Throw Some Shit Into The Wind (or whatever that phrase is)

I put my name in the middle because I'm the center of everything. G.Free | 27 | Male [[ Indie FAHC Gavin Free Icon Art found HERE ]]

[shoothappy-blog]

Beside Yourself ❁ CLOSED

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

shoothappy:

Gav has difficulty believing that just happened.

“Oi!” he yells reflexively. He doesn’t have a follow-up plan. He’s given up his fake accent, as pathetic a shield as it was, and there’s a million ways to replace a lost gun, but Gavin’s fixated on this one, the one disappearing swiftly through the throngs of people.

“Oi, thief!” he cries, pushing forward. Shock and bewilderment make him slow to start; panic and indignation make him quick to accelerate, first to a jog, then to a run. “Thief! Stop him! He’s gone and nicked my shopping!”

Gavin bowls through people, little hops over people’s sneakers and elbows against elbows; he’s not slow, but it’s an eerie thing how he doesn’t seem to be gaining, either.

He closes his eyes tight when he hits a break in the crowd.

‘Fucking,’ starts the voice in his head.

“Idiot,” finishes his mouth, a bitter mumble before he takes a deep breath in, opens his eyes, and breaks into a full sprint.

“Stop that asshole!” he yells, hoping to provide even just a little obstacle. He’s gaining now – and really, he only needs to close the distance a few feet, not much more than that; just a little, just enough–

He launches into his target, throwing his arms around his waist and tackling them both to the ground. In an instant he’s got his whole body on him, his fingers gripping tight to the idiot’s hair, holding his face to the sidewalk and holding the attention of the crowd that remains.

“Why do they always fucking run?” he breathes; he doesn’t really seem to be talking to the man below him, but he is panting hard. “Why can’t they just stay put?”

Gavin doesn’t go down easy. 

He shrieks and squirms. “He’s going to hurt me!” he bellows. “He’s gonna hurt me, oh god --” He turns his hips, slightly, bucking wildly beneath his captor, then begins slapping at him viciously. 

Oh yes, Gavin. Just. Slap at the gun holder man. That’ll work.

Some people from the crowd sort of move closer, probably to attempt to pull the two apart. One grabs onto his assailants arm, and Gav uses the slack to turn and slap at him, hard and direct and -- the shades fly off his face.

Gav’s eyes widen.

And then he screams.

“Holy shit why do you look like me?!” he shrieks, squirming with new ferocity, trying to get away from this terrifying man with his face. It’s not his eyes, not exactly, but everything else is unmistakable.

If he were paying attention, he’d notice people in the crowd begin to scoff. Just some roughhousing brothers, they’re saying. The person who tried to grab the doppleganger backs up, alarmed but exasperated. But he’s not paying attention, not at all.

“Oh god, are you a clone?! Am I going to die? Is this bodysnatchers???” He tries to squirm away, dragging the bags with him, his heart beating at a million miles a minute. Why how what when Dan. He needs Dan.

[shoothappy-blog]

Beside Yourself ❁ CLOSED

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

shoothappy:

Gavin watches his gun disappear into a shopping bag, and all he can manage to think is, ‘That’s not where I want that.’

For a moment, he’s in shock. He’s rather familiar with what shock feels like, albeit its been awhile. He could make no mistake, however – this, this sudden muteness, mouth drying, eyes wide behind his shades – this is shock. He stands, though it’s reluctant at best and clumsy at worst, and struggles for the solution to get out of this situation.

‘You’re losing it, bruv,’ the voice in his head helpfully informs him, though in this case, as in most, it’s laced with frustration and anger. ‘You’re fucking losing it.’

Gavin clears his throat.

“Nope,” he says, affecting an American accent. It’s not great. “Don’t think we’ve met.

“Uh, obviously I’ve got someplace to go, so if you could give me my –” Pause “– prop back, that’d be great.”

Every time Gavin glances back to the other man’s face, he expects it to be different – less familiar, more normal, just another bystander’s dumb mug.

Every time it’s not, he gets a little more uncomfortable.

The more the other tries to deny they have a connection, the more Gav absolutely does not believe him. He shifts closer to the other man, cautiously putting the side not holding the bags (and by extension, the gun) forward. 

“What’s that accent?” he demands. “That’s awful, stoppit. I know I know you from somewhere, just like I know this isn’t a prop. I know what a real --” Pause. Hisses quietly. “gun feels like. And if you’re not going to tell me, I’m just going to... to...”

What? What was he going to do?

His body answers for him even before his mind gets the chance to. His sneakers are turning and his knees are bending and then he’s sprinting away. If there is one thing Gavin fuckin’ Free is good at, it’s running the fuck away. Now if only he knew where he was going.

