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“What is it?” Ryan snaps into his phone.
Jeremy has just pressed the answer button on his own phone, but looks up at Ryan instead of saying 'hi’ to Jack. Something about Ryan’s tone has started to raise red flags.
Ryan’s standing silhouetted against his massive windows. Something about the voice and the stance and the irritated sharp hand movements all come together to form a complete picture. Even the fact that he’s completely naked doesn’t distract from Jeremy’s very important realisation.
Ryan is the Vagabond.
Ryan is the fucking Vagabond.
It starts like this.
Jeremy wakes up. This in itself isn’t unusual.
The snores from the other side of the bed are. Not to mention the fact that Jeremy knows he has more covers on his bed than what he’s got tucked around himself right now.
Slowly — because his head feels like it’s going to split, what the hell had he been drinking? — Jeremy turns to squint at the person taking up two-thirds of his bed. What he can make out isn’t completely hideous, so that’s a positive for beer-goggles not having been too strong last night.
There’s a few flashes of memory. Jeremy latches onto them. There’s kissing in a car. A blowjob in his hall. More shots than he can count. He’d gone to a bar last night to shake off the nerves that had been building up about the job he’s starting tomorrow.
Today. Shit.
Jeremy bolts upright. He’d only meant to have a couple of drinks and maybe have a makeout or two. Judging by his sore, sticky everything, he’d done a hell of a lot more than that. He rushes into the shower and starts lathering up before the water even turns on.
And maybe moving that fast hadn’t been such a good idea. Jeremy retches all over his feet, trusting the shower to clean it up. Not a good start to the day.
Jeremy’s already out of the shower and brushing his teeth when he finally hears movement in the other room. There’s no sounds of throwing up or pained groans, so maybe his bedpartner was a bit more sober than Jeremy last night. Which, hey, is always flattering.
Jeremy spits into the sink then stares at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror. He looks like an addict, which is definitely isn’t (at least not for a good while). He hopes his new crew aren’t going to take that too badly. The aspirin he’s taken so far haven’t made a damn bit of difference.
Thankfully, Jeremy had the foresight to plan what he’s going to wear in advance. If he’d had to spend time picking through his clothes he’d probably just kill himself right now.
There are sounds coming from the kitchen; Jeremy resigns himself to having to having a morning-after talk with whoever he’d picked up. He’d been vaguely hoping that they’d take the opportunity to sneak out while Jeremy was in the bathroom. Well, it can be practice for talking while pretending not to be hungover.
“Hey.”
The guy in the kitchen hums a greeting back, a spoonful of Jeremy’s cheerios in his mouth. He's a good head taller than Jeremy and attractive in a dad-ish kinda way. He does a double-take and Jeremy realises it’s at the outfit he’s put together. Most people don’t like putting purple and orange together after all. However, even if Jeremy didn’t like the colours, he’s planning on making an impression this morning.
“I thought you said you had a job interview today,” the guy says.
“First day on the job,” Jeremy corrects.
The guy very clearly wants to say something, but then just shrugs and goes back to eating. Jeremy considers the pros and cons of eating too (pro: he won’t pass out in the middle of the meeting with his new crew, con: he’ll probably throw up everywhere in the middle of the meeting with his new crew).
Jeremy comes to the decision that he won’t eat and instead grab a coffee on the way to the meeting, as he watches the guy wash up the bowl and spoon he was using. He even stacks them neatly on Jeremy’s drying rack. Considerate.
“I should be going,” the guy says.
Thank fuck. Jeremy really didn’t want to have to come to a decision on what he was going to say.
“I had fun,” the guy continues, “Maybe I’ll see you again?”
“Sure,” Jeremy says. He’s had a couple of relationships and he’s had a few more one-night-stands, and never have the twain met. But it’s easier to lie than face a potential argument this early. “What’s your number?”
Jeremy gets the guy's name and number scribbled on an old receipt and resolves to chuck it in the trash later. The goodbyes are hurried from there, as Jeremy really needs to get going if he's going to get decent coffee and down it without scalding himself before getting to his new job on time.
On his way he fires off a quick ‘good luck’ text to Matt, who’s also starting work with the same crew, just in a much more behind-the-scenes role with their intel gathering guys. The crew had picked up Jeremy and Matt together, since it was only once they’d teamed up that they’d managed to pull off anything close to spectacular.
Jeremy thinks he'll miss those days sometimes, just him and Matt. For now the excitement of working with a much bigger crew is drowning any of that.
Jeremy makes it to the Fake AH Crew's warehouse with five minutes to spare and the dregs of some piss-poor coffee clutched in his hand. He scrunches up the cup and chucks it at a nearby dumpster. The cup bounces off the rim and onto the ground.
“Ooh, and that's a bad miss,” a British voice calls out.
Jeremy turns to see a guy holding a similar cup and wearing a pair of asshole shades (and Jeremy knows asshole shades, he's relying on his pair to keep the sunlight out of his hungover eyes). There's a bright gold gun casually tucked into the guy's belt too.
“Free?” Jeremy hopes he doesn't have a thing about littering.
“In the flesh,” Gavin Free, one of the Fakes' pilots, glances over Jeremy. “You the new guy? I thought you'd be taller.”
Jeremy's gotten used to being the butt of height jokes ever since he stopped growing at five foot four, but this is a horrible reminder that he's going to have to endure a whole new set of people making them. And, you know, he can't exactly threaten a bunch of serious criminals to make them stop.
“That's me,” Jeremy says, biting back a sigh.
“I hope your aiming skills are better with a gun,” Free says, taking a sip of his drink.
“Like you're one to talk,” Jeremy snorts. Then he remembers who he's addressing.
Shit. Well, he can't back down now. Besides, he's seen the footage — Free can't hit the broadside of a barn.
Free makes a wounded squawk of a noise, clutching his hand to his chest. Then just laughs and slings an arm around Jeremy's shoulders. Jeremy relaxes the teeniest bit.
“I think you're gonna fit in just fine,” Free says.
Free shepherds Jeremy into the warehouse and directs him to sit on a couch in front of possibly the biggest flatscreen tv Jeremy has ever seen. He also steals Jeremy’s cowboy hat and attempts a very bad American accent.
What even is this crew?
“For fuck’s sake, Gavin —” and that’s Ramsey, the Fakes' boss, walking in with a broken wing mirror that he’s waving in the air, “— I hadn’t even had that car twenty-four hours!”
“Would you believe me if I said it was Michael?” Free says, shit-eating grin firmly in place.
“I’d believe Michael dared you to it,” Ramsey sighs, “Motherfuckers.” He throws the wing mirror at Free.
“Geoff!” Free squawks, hurriedly ducking. Jeremy takes to opportunity to steal his hat back when it falls off Free’s head, “Geoff, you shouldn’t swear and throw things in front of Jeremy! He’ll think we’re all lunatics and he won’t join.”
Ramsey stops short and looks at Jeremy. How he’d missed him when Jeremy’s hair is partly dyed bright lime green, Jeremy will never know.
“Wait, you’re not all murderous lunatics?” Jeremy shrugs, “Guess I joined the wrong crew.”
Free laughs. Ramsey covers his face with both hands and Jeremy swears he hears something like ‘not another one’.
Jeremy's introduced to the rest of the Fake AH Crew in short order. They're already sat around a table looking over a huge map of the city when Ramsey drags Free in and orders Jeremy to follow.
“Alright assholes, listen up,” Ramsey shouts, “This is Jeremy, he's our newest member. Don't kill him before his trial period’s up or I'll dock your take for a year. Jeremy, this is Jack, Ryan, and Michael. You don't have do what they say, but if you get them killed you're dead meat. Any questions?”
“Why aren't we allowed to boss Jeremy about?” Free complains.
“Shut up, Gavin, 'any questions’ was rhetorical,” Ramsey snaps.
Jeremy takes in the other crew members as they look him over in turn.
First there's Pattillo, the Fakes' getaway driver and their other pilot. She's the one who first got in touch with Jeremy, having seen his work on the news and being somewhat impressed. At least, that's how she sold it to Jeremy. It's probably hard to be impressed with what one or two guys can come up with when you're part of a team like the Fakes. She gives Jeremy a smile and stands up to shake his hand and welcome him to the crew properly.
Then there's the Vagabond — Ryan if Ramsey's to be believed — with a reputation for murder sprees and knife work that makes hardened criminals shudder. The black skull mask gives nothing away, but Jeremy can't shake the feeling that the Vagabond was surprised when he walked in.
Finally, there's Jones. Good at most things from what Jeremy's seen and heard, with a preference for anything loud and bloody.
“I've got a question, Geoff,” Jones says, “How come you're bringing him in on a heist you wanted exactly four people for?”
“Do any of you fuckwits know what 'rhetorical’ means?” Ramsey says despairingly. “And because you asked the question, Michael, you're on Gavin babysitting duty.”
“What?” Jones yelps, as Free squawks, “I don't need a babysitter!”
“Shut up everyone,” Ramsey says, “I'm going over the plan now, so stay quiet.”
Free flops ungracefully into a chair. Jeremy follows his lead and looks down at the map of Los Santos. It's incredibly detailed and probably cost a ridiculous amount, yet someone, or several someones, have drawn all over it with no regard to the markings beneath. There's even a dick doodled on top of Mt. Chiliad.
The plan starts off straightforwardly. Then each step after the initial stick-up gets progressively more complicated, until Jeremy isn’t sure if this is actually what the plan is or if they're just hazing the new guy. They all have admirably straight faces if it is a prank.
Then again, the Fake AH Crew have a tendency toward absurd heists. Maybe it’s less inspired improvisation in the field and more ridiculous plans from the get go. Jeremy supposes he’s going to find out one way or another.
“…and then we meet up on the yacht to count the take and get drunk,” Ramsey finishes, “Any questions?”
“Is that another rhetorical ‘any questions’?” the Vagabond asks, amused.
Ramsey flips him off and turns to Jeremy.
“If you’ve got questions, now’s the time,” Ramsey says, pointedly, “I’m not putting up with any ‘I don’t know what I’m meant to be doing’ bullshit in the field.”
Pattillo mutters something under her breath that sounds like ‘that’ll be a first’.
“Uh,” Jeremy runs through what he can remember of the plan in his head and realises he doesn’t know where to start. It would’ve really helped his mental processes if he hadn’t gotten quite so drunk last night — though if his new employers didn’t want that to happen maybe they’d have had him start work on any day other than a Saturday.
“Great!” Ramsey says, before Jeremy can decide on his most urgent question, “Jack can show you the route later today. Ryan can hook you up with whatever shit you need before Tuesday.” He flaps his hands at everyone, “Now all of you fuck off, I’ve got calls to make.”
Jeremy files out with the others, extremely unsure, but unwilling to show it. Talking to Pattillo or the Vagabond would be a good start, but Pattillo has managed to vanish in the time it took Jeremy to leave the planning room and the Vagabond is already in conversation with Free. It would be impolite to interrupt them, plus the Vagabond’s scary as dicks and Jeremy's wary about getting on his bad side.
Every job Jeremy’s ever had involves some amount of uncertainty and catch-up in the first few weeks, but he’s never had something with such high stakes. If he fucks this up they’re not just going to fire him.
