Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The twins arrive at the ranch on a sunny August day. Their black and white striped car quiet as it rolls up the dusty tired marked driveway a lone farmhand dives a pitchfork into a heap of hay. He doesn’t look up as the car doors open and close, continuing his task of dispersing hay. Even as his hands grip the pitchfork tighter, the muscles in his arms tightens. Horses snort from their stalls as the twins approach. 

“Excuse me mate,” a smooth voice makes him pause as he looks up. The farmhand sticks the pitchfork into the ground as he straightens. The man, an Alpha he can tell despite the thick waft of manure and fresh pollen, flashed him a small smile as he approached. He was handsome and charming. It went without a word.

With his brown hair slicked back hair and icy blue eyes. His muscular frame that gave the impression of strength as he left treadmarks in the brown dirt. His jaw strong and nose angular. His teeth white as he flashes a smile as he draws close. The sight of him made the supposed farmhand’s stomach flutter. 

“Can you point us in the direction of a man named George Reynard?” The man asks, digging his hands in his back slack pockets. The British accent clinging to every syllable. Unlike the farm hand or anyone who entered the ranch property the man was dressed sharply. His white dress shirt peeking out from beneath his brown tweed vest and matching jacket, the pants and dress shoes stylish matching. A gold chain peeks out beneath the shirt. 

The farmhand pauses as he visibly regards the stranger. His dirty blonde hair falling around his chin as he places his chin on the hilt of his pitchfork, looking at him through his lashes. Beneath the musky scent of hours of work in the field was a sweet one of an Omega, he catches the exact moment the stranger notices it. The way his eyes widen slightly as his nostrils flare. Subconsciously the Alpha loses his lax posture as he straightens. 

“Mr. Reynard won’t be here for another three weeks,” the farmhand answered in a casual voice. His southern drawl running smoothly through the air. He gives the stranger an apologetic smile. His blue eyes warm and friendly as they meet the Alpha’s cold ones. The man, the alpha, the twin, the assassin’s lips tighten at the news. “It seems your intel was off,” he remarks. “You’ll just have to wait for him to come back, he’s gone no technology while he focuses on business.” The omega states making the man chuckle. 

“Of course, of fucking course,” he mutters running a hand through his hair as he spins in a circle while glaring at the sky. His shoulders drop as he sighs before he looks at the farmhand with his dust covered jeans and red button up, his brown boots caked with mud. With his strong jaw and piercing blue eyes. “What’s your name love?” The man asks, making him smile. 

“Around here they call me Crane,” Crane answers, straightening as he sticks out his hand.  “And you? Handsome?” Crane asks with a slight raised brow. His sunny smile still in place as gazes at him. The alpha smirks as he reaches out and shakes it, their calloused hands gripping each other tightly before pulling away.

“I’m Tangerine and he’s Lemon,” he jerks his thumb back as the second occupant of the car gets out. Crane smiles. “Do y’all plan to stick around?” He asks with an innocent flutter of his lashes. Tangerine grins as he shrugs in a nonchalant manner. 

When Tangerine climbed back into the car with Lemon waiting at the wheel, the man who calls himself Crane watched his hips swing. He watches the car leave for the first time unaware he will also watch it leave for the last time in six weeks with his heart in his throat. Then he returns to work, a slight hum leaving his throat. Later when he’s settled around the dinner table elbow to elbow with his fellow coworkers and he’s eating a tender piece of steak he will still think of Tangerine. Tangerine will be back, Crane knows it in his gut. 

The twins come back the next day. The twins weren’t quite twins but everyone knew that at first glance. Lemon was the exact opposite of Tangerine in every way, he was a tall plump African American man with a bleached Afro, preferring the comfort of denim over the suits his brother prefers. A beta who read the world with the lessons from Thomas the Train Engine. Lemon was also never wrong when it came to labeling people. He prefers to watch from a distance, observing while remaining close to his brother.

Close the two were, as twins or siblings ought to be perhaps. Crane wouldn’t know he left his far behind in Russia when he slipped out of his bedroom window at the fine age of 19. He never saw his younger brother or sister again, never looked back. He loved them, still does despite the span of thirty years without seeing their face and their memories becoming more faded. But they were never close, too separated by their father’s demands. 

The first words out of his mouth when he officially meets Crane was both equal parts reassuring and bewildering. “Glad you're not a Diesel, hate to have to kill you.” And Crane just smiled and laughed while they shook hands wondering just what Lemon meant by his words. The twins hung around as they waited, keeping close to the ranch and tracks at all times. Apparently spending time admiring the horse races, charming the bosses, and frequently smoking while hustling some rich men out of their pocket change. No one seemed to be bothered by their presence, Crane certainly did not complain. He liked the twins. 

Their banter was hilarious and they were quick to share their smokes with him. Crane, unlike them, worked hard and often. The older man rose with the sun to check the fences, tend to the cattle, and feed the horses. Sweeping, scrubbing, fixing, digging, anything the task of the day required. His employers, not that were his real ones he kept reminding himself, were happy to make Crane their everything man. The omega was clearly competent enough to handle any task. 

The work was good, not nearly as straining as his usual line of action. But it was enough to keep him busy. Even better, it gave Crane plenty of opportunities to admire Tangerine. Just extra moments without words where he can track the width of his waist and wonder how it would feel beneath his hands. Crane was not a man who fantasized often, he was much too old for that, but he couldn’t resist dreaming Tangerine. 

Tangerine with his soft hair and smiles. The man with tattoos on his forearms that Crane just catches a peek of when the air is hot enough. His laugh which makes Cranes calloused heart race and thrum with affection he didn’t know how to handle properly. The alpha who smelled more appealing by the day, comforting with each lingering conversation in the stables or hanging off the fence posts. Tangerine who fretted over a button out of place, and broke a man’s nose once for spilling a drink all over his new suit. Yet was completely indifferent to the cleanliness of his suit and shoes as he tracked down to the stables to often visit Crane because he refused to wear sensible shoes and attire. 

“You do realize what is happening, don’t you?” Maria’s voice in his ear made Crane sigh as he lay on his bed. A hint of reprimand and concern hinging on her voice. His bare feet hang over the edge, his boots scattered around the dark wooden floor. Crane runs a hand through his hair. 

“I know,” he answers in a resigned tone. “I won’t get too attached beets, I promise.” Crane adds using the nickname to soften the incoming lecture. “I worry about you, your not like my others.” Maria admits after a small beat has passed. “You are too kind Crane despite everything you might’ve done,” she continues a touch of wry sarcasm entering her voice at the end. Crane chuckles as he unbuttons his jeans and slowly wiggles out of them. 

Maria was referring to Philadelphia, they both acutely remember that day. A lot of men died by his hand that bloody day. “What am I supposed to do beets?” Crane questions as he slides the jeans over his thighs. “Just turn my emotions and instincts off and become some sociopath?” He adds before sighing as he kicks off his jeans. The shirt was next to go revealing toned sun tanned skin covered with scars and tattoos. 

“No of course not,” Maria starts in a gentle tone. “But we both know the twins aren’t here on vacation,” she continues making Cane sigh. He knows, he knows. There are only one and half weeks until their target comes home and gets assassinated. “And neither are you,” she states, making Crane pause before nodding before he remembered she can’t see him and hums. 

