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Summary: The two both get up off the grass, and Michael leads Bruce to his car. Bruce sticks closely to Michael, with arms almost touching. The unexplainable aura around Michael made Bruce crumble on the inside, as he’s never had this sort of intimate conversation with anyone before. For Michael, he is more than relieved to have finally found someone to be a little comfortable with.
Crickets softly chirp and fireflies flutter within the seemingly large backyard of the second most notorious boss of Los Santos, Bruce Greene. The yard is freshly cut, and the shrubbery well taken care of. Most of Bruce’s hard earnings went to maintain his garden, taking pride in the work when his crew members would go for the easy “Greene goes green” joke. The grass sound crisp as Bruce takes a midnight stroll around his property.
He is restless, the heist of earlier stilling haunting him. Bruce winces at remembering how close everything could’ve went wrong, and Adam’s face of sheer terror when he gripped onto Bruce’s forearm for dear life.
He looks up, observing the twinkling stars. His decision to live in the less populated area, and thus the long two hour drive for his job was worth the rare sight of the night sky, untouched by human urbanization. He looks through his telescope, with lenses so sharp, he could see both stars and planets.
Bruce then hears footsteps not of his own. It is slow, methodical, with the occasional pause. Bruce quickly hunted for the source of the possible intrusion, noticing a trail of smoke emitting near the area that had a perfect view of the mountains; the mountains of which he never got tired of.
"Hey, you!" Bruce shouts at the mysterious figure. He sticks his hand in his pants, grabbing a pistol used for emergency situations. He always put the gun on safety, unlike some unfortunate people you’d hear spreading around the criminal underground.
The figure turns around, but stays in place. They take out the cigarette from their mouth.
The darkness still cloaks the majority of the person’s face.
"Hey...sorry for barging in." The voice strikes Bruce's memory, but fails to put a name and face to the voice.
"I'm not afraid to shoot you!" Bruce points the gun to the person's chest.
"Then do it. My life's shit anyways." The response had no hesitation, and burns itself within Bruce’s mind. The honesty stings him, putting down his emotional guard.
They walk closer to Bruce, and Bruce's eyes attempt to recognize the familiar face. The bronze hair felt heavy and dull under the moonlight, the freckles more reminiscent of stress than happiness. The brown eyes looked exhausted and careless. Bruce shivers at the sight of the rival.
"M-Michael, what are you doing here? On my property? Wha-In the middle of the night?" Bruce demands, the gun lowering slightly, his finger withdrawing from the trigger.
"Nothing better to do, and I didn't know this land was yours. Thought it was just a park...No fences or anything."
Michael gestures to his cigarette, and Bruce shakes his head. The two stand there, looking at one another for signs of hostility. Michael's eyes had trouble staying open, while Bruce's jaw got sore from him snarling aggressively.
"Why not loiter in Geoff's backyard, not mine?" Bruce breaks the silence.
"No one in my crew would come look for me here. This little place is hidden too damn well for even the best of 'em."
"How come you're not afraid of me?" Bruce asks, trying to sound a little bit threatening.
"I've dealt with much worse. Besides, better you than my own damn people. I had to tell someone about what I'm dealing with." Michael shuffles away from Bruce a small bit. "You can't tell anyone either now. Fake AH Crew will think you're lying and kill you, and your crew will think you're joking and it'll put you in a moral dilemma."
Bruce's sympathy for the fellow works its way through, as he tucks the gun away, and walks closer to Michael. Michael lifts his head up a little, watching Bruce walk past him, gesturing to a spot in the grass to sit down on. Michael shrugs, but follows suit, and sits. Bruce looks at Michael, gesturing to spark up conversation.
"I come here every now and again, for when I need to be coaxed out of...certain death," Michael explains, huffing out more smoke.
"Michael...You're--"
"Not the type to try? Lot of people think that." Michael pulls up his sleeves to reveal the painful reminders of his attempts. There were more past his sleeves, but the stories on his forearms were enough. Bruce’s first thought is to ask to touch the cuts, but quickly realized it could be taken the wrong way. “I guess I just hide it well."