[dubiousculturalartifact]

'Power Rangers' Director Explains Why Romantic Scene Didn't Make Final Cut

Love was in the air for a pair of Power Rangers — until test audiences said no.

They cut a heterosexual romance because it didn’t fit the story, and because including it did a disservice to the female character’s individual narrative arc.

sorry but your faves literally would never

never

[scottymccall]

“For that scene to culminate in some kind of romantic moment between her and Jason undermines her character and feels a little old-fashioned and becomes a movie trope of the female lead there to support some kind of male arc,” he explains. “I think it was actually kind of lovely that the audience pushed so hard against that, and the moment we took it out, everybody liked Kimberly way more and felt she was much stronger, and I loved that we got that reaction.”

“I loved that we did it,” he adds, “because my intention was never to have a female character try and be there for the male’s arc. It was always that she needed to stand independent of him.”

[shoothappy-blog]

Beside Yourself ❁ CLOSED

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

shoothappy:

@goldcoloredglasses asked: “Oof!”

Like many people in Los Santos, Gavin has places to be.

He walks at a brisk pace down a sidewalk that would be sunny if not for the city smog and cigarette smoke. Sunglasses nestled in short hair that curls loosely over the frames, green eyes fix straight ahead, plotting a path through the crowds with ease. His shirt has two buttons undone at the top and the sleeves are rolled up almost to the elbows; it’s a perfectly casual look, save for the black handgun gripped tight at his side.

But this is a busy city, and as long as he looks confident and stops for nothing, no one will bother to look below his shoulders, much less focus on what he’s carrying. He just has to keep going, just has to get there, just has to–

An idiot walks out of a shop against the flow of traffic and Gavin thunks hard into him, bruising his sternum on the absolute dummy’s arm.

“Sorry,” Gavin apologizes, because it’s easier, thick accent muffled in the mumbling. “Pardon me.”

It’s in sliding past the stranger that Gavin’s eyes glance across his face, and for a moment, everything plays in slow motion, Gavin’s body on cruise control.

Green eyes. Brown hair. Big nose. There’s a hint of scruff on his chin and shit it’s like looking in a mirror from not ten years fucking years ago.

Gavin’s breath catches in his throat.

‘What are you fucking doing you god damn idiot?’ his brain yells at him, and it doesn’t help. ‘Fucking go, we don’t have time for you to lose your god damn mind, again.’

Gavin’s fingers falter, and the gun clatters to the sidewalk. He glances down, and two fumbling hands pull his sunglasses down over his eyes in a panic.

“Shit,” he whispers, kneeling down. “Oh, bollocks.”

Like many people in Los Santos, Gav has no particular place to be.

It’s a warm day, a sleeveless shirt kind of day, and he’s in between jobs at the moment so all he has to do that particular day is wander about aimlessly, just enjoying the weather. His distressed green tank has some sort of faded Zelda nonsense on it, probably a meme-y sort of saying like Excuuuuuse me, Princess, and his equally distressed grey skinny jeans are tucked into his ratty old grey sneakers, in that way Dan hates. His hair, messy and brown and frosted with gold highlights is sticking up in every direction, like he just rolled out of bed -- and he might have, you don’t know. It’s mid afternoon, but what does that really mean anymore?

He has a few texts from Dan, actually, asking him to look over a few things, to search for a new gig, and he will, but not right then. He’ll answer him later, look at his potentials later, when the sun isn’t shining and he doesn’t feel as much in a fog as he does right now. He’s in a fog a lot more often than not, recently. And it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy his “job” or his “life” or his “friend” -- he’s just bored. He gets bored sometimes. Sometimes, he wishes something exciting would happen. Something more exciting than this, anyway.

Absently, he turns into a store. What does Dan want for dinner, he wonders. Their last job had a high yield so he could potentially buy some things to cook.... or, rather, buy things for Dan to cook for him. He decides it’d probably be nice for Dan to make some chicken linguine, so he drifts through the store, selecting the ingredients, and maybe picking up more trash food than he should before paying and skipping out of the store.

And then some arsehole is practically plowing him over. His skin crawls instantly on contact and he fights the urge to jump away, which would only upset his already bad balance and send him toppling, and shifts his bags onto on arm so he can fumble around on the ground for whatever his assailant had dropped. 

Oi, watch where you’re going! he wants to say. “Sorry,” he grunts instead. “Let me get that for you, guy." His hand wraps around a -- gun -- and he falters. He stares down at his hand, resting on the piece, then looks up. 

He’s an older sort of guy, but not much older, shades, clean cut sandy brown hair, a glorious beard and kind of familiar in a weird deja vu way that he can’t really put his finger on. His brain blanks for a moment. What is he supposed to do here? What is the proper protocol for this?

Well, whatever it is, shoving the strangers gun into the bag with his linguine noodles probably wasn’t it.

