Archive of Our Own ^beta

Andy would not describe his father as a cut-throat businessman at any point in his life, but he is well aware that his dad did come into money only after he'd married Andy's mom, and wasn't overly generous about sharing that with his ex-wife beyond the bumped up child and spouse support cheques. Andy loves his dad, don't get him wrong, but he is not the type to spread the love around in all the years Andy has known him.

His dad, however, is the protective type. When his company's stock jumps and he nearly gets assaulted coming out of a company meeting, he gets guards for himself, his wife, and Andy.

Andy's never come out to his parents, so he is stuck in the unfortunate position of being unable to ask for a different guard because he is helplessly attracted to his current one. The price of cowardice, he supposes, even if he has his reasons.

His bodyguard's name is Derek, who even before he told Andy was obviously partially Latino, with a naturally darker skin tone that made his smile look even more lit up and the gold chain around his throat look even more gorgeously accented. Andy has had inappropriate dreams about using that chain to kiss Derek. It's a problem.

Upon their first meeting, Derek had been introduced as Mr. Carruthers, had snorted to the disapproval of the guard assigned to Andy's father that was dispatched from the same agency, and had looked at Andy and told him to call him Derek and that Mr. Carruthers was his dad. "Cary," the other agent had hissed, but Derek had just grinned, teeth blinding white. Andy thinks he's been a little bit in love since.

Derek's well. Derek's built. He has to be to do his job, Andy assumes. Andy's no wilting flower himself, since he's already pushing six four at eighteen, but Andy hasn't really done anything that would make give him the body Derek has ever since Andy quit hockey at thirteen.

Andy's pathetic, basically, and is surprised no one's pulled him aside and told him to stop making moon eyed expressions in public yet. Then again, he doubts if his parents have noticed that it would really be something they'd want to acknowledge, so if either has caught on, they probably shoved the realization deep.

They're on a train cross country from Ottawa where the company's main base is over to Vancouver, where the next largest base is. Good old John A. Macdonald, connecting the whole country, and allowing Derek to try to teach Andy blackjack as the preface but is really just doing it as an excuse to burn some time, since Derek is a very good bodyguard but whose biggest weakness is an inability to sit still for an extended period time.

Derek throws his head back as he laughs, exposing the line of his throat, laughing at Andy's horrible attempts at playing. Derek is truly laughing at Andy and not with him, but for some reason, despite being shy and feeling defensive at most turns from others within his peer base, Andy doesn't feel offended now.

"You're horrible at this," Derek tells him, laughter still in his voice and mirth shining in his eyes, the quirk of his mouth smug and holding down a smile. Andy will admit, at least to himself, that his failure is more in the form of being unable to pay attention, too distracted by Derek's laugh, Derek's fingers as nimble and capable on the cards as Andy's seen him with his gun, Derek's eyelashes fanning dark over the tops of his cheeks when his eyes squint in a grin. Andy can be allowed distraction; he is not the one with a job that involves discerning threats against another person's life.

Andy shrugs helplessly. Derek shakes his head, and Andy thinks Derek will go do another 'scan' up and down the train car in order to exercise his legs, but Derek just shuffles the cards, and indulgently, patiently, starts to re-explain the rules.

Andy's heart warms, and he thinks his cheeks do too, which must show considering his fair skin and ginger genes, but can hopefully be attributed to embarrassment at his inability rather than the true reason. Andy wants to pay attention, he does, but Derek shifts restlessly again and kicks a leg out to casually rest his foot next to Andy's ankle, radiating warmth, and any and all attempts at focus are shot right then.

Vancouver's wet, and Andy complains about it, a dry cold Prairie boy down to his bones, but Derek just shakes his head at him, and holds out his umbrella over Andy in his pitiful raincoat instead of over himself, despite the fact that Andy's dominating height ends up making him stretch his arm at a truly ridiculous angle. Andy blushes, and really, its only rational to take the umbrella from Derek, he's not as affective bodyguard with his hands busy, and brushing hands as he does is purely on accident.

