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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years

Note

“I don’t care if they’re watching. I’m not done with you yet.” is giving me some serious Courtesan AU vibes

@soft-bram requested this too, so a fic for two lovely people

I call this fic, Caleb Realises He Has An Exhibitionist Kink

***

The inside of Marion’s brothel was a whole other world.

It was as if the whole place were made of light alone, barely tangible, always shifting and changing and dancing teasingly before Caleb’s eyes, crooking it’s finger to beckon him forward. He knew it was because Marion kept a flotilla of hanging glass lamps suspended at different lengths from the rafters. In fact, he’d sourced the resin glass for her in every colour he could produce in his lab and calculated the exact lengths at which to hang them to get the best effect. But even knowing this, the otherworldly beauty of it still stunned him, made him feel half cut before even a sip of the thick, molasses coloured ale he liked so much here had passed his lips. It made him forget everything beyond the heavy oak doors that muffled the sounds of song and laughter and love so well, bland and plain on the side that faced the street but carved into a vast scene of many lovers entwined around each other on the other face.

It made him feel like he could do something truly insane. Something wild and crazy and beautiful as falling in love for an hour.

Frumpkin had followed him in tonight. He did that sometimes, disappearing and reappearing as he willed, sometimes over in Jester’s lap, sometimes sat atop the bar, glaring at Marion’s cat Sune, sometimes with Marion herself, lying at her elbow as she scratched his ears, sometimes wherever he went in the fae realm when Caleb didn’t need him close by.

But now he was around Caleb’s shoulders, tail swaying lazily back and forth and paws drooping sleepily. Caleb petted his flank idly as he sipped from his tankard and turned the pages of his book.

His appointment with Mollymauk didn’t start for a while yet but he liked to sit in the brothel beforehand, enjoy the drinks and the atmosphere, so he always came early. It was probably good for him to spend some time around people, he reasoned, rather than staying sequestered in his lab with nothing but conical flasks of sulphurous powers and flickering flames for company. He’d gotten some odd glances at first, treating a brothel like a library, sat there with his drink and a different book every night, like he was some deranged lunatic who’d wandered in off the street and mistaken this pleasure house for a lovely, homely tea shop.

But now, of course, they were used to him and he got smiles and hellos and winks as the workers walked past. None attempted to proposition him, they all knew who he was here to see. Just the usual good-natured flirting; it was always a good idea to stay on the good side of an archmage. Even one as unconventional as Caleb.

He came upon him as he always did, almost like it was accidental. Like there was no rhyme or reason why someone as bright and bold and alive as Mollymauk Tealeaf could possibly have stumbled into Caleb’s grey little life. And yet here he was, in defiance of the way things should be. As if daring everything that held Caleb down to try and kick him out, flitting in and out too fast for it to right itself. One moment absent, the next suddenly appearing in the booth next to Caleb, his smile as bright as the sun.

“My little stray cat comes wandering back once again,” Molly hummed, practically whispering in his ear. That was how he always teased Caleb, comparing him to a ragged ginger tabby, always returning hopefully at the same time each evening, begging with wide, wheedling blue eyes for some milk.

Caleb grinned, blushing a little as he always seemed to do in Molly’s presence, setting his book down on the table. He kissed his companion’s cheek in greeting, noting how it was always soft and perfect without the need for any kind of make-up, “Good evening, Mr Tealeaf.”

The tiefling wrinkled his nose at the formality, “I’ve told you, sweetling, just let me know when you get here and I’ll come fetch you, you don’t have to wait around.”

“But I like it here,” Caleb reassured him, taking his hand, “And I don’t want to make you work when you don’t have to.”

His expression softened, less playful, “It doesn’t feel like work when I’m with you.”

It never failed to strike him, how easy it was being around Mollymauk. Everything that was always tight and tense everywhere else relaxed in an instant, he no longer scrutinised every single word before it left his mouth. Everything else was so exhausting, being with Mollymauk was freedom.

He looked nothing short of stunning tonight. The tiefling moved between dresses and trousers as if it was the most natural thing in the world, expectations and established roles less than a vague amusement to him, always managing to look gorgeous in whatever he chose. Tonight it was tight, clinging leggings made of a dark, silk like material that looked like it would be so nice to touch, a dark diamond pattern on one half and pinstripes on the other. His shirt was billowy and white with a black leather waistcoat over the top, high boots of the same material all the way up to his thighs, the whole outfit making Caleb think of a roguish pirate with a dangerous grin, come to claim him as treasure and steal him away. And, as always, he was wearing enough jewellery and precious metal to make a dragon envious.

“You look wonderful,” Caleb murmured, his words feeling muddy and clumsy as he tried to fit them together in such a way that they’d even come close to describing something as otherworldly as Mollymauk.