“Bloody hell.” He staggers up to standing and stumbles back. “What are you doing just carrying that -- who -- what?” Can’t call the cops, can’t cause a scene, no time to call Dan, shit. Shit shit shit. “Do -- ? Do I know you? ‘Cos you look really familiar, and if I know you, it’s my duty to tell you what you’re doing right now is very tittish.” Maybe Dan is right. Maybe his gob is as big as his schnoz.

[yetiokay]

[samijen]

Commission for @gcldenfool !

Commission info

※ Please DO NOT use/edit/repost!

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

triple threat }|{ closed.

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

goldcoloredglasses:

shoothappy:

Gavin the Third rises with the dawn.

Nobody had ever accused him of not being a hard worker, when he wants to be – and with big jobs like this, he wants to be. He’s always been committed to his ‘passion projects’ – part of the reason he moved to Los Santos in the first place, for the challenge, for the thrill – and when the price is right, why wouldn’t he take it?

He’s at the station at six in the morning, in a crisp suit with a fresh red carnation adorning his left breast, looming over the policemen assigned to his taskforce. Not many of them are pleased to be doing his work at such an early hour, but fortunately, none of them risk mentioning that, either. This is months of work in the making, and some of them might not respect him, side-eyeing him or making crass motions when they think he’s not looking – but the results are hard to argue with.

Nobody’s gotten this close to the Fakes in awhile. Before they hired Gavin as a consultant, they’d hit nothing but dead ends. Now, they near enough know the gang’s every move – or can predict them, with a reasonable margin for error.

That’s what training with MI6 will get you.

Read More

If Gavin the Third is waiting for an unmarked van, he’ll be waiting for a long time. As it so happens, a pizza van pulls up alongside an office building nearby, deploying a man with arms full of pizza inside. That man is one of the B-Team, Jon or something, who has a flair for the dramatic but a good head on his shoulders nonetheless.

Inside the van, Gavin reclines in his seat, squinting at the screen he’d cleverly hidden in a laptop that looked like a pizza box. Maybe Gavin goes too far sometimes to make everything look nice. He doesn’t care, though.

Any moment, Jack was going to plug in a remote bug on one of his security sweeps, and the little light would blink on and -- aha! There we go. Gavin hums in delight, peering into the museum’s operating system as if he were peering into a Christmas gift before it was Christmas Day. On his phone, Jack has sent a coded confirmation text -- (i got the whipped cream for tonight baby’) -- along with an added ‘why are all brits so extra’ text. Gavin sniffs in confused offense, but gets to work quickly. 

Without time to implement another virus, Gavin himself becomes the virus, slipping through the system and deadening it’s nerves quietly, killing it slowly from the inside out. Jack will be slipping away from security during the change now, towards the gaggle of colorful food trucks just outside. His cover is the group of “friends” he’s going out eating with. Ryan will be slipping in with the new guards, smiling and unrecognizable, as well as shielded from the nasty gaze of pesky cameras. Loops are too suspicious, but live-feed editing the pixel face of one of the guards from the last go around onto his is easy.

Michael and Jeremy are already in place, tucked away safe somewhere inside, waiting to blow a hole into the right room. Ray is in one of his hidden nests, being guarded by Geoff. And Gavin has his eyes on the world around them, ready to warn them off at a moments notice. It’s hard to get caught when you’re never caught off guard, after all.

He casually sends the confirmation text to their bomb boy. ‘anyway, the vaccines is a great band. but i really only like one of their songs.’  Then he reclines back, grinning, feeling altogether like the very world is dancing along his fingertips. Maybe he should feel a little less secure -- after all, there’s a blind spot all around him and his only back-up is Jon, but. Really. When has the crew ever had to worry about their golden boy?

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

triple threat }|{ closed.

Gavin wakes up with a strange feeling in his chest.

Unlike most days where he’s out of bed the moment his eyes open, running to the bath so he can soak the lingering touch of his bed sheets out of his skin for a good couple of hours, he lingers in the sleep warmth of early morning. He stares blankly at the ceiling for a long time, adjusting to the strange weight he woke with. It’s not a particularly bad feeling, not a particularly good one, yet it’s significant enough to give his entire body pause.

Unable to decipher it while his mind is still in the haze of half sleep, he forces himself up and reluctantly slides his body of the sheets and heads towards the bathroom. Ominous feelings or not, he has plans today.

They all do. 

His name is Gavin Free. The world knows him as The Golden Boy of the Fake-AH Crew, the biggest and baddest crew in Achievement City. He’s one of it’s most elusive members, infamous, but completely unrecognizable to anyone outside of the main crew -- a fact he takes the utmost pride in.