Jeremy’s just plucking up his courage to go over and talk to the Vagabond when Pattillo reappears, spinning a very full keyring. She must take pity on Jeremy, because she’s suddenly right there with an understanding smile and a firm hand on his shoulder, leading him back outside and into an old beat-up car that Jeremy wouldn’t have thought the Fakes would use to scrape dog shit off their shoes with, let alone drive.
“You’ll get used to how hectic things are soon enough,” Pattillo says.
“I hope so,” Jeremy says earnestly, “I really want to be part of this. You’re my heroes.”
Pattillo laughs, not unkindly. “It’s nice to meet someone who knows about us and doesn’t want to shoot us.”
“I’ve only known you in person for half an hour,” Jeremy says. “That could change.”
“Just wait until the heist. I can guarantee you’ll want to shoot everyone,” Pattillo says, rolling her eyes.
She starts up the car and reverses smoothly out of the garage. The exterior of the car might look like shit, but the seats are surprisingly comfortable and the engine purrs beautifully. Jeremy supposes it makes sense to have a vehicle that you like to drive but that won’t get you recognised. He should really get his civilian car decked out with a nicer engine.
Jones hops in the back of the car while Pattillo shifts into first gear. “Might as well find out where I'll be bailing you all out when is inevitably goes to shit,” is his reasoning.
“Such faith,” Pattillo says dryly.
“I’ve got faith you’ll fuck it up,” Jones retorts.
Pattillo takes them into the town centre and slows the car as they pass in front of the bank that they're going to hit. She circles, pointing out the entrance they're planning to use and where the getaway car will be waiting.
Pattillo’s taking them to the next point in the heist, chatting to Jeremy about the plan and the crew, when Jones leans forward from the backseat.
“You should use our first names,” Jones says.
“Really?” Jeremy asks. He kicks himself for sounding so unsure. Uncertainty is the death of criminals.
“I wouldn’t’ve said it if I didn’t mean it. So fucking do it,” Jones — no, Michael — says. He's staring challengingly at Jeremy, daring him to go against what he just said.
“Ramsey said you weren't allowed to order me around,” Jeremy says, because he's never been able to keep his mouth shut when he should.
“Fuck, backtalk already?” Michael groans, but his face is carefully neutral rather than angry, so hopefully that means Jeremy hasn't overstepped his mark just yet.
Jack snorts from the driver's seat.
“Alright, Michael,” Jeremy says slowly. He’s on a first name basis with the Fake AH Crew. When did his life get this awesome?
“Atta boy,” Michael says. He reaches forward to scruff up Jeremy’s hair.
It's Tuesday and the heist is underway. Jeremy sits in the front seat of the car that Jack’s driving to the bank. Geoff and the Vagabond are crammed in the back. There's a stupid amount of ordinance packed into every nook and cranny of the car. Jeremy's almost afraid to even sneeze for fear of setting off the grenade launcher resting between his legs.
The car’s much nicer this time, being one of the Fakes’ regular heist vehicles. There’d been a long debate yesterday over which car to use (Jack had wanted to use her favourite blue and red Fusilade, the Vagabond had argued for repurposing a pickup truck with a mounted turret they’d stolen last month, while Gavin kept insisting they should drive the Roosevelt with the Fakes' logo painted on). Geoff had put his foot down so they were in an armoured black Kuruma with no logo (“shut up, Gavin, you’re not even part of the heist, I don't care if it was your idea to start with”).
Jack parks the car behind the bank, two buildings down. Jeremy feels the butterflies in his stomach double as he gets out. What if he screws this up? What if he gets himself or one of the Fakes killed? What if he forgets the plan and they fire him and he has to give up his life of crime to work in a cubicle?
The Vagabond pushes an SMG into Jeremy’s arms, breaking him out of his reverie. Jeremy’s ‘thanks’ gets caught in his throat. Fuck. He’s done plenty of stick-ups, even if they haven’t been on this level, he shouldn’t be this nervous.
Jeremy also can’t bring himself to call the Vagabond by his real name like Michael suggested, because he’s way too fucking scary.
“Let’s heist!” Geoff calls cheerfully.
Jeremy falls into place at Geoff’s left hand side, the Vagabond flanking their leader to the right. Jack stays behind in the car, keeping the engine running and ready for their escape.
Jeremy can do this. He can do this. He can fucking do this.
The Vagabond announces their presence to the bank by emptying the magazine of his gun into the ceiling.
“Everybody on the fucking floor!” Geoff shouts, waving his own gun at the frozen customers.
They comply, with many a shrill cry and flutter. Geoff orders the bank tellers to start bagging up the cash, and Jeremy slips away downstairs to the main vault and the safe deposit boxes it contains.
Safe-cracking isn’t Jeremy’s best skill, but he’s successfully done it before. He sets down his bag of tools and gets to work.
The drilling goes smoothly and soon enough Jeremy’s in the vault itself. The rows and rows of safe deposit boxes call out to him. If he had more time… Jeremy gives himself a shake and counts his way toward the box he’d been given his briefing on.
He picks open the wrong safe deposit box by accident first and, well, the sapphire and diamond necklace inside is just too pretty to leave behind.
Inside the correct box there are a few dozen USB sticks and two bars of gold. Jeremy’s never seen 24 carat gold in such large quantities in real life before. There’s something strangely alluring about it that resonates with him, even though Jeremy would’ve sworn up and down that he was an emeralds and rubies man first and foremost.
“… Jeremy. Jeremy!”
Jeremy had been ignoring the general chatter over the comms to focus on safe-cracking, but his name brings him back.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Jeremy says, “What’s up?”
“Cops are two minutes away,” Jack says, “Status report?”
“Just bagging the goods now,” Jeremy replies, “I’ll be back upstairs in —”
“OH FUCK!” Geoff's panicked cry interrupts him.
Jeremy jumps at the shout. Gunshots start echoing from the floor above.
“Geoff? What’s going on?” Jack shouts over the comms.
Jeremy rushes the last of the USB sticks into his bag and runs toward the stairs. He checks that the magazine is clipped properly into his SMG and that his pistol is loaded and heads up.
“It's the Spiders,” the Vagabond says, when all they get from Geoff is yelps and swearing, “They've got us pinned down in the manager’s office.”
“Why are they attacking us?” Jeremy asks.
“We might be pulling this heist in their territory,” Jack replies.
Well fuck.
“I'm on my way up,” Jeremy hisses, unsure if he's about to run into anyone. He'd memorised the bank's blueprints as much as he could, but he's not completely sure where the enemy could be if they've got Geoff and the Vagabond trapped.
“There were two at the top of the stairs,” the Vagabond warns Jeremy, just in time.
Jeremy peeks around the marble banister and, sure enough, there are two guys at the top holding rifles. They aren’t shooting, so they’re likely on lookout. Which means if Jeremy can get past them quietly he’ll be able to screw up the Spiders’ attack so much more effectively.
There's enough gunfire going on that Jeremy's confident that his shots will go unnoticed. He aims his pistol the the first guy and takes the shot. The guy crumples to the ground in a spray of blood. The second guy starts to react, but Jeremy is faster.
Two down, fuck knows how many to go.
Jeremy creeps up the stairs, ears pricked for any sounds that aren’t bullets or screaming.
The main lobby of the bank still has a cowering group of terrified civilians in one corner, though there's more dead on the floor than when Jeremy was last here. An unfamiliar man is standing over them, waving a gun at a crying lady.
Now, Jeremy's not a hero, but he's also not going to overlook a potential distraction. And screaming, escaping civilians tend to make for a good distraction. The man with the gun doesn’t notice Jeremy until it’s too late.
“Hap hap.” Jeremy shoos the civilians.
The rest of the gunfire appears to be coming from offices toward the back of the building. Jeremy heads over, being as stealthy as he can.
Something flies out of an office door and lands with a clatter at Jeremy’s feet.
Grenade!
Jeremy flings himself over a fancy waiting sofa for cover. There’s a click then a hiss and smoke starts billowing.
Thank fuck. Smoke grenades weren’t exactly fun, but still far better than actually explode-y grenades.
The downside to not being blown up is that Jeremy had prepared for the possibility of being blown up. He’s got heavy body armour weighing him down beneath his jacket, but he didn’t pack a rebreather. Looks like he’s going to have to do this the old fashioned way. He covers his nose and mouth with his sleeve and sticks his head over the couch, peering through the smoke for signs of movement.
A body comes flying out of the smoke. Jeremy doesn’t recognise it. Once the job’s done and they’re all back at the base he’s going to have to get someone to run him through all the other major gangs in Los Santos, as well as the regular mercenaries around town.
BOOM!
An explosion takes out a wall ten feet from Jeremy. He ducks behind the sofa again. Someone must have had the explode-y kind of grenade after all.
Geoff and the Vagabond stumble through the ragged opening. Geoff is cradling a suspicious bag. the Vagabond turns to throw a knife at something on the other side of the broken wall.
“Right behind you,” Jeremy says.
They both jump and whirl to stare at Jeremy. He gets an SMG and a pistol leveled at him before they recognise him.
“Jesus, don’t creep up on me like that,” Geoff gasps, clutching at his chest theatrically. “You got the shit?”
Jeremy holds up the bag slung over his shoulder in reply. There's the sound of someone reloading. The Vagabond whips around and unloads his gun into the room they just ran out of, making Geoff jump again. There’s a few screams and the Vagabond laughs.
“Jack, you ready for extraction?” Geoff asks over the comms.
“I’m a little busy,” Jack says stiffly, “Cops are here. If you can get out I’ll pick you up, but I won’t have much time once I make a distraction.”
“We’ll head out the back,” Geoff says, gesturing for Jeremy and the Vagabond to follow him through the bank.
“They’ve got it surrounded,” Jack warns, “Let me know where exactly.”
Jeremy had been expecting Geoff to lead them to a door, or maybe a window a story up to throw the cops off the scent a bit. Instead Geoff picks a random patch of wall and starts pulling sticky bombs out of his suspicious bag. The Vagabond produces more C-4 and helps. It possibly wasn’t a grenade that blew down that previous wall after all.
Jeremy keeps watch. He can see blue and red flashing lights illuminating the corridor they came through, but either the police haven’t got the balls to storm the place or the civilians Jeremy freed earlier are still being a good distraction.
“Get down.” That’s the Vagabond, pulling Jeremy into a side room where Geoff is already ducked. There’s a long moment of silence where Jeremy had expected an explosion.
“Fuck,” the Vagabond mutters. He tosses the remote detonator over his shoulder and pulls out his pistol. Then takes half a step back into the hall and shoots.
And now there’s the explosion Jeremy had been waiting for.
A boom rattles his teeth. There’s a dull roar. Then a flash bright enough that Jeremy sees red through his closed eyelids.
When Jeremy looks again parts of the hallway are on fire. The Vagabond’s picking himself up from the floor, feeling gingerly down his left arm. He mustn't have managed to get himself in cover in time.
“Go! Go! Go!” Geoff rushes forward. “Jack, you had to have seen that.”
“I saw. I saw,” Jack replies. Jeremy can hear the eye-roll in her voice. “There’s such a thing as stealth, Geoff. Goddammit.”
“Stealth is for losers without sticky-bombs,” Geoff says smugly.
Jeremy and the Vagabond follow Geoff out of the uneven hole. The car skids to a halt beside them, and Jack gestures for them to get in, looking unruffled despite the beginnings of police fire raining down on the roof.