“Do you still have the gun?” Maria asks in a patient tone making Crane snort. He tosses his sweaty grey tee onto the ground, too tired to care about the mess.  “Are you kidding me? You know I’d never leave home without a gun.” He answers, making her sigh, somewhat reassured of the situation. “Me without a gun, what a joke,” he mutters. 

Chapter Text

“Your man is late,” Crane notes as he seats himself beside Tangerine in the early bar. The bar was empty except for them and the bartender, Pete. Morning light spills in from the curved windows highlighting how just early the day is, too early for them to be in a bar. Not that ever stopped Tangerine, he didn’t drink as much as one would assume but he always seemed drawn to the bar. He already claimed a small brown leather booth in the corner for himself and Lemon.

The owners of the ranch, a couple whose name Crane can never remember, always wants a bartender on hand. They had money and knew how to spend it, extravagant parties and hosting weekly races and shooting tournaments. But luckily that included perhaps overly paying their employees and that was what mattered to Crane and the others. The ranch, the race tracks, and bar all spread out on their 30 acres were just small pieces on their very big platter. Crane still hasn’t been inside the main house and he’s been here for nearly a month. 

Tangerine groans as he buries his face in his hands. His brown curls spilling over his face, Crane fights the urge to comb it out of his face. Tangerine was such a lovely man, it should be illegal to hide that face. “I noticed that, thank you very much omega,” Tangerine growls out. Crane lifts a brow that the other man can’t see before he lets out a low whistle. 

“Calling me Omega, you are pissed.” Crane notes pretending like the term hasn’t sent electricity through his body. Some hindpart of his brain making itself known with a low rumble of pleasure. Tangerine raises his head and blinks before he sighs and sits up in his seat. If it were anyone else, he would’ve punched them for calling him Omega. It was impolite at best and straight up insulting at worst to refer to one’s designation unless they were lovers or mated. But for Tangerine, Crane let the term roll over him. 

“Sorry love,” Tangerine mutters “didn’t mean to cause offense” he states. Crane reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, trying not to be distracted by the muscle beneath his hand. Apparent even through his suit jacket and shirt. It should not distract him. He was better trained than to fall apart at something so simple as biology. The last thing he needs is to get off course, not when his target will be within range soon. 

“Already forgiven Tang,” he replies, the nickname rolling off his tongue cleanly. Tangerines lips hitch in a small smile. He leans closer to Crane to better examine his face. His crystal blue eyes regarding him with open warmth. As his scent opens slightly, shaking off its angry undertones.  

“Tang?” Tangerine echoes making Crane smile. “Yeah man, I can’t keep calling you Tangerine ya know?” Crane says running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. His cheeks darkening and heating in an entirely too telling manner. “Liable to make me hungry and shit,” he adds, making Tangerine chuckle. “So Tang it is, unless you don’t like it of course,” Crane says looking away with a casual shrug. 

“Tang is fine,” Tangerine states, making Crane grin. “Good, good,” he replies before slapping the top of the bar and slipping off his barstool. He stretches slightly making his white tee pull up, Tangerines eyes flick down to admire the toned muscle. “Now that you're done moping, I’m going to get back to work.” Crane says reaching over to grab his discarded white cowboy hat. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” He asks, making Tangerine nod. 

“Goodbye Cowboy,” Tangerine mutters, making Crane grin. He slides his hat in place as he steps outside. He makes it halfway to the ranch before he ducks behind a tree and buries his face in his hands. The damn Alpha will be the death of him. He groans, this crush is getting out of hand. 

Reynard better come back to the ranch soon, Crane did not know how much more of this attraction he could take. It didn’t help that the twins were getting more agitated. He was already two days overdue and no one could reach him. But be it either due to the twins not wanting to attract the attention of the authorities. Or no one is terribly fond of Reynard, but no one has made a fuss over his disappearance yet. 

After a minute Crane gets up, dusts off his blue jeans and gets back to work determined to push Tangerine far from his mind. At some point between Crane cleaning out the horse stalls Lemon pops up. “No one likes Reynard, do they?” Lemon asks, kicking his feet up on the old grey chipped table the other farmhands use to play poker on during the slow nights. Crane grunts in agreement. 

“I don’t think even Reynard likes himself,” Crane notes out loud. “Nothing made that man happy,” he says as he spreads fresh straw down on the floor of the empty stall. “Except of course when his horse won or one of his enemies suffered a loss.” He adds. Lemon hums noncommittally. 

“A real Diesel that one,” Lemon mutters, making Crane nod. Lemon watches the older man bend down as he evens out the piles of straw with his gloved hands. “What makes you happy Crane?” Lemon asks, suddenly making Crane frown as he tosses him a look over his shoulder. “You are good at your job but it doesn’t seem to make you happy.” Lemon adds. “So why do it?” He asks Crane hum. 

“Good money, and I get to do meaningful work,” Crane answers as he flattens a lump of straw tucked in the corner. The end of his shirt rode up to reveal a small scar. “I get to see actual results, ya know?” He says Lemon makes an understanding noise.  “Not just planting seeds that the future generation will reap yada yada.” He adds with a roll of his eyes as he sits up on his knees and dusts off his gloves. 

“Besides I like plenty of other stuff, the horses, the outdoor work, the company,” Crane lists honestly making Lemon snort. When he was a child this kind of peaceful life, minus his real job, was exactly what he used to dream about at night. Living his life the way he wants without the dictation of his father or what was best for the family. Instead spending his day tending to horses and a beautiful ranch. Working hard to build something from the ground up without blood having to stain the foundation. 

“Mate we all know you do more than like the company,” Lemon teases as Crane stands straw sticking to his jeans. Crane freezes as he looks at Lemon, wide eyed. “I’m not blind Crane, I see the way you look at my brother,” he starts in a gentle tone. He sits up in his chair drawing a squeak as he stares into Crane’s eyes. “And I see the way he looks at you, the way you two laugh together,” Lemon continues, making Crane look down at his boots. 

“The way your bodies can’t seem to hold an inch of space the second you get close, drawing closer together and whatnot.” He goes on in a knowing voice. Crane feels his face flush, fuck he was hoping he was more subtle. But he has never felt this way for someone before, Tangerine was special somehow.  “I’m not one to get in my brother’s business, he is a big boy after all.” Lemon states.

“But do not play around his heart,” Lemon warns. “He’s got this tough exterior but deep down he’s a big old softie.” Lemon states making Crane smile. Tangerine would take offense to the statement no doubt, he prides himself on being what he is an intimidating utterly intoxicating hit man. A man who stands tall and talks loudly without a hint of shame, never hesitating or faltering on his self imposed course. The same man who finds the best solution to be one made with violence. 

Crane should not be attracted to a man like that, he should know better and stick to his guns and stay away. And yet here he is getting the shovel talk from Lemon. Because when Tangerine smiles his eyes crinkle and his heart races in his chest. And when Tangerine touches him, he does it in a slow cautious manner giving Crane plenty of time to reject it until at last they touch. The feelings he was harboring for the British hit man were growing stronger by the day, louder as they pound against his chest. Screaming at him to do something, to make a move. 

“And if you do anything to hurt him I will bury your body somewhere no one will find it.” Lemon threatens, Crane chuckles despite his self control. His laughter draws to the end when Lemon fixes him a cold stare. “Oh you are being serious about that second part?” Crane asks with a half smile, unable to imagine the twins getting the upper hand of him. They were good, not professionally trained but good. The way they moved indicated they were a strong team. But Crane was trained since he was young on how to fight back, how to kill. Encouraged even with every act of violence. 