“You’re always so sweet, darling,” Molly smiled, resting a hand on the side of Caleb’s face, as generous with touch as he was with everything else, “You do know how to make a boy feel wanted…” His eyes, wide and red and demonic looking to people who didn’t know him, studied his companion’s face, an adorable little crease forming between his eyes, “Long day?”

Caleb bit his lip, there was no hiding anything from Mollymauk. He read faces, open or closed, as easily as he himself read books.

To call it a long day would be putting it mildly. He had come into the lab that morning to find a letter- not even a face to face conversation, a bloody letter pinned to the door- informing him that funding for his work was to be reduced yet again and all of his requests for new equipment from the last month had been denied. Bitterly, he knew it was retribution for the way he’d spoken out at the last meeting of the council. He always tried to keep his head down and say as little as possible, knowing anything he did say would be ignored or ridiculed, but when the Grand Mage had proposed his new cripplingly high tax on all non-human beings wanting to enter the city to live and work and escape the fighting in the empire, Caleb’s fury had overtaken his good sense. And of course, it had been for naught. The tax would be implemented anyway, the poor would continue to suffer, and now he was to be punished as well.

But he didn’t want to bore Molly with all of his woes, so he just sighed and nodded, “Yeah. A long day.”

The tielfing stroked his thumb across Caleb’s cheekbone, tilting his head as if to admire the view better, like Caleb was actually something worth looking at, “Well…you’re here with me now, sweetling. Nothing’s going to hurt or upset you here, not if I have anything to say about it.”

He had to swallow hard to clear the tightness in his throat. To most the words would sound foolish, the kind of thing you said to soothe a child who’d had a nightmare, not a grown man who’d paid for your time. But somehow Molly knew that it was exactly what Caleb needed to hear. And he said it without hesitation, with no judgement, making it clear that Caleb was allowed to want to hear it.

“Now…” Molly’s attitude shifted, lightened, turned back to his usual boyish, playful brevity, “It’s been far too long since I had you to myself.”

“It’s only been two nights,” Caleb chuckled, feeling better already.

“As I said, far too long. Practically criminal.”

He moved over, settling on his knees so he could seat himself comfortably in Caleb’s lap. Now he was so wonderfully close, his breath warm against his skin, smelling of coffee and sugar, his hands now both on his face, stroking back into his hair. His lips ghosted across his jaw, every so lightly, deliberately to make Caleb moan and want more which, of course, he did. Molly sniggered, delighted with himself, continuing to brush his fingers through his lover’s coppery hair and give him the most delicate, teasing kisses along his neck.

Messing around in the bar was far from uncommon, it was where the workers interacted with clients who hadn’t made appointments with a specific individual, so there would nearly always be at least one pair, or more than a pair, getting things started in one of the booths with gossamer curtains, or hell, even on one of the tables or up against the bar. At this point, the poor bartender just worked around them.

But Caleb had always been swept safely up to Molly’s suite, all the times he’d visited before. All the many times, at this point. The more Molly toyed with him, delicately, giving him just enough to wake up all those places inside him, those deep wells of want, but not enough for him to get anything but hot and bothered, Caleb began to notice. There were eyes watching them, mouths curving up into appreciative little smiles, eyebrows rising in interest.

And he liked it.

By now his blush had become a full-blown conflagration, probably looking ridiculous against his hair. Molly’s deft fingers had found the leather band that kept it tied away from his face when he was working, undoing it within a second so his hair fell loose like a curtain of wild, tangled fire. Caleb had realised very quickly why he’d been warned against ever playing cards with Mollymauk. His hands could be everywhere at once, fingers moving like they had minds of their own.

Caleb’s cock was like an iron bar, straining against the lacing of his trousers, well aware of the closeness between it and the heat rolling off the sweet valley between Molly’s thighs. It was just how he liked it, somewhere between pleasure and pain, the desire so strong it was too bright to look at, too burning hot to touch, like a scream bit between teeth.

“Molly…” he began, his voice strained and shivery. The request for them to move upstairs hovered at the back of his throat. Molly would do it within an instant if he asked, he knew that for a certainty, but…

“Hmm?” Molly tilted his head. Again, he’d read the thoughts behind Caleb’s eyes, pulling them free without any struggle. He saw the desire there, the way those eyes were making him feel, only increasing the fire in his chest. But also, the uncertainness, “My love?”

The offer was there, the willingness to let him choose.

Caleb swallowed hard, “Nothing…it’s just…people are watching.”

Mollymauk saw the decision made and grinned, his eyes sparking like two fires, devilish but still Caleb felt the sudden urge to put his hand in it.

“I don’t care if they’re watching,” he purred, voice low and carrying, no doubt audible to some of their closer audience, “You’re mine, Caleb Widogast. And I’m not done with you yet.”

Caleb could have melted then and there.

Molly’s hips began to roll, a long, slow movement like he was dancing, though to something certainly more risqué than the enchanted piano that played sprightly bar tunes of its own accord. The friction built slowly but surely, an agonising climb that had Caleb squirming and panting within seconds.

