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“Hold it right there, Sparrow,” Jay says, and damn it, he should have seen this coming.
The gun Jay points at him has a suppressor attached to it – all their guns do – and Rush knows he'll be killed. Because what else can one expect from a bunch of bank robbers?
Not that he wasn't planning on double-crossing all of them himself, but it still rankles that Jay is such a fucking arsehole.
“Where did you stash your bag?” Jay says, and Rush's eyes flicker closed for a quick second as he says his prayers to a God that he doesn't believe in. “The boot of the Volvo,” he answers, taking a small amount of comfort in the fact that at least his last words will be a lie and Jay will spend too much time searching for the loot before he flees the scene.
He doesn't expect it when a muffled gunshot sounds, and he certainly doesn't expect it when Jay crumples to his knees, a fine hole trickling a small trail of blood from his temple.
Eagle – that's the only name he knows the man under – steps from out of the shadows and gives him a quick look before stepping over to Jay's dead body and snatching the three black duffel bags full of bank notes.
“Why did you do that?” Rush asks. He isn't sure whether Eagle's arrival means salvation or simply another man's finger on the trigger, so he doesn't dare move.
“He killed D—” Eagle swallows hard, and looks away. His gun isn't pointed at Rush, and maybe this means he won't die today after all. “He killed Gull.” Eagle looks wrecked, and Rush guesses he and Gull knew each other, that they were close. “And Hawk,” Eagle says, almost as an afterthought.
“He was going to kill us all,” Rush says with a shaky nod.
It's always a risk, of course. Doing a heist like this, robbing a fucking bank and succeeding. There's always the risk of team members turning against one another. He just... he hadn't expected it to be Jay. If anyone, he'd thought it'd be Gull. The guy was cocky, irritating, overbearing. Rush hadn't liked him from the start. Yeah, more than Jay, Gull had seemed like the type to screw him over. Or Eagle, perhaps.
Not because Eagle had given him any reason to think so, but because he simply couldn't put his finger on why the man made him so nervous. He trusts his instincts enough to listen to them when a person makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, though, so he'd spent too much time worrying about outsmarting Eagle and Gull, and not enough time keeping an eye on Jay.
Well. The man is dead now.
Eagle nods.
“Are you going to shoot me?” Rush asks.
Eagle lowers his gun entirely and shakes his head. He looks kind of defeated, even under his ski mask.
“We have to get out of here,” Rush says, because they have little over two minutes before the place will be crawling with cops. “Now.”
“Alright. Let's go,” Eagle says, seemingly tucking all of his emotions squarely away behind a wall of unreadable stillness, and turning on his heel. Keeping his back open to Rush. Rush thinks that's not very smart. He could shoot Eagle easily, like this. He should, probably. Kill Eagle and take off with the loot.
But Eagle just saved his life, and he thinks that means he owes it to the man to let this opportunity pass. He'll get Eagle later. Perhaps he can even do it without killing him.
Yes, he decides. That would be optimal.
He grabs his own duffel bag from where he'd hastily stashed it when he heard those unexpected footsteps on the cold marble tiles of the corridor. Then he follows Eagle into the garage, into the van, and they drive away from the scene of the crime – well, crimes – with barely a hitch. They almost get suckered into a road block, but Eagle manages to avoid it.
Rush is secretly impressed with his driving. Eagle wasn't their getaway – he'd been their muscle – but apparently he knows his way around a car as well.
“You knew Gull?” Rush asks, when they're making their way down the I54 to the motel they'd booked weeks in advance. Because by now Eagle has captured his full attention. The man had lifted his mask the minute they'd driven out of the garage, and his face is... it's weary and sad, but it's also oddly alluring. There's something beautiful about his dark eyes. Something tempting about his pillowy lips, even curled downwards in sorrow. Something enchanting about his hands on the steering wheel, almost elegant for his broad frame.
“Sparrow,” Eagle says, flicking his eyes over to Rush's face before focusing on the road again. “We don't do personal information.”
“Rush,” he says, contradicting Eagle partly just because of the thrill it gives him. “My name's Rush. And seeing as we just made off with more than twice what we'd counted on, I'd say we can get a little personal.”
Eagle casts him another glance, and huffs out a short breath.
“Young,” he says, after nearly two minutes of silence.
Well. Young it is, Rush thinks. Of course there's no way of knowing whether the man – Young – is telling the truth. He could be lying. He's probably lying. Rush should have lied himself. He's not quite sure why he didn't.
“So,” Rush says. “Gull was your friend.”