Andy is a horrible liar, and always has been, even to himself.

The whole family is walking together, going out to dinner after his dad worked out negotiations with another company, his dad chatting happily about it as they walk towards the restaurant with their guards trailing at a polite distance. Andy's absorbed in his fondness for his family, deeply enough that he nearly misses the shout that Andy's mom's guard gives off (Samuel? Sandro?). Andy stops, turning towards the commotion with alarm.

Derek, whose face in Andy's experience has always had a background of jovial attitude toward it, is now deadly serious and smooth. Andy shivers at the look in his eyes. Derek moves towards him smoothly, efficiently.

"Derek?" Andy asks, alarmed. Derek's not looking at him, but is instead scanning their surroundings in what seems to be some sort of methodical way, but his gaze keeps jumping back to a point just over his shoulder. Andy glances in that direction, and his blood goes cold when he sees a figure shadowed on a roof, crouching, something in his hands. "Is that a gun?"

Derek puts his hand on Andy's back, and he seems calm, but it seems more to be that Derek's slipping into training than any real unaffected emotion. "Move," Derek says, and his hand and voice anchors Andy a bit. He takes a deep breath. Derek knows what he's doing; all Andy has to do is follow his directions.

"Where are we going?" Andy asks, allowing himself to be herded.

"Out of range," Derek says, eyes still scanning. There's a dangerous look to them, gleaming and predatory in their dark depths, and Andy realizes with startling and chilling clarity that Derek wouldn't hesitate to kill a man if it got Andy out unscathed. He doesn't know if that's terrifying or hot. Or both.

"My parents?"

"We think your dad's the real target, but in any case, its best to split all of you since there only seems to be one assailant, and then regroup at a secondary location." Derek looks at Andy again, and Andy shivers as Derek looks him up and down with an assessing gaze. "Would've been better if you were shorter; I could block you with my body."

Andy blinks at that, and it takes a second to sink in before Andy gapes in horror. "You are not going to take a bullet for me."

Derek actually rolls his eyes at that, some of his more playful personality coming to light. "That's kind of in my job description."

After the danger has passed, Andy is back at his childhood home in St. Albert, sitting in an armchair as Derek stands in front of him with crossed arms, eyes dark as he stares Andy down.

"We're giving you self-defence training," Derek says, and its a statement, not a request or question.

Andy shivers even under the thick blanket, but he doesn't protest.

They start with a daily run, in which Derek bitches about the cold even as Andy wheezes next to him, too out of breath to reply. Derek could easily outpace him, and that's probably why he's complaining so loudly as he runs in his North Face, since he could probably sprint their circuit if he was doing this by himself.

Andy tries not to find the idea of that hot and fails miserably.

After that comes the actual self-defence training, where Derek shows him moves to attack and counter-attack. Within the first twenty minutes, Andy ends up in a pile of his own limbs, contorted in on himself. He can tell Derek is trying hard not to laugh at him, but his mouth is twitching at the corner with a held in laugh.

"Oh, its fine, really, I was trying to figure out how to turn myself into a human pretzel anyway," Andy snipes at him, and Derek laughs outright at him then. Andy would be offended, but Derek immediately comes to help him untangle himself, even before his chuckles have ceased. Andy thinks he probably could have gotten out of it on his own, but he's certainly not about to turn down Derek's capable, calloused hands on his thigh as they help Andy unbend himself.

Andy's been jerking off way more than he has since he was a newly made teenager, and he knows its pathetic, but what else is he going to do about it? He can't turn his attraction off, and even if Andy wasn't too shy to make any outward action, he knows for a fact that Derek's so far out of his league it's laughable, being five years older, effortlessly cool, and halfway to the body of a god. Andy has lovingly and not so lovingly been compared to a daddy long legs, a puppy tripping on over large paws, and a tree.