“They’re looking at you, y’know,” Molly whispered in his ear in a voice like thick red wine, “Seeing how glassy your eyes are getting…seeing the moans you’re trying to hold back…seeing how your fingers are digging into my shoulders…they all know.

“Oh gods…” the sound was strangled and fractured as it burst from Caleb’s chest. He could feel the slow, regular throbbing in his trousers, his own pulsing heartbeat.

“They’re only jealous,” the tiefling continued, not even breathless as he rutted against Caleb, all while keeping him pinned, “And who could blame them, sweetling? You’re nothing short of delicious but you’re mine, aren’t you? No one else’s. I can keep you dangling like this all night long if I choose.”

Caleb gave a loud keening noise, one that echoed a little further than he’d intended. The embarrassment wasn’t its own entity, it was one with the intense pleasure, the smoky edge of the heady cloud in his mind, inseparable, inextricable.

“I won’t, sweetling, I won’t,” Molly soothed, grinding down hard to make Caleb give a muffled shriek then pulling back, “I want to see your face when you finish. I want to see you make a mess of your nice palace clothes.”

“Trying…” Caleb groaned through gritted teeth, “Can’t…can’t get there…oh fuck, Molly…”

He wanted it so badly but it was just out of reach, it was maddening.

Molly bent closer, nipping his earlobe tightly, “Yes you can, sweetling. You can do it for me, I know it.”

And suddenly, just because Mollymauk said, it was so. Caleb pressed his face to the front of his shirt, toes and fingers and teeth clenching as he trembled his way through a sharp, hard won orgasm, just about managing not to scream.

There was a ringing in his ears as he came back down, a dizziness behind his eyes. But Molly was beaming at him, holding his face again with his thumbs stroking his cheekbones in that lovely way, and that was all that mattered.

Vaguely, Caleb reflected that he probably wouldn’t be able to sit here and read his book on evenings any more.

“Look at you,” Mollymauk simpered, grinning in sheer delight, “Naughty little thing, couldn’t even wait until we got upstairs. Come on, we’re going to have to get you out of those clothes and you’re going to have to make this up to me somehow…” He winked.

Caleb had never shot up the stairs faster in all his life.

#courtesan au #lemon #im still taking these prompts #widomauk #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #cr: caleb #cr: mollymauk

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

Infinite Possibilities (1/1)

Summary: When it comes down to it, it’s not that Ryan and Jeremy refuse to tell the others how they met, no. It's more that depending on who asks (and how and why and when), the story changes.

Or: Five ways the Battle Buddies didn't meet and one they did.

Notes: Inspired by exchanges with @miss-ingno and YorkandDelta who wanted to know how the Battle Buddies met in this AU and gave me the idea for this ridiculousness. <333!

AO3

Gavin’s the first one to ask.

Too curious for his own good, and takes the opportunity provided him when Lester calls them in for a risky job he claims he can’t trust anyone else with.

It’s an odd decision on Lester’s part, bringing the four of them in on this, considering the history they have with each other.

Not quite allies, not quite enemies, and not quit sure which side they should land on because there’s gut instinct and stupid human want.

Jeremy’s wary around Michael and fondly exasperated with Gavin. Michael’s eyeing all of them like he can’t believe his fucking luck to be stuck with so many idiots. Gavin is vaguely amused by the whole situation because aside from Lester, everyone here has tried to kill him at least once. And Ryan -

Gavin still unsettles him. Something about him makes it easy for Ryan to let his guard down around him even though he knows better. (Los Santos is a good teacher in that regard.)

“The two of you seem to know each other,” Gavin says, examining the array of weapons Lester’s acquired for their use.

If he was anyone else, Ryan would think it’s an idle comment. Just a simple observation, like what a nice day it is or my goodness, Lester certainly did get them a lot of explosives, didn’t he?

But this is Gavin. The only person to survive the Vagabond, extenuating circumstances or not.

Ryan shrugs, tugging a grenade out of Gavin’s hands because no.

He remembers what Gavin can do with those, and he’d like to keep his car in one piece this time if it’s not to much to ask for. (It really, really shouldn’t be.)

“You could say that,” he agrees, because Gavin’s not wrong.

========

Ryan’s separated from his squad on an operation when he runs into a kid in the same boat.

Young, probably straight out of boot. Clean-cut with his jaw set, and a good little soldier who has no damn clue what happened to set things off like this but damned if he isn’t going to do his job. (Because orders, and it hurts remembering how young Ryan was when he figured out the people giving them weren’t always right.)

This mess isn’t his fault, though, and Ryan really should have listened to his gut on this one, that bad feeling he had during the briefing and every moment after that up to the moment things went to hell on them.

Bad intel, and part of him wants to think it wasn’t intentional, but considering how quickly things went to shit on them – how prepared they were for his squad - he knows it was.

“Landmines that way,” Ryan says, and feels a twinge of guilt as he takes ammo off fallen soldier.