Michael then proceeds to put out his cigarette right on his forearm, the embers crushing into his roughed up skin. Bruce couldn’t help but watch in morbid curiosity. Michael exhales roughly, and then looks over to Bruce. What was supposed to be a bitter rival was now nothing more than a stranger in an unfortunate situation, listening on a serious discussion with no advice to give back. There was life outside of crime, and Bruce, for the first time, is watching it unfold in such complex manners.
The remaining smoke hovers over, and Michael stops wincing at the sting.
"Why are you doing this to yourself? You-you're made of anger, not...” Bruce tries to comprehend.
"I'm stubborn like that. " Michael shifts his sitting position, loosening up his shoulders and legs, and begins to slouch. He unzips his hoodie, and fixes the shirt underneath. Bruce, meanwhile, turns his attention to Michael’s body language. Something was itching Bruce’s mind, his heart feeling completely vulnerable to the thought of being with a person much like him, but more physically bruised than socially.
“You’re so bold and courageous...You always look so powerful. I wouldn’t think…” Bruce trails off, trying not to potentially hurt Michael’s feelings more than it already is.
“It’s alright, Bruce,” Michael assures. “It was to get your attention,” he whispers, mostly to himself.
“I...I don’t know what to say. I’m seriously shocked…Is there anything I can do to help?” Bruce cautiously places his hand on Michael’s shoulder.
"I wanna get outta here... Drive all night long, stopping every now and again to sit silently..." Michael runs his fingers through his hair. He wanted Bruce to come with him, and disappear into the darkness together. "Wanna come with?"
Bruce's breaths become a little heavy, and without hesitation, replies: "Yes."
Michael grins a little, his somber self slightly soothed. His thoughts now focused of Bruce, and only Bruce. Michael's supposed enemy shared so much in common with him, and yet all this time they had no idea of it. They both put their team above of themselves. Now it was time to care only of themselves, the world nothing but a mere spectator.
The two both get up off the grass, and Michael leads Bruce to his car. Bruce sticks closely to Michael, with arms almost touching. The unexplainable aura around Michael made Bruce crumble on the inside, as he’s never had this sort of intimate conversation with anyone before. For Michael, he is more than relieved to have finally found someone to be a little comfortable with.
"Nice car," Bruce comments, taking a look inside of Michael's vehicle.
"Oh, this old thing? Please."
Michael starts up the engine, and reverses out of Bruce's driveway.
"Mind if I turn on the radio?" Bruce asks, his hand slowly reaching for the knob.
"Only if you'll put it on the rock station," Michael replies, for some reason obedient to the streetlight, the red bright. Bruce, for a moment, looks outside his passenger window, observing the emptiness of the sidewalks and lines of dark stores and homes. He then switches his attention to turn on the radio, the volume audible, but not enough to drown out a conversation.
"Sorry that I got all heavy on you. I really want to lighten up the mood now." Michael's voice sounds strained, but genuine. The tears were not visible, but his tone was enough to give it away. "I'm not used to this opening up thing."
The car starts to move again, and speeds up as it goes up a hill.
"It's okay, don't be sorry. I'm here for you," Bruce responds, his eyes now on Michael.
Michael nods, and his lips curve slightly. For the second time, he is feeling welcomed, and hopeful of the future; The first being recruited in the Fake AH Crew.
"You can talk about yourself freely," Bruce clarifies, as he places on his upper chest to gesture his truthfulness.
"It's your turn, I've already given a bit of myself," Michael counters, glancing over to Bruce before focusing on the road again.
"Me? I punch shit till my knuckles bleed, sort of...and if l'd feel like utter shit, I wouldn't eat for days," Bruce admits. "I forget to take my medication every now and again and it's rough when I do."
"I get you. My cutting has been on and off for the past 3 years; my most recent being a year ago. But I still smoke like a piece of shit," Michael informs.
"Which came first, the cuts or the tattoos though?" Bruce questions with a scrunched-up face, hoping he didn't sound like a total dick.
"The cuts. The tattoos I got to move on from my past. It gives me some purpose, a potential, now, at least."
"That's pretty inspiring, I like that." Michael could feel the warmth of Bruce's compassion in his heart. His grip on the steering wheel loosens, and his breath stabilizes.