He doesn't formulate it as a question, because he knows it to be close enough to the truth already. Young had known Gull's real name. He'd killed Jay over Gull's death. Obviously Gull meant something to him.
Young sends him a dark look. “I don't want to talk about it.”
And alright, fine. Rush can understand that. He can accept that.
“Thank you,” he says, instead of pushing Young harder. He puts his hand on top of Young's arm and squeezes gently. “For saving me, back there.”
Young snorts quietly, although it doesn't sound entirely genuine. “I didn't do it for you.”
Rush notices he also doesn't draw his arm away from Rush's grip, and he feels something triumphant skitter down his spine. Yes. He can make this work. He can do this without killing Young.
For some reason, the idea of murdering Young for the money seems less than palatable right now. He's quite sure it isn't just because Young saved his life.
“Come on,” he says quietly, getting out of the van with two of the duffel bags and making his way over to the motel room. It's on ground level, number 37, and Young follows him with the other three bags without a word.
The room is typical. Browning wallpaper and insipid art prints on the walls. The two queen beds are somewhat filthy but enticing – the duvets are covered in bleached stains, but they look soft and inviting as well.
Young sits down in one of the rickety chairs as Rush locks the door behind him. Rush takes place in the opposite chair and pulls the first bag towards him to start counting the money. After a few moments Young follows his example.
This isn't either of their first rodeos, that much is clear. It barely takes them twenty minutes to count the cash. It's over 2.8 million dollars. Rush whistles between his teeth. It's not nothing. He'd gone into the deal at the promise of half a mil, and now he might walk out of here with nearly six times that amount.
“Young,” he says quietly, giving the man a dark stare.
“What?”
“I think we should celebrate.” He fishes a bottle of whisky out of his kit and scurries over to the mini bar to find two less-than-pristine glasses. He contemplates rinsing them, but then he shrugs and walks over to his chair again. Young looks at him with a mixture of wariness and curiosity as Rush fills the tumblers halfway with his 30-year old scotch (only the best for a post-heist celebration), but takes the glass without comment when Rush hands it to him.
“Here's to getting more than we bargained for,” Rush says, raising his glass at Young.
Young gives him a long stare, and then says softly, “To David.”
Rush inclines his head to acknowledge Young's loss, and takes a deep swallow of the drink. It's good, smooth, and he feels the shuddery surge of victory and success rush to his head. It's dizzying, it always is, pulling off a job like this. His cock feels plump and heavy between his legs, and he lets his eyes roam over Young's form again.
The man is looking down into his glass. He seems thoroughly unhappy, and Rush wonders whether he's going to cry tonight. He doesn't much look like the crying type, but then... how would Rush know? He only met the man this afternoon. He hadn't even seen his face before the getaway.
And it is quite a nice face, he thinks. Not stunning. Not pretty in the typical sense. Not very similar at all to the delicate pixie faces he usually finds himself drawn to. But for some reason everything that makes this man so different from what he normally wants – his broad build and his rough hewn features and his low, gravelly voice... All of it makes Rush's fingertips itch with the desire to touch, to explore, to... not to break, perhaps, but to bend.
Still, the man is grieving. There's probably no chance he'll want to have sex right now, and it's not like Rush'll ever see him again after tonight. Not unless something goes seriously fucking wrong, and he'll be in a whole lot of other trouble then anyway.
“Young,” he says, reaching out his hand tentatively to rest it on the man's arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Young looks up at him with a skeptical stare. He doesn't acknowledge the hand on his arm, but again, he doesn't draw away from it either.
“What could I possibly say?”
Rush shrugs. “You could talk about him, your friend, if you want.”
Young shakes his head and throws back his drink in one go. Rush feels slightly offended on behalf of the scotch, but for the most part he's preoccupied by watching the line of Young's neck, the curve of his Adam's apple as he swallows.
“He was an infuriating megalomaniacal asshole who didn't know when to leave well enough alone, and he was the best friend I ever had.”
Rush watches quietly as Young puts his empty glass down and rubs the ball of his hand against his forehead. He finishes his own drink and grabs the bottle to refill both their glasses. Young is too busy remembering his friend, or mourning him, or simply getting lost in his own thoughts, and it isn't difficult for Rush to drop the powder into Young's drink unnoticed.
It's odorless, tasteless, and it won't kick in for an hour or so. If he plays his cards right Young won't even realize he's drugged at all. At least not until Rush is long gone.
“Rush,” Young says, suddenly looking up at him with such burning intensity that for a few long, agonizing seconds Rush is convinced Young knows what he just did. His heart beats a frantic rhythm against his ribcage. His throat goes dry.