Lemon eyes him strangely for a moment as if confused. “Yeah mate I kinda was,” Lemon answers awkwardly making Crane pause. “Do you wanna try again? I can act scared if it makes you feel better.” Crane says, tilting his head to the side as he scratches his chin. Lemon stares at him, dark eyes analyzing his every move before finally he says. “You are one strange bird.” Crane smiles as he chuckles. 

“Why do you think Reynard is late?” Crane asks after letting the silence lapse for a moment. “Fuck if I know, maybe he’s holed up somewhere playing hide the banana with some woman.” Lemon answers crudely, making Crane blink before he bursts out in laughter. Soon Lemon joins in and they are both laughing by the time Tangerine strolls inside. He stops as he eyes the two laughing men with a hint of open concern and confusion on his face.

When Crane goes to bed he finds an easy smile hanging off his lips and his stomach aching from laughing. Perhaps when the job is done and he comes clean to the twins, he can convince them to join him on his assignments. Maria would protest initially but eventually she would give in to his pleading voice. Perhaps these are the two friends he will be allowed to keep. 

Chapter Text

Even hit men get a day off, it’s one of the perks of undercover work and Crane fully intends to get his today. He stands on the bank of the crystal blue pond as he sheds his white robe, grinning as the sunlight warms his skin. He strips down to his neon orange swimming trunks and pads into the water. Cold rush of water lapses his skin as he wades in until he begins to swim. Diving under the water as his feet slash against the water. 

Swimming was the one thing Mik-Crane was taught by his mother. You are doing so good my little prince, look at you go! She used to say, with pride and happiness in her voice. Swimming was the one thing that was inherently theirs. A private moment even his father with all his swaggering confidence wouldn’t dream of intruding on, he could never do that to his dear wife. He knew it made his mother happy and while Roshan Reznikov, the White Death, had carved his own jail cell in Hades, he would do anything to make her happy. It was one of his fathers few good traits. 

That is why every home they ever had an indoor and outdoor pool. Ah the cost of loving a swimmer, his father used to say with his Russian accent clinging to every note and a soft smile playing on his lips. Before she was a wife and mother, she was known to the world as Everlyn Wilson, first place winner for the women division in the Olympics. She used to say she was one of the lucky few who got to pursue their passion. Her championship medals and the newspapers written about her many successes, about her story, decorating their bedroom. Her hidden pride. 

Everlyn Wilson was going further than just a one time Olympic winner. She was going to set a historical trend and prove to the world how capable a woman and an omega can be, how they can succeed in spaces that don’t want them. Until she met him and everything changed. It was love at first sight, she used to say with a sigh and soft giggle. But Reznikov wasn’t the kind of man you can take to meet your family, he was what he has been since he was fifteen a criminal. 

So according to them, bravely and after a whirlwind of arguments and almost break ups, Everlyn set down her career and picked up a new mantel. Mate, wife, and then mother. His hidden right hand man always soothing away his troubles and trying to curb his outbursts. Crane breaks through the water as he runs a hand through his wet hair, blinking his eyes open to stare at the empty bank. 

She always boasted he got his affinity for swimming from her. Mik-Crane was a natural at swimming. It helped make for some creative escapes in his line of work. He summerges under the water and begins to swim again. Crane’s targets, the couple of this cute overly glamorous ranch would be back soon. 

They were too flighty when traveling to be tracked and killed, never sticking to an itinerary or routine. Not that they were purposely trying to avoid the assassins. Oh no, according to Maria they were simply just like that, their heads were too stuck in the clouds to know their many heirs wish them dead. Many have tried. But they have all been foiled by the strange couple’s impulsive nature. So Crane was forced to wait for them to come back home. 

A thing they were equally bad at doing as they kept randomly extending their vacation. But everyone comes home eventually and they will too the second they get tired of eating at restaurants and miss their personal chef. Twist, push out, backstroke. Maria wouldn’t have picked the job for Crane normally but she was convinced a paid break is what he needed. 

The hard part is waiting his targets out as usual, once he gets them alone they should be easy to assassinate. Neither have any specialized training or keep any guns in the house. They die, the will is read and certain heirs win and others lose and Crane leaves with his money. It was the same old song and dance he has done for 30 odd years. Sure, sometimes the roles and payment are different and sometimes if he gets lucky Crane even gets a real challenge. A challenge where the target isn’t an unsuspecting civilian but someone who must remain on constant guard like a gang member or fellow hit man. 

Perhaps that is why Crane is falling in love with a man he’s known for a week and half because he craves something new. Or maybe because Tangerine is deadly, attractive, and keeps calling him love. Is this how his mother felt when she fell in love with father? He floats on his back as he stares at the blue sky, tracing the shape of fluffy white clouds with his eyes as he thinks. A roar of an engine makes him sit up, he reaches the bank and has the robe over his back just as the truck pulls up. 

“Come on Crane!” Frank calls with fishing gear hanging out of the bed, some other workers call his name as they lay stretched out in the bed. “Let’s go fishing!” He barks out and Crane smiles. He toes on his white flip flops to spare his feet from burning and hops into the back making them all cheer. A few sweaty hands slap his shoulders and back making him wave them off as the truck starts off for the nearby lake. A country song floats out of the open windows of the car as the wind stirs his hair making Crane sigh as he leans back against the truck. 

Before Crane knows it they are on a small boat and he’s got a fishing pole in his hand. Old country blared from behind him as the other men drank and laughed. The atmosphere is thick with their relaxation and open joy on their day off. He sips his beer as he loosely holds the pole and leans back in the tacky yellow and blue lawn chair with a cushion that Frank had placed down for “strictly fishing business.” He sighs as he watches the water hoping for a ripple or sign of interest from the fish. 

“Caught any fish yet Cowboy?!” The sound of Tangerine's voice makes him look up. A smile blooms across Crane's face as he stands up and waves at Tangerine and Lemon on the coast. Tangerine grins as he lifts his hand from his waist as he waves back, even on a day like today he is still wearing a grey three piece suit. It’s almost adorable how determined he is to always appear well dressed. A sharp tug on his line makes him look down. 

“Frank!” Crane calls half panicked as he sets down his beer as he tries to reel the line in toward the boat. Frank chuckles as he helps Crane reel in his fish, guiding his hands back pressed against his until Crane manages to yank the wiggling fish out of the water. The men cheer at the sight of the fish while Frank steps back to grab a small handheld net. Crane grabs the wet fishing line and holds it up for the twins to see from the bank who whoop  and clap until Frank steps back in sight and politely helps guide Cranes catch into the net, unhooking it for him. 

“Is this a catch or release situation?” Cranes asks looking back at Frank. Joy creeping all over his face and warming his heart. The fish wiggles in the net making Crane chuckle as he grabs the net from Frank’s hand. The other man slowly passes the handle of the net over to him, his hands lingering over Cranes before Crane shoves the fishing pole in his chest. Smiling down at his live catch, a part of him feels bad for the little creature. But if it was destined to survive it wouldn’t have found his bait so appealing. 

“He’s a catch, definitely a catch.” Frank replies, making Ceane look up at him. There was something odd in the Alpha’s eyes. A familiar look Crane instantly chose to ignore. Fuck no. “Come on, let's kill your fish before it escapes the net,” Frank says with a laugh. Crane hums as he heads deeper into the small boat. Someone hands Crane a sharp fishing knife and he pins the wiggling fish against the low countertop and within seconds the act is done and the fish is dead. 