One of theirs, maybe even this kid’s friend with the way there’s a spill of chain and a set of dog tags hanging from his clenched fist. The way he watches Ryan with narrowed eyes, but hasn’t made a move for the rifle he’s carrying.

There’s no rank insignia or anything to give the kid to work with, which is kind of the point since Ryan and his squad were never here on a mission that didn’t happen.

The fact that things went to hell so badly that this kid and his unit got pulled into things going to make it a hell of a lot harder for the brass if (when) word gets out about this one.

“Landmines,” the kid echoes, hint of an accent to it – Boston maybe?

“Yeah,” Ryan says, mouth twisting. “My squad found them the hard way.”

The damn minefield wasn’t the start of things, but damn if it didn’t do just as much damage.

Killed Hopkins straight off, and enough blood to think Wilson was living on borrowed time. Kerrigan could still be out there, stubborn as anything, but he’ll be making his way to the extraction point with the package they came here to for.

There’s no route out of here that will get him there in time for a chopper ride out of here, not with how much is relying on that package getting home, so Ryan’s on his own here.

The kid hisses in sympathy, and Ryan looks away, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he thinks.

The mountains here play merry hell with communications, and the only road in or out twists its way though several villages and small towns. They might be able to get their hands on a vehicle, get somewhere safe they can call a chopper in, get the hell out of here.

Ryan looks at the kid as he realizes the direction his thoughts have gone. His own squad is fucked, which is something he’s deliberately not thinking about now, but this kid -

This kid’s squad is out there somewhere, but there’s enemy militia combing the area who tend to shoot first and ask questions never. Ryan doesn’t want to leave the kid here, but he doesn’t have time to stand around arguing with him if he’s determined to regroup with his squad.

“You have a plan?” the kid asks, looking to Ryan for answers as if Ryan knows what the fuck he’s doing.

“Follow the road. Steal a car. Get the hell out of here,” Ryan says succinctly, and shrugs at the look it gets him.

It’s not the best plan, but they’re short on options. There’s a route through the mountains, old hiking and game trails, but in the dark it’s all but a death sentence. A few miles to their east there’s a supply camp, but with the militia out there -

“We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

“Not necessarily,” Ryan hedges.

“Right,” the kid says with a resigned little laugh, “that’s real convincing, pal.”

Ryan cocks his head as the kid sticks his hand out, this look on his face that says he knows they’re probably going to die, but fuck it.

“Jeremy,” he says. “I’d say it’s a pleasure meeting you, but uh, you know.”

Ryan laughs, and shakes Jeremy’s hand.

“Ryan,” he says, “and yeah, I do.”

Their odds aren’t great, but things could be worse, so there’s that.

========

“I don’t buy it,” Gavin says, soot smudges on his face and this cut on his cheek from flying debris.

Ryan groans, ribs aching from the force of the explosion, and somehow manages to sit up, putting his back to the trunk of a fallen tree for support.

“Yeah?” he asks, smiling in spite of himself at the look on Gavin’s face.

Job’s done, and Jeremy and Michael are on their way to pick them up because someone - Ryan’s not going to name names (Gavin) - blew his car up.

Again.

Gavin makes his way over to Ryan and drops down with a groan, hesitating before he leans against him.

Ryan freezes for a moment before he realizes it’s pretty cold out and neither of them are exactly dressed for it. (Of course Gavin’s trying to steal his body heat like the clever little thief he is.)

He watches as Gavin stretches his legs out, hissing softly as he checks his ankle’s range of motion after that spill he took earlier.

“Yeah,” Gavin says with a quiet chuckle.

Ryan hums, putting an arm over Gavin’s shoulder when he presses closer, because because heat conservation or something along those lines.

========

Jeremy calls him a mother hen for this, but Ryan needs to make sure his body armor’s on right before they go out. Superstition or something else, Ryan doesn’t know or care.

Michael’s watching them from across the room, eyes tracking Jeremy as he heads over to talk to Gavin. (The whole reason Ryan’s so insistent on double-checking everyone’s body armor because he’s so...cavalier about wearing his own, and that worries Ryan.)

“Something wrong?” Ryan asks, moving to check Michael’s body armor.

After a brief altercation that Ryan refuses to call a slap fight Michael relents with moderate grace, and lets him check the straps, the way the armor lays.

Michael shrugs.

“You and Jeremy,” he says, making a vague gesture in their direction. “You work together before all this?”

Another job for Lester, and the four of them have worked together enough that genuine trust is starting to form between them. (Which is nice, because stealing a fucking SWAT truck isn’t going to be easy.)

“Occasionally,” Ryan says, wondering what brought this on. “I’ve worked with you before too, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Michael scowls at the deflection, before it morphs into a sly little smirk.

“Yeah,” Michael says, because he’s never going to let Ryan live that one time – one time – Ryan had wasn’t great at driving, “and you still cant drive for shit.”