Jeremy climbs back into the front seat. He’s unbuckled, struggling with the grenade launcher, and his door’s still open when Jack floors it. Reflexes Jeremy didn’t know he had kick in and he catches himself before he falls out.
Jack takes a sweeping right turn. The force of it slams Jeremy’s door shut, very nearly on his fingers. Jeremy finally gets seated properly and straps himself in.
Bullets ping off the Kuruma’s armoured sides from the cops. Chips fly off the bullet-proof glass right next to Jeremy’s head, making him quite glad the solid windows can’t wind down and stopped him from shooting back, otherwise he’d be in some serious trouble.
The next step of the escape plan was to grab a helicopter, but when Jack swings near the spot they’d parked one in preparation, it’s crawling with mercenaries. The cops are still on their tail, so she keeps driving.
“More Spiders guys?” Geoff says, glaring behind them, “They’re way more organised than they should be if that’s them too.”
Jeremy hopes this isn’t going to turn into a manhunt within the Fake AH Crew. As the newest member he’ll be under the heaviest scrutiny.
Jack takes a series of sharp corners, losing their police tail as the cars fall out of view. “You weren’t exactly subtle landing the helicopter, Geoff,” she says, sounding unruffled through a vicious handbrake turn that forces Jeremy against his door. “You know they’ve been being more aggressive recently — the helicopter must’ve tipped them off that we were planning something.”
“Well, now what?” Geoff snaps, “If they found the chopper who knows what else they found? Or what else they were told?” His voice has taken on a hard edge that Jeremy doesn’t like hearing, especially given it’s likely to be aimed at him soon if things get worse.
“I’ll worry if they’ve surrounded the car Ryan planted,” Jack replies evenly, “Assuming he didn’t get drunk and puke all over the Spiders headquarters while driving there.”
The Vagabond laughs. Jeremy’s not sure what to make of it.
“Shut up, Jack,” Geoff says, but his voice has lost its truly annoyed edge and Jeremy relaxes a little.
It turns out the Spiders haven’t found the Vagabond’s hiding spot — situated as it is on top of a multi-story parking garage. Jack parks the Kuruma halfway up and Jeremy discovers he’s fitter than the others when he’s the least out of breath after they climb the stairs the rest of the way to the top.
They pile into the SUV — (“Really, Ryan. Really?”) — depositing the weapons they’d hauled up back into various nooks and crannies. Geoff paws over the stolen loot in the backseat while Jack eases the car out of the parking lot.
When there’s no sign of pursuit after three roads, Jeremy clicks the safety back on on his gun.
“Are we in the clear?” he asks.
“Maybe,” Jack replies. She concentrating on the road, but still manages to shoot Jeremy a reassuring smile, “I — aww, goddammit.”
The sirens are back. Jeremy twists around to see three police cruisers racing up behind them, lights flashing.
The Vagabond pulls himself forward from the backseat and up through the sunroof, hefting the grenade launcher out with obvious glee. If the cops didn’t already know which car was theirs, identifying them became a whole lot easier. Jeremy breaks his window and leans out, ready to lay down suppressing fire when the cops get closer.
An explosion joins the cacophony of sirens and gunfire and the Vagabond's insane laughter.
“Ryan! Get your dick outta my face!” Geoff yells.
“If we’d taken the Technical then it wouldn’t be a problem,” the Vagabond shouts back, only audible over the wind because they’re still on comms.
“Stop being a smartass and take out the cops!” Geoff snaps.
The tall skyscrapers start to fall behind them as they navigate rapidly through the slums. Jeremy has to grab his hat before it blows away in a sudden crossbreeze. The cops are slower to react here, but the civilians are more likely to take matters into their own hands and shoot back.
Jeremy takes out the front tyre on one cop car, causing it to crash into a convenience store. Another falls to the Vagabond’s grenades, the engine igniting into an impressive fireball and setting off a nearby parked car as well.
The remaining cop car rams into the back of the SUV, jolting Jeremy painfully against the window frame. He’s gonna feel that for a few days. The Vagabond ducks hurriedly back into the car when they open fire. It's too close behind them for Jeremy to get a good shot.
The cops ram them again, pushing enough that Jack swears as they’re knocked past the turn she’d meant to take. There’s train tracks in this area of the city, plus the river — either could severely mess them up if the cops force them the wrong way.
“When did they get competent at driving?” Jack mutters to herself, barely edging around a parked delivery truck. She’s spinning the wheel like mad, but can’t shake free.
Another police car appears out of nowhere and sideswipes the one behind them, forcing it away from them and into a solid concrete barrier. There's a distinct lack of continued fire after that and Jeremy lets out a relieved laugh when he risks sticking his head out the window to look back.
“Alright, lads?”
Gavin comes on the comms. He's in the passenger seat of the new cruiser and waving his stolen cop hat at them.
“You're welcome, by the way,” Michael says, trying to sound grouchy as he pulls the cruiser up alongside Jack, but failing to keep the grin out of his voice.
“Are all your heists this chaotic?” Jeremy asks, breathing heavily to shake his adrenalin high. From what he’s seen previously, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’, but he’d like to hear that they’ve pulled off sneakier jobs that the media never got to see.
“Hey! Sometimes they go to plan,” Geoff protests.
“Mostly they’re worse,” Jack comments.
“They’re always worse,” Gavin chimes in.
“I fucking hate every last one of you fuckers,” Geoff says grumpily, “You’re all fired.”
It's Friday night. It's also the end of Jeremy's first full week with the Fake AH Crew, so Gavin and Michael take it upon themselves to take Jeremy out for celebratory drinks. And it wouldn't be them if they didn't put a Fake AH spin on it.
“No. I'm saying if you got a million dollars — a whole million that you didn't have to launder — but every bullet you fired for the next five years you had to eat after. Would you do it?” Gavin asks, waving his drink and sloshing half the glass down his own leg and onto the floor.
“Like I'd have to dig the bullet out of a dead body?” Jeremy asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust, “Do I get to wash it first?”
“You're not asking the important question,” Michael interrupts, slamming a new round down on their stained table, “What the fuck is it going to be like to shit out?”
“It’d tear up your insides too, wouldn't it?” Jeremy asks, concerned.
“Nah.” Gavin waves a flippant hand, “You just have to put it in your mouth and swallow. The rest doesn't matter.”
And that — plus a new nickname for Jeremy — is basically how the rest of the evening with the boys goes.
Somewhere around midnight they go their separate ways. Gavin heading home to see his girl. Michael meeting up with his girl to further paint the town red. And Jeremy home to his empty apartment.
He gets back, just on the edge of drunk. Driving home wasn’t a problem, but it takes him four tries to get his keys in the lock.
A scrap of paper on the kitchen counter catches Jeremy's eye as he goes to get a glass of water. He stares at it for several seconds before picking it up - there's a name and number written down in neat block capitals.
Ryan. It takes Jeremy a moment to match the name to someone other than the Vagabond. It's the guy he was with last week. He’d meant to chuck the receipt, not wanting the awkwardness of trying to turn a one-night stand into something more, but it must've gotten tucked behind something, and it's not like Jeremy was in his kitchen much this past week.
Even though he can't remember much of that night, what he can recall is making Jeremy hot under the collar. Plus he’s a little lonely, not having anyone to come home to the way Gavin and Michael did. He's just buzzed enough to think it's a good idea to punch the number into his phone and wait for Ryan to pick up.
Jeremy's almost at the point of hanging up when the call connects. There's the usual fumble of someone putting their phone to their ear then silence.
“Hello?” Jeremy says.
“Who is this?” demands a flat, inhuman voice.
Jeremy wonders if he's got the wrong number. “Is this Ryan? It's Jeremy.”
“Jeremy?” the voice says. It sounds heavily confused.
“From last week? We, uh, met at a bar?” Jeremy tries. Mortification is starting to seep through his tipsy haze.
“Oh, Jeremy,” and now it sounds like Ryan, as far as Jeremy can remember, “I wasn't sure if I'd hear from you.”
“Yeah, I've been kinda busy with my new job this past week,” Jeremy says, “Look, sorry for bothering you so late —”
“No, it's no problem,” Ryan says quickly, “I'm not busy. What do you want?”
“Doyouwannacomeroundmyplaceagain?” Jeremy blurts out, before he can lose his nerve.
There's a long silence as Ryan presumably parses that. Jeremy considers hanging up again. This is why long-term relationships and one-night stands should stay separate - there's much more control over what people expect.
“I'd like that,” Ryan says slowly. Cautiously.
“Great,” Jeremy says, before he can change his mind. He rattles off his address out of habit, before he remembers that Ryan probably already knows. Well, it can’t hurt to be sure.
Jeremy spends the time waiting for Ryan to arrive doing a quick tidy round his apartment. He shoves his laundry hamper into the utility cupboard, and puts the pile of dirty dishes into the sink, in the hopes that it'll look better than them being scattered on the surfaces at random.
Jeremy's just unearthing a frankly frightening old sock from under his bed when he hears the buzzer go. He dusts himself off, chucks the sock into the dirty laundry, and goes to answer the door.
Ryan's wearing a motorcycle jacket and swinging a helmet from one hand. He’s way hotter than Jeremy remembers, despite the clear nervousness on his face. Jeremy’s not really one for motorbikes. He can drive them, sure, but he prefers his cars. Seeing Ryan like that though… Jeremy could absolutely go for a ride.
“Hey. Come in,” Jeremy says, praying that he didn’t just spend a rude amount of time staring. It can be tricky to tell when he’s had a few.
Ryan cautiously enters Jeremy's apartment. He hangs up his jacket and kicks off his boots when Jeremy directs him to the rack by the door. There’s a gun strapped to the inside of his jacket. (Jeremy pretends not to notice.)
He also pretends not to notice the clear outline of a knife against Ryan’s calf when he takes an awkward step out of his boot.
Jeremy pours them both a drink while Ryan makes himself comfortable on the couch in the living room.
“So how did the first day at the new job go?” Ryan asks, taking the offered glass.
“Pretty well,” Jeremy says, a little surprised that he remembered about that, “I think I’ll fit in there eventually. My coworkers are really good at what they do, so there’s a lot for me to catch up with. It’s nice to have a break, to be honest.”
“Did they throw you in at the deep end? Isn’t there usually meant to be some kind of trial period?” Ryan asks. He sounds amused, which isn’t perfect, but is definitely better than the overly-cautious he was being before.
“It’s a fast turnover environment,” Jeremy explains, “They wanted to see if I could handle the pressure, I guess. Would’ve been nice to have started when there wasn’t only three days until the h- …major deadline they’d been working towards.”
“Sounds rough.”
“Enough about my work,” Jeremy says, “What do you do?”
Ryan clearly hesitates. “I'm a PA,” he eventually says, “I do whatever my boss needs. It can be demanding, but I enjoy my work.”
“Cool,” Jeremy's not sure what else to say to something that's almost definitely a lie. He shrugs it off. It's not like he was telling the full truth either — Los Santos doesn't exactly attract innocent people.
As nice as it might be to unwind a bit by talking, Jeremy has a much better idea for how he can get rid of his stress from the past week. He downs the rest of his drink and moves closer to kiss Ryan. Ryan’s face is warm and his slight scruff of beard prickles against Jeremy’s fingers as he cups it, and his lips and tongue are even warmer.
Ryan breaks off to places his glass carefully on the coffee table. It’s still full, Jeremy notices.