“Well that was….efficient,” Frank comments in a choked voice as the fish drips blood in a bucket someone had already placed below. Proud? Crane doesn’t bother to reply as he heads outside and ducks the knife in the water. Wiping it clean with a rag he had snagged before he stood up. He looks back over to the bank where the twins were standing only to find the bank empty. He frowns as his heart sinks. 

“Where did Tang go?” Crane asks himself, feeling his voice go quiet at the end. “He’s on the dock,” someone answers. Sam something. Or maybe it was Stan? Crane quickly heads to the other end of the boat, coming to a stop to the other side where he can see the dock. Tangerine and Lemon wait on the dock with twin stormy expressions.

“Coming aboard you two?” Crane calls out with a smirk trying to ignore emotions twist and turn in his chest. Lemon goes to wave him off his expression opening slightly but Tangerine takes a step toward. His head raises as he regards Crane with his hands shoved into his suit pockets. A smirk forming on his lips lighting a small fire in the pit of Crane's stomach at the sight of it. A presence hangs around Cranes right waiting to be noticed, he is not a threat so Crane ignores him. 

 “Think you can take two more on that rust bucket?” Tangerine asks, making Crane chuckle. It was far from a rust bucket, it was actually a nice albeit small boat. It’s held ten people steadily without too much complaint. “If not,” Crane starts as he puts his hands around the metal railing, trying to look casual as his heart races at the thought of Tangerine being near him again. It’s been too long, their brief encounter at breakfast was not nearly enough. 

“We can always get rid of some dead weight to make room for y’all,” Crane says with a wink and a smirk. He leans forward resting his elbows against the railing as the edge of his robe begins to slip down his shoulder. “It would improve the looks around here for sure,” he jokes as he ruffles his half wet hair. His words make the boat erupt in laughter. Tangerine grins as nods. 

“Alright then, bring us aboard cowboy!” Tangerine agrees, making the ship cheer. Someone passes by him, their shadow briefly eclipsing with the sun as they go to make the boat move toward the dark. Crane grins as he places his chin on his knuckles, unable and unwilling to look away from the man, his man if he were brave. “Just don’t complain if you get your suit dirty or if you leave smelling like fish!” Crane teases as a blonde strand clings to his cheek and the corner of his mouth. Lemon snickers as Tangerine rolls his eyes and unbuttons his suit jacket. 

Crane wolf whistles making the rest of the men join in, although none was as loud as him. Tangerine shoots Crane a half reprimanding look as he shrugs off his jacket and vest placing the luxury clothing on a spear shaped wooden post. Crane feels his mouth dry as he watches the show. He keeps his face composed, open and amused and tampers down on his scent ensuring his arousal doesn’t spill out into the air. 

God knows how much Crane desires Tangerine. Even Lemon knows but either Tangerine is ignoring it or is completely unaware of his feelings. And it’s the former that scares Crane, Tangerine not wanting Crane back. When the boat draws close enough and a simple knot is tied as the other men help the twins onto the boat. Crane straightens as he grins while approaching. 

Tangerine makes a beeline for him, muttering polite pleasantries while Lemon hangs back to talk to the rest. “I am hurt, truly love,” Tangerine starts coming to a stop a few inches away from Crane. “You took a swim without me?” He asks, glancing down with a wolfish smirk to Crane’s swimming trunks glancing up slowly as he admires his chest. Crane chuckles as he places his hands on his hips, subtly parting his open robe more for his viewing pleasure. His inner Omega preening at the handsome man’s attention. 

“If it makes you feel better no one else was invited.” Crane says with an easy smile. A part of him mentally cries at his missed opportunity to get Tangerine half naked. “But then Frank and the rest pulled up and invited me to go fishing,” Crane trails off with a shrug. “Oh that reminds me, wanna see my big catch?” Crane asks, raising his brows mischievously. Tangerine chuckles as he nods. “Good, follow me Tang,” Crane says, turning to lead. Stan, or was it Sam? Carrying two bottles of beer bumps into him and nearly sends him stumbling, if Tangerine's hand didn’t shoot out to grab him by the waist. 

Crane blinks as he looks up at Tangerine's face, so close to his own making his heart race. Their bodies pressing tightly together. Пиздец (shit) “Or maybe we should go together,” Crane mutters, making Tangerine nod mutely. “Come on handsome,” Crane says as he stands straightening his robe before Tangerine grabs his hand. Crane looks back and raises a brow in confusion. 

“In case you decide to try to kiss the side of the ship again,” Tangerine answers, making Crane lick his lips. Tangerine’s hand was calloused against his hand. Warm and strong. It was all he could think about as he led Tangerine over to the dead fish, placed on ice by some occupant of the boat. Tangerine eyes the fish with only a hint of approval. 

“Very impressive love,” Tangerine says, making Crane smile. Tangerine pauses before he sets his jaw, determination lining his face as his free hand slips in his pocket before he speaks. “So do you want to ta-” a hand slapping down on Crane's shoulder makes him jump as Tangerine growls. A harsh slam rings out as Crane pins the assailant down on the deck. His arm pinned back against his back in a hold that will surely make him think twice about trying to escape the hold. 

“Jesus Christ Crane!” The assassin, no Frank? Frank says. The icy cold instincts of the past that had gripped him flees as the sensation and memories of the present replaces it. Horror and shame curls his gut at what he’s done, attacking a friend. Crane lets go of Frank’s arm immediately suddenly all too aware of how easily he almost killed him. He could’ve killed him, he knows it and no one would have been able to stop him. A fallen strand brushes against his cheek 

“Oh hey Frank!” Crane says, blinking away the remnants, letting his carefree mask slide in place as he takes a half step back. He examines the man who slowly turns around and sits up, jaw dropped and dark eyes wide with shock. A fresh pink bruise threatens to bloom on his cheek from where it made contact with the boat. A hand hooks under Crane's elbow and hoists him up to his feet. A familiar hand that pulls Crane to his side, an arm slithering possessively around his waist. Tangerine’s icy blue eyes narrow at Frank with clear disapproval. 

“What on earth were you thinking you bellend?” Tangerine snaps watching Frank stand up rubbing his left shoulder from where Crane had nearly pulled it out of socket. “Don’t stand there and rub your shoulder like a dog with a limp, go lick your wounds somewhere else.” Tangerine adds with a dismissive hand wave. Frank goes red in the face, his lips curling before stomping off, not sparing Crane a glance. The second the Alpha vanishes in the small crowd of concerned friends, Tangerine turns around his arm vanishing from his waist. “You ok love?” Tangerine asks, scanning him top to bottom with his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Crane answers, feeling his throat being too close up at the open concern on Tangerine’s face. His heart aches at the sight. Did he not just see what I can do? Why is he concerned about me? “I’m fine Tang,” Crane says, reaching out to gently squeeze the Alpha’s forearm. Tangerine sighs relieved, his scent which had darkened with anger and protectiveness lightens as it returns to its normal musky scent. 

“Yeah he’s fine Tang,” Lemon teases as he approaches. Tangerine huffs as Crane chuckles. Lemon glances Crane up and down, assessing his apparent health as well. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t yank Frankie’s throat out with your teeth for touching him.” Lemon notes with a smile as he tosses an arm around Tangerine’s shoulder. Crane watches and feels a longing build in the pit of his stomach for the easy contact. 