========

Ryan’s been out on medical leave, but the team’s kept in the loop when it comes to gossip.

All the little scandals like the one involving who keeps eating other people's lunch out of the break room fridge. What idiot fell on their ass running the obstacle course doing something they shouldn’t have for a stupid bet. How McCallister wrecked a squad car he had no business driving because someone questioned his skill behind the wheel, which.

Wow, yeah, didn’t see that one coming.

The new sniper they brought in from Boston - Dooley? - to replace Hammond when he fucked up his shoulder helping his cousin move. (Hammond’s never going to live that one down, because who the hell does that?)

Ryan doesn’t see the guy at all until the third day he’s back at work, and when he does all he can think is that the rumors about him have to be true.

Dooley either managed to impress someone high up or has amazing blackmail material on same, because there’s no way he meets the height requirements to get into the police academy, land a spot on SWAT

To be fair though, people have done worse than having that bit of their records fudged or wearing shoes with lifts in them to make the height different less glaringly obvious in person for the job. (Watching him shoot, makes Ryan wonder if someone saw that and knew fudging his records was worth it.)

“Impressive, wouldn’t you say?” Carter asks, glint in her eye as Dooley trots over to the target examine the shot grouping, and she knows how Ryan gets.

“Rumors say he has a problem with heights?” Ryan says, because he knows how she gets.

Protective of her people, and if she called Ryan down here like this she wants a favor.

And true to form, Carter slides him a look, corner of her mouth ticking up just the slightest bit.

“Figured you’d be the best bet to help him out with that,” she says. “Theater kid right? Used to handle lighting?”

There are days Ryan regrets sharing that part of his life with his teammates, but seeing the bright smile on Dooley’s face as he heads over to them, he thinks it might not have been his worst mistake.

“I think I could figure something out,” he says, earnest little smile on his face when she shoots him a look.

“Just don’t break him, Haywood. He’s a good kid,” she mutters, as if Ryan would ever do something like that, heaven forbid.

========

Michael’s not wrong about being a better driver than Ryan. Whipping the SWAT van around tight corners and slinging it through narrow back streets with ease as they they evade the police chasing them.

Choppers in the sky, and it that would be a problem if Gavin and Jeremy didn’t have that angle covered. Black gunship lifting off a roof overhead as they pass by just as planned.

Michael sliding Ryan a grin at Gavin and Jeremy’s whoops of excitement over the comms as they smoothly drop into place behind the police choppers.

“Thought he had a fear of heights?” Michael asks, nearly putting the SWAT van on two wheels as he takes a sharp right, Ryan bracing himself against his door as he does.

Ryan smirks as the police choppers realize they’re being hunted, too slow to move out of the way in time as Jeremy opens fire.

“Give him something to shoot and he’s fine,” which is more or less the truth.

========

This job requires more finesse than the usual ones Lester sends them on. Has Ryan and Jeremy being fitted for tuxedos, which is new.

Gavin’s absolutely delighted watching as Jeremy holds still for the tailor as they scrutinize the fit of his tuxedo. Michael’s leaning against the wall looking highly unimpressed with Lester’s latest plan, and Ryan -

“Oh, you look lovely,” Gavin says as Ryan steps out of the changing room, tugging uselessly at his too-tight collar.

Ryan’s eyes narrow, but Gavin seems to be sincere. Circles around Ryan making these little noises of approval before stopping in front of Ryan again, gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“Not your first time wearing one of these?”

Ryan’s eyes cut to Jeremy who looks a little harried as the tailor and his assistant position him him this way and that.

“No.”

========

Officially, there’s no such thing as rival agencies when both parties work for the same government.

Unofficially -

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan mutters, shoulder aching where the other agent shot him.

Impressive aim with the clear intent to kill, and Ryan needs to have a talk with his superiors about what constitutes need to know information when he gets back.

If he gets back.

“Come on out,” the other agent calls, acoustics taking his words and twisting them, adding an eerie echo that sends a shill up Ryan’s spine. “I just want to have a little chat.”

Ryan’s bleeding through a tuxedo that costs more than he makes in a year. He’s trapped in the underbelly of the hotel an auction dealing in state secrets and being hunted by an agent from another agency. He thinks it’s fair to say that this is not his best day.

This was supposed to be an easy mission.

Get in, get the files and out again without being caught. The cover he’s using is an established one, reputation built up over the years, and well-respected in this community.

Trusted, even.

“No?” the other agent asks, sounding disappointed. “Guess that means I’ll just have to find you.”

Ryan’s got a bit of a reputation at the agency for being creepy when really it’s more that he has a knack for theatrics.

This agent, however, is making him reevaluate his fellow agent’s concerns because it’s amazingly unnerving.

The worst part is they’ve been manipulated into this position, someone looking to use them to further their agenda.

Setting them at cross-purposes, his handler had mused before Ryan lost contact with them.