Bruce listens to the song playing on the radio, his head nodding along to the melody. He rubs his eyes, as he watches the urban city fade away, and the countryside rolling in.
"I wish I could help more with whatever it is you're dealing with. I'm just babbling on and on," Bruce speaks up, gently breaking the silence.
"Well, you currently are...Bit by bit, that is," Michael whispers, but Bruce manages to catch what he said.
"You...intrigue me," Bruce chooses his wording carefully. "I find you...charming."
"I could say the same for you. You're the only one who cares about me so far. Pretty damn intriguing, if you ask me." Michael chuckles.
The mountains seem to grow bigger, as Michael takes the car off-road onto the pathless dirt.
"Here seems good for now, let's get out and hang out here." Michael turns the car off, and once both were out, he locks the car.
"Do you like being awake this late at night?" Bruce ponders, leaning against the rear side door of the car. "Thought you were more of a Sun guy."
"I don't care too much 'bout that. I just like peace and quiet, something I made myself impossible to be,” Michael snickers, as he sits on the ground, back leaning against his car.
Bruce follows along, his hand merely inches away from Michael’s. However, he pulls himself away, as Michael decides to take off his hoodie, leaving on a short sleeve shirt. Bruce stares at Michael’s physical complexity; the freckles dotted up and down his arms, alongside the cuts and burns healed but far from gone. Michael turns to look at Bruce, and Bruce can’t help but look back.
“You bring me peace,” Michael admits, his emotions coasting above what he thought was possible. His shattered heart and broken mind, for once, could comprehend even the most basic of emotional functions other than sadness and anger.
Bruce smiles genuinely, his heart churning and his mind racing. Michael scoots closer to Bruce, with shoulders touching and arms practically intertwined. Bruce begins to talk, but his words come out jumbled. Michael rests his head against Bruce's shoulder, sighing in relief.
"I don't want this to end," Michael states, his hand finally managing to hold Bruce's. Bruce's free hand finds itself getting tangled up in Michael's copper hair. They both readjust, now facing each other on the same level. What used to be dull brown eyes now appeared lively. The freckles were no longer a genetic oddity, but instead represented the twinkling stars in the night sky. Bruce brings himself closer, gently placing his hands on Michael's arms.
"I want you to finally heal. Remember me instead of your past scars," Bruce confesses, as he lifts up Michael's arms, placing gentle kisses on each one. Michael's cheeks flush red, as Bruce kisses his way up from the wrists to Michael's collarbone, taking his time in each area. He's stopped caring about how others will perceive him, and he is certain that he is destined for Michael.
"Bruce..." Michael manages to groan out, his mind overloading with emotions Michael claims to have disappeared long ago. He places his hands behind Bruce's shoulders, trying to ground himself and make sure he's not dreaming.
Bruce stops his endeavors, and touches noses with Michael.
"Yeah?" Bruce questions, his passion taking over any other desires except pleasing Michael.
Michael pulls Bruce in, giving Bruce a rough, but much needed, much desired kiss. Michael closes the remaining space between them, as he sits on his knees, positioned onto Bruce's lap, pushing his chest against Bruce's.
Bruce, gaining more confidence, places his hands near Michael's waist, and then loses control over his lower torso. He could feel the heat and tension pooling into his khakis, helplessly grinding against Michael's growing interest.
"Michael, I want to--" Bruce breaks their kiss, a bit dazed. He lays on the ground, catching his breath. His hands let go of Michael, and ends up on his shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping them. He takes out the gun he so stupidly put in his pants off to the side. This relieves the tension a bit, but his boxers still served as a remaining barrier.
"Wait. I don't want you all scuffed up by the ground," Michael interrupts, petting Bruce's hair.
"I couldn't care less about what happens to me," Bruce points out. "I can handle it. Promise."
Michael nods, and undoes his jeans.
"What'll be of us after?" Michael asks, as Bruce pulls down not only his own boxers, but Michael's as well. Michael then gives a gentle thrust, unsure how sensitive Bruce is to this type of pressure. Bruce gets the idea to wraps his hand around both him and Michael, hoping to make it work out a little better.
"I don't care what we'll call it; a one night stand, a date, a relationship...I just want to be with you, however you see me as."