“Almost did but considered the rest of the lads wouldn’t take too kindly to it,” Tangerine remarks as he tips his head to where Frank stands. Frank stands surrounded by friends as they sip their beer. No one seems angry about the altercation as they laugh and trade stories. “One of them is probably carrying a gun, bloody Americans.” Tangerine adds, before pausing and shooting Crane an apologetic look. “Sorry love I did not mean you,” Tangerine says. 

“Well as long as you're not including dead old Crane I guess it’s fine,” Crane remarks with an overly thick Southern drawl. An nearly comical exaggerated rendition of his usual accent. Tangerine smiles as Lemon chuckles. “Besides there is nothing to be afraid of none of them are carrying,” Crane notes with a chuckle, slapping Tangerine’s shoulder in a friendly manner.

“Now let’s get to fishing before it gets too dark,” Crane says, grabbing Tangerine by the hand and begins to lead the twins toward the back of the boat. Fishing as it turns out means a lot of waiting, almost like a stake out, so it gives the three plenty of time to talk as they wait with their fishing rods. At one point Frank emerges with an armful of beer and passes them around, his bruise fresh on his cheek. But he grins when he looks at Crane, perhaps to hide the spark of fear in his eyes, and passes him the unopened beer without a moment of hesitation. Even as Tangerine watched his every move with sharp eyes. 

By the end they were all huddled around a campfire pit. Their fishes roasting over the open flame as the full moon hangs overhead gleaming off the lake. Crane buries his feet in the sand as he watches the farmhands and the twins drink and sing. Spreading their arms out widely as they sing some bar tune they picked up from their brief stay in Paris that half the men can’t follow. But they still try to sing along, half slurring their words as the alcohol starts to work on them. The atmosphere is thick with openness and warmth, it sends his skin crawling. 

The idea of leaving weighs heavily on the back of his mind. The tantalizing idea of away into the darkness to the quietness, the peacefulness of his room leaving the charade at the door. He sips on his cold beer idly as he watches the flame dance. Real music starts to play on the sandy beach as someone pulls out a radio, an old rock song that carries over the area. Drunk and half drunk men sing along loudly, half swaying as they dance together on the beach.

“You alright Crane?” The low tone of Tangerine’s voice draws Crane from his thoughts. Crane nods once without looking to the side, raising his bottle to his lips as he takes another sip. “Well then you won’t mind the company,” Tangerine declares as he sits himself next to Crane. Crane glances at him over the rim of his glass. The singing has apparently been taken over by a few other men, and if Tangerine is here then Lemon is….Lemon sits on Crane's other side. 

They don’t speak for a long time but somehow it feels like a dozen words were exchanged in the quietness of the Sunday night. Four days after Reynard was due to arrive at the ranch and be assassinated. A month and a day after Crane came to the farm to set up shop as he waited for his targets. Two ships that would’ve passed each other in the night if not for the unseemly nature of humans for tardiness. Tangerine slings an arm around Crane's neck, pulling him close to his side and Crane settles breathing in the Alpha’s scent subtly feeling his mind clear of his moody thoughts. 

Chapter Text

“So how did a nice guy like you get all these scars?” Lemon asks as the beta reclines on the green armchair in Crane's room. Tangerine glances at his brother from where he is fixing his hair in front of Crane's wooden mirror and dresser. The room was small and came with basic furniture, nearly all wooden and hand crafted. Except for the soft armchair that Crane took from a yard sale. He wants comfort in his old age, sue him. 

Crane hums as he considers his answer while propping himself up on his elbows. The truth was simple as it was ugly, the job. Gunshots, knife wounds, burn marks, even some scars from where he was tortured but the worst are hidden from view. Tattoos also cover his torso and back, much like his scar the back contains his worst ones. The ones his father made him take, to prove himself as a man and son worthy of the family name. The ones on his chest are easily explained away by the answer that fell out of his mouth. 

“I wasn’t always a nice guy,” Crane answers because he’s had four beers. His bed was soft beneath his elbows, he was tempted to lay flat on his back. But some hidden part of him, some cold instinct hissed not to no matter how nice the twins were acting. Tangerine hums as he turns around, lifting a small picture in his hand. 

“It’s hard to believe this guy wasn’t nice,” Tangerine starts before turning it over to glance it over with a smirk. “He certainly looks nice,” he says the last word with clear praise. He shows the picture to Lemon who lets out a low leering whistle. Crane hums as he beckons Tangerine over to see the photograph. Tangerine grins as he approaches before flipping around the photograph, it was nothing that he expected. 

It’s Crane as a young man, his hair sun kissed blonde as it falls around his face down to his neck in swooping waves and his skin tanned. A bright smile on his lips as he grins up at the photographer with a barely there stubble on his chin. A marathon number pinned to his charity runner's white t-shirt. The rest of his body which is angled up to the camera in an excited tilt was cut off of the frame. What is shocking is how undesirable he looks, there is no seductive unbuttoning of his shirt or artfully falling strands in front of his face. No, he is simply happy. 

“I forgot I had this,” Crane mutters, a little white lie in a pile of darker ones. But what else was he to say when he was so surprised? Shocked that Tangerine would choose this innocent photo over the others. Pictures when he knows for a fact there are at least three of him shirtless or halfway there tucked somewhere around this room. Pictures where he was young and carefree and wanted to immortalize his attractiveness or someone did for him. 

Mementos Crane couldn’t bring himself to part with, a desperate need to keep, to remember the span of the years. Because who else will now that he has left behind his family? Who else will be able to put together the pieces that he went to Aruba and went snorkeling? How else could he prove that there were times when he was more than just a hitman and someone’s son? More than just a weapon but something oddly close to a human being.

“Hard to imagine forgetting this smile,” Tangerine says. He turns the photograph over delicately in his hand to examine it. He glances up at Crane before he stretches a hand out and cups his cheek. Crane's heart skips a beat as a smile stretches across his cheeks as he leans into the touch. He loves it when Tangerine touches him, when he’s near him. Tangerine is the best really. “And you still have it,” Tangerine proclaims in a soft voice. 

“That's how I knew it was you right away.” Tangerine adds as he strokes Crane's cheek with the utmost tenderness. Crane full on grins now up at Tangerine, he probably looks like a fool. Tangerine doesn’t seem to think so or perhaps he doesn’t mind. Tangerines scent is pleasant as Crane drinks it in with subtle breaths. Fuck that mixed with the alcohol sends his thoughts adrift. 

A light creak makes Crane jolt, a low snarl makes him sit up blinking as he scans his bedroom. Tangerine is in the green armchair, a faded blue and white blanket having fallen around his feet as he stands glaring at the door. Crane scans the room for a threat but finds none. His gaze drifts back to Tangerine who meets his gaze, something apologetic clinging to his features. 

“Go back to bed love,” Tangerine says as he bends down and picks up his blanket. Crane is on the bed alone. His clothes are in place, wrinkled but in place. Tangerine sighs as he settles back in the armchair, curling up in it as much as it will contain his frame. Like a guard standing watch, that thought makes Crane settle back in bed. Lazily reaching for the blanket that was laying atop of him and pulling it in place. 

This is nice, is his last thought before he fell asleep. Tangerine is there when he does wake up, still asleep with his now two piece wrinkled. When Crane comes back to wake him for lunch he finds him missing. The smiling picture of him that was tucked into the corner of the mirror above his dresser is so conspicuously missing, a little note left in its place. The cursive letters catch his eye as he approaches.  