Geoffrey, their leader, and Michael, their bomb expert and main enforcer, are faces the media best knows with Jeremy, the crews newest bruiser and their jack-of-all-trades protegee quickly gaining traction on them. Ray, the sniper, Jack, the getaway driver and networker are lesser known, their identities a tad more strongly guarded. Gavin and Ryan - aka. The Vagabond, are the ones with  no faces. Big reputations all hidden neatly away behind masks, and in Gavin’s case, usually squirreled away in a safe hidey hole full of computers cameras and information.

Even outside of his persona, there is nothing about him that is particularly outstanding -- green-blue eyes, an average face with a deep tan and a rather large nose, and a mess of short brown hair. 

He drags a hand through that hair now, his fingers leaving behind streaks of gold. He’d forgotten to properly highlight his hair last night, so temporary will have to do for today. A pair of gold-tinted aviators make their way onto his face, and after that, a smooth white half-mask that he fastens in place with gold buckled straps. It snugly covers his mouth, jaw, and nose, hiding all of his most identifiable features. A small sprinkling of golden glitter over everything completes his face, and he stares at his reflection in the mirror studiously for a few moments before leaving to get dressed. 

He walks right by his closet full of normal clothes and heads right for his job clothes -- flashy and expensive and befitting of the glittering persona he’s created for himself. He yanks out a pair of black skinny jeans and a silky black collared shirt, then toes his way into a pair of clean black flats as he makes for the door, swiping a long white-and-gold trench coat on his way out.

The outfit is mostly for show. A tool, if you will, to help him get into character. He won’t be going out in the field today -- he’d already completed field prep for this job ages ago. Though he will be meeting with a few persons outside of the main crew, so ultimately it is necessary, even if only for a few moments.

When he enters the room, he feels all eyes drift to him. It’s a natural reaction, though he’d be lying if it didn’t fill him with a small sense of pride (or maybe a huge sense) and a little (a lot of) smugness. (”The only reason your head doesn’t grow is because it all goes to your nose,” he remembers Michael teasing him.) He sweeps across the floor towards Geoff, standing tall and imposing in the middle of the room. He stands behind him slightly, half behind him half not, slipping a hand casually through one of Geoff’s arms. He hums and leans against his back, grinning under his mask at the roll of Geoff’s eyes as he heaves a loud sigh and begins to lay out the plan of attack for the day. 

Most of the main crew is there -- Jeremy and Michael are already gone preparing for their tasks. There are a few scattered people from the “B” Team -- Kdin, Meg, and Lindsay, the loveliest of ladies, and Chris the... the loveli... the. Chris. He’s Chris.

Geoff is in the middle of a long winded explanation of each persons duties when Kdin sits up suddenly. “Hey, there’s a problem,” she says.

Gavin startles. geoff looks over at Kdin with a frown. “What could it possibly be?” he gripes.

Kdin barrels on without pause, her eyes on her phone. “Jeremy says it looks like the security system has been reset 24 hours earlier than we expected. The virus Gold was planning on executing to take out the security system has been wiped.”

“Wot?!” Gavin exclaims, eyes widening behind his shades. “Wot, Kdin? Wot?”

Kdin startles a bit. “I -- I said what I did?”

Gavin flusters, then pulls out his own phone and begins scanning data. After a moment, he curses. “Bloody mingers.” He fiddles with his phone grumpily. “A daft security guard messed about on one of the computers and broke a security protocol -- they had to reset the system to clean up after him.”

Chris looks bewildered. “User error! Who would have thought?”

Gavin rubs his face. “I’ll have to be on site to reinstate my virus. Damnit.” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do we have a secured means of escorting me down?” 

Jack grimaces. “No, we didn’t have your techie van set up. I suppose it could follow my route...”

“No, no, there can’t be anything blocking Jack,” Gavin mutters. “And every vehicle in the vicinity will be checked once we’ve made our escape...” He sighs. “It doesn’t matter. I can make it down and back on my own.”

He notes the sudden rising of many eyebrows and glowers. “I can do it! What could go wrong?”

He heads off towards the garage and his van. The strange feeling is blooming in his chest, expanding, suffocating him, and he wonders if it’s not a foretelling of just how wrong his day is about to go.

[hottopic]

Just call us Beautiful TØPic. 

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

Risky Business ⛁ Closed

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

yikesdottumblerdotcom:

Ryan feels almost winded.

“I wish I could save the look on that cops face when you moaned,” Gavin says wistfully, following after Ryan at a gentle trot. “It was priceless.”

He glances up at his companion curiously. He hadn’t been too focused in the closet, due to other things being on his mind, but he had just kissed the Vagabond. Not that the kiss really mattered -- they’d only just met, and Gavin has a rule about sleeping with... anyone. Ever. At all. The rule is obviously: Do Not. But kissing him meant he hadn’t been wearing the mask, and well. Wasn’t that mysterious?