“I’m not trying to poison you,” Jeremy jokes.
“I don’t drink,” Ryan shrugs.
Jeremy frowns. “Then why were you at the bar last week?”
“I was meant to be the designated driver for some friends,” Ryan replies. His voice deepens seductively: “but you made a much better offer.”
That makes Jeremy smile way too stupidly. Maybe knocking back the last of his glass in one go had been a mistake, he’s this close to blurting out something ridiculously sappy. He’s always been an affectionate drunk.
“I wanna fuck you,” Jeremy says. It’s a little bit slurred, meaning that drink was definitely a bad idea, but at least it’s not declarations of love. Gotta save those for the third date.
Ryan grins. “Think you’re sober enough to manage this time?”
Jeremy cringes. He hadn’t thought he’d been that drunk. It’s amazing Ryan wants another go at all, if that had been the case. Still, Ryan’s smile is full of want and Jeremy decides that he’s going to make this the best fucking night of his life.
“C’mon,” Jeremy says, letting his confident drunk side take charge for the moment. He stands and pulls Ryan towards his bedroom.
Their t-shirts get lost somewhere down the hall. A flash of memory hits Jeremy of Ryan on his knees, Jeremy's fingers in his hair, against the wall next to that door. Jeremy pushes them into the bedroom, intent on making new memories. He guides Ryan to sit on the bed and steps back to look at Ryan properly.
There’s a couple of star-burst scars on Ryan’s right shoulder. They look an awful lot like old gunshot wounds. Jeremy should know, he’s got one on his leg for comparison.
Now he’s looking for it, there’s other bullet scars and some nasty lines that look like knife-wounds too.
No innocents in Los Santos, Jeremy reminds himself. Whatever work Ryan is actually in is obviously dangerous.
“Turn around,” Jeremy says, before he can get caught staring, “unless you don't want a massage.”
Ryan laughs. “Spoiling me already.”
Jeremy rubs his hands together to warm his palms up. Ryan turns and Jeremy properly sees the yellow-green remains of a bruise mottling Ryan's left upper arm. He'll have to be careful around that.
The first press of Jeremy's hands into Ryan's shoulders tells him he's going to have to use a lot more pressure. Ryan's traps are like concrete. Jeremy digs his thumbs into a knot. Ryan’s head drops forward and he lets out the kind of long groan Jeremy associates with orgasms.
“Fuck, that's good,” Ryan moans.
It's not the most detailed massage Jeremy's ever given. He focuses on broad sweeps and digging in whenever Ryan moans. And fuck it, this is meant to be getting him laid. Jeremy doesn't hold back pressing his mouth to the nape of Ryan's neck and tracing his tongue down his spine.
“Mmm,” Ryan hums. He twists and tugs Jeremy by his hair. “Come here.”
Jeremy follows the guidance and falls into a kiss. He's still got his pants on, they both have. He should rectify that.
He tugs at Ryan’s jeans. “Off,” he slurs, and dies a little inside at how fucking drunk he sounds.
Ryan kisses Jeremy hard, then pulls back to give himself space to finish undressing. Jeremy shucks his own pants and boxers in record time and sits on the edge of the bed to openly ogle Ryan.
Ryan takes his sweet time removing his jeans. It’s only when he fumbles around his shin that Jeremy realises he’s disarming as well as disrobing. It’s a little concerning that Jeremy only noticed the one weapon if Ryan needed that much time to remove them all.
But now they’re both gloriously naked and all thoughts of weaponry fly out of Jeremy's head. Ryan crowds into Jeremy’s space, pushing him back until he’s lying back on the bed and kisses him with sharp teeth. “I believe you had plans.”
It takes Jeremy a full second to remember. “Oh, yeah.” He shuffles back until he can reach his bedside table and fishes supplies out of the drawer blind. He’s really glad that lube and condoms are distinctly shaped; he doesn’t feel like a second date is the time to bust out anything kinkier. Ryan might not seem the sort to scare easily, but Jeremy definitely doesn’t want to accidently cock-block himself.
“How do you want me?” Ryan asks, voice sublimely low.
“On your back?” Jeremy says, wishing it sounded less like a question.
Ryan sprawls obligingly back on his elbows, smiling like he’d want nothing better than to eat Jeremy alive. It’s a heady feeling, being so obviously wanted.
Jeremy shuffles between Ryan’s legs and squeezes some lube onto his fingers. He grabs Ryan’s leg just above the knee and presses it up for access. Ryan drops completely onto his back and settles in.
Starting at the knee, Jeremy strokes his non-lube-y hand up Ryan’s thigh. His lubed fingers rub back and forth behind Ryan’s balls until he finds what he’s looking for. Jeremy continues to stroke with his fingers for a while, adding pressure slowly until Ryan opens to him. Jeremy slowly slides a finger all the way in. It's always hotter than Jeremy expects and the tight squeeze around the base of his finger is almost too much. He presses his finger in and out slightly, watching Ryan's face for any sign of discomfort and finding none.
It's going to feel fucking amazing on his cock.
Jeremy retreats for more lube and then tries for two fingers. He presses a kiss to the inside of Ryan's knee and is rewarded with a soft smile. He couldn't find a better way to spend his Saturday night. Jeremy scissors his fingers and feels Ryan consciously relax around them.
Ryan starts looking impatient when Jeremy works three fingers into him. “Jeremy, I’m not going to break.”
“Just want to be sure,” Jeremy says. He always does extra on anything he might misjudge while drunk. It’s a rule of his, when he remembers to keep it.
“I’m sure I want you to start fucking me,” Ryan says hungrily.
There’s not much Jeremy can say to that.
Jeremy struggles with the condom wrapper, hands too lubed up to get a proper grip. Ryan laughs and takes it from him, ripping it open easily. He sits up to roll the condom down Jeremy cock, stroking a little more than necessary.
“Ready?” Jeremy asks, slicking himself up.
“Jeremy… ”
There’s a playful warning in Ryan’s voice. He lies back down and spreads his legs.
“Alright then.” Jeremy lines up, pressing the head of his cock against Ryan’s hole. Even with the prep, it’s tight as Jeremy eases in.
He stops halfway, taking a few seconds to calm his breathing and get a grip, then pushes in completely. Excluding Jeremy's mostly forgotten last time with Ryan, it's been some time since Jeremy last fucked anyone. Ryan's looking much more composed than Jeremy feels, but by all accounts he remembers what they did last week. He traces his tongue over his lower lip and smiles at the strangled noise that Jeremy makes.
“Are you going to fuck me, or just watch?” Ryan asks, amused. He runs a hand down Jeremy's back and gives his ass a squeeze, prompting him to start moving.
Jeremy pulls back, then snaps his hips forward. Ryan lets out a little 'ah’ noise and digs his fingers in. Jeremy braces himself over Ryan and starts fucking.
It's just as good as Jeremy thought it would be. Burning hot and squeezing his dick with close to too much pressure. And Ryan. Encouraging Jeremy with the fingers still pressed against his ass. Ryan brings up his other hand to start rubbing his cock, knuckles scraping against Jeremy’s stomach as he does so.
“You good?” Jeremy asks.
“Wonderful,” Ryan replies. He gives a little breathy noise, then meets Jeremy’s gaze intently: “you can go faster if you want.”
“Alright.” Jeremy hooks Ryan’s long legs over his arms and starts thrusting harder. Ryan’s head falls back and he lets out a low groan that Jeremy can feel reverberate in his cock.
Jeremy wants to lean forward and kiss Ryan, but he's honestly not sure if he’s tall enough, given their current position, and doesn’t want to make a fool of himself if it turns out he can’t actually reach. At least he can watch Ryan from where he is.
Speaking of, Ryan looks like he’s getting close. His eyes keep fluttering shut and he’s biting his lip. Ryan alternates between jerking himself off quickly and long, slow strokes that are designed to keep him on the edge. He keeps looking at Jeremy when his eyes are opened and focused.
It’s the hottest thing Jeremy’s seen in months. His own orgasm is suddenly seconds away, so he stops moving, wanting to prolong things. Ryan’s hand that had been gripping Jeremy hits the mattress in frustration.
“Jeremy!” Ryan sounds broken.
“Gonna come,” Jeremy grits out. His mental quest to calm down is shattered completely by Ryan arching beautifully beneath him.
“Then do it already!” Ryan’s hand speeds up on his cock and he’s so, so tight around Jeremy.
Jeremy’s lost. He thrusts twice and then he’s coming, hips stuttering as his orgasm is wrenched out of him. He must have blacked out for a few seconds after that, because the next thing he knows he’s blinking against Ryan’s chest. He can feel Ryan’s release, sticky between their bodies. Jeremy feels a shred of disappointment thread through his post-orgasmic haze that he didn’t get to see Ryan come.
Well, maybe next time.
And Jeremy has definitely decided that this can be an ongoing thing. His usual rules about one-night stands and long-term relationships can go to hell.
“Ugh,” Ryan groans, giving Jeremy a nudge, “get off. You’re denser than you look.”
Jeremy rolls off and flops onto his back on the bed. He couldn’t move any further right now, not even if you paid him a million laundered dollars. Ryan slowly stretches his legs out until he’s lying full-length. His feet hang off the end of the mattress, reminding Jeremy that he should really get something bigger than a double if he keeps going for people taller than him.
“Sorry,” Ryan says, after a minute, “that could’ve been nicer. And I shouldn’t have rushed to the finish like that.”
“Nah.” Jeremy turns his head and gives Ryan a smile. “It’s good.”
Ryan rolls onto his side to face Jeremy and raises himself up on his elbow. He looks well fucked and very post-coital. It's a good look on him. Jeremy can't believe he got this lucky.
“What I’m sure I meant to say was: thank you, that was excellent,” Ryan says. His voice is still gloriously low like it was during sex and nearly makes Jeremy want round two.
Nearly. He's honestly too wrung out to do anything other than lie there right now.
“My pleasure,” Jeremy says, “Literally.”
Ryan laughs. Something about it brings speeding from the cops to mind, but Jeremy shakes it off. He's just had mind-blowing sex with an attractive man, the last thing he wants to think about is work.
With a pained grunt, Jeremy forces himself upright and begins the arduous process of cleanup. Sex would be so much better if it didn’t leave such a mess of bodily fluids, lube, and condoms afterwards.
Ryan comes up behind Jeremy while he’s washing his hands in the bathroom sink. He ducks his head down awkwardly over Jeremy’s shoulder and it takes Jeremy a good few stupefied seconds to realise he’s trying to see himself in the mirror and isn’t silently asking for a weird kiss or anything. Jeremy had rehung the bathroom mirror when he first moved in, dropping it down so he could see himself properly while shaving and now it's not much good for anyone over five-eight. Yet another thing he should think about altering if he’s planning on keeping Ryan around.
Jeremy falls asleep quickly snuggled up to Ryan, the drink and amazing orgasm conspiring against him. He dreams of strange things he doesn’t remember in the morning.
During his second week working with the Fake AH Crew, Jeremy learns that they may be the most dangerous men in Los Santos, but they're also all a bunch of utter dorks.
Example A: Geoff has painstakingly built a scale model of Los Santos. In Minecraft.
(He tries to use it to explain heists, but is always derailed when he finds out that all the others have, at various points, logged in and changed every single sign in the game, so no one knows what any one building is meant to be).
