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The mission was going awry.
Fact. Not opinion, as Ace had sighed with a roll of his eyes – fact.
Running through a dilapidated part of town they hadn't bothered to scope out beforehand, being chased by their target rather than doing the chasing themselves, did, in fact, constitute as a failure.
Not a spectacular failure that would result in their immediate demise, no, but a failure nonetheless. Ace had looked quite smug when Deuce agreed with this minor amendment, which had made him want to give his partner a quick chop to the top of the head, but now was not the time for such indulgent punishments.
“Here, here, here!” Ace said frantically, coming to a screeching standstill with difficulty alongside an alleyway that Deuce hadn't even registered, the place thrown into shadow and exuding the promise of further danger. “Deu, down here, quickly! Before he rounds the corner!”
Deuce, luckily, was able to parse the instruction 'here', and did not need Ace to grab him by the collar of his coat and drag him sideways to get his point across. Regardless though, Ace did exactly that, almost choking Deuce in the process as he was stuffed none too gently into the gap between the two crumbling buildings.
“Alright, alright, you've made your point!” Deuce snapped, dodging the overflowing dumpster with difficulty. Next moment, the air was forcibly knocked from his lungs as Ace shoved him up against the wall, crowding in too close and too hot. “Back off, would you?” Deuce gasped, willing himself not to reflexively cough right in Ace's face. “You're too close, you idi—”
“Shh!” Ace hissed, finding it appropriate to move in even closer and cage Deuce in against the wall, despite his warning tsk, “He's coming!”
“Okay,” Deuce whispered back, for sure enough the pounding of feet from the street beyond the dumpster could now be heard over his racing pulse, drawing in closer with every gasp of air, “but give me some space, I can't breathe.”
But the sound of the hurried footsteps was getting quieter, slower, their machete-wielding owner definitely slowing down in his pursuit. Was it because he couldn't see them further up the dark cobbled street, and thus knew they had hidden somewhere in the vicinity? Probably – and oh, in hindsight, what a stupid idea this was! He would find them – there'd be a fight in this limited, cramped space – and the residents of every single apartment in every single one of these buildings would hear them, alert the authorities, and blow their chances of targeting anyone else for their pockets of Beri tonight.
“All I wanted was enough money for dinner,” Deuce whined, the back of his head knocking to the rough white wall he was pressed against, “that's it; nothing extravagant, and nothing we had to steal from hardworking locals. Not right now, anyway—”
“Shut up,” Ace breathed urgently, the whites of his eyes startlingly bright in the dark, “we'll find someone else to—”
“Oh yeah, with your finesse and grace like back there, we can totally go unnoticed again among these—”
But Deuce cut himself off, his heart leaping up into his throat as the sound of footsteps stopped in the street, the buzz of the distant cicadas and Ace's quickened breathing all that he could hear. And then, sickeningly, the sound of metal scraping against the wall of a building; the rough, labored breaths of their prey-turned-predator.
“I'm sorry, Deu, but trust me on this,” Ace said quickly, cupping his face and turning it back towards his own; his expression was set, pupils blown with adrenaline and eyes wide with terror, no doubt mirroring Deuce's own perfectly, serving only to make Deuce shiver with a wave of adrenalized nausea.
“No, don't,” Deuce whispered as loud as he dared, utterly certain he could see where this was going, “no fire – we said no fire, Ace, not after last time, not down here—”
But Ace wasn't planning on using his fire – that much became obvious the moment the words left Deuce's lips, hung in the air like smoke in humid heat.
For Ace was leaning in, his chin angling, his eyelids fluttering closed... and Deuce knew what was going to happen right before it did.
And yet despite his foresight, He did nothing to stop the warm lips from meeting his own, reciprocating Ace's surprisingly gentle, hesitant kiss with his own brand of delicacy. Slow at first, the two testing the waters of an experience neither had ever tried (had never had the courage to attempt, the fear of the others' rejection strong and bitter); and Deuce found himself pulling Ace in by the hem of his shirt, welcoming the press of skin to skin.