So yeah, Andy knows his crush is inappropriate and out of control, and that letting Derek touch him in what he probably considers a professional manner while Andy goes home and has wet dreams about it is probably kind of creepy, but Andy is kind of passed caring at this point. He's really, really into Derek, and even if he knows he gets leeway with things he wouldn't if Derek knew Andy was into him and that Andy is taking advantage, that doesn't mean Andy is mature enough to stop himself.

The first time Andy manages to knock Derek over in a sparring match, Derek looks so gorgeously breathless and wide eyed with his focus locked solely on Andy that he wonders if maybe his wet dreams haven't accidentally crossed over into daydream territory, which will be incredibly embarrassing considering the amount of waking time he spends around Derek.

Derek breaks into a grin, scorchingly wolfish, like he's going to eat Andy alive. Andy doesn't think he'd mind.

"Good job, Red," Derek says, pushing himself to his feet. Andy thinks he was supposed to offer him a hand up, or something. "You're getting much better."

Andy, a week later, getting of the shower, glimpses himself in his full length mirror and then has to do a double take. He's actually getting some muscle definition, and while he's still nowhere near Derek and his guard kin, he's put on weight in muscle, arms getting wider, thighs thicker with muscle, stomach flatter and more toned. Andy's no narcissist by any means, but he thinks about how maybe he's starting to actually, maybe, be halfway to matching Derek's godlike physical appearance, that he could maybe actually push Derek around a little with his extra height, and immediately flushes so deeply that he can see it spilling down his chest.

He shuts the thought firmly down, shoves it to the back of his head, though it still creeps back to the forefront of his thoughts. Most frequently while he's jerking off, because his subconscious is a traitor.

"You got a girlfriend or something I should know about in case we need to put a guy on her too?" Derek asks him two weeks later when they're cleaning up after a session, hauling mats around. Andy glances at him at confusion; there's something off in Derek's voice, a feigned causality Andy doesn't understand.

"Uh, no," Andy says, and nearly laughs aloud at the very idea of it.

Derek turns to him, lifting a brow. "Seriously?" He waves a hand at Andy in a gesture meant to encompass his whole body. "No girl has ever been interested in that? There's no tiny pixie girl that's sweet as can be and tragically into your height difference hidden away from your parents somewhere?"

Andy can feel himself going deep red. "You told me last week someone could play connect the dots with my freckles."

Derek shrugs. "So? Maybe your girlfriend does that in like, a sexy way with her tongue or something."

If it's possible, Andy gets even redder. He probably resembles a brick house, or like, a fire hydrant or something by now. "I don't have a girlfriend."

Derek's still staring at him, and as much has in more desperate moments Andy's wished for Derek's attention on him like this, now he wishes it would go away. "You can tell me, you know, if that's the case. Even if your dad hired me, I work for you. I'm here to keep you safe. I won't tell him."

Andy can hear his tone getting snappish. "There's no one."

Derek looks taken aback. "Okay, okay. You just seem the type to have a really sweet girlfriend to match your like, shy attitude."

Andy trusts Derek, probably more than he's ever trusted anyone, which is a pretty sad state of affairs considering Derek's paid to spend his time with Andy. It's still the truth though, and Andy thinks that's why he casts his eyes to the side then, avoiding Derek's gaze and making sure he won't see Derek's reaction when he admits, for the first time he's ever said it aloud, "I'm, uh. Actually more into guys."

Derek is dead silent, and when Andy finally works up the courage to look at him, Derek's staring at him again, but this time Andy can't parse out the expression on his face. Derek's dark, dark eyes are wide, his mouth open just a little, body held completely still. Andy's heart plummets into his stomach.

"I can ask to get a reassignment, if that makes you uncomfortable," Andy murmurs, trying not to let his deep hurt show. Part of him, as stupid as he knows it is, feels betrayed, even though Derek had never really promised him anything, was never really Andy's friend by his own choice. Andy made all the meaning up in his own head.