“Yeah?” he says, trying to sound casual but silently calculating the odds of getting to his gun before Young can go for his.
“Are you trying to get into my pants?” Young asks, and Rush feels his breath whoosh out in a harsh huff of relief.
“Yeah,” he answers, amusement in his voice. He watches the way Young's lips curl up into a twisted smile, and now his heart is racing for another reason altogether.
Young gets up from his chair and settles on his knees between Rush's thighs. He grabs his drink and takes a deep gulp before leaning forward and grabbing Rush's chin in his hand.
“I want to forget,” he says. His breath skitters over Rush's lips, and everything stills to nothing but this for a moment. To this – to Young touching him and telling him he wants this, and his whisky-breath on Rush's skin.
Rush feels himself leaning forward until their noses bump. He closes his eyes minutely to take in the closeness and the scent of the man before him. “Just for tonight?”
If Young says no, if Young says he wants more than just one night, Rush isn't entirely certain he can go through with this.
“Yes,” Young says, and then he's pressing a chaste kiss into Rush's lips.
It's nothing. Little more than the dry brush of skin against skin. It still makes Rush's heart feel like it's about to burst, and all his blood rushes down until his prick is firm, straining against the confines of his trousers.
Young pulls away, a small smile on his lips, and grabs his glass to take another sip. Rush feels disoriented and wobbly, but he grabs his own tumbler from the side table and brings it to his lips too, as Young watches quietly.
“Did you fuck him?” he asks, not even sure why he says it. Because it's going to do nothing but remind Young of the fact that he just lost his... his friend. His David.
It's hard to stash the strong wave of jealousy that razes through him at the thought of Young giving himself to this other guy. This bastard who had been broad and tall and probably handsome. Who would've known how to fuck Young right. It's ludicrous, because he doesn't even know Young, so why the hell should he care about the man's romantic history? It's none of his business.
Young gives him an unreadable look and takes another sip of his drink. Rush mirrors him. His glass is almost half empty already.
“Once. We pulled off a job in Tampa. Got drunk after.”
“Just the one time?” Rush asks.
Young nods and looks away. “I'm a better friend than a lover,” he says, like he's admitting something big.
“Well,” Rush lies, feeling his lips curl into a small smile. “Let me be the judge of that.” He brings up his hand to card it through Young's hair and pulls Young closer by the back of his head. This time he takes the initiative, and it isn't until he bites gently at Young's lower lip that the man surges forward and wraps his arm around Rush's back to pull him in tighter.
He has to angle his face down to kiss Young, and it's hard to forget that the man is kneeling between his thighs, especially when Young leans forward and his abdomen presses into Rush's erection.
Rush hears himself let out a short moan at the contact and the pressure, and Young huffs out a little breath before pulling back and looking him over with an amused expression.
“Here,” he says, pushing Rush's glass into his hand before taking his own and draining the last of it. “Let's go to bed.”
Rush knocks back his drink quickly – embarrassingly quickly. He's not sure he likes how eager he feels about all of this – and takes Young's outstretched hand after the man has climbed back to his feet.
It seems today is his lucky day: the money and sex with this broad-shouldered stranger.
Rush grins viciously before yanking Young's head towards him and pulling him in for another kiss. Harder this time, more teeth and desperation. Young's hands come up to claw into his shoulders, to pull him in closer, and Rush truly enjoys feeling the strength in that grip as he guides them both over to the nearest bed until he can shove Young onto it.
He likes this, pushing Young around without fear of hurting the man. Perhaps the idea of Young pushing him around arouses him a little, too.
He climbs onto Young's lap before the man can fully sit up and starts pulling at the edges of his shirt. Young seems just as enthusiastic, and before long they're naked and breathing hard, and Young throws him to his back onto the bed before crawling over him and kissing him until Rush feels like he's going to melt into a puddle of goo. Fuck, Young is thorough.
“What do you want, Rush?” Young asks, bending down to lick a hot trail up the side of his neck. Rush moans as Young kisses and laves at the vulnerable skin of his throat, and doesn't even have an answer for a few seconds. This, he wants to say. More of this.
“D'you want me to give you a handjob?” Young asks, before nipping gently at his collarbone. Rush doesn't know how to respond other than by tangling his fingers into Young's hair. Young counters by thrusting his hand between Rush's thighs and cupping his prick. He squeezes lightly, and Rush hears himself groan out loud at the pressure. God, it's amazing.
“I could suck your dick,” Young continues, biting a little too roughly into the flesh of Rush's pectoral muscle and then moving on to circle his quick tongue around his nipple a few times.