Playing their agencies against one another and no way to tell who was in the right, or how high up any of it went. (Ryan and this other agent mere pawns in whatever game they’re playing, and it burns realizing how blind he’s been.)

Ryan’s earpiece is long gone, abandoned near the beginning of this little cat-and-mouse game, and it’s just him and his wits and whatever luck he has left to get him through this.

Ryan checks his weapons, and realizes he’s down to half a magazine and his last throwing knife. Regret for that foolish decision to leave his garrote in the agency drop box because he felt it wouldn’t be needed after all.

Hindsight and all that, he supposes, and pushes himself to his feet to finish this one way or another.

========

Gavin’s side-eyeing Ryan so hard he can’t help but laugh.

“Stop it, you’re bleeding you idiot,” he chides, but it’s tempered with this exasperated sort of fondness as he puts pressure on the gash along Ryan’s ribs.

His hands are cool, soothing, and Ryan relaxes into his touch.

He can hear Michael fussing over Jeremy a few feet away, snapping and snarling at him in worry. Jeremy deliberately provoking him every now and then because he’s an asshole.

Another of Lester’s jobs out of the way and a few more scars to add to their collection.

“Haywood,” Ryan says in an atrocious mockery of Gavin’s accent as he takes over the job of making sure he doesn’t bleed out on them. “Ryan Haywood.”

Gavin scowls at him, but it’s belied by the mirth in his eyes and gentle touch as he checks Ryan for other injuries.

========

“Hey,” Michael says, keeps his voice down so Jeremy won’t notice. (Won’t look over and know they’re talking about him.) “He going to be okay with this one?”

Jeremy’s tough, can take a hit better than any of them.

Used to throwing himself fist-first into a fight, wild grin on his face and a snarl behind his teeth. Worse than Michael, really, and he’s the one with the wolf on his back.

Know that doesn’t help when this latest job of Lester’s hits a little too close to home for comfort.

Someone setting up fight rings that don’t play by the rules Los Santos abides by when it comes to them. Doesn’t care if a fighter dies in the ring so long as they bring in a paying crowd beforehand.

Rumors that they’ve been forcing people into the ring, grabbing them off the streets and worse. No way to know how long it would have gone on if they hadn’t made the mistake of snatching one of Lester’s contacts and brought his attention to what’s been happening.

Jeremy volunteering to act as bait before any of them could say a damn thing because he knows his way around the fight rings, who else better? Stubborn set to his jaw and this look in his eyes that said he’d rather it was him than any of them.

The look of surprise on his face when Michael stepped forward to volunteer as well. (Eyes flicking to Jeremy and his, “What? You think you're the only one here who's gone into the ring? Get over yourself, asshole.”)

“Jeremy will be fine,” Ryan says, because this time he’s not alone. “You’ll be watching his back in there the whole time, right?”

Ryan’s needed elsewhere, much as it galls him, and none of them want Gavin anywhere near the fucking place. (He’s fast and agile, resourceful as hell, yes, but the people they put in the rings are goddamned vicious. Desperate and terrified and all the more dangerous for it.)

Michael looks to where Gavin’s talking to Jeremy. The two of them with their heads bent over Gavin’s laptop as they go over every step of the plan again, Jeremy pressing close to Gavin.

“You know,” Michael presses, worried and angry and scared because he’s never seen Jeremy like this. “About this.”

That -

“He’s got us,” Ryan says, because God help anyone who tries to hurt one of them now.

========

There are rules to the fighting rings in Los Santos, ones Ryan’s worked hard to keep in place.

Every so often though, someone thinks they can get creative. Think they’re being clever with their little loopholes. (That he won’t find out.)

His contacts tell him about some asshole with a ring on Elysian Island, close to one of Simeon’s operations.

When he goes down to check it out, he leaves the mask and face paint at home. Doesn’t want to spook the people behind it before he makes his move.

He finds a kid facing off against a behemoth of a man nearly twice his size.

The kid’s got blood on his teeth and a manic look in his eyes. Looks to be running on nothing but sheer will-power and he’s winning>.

Fights mean, dirty, and doesn’t give a fuck about it as he drops his opponent and turns to face the crowd, eyes landing on Ryan like he knows.

“You next?” the kid demands, bravado running high.

Ryan watches as the kid prowls closer to the chain link fencing meant more to protect the crowd from the fighters than keep them inside the ring.

The crowd around him is losing their minds at the challenge, voices yelling for blood merging to create a nightmare cacophony of sound.

The kid’s.

Ryan’s, if he accepts his challenge and steps into the ring.

Anyone but theirs.

Ryan looks around him. Sees the faces looking back with this horrible hunger in their eyes that sparks that steady burn of anger in his chest into a blaze as he rises to his feet to bring it all tumbling down around them.

========

“It didn’t happen like that, did it?” Michael asks, tired and hurting, and trusting Ryan not to hurt him as he cleans the blood off his face.