Some pictures are too good to be forgotten. Especially any of the world class cowboy of you. Tang. 

Three hours later. 

There was only him and the gun. A comforting weight in his hands and pressing against his shoulder as he adjusts the scope. A warm breeze stirs the tall grass around him as the chatter falls idle. The wet grass presses into his blue jeans, staining them no doubt. It wouldn’t be the first stubborn stain he had to deal with today nor the last

Crane takes a deep breath, closes an eye, then he squeezes the trigger and the rifle fires. The target ripples as the bullet runs cleanly through it by the time the onlookers have registered the first shot, the second, third, and fourth have been fired. He could have made it a performance, let them slowly bask in his skill. Let them wonder just what kind of man they think they know. But he was not flashy, never was and never will be so he lets the headless paper targets talk for him. 

A slow applause breaks up as Crane rises off the grass and brushes off his jeans. He hands the rifle off to a nearby attendant as he walks up the grassy knoll. A few men shake his hand and congratulate him on his shooting. Crane grits his teeth as he moves through the crowd until the next shooter has taken their place and like that the overwhelming attention breaks. He misses the rifle in his hand and half hates himself for it. 

You are a weapon my son. My perfect weapon. 

“Nice shooting cowboy!” Tangerine calls out while clapping. Tangerine leans against a nearby fence post with Lemon by his side. Crane blinks as his feet automatically lead him toward them. His cheek tingles with the ghost of Tangerine’s hand on his cheek. World class cowboy, Tangerine wrote before he crossed it out. 

“Who knew a pretty boy like yourself could shoot like that?” Tangerine says as he slinks off the fence and throws an arm around Crane. His black pinstripe and golden buttons with a matching gold tie allows him to blend right in the sea of wealthy attendees. Tangerine's familiar Alpha scent, musky and carrying the faint whiff of pine, blankets around him as his arm drapes down Crane's shoulder. 

Gunshots ring out as the tournament kicks off now that Crane has fired the first shot. It’s strange to Crane to think of an event of this caliber being held without the hosts. His father never would have permitted it if the roles were reversed. But apparently they do it all the time, having people run it for them. Only appearing when someone special attends or the rare time they are home. In typical fashion for the couple the shooting tournament was accompanied with an open bar and a live band with a packed dance floor. As well as stand by EMTs, just in case someone tried to mix shooting with drinking. Again. 

“There is nothing impressive about shooting still targets.” Crane says in a confused voice. Still targets can’t move suddenly and risk the entire mission, or shoot back. There is nothing praiseworthy in shooting something that can not defend itself. Something even his father would agree with, which is a scary enough thought. Tangerine chuckles as he squeezes his shoulder. 

“Oh aren’t you tough?” Tangerine mutters with a hint of approval in his voice. Lemon coughs loudly making them look at him. Lemon shoots his brother a pointed look making Tangerine clear his throat, his smile slipping back on his face. “Let’s get a drink and you can tell us all about where you learned to shoot,” Tangerine says. He steers Crane inside the overcrowded bar, Lemon vanishing in the throng of people to grab them drinks. 

Crane finds himself unceremoniously crammed into the corner of the booth with Tangerine plastered on his side. Beneath the table their thighs pressed firmly together. Even in the overcrowded bar, Crane can smell Tangerine clearly, the smell and the contact makes his head half dizzy. As everyday since Frank’s boat and the night by the bonfire, Tangerine drapes an arm around his shoulders. Crane leans back in his seat, trying to act calm and unbothered by the casual affection. 

“Alright lads let’s drink,” Lemon announces with a handful of beer. The glass bottles clink as he sets them down on the table. “And let our dear Crane tell us just when a farmhand learned to shoot like that?” Lemon says while sliding them each a beer. Crane twists the cap off his beer as he wrestles with his answer. Despite his better instincts he does want to lie to them. He settles for the truth, as much as he can give under the circumstances. 

“My father taught me.” Crane answers with a nonchalant shrug. “He is a sharpshooter,” Crane starts letting a little more of the truth out into the air. Roshan Reznikov, was the best marksman in the history of the KGB and the Russian mafia. His father believed in strength and treated it as if it was his god, so he became the embodiment of it. Excelling in any physical and mental task he set his mind on because he would never risk being weak. 

“So he taught me how to shoot, he said I might need it in case I ended up in the wrong person's bed.” Crane continues with quotation mark fingers making the twins snort. “Yeah, yeah laugh it up, I had a wild streak when I was 20.” Crane says with a smile and chuckle quickly moving on before one of them grabs onto the last phase and tries to interrogate him on them. He does not need to talk about when he’s 20, or the real reason why his father taught him how to fire a gun. 

“So occasionally I do on and off competitive shooting for some extra money.” He adds before taking a sip of his beer. Competitive as in if he doesn’t shoot back accurately the other people will kill him. Lemon and Tangerine share a look before they whistle loudly, impressed. Crane lowers his drink as he shoots them a half amused and annoyed look. “It is not impressive,” Crane argued.

“What place do you get, love?” Tangerine asks in a teasing tone, as if he already knows. A flutter of pride erupts in his chest at the thought. Crane fights to control his face as he turns to face Tangerine in mock shock and surprise. Even letting touch of the emotions leak into his scent to make it more convincing. Tangerine's nose twitches at the scent, his arm flexing from where it drapes around his shoulder. 

“Why Tang are you saying that second and third place actually exist?” Crane asks innocently, thickening his southern drawl considerably. “Did you know about this Lemon?” Crane asks, in faux horror turning his head to the other brother. Lemon grins as he nods, making Crane gasp. “And here I thought it was a myth!” He says slapping the top of the table and that does it and soon they start to laugh. The sound of their laughter proves to be too much and soon Crane is joining them. 

Chapter Text

“What about you two?” Crane asks after the laughter has died down. He glances around the table with open curiosity trying to ignore the way Tangerine's hand brushes against his shoulder. While it drops dangerously low to drape around his shoulder, crossing a new unexplored area. A thrill runs through him pushing him to lean back into the touch without a moment to think of his actions, of the consequences. The scent of Tangerine and alpha goodness springs around him in a subtle wave that makes his body nearly sing. 

“Got any special talents you haven’t shared with the group?” Crane pushes on as he arches a brow. The twins' faces drop as they exchange a glance, it is only for a second before their previous expressions are back firmly in place. All happy and open, this was their charade. It was interesting to see from the two men who are so often open. Watching as their faces shift into something guarded was wonderful akin to watching a student dancer trying to find their footing. 

Floundering until they find what they feel comfortable with and all their insecurities melt away into pure confidence. Until the instructor snaps and it all shatters in an instant leaving an anxious eyed hunched over husk. Some days Crane thinks his father would love the twins. But other days he prays they never meet in fear he’d break them the same way he does to all tools he can no longer find of use. Break them then find a new one within reaching distance, willing and thoughtless. 

“Yodeling, acrobatics?” Crane suggests as he reaches across the table for a small wooden bowl full of peanuts. The peanut is rough beneath his hands before he cracks the shell open, lightly dusting the table as he pops it into his mouth. Tangerine glances over at him as he slides the bowl over to him wordlessly. Lemon clears his throat awkwardly as he shifts in his seat. His normally calm scent twinging at the edges with the promise of some emotion he was working hard to contain. 

