Work Text:
Scapegrace closed his eyes as he exhaled, trying to ignore Thrasher's gaze. He never went out by himself anymore. He hated it, but having a man with biceps the size of his head watch over him seemed to deter most of the usual creeps. Sometimes Thrasher tried to make small talk, but Scapegrace wouldn't tolerate it. He needed his few minutes of quiet.
The silence was interrupted by a patron opening the exit door and stumbling out next to Scapegrace. His eyes raked over Scapegrace's figure, who sighed wearily.
"Go back inside," Scapegrace grunted. "This is for employees only, you shouldn't be out here."
"You're beautiful," the man breathed, taking a step forward.
Scapegrace grit his teeth. He opened his mouth to tell the man to fuck himself, but Thrasher beat him to it. He stepped around Scapegrace and his fist connected with the man's nose with a crunch. His form was terrible, but he had the upper hand with speed, and the aforementioned biceps.
"Get out of here," Thrasher ordered, his voice shaking with anger. Scapegrace watched the man fumble his way back inside, blood all over his face.
"Wow," Scapegrace said, carefully suppressing interest from his voice, "I didn't know you could do that."
Thrasher turned to him. He had such wide eyes, even with his new face. Blood dripped down his knuckles. "Do what, sir?"
"Like... Be effective." Scapegrace took another puff from his cigarette, then held it out to Thrasher. The moron just stared at it. Scapegrace huffed, grabbed his wrist, and pointedly shoved the tube between his fingers. "God, you're impossible. I'm going back inside, don't follow me until you're done with that, nobody wants to see you coughing on it." He shoved the door open and stepped through, letting the door slam as Thrasher started to call him back.