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“Surely you haven’t gotten so out of practice that you can’t win a single round of gin, Gunpowder.” Ashes smirked over the rim of their ruby encrusted sunglasses. Expensive, because of course they would be if it was Ashes.
“Shut. Up,” Gunpowder Tim ground out from between his clenched teeth, tossing three cards down, Ivy’s rule of order be damned. The miniscule amount of piles in front of him was obvious, dwarfed almost entirely by Ashes’ and Jonny’s points. “You’re both cheating and we all know it.”
Jonny snorted, elbowing Tim’s arm out of his way as he drew an obscene amount of cards into his hand, laying down just as many into even more piles.
“Of course, we fuckin’ are, don’t use that as an excuse, Gunpowder,” Jonny snarked as he finally put his cards down, using his other hand to swish a glass of whiskey around like he’d seen Raphaella do with one of her beakers. Granted, it had exploded directly into her face immediately afterwards, but he assumed he had better odds. But you never know on this ship with these crewmates.
Tim threw his glass at Jonny’s head, his other hand gripping the table to prevent bending the cards. He was not going to have Brian up his ass over cards again. He inhaled deeply through his nose, closing his mechanical eyelids. He was going to win a round, dammit. Jonny ducked to the side, cackling. The glass shattered on the wall behind him.
“Call me Gunpowder one more time. You’ll be coughing up gunpowder and explosive compounds for weeks, mark my words,” Tim gritted out, releasing his hold on the table to rub at his temple. He was beginning to remember why he had stopped playing cards with Jonny and Ashes a few hundred years ago. His nostalgia had clouded his memories. The Great Blackjack Incident lasted twenty years, resulting in a thick layer of black ash encrusting half the walls of the Aurora. It had also necessitated a very swift and merciless lesson from Nastya about the consequences of onboard fighting when she returned from the Nibbana galaxy.
Ashes grunted their amusement, tossing down another obscene stack of cards that they surely hadn’t had in their hand a moment ago. Tim realized he had forgotten the number one rule of playing with them. Never turn away from a play when Ashes was at the table.
“Strong words from a man who hasn’t gotten past thirty points in the last four rounds,” Ashes pointed out, bringing their cigar to their lips to breathe in the fumes. They leaned forward, blowing a ring of smoke directly into Tim’s mechanical eyes. Dickhead.
Tim felt his eyes clicking and shifting to remove the sting, a grunt of his own pushing out of his chest as he turned his head just in time to watch Jonny pull five cards out from under the table.
“You cheating bastard!” Tim shouted, jumping to his feet and flipping the table over onto its side. The cacophony of shattering glass and the slam of heavy oak wood splintering under the force was barely enough to cover Jonny’s cackling as he withdrew his 6-piece revolver from his holster. Ashes snatched up their glass of whiskey before it could join its matching set on the floor in a thousand pieces and leaned back in their seat to watch the show.
They two grappled with each other before Tim bodily threw Jonny over his shoulder and onto the floor, strewn with broken glass. The crunch was a bit too loud to only be the expensive tumbler set that Brian gave Ashes a few decades ago. Jonny’s breath was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping and grinning on the floor. His gun went skittering off further into the room, away from the fray.
Tim straddled Jonny swiftly, raising his fist to continue the fight until Ashes knocked one of their golden rings against their whiskey glass. Tim and Jonny both turned their heads sideways to look at their lover. Granted, Jonny was digging his head into the broken shards and was beginning to leak blood, but Ashes highly doubted he even noticed.
“Yes, he cheated. We knew this already,” Ashes drawled out, crossing their left leg over their right as they lifted their arms to lounge around the top rail of their antique chair, another pillaged item from another ravaged world. Like all things Ashes owned, it was opulent and shaded in a rich jewel tone, plush where it mattered. The wood was a shiny, polished black oak. “However, the table is gone, the whiskey is gone, and I don’t feel like continuing this…spat any longer.”