"No!" Derek shouts, startling Andy. "No," Derek repeats, softer. "That's not what I want. I'm -- that's cool, you just caught me by surprise." There's a soft blush dusting Derek's cheeks, visible even beneath his darker skin. Andy fails not to find it charming.

Andy can't hold himself back from an unattractive snort. "What, are you going to help me sneak out and guard me at gay clubs next or something?"

Derek, to Andy's amazement, actually flushes harder. "If that's what you want."

Andy stares this time. "I was kidding."

Derek shrugs, dropping Andy's eyes. "My job to keep you safe, kid."

Andy feels like he's been slapped in the face. Kid. Because that's all he is to Derek, practically a little brother, five years younger, just a charge, and here Andy is the one making things up in head and announcing things Derek never asked to know, making everything weird.

"Right," Andy mutters, and swiftly finishes putting everything away so he can make a hasty escape.

Andy's wandering through the house, awake at an unholy hour, never quite able to shake his insomnia. He runs into his mother's guard in the kitchen, whose name he had double-checked after the rooftop gunman incident, guilty about not knowing someone who was willing to die for him and his family, even if it was the man's job.

Sandro Carmen glances at Andy when he comes in, and Andy blinks at him in surprise, but Sandro just waves a sheaf of papers at him, smile tired but welcoming. "Reports," he explains. Andy often forgets how much paperwork is involved in their job, gets distracted by the physical presence of it.

Andy nods in acceptance. He thinks that's the end of it, but Sandro is watching him with dark eyes that make Andy shift uncomfortably. They're not even sexy dark eyes like Derek's. Andy's embarrassed at himself for thinking that immediately after the thought enters his head.

"Be careful with Cary, okay?" Sandro tells him, and there's something strange in his voice, some graveness that Andy doesn't understand the reason behind.

"Aren't you getting us mixed up?" Andy says, and then wants to hit himself for basically calling the huge guy charged with keeping his mom safe and sound an idiot.

Sandro, however, doesn't look mad. Instead, his mouth just quirks with some strange, silent humour, like he's in on a joke Andy doesn't know. "Strange thing about our job is that it may actually be more dangerous to get attached to the person we're looking after."

Andy's eyes widen. "I'm not going to put Derek in danger."

Sandro shrugs. "I didn't think you'd ever ask him to. That doesn't mean Derek wouldn't put himself in danger for you anyway."

Andy wanders back to bed, discomfited. He doesn't sleep that night.

Derek asks him, only once, if Andy wanted Derek's help to hook up with guys, either to get around Andy's parents or for Derek to introduce Andy to guys he knows. Andy gives him a scathing look that silently conveys that Derek should drop the subject, and uncharacteristically, Derek does.

"What are you even into, anyway?" Derek asks them on a charter flight back to Ottawa. Andy frantically glances around and still only relaxes minimally when he realizes both of his parents are asleep.

"Relax, I wouldn't have asked if they were listening," Derek assures him. Andy isn't majorly comforted by that. Derek, reckless as most seem to believe him to be, only chases a rush when it won't mess with anyone but himself. He's been heartbreakingly careful about Andy's leanings towards men, always aware of Andy's parents and how he's not out to anyone. Derek seems unable to tell, however, that Andy would really not discuss men with Derek at all.

Andy shrugs, uncomfortable. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Derek repeats incredulously. "Come on, there must be like, some celebrity or athlete you nursed a crush on or realized you were gay because of."

Andy rubs the back of his neck, aware that he's probably starting to flush. "I don't really want to talk about it," Andy mutters, and Derek, who usually gleefully chases Andy's embarrassment because he seems to enjoy seeing him blush and squirm, seems to release it's a serious topic that's making Andy genuinely uncomfortable instead of just a little shy and wrong footed. He blessedly drops it.

It's been a long business trip in Ottawa, and Andy's tired, but he's happier getting to come here with his family than being left behind at home. They're approaching the hotel, and Andy's maybe paying attention more attention to the food and television that's offered inside, focus off of the present.