Example B: Gavin might actually be the best pilot they've got, if the stunts he can pull off are any indication, but he has such a short attention span that he crashes nearly everything.
(“You just had to go in a straight line! You weren't meant to be anywhere near the wind turbines! How the fuck did you crash into one?!” Michael rages over the comms as soon as Gavin lets them know that he’s alive and he needs another chopper).
Example C: Jeremy starts referring to himself as 'Rimmy Tim’ during a heist setup as a joke and the entire crew just runs with it.
(Except Geoff, who spends the mission getting higher and higher pitched while demanding to know “who the fuck this Tim guy is, he better not be expecting a cut”).
Example D: They've got codenames for nearly every combination of people.
(Jeremy can pinpoint the exact moment he stopped being afraid of the Vagabond: it's when the Vagabond's paired with Gavin for a mission and they both cheer “Team Love and Stuff!” and high-five).
Example E: The singing.
Example F is the heist they’re currently halfway through.
(Whilst stealing a piece of priceless artwork is pretty normal, planning a cross-country escape route through the mountains was a bad idea from the start, only worsened by their originally planned offroad vehicle getting blown up by a misaimed sticky bomb, forcing them to resort to whatever they can find at short notice.)
Their stolen getaway car swerves dangerously under the Vagabond’s (Jeremy can't bring himself to call the Vagabond by name, despite him not being as scary anymore, not when it's the same name as his partner's) control on the mountain path. Michael’s navigating by yelling instructions from the passenger seat, though they mostly amount to ‘don’t fall off the fucking side!’. Jeremy’s crushed in the back next to Gavin. Geoff’s squeezed in on the other side of Gavin, shouting at Jack through their comms.
“Come on, baby,” the Vagabond urges the car as he struggles to right it.
Apparently the police fire coupled with the sideways slide is too much and the back right tire pops. The car swerves even more wildly. Jeremy doesn’t think his grip can get any tighter on the car door.
“You better be fucking ready, Jack,” Geoff screams into his comm.
“Ready when you are,” Jack replies calmly.
Jeremy doesn’t think there’s a chance in hell that their extraction is going to go smoothly. Police are everywhere, and it’s a miracle they haven’t called in any choppers yet. It’s a little reassuring to hear Jack’s alright — at least one of them is.
Gavin takes a few potshots out the broken back window, but either his own terrible aim or the Vagabond’s insane driving means he misses everything. Jeremy considers winding what’s left of his window down to help lay suppressing fire, then the Vagabond takes the sharpest left turn in the history of left turns, and Jeremy decides that he’s going to follow standard roller-coaster procedure and keep his arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.
The car skids onto solid asphalt. A shower of sparks dance out behind them as the bare rim grinds into the road. On the mountain path the police had just as much trouble navigating the terrain as the Vagabond did; on the open straightaway with a busted tire, they’re sitting ducks.
“Getting into position,” the Vagabond says.
Jeremy peers out the windows through the many spider-webbing cracks, but he can’t see a cargobob anywhere. He can hear a whumph whumph of helicopter blades however, so hopefully that’s their ride and the cops haven’t called in their reserves.
“The bridge is too packed. I need you going in a straight line, not swerving to avoid traffic,” Jack says. It’s not rush hour or anything, but every turn the car makes is a near miss. There’s no good place to park something as large as a cargobob either, from what Jeremy can see.
“Taking it offroad,” the Vagabond says, “Hope you’re all strapped in.”
That’s all the warning they get before he guns the accelerator. Jeremy and Gavin fumble for seatbelts, getting their sockets mixed up. Then the car hits something and Jeremy doesn’t know which way is up.
They tumble through the air. Jeremy and Gavin tumble through the car. Everyone else is buckled up and braced.
They stop falling with a sudden jolt. Jeremy has barely a second to register that the car’s upside down before he realises much more urgently that Gavin’s falling out the back window. Jeremy lunges and just manages to grab Gavin’s hand before he vanishes from view.
“Shit, Ryan,” Jack’s voice sounds shaky over the comms, though that could just be Jeremy’s heart pounding with adrenaline, fogging up his hearing.
“GAVIN!” Michael screeches. He swears as he gets caught on his seatbelt.
The car’s still moving. Rocking even, Jeremy realises. And he realises because the movement sends him sliding along the ceiling toward the glassless back window. He’s still got ahold of Gavin, who’s looking beyond pale and clutching Jeremy’s hands like a lifeline.
Which they kinda are, a stupid part of Jeremy’s brain decides to point out.
But now the car’s tilting down that way again and Jeremy has a horrible decision of dropping Gavin and saving himself, or the both of them falling to death. Since they’re still in the air somehow and the ground looks a long way off.
Something grabs Jeremy’s ankle. He turns his head to see the Vagabond — still upside down and strapped in — holding Jeremy with both hands. Now all Jeremy needs to worry about is his or Gavin’s grip failing.
And, you know, the whole still in the air thing and holy shit that’s a long way down.
“What the fuck?” Geoff asks no one in particular. He sounds dazed and there’s blood on his face that wasn’t there before the car flipped.
Michael crawls across the ceiling next to Jeremy and flings his hands down to Gavin. “I got you, boi,” he says.
“Don’t drop me, Jeremy. Michael, don’t drop me. Michael ,” Gavin repeats over and over.
Between Jeremy and Michael, they manage to pull Gavin back into the car and collapse in a shaky, breathless pile. Geoff and the Vagabond carefully unstrap themselves and join them on the ceiling.
“Everyone alive? No one in pieces?” Geoff doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. “Good. Now, Ryan, what the fuck was that?”
“It got the cops off our trail and us extracted, didn’t it? Sorry, Gavin,” the Vagabond adds, with too much amusement in his voice to be fully repentant.
There’s still the whumph whumph of chopper blades. Jeremy realises that Jack caught the spinning car upside down — in midair — with the cargobob. Jeremy would be impressed if he didn’t feel so sick from the near-death experience.
“You didn't need to fucking flip us!” Michael shouts, which is completely unnecessary in the cramped car.
“Someone got in the way.”
There's more apology in the Vagabond's voice this time. Over his shoulder, Jeremy can see the front right corner of the car has been crunched into nonexistence.
The comms crackle as Jack speaks. “Guys, we’ve got incoming.”
Looks like the LSPD got off their asses and called in some choppers after all. They’re still at a distance, barely a speck on the horizon, but that will change quickly.
The Vagabond reaches down (no, up) to the driver’s seat and unwedges his rocket launcher. Michael snatches at it.
“Like hell are you getting to shoot this after that,” he snaps, “You’ll blow us all up!”
The Vagabond gives it over without protest. He does, however, pull out a sniper rifle from somewhere and nudges his way through the others until he can get a clear shot out the back window alongside Michael.
“Next time, Michael drives,” Geoff says decisively, “or Jeremy. Or me. Or even fucking Gavin.”
“Hey!” Gavin yelps. He's still shaking off the rush, but his protest sounds the same as ever.
There's an explosion from somewhere behind them. The Vagabond laughs and Michael gives a whoop of excitement.
Jeremy can see a fireball — it was probably a police chopper a second ago — fall in the distance. The adrenaline and the height is still making him antsy, but now the immediate danger has passed he’s starting to feel a bit better. This is half the reason he became a criminal, for the thrill of it.
“You alright, Gavin?” Geoff asks.
“I’m never going on another bloody mission without a sodding parachute,” Gavin declares dramatically, flopping down onto the car ceiling as much as he can with four other bodies squashed in. Then he promptly risks his life again leaning over the Vagabond to try and see down his rifle scope.
Jeremy decides not to join the others leaning out of the window. He's comfortable where he is, thank you.
The car sways as Jack turns the cargobob inland. Jeremy grabs randomly to stop himself from falling against the side doors. He knows they’ve got to shake the police tail, but he really wishes it could be done speedily so they can back to sweet, sweet land all the sooner.
“Are you doing ok, Jeremy?” the Vagabond asks once the car’s stopped swinging quite as much.
“Fine,” Jeremy grits out. If he doesn’t look then he won’t see the horrible drop.
Fuck. He can’t believe he was hanging out over that to save Gavin not two minutes ago.
“Then, uh, do you mind letting go of me?” the Vagabond continues, sounding awkward.
Jeremy opens his eyes and realises that his random flail for purchase has made it so the Vagabond’s leg is trapped between Jeremy and the upside down driver’s seat. He must’ve had it hooked up against the seat to fit himself lying down on the ceiling to snipe.
“Shit, sorry,” Jeremy jumps back. That only makes the car swing again and Jeremy grips the passenger seat for the illusion of safety. If the car drops they’re all dead anyway.
The Vagabond gives him a long considering stare — or maybe he’s pulling faces, it’s impossible to tell with the mask on. He doesn’t let up and the others are starting to pay attention now.
“I probably should’ve already mentioned that I’m afraid of heights,” Jeremy says, trying to smile and keep things light.
“Not like you’ve had much of a chance to get used to them,” Michael comments.
Jeremy flips him off and the others laugh. It’s better when they’re all talking, it helps distract him from obsessing over the drop.
Michael and the Vagabond make short work of the few choppers that are stupid enough to come near and soon enough — though it still takes way too long for Jeremy’s liking — Jack says they’re in the clear and heads for their drop-off point. Jeremy lets out a sigh of relief.
Jeremy ends up squished next to the Vagabond, while Michael, Gavin, and Geoff lean out the windows and shout unhelpful suggestions to where Jack should land. It’s as comfortable as Jeremy could ever be, trapped in a small space high up with four other people.
“I won’t do that again,” the Vagabond says quietly, “I didn’t know you were afraid of heights.”
Jeremy starts, not expecting to be spoken to. “It’s cool,” he says, shrugging, “If it needs to happen, it needs to happen. Plus, if there’s action I can usually get over it for a bit. I’ve had to do parachute jumps on previous jobs.”
“I didn't get this far by making compromises,” the Vagabond says, “It won’t happen again because I’ll find another way.”
The earnestness in his voice is a little alarming when coupled with the mask. It gives the whole thing an air of dangerous finality that’s kinda scary.
Team Love and Stuff, Jeremy reminds himself. “Thanks.”
“Thank you for saving Gavin,” the Vagabond replies, “I’d never have heard the end of it if he’d died from a stunt I pulled. It was brave of you.”
“Oh.” Jeremy hadn’t even thought about that. At the time, he’d only been concerned with Gavin’s safety. “No problem.”
The Vagabond hesitates — there’s something familiar in the action that Jeremy can’t place — then reaches over to give Jeremy’s shoulder a squeeze.
“I’m glad you’re part of the crew,” he says.
“Me too, man.” Jeremy grins.
It’s early evening and they’re all back at the safehouse after the heist. Geoff and Jack are going to look into fencing the goods, which leaves the rest of them free for a few days in theory.
In practice they’ll all show up and bother each other anyway, if the wind down from the last heist is any indication. Jeremy trots through the safehouse, intent on picking up some extra ammo to keep around his apartment and mulling over whether or not to ask Gavin and Michael out for drinks to return the favour of last week’s celebration.
“— don’t trust him?” it’s Jack’s voice. Jeremy stops, hovering just to one side of the open door.
“It’s not that,” the Vagabond replies.
“Then what?” Jack sounds frustrated, “You only kept it on for a week when you first met all of us and anyone else new to the organisation it’s a couple of days at most. It’s been two weeks. What’s so different about Jeremy?”