Both Tim and Jonny stared at them blankly, the taller man’s fists still clenched in Jonny’s ruffled shirt. The spot between Tim’s brows that always furrowed when he was thinking began to scrunch up, and Ashes wanted to smirk at the clear tell. Tim was never really good at bluffing, not when he could blast through any obstacle that blocked his way. Jonny and Ashes filled that role. They were two sides of the same coin, but Tim was an entirely different currency.
“And?” Jonny asked sarcastically. Tim shook him harshly for his troubles. Jonny grasped Tim’s wrist as he sunk his nails into Tim’s skin, a growl leaving his throat.
Ashes sighed and rubbed the bridge of their nose between their thumb and forefinger. These stupid, stupid men were going to be the true death of them, surely.
“And,” Ashes bit out in mild frustration before their tone smoothed over to their usual charm, “I know what we could play instead. How do you boys feel about a little strip poker?”
They raised an eyebrow conspiratorially over the rim of their glasses, the red of their lips twitching upwards faintly. Their head tilted minutely to the side, watching the other two with the attention of a hawk.
Tim could feel a shudder go through Jonny where they were still holding onto each other. He leaned back onto his haunches, letting Jonny’s thighs be his pillow for the moment. Gunpowder Tim considered the offer, tapping his index finger against the inside of Jonny’s wrist while he thought. That wasn’t a bad option, especially with how sick he was of gin rummy. There was still a high risk of losing again. This time, it would be a lot more obvious.
“Eh, fuck it. I’m in,” Tim shrugged, adjusting his shirt collar from where it had slid down in the scuffle. He glanced down at the body trapped under him, “What about you, cowboy?”
For Jonny’s part, he seemed to be thrumming with energy. His eyes rapidly darted between his partners before settling on Tim, a feral grin spreading across his face.
“You bet your ass I’m in.” He leaned upwards, shrugging off Tim’s grasp to push him backwards.
Tim let out a surprised squeak as he went, tailbone hitting the floor roughly. He hissed as the pain spread down his legs in electric volts. He glared at Jonny, who shrugged as innocently as he was able. Their noses were almost touching, their limbs entangled together. If it weren’t for the mess around them, it would almost be like how Tim and Bertie used to sit in high school, long before the Moon War.
“Well, if we’re gonna play, we need to get up.” Jonny remarked, putting his hands on his spine to crack it. The crunch was a bit too loud for comfort, but Ashes ignored it. He would heal.
Tim tilted his head to the side, strips of his hair falling out of the messy bun he had put it in around the fourth round, when he got serious. The hair framed his face, contrasting with the darkened veins and soot around his eyes. For all the mess his weapons made of him, Tim’s hair was always silky and smooth.
“Nah, I’m good. You can get up if you want,” Tim replied casually, leaning back on his hand and using the other to twist a strand of his hair around his finger. The gunmetal gray of his eyes sparkled with humor.
Jonny huffed and attempted to wiggle his way out from under Tim’s lanky ass legs. That man was a spider in a past life; he was sure of it. An annoying spider. After a few more moments of pointless struggling, he tossed a punch. Tim grabbed his fist, raising an eyebrow at him. Jonny threw his hands into the air.
“If you’d move your ass, I would, Gunpowder!” Honestly, this twat.
“Cope and seethe, little man.” Tim said smoothly, glancing at his nails in boredom. He knew it pushed Jonny’s buttons to be blown off like this, and he was feeling like getting some petty revenge for the last few hours or so of blatant cheating, sue him.
Jonny looked at Ashes, tossing his arms at Tim with vigor. He stared at Ashes meaningfully, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.
“Do you see the bullshit I deal with? This mutiny? I am the captain-“
“First mate!” Both Ashes and Tim chimed in unison, though one stated it matter of fact while the latter chirped it out gleefully.
Their first mate froze, his hands still hanging in the air. His face was blank as he stared hard up at Ashes. “Et tu, Ashes?” he muttered. Ashes stared back, their face blank. Jonny could see the edge of their eyes crinkling in what, if he had to guess, was mirth at his expense.