Ryan sighs, looking over to where Gavin has Jeremy. Quiet words and gentle hands, one curled lightly on the back of Jeremy’s neck to help ground him. Ryan picks up the tweezers to pick splinters out of Michael’s hands, jaw clenching at the choked off noise Jeremy makes as Gavin carefully enfolds him into a hug.

“No,” Ryan says, because he’s not infallible, and Los Santos is full of people worse than he could ever be. “But I wish it had.”

Maybe then he could have gotten Jeremy out of the fucking ring sooner.

========

Gavin’s on the good stuff, dopey grin on his face and a mess of uncoordinated limbs and messy hair and-

“If you aren’t careful you’re going to tear your stitches.”

- injuries.

Deliberate, intentional, and bound to scar. Ribs that have to hurt like a bitch, and this new fear of being left alone that makes Ryan want to break something.

Gavin makes a face, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to look at the bandage on his arm, hitching his shoulder slightly because he’s got another one there too that limits his mobility.

He’s a mess, and Ryan doesn’t know why the hell Michael and Jeremy trusted him to keep him safe while they deal with thee fuckers who did this to him when he should be the one out there looking for them.

Michael knows Gavin the best out of the three of them, and Gavin’s always been comfortable around Jeremy. Ryan is -

“Ryan,” Gavin says suddenly. “Are you ever going to tell us how you and Jeremy met?”

Ryan makes the mistake of meeting his eyes, and while Gavin’s puppy-dog eyes aren’t nearly as effective as Jeremy’s or Michael’s, they’re not to underestimated.

“Gavin - “

Gavin needs to rest, sleep, and is fighting it with everything he has even with the painkillers working their magic, stubborn as always. Fragile look in his eyes, and God help him, Ryan understands.

He can see the moment Gavin realizes how close to giving in Ryan is, this little a-ha moment reflected in his eyes.

“I’m injured, Ryan,” he says, manipulative asshole that he is.

“Fine,” Ryan sighs, pulling Gavin’s sleeve down to cover the bandage because the heat’s being finicky and it’s cooler in the room than he’d like.

The last thing they need is for Gavin to get sick on top of everything else.

========

There’s a certain level of irony in Ryan going to a vet clinic when he can’t patch himself up. (There are rumors out there comparing him to a rabid animal that needs to be put down, and some days he even believes them.)

If Lindsay has opinions on the matter she never lets it show when he shows up on her doorstep. Just chatters at him about the weirdest things with steel in her eyes daring him to insist that no, he really doesn’t need stitches for that knife wound or a mild anesthetic while she removes the bullet in his thigh.

Certainly no need for a blood infusion after dragging his half-dead carcass to her clinic and texting her a sad smiley face to let her know he was around back.

“Okay, well you can just shut the fuck up right now, asshole.”

“Lindsay - “

The cops are probably still looking for Ryan, and while he appreciates her putting him back together again, he can’t stay here.

“Swear to God, I will neuter you right here and now if you try to tell me you’re fine,” Lindsay growls, sounding like she means every word.

Ryan blinks at her, stunned speechless.

Lindsay nods sharply and strides over to the door, opening it just enough to bark out an order for someone to bring her a blood bag.

“Nice,” Ryan mutters, shrinking back when Lindsay walks back over to him.

She crosses her arms and glares at him, and it would be more intimidating than it already is if he didn’t know her anger is born out of concern.

“Not to quibble,” Ryan quibbles, “but I don’t think whatever blood type you have on hand is compatible with mine.”

Ryan’s no expert, but science and all that. (Although he does remember reading something about pig blood a while back, so maybe - )

Lindsay arches an eyebrow at him, and with impeccable timing the door opens and someone walks inside.

“Ah, blood bag, you're here,” Lindsay says, not unlike an evil villain in a movie.

The guy sighs, like he’s talked with Lindsay about this before.

“We’ve talked about this before, Lindsay,” he says, faint thread of amusement in his voice. “You know how I feel about that.”

Lindsay gives him a delighted smile and gestures for the poor bastard to come closer for introductions.

“Vagabond, meet blood bag - “

The guy clears his throat pointedly, and Lindsay sighs as though he’s being completely unreasonable in this.

“Yes, yes, fine. Vagabond, meet Jeremy.”

There’s a pause, a look on Lindsay's face, and this long, tired sight from Jeremy because he knows what’s coming next.

“He’ll be your blood bag for the evening.”

...what.

Lindsay smiles beatifically at Ryan as though she’s not one of the most terrifying people Ryan’s ever met.

“Now be good and do what Jeremy tells you to do, or I’ll be back,” Lindsay warns as she turns to leave “And believe you me, buddy, but you do not want that to happen.

In the silence that falls after her exit, Ryan and Jeremy stare at each other, not really sure what to do now.

“Uh,” Ryan says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Jeremy, though.

“Nice mask,” he says, like he’s complimenting Ryan on something completely normal.

