81 with fakehaus James & fahc Michael!
hello rhian!!! i have thrown in some mavin because why the fuck not. love u <3
81. “I need you to leave.”
Because James is a persistent asshole and also has a weird sense of romance, he spends all of February 13th essentially stalking Michael.
Well, it’s not the complete day. Just from around 10pm to 3am on the 14th. He knows that Michael has some plans early in the morning, and he’s planning on crashing them, getting involved, maybe ruining them, maybe helping him. Depends on what the plans are, really. All he knows is that (Jack told him) Michael was going to be doing something after 1 in the morning. So James follows Michael from his apartment to the ammo shop, to a convenience store, to a McDonalds, then back to his apartment.
It takes all of him to not go up to Michael’s apartment and ruin his plans preemptively by seducing him. Eventually, at 1:12 am, Michael comes down. Gets in his car. James tails him down to the Maze Bank building. He knows that Michael’s crew has an office there, just like Fakehaus does (well, they don’t really own it--they borrow it from time to time [it’s the Fake’s office. They talk to Geoff and borrow it sometimes.]), so he assumes that’s where Michael is headed.
He waits until Michael is inside, using the legit elevator, then he parks in the back and uses the freight elevator up to the floor he knows the Fake’s office resides. When he’s 90 stories up, he starts getting giddy. The doors open and he’s practically skipping down the hallway. Lo and behold, there’s the light to the Fake’s office, bright and shining, and holy shit, this is the best idea James has ever had.
As he approaches, he puts on his best, winning smile, takes out his gun, straightens his spine. Practices in his head, Honey, I’m home! Honey, I’m home! Honey, I’m-- he pushes the glass door open, hangs a right, a left, and he’s at the big office in the middle of it all, where Michael’s back is to the door. Says, loud and clear, “Honey, I’m home!”
He watches as Michael’s shoulders tense up. His arm is outstretched, holding a gun to someone’s head. He gets closer, starts saying, “Aw, you got started without me!”
Only, when he closes in, he follows the line of Michael’s gun, a gaudy, golden thing that most certainly is not Michael’s, to the head it’s pressed against. Well, the mouth it’s pressed against.
And it’s--
It’s Gavin.
Gavin with a gold gun, his own gold gun, pressed to his mouth.
James chokes on his surprised laughter. “What?”
Through clenched teeth, Michael says, “James.”
Gavin says nothing, eyes wide. Surprised as James is.
James tries to work through this. He’s not awkward, doesn’t feel like this is strange. So he says, “Michael, I knew I wasn’t your only boy toy but--” and he laughs, licking his lips. “Didn’t know you did this kind of shit with anyone else.”
Michael says, “James, I need you to leave.”
James leans his elbow on Michael’s shoulder, jostling the gun in Gavin’s mouth. Ignores Gavin’s strangled whimper. “Aw, don’t be like that. Sorry I ruined your role-play shit, or whatever.”
Gavin makes another noise around the gun in his mouth. Michael tightens his grip on it. “That’s your calling card, isn’t it? Ruining things?”
James ‘tsks.’ Says, “You’re being rude! And on Valentine’s day. Forget those chocolates I got you.”
Gavin raises a hand, asking for permission to speak, seems like. James plays along and points at him, gun still in hand. “Yes! The British lad!”
Whoa. The gun--? Gavin’s eyes roll back as Michael retracts the gun from his mouth, and James stops suddenly, gun still pointed at Gavin’s face. So he says, “Whoa.”
Michael wipes his sleeve down the golden gun, drying it off, and nods. “Yeah. I know. He’s usually more mouthy than this, too.”
“Well,” Gavin finally says, eyes opening slowly, “You had a gun in my mouth!”
“Yeah, and usually you’re still trying to talk around it! As if this thing wasn’t loaded.”
James’ heart jumps to his throat. The thing’s loaded? Oh, fuck. It’s like he walked into his own wet dream. He breathes out, “Shit.”
“Ah,” Gavin says, “I think he’s in.”
Michael snorts, “Of fucking course he’s in. Didn’t I tell you about the time when I fucked him with a literal knife to his throat?”
Gavin scoffs, offended, “Oy! Why him and not me?”
“Shut up.” He cocks the gun and points it at Gavin. “And open up.”
James can’t really help his moan. He thinks he sounds more desperate than he feels, but he likes the way Gavin and Michael smile at him.
“Now,” Michael says, sounding like he’s playing a character. “Since you’re so fucking nosy, help me with this asshole. I think he gets off on having his life threatened.”
James nods enthusiastically. Oh, this is the best idea James has ever had.
He pushes his gun back into his waistband and ignores Gavin’s disappointed look, says, “I think I can help with that.”
Reaching into his pocket, he feels that same, giddy feeling from earlier in his chest again. Says, “Let’s see if he bleeds gold, too.”
The snick of his switchblade is almost discrete. Gavin’s moan, on the other hand, is not.