He speeds up a little, trying to duck forward to get a better look -- all he he is a profile, a slightly stubbly chin, a regal sort of nose, high cheekbones... the older man was avoiding his gaze quite intently. Gavin pouts.

“Don’t worry about running into anyone,” Gavin says lightly as they enter the elevator for the second time that day. He pulls out his phone and begins tapping away at it. He pulls a rectangular item from his pocket and attaches it to his phone and walks over to the electrical panel under the buttons and crouches by it. He reaches back and taps open a little compartment in the sole of his shoe and slips out a screwdriver and unscrews it. He plugs the strange device on his phone into it and the lights immediately surge, getting brighter, flickering out, then coming back on again. The elevator stutters a little, then continues on it’s journey.

He pauses, smiling at the ceiling. “Something tells me they’ll all be the slightest bit preoccupied.”

Then, the fire alarm goes off.

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

Risky Business ⛁ Closed

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

yikesdottumblerdotcom:

“I mean.”

It’s dark, cramped, and Gavin is touching him, which Ryan isn’t entirely sure he likes. Outside the door, he hears the elevator mechanism heave and start its descent, and in his head, he knows that means there’s already a group headed up the stairs.

And as much as he distrusts Gavin at this juncture, his plan is the best they have – and now they’re locked into it, no time left to rethink.

Fuck.

Keep reading

For a moment, Gavin is mesmerized. There is a part of him that can’t believe the Vagabond is actually here, still, and taking off his mask like this is just a thing that he does on the regular. Like Gavin is someone who can be privy to this sort of thing.

Dan’s going to flip when he hears about this, Gavin thinks absently as Ryan struggles to scrub off as much of the paint as he can. He jolts a little when Ryan actually speaks, having been... justifiably distracted by the situation they’re in.

“What?” he squeaks, his voice a few octaves higher than it had been before. Lay it on him? Why did Gavin have to initiate? The hall was getting loud outside so they didn’t have time to discuss this, but damnit, way to put a man on the spot, Ryan. Gathering up the last vestiges of his courage, Gavin throws his arms around Ryan’s neck and brings their lips together.

The kiss is, admittedly, not one of his best. They both reek of alcohol, Ryan’s lips are chapped, Gavin’s lips are too wet, and the angle was a bit uncomfortable. But Gavin is nothing if not enthusiastic about his craft, so what they lack in actual desire to actually be in a closet making out with each other, he makes up with enough eagerness to fake it. 

He presses firmly against Ryan’s mouth, arching his back slightly so that they’re a tad more firmly pressed together, and the hand closer to the door sliding up to wind in the Vagabond’s hair -- half to block his face, and half to guide the other into a more genuine looking kiss. Gavin guides Ryan back against the shelf with a little difficulty, nearly tripping over something as he goes, and really lays into him.

Outside, he hears the footsteps of the police getting closer. Only a little more now... and bam. The door flies open just as Gavin moans against Ryan’s lips, loudly -- for effect! -- and the effect is instantaneous. 

The police officer at the door -- a male, lucky -- reels back, eyes wide, as he takes in the scene before him. Two guys in casual dress making out in a closet, the scent of alcohol heavy in the air. As planned, the urge to look away -- to give them privacy, or to reinforce the fact to himself that he really doesn’t want to watch two other guys make out, or out of the normal onset of shame that usually accompanies these sort of endeavors, take your pick. Gavin pulls away from Ryan with a small yelp and twists his body, pushing the other man behind him.

“Oh, god!” he exclaims, his thick British accent now replaced with American, probably with a southern effect. “Way to knock!”

“Come--” The police officer’s voice was a little too high, and he clears his throat. “Come out of there, we have some questions!”

“Oh, shit,” Gavin says, eyes widening. “Uh, yeah officer, I’ll be right out. My -- uh -- friend, though, he’s a little...?”

“Th--That’s alright, just come out, one of you, whichever” the officer responds quickly. He’s still not looking at either of them.

“Got it sir.” Gavin hums, slipping out of the closet and shutting it just a bit, leaving a crack for Ryan to hear and be heard. “He can answer your questions through here. I’m Andy, he’s George. What can we help you with?”

The officer clears his throat once more. “We suspect there is a wanted criminal in the building, sir,” he explains. “The Vagabond and what seems to be an accomplice. Have you seen or heard anything of of the ordinary?”

“The Vagabond?” Gavin exclaims. “Fuck, man. No, I... I don’t think I heard anything? We’ve been in the closet for a little while -- the party got a little too boring and we decided to... yknow. Have our own fun. There’ve been people walking back and forth... George, have you heard any--? Oh.” Gavin breaks off with an exclamation. “Mackenzie! Over here. There are police men? They’re here about a break in.”