Guilt? 

Crane's eyes cut to Tangerine. Leisurely, he eats another peanut, subtly letting the alphas scent flood his nose. There it is as well barely hidden from where Crane could normally smell it. Now this is interesting. Tangerine smiles charmingly at him in a manner that was all too disarming, practiced. But damn if it still doesn’t make his heart skip a beat and chest erupt in warmth. 

“Nothing that impressive love,” Tangerine answers smoothly. Crane sighs as he nods letting his shoulder droop with visible disappointment. Holding back a pout with the bare bone excuse that he was too old for such antics. His theatrics break the undercurrent of tension, the twins relaxing slowly but surely. 

“Lemons special gift is reading people thanks to the reliable university of Thomas the Tank Engine.” Tangerine adds, making Crane perk up as he smirks. He turns to look at Lemon who is shooting an ugly glare at his brother. Everyone knows of Lemon's love for the kids show but Crane never thought to ask where he’d fit in Lemon’s apparently never wrong personality assessment. 

Lemon sighs as he looks at Crane, who bats his eyelashes in a too innocent manner. The older Omega clearly is not going to let the manner go until he is satisfied. He looks at Tangerine from across the table, with his arm around Crane in a painfully casual manner. An entirely possessive manner but no one seemed willing to mention that fact. Then he seems to visibly crave beneath the pressure and he leans back in his seat. 

“You're an Edward,” Lemon says. “Crane, you are like the biggest Edward I ever met” Lemon declares, making Crane pump his fist in excitement and a whoop. Tangerine chuckles as his hand brushes through Crane's shaggy blonde hair, briefly squeezing his shoulder. “Mature and wise right,” Lemon starts grabbing Crane’s attention. “Edward is also kind and the voice of reason, never losing his temper or jumping the gun.” His eyes flick to Tangerine in a pointed measure 

“Aw thanks man,” Crane says with a smile, reaching over the table to pat Lemons shoulder. Lemon smiles as he waves off the affectionate omega who leans back in his seat. The bar door bursts open as a new wave of rich patrons enter. They talk loudly as they head toward the bar. Their laughter echoes as they squeeze past the seated patrons to order their drinks. 

“Which works because my brother here is a giant Gordon.” Lemon declares, shooting his brother, Tangerine, a pointed look which earns him the middle finger. Crane chuckles as he watches the brotherly exchange. “And he's Gordon right, so he’s the strongest and the most important,” Lemon starts making Crane nod, feeling a small smile play at his lips. 

Yes he certainly is, he thinks as Tangerines fingers started to play with the wisp of a curl at the base of his scalp. “But he doesn’t always listen to others,” Lemon stresses the last word pointedly making Tangerine scoff.

 “I do listen!” Tangerine interjects even as his fingers brush upward to toy with the curl. Fixated seemingly on the different texture. His hair is mostly straight until it grows out too long and then his fathers curls rear their stubborn head. “You are playing with Crane's hair! You are not listening!” Lemon points out making Tangerine sigh and roll his eyes. 

“I’m listening Lemon,” Crane says, trying to ignore the way Tangerine keeps playing with his hair. The Alpha apparently entirely soothed by the meaningless task. His easy affection only makes Crane's heart swell. “Keep going, I want to hear what you have to say,” he encourages in an even voice. Lemon snaps his fingers as he smiles at Crane, as if vindicated. 

“So all that kindness and tolerance for bullshit you have balances all his shit out.” Lemon says as he gestures to Tangerine who only hums as he strokes Crane’s hair. His fingers gentle as they hook around the curl, tugging on it lightly before he releases it only to do it again. “See he’s nearly docile,” Lemon quips, making Tangerine look at him with a glare. Docile and Tangerine are two words that never go together, even now. 

“Fuck off mate!” Tangerine snaps his handsome features twisting with anger. His musky scent, which has settled all around them with its calmness and pure content changes as it flares with bitterness and anger. It should scare him off, at least unsettle his inner Omega. Instead Crane basks in the scent and expression for a moment savoring it. 

Tangerine is like a wildfire, all he needs is a spark to ignite and burn everything in his path. Ne играй с огнем, обожжешься. His mother's voice floats through his mind, her Russian accent twisting with amusement. “I’m not fucking docile and you know it,” Tangerine hisses making Lemon raise his hands in a surrender motion defeated by the smirk of amusement on his face. Crane chuckles as he raises his beer to his lips and takes a slow sip. 

“Oh yeah mate you know what I got to agree with you,” Lemon starts with a hint of amusement in his voice. Trouble and they all know it. Tangerine purses his lips as he glares at his brother. “Because there was absolutely nothing docile about giving good old Frank a black eye this afternoon.” Lemon states making Crane almost choke on his beer as he whips around to stare at Tangerine who only huffs as he straightens his vest. 

“Don’t look at me that way, the dude is an absolute wanker and deserved it.” Tangerine says dismissively, his scent suspiciously unbothered by the revelation dropped at the table. Crane glances down at the alpha’s knuckles, the skin was unbroken which meant he used those shiny brass knuckles he keeps in his pocket at all times. He can all but feel his positive thoughts drifting away as they darken. He clamps down on his scent before it can change and spread, the last thing he needs is his scent to smell like anger and set off a chain reaction. 

“And on earth what did Frank do to deserve a black eye?” Crane asked incredulously, feeling a touch of accusation slip into his voice. Don’t let it be because of me, he silently prays. Let the reason be for one made out of pride or any other sin. Let it be because Frank said the wrong thing about Tangerine's mother. Or that he insulted Lemon even though everyone likes Lemon. 

Tangerine all but puffs up at the drop of accusation in his voice. His face twisting in anger as his eyes harden. “Now don’t you give me that tone,” he states, his voice sharpening around the edges. “Cause I wasn’t going to punch the wanker, right?” He continues his voice evening out to something lighter as he starts his retention. 

“Until I walked in the pub this morning,” Tangerine starts. “And I overheard him talking about you in a disrespectful manner so I had to put him in his place.” He finishes running a hand through his hair, a stray curl falling around his chin. That Alpha scent of his flaring defensively with rage. Protective? Offended? Crane couldn’t name it with all the other scents that filled the bar. 

“It was entirely avoidable that it was,” Lemon pipes up to add making Tangerine nod. Crane falls back in his seat with a sigh. “Really he should’ve known to keep his mouth shut when my brother is around,” he adds helpfully. Why because everyone should know Crane is under Tangerine’s special protection? 

“You two are going to give me grey hairs,” Crane groans as he buries his face in his hands. Trying to not melt when Tangerine reaches over and squeezes his shoulder in a soothing manner. He drops his hands as he looks at them. “You both owe me a drink,” he tells them in a morose voice. 

“On it, and then we get to ask some questions of our own,” Lemon says while sliding out of the booth with a grin. Crane gapes at his retreating back. Tangerine chuckles. “Don’t worry love, we won’t pry too much with our questions.” He reassures with a dangerous smirk. “We are just curious about a few things,” he adds as reaches across the small table for a peanut. 

Oh Crane is going to reek of Tangerine by the time he goes to bed. His usual light and airy Omega scent nearly smothered with Tangerines’s musky scent. He will almost smell like he’s been claimed. The thought was almost enough to distract him from the interrogation he was about to be put through by the twins. He’s lied before to friends, lovers, even his father lying to them won’t be any different besides the fact he might actually feel bad. 