Jeremy had started to creep away from what is likely a private conversation, but at the mention of his name his ears prick up and he sneaks closer.
The Vagabond lets out a gusty sigh. If he makes any other response Jeremy doesn’t hear it.
“He’ll notice sooner or later,” Jack says, “The others have started to — even Geoff. He’s still in the house, you could do it right now.”
“Next week,” the Vagabond says decisively, “I’ll take it off for Jeremy next week.”
“The longer you leave it the bigger a deal it’s going to be,” Jack warns.
They’re talking about his skull mask, Jeremy realises. A curling sick feeling settles low in his stomach. If what Jack said is true, the Vagabond doesn’t trust Jeremy, despite his denial. Jeremy had thought they’d been getting along fine, but apparently that isn’t the case after all. Maybe the Vagabond was actually disgusted with Jeremy's fear of heights in the car earlier and thinks he's pathetic.
There’s a saying Jeremy only half remembers about eavesdroppers not hearing anything good about themselves. He rushes away, not caring that he never got to pick up the ammo he’d intended to. Jeremy just wants to go home without bumping into anyone else.
Unfortunately, he's still not intimately familiar with the entirety of this particular safehouse yet, and by the time he's gotten his bearings after his second dead end it's too late to avoid the rest of the team. Michael and Gavin have finished up whatever they were talking to Geoff about and are chatting in front of the way out.
Jeremy tries not to make eye-contact, tugging his hat low over his eyes, but they turn toward him as he approaches anyway.
“Hey, Lil J, want to come out for bevs again?” the question comes from Michael, but Gavin’s swinging an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders and attempting puppy-dog eyes too, so they’re in it together.
“I’ve got a date actually,” Jeremy says. Well, it’s not really official or even planned, but Ryan had sounded enthusiastic last week so Jeremy’ll take his chances. He’s definitely feeling a bit down about the whole Vagabond-mask issue, and seeing someone outside of all this will be good for him.
“Really?” The amount of incredulity Gavin puts into the word is insulting. “Anyone we know?”
“Some of us like to keep our work and home life separate,” Jeremy tries for a lofty tone but is aware he probably just sounds snippy.
The Vagabond snorts as he walks past to his motorbike. That’s also insulting, but Jeremy isn't going to let the Vagabond's disgust of him get him down when he's got a good evening lined up.
“Aww, Jeremy’s got a civvie girl,” Gavin laughs.
“Shut up Gavin, so do you,” Michael says, giving Gavin a shove.
Gavin squawks and pushes Michael back. It devolves from there into a fight that Michael quickly wins. Jeremy takes the opportunity to escape before they start asking him more questions on his ‘civvie girl’. It might be cowardly, but anyone who accuses him of being a coward has never seen the determination on Gavin’s face when he wants to know a random bit of trivia from someone.
Jeremy scours the kitchen when he gets home, only to find that he must've been tidy at some point in the last week and the receipt with Ryan's phone number on it is missing. That's a little frustrating, but it's not the end of the world. Jeremy hasn't had to change his phone in that time and it’s easy to pull Ryan's number up from his call history.
It would've been nice to have the hard copy though, Jeremy thinks. He calls himself a sentimental fool for that.
This time Ryan picks up a lot faster and doesn't sound confused about why Jeremy is calling.
“Can I see you again this evening?” Jeremy asks once they've gotten 'hello’s out of the way.
“Do you want…” Ryan hesitates. Jeremy can practically see the mental struggle to spit out what he wants to say, “Do you want to come around to my place?”
“Sure,” Jeremy says, trying to keep it casual to stop Ryan from worrying, “Let me know where and I’ll be there in twenty.”
Ryan reads off an address that’s much closer to the centre of town than Jeremy’s apartment. He’ll have to be quick if he’s going to make it in the promised twenty.
It’s raining when Jeremy pulls his car out of his garage. He flicks on the windscreen wipers and prays that there haven’t been any accidents on the roads he’s planning on taking.
Jeremy arrives five minutes late. Ryan’s waiting outside the apartment building for him and lets Jeremy park his car in the underground lot attached to the building. They head up more floors than Jeremy was expecting to.
“Nice place for a PA,” Jeremy comments, once he’s had a chance to look, then immediately wants to kick himself when Ryan’s expression shutters.
“I like the view,” Jeremy tries, “and the tv.” The tv takes up nearly an entire wall and Jeremy notes that several sleek gaming consoles are shelved next to it in what looks like a custom stand.
Ryan still looks apprehensive. Well, if talking won't help then Jeremy knows just what kind of action will.
Jeremy tugs the front of Ryan's t-shirt so he can reach up for a kiss. Ryan makes a muffled happy noise and kisses back enthusiastically. There's none of his previous hesitation when he reaches down to grab Jeremy's ass.
It turns out Ryan’s bedroom is right next to his lounge, so there’s no stumbling down hallways like there was in Jeremy’s apartment. The view is much nicer in here too, floor-to-ceiling windows opening out onto a thousand lights as the city comes alive at night.
Jeremy reaches down to unbuckle Ryan’s belt. Somehow he’s gotten less dexterous for being stone-cold sober. He fumbles until Ryan takes over and kicks his jeans off smoothly. Ryan follows that up with pulling Jeremy’s t-shirt off and shoving his pants and boxers down with minimal fumbling.
“No fair,” Jeremy mutters.
Ryan laughs and lets Jeremy tug his t-shirt off, ducking obligingly to let him pull it over his head. Then his boxers too, much easier to take off than a belt — even Jeremy’s awkward fingers can manage it.
The bruises on Ryan’s arm appear to have healed, but he’s now got a stripe of fresher ones running from the inner part of his left shoulder to the bottom of his ribcage on the opposite side. In Jeremy’s experience that kind of thing comes from a seatbelt during a sudden stop.
“Car crash?” Jeremy asks, waving at the bruises.
Ryan tenses right up again. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Sure, no problem,” Jeremy says quickly. He didn’t mean to kill the mood; why can’t he just keep his stupid mouth shut? It’s like every other thing he says makes Ryan close off.
“Sorry.” Ryan scrubs a hand over his face. At least he’s aware that he’s making things difficult. He sits on the edge of the bed and gives Jeremy a seductive smile, “Come here.”
Jeremy nearly trips over the pants tangled around his ankles in his hurry to get to Ryan. Ryan tugs him forward by the hips until Jeremy’s straddling Ryan’s lap. His hands rest on Ryan’s shoulders, mindful of the bruises.
Ryan nuzzles at Jeremy’s chin until Jeremy tilts his head down to give an open-mouthed kiss.
“How would you like this to go?” Ryan asks, between kisses.
“I don’t know,” Jeremy replies truthfully. As bad as it might sound, his best sex ideas always come when he’s had a drink or two. Or rather, he knows everything he’d like to do to Ryan and have Ryan do to him, but drunk Jeremy is better at picking and choosing from all the available options.
Ryan grins. “I might have some ideas.”
It’s all the warning Jeremy gets before he’s being manhandled onto the bed properly and pushed back until he’s lying with his head just below the pillows. Jeremy’s usually the manhandler, not the manhandlee, and it takes him by surprise. It’s more arousing that Jeremy thought it would be if he’s honest with himself.
Ryan grabs Jeremy’s wrists and pins his hands above his head and wow, ok, that’s definitely more of a thing for Jeremy than he thought it was. He lets out a shaky moan. Ryan looks concerned for a second, then he realises it was a good noise and his eyes and smile fill with dark promise that sends a shiver up Jeremy’s spine.
“Keep your hands there,” Ryan orders.
“Only if you make my evening for it,” Jeremy says, but he's stretching his fingers up to grip the wrought iron headboard without argument.
Ryan laughs, low and rough. Jeremy shivers again. Then Ryan moves down, mouthing and biting as he goes. Jeremy knows what's coming, yet he still arches up with a gasp when Ryan licks a wet stripe up his cock.
“Stay,” Ryan growls.
Jeremy wants to say something smart, but all that comes out is, “please.”
Ryan replies by pressing his forearm down against Jeremy's hips and using his other hand to feed Jeremy's cock into his mouth.
It's hot and wet and Ryan's tongue feels like it's everywhere at once. Jeremy grips the headboard tight enough that his knuckles go white. His hips attempt to arch up involuntarily, try to push his cock further into Ryan's mouth, but Ryan’s weight pins him down and Jeremy gains no ground.
Ryan bobs his head. His lips are sinfully soft and his hand squeezes a wonderful pressure near the base of Jeremy’s cock. His tongue flickers against the head, alternating being flat and soft, then pointed and precise.
Jeremy whimpers as Ryan takes his cock further in, pressing the tip against the back of his throat. He does it a few times, progressively taking in slightly more of Jeremy’s dick on each pass, until he shudders suddenly and switches back to shallower tonguing again.
It feels like forever and yet no time at all before Ryan pulls off. Jeremy lets out a whine that Ryan moves up to swallow in a kiss. His lips are slick and his mouth tastes like dick, yet Jeremy licks his way in without hesitation.
“Let me fuck you,” Ryan whispers, his voice is rougher than before the blowjob and sounds fucking amazing against Jeremy’s mouth.
“Yes,” Jeremy keens.
Ryan presses the heel of his palm just behind Jeremy’s balls in a promise of what’s about to come. Jeremy arches into it, really glad that the prep is going to cool him down a little. If Ryan was able to start fucking him properly right now he wouldn’t last two seconds.
Ryan moves away to fetch some lube and a condom out of his bedside cabinet. Jeremy stretches out, then pulls his knees up to his chest to make room for Ryan.
“Flexible,” Ryan comments, spreading lube over his fingers.
“What, this?” Jeremy shrugs and stretches into a wide straddle, glad he used to do gymnastics, “easy.”
“Delicious.”
Ryan leans forward, lubed fingers tracing over Jeremy’s hole. A single fingertip presses in. Jeremy lets out a long breath to make himself relax. It works enough for Ryan to get the finger halfway in, and he moves it gently, letting Jeremy get used to the sensation.
Jeremy breathes out steadily again and Ryan slides his finger all the way in, pressing deeper than Jeremy can when he’s doing this kinda thing solo.
“I knew I’d like this,” Ryan says, pulling his finger out to add more lube and pressing two against Jeremy’s hole.
“Like fingering me?”
“Like opening you up for me,” Ryan shifts until he can press a filthy kiss to Jeremy’s mouth, distracting him a little from the fingers, “like getting you ready to take my cock.”
Jesus Christ. Jeremy’s dick twitches and he grabs Ryan’s head to keep him in place for kissing, tangling his fingers in Ryan’s hair.
Ryan pulls his fingers out again, despite them only being halfway in, but doesn’t leave Jeremy empty for long. The same two fingers come back with a fresh coating of lube and dive right in, rubbing his walls and crooking towards his prostate. The burn of the stretch fades and Jeremy wants more.
“Ryan!” It comes out as a whine.
Ryan laughs darkly against Jeremy’s lips and pulls away, taking his fingers with him.
“Hands and knees,” Ryan orders, giving Jeremy’s hip a swat and leaving a smear of lube.
Jeremy rolls over eagerly. Ryan runs a hand down Jeremy’s back then pulls his asscheeks apart. Jeremy tucks his face into his shoulder in embarrassment when Ryan makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat and trails his fingers around Jeremy's loosened rim.