There’s a short pause. Gavin watches the woman who had just exited the party stare at him, wide eyed, brain trying to process too many things at once. She’s trying to figure out why Gavin knew her name, trying to put a name to his face, a face to a department, like playing connect the dots in her mind only with her hundreds of coworkers as the dots. The announcement of a break in doesn’t help.

So Gavin helps her connect the dots. “This is Mackenzie from Human Resources -- she can corroborate my identity since I don’t have my I.D. on me. Andy, from accounting?”

Gavin can see the slight spark of recognition in her eyes -- false recognition, of course. He’d spent the time in the elevator searching the company records for someone close enough to his description and in a part of the company far enough removed that run ins happened just often enough to warrant concern that someone would know them too well or not well enough. Sure, there are plenty of things that could go wrong in that sort of situation, but played just right it’s a simple and easy grift to do in a pinch. It helps that the embarrassment of not being able to identify a coworker who clearly knows you isn’t one that the normal man wants to endure.

“Right,” she says. “Andy. There was a break in?”

“Yes ma’am,” the officer says. “Can you direct me and my colleagues towards the party? We need to search the room.”

Mackenzie nods and leads the officer away. Gavin watches them go, neither of them sparing him another glance. Letting out a short breath of relief, he turns and throws the door to the closet open. “That was a bandage,” he says, eyes bright with adrenaline. “We have to go now. I’ll take care of the security tapes in the elevator.”

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

Risky Business ⛁ Closed

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

yikesdottumblerdotcom:

Gavin makes quite a show.

If Ramsey were here, Ryan is sure there would be some strong words about this waste of whiskey – plus some about Gavin’s obvious distaste for it. With Ramsey’s absence, however, Ryan is left to watch, and quietly raise a brow in his place.

Then Gavin is turning back to him, making a gesture, and–

“Sorry, what?”

Logically, what Gavin said made perfect sense, and yet, somewhere between Ryan’s ears and his brain, it gets stuck in the pipeline.

Ryan steps forward more in bewilderment and mild obligation than anything else; the closet is barely big enough for one person to be comfortable; for two, especially with one of Ryan’s build, it’s tight, but he closes the door behind him anyway. His hand lingers on the handle.

Cops or no cops, disguise or no disguise, Gavin didn’t just invite him for a snog, did he?

“But we didn’t even eat our burgers,” Ryan feebly objects.

Gavin blinks. That. Was not the response he’d expected.

“Are you embarrassed?” he asks bluntly. “What? It’s just a kiss. Come on, you’ve snogged before haven’t you?” He taps his foot impatiently. “You must have, come on.”

He steps forward and places his hands gently on Ryan’s shoulders. “If you must, you can close your eyes and pretend I’m someone else. Do you like anyone, Vagabond? Has someone especially spooky caught your fancy?” He licks his lips, curling his fingers against Ryan’s shirt gently, his cheeks coloring slightly. “Come on now, don’t make this weird. You’re making me feel self conscious! Minger.”

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

Risky Business ⛁ Closed

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

yikesdottumblerdotcom:

“Sugar skull?” Ryan repeats incredulously, standing in the door of the elevator and leaning on one side while he watches Gavin.

“I’m pretty sure coat check would’ve been downstairs,” he continues, crossing the floor quickly to Gavin’s arm reach, and grabbing him again by the wrist. He pulls sharply, giving an appearance of caring very little despite the fact that he’s fully prepared to brace the boy if he stumbles.

“Anyway, stay away from the windows. Haven’t you ever seen a movie?”

Ryan gives a quick look down the corridor, and starts walking – walking fast. His eyes judge the spaces between doors.

“I find it hard to believe they didn’t see us break in,” he says, more to himself than to Gavin. “Especially considering one of us is covered in luminescent paint.”

He pauses – then gives a little huff that might even pass as laughter.

“I mean, not that that’s anyone’s fault. That could’ve happened anytime.”

Sounding like he’s smiling, Ryan knocks on what he thinks is an appropriate door, before pulling it open. He holds it open, letting go of Gavin and barely casting a glance toward the shelves of office supplies and cleaning chemicals

“After you.”

Gavin glances up at Ryan when he laughs, smiling at him a little uneasily as he backs into the closet. “When you do that, it seems sinister,” he says. He turns away from him and yanks his hoodie off, looking around the small closet. 

He finds a jacket hung up in the corner and grins. “You see Ryan, coat check might be downstairs, but people are mistrustful at heart. No one wants to be too far from important things like --”

He reaches into the jacket pocket and pulls out a small silver flask. “Liquid encouragement.” He pops it open and takes a swig, breaking off with a choke, his cheeks flushing darkly with embarrassment. He pours some on his hand and begins to scrub furiously at the paint on his neck and chest, his face twisted in a hard grimace all the while. Once he’s gotten enough of it off, he deposits the flask back in the jacket pocket in disgust and takes off his shirt, then uses his hoodie to wipe off the excess alcohol. He puts his shirt back on, then slips the jacket on over it.

