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“You take that off. Right. Now.” Each word was emphasized with a wave of his gun in the dark, the metallic edge glinting in the dim streetlights. Archer turned away for a moment to glance around the side of the car toward the pair of armed guards. When he turned back, he hissed like a cornered tiger, blue eyes narrowing dangerously. “I said take it off!”
Ray was crouched to Archer’s left, a cigarette dangling from his lips when he spat back in a harsh whisper, “I’m not taking it off, Archer.”
“We can’t run around wearing matching outfits, Ray. We look like we’re on a bowling team or something. A gay bowling team.”
“What kinda bowling team wears black turtlenecks?” Ray whispered sharply, taking the cigarette from his mouth and flicking it down onto the pavement, grinding it with the toe of his shoe. “I’m not taking off the shirt, Archer. What am I supposed to do, gun down drug dealers shirtless?”
“I mean, yeah, if you have to. Listen, the tactleneck is my thing. You’re the vest guy. That’s your thing. Go find a vest somewhere.”
“Tactleneck? What—“
“It’s a tactical turtleneck, Ray—and goddamnit, why are you still wearing it?”
“Because it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing—“
“Yes it does, I can’t have you running around looking like that, it’s incredibly distracting—“
“Distracting? How the hell is it distracting?”
“I mean, the tactleneck is not only a highly effective tactical garment, but it makes you look hot as fuck wearing it—“
“Wait, what? It makes me look—“
Archer looked flustered for a moment, blinking rapidly, and his voice raised a little bit higher, “... No, not you you, I mean ‘you’ as in one, or... a person. As in... me. Myself. I look hot wearing it. I mean—“
“Archer, shut up—“ Ray clamped a hand over Archer’s mouth, causing him to lose his balance slightly and bump his back against the car door with a dull thud as Ray leaned over him to get a good look at the door. There was nobody in front of the door anymore, and Ray suspected the guards had heard Archer’s widely broadcasted turtleneck bitching and were approaching the other side of the car at that moment. With a “dukes” muttered under his breath, he pulled away from Archer and reached for the pistols holstered at his sides. Archer snapped into action, and although Ray didn’t have more than three nice things to say about Sterling Archer, he was able to admit that the man was at least decent in combat. Ray spun around to the opposite end of the vehicle, and glancing back at Archer they both nodded and pulled themselves up out of cover to fire at their assailants.
One of the guards was a little to the left of where Ray had anticipated, and had already begun firing rounds into the side of the car. Taking cover behind the car’s hood, he lined up his shot and fired one round into the guard’s knee, then when he was doubled over, another to the head, and he fell to the ground with a terrible thud. Archer, however, had felled his opponent moments earlier with one well placed round to the forehead, and was grinning wildly.
“Woo!” he cried, “headshot!”
Ray’s mouth twisted into a scowl, “You don’t take a damn thing seriously, do you?”
“Only turtlenecks,” Archer said, advancing on Ray and holding out a hand, “Now take it off and hand it over, Gillette. You saw how good I am at headshots.”
Archer was getting a little too close to his personal space, and Ray was getting more and more agitated by the second, his accent thickening, “Y’know, if you want it so badly, you're gonna have to take it from me or somethin’, ‘cause I really like this turtleneck.”
By now, Archer had closed the gap between them and was leaning in close to Ray’s face, his eyes narrowed, and Ray felt the words flicker across his cheek as Archer spoke them, “If you say so.”
Now, Ray had expected Archer to throw a swift punch to his left eye, or a shot to his leg, or something violent of the sort, but he definitely hadn’t expected Archer to grab him by the turtleneck collar and kiss him full on the mouth. It was rough and warm, his lips mashing against Ray’s rather hurriedly, and for a moment Ray wasn’t sure what the hell he should do. On the one hand, Archer was a giant asshole whom he’d rather see full of bullet holes at the bottom of a ravine than in his bed, but on the other hand, Archer was one of the best-looking men he’d laid eyes upon, and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t fantasize about him once or twice. Apparently, while his head had been making the decision, his body had already made it, and he realized that he had one hand tangled in Archer’s thick black hair and the other traveling up his throat as Archer’s hands moved down his sides and under the turtleneck. Just when Archer’s tongue had made its way into his mouth, Ray felt the turtleneck being pulled up his middle and over his head, and he broke away for a moment to allow the shirt to be pulled off.
Ray leaned in again, but Archer pulled away from him, that stupid shit-eating grin spreading across his face and it suddenly dawned on him.
“Oh dukes.”
Archer laughed, swinging the turtleneck over his shoulder and grinning, “I told you to take off the turtleneck, Ray.”
He patted Ray’s cheek twice while he was stunned, chuckling, before he turned and went into the safehouse, motioning with his pistol for Ray to follow him, “Come on, idiot. These drug lords aren’t gonna kill themselves.”
“Son of a bitch...” Ray muttered, grabbing his pistols and following.