Knowing he would get no sympathy from his quartermaster, Jonny turned back to Tim. Slowly, like a cat who had locked in on its prey, Jonny’s body tensed up. Tim glanced down midway through a laugh at the feeling of Jonny’s thighs clenching in preparation. He quickly shot his head up to watch Jonny, eyes widening at the realization of how close he was.
“Jonny, don’t. Don’t you fucking dare-!” Tim yelped, scrambling away. Jonny yanked his legs out from under Tim, throwing them around Tim’s thighs to keep him in place. He clenched down to stop his escape, calves pressing into the back of Tim’s thighs.
“Ashes! Grab him, grab him now!” Tim shouted, twisting to claw at the floor desperately, his frantic movements doing nothing to slow Jonny’s attack. With a resounding cry of fury, Jonny slammed forward to pin Tim’s chest to the floor, their legs still tangled in a position that had Ashes mentally wincing.
The battle was over before it had even begun when Jonny sank his teeth into Tim’s neck, ripping like a rabid dog (everyone on the ship knew that Jonny was not up to date on his vaccine). Blood gushed out like a dam bursting, thick rivers of crimson spurting over both their torsos in a gory mess. Ashes was not spared from the carnage either, the spray of viscera splashing across their velvety purple vest.
Ashes clenched their fists in rage, avoiding breaking the whiskey glass, drawing a breath through their nose before releasing it all at once through their mouth to quell their anger. They knew this would happen. Honestly it was more their fault for not moving faster to save Tim, but dammit, really? They really had to destroy Ashes’ favorite outfit with all their roughhousing?
Ugh, this was exactly why they stuck with fire: less messy and far more entertaining.
Speaking of messy, Tim was limp on the ground, a pool of sanguine blood collected under him. Jonny rested his chest against Tim’s broken back in an almost languid pose, untangling his legs slowly. It would be sweet, even a moment of tenderness if it weren’t for the corpse of their lover between them.
“Really, Jonny?” Ashes griped, already removing their tie from around their collar, prepared to strip off the soaked clothing, “I get the biting, but did you have to get it on me as well? We’re gonna have to change.”
Jonny tucked his hands into his armpits while he stared up at Ashes. His eyes held a manic glint in them as they always did after a proper feral kill. A sharp-toothed smile split his face wide open, the look of a predator catching the scent of prey. It was Ashes’ second favorite look on his face and they knew that he was planning something ridiculous, something foolish.
God, they loved him.
“What? I know that look,” Ashes questioned, “Got something to say?”
The smirk got wider, impossibly so. “You suggested strip poker,” he said like a student telling his teacher a fact he knew that they didn’t. Haughty.
Ashes’ mind blanked for a moment at the obvious statement, cocking their head to the side in confusion.
“Yeah, and?”
“Well.” He flicked his eyes down towards Tim, looking back up with a cocky little expression directed at Ashes as he climbed off the other man, leaning back on his hands and crossing his legs, obnoxiously tapping his foot against the metal goggles on Tim’s head. “At this point, losing that game would be a blessing. Why don’t we spice things up a bit, hm? The first person to manage to steal an entire outfit pieced together from the rest of the crew wins?”
The rhythmic clinking noise was suspiciously like the tune of ‘Gassed Last Night’ from Gunpowder Tim’s origin song. Ashes had to wonder if it was a taunt or simply because the violence reminded him of it.
“What exactly do we ‘win’?” Ashes was nothing if not pragmatic. They would not be swayed purely by stealing, though it was a tempting offer. “And what are the rules? It shouldn’t be hard to steal from the others. Half of your closet isn’t yours, Jonny. If we agree to this, there needs to be a ground rule that you must steal everything today and not use stuff we already had on hand.”
With a huff, Jonny stood, his tail and arms minutely shifting to keep his balance. He opened his mouth to argue the merits of pre-stolen gains.
“And