Chapter Text

“You didn’t hurt your hand right?” Crane asks, setting his chin on his knuckles as he glances over at Tangerine. Tangerine blinks as his hand stills from where it was idly playing with a curl in his hair. His arm drapes over his shoulder, strong and heavy as his fingers lightly twist the curl. So fascinated by such a small thing.  “Of course not,” Tangerine replies at once in an almost offended tone.

“I know how to throw a proper punch.” Tangerine states with a hint of pride as his fingers resume making Crane smile. His heart swells as his lips ache with the desire to kiss him. To push their lips together, to taste the inside of his mouth as their tongue brushes together. The light sensation of nails dragging down the nape of his neck made Crane shudder. Tangerine says nothing as he stares at him, his nails routinely dragging up and down his scalp and neck, toeing the line. His eyebrows drawing into a tight furrow as if he was working out a hard problem or making an important decision. 

White foam spills onto the table as Lemon sets their beers down making them look away. Crane clears his throat as he reaches for his beer, suddenly parched beyond words. The beer is cold as it goes down his throat. When he lowers his glass, he finds Tangerine staring. “So what questions do you guys have?” Crane asks in a light tone as he glances around the table. 

“Are you single?” Tangerine asks quickly, making Lemon cough, nearly choking on his beer as Crane stares at him. “No, I have a husband and six children,” he answers sarcastically. “Nikki, Tommy, Vince, Mick, John, and Randy.” Crane lists off counting his fingers making Lemon chuckle as Tangerine reaches for his beer, raising the glass high to hide his blushing cheeks. “They sure made me proud although heaven knows they can’t keep it in their pants,” he adds with a laugh. 

“Who?” Tangerine asks making Crane whip his head around to stare at him. The alpha nearly flinches back under the sudden harsh scrutiny of the older man. “The members of Motley Crue,” Crane answers Lemon and Tangerine exchange a look which tears a gasp from Crane’s throat. “Come on, they are the best rock band ever!” Crane says passionately, making Tangerine smile. “No one else or ever will have half their gift when it comes to music, stage presence, and making their hair ten feet tall.” Crane says with a smile and laugh, Lemon snorts as Tangerine gently squeezes his shoulder. 

“Alright now it’s time for my question,” Lemon starts as he picks up his glass. “What pushes a perfectly good bird like you to work on a ranch in your golden years?” Lemon asks before he takes a sip of his beer. “It can’t be the money and I don’t think you find a great thrill in traveling.” He notes as he rubs his chin. “And I don’t get the sense you plan to settle down here and build an actual life.” He adds, his dark eyes full of curiosity as they stare into Cranes. 

Crane hums as he tilts his head slightly as he stares back unwaveringly into Lemon’s eyes. “Well I’ve never been one to stay in one place for long, haven’t been able to do that since I was about 19.” Crane starts as he reaches for a peanut and cracks it open with his thumbs, popping the rest in his mouth as he lets the silence fill the void. “And from there I guess I never learned the art of settling down or found anyone who made me want to stay.” Crane says with a slight shrug, all too aware of Tangerine’s eyes burning into Crane with a shuddering intensity. 

“Besides you make it sound like I’m some homeless old guy,” Crane starts with a light laugh as he scratches his chin, feeling stubble beneath his fingertips. “I have family, friends, money, and a house.” Crane continues making Tangerine and Lemon trade mischievous glances. “Friends? A house?” They both ask at once, making Crane smile. “Yes I have friends and yes I own a house,” Crane answers before they could begin to question him.

“But I would go clinically insane if I had to stay in one place so I keep working,” Crane says with a laugh watching as the twins do the same. “Mostly I just wanna see what is out there for me,” he continues as he reaches for his beer. He takes a small sip before he lowers it and glances around the packed booth. “So do I get to ask questions or am I still under interrogation?” Crane asks as he grabs another peanut off the table. “But I get one each on account for there being two of you.” He says pointing the peanut toward him with a knowing look before they could answer. 

“Going to make us sweat love?” Tangerine asks with a half smirk on his lips. The Alpha looks ridiculously handsome like this, it was almost distracting. Almost. The cracking of the shell is loud, making the alpha blink in surprise. Crane mirrors his smirk while he cracks open the shell. 

“Can’t let y’all get too comfy around here,” Crane replies with a thick southern drawl, Tangerine smiles before he rubs his jaw with his hand hiding his expression. It’s a shame, the alpha is radiant when he smiles. “That accent of yours really comes and goes at times, you know that right?” Lemon points out making Crane glance over at him and wink “that’s part of my charm.” Crane replies as he reaches for his beer. 

“So Tangerine, what is the obsession with suits?” Crane asks once he’s had a sip of his beer. “It’s not practical,” he starts “and being here everyday must cost you a fortune to keep them constantly clean,” Crane adds as his index finger idly strokes the side of his cold glass. The young man chuckles as he brushes off an imaginary lint off his suit jacket. Lemon rolls his eyes as he sits back in his seat, sipping lazily on his beer. 

“I see nothing wrong with a man always looking his best,” Tangerine replies, making Crane flick a peanut shell at him. The shell hits his jacket dead on above his breast pocket and makes him jump, he swears as Lemon chuckles. He shoots Crane a half heated glare as he brushes off his suit of peanut dust. “Unless you want to pay for my dry cleaning, love, you should refrain from damaging my suit,” Tangerine retorts. Crane rolls his eyes as he picks up his beer and takes a sip, sharing a long exasperated look with Lemon. 

“A little dust and dirt never hurt nobody,” Crane says “maybe if you played in it, you might start to have fun and relax some,” Crane adds in a contemplative tone. Tangerine makes an offended noise before he rolls his eyes. “Oh fuck right off, I’ve been having fun and relaxing this entire time!” Tangerine argues, Crane doesn’t believe him and he lets it show on his face. 

“So the fact you keep watching the door and always look ready to throw the first punch at the first sign of trouble, is irrelevant?” Crane asks in disbelief, raising his brows as he stares Tangerine in the eyes. He’s seen it himself, he knows. He knows exactly what Tangerine is trying to do, the role he is trying to play because Crane has played it a dozen times himself. Tangerine might’ve gotten drunk here and there and laughed his ass off, but he always watches the room. He is always pacing the space like a tiger in a cage ready to pounce the second a moment of aggression shows itself. 

One of Tangerine’s problems is he doesn’t know how to turn it off. That killer's paranoia that in a second he will become prey not predator and join the bodies he dug in a hidden grave; nameless and faceless, another mission completed, a name crossed off someone’s list. A grave to be dug without mourners, leaving the ones who loved him behind to wonder, to fret, and despair. That is why everyone who dares stare a second longer, raise their voice a tad too high, or grow too close to that warning line must be destroyed as violently as possible. To prove he is strong, that he is still the tiger and not prey. 

It is the same problem Crane’s father has, it’s led to him becoming the ruthless murderer he is today. Cutting down any opposition, real or imaginary with a sense of glee that struck terror in the hearts of his enemies. But even a predator must fall, must die whether at the hands of another or in the loneliness of old age. That is the only fate for men like them, like his father and Tangerine if the younger man is not careful, to suffer through life alone or choke on your own blood. A sad ending for a man who was once so vibrant and gruesome. But not Tangerine, not his man, he won’t suffer it if Crane is allowed to change it.