He steps close to the shelving and peers into the first slightly reflective surface he can find, then messes up his hair a little before turning to Ryan. “Alright. Kiss me.”

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

Risky Business ⛁ Closed

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

yikesdottumblerdotcom:

Ryan has some time to calm, and time to think. Running is easy, practically autonomous. By the time they reach the door, he’s thinking of back-up plans, exit strategies, things to do if Gavin’s plan falls through for him.

And it occurs to him, as he leans against by the door, keeping guard between Gavin’s pale face and the camera on the wall, that there’s no guarantee that Gavin’s plan is good for Ryan. He’s had people try that before – throw him to the cops in favour of their own hides. He wonders if Gavin has thought of that possibility yet.

Ryan hopes he hasn’t. It definitely didn’t work out for the other guys.

When the lock pops open, Ryan’s a little surprised, but mostly impressed. He follows close behind Gavin, again locking the door behind them, and when they get to the elevator, he holds the ‘close doors’ button while Gavin crumples against the wall.

“Nice one,” Ryan murmurs sincerely, especially inaudible under a mask.

While Ryan takes a deep breath and listens for sounds on the ground floor, Gavin pulls out his phone, and for a moment Ryan’s train of thought is interrupted. He tilts his head like a dog.

“Are you texting? What are you doing?”

“Oh absolutely,” Gavin says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m being chased by the bloody bobbies with my scary new partner in a mask and I just decided to have a little text. Check up on all the to do’s and lookie loos from my wide network of companions.”

He doesn’t look up from his phone once, licking his lips in concentration as his fingers fly over the tiny keyboard. He’s definitely from the texting generation. Finally, as the doors open, he pockets it, murmuring something under his breath. He steps out and looks around, following the sounds of the party. 

“Alright,” he muses. He walks over to the windows and peers out. “They’re searching all surrounding area, so it won’t be long before they do a sweep up here. We’ve got to get ready.”

He turns back to Ryan. “And by we I mean me. You, hopefully, won’t have to do much, sugar skull.” He holds out a hand to him impatiently. “Come on, we have to find a closet. Preferably one where they’re keeping coats, but there’s no guarantee we’ll find it.”

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

Risky Business ⛁ Closed

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

yikesdottumblerdotcom:

Ryan’s worried for a moment that Gavin is going to completely shut down. Gavin clutches onto his jacket and Ryan steadies him by his shoulders, gripping tightly and resisting the urge to shake him – because as much as he wants to, with the police racing toward them and his heart racing in his chest, he knows it won’t help.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have tried to drive!” he yells back anyway – not that it matters, and not that Gavin, throwing his head around, wide-eyed like some sort of animal, is likely to hear him.

Ryan grits his teeth, and follows Gavin’s gaze when it settles on a building. He barely lets Gavin get his words out before he drops his grip and starts to pull him, one hand tight around the boy’s wrist.

As much as Ryan doesn’t trust any idea that Gavin has right now, any idea is better than no idea.

“Then let’s go,” he says, and in a few steps he’s running full tilt.

Gavin is already winded from the crash, so running isn’t exactly a thing he wants to be doing at the moment. But, unfortunately, when you’re in situations like these, you will always end up doing things that you don’t want to do. He learned that quickly after getting in the business. You have to have a thick skin and you have to be able to shut up and take your punishment every now and then.

Now was one of those times, so, Gavin peels off next to Ryan, hard ignoring the burning in his chest. He can hear the cops not far behind them and knows they’ll follow them into the building, so they really haven’t got a lot of time.

Getting into the building isn’t that hard. They’re a small business with only a couple rent-a-cops doing occasional sweeps, trusting the security cameras to do the rest of the work for them. It’s after hours but people are still there, the doors are locked but the alarm system isn’t active. Gavin rushes to the door, breathing haggardly as he withdraws a set of lockpicks from the lining of his hoodie pocket. 

Quick hands... pop! This lock, like plenty of locks, don’t stand a chance against him. He reaches behind him to grab Ryan’s arm and drag him inside. He looks around again, then points to the elevator. 

“I counted the windows -- maybe -- tenth floor,” he says. “Let’s go.” He pushes Ryan into the elevator and weakly jabs the button for the tenth floor. Wheezing out loud, he flops back against the wall and tries to catch his breath. Ow. Ow. Pain.

“When we get up there,” he says after a moment. “Look for a closet. The party is to the --” Pause. Think. “Right, so look for a closet close to the room you hear the most noise coming from. Don’t get seen.”

