one. still love great romancing. rate it gay out of ten. love that angst. its great. oh my gosh. two. prompt, 'things you said when you were scared' with a ship? idk ignore this if u can but i still love some adam/peake or bruce/peake. my love is insatiable. maybe all three. idk. you do your thing, you know best. i love your writing no matter what.
(thank you for being here p much always. i rate you a gay out of ten as well. this one goes out to you <3 some baby fakehaus bruce/peake/adam with peake as their early days hitman handler.)
18. things you said when you were scared
It’s been three days. Their phones are turned off. They’re not answering their burner phones.
It’s been three days. Matt gave them this job. It was supposed to be simple. Target someone, take them out quietly, come back home. Instead, Matt paces back and forth in Adam and Bruce’s one bedroom apartment in the worst part of town worrying the skin at the edge of his fingernails. He’s barely slept, barely eaten, hasn’t left the place.
They can’t be. They’re not. They just ran into complications.
He’s gotten in touch with a few of his underground contacts who told him they’d call him back. So far, no one has.
Matt is scared. He hasn’t been scared in a long time. Right now, he’s scared.
The door opens at midnight. Matt hasn’t locked it because he’s probably more dangerous than anything else that could come through the door but now, he feels a spike of panic down his spine. He’s scared again.
The hinges creak, light spilling into the dark living room. He hears the heavy sound of footsteps, sees the outline of two figures. The light in the room switches on.
They’re back. Bloodied and smudged with dirt and soot but they’re back. Back and here and alive.
Adam meets his eyes, seems startled by his presence. Says, “You’re still here.”
Bruce kicks off his shoes by the door and walks over to the couch, throws himself onto it next to Matt. Exhales deeply. “Jesus, what a job.”
Matt lifts an eyebrow, clenches his jaw.
Adam kicks the door shut, walks over to the coffee table and dumps their bag onto it. It rattles with loose ammo. “Thanks for house-sitting.”
Matt blinks at him. Bruce has switched on the TV already.
Forcefully, over the voices on the TV, Matt says, “Adam.”
Adam’s back straightens at his name, at the tone Matt uses. He opens his mouth twice before saying, “Sorry.”
Matt snatches the remote from Bruce’s lap and turns off the TV. Bruce goes to complain but the look Matt cuts him with makes the words die in his throat. Matt says, just as forcefully, “Bruce.”
Sighing, Bruce says, “I’m sorry, Matt.”
Matt resists the urge to clench his jaw again. Instead cuts his eyes to Adam, motions him over. Adam goes with little resistance, sitting on Matt’s other side, effectively sandwiching the three of them together.
Adam starts, “The target had bodyguards, Matt. We had to stake them out for a while, and it was—”
Matt effectively shuts him up by leaning in suddenly, kissing him hard, bruising, branding. When he pulls away, Bruce’s mouth is open, looking at them. Matt leans over and gives him a similar kiss, stating intent, staking claim.
When he pulls away, Matt says, “Never do that again. Never disappear like that again.”
Bruce takes a second before he nods, dumbfounded, while Adam shifts next to Matt, stifling a giggle.
Adam asks, “Does that mean we’re still in trouble?”
Matt settles back down on the couch, stuffed between the heat of both of them, feeling like he might calm down from just their proximity. Says, “You bet.”