That's the only excuse he has for startling at the sound of a gunshot, flinching. Their bodyguards spring into attention, barking at each other both by across the space between them and through the comms in their ears. Andy always thought it made Derek look cool, like a secret agent in a spy movie, but now it all seems far too real.

Another shot sounds, and then Andy is suddenly on the half damp pavement, breathing too heavy, Derek's weight on his back, pinning him down. Andy would be startled and scared by it, but he's sparred with Derek, and he knows the feel of him.

"What --" Andy starts to ask, but Derek shushes him.

"We don't get up until I say. Stay down, keep your head down, let me cover you until the danger passes," Derek commands, and his voice is so effortlessly in control, hushed and serious as he says this right into Andy's ear, that in different circumstances wherein Andy wasn't terrified and possibly going into shock, it might actually be hot.

Andy lies there on the pavement for what feels like hours but is probably mere minutes, shivering with the cold damp of the air and the gravel and his own shock. It isn't for a while that Andy notices that despite his own chill, he can feel something warm seeping onto his thigh.

With horror, Andy realizes what it is. "Are you -- Are you bleeding? Derek, did you get shot?"

Derek shushes him, focus somewhere far away, though with his face to the ground Andy can't tell if he's scanning their surroundings or listening to the murmur of voices Andy can hear coming from his earpiece.

"Derek," Andy whispers, "I'm -- What's going to happen?"

Derek rests his head on the back of Andy's neck, breath spilling hot and damp down Andy's collar as his exhales come heavy out of his lungs. Listening to his partners over the comms, then. Andy can feel a tickle of Derek's hair on the back of his neck. "I'm going to take care of you," Derek whispers, and Andy thinks he can feel the brush of Derek's mouth on his skin as he talks, but he might just be imagining it, hoping. He can't tell if Derek's talking more to Andy or himself.

When the immediate panic has passed and they can all start to move and relocate, which means Andy can get off the ground, he turns and sees Derek really was bleeding.

"Derek!" Andy exclaims, eyes glued to the dark red and growing stain radiating out from Derek's thigh.

"I was shot," Derek says, tone surreal to Andy, like he's saying 'I went out for milk.'

"You need a doctor," Andy tells him, stepping forward, hands fluttering around Derek.

Derek doesn't get a chance to reply, the two of them herded into an armoured car by some of Derek's colleagues from the agency who weren't assigned to tag Andy and his family, though Andy pays no attention to the driver. They're both sitting in the back, and fuck it all, Andy could have died, who gives a shit about seatbelts. He slides over to sit closer to Derek, whose eyes move to him curiously, but he doesn't say anything to ward Andy off. Cautiously, Andy presses his hands to Derek's wound.

Derek takes a sharp intake of breath. "What are you doing?"

Andy flushes, embarrassed he might be doing something wrong, but he doesn't pull away. "You're supposed to apply pressure to a wound, right?"

Derek stares at him for a moment, then his head falls back to rest against the headrest with a thunk, eyes focused on the roof of the SUV. "Fuck," Derek says, more to himself than Andy it seems, and doesn't reply to Andy. He doesn't wave Andy off or make any indication he doesn't want Andy's gay hands all over him, so Andy keeps applying pressure, ignoring the slippery feeling of blood on his fingers and the scared hammering of his heart.

Derek checks out fine, and he grins at Andy when Andy comes to visit him in the hospital, skin slightly washed out and pale. Andy's been reassigned a temporary guard, a former Russian by the name of Kirill Volkov, and his free spirited humour reminds Andy of Derek only enough to make him miss him more.

"Hey, Red," Derek greets him. Andy doesn't say anything, comes and sits next to Derek, on the bedspread where Derek had patted despite there being perfectly good chairs for visitors.

"How are you feeling?" Andy asks, and he isn't sure why he lowers his voice considering its a private room and Derek's speaking at a perfectly normal volume.