“Thank you?” Ryan says, watching Jeremy gather medical supplies and God knows what else before moving over to roll up one of Ryan’s sleeves. “What the hell is going on?”

Jeremy shrugs as he swabs a patch of skin on he back of Ryan’s hand with a prep pad before inserting an IV needle.

“Universal donor,” he says, gesturing at himself, like he’s completely unbothered with this whole situation. “And I owe Lindsay for saving my life, so. Blood bag.”

That.

What.

Jeremy raises his eyebrows and looks around the room in which they are the only occupants like he’s checking to make sure no one’s looking. Checks again one last time and lifts the hem of his shirt to show Ryan the handle of the gun tucked in his waistband.

“I do crimes,” he says, grinning at Ryan. “This is just a side gig.”

Ryan still has no idea what’s going on, but he’s more terrified of Lindsay coming back and making good on her threat. (More of a promise with her, really.)

“Okay?” he says, watching Jeremy as he pulls up a seat beside him as he finishes setting up for the transfusion.

Easy, practice motions like he’s done this before and knows exactly what he’s doing, and then he looks at Ryan as the transfusion starts.

“So,” Jeremy says, waggling his eyebrows at Ryan with ridiculous smile on his face. “Come here often?”

========

Gavin buries his face against Ryan’s side, soft, helpless laughter squeaking past his lips.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says. “Lindsay would never call Jeremy a blood bag. She’s too lovely for that.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at that because Lindsay is a terrible human being who absolutely would call Jeremy a blood bag, and they both know it.

========

“They’re going to figure it out one day,” Jeremy says, infinitely amused as they watch Michael tackle a squawking Gavin off the couch for some offense or other. “You do know that, right?”

Ryan shrugs, because he’s fairly certain Michael, at the very least has an inkling about the truth. All the things he and Jeremy have let slip in the past, but it’s just so fun fucking with them about it.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, popping open a can of diet soda and sitting back to see who’s going to win this tussle. “But it’s more fun this way.”

========

Ryan’s in line at the grocery store because even notorious criminals need to eat. It must be payday or something like it because there are several people ahead of him in line with full carts, the other lanes just as full.

Not ideal, but he’s in no rush at the moment with his latest job behind him and nothing lined up for a while.

He’s watching the woman at the register arguing with the cashier over an expired coupon when there's a clatter behind him and a panicked cry of “Oh shit, no!” before he feels a cart hit him.

When he turns, it’s to se a guy with a look of utter dismay on his face, apologies spilling out of his mouth as he wrestles his cart back under control.

“Oh my god,” he says, sounding mortified. “I’m so sorry, are you okay? I didn’t mean - “

Ryan misses whatever the poor guy is saying, because Ryan is busy staring at his face.

It’s a nice face.

A very nice face.

A very nice face Ryan is staring at like an idiot because he likes looking at it that much.

A very nice face Ryan is staring at like an idiot because he likes looking at it that much that is now frowning at him, and, oh, fuck, he’s being creepy about things again isn’t he?

“No, no,” Ryan says, remembers that smiling is a thing people do. “I’m fine, really. Just surprised me is all.”

The guy looks skeptical about that, but there’s something cautiously hopeful to it as he asks Ryan if he’s sure about that.

“I’m fine,” Ryan reassures him, even though his ankle stings like a bitch and he’s sure he’s going to have a bruise from the cart with how hard it hit him.

“Are you sure - “

“Ryan,” Ryan interrupts, holding his hand out because he’s an idiot and this poor guy has apologized more than enough for an accident. (Also his face and how much Ryan likes it.) “My name’s Ryan, what’s yours?”

Ryan’s secretly pleased he managed to get that out without flubbing, and almost misses the once-over the man gives him.

“Jeremy,” the guy says, hint of color on his cheeks as he realizes Ryan caught Jeremy checking him out. “Uh. Sorry?”

Ryan smiles, stupid bit of hope in his chest because maybe Jeremy likes his face too.

========

“I do,” Jeremy says, laughing like an idiot when Ryan looks at him, because he’s had a few drinks and working on another in a bid to catch up to Michael. “I like your face a lot, Ryan.”

Jeremy’s expression goes all goofy on him as Gavin’s voice reaches them, indignant only the way Michael can make him.

“I like their faces a lot too,” he says, stupid soft and far too damn honest.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, and stops to clear his throat because these idiots do that to him. “Same.”

Jeremy snorts, and Ryan reaches out to take his drink from him because he knows Jeremy’s itching to help Michael gang up on Gavin.

Jeremy beams at him, darting in to smack a loud kiss to Ryan’s cheek before stumbling over the others.

Ryan watches him, and then decides to borrows a page from Gavin’s book as pulls his phone out to record the disaster sure to come for posterity. (Definitely not for blackmail material.)

#Jeremwood #jeremavinwood #ragehapppy #Teeth Like Razor Blades #vagrant fic #Battle Buddies

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