“Fuck,” Rush breathes out, tightening his hands in Young's hair and feeling his legs fall open wider.
Young huffs out a short breath. “Yeah, I can do that, too.”
Jesus Christ. For some reason all he wants right now is for Young to make good on that. All he wants is for Young to fuck him – deeply and thoroughly, just like he kisses – even if Rush usually prefers to be on top.
“Yes,” he hisses, pulling Young up by his hair until they're eye to eye again. “Fuck me.”
Young gives him a hard stare, licks his lips in a manner that makes Rush think that the want he feels is entirely reciprocated, and then moves closer to kiss him again. His tongue is hot and slick in Rush's mouth, and the low, rumbling moan Young lets out makes Rush's prick pulse with a hot gush of precome.
“I don't have any lube,” Young says, when he finally draws away from Rush's mouth.
“My pack,” Rush pants, gesturing aimlessly at the little bag he takes everywhere. He'd brought lube. He's a firm believer in 'hope for the best, prepare for the worst,' so of course he'd brought lube and contraceptives as well as a knife and an additional gun.
Young presses another quick kiss into his mouth before moving away to rummage through his pack.
Rush wonders what the hell he's even doing here, for a moment. Wonders if he can take everything he wants from Young like this when he's about to fuck him over for the money.
But he doesn't know the man. He doesn't owe Young anything other than his life. And he's willing to give him that. He's not going to kill him.
And if Young is feeble-minded enough to get screwed over like this, it's not Rush's responsibility to protect him from it, is it?
He doesn't get much time to think it over, because before he knows it Young is back with the small bottle of lube and a condom, kissing him again. God, Young kisses better than anyone Rush knows, and a small part of him hates that this is all he'll ever get. That Young is truly a one-time thing.
“I'm gonna make you come,” Young says, migrating from Rush's mouth, to his ear, to his neck, and making all of his skin feel like it's on fire. There's not a doubt in Rush's mind that Young is telling the truth.
Young works his way down, kissing and licking at his chest and his stomach until Rush is shaking with it, until it takes everything he has to keep from begging for Young to simply push into him without any preparation.
“Rush,” Young says, his breath hot against Rush's erection as he flips open the cap of the lube and spreads it around his fingers. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
It feels like Young is asking something more, something deeper than whether he's certain he wants Young to fuck him. But by now the joyous relief of victory and alcohol is singing through his veins, and yes, he is sure he wants this.
“Yeah, yes,” he says, as Young's fingers rub slickly against his entrance. “Come on. Do it.”
Young lets out a soft noise. Rush can't interpret it, not with his eyes squeezed shut and his knowledge of the man in front of him limited to his last name and this short encounter. It doesn't matter, though, because when Young breaches him, when Young pushes two fingers inside of him, everything gets reduced to this with a pinpoint accuracy that slightly surprises Rush. God, it's been a while since he's done this, and it feels like... he always forgets how good it feels.
Young is inside of him, working him open, making him give, and Rush doesn't know what to do other than squirm helplessly and moan into the back of his hand. Fuck, it feels more than good. It feels goddamn amazing.
“Young,” he says, not knowing what he's even going to follow it up with.
“You good?” Young asks, scissoring open his fingers and eliciting another deep groan from Rush's throat. “Do you want to stop?”
Rush shakes his head. He can't find the words right now, but every fiber of his being is telling him that no, he doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want Young to stop.
Young pushes in a third finger, and Rush feels his back arch, feels the skin along his spine break out into a sweat, because this... this is more than he's felt in ages. This is not the way it's supposed to be, but it is, and Jesus fucking Christ, why is his mind all over the place?
He's not entirely sure what happens, but the next thing he knows Young is licking a hot stripe up the length of his cock, lingering at his tip with short, prodding flicks of his tongue, and fuck, Rush already feels like he's about two seconds away from coming before Young wraps his lips around him and sucks him inside.
“Oh, God,” he hears himself mutter, trying to thrust his hips up into the warm cavity of Young's mouth. Young's hand on his lower stomach prevents him from going anywhere near far enough, though. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
Young continues working over him, working inside of him, with practiced ease, and Rush can't quite believe the sounds falling from his own mouth. Indecent and wanton and so fucking hot for it he feels as if he might actually die if Young stops right now.
Of course the bastard does, after flaring his fingers open wide one last time. He pulls out, pulls away, and Rush is left wet and cold and empty.
He hears the crinkle of the condom wrapper being torn open, and only then realizes he has his eyes squeezed shut again. He blinks them open just in time to see Young spreading a glob of lube over his cock, and Jesus, Young's prick is... Young looks... Goddammit, he looks good.