To their target, they would appear as nothing more than a loved-up couple making out in an alleyway, unaware and uncaring of the man and the machete stumbling in on their romantic scene. Deuce knew the tactic well; had fought Skull off when he had tried to employ it one time, opting for something more tactful and less slobbery with a near hysterical scream.
But with Ace—oh, with Ace it was different. It was off the back of months of longing, of pining, of yearning and doing precisely nothing adult or mature about the feelings that kept him awake at night. With Ace, like this, Deuce gave back what was shared with him, moved with and against Ace as if this were learned and they were nothing but lovers.
Oddly familiar yet heart-stoppingly new, Ace felt like home. The kiss deepened by Deuce's volition, parting his lips in invite and gasping a breathy, demanding little sound when Ace licked inside, bold and hungry. A wrist of his was taken, pinned back to the wall; a knee pressed between his thighs, his spine arching away from the cold white concrete with a whimper that was swallowed, devoured, met with a growl and with teeth. Fingers laced between his as the kiss turned fiercer, driven, a tempo found and a flame lit in their blood that had been waiting, waiting, waiting for a catalyst that mocked from out of reach.
He was desperate; frenzied. He was living in this moment that had began because of something that no longer mattered, for if they died here and now then it would have been a life worth living, a cause worth perishing for. There was only Ace claiming every one of his senses; Ace in his heart, as always, now allowed to flourish, to root, to spin into his nerves and his cells and anchor his hold via teeth nipping tongue.
He almost prayed for their end, dramatically, the thought spinning out of control – almost wanted to go out on a high, pinned in place with lips sliding messily to lips, all breathy moans and hands scrabbling for hold and fingers threaded with fingers.
It was with physically painful reluctance that Deuce ended the kiss some moments later, tilting his chin up and feeling the rough scratch of the wall rake through his hair. Ace, apparently not catching the hint, diverted his affections to Deuce's now exposed neck, teeth and lips closing around a deep, tremulous moan in conjunction with pushing Deuce harder up against the wall.
“He—he's gone,” Deuce panted, the stars overhead unfocused, mere smudges in the sky lost to the raw pleasure of the situation, “Ace, I think he's gone now.”
He regretted his words at once, had to bite his lip to stop himself from taking it back, admitting to a mistake he hadn't made, and returning to Ace's loving touches.
Because the moment he spoke, Ace stopped, breaking away with a nervous flutter of embarrassed giggles that were out of place as much as they were out of character. The moment was gone, vanished, snuffed out and replaced by awkward glances, Ace's hand that had been entwined with Deuce’s leaping up to tug the rim of his hat down.
“Ace,” Deuce tried, his voice coming shaky and thin as the world felt like it was closing in all of a sudden, “uh, listen, don't feel bad for—I mean, that was really—I wanted to—”
“Let's go,” Ace interrupted, turning on his heel to display the little flickers of flames leaping and curling down his spine. “If we're quick, we can make it back to town before everywhere closes up and find someone new to track.”
But Deuce saw the smile. Deuce saw the way Ace bit his lip and ducked his face before his pivot was completed, his shoulders hunching and rounding inwards to protect himself (to protect his heart). It was beautiful, honestly, that tiny yet enormous confirmation that if Deuce were to choose to, he could mimic Ace in his actions and kiss him up against a wall should he wish, and Ace would not only allow it, but welcome it.
So Deuce dithered. Panicked. Watched Ace pick his way between the dumpster and the boxes strewn on the floor, each a hurdle that separated them further (that broke him, hurt him, made the breath in his lungs turn sticky with regret).
He took a step forwards, balling his fists hard enough to hurt.
“Ace,” Deuce said firmly, gaining his attention, “we're not going back to town yet. Come here.”
Live your life with no regrets. That was their motto, wasn't it?
Don't miss the chances you would otherwise chase in memories alone.
Take the risk. Take his hand; pin it back to the wall, and kiss him like to not is to die, to rot.
The rest could wait. The rest was not Ace, or Ace's lips back against Deuce's, or Ace's hand tucking into the small of his back to draw him in breathlessly close.
The rest was just a memory – a puff of smoke unfurling from a still-warm candle.