Ryan’s hands vanish. There’s the rip of a condom wrapper and a slap-slap noise as Ryan lubes himself up. Then Ryan’s cock is pushing in, hotter and thicker than fingers, stretching Jeremy further. He rocks deeper slowly until his hips are flush against Jeremy’s ass.
It’s been a while for Jeremy. Ryan starts to move. Long, slow thrusts like he could do this all day. Almost unpleasant shivers run up Jeremy’s spine as he struggles to adjust.
“Too much?” Ryan asks, though he doesn’t stop moving.
“Just— Don’t—” Jeremy chokes, “Not fast.”
Ryan stops, buried as far as he can go into Jeremy. Jeremy shivers unpleasantly again. Ryan loops an arm under Jeremy’s chest and pulls until Jeremy is kneeling upright, still with Ryan’s cock inside him. Ryan’s chest is pressed against Jeremy’s back and his mouth nuzzles at the back of Jeremy’s neck.
“I don’t —” Jeremy starts to say. He’s cut off by Ryan’s free hand reaching down to start jacking him off.
“Squeeze,” Ryan orders.
It takes Jeremy a moment to realise what he means. Jeremy tenses, clenching around Ryan’s cock. It prompts another shiver up Jeremy’s spine, but this one is nicer.
“Relax,” Ryan says, taking his hand off Jeremy’s cock to play with his balls instead.
Jeremy does as he’s told. It’s already feeling better. He tries to turn his head to kiss Ryan, but the angle’s too awkward.
Ryan runs him through a couple more 'squeeze’ and 'relax’ exercises until Jeremy starts trying to get some better movement going. It’s way too awkward an angle to do more than squirm against Ryan’s hold, but his wriggling makes Ryan’s breath hitch so Jeremy must be doing something right.
Ryan pushes him back down to hands and knees, then further, so Jeremy’s braced on his forearms, ass in the air. He feels both absurdly exposed by the position and wonderfully enclosed from Ryan’s knees bracketing his shins.
“Alright?” Ryan asks, hands running over Jeremy’s back and sides.
“Yeah.” Jeremy squeezes around Ryan’s cock again and is rewarded with a groan, “C’mon. Fuck me.”
Ryan starts to thrust again. His fingers grip into Jeremy’s hips hard enough that there’ll probably be bruises there tomorrow. Jeremy doesn’t care, only concerned about the drag of Ryan’s cock inside him.
Jeremy fists the bedsheets and moans. Ryan picks up the pace, forcing Jeremy’s face further into the covers with every snap of his hips. He’s being fucked.
“God, Jeremy,” Ryan pants, like he can’t believe that he’s pounding Jeremy. Like Jeremy’s the amazing one.
“Ryan.”
“You’re so. Fucking. Perfect.” Ryan punctuates his words with thrusts that make Jeremy gasp, “So perfect. So stunning. Fucking irresistible.”
Jeremy loses himself in the sensations and the praise. He’s not usually the one being praised and hearing it from Ryan — who is not only way hotter, but also has the height that people generally want — makes Jeremy light-headed.
Jeremy’s brought back to reality sharply when his head hits the headboard. He yelps. Ryan slows his thrusts, hitting deep. Jeremy looks over his shoulder to see Ryan's head drop forward, face screwed up in pleasure.
“I want to watch you ride me,” Ryan says roughly, blinking blown eyes open lazily, “Or if you prefer I can keep fucking you like this until you come?”
“Hngh,” is the sound that escapes Jeremy.
Ryan keeps his thrusts slow and reaches around to fist Jeremy's cock. “I didn't hear an answer,” he says, voice tight, but laced with amusement.
“Riding you sounds good. I wanna see you come,” Jeremy manages with a surprisingly steady voice for how wrecked he feels.
Ryan pulls out and lies back against the pillows. He spreads more lube onto his cock slowly, watching Jeremy with a smile that's a little too hungry to be content.
Jeremy takes a moment to gather himself, then straddles Ryan's hips. From there it's just a matter of lining things up and sliding down onto Ryan's cock until he's fully seated in his lap. It's deeper from this angle, rubbing into Jeremy just right.
“Oh god,” Jeremy breathes.
“Just me,” Ryan says, because he's a terrible person with the kind of sense of humour that Jeremy loves to death.
Jeremy wastes no time and starts moving. Given how much he was fucked open just now, it’s a smooth ride. Ryan braces his feet on the mattress and fucks up into Jeremy. It’s messy and rough and exactly what Jeremy wants. He grabs his dick and starts jerking himself off. He’s not going to last long, but he doubts that it’ll make much of a difference, Ryan’s pretty close too from what he can tell.
Still, probably polite to ask.
“I’m gonna — fuck!” Jeremy moans, “I wanna come.”
“Be my guest,” Ryan says, moving one hand to help Jeremy along by squeezing his balls.
“Thought I already was,” Jeremy’s mouth says before his brain catches up.
Ryan groans the groan of someone hearing a painfully bad joke. Jeremy laughs until Ryan stops moving.
“Ryan!”
“You think you deserve it after that?” Ryan says darkly, but there’s a teasing smile on his face.
“I think you want me because of my way with words,” Jeremy says cockily. He keeps moving on his own, but it doesn’t feel as good without Ryan joining in.
“Ah yes,” Ryan says, a truly evil smile coming into play, “How could I forget: ‘I wanna climb you, because you’re tall, like a tree, get it?’.”
It’s delivered in a terrible version of Jeremy’s accent and Jeremy feels himself blush. How the hell had he pulled Ryan that night if he’d been drunk enough that his pickup lines were that bad?
“You’re the one who came home with me,” Jeremy feels obliged to point out, in order to defend his drunk self’s honour.
Ryan laughs. “True.” He cants his hips up against Jeremy again, quickly building back up to a rough and hard and fucking amazing fuck.
Jeremy speeds up his hand on his cock. Even with the interlude, it doesn’t take long, and then he’s coming all over Ryan’s stomach. Ryan keeps up his brutal pace, milking Jeremy for everything he’s worth. Jeremy’s vision blacks out like last time, but he catches himself before he collapses, one hand braced on Ryan’s chest.
Jeremy comes back down, shaking, and manages to focus on Ryan again. Ryan’s watching him with that same dark-eyed, hungry look, and Jeremy knows he’s not finished yet.
“Mind if I keep going?” Ryan asks. He’s slowed down his hips again, rolling long, unhurried thrusts up into Jeremy at a pace that probably feels nice but that isn’t going to get him off.
Jeremy nods. “Sure.” He’s not to the point of overstimulation just yet, he can let Ryan fuck him until he comes — provided he doesn’t take too long.
Ryan grips Jeremy’s hips tight again and does just that. Sharp, deep movements that bring him right to the edge and over it in less than a minute.
Ryan flings his head back, baring his throat to Jeremy. His eyes fall shut and his breath comes quickly through his open mouth in jagged pants and he’s coming, thrusts slowing until they stop entirely. He collapses back, spent, sucking in deep breaths that are highlighted by the sheen of sweat on his body. His face twitches as he works through the last few aftershocks and Jeremy can feel the mirroring twitches of his dick inside him.
Jeremy was right to want to watch, because that was fucking hot.
Jeremy’s far enough past his own orgasm that the unfamiliar strain in his knees is becoming uncomfortable. He sits up carefully, pulling a face at the sensation, and Ryan’s hand reaches down quickly to stop the condom coming off too.
Ryan ties the condom and chucks it toward the bin in the corner. It goes in. Given he's still sprawled lazily with hooded eyes, Jeremy's impressed. Slightly less so when Ryan looks surprised that he made the shot.
Jeremy collapses on his side on the bed; the covers are blissfully cool against his sweaty skin. Ryan's got that wonderfully post-coital look again. He reaches over and tugs Jeremy closer for a long messy kiss.
“Stay the night?” Ryan asks tentatively.
Jeremy had been kinda banking on exactly that, to be honest. Given Ryan's spent their last two nights together at Jeremy's place until morning, he shouldn't really be looking as trepidatious as he is. Jeremy leans over to kiss away some of his nerves.
“Sure,” Jeremy says.
There’s a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up. Then they curl up in bed together, Ryan’s nose buried in the green of Jeremy’s hair. Jeremy can smell sweat and lube and Ryan, and it’s amazing.
Jeremy's right on the edge of sleep when he hears Ryan whisper something like 'please don't hate me’.
Then he's pulled under into a dreamless sleep before he can really think about it.
And here we are now.
Jeremy wakes up. He takes a good couple of seconds to realise he’s not in his own bed and a good few more to recognise his ringtone. There’s another jingle creating a clashing harmony and Ryan gets up with a muffled expletive.
It’s gotta be something like three in the morning — a glance at Ryan's alarm clock confirms it is three in the morning. Jeremy indulges in a nice fantasy where he violently murders the person calling him. Except the kind of person who phones in the middle of the night might take exception to that and try to violently murder Jeremy back. Sometimes it sucks when all your friends are criminals.
Jeremy stumbles in the dark to where he thinks he left his jeans. The sound is coming from there, so he’s got to be onto something. He fishes out his phone and starts struggling into his boxers one-handedly when he registers who’s calling. Jack.
“What is it?” Ryan snaps into his own phone.
Jeremy has just pressed the answer button on his phone, but looks up at Ryan instead of saying 'hi’ to Jack. Something about Ryan’s tone has started to raise red flags.
Ryan’s standing silhouetted against his massive windows. Something about the voice and the stance and the irritated sharp hand movements all come together to form a complete picture. Even the fact that he’s completely naked doesn’t distract from Jeremy’s very important realisation.
Ryan is the Vagabond.
Ryan is the fucking Vagabond.
It seems so obvious in hindsight. So obvious Jeremy doesn’t know how he’s missed it for the past two weeks. So obvious that the rest of the crew are going to make Jeremy’s life a living hell when they find out.
Jeremy hangs up and grabs his gun just as Ryan says, “I’ll be right there,” and turns to face Jeremy.
A civilian — like Ryan was meant to be — would freak out when held at gunpoint. Ryan gives it as much attention as if Jeremy had held out a plate of toast. He doesn’t move closer, but his grip shifts slightly on his phone and Jeremy has a horrible suspicion that if he pulls the trigger he’ll need to have that phone removed from something internal later.
Jeremy is pretty sure he can take Ryan. Jeremy is also pretty sure he can’t take the Vagabond.
“Would it help if I said I was planning to tell you in the morning?” Ryan asks calmly.
“What the fuck?” Jeremy says, because nothing else is really coming to mind.
Ryan doesn’t move, yet he somehow looks a lot further away from brutally eviscerating Jeremy with his phone. Jeremy will take it.
“Would you like me to explain?” Ryan asks, still freakishly calm.
Jeremy jumps when his phone goes off. He glances at the display. Jack again.
“No,” Jeremy decides. If they’re both being called in in the middle of the night there’s something seriously wrong and dealing with that could be fatal if Jeremy’s distracted.
Ryan’s shoulders slump, dejection clear in every line of his (still naked, Jeremy’s mind supplies unhelpfully) body. Jeremy can’t deal with this right now. He grabs his clothes, and bolts.
Jeremy’s in the elevator tugging on a sock when he comes to two realisations. First of all, he forgot to grab his shoes — like hell is he going back for them though. Second, his phone’s still ringing.