His mouth is dry, and his head is spinning, and he sees the way Young looks at him with something darker than mere lust in his eyes, but he doesn't do anything other than yelp highly when Young grabs his knees and pushes them up to his chest. Young is leaning over him now, face close and erection poking against his arse, and Rush feels like an animal, trapped and wild and more than a little scared. He also can't deny that his prick is straining, leaking precome onto his stomach, with how fucking much he wants this.
“Hold your knees,” Young says. The deep rasp in his voice sets Rush's heart aflutter. He does what Young says, he hooks his arms under his knees so he is holding himself open, so Young can... Jesus, so Young can fuck into him unhindered.
Young moves back a little, and grabs his prick to line it up against Rush. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
By now Rush is pretty certain Young is asking about more than just the sex, but he can't... he can't think, and Christ, he really fucking needs Young inside of him already.
“Yeah, yes, yes,” he hears himself babble, and then Young is pushing into him and all words dry up in the back of his throat until nothing but a long, deep, whiny moan comes out.
God, Young is thick. Rush feels full, stuffed to the point of breaking, violated, taken, and it is so fucking good.
Young is careful, but he doesn't dawdle, and as soon as he's all the way inside he starts pulling back gently. He does that a few times, fucking in and out at a pace so slow Rush can feel every goddamn centimeter of his prick sliding into him, until Rush huffs out a frustrated sound and lets go of one of his knees to pull Young's head down for another kiss.
Young obliges him, moans into his mouth with something that sounds and feels like desperation, and Rush folds his leg around Young's backside and pulls him in as he surges his own hips forward hard.
They both groan into the kiss, and it's like that's all the permission Young needs to finally start fucking him in earnest.
Rush moans and lets his head fall back against the bed as Young sets up a sinuous rhythm that is just this side of rough. Every few thrusts Young grazes his prostate, and it's so good he can't keep back the small noises that keep spilling from his lips. He isn't sure whether he wants to come right now or whether he wants this to last forever.
He doesn't get much of a choice, though, because Young bends forward again to bite a string of sucking kisses into the line of his throat. Young's fingers curl around his cock and start squeezing and stroking and tormenting him until Rush is nothing but a trembling mess of almost there and please don't stop, and it is making his head spin, how much he has to come right now.
“Young,” he begs, voice hitching with the force of Young's thrusts. “Oh my God, Young.”
Young doesn't say anything back, he just groans his assent and continues fucking and biting and touching him, and dear Christ, Rush feels like he's about to pass out with how good it all feels.
Young bites down on the flesh where his neck and his shoulder join, and sucks hard enough to leave a bruise as his hips speed up and fuck into him harder, deeper than before.
“Fuck,” Rush hears himself curse. It sounds like it's coming from a mile away. He's dizzy, he can't concentrate – all he knows is that Young's hand is stroking over his prick at a quickening pace, that Young's cock is thrusting into him relentlessly, and that Young's teeth on the skin of his throat hurt just enough to make all of this fucking magnificent – and then he topples over the edge. He feels the thick ropes of come spurting out of him onto both their stomachs, and he hears the broken sound that falls out of his mouth, but most of all he feels the yes, yes, yes, oh my God, yes of release he's been chasing all this time.
Young groans deeply and his hips stutter a few times as he finds his own climax. Rush keens a little when the teeth on his neck bite down deeper as Young comes inside of him, and a hard aftershock sends a tremor up his spine. Fuck, that bite is definitely going to leave a mark. That thought probably shouldn't make his exhausted balls twitch, but it's... It's...
Christ, he can't concentrate at all, and this is not just the whisky or the sex, this is something else.
Rush lets his arm slide out from under his knee and brings his leg back down to the mattress. His other leg is still circled around Young, and they're sweaty and too hot, but he doesn't want to let go.
He feels tired. So fucking tired. Overwhelmingly tired, and this is not his usual post-orgasmic sleepiness, this is something fucking else. This is... Jesus, why isn't his brain working?
Young's teeth finally loosen their grip, and when his face enters Rush's line of vision he can't help but tighten the hand in Young's hair a little. Fuck.
“You switched the glasses,” he mumbles, knowing he's a few seconds away from passing out.
“Yeah,” Young smiles, pressing a soft kiss into Rush's lips. Rush tries to snarl, tries to... he's not even sure, bite Young or pull away or take over and drag the kiss rougher? But it's a moot point – it doesn't matter what he wants – because his body is not cooperating anymore.
The last thing he knows is Young's weight heavy on top of him, and his hair thick between his fingers, and his lips gentle against his.
...And then everything goes black.