Finally able to breath slightly better, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins tapping rapidly.

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

Risky Business ⛁ Closed

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

yikesdottumblerdotcom:

What the fuck.

“No, don’t– fucking– stay over there!”

Ryan tries, but it’s a god damn miracle how fast that boy can move, how quickly he can go from sitting safe in the passenger seat to pinning Ryan’s legs together, pulling his foot off the gas; he barely touches the brake pedal, and before he knows it there’s a terrible grinding noise and the car is turning, out of control.

He doesn’t know whether it’s because of the foreign hands on the wheel, or because a glance at the shift says they’re supposed to be in reverse. Ryan’s hand grips tightly around the grenade– shit, the fucking grenade!

Ryan just about lurches out of his seat; he can barely throw the grenade free of his hand before it explodes, a beautiful spray of shrapnel and smoke. Ryan hisses and his hand comes back bleeding, but there are way more pressing matters.

“Get out of the way, Gavin!” he yells, but by then it’s too late. He can barely see around Gavin’s dumb head, much less get his foot back on the pedals correctly; his knee is wedged, trapped between Gavin’s thighs, and holy shit, this is not where he fucking wanted to be.

The best he can do is wrap his hands around the wheel and yank it. They go spinning off the road, back tires skidding; the wall of a fucking Chick-Fil-A crumples the passenger side of their car, bricks thunking off the roof and crumbling inward in a cloud of dust.

The moment they’re even close to stopped, Ryan opens the driver’s door and scrambles out, pulling Gavin with him by the hood of his jacket. The police aren’t far behind them.

“Fucking Christ, Gavin. This was a nice car!”

Oh boy, he should have known that was going to happen. He spends just about the entire length of the crash yelling, yanking on the wheel and begging the gear shift not to make that noise.

When Ryan pulls him free sweat is dripping down his brow and his breathing is just on the wrong side of wonk. He flails wildly for a minute, gasping for breath so hard that it hurts, before making a grab for the closest thing to him -- Ryan -- and uses him as a gripping point while he lowers his head and dry heaves.

He shoots Ryan a glares. “It’s not my bloody fault we were in a damn police chase! It’s not like I can actually drive anyway, so --” He back tenses up when he hears the sirens getting closer. His eyes dart around wildly for something, anything -- he sees a tall building not far down the street, parking lot full, and only half lit up. He points to it.

“Ryan, we have to go, now, run, that way! I have an idea!”

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

Risky Business ⛁ Closed

[goldcoloredglasses-blog]

yikesdottumblerdotcom:

The squealing of tires to his right distracts him almost more than the pulling, the yelping, or the screaming. Ryan throws his head over his shoulder to look at the bike they almost hit, and the honking to his left barely keeps him in his own lane.

“Fuck, Gavin!” he curses, buried under tires, horns, sirens, and Gavin’s own yelling.

Ryan shakes his arm, swerving left and right and losing speed trying to get Gavin to let go – cursing again when it doesn’t work, when the lights in the rear-view just get closer. In his head is a roadmap of the city, of police stations, intersections, and chokepoints.

But for right now, the car behind is gaining, and he can’t lose a car that’s gaining.

“Calm down, I’ve got this!” he yells, in a tone of frustration more than confidence, glancing over at Gavin – Gavin’s skin splattered still in paint, hoodie loose and limp around his golden collarbone; the boy’s whole body is bouncing, what the fuck is he doing?

Shooting a hand out, Ryan pulls the beanie down over Gavin’s eyebrows, tugging his head down as he goes. “Traffic cams, idiot!” Ryan says, in half-hearted anger, not expecting Gavin to listen. The second his hand’s done with the beanie, it goes to Ryan’s hip.

For all Gavin sees, Ryan’s hand disappears into the shadows cast all through the car, and when it comes back, it’s clasped around something solid – something he flicks his thumb through, causing some garbage to fly into the backseat.

For a moment, he’s entirely silent, watching the rear view mirror. One. Two. Three. He drops the object out the open window, and it explodes a foot in front of the police car.

“Two and a half,” he mumbles, and reaches for his pockets again.

Gavin yelps again when Ryan yanks his beanie down, wriggling unhappily.He jerks away as he tries to adjust the cap more comfortably. “I -- how can I bloody calm down when you’re around here skating the streets like a fucking pleb without a pla--?”

And then the explosion and he’s screaming. “Ryan! Ryan what are you doing? What are you doing?” He shudders, then turns, turns, and in that moment, he’s made a decision.

He hops over into Ryan’s lap, wriggling down on his legs and pressing against the steering wheel. “I’ve -- I’ve got this, you -- focus on that!” He grabs the gear shift and twists it, then grips the wheel like his life depends on it. Bloody hell.