Derek shrugs. "Been better, been worse." He stops then, staring at Andy, making him shift. "How have you been?"

"Worried," Andy says without thinking, and then flushes in embarrassment at the admittance.

Derek smiles at that, but it looks distracted, and he must be since he doesn't try to tease Andy and coax out more of a flush. "I've missed you."

Andy stares.

Derek doesn't acknowledge Andy's stare. "Did you get a boyfriend while I was away?" Derek tries to tease, but it falls flat in a way Andy doesn't understand the reason behind. He heard Derek was almost fully on the mend, the bullet not hitting any deep muscle, but maybe his wound's still hurting him.

"Of course not," Andy says.

Derek raises an eyebrow. "What? Its possible. You're good looking and earnest enough that I'm sure there would be guys lining up to ask you out."

Andy flushes again. "Doesn't mean I'd be interested in them. Anyway, didn't you get shot? Don't you have bigger priorities than my love life?"

Derek ignores Andy's attempt at conversation derailment. "Come on, I'm sure you get enough chances that there's got to be a guy you return interest in."

Andy stares at Derek. "Derek, you got shot."

Derek shrugs. "Not the first time. Probably not the last."

Andy makes a helpless noise and an aborted movement towards Derek, though whether he wants to hold or strangle him he can't be sure. "You got shot for me."

Derek stares at Andy, expression turning unusually serious. "And I'd do it again. I'm not sorry. I'd take a bullet for you even if it wasn't my job."

Andy stares at Derek.

Derek brushes off his confession. "But, come on, boys --"

"I'm not going to start dating anyone," Andy says, half escalating anger at Derek's recklessness and half reaching the limit of his willingness to discuss this topic with Derek, "because the only man I'm interested in decided he's willing to fucking get shot for me and then declared that he'd do it again without hesitation, so no, I did not suddenly get a boyfriend."

Derek's staring at him, cheeks pink, mouth parted and eyes wide. Andy claps his hands over his mouth, realizing what he's said, and starts to stand to leave in a hasty rush and probably hide from all human contact for twenty years, but Derek lunges towards him and seizes Andy's wrist in a desperate grip.

"Don't," Andy chokes out, "Don't make me stay after --"

Derek reels him in, his other hand gripping Andy's hair, and he pulls them into a kiss. Andy gasps in surprise into Derek's mouth, and Derek groans, sucking on Andy's bottom lip. Andy's eyes slam shut, and he nearly stumbles and ends on top of Derek in the hospital bed. They only kiss for a few moments, and then Derek pulls away, Andy's eyes drawn to his deliciously swollen lips.

Andy is vaguely aware that he can hear the increased speed of Derek's heart monitor.

Derek smothers a laugh to himself, and Andy looks at him with incredulity. "Your parents are so going to blame me for turning you gay."

"Who gives a shit," Andy says, and Derek does laugh then, the carefree guffaw that Andy fell in love with months ago.

"I wish we had better timing," Derek tells him, and when Andy looks at him in confusion, "There are a lot of things I would do to you if my body was up for it."

Andy flushes a bright, bright red. Derek smirks in satisfaction. "I can wait up for you," Andy says, trying to flirt back, even if he thinks the colour of his face probably resembles the Canadian flag.

Derek's eyes go dark and smouldering, and Andy shivers. "I'm holding you to that," he says, voice a throaty murmur, and there has no been no promise Andy's found it easier to make.

"You'll come back, right?" Andy asks when he leaves, awkward and off balance but needing to know.

"They'd have to fight to keep me away," Derek tells him, and Andy thinks he meant it as a exaggeration, a joke as always, but there's a shadow of something in his face that tells Andy he means it.

"No more bullets for me," Andy says firmly.

Derek shrugs, looking smug. "I don't know, I think it ended up working out pretty well for me."

Andy has to fight not to hit Derek, reminding himself that it's bad to hit someone already injured.

Andy gets the feeling he'll be exasperated and fed up with Derek like this often. He looks forward to it.