“Hey, Jack,” Jeremy answers tiredly, “I’m on my way.”
There’s silence. Then, “Everything ok, Jeremy?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Jeremy says, then hangs up before he can get asked anymore questions that he doesn’t know how to answer.
Unfortunately, Jeremy had parked his car in the garage attached to Ryan’s apartment building. He can’t get in without a key — or his lockpicks which he’s helpfully forgotten — and he isn’t about to go back up and ask Ryan to let him in. It’s only a few blocks to the meetup point, he’s had longer commutes.
And it’s not like it’s the Rimmy Turtle or anything, it’s only his civilian vehicle, for the occasions when he doesn’t want the cops recognising his usual paint-job. Occasions like meeting up with his civilian boyfriend.
(Somehow that’s the part that stings the most, that Jeremy had thought he could be with someone who wasn’t part of his job.)
It had been raining during the evening and despite how hot it is in Los Santos, there are still puddles all over the sidewalk. Fucking fantastic. Jeremy tries to remember if there’s a shoe shop between Ryan’s place and the meetup point. He’s not above a smash-and-grab to keep his feet dry.
He’s only made it a block (no shops so far) when the roar of a motorcycle engine cuts through the silent night. Jeremy looks over to find Ryan in full Vagabond gear pulling up beside him.
“You want a ride?” Ryan asks. His voice is muffled by the mask, but it’s so obviously Ryan that Jeremy still can’t believe he missed it for so long.
“I’m good,” Jeremy shakes his head. He’s really not.
The engine cuts out and Ryan gets off the bike to push it and walk alongside Jeremy. The harsh yellow glow of the streetlights make strange patterns on the mask and hide his eyes in shadow.
“So it wasn't my slurred pick-up lines or my drunken fumblings that convinced you to come home with me?” Jeremy says bitterly, “Was it planned from the start?”
“No,” Ryan says, “You had confidence and charm in spades, even while drunk. I found that — I found you — attractive. Let me explain.”
“They’re gonna know something’s up if we walk in together,” Jeremy points out, cutting Ryan off. Then he yelps as he steps in a puddle that’s deeper than it looked.
Ryan switches to pushing the bike with one hand and reaches into his duffle bag with the other. Jeremy’s expecting a gun or a knife or some other dangerous weaponry, but Ryan pulls out Jeremy’s boots instead.
“Don’t want you stepping on a used needle,” he says, offering the boots to Jeremy.
That’s actually a pretty big concern in Los Santos. Jeremy takes his boots and manfully struggles to put them on without falling flat on his face. He gets halfway through one then gives up and leans on Ryan’s bike to do the rest. Ryan doesn’t say anything, but Jeremy hates how he can sort of see Ryan’s expression behind the mask.
“I could say I saw you on my way and offered a ride,” Ryan suggests. A petty part of Jeremy hates how reasonable he's being.
Jeremy shakes his head again. “Look. I don’t look like I’m coming from my place,” he gestures at his plainclothes outfit that he’d put together to go meet Ryan the civilian, “I’d rather walk a coupla blocks than make it obvious. Especially when it’s not gonna happen again.”
“Right,” Ryan’s voice hardens, sounding much more Vagabond and a lot less Ryan. He mounts the bike with sharp movements.
And shit, Jeremy’s starting to feel bad. Matt always told him he was too nice to be a criminal. Jeremy shouldn’t be feeling sorry for someone with more kills than months Jeremy’s been alive. Especially considering Ryan’s been lying to him this whole time.
Ryan looks at Jeremy then, when Jeremy doesn’t move, kicks the motorbike into gear and drives off.
Jeremy steps in another puddle that’s deep enough to wash over his boot and start soaking into his sock again. He’s already regretting not taking Ryan up on his offer.
“Lil J!” Gavin shouts when Jeremy walks into the base. It’s subdued for Gavin though. He looks like he was rudely awakened, just like Jeremy was. (And Ryan was, Jeremy’s unhelpful brain reminds him.)
“Hey, Gavin.”
“You’re looking down, Lil J. Your civvie girl break up with you?” Gavin asks.
“No. It’s…” Jeremy’s exhausted brain can’t think up a good explanation, “It’s complicated.”
“Ah,” Gavin gets a knowing look on his face, “She not a fan of you being called off in the middle of the night?”
“Gavin. Jeremy,” Jack interrupts them. She’s looking frazzled and there’s a nasty shiner on her eye.
“What’s up?” Gavin asks, snapping to attention.
Jeremy tries to follow suit but he’s pretty sure there are sloths that look more alert than he does right now.
“It turns out the Spiders are still sore about the bank heist from last week,” Jack explains, “They just hit our weapons cache near the pier.”
Gavin sucks in a hiss of air through his teeth and winces. Jeremy doesn't know what exactly was in the cache, but it's obviously something important if they're all being called in like this.
Behind Jack, Jeremy can see Geoff talking rapidly to the Vagabond and Michael. There's lots of arm-movements and glaring.
“We're going to hit them back, hard,” Jack says fiercely, “After tonight there’s not going to be any Spiders left.”
The plan is a simple one, once Geoff calms down enough to stop swearing and actually explain it. They’re going to take a couple of armoured cars and an armoured chopper, then go and light up the Spiders’ headquarters. Michael and Jack are hitting up their drug supplies, Geoff and Gavin are going to concentrate on their weapons depot, which leaves Jeremy and the Vagabond to assassinate as many of the high-ranking members as they can find.
The Vagabond — Ryan — looks at Jeremy when they get their assignment, but doesn’t say anything. Jeremy would lay good money on the odds that Ryan’s looking apologetic.
At least the lack of reaction from the others manages to assuage Jeremy’s conviction that he’d been set up for a laugh. The thought had been hovering in the back of his mind ever since his realisation.
They move out. Ryan gets into the car behind Jack’s. It’s got some serious modifications at the back that the stupid criminal part of Jeremy really wants to see in action. Still, he dithers, double-checking his weapons, until he’s got no more excuses and screws up his courage.
Because Jeremy’s a grown ass man, dammit, part of the most notorious gang in Los Santos. He can totally deal with his sort of boyfriend-slash-fuck-buddy-slash-teammate for the duration of one mission. He slides into the passenger seat.
Ryan pulls his mask off. There’s black paint smeared around his eyes. It makes him look otherworldly under the yellow-orange glow of the streetlights and finally connects Ryan and the Vagabond in Jeremy’s head. They’re not two separate people anymore.
“Can I explain?” Ryan asks.
Most of Jeremy doesn’t want to give Ryan the time of day right now, but the (tiny) logical part acknowledges that clearing the air between them would be a good idea. Jeremy’s already battling exhaustion, he doesn’t want to have to fight his paranoia that the Fakes are trying to pull a fast one on him while also fighting the Spiders.
“Go ahead.”
“That first night, I was at the bar to look after Gavin and Michael,” Ryan says hurriedly, nearly tripping over the words in his haste to get them out, “I was going to be their designated driver. Then I ran into you. I didn’t know you were our new hire. And when I did… It didn’t seem like something to bring up immediately. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
“But then I called,” Jeremy says.
“But then you called.” Ryan nods, “And I should’ve admitted things there. But —” he sighs, “— people can accept that the Vagabond is Ryan, but people can’t accept that Ryan is the Vagabond. Coming out as a mercenary has ruined relationships for me before. I knew it wouldn’t last, I just wanted to enjoy things while it did.”
It makes sense. Jeremy wishes it didn't, but it makes sense. Dammit, Matt's right, Jeremy's too nice to be a criminal.
“And, to be fair, it's not like you told me what you really did for a living either,” Ryan continues.
“‘Hey, I'm in a gang’ is a hell of a lot different to 'hey, I'm your mercenary co-worker from the gang you're in’,” Jeremy snaps.
Ryan falls silent. He fidgets with the mask in his hands and waits for Jeremy to keep talking.
“Is this going to affect my place with the Fakes?” Jeremy asks.
Ryan shakes his head immediately. “I’ll make sure Geoff keeps you on no matter what. We don’t have to tell the others if you don’t want to.”
“We should tell them,” Jeremy says, “It’s not good to keep secrets from people you’re entrusting your life to.”
Ryan flinches. Jeremy hadn’t meant that as a dig, but he’s not going to take it back either. If he’s honest with himself, he’s also not looking forward to telling the rest of the Fakes.
“Did you mean any of it?” Jeremy asks quietly.
“Everything,” Ryan says, “I want you, Jeremy. Whatever way you’ll let me have you.”
Jeremy sighs and rubs his eyes. He's going to have to get a lot better at comprehensive thinking while exhausted or hungover if these past two weeks are any indication.
“Can we maybe just start over?” Jeremy suggests.
“If that's what you want,” Ryan says.
“What do you want?” Jeremy asks.
“I want to remember what you looked like riding me,” Ryan says darkly, making Jeremy gulp, “I want to remember falling asleep with you in my arms. If starting over means losing that…”
“Right, yeah.” Jeremy really needs to get better at thinking while tired. He shifts in his seat and winces at the physical reminder that he’d had some pretty energetic sex barely a few hours ago, “Do you have any other secrets?”
“None that involve you,” Ryan replies steadily.
That’s not exactly what Jeremy had been hoping for, but he’s probably not going to get much better in this job.
“You must've thought I was such an idiot,” Jeremy says glumly.
“No,” Ryan says, “well, maybe a little oblivious sometimes,” he corrects himself when Jeremy looks at him in disbelief.
Because there had been clues that Jeremy had willfully missed. Jeremy doesn’t want to count how many.
Michael sticks his head out of Jack’s car and yells at Gavin to hurry up. Gavin finally emerges from the base, juggling an armful of ammo he really should’ve put in a bag. Once he’s in the car in front, Jack starts the engine. The car’s taillights wash Jeremy and Ryan in a red glow, making Ryan look even stranger.
Ryan’s mouth twists unhappily at the sign that they’re going to move out before they've finished talking, but he’s a professional, so he pulls his mask back on and puts in his earpiece. “This is Ryan going on comms. One, two, three. One, two three.”
Jeremy hesitates, but he wants to keep his place with the crew and delaying this job further is only going to garner him frustration. “This is Jeremy on comms.”
They drive through the wet night. Jeremy stares at a solitary raindrop stuck on the passenger side window. It still hurts, being lied to, but the initial sting has faded.
The question Jeremy needs to ask himself is: what does he want? He's had a lot of fun with Ryan, but does that cancel out the issues that are likely to come up from getting involved with the Vagabond? It's been a while since he had a steady partner, but he can still remember how nice it was. But then Ryan's involved with dangerous situations and might not always make it home, which Jeremy would rather not think about.
Whatever Jeremy decides, he's going to have to find a nonverbal way of communicating it to stop the rest of the crew picking it up over the comms.
Ryan stops the car at a red light — no point in getting police attention before they mean to. His hand rests on the gearstick. Jeremy makes up his mind.
He reaches over and laces his fingers through Ryan’s.
Ryan startles. He tries to pull his hand away, but Jeremy holds on tight, smiling, and hopes it makes sense to him.
Ryan glances at the lights — still red — then quickly pulls up his mask. “Yeah?”
Jeremy leans forward to press his mouth to Ryan’s in a short kiss. Both of them are grinning like idiots when Jeremy pulls away.
“Yeah.”
The light turns green. Ryan pulls his mask back down and drives.