm was so sensually slow, teasingly hot and fiercely potent in the same breath. The youth could feel that warm ember building into a sultry fire.

“Harder, Master,” he begged.

Wez gave a grunt and worked his hips faster as his seed-filled balls slapped against the youth's fleshy sack. He withdrew his hand from his lover's shaft and fondled both their sacks. Oh yeah, it felt so good to play with both their balls. Just feeling the youth's desire locked within that sack sent his heart racing as the rush of pleasure slithered through every corner of his body.

The youth arched that delicate back and pushed those silken buttocks deep against him. Wez then slapped that pretty ass. Feeling his lover keen to him sent his loins into overdrive and his thrusts quickened. He now used his whole body to take his mate, rocking his thighs, hips and buttocks.
His shaft moved deep into the youth while his fingers gripped his lover's manhood tightly as he jerked the shaft in a teasing and hunger-filled rhythm.

The Golden Youth couldn’t stop the gasps, moans, and screams of pleasure rising in his throat that needed to be released. No longer did he care if the other marauders would hear him. He just wanted to let go of the heat-soaked feelings the master had unearthed in him as that thick, long manhood filled his ass and those rough, strong fingers fondled his shaft.

So Wez firmly gripped his lover's mouth with his hand, his strength almost smothering the youth since he knew his mate was on the verge of needing release and he refused to let his cronies listen to the Golden Youth's screams of pleasure. The youth's cries were muffled against his palm as his lover panted and groaned.

Wez buried his face into the golden hair, stifling his own lust-filled grunts as his thrusts quickened. The fire within was bearing down on him, making his soul shake as his loins melted with an intense pleasure that exploded from within.

He clutched his lover tightly, both shuddering from that pleasure-filled heat.

Another joining, so passionate, so intense, so hot, so potent - a furious feeling they could only capture together as one.

Wez groaned, still trying to steady his breathing as he lathered the youth's seed and then drew his fingers to his mouth, taking his lover's leg up higher as he licked at the cum, so sticky and moist on his flesh. Yeah, he loved feasting on his mate's horny lust for him. Hmm, horny. He loved making the Golden Youth so damn hot and horny.

“You taste so good,” he grunted. “Now taste your master.”

The youth nodded his head.

So Wez delved his fingers between those supple buttocks and he sighed with pleasure, feeling his own seed so slippery against that soft skin. He rubbed his fingers and then lifted his hand as he cradled the youth deeper against his chest. "Eat," he grunted.

The youth's tongue snaked out from between those silken lips and Wez gave another grunt as he watched his lover consume his desire. Oh man, what a sight. He loved watching the Golden Youth feast on what he felt for this delicate young man.

“I fuck you all over again,” Wez murmured. "Then you rest."

"Yes, Master," the youth moaned.

*****

Iason stepped out from the tent as he glanced to the vehicles and surveyed what they all scavenged. He just wore his black, satin wrap and his boots since he would spend the rest of the evening relaxing. The sun was giving way for dusk, already receding behind the rolling hills. The guards were just building a fire so all he could make out was the silhouettes of his men as he wandered further away.

He lifted his telescope since he could see another wreck. They were camped out behind a huge, rocky hill and to the right he focused his attention. Now he could see the remains of a modified vehicle. The corpse of what looked to be a naked woman lay in the dirt, and his eyes widened with interest since he could also see a man and if the illumination wasn't so minimal, he'd swear that body possessed a mohawk.

Then he pivoted, looking to the rocky hill. A red glow lit up the dark and as the wind caught the scent, drawing the essence to where he stood, he could smell smoke. A campfire. Someone was on the other side of that big, rocky hill. Quickly, he hurried back to his men.

"No fire," Iason hissed.

One of the guard's was just ready to light the kindling and he looked to the general.

"See? Idiots," Iason cussed.

Now they all turned toward the rocky hill, gazing at the light from a fire.

"No vehicles. Vashta, help me get dressed," Iason spat out as he hurried for his tent. "Ready your weapons. We will do this by foot, from the hill. Nobody leaves until I give the order."

*****

Wez lay in the tent, his gaze locked on his lover as he watched the Golden Youth sleep. He wore his groin strap, chaps and boots since he would have to relieve Leather Face from keeping watch. So he turned then, fastening his metal-wrist crossbow around his left arm. Damn, he wished he had his metal chest plate and shoulder pads. He loathed being without his armory.

He stepped from the tent and then his eyes widened in alarm as he watched Leather Face and Mutt emerge from the darkness with rifle crossbows aimed on them. Then his jaw slackened when he realized Racer Boy, Glory Rider, Two Chins and Biff had been roused from their slumber and now had weapons pinned on their backs as all four rested on their knees.

His keen senses could make out twelve men all dressed in leather and a big brunette. There was something so familiar about these nomads . . .

"It's about time you woke up," came the cunning voice. "I wondered if I would have to kick your ass awake."

Wez peered to the darkness, his eyes narrowed since he never forgot that mocking, taunting voice.

Just then Iason stepped from the shadows, the light of the fire casting illumination over the minx. The bitch was adorned in those three-inch heeled boots as black, leather pants hugged those long legs and a mesh, transparent, black shirt graced the lean chest. He wore the big, black cloak that lay open. The slanting brow was raised in amusement and those delicate fingers clutched a .38 Special, cocked and ready to be fired.

Now thirty, the blond hussy didn't look a day over twenty-one, so damn stunning, the movements still so cat-like, just a kitten, yet a cougar would emerge if provoked. And it was apparent the bitch led these men by the way the guards and even the big brunette all looked to Iason for approval.

Wez's eyes narrowed.

"Well, I do have to say much has changed about you," Iason taunted. "Cute hairstyle but I prefer the spike, Alex."

"Is Wez," he snarled. "Mighty Wez."

"Oh, I see, new name. Maybe you should call yourself Incompetent Wez seeing how you do nothing but bumble through this wasteland, hmm? I did have a look at that futile road battle you led out on the highway." Now Iason gave a giggle. "Chasing a tanker full of sand while the others escaped with all the juice and then blew up the compound? That is some really impressive work, Alex."

His dark eyes narrowed and he raised his metal-wrist crossbow.

Iason didn't hesitate and he pressed his finger against the trigger.

All that could be heard was the firing of the gun echoing through the night.

Wez fell to the ground, the bullet in his right thigh as he sucked in the pain, refusing to cry out.

"Yes, a true incompetent fool you are since only an idiot would dare fire on a man armed with a gun, you stupid fucker," Iason hissed. "Now I am going to have to wait for your stupid leg to recover." He turned then, looking to one of the guards. "Cuff and shackle him. Then get the bullet out and dress that wound."

Iason then looked to Glory Rider, Leather Face, Mutt, Biff, Two Chins and Racer Boy. "If you fuckers wanna remain alive, you will not pull such a pathetic stunt like your foolish leader just did.

"Now where's the Golden Youth? Find the whore. I wanna have a look at this blond hussy who turned a once powerful man into a sniveling woman."

Next Page - Chapter Fourteen

Note: "Mad Max" is a trademark and copyright of Kennedy-Miller Entertainment/Warner Bros. George Miller, Byron Kennedy and Terry Hayes (Kennedy Miller Entertainment/ Warner Bros.) hold copyright to the Mad Max Trilogy.
This story is created for fan fiction purposes only. Some dialogue was taken from the script to keep this tale true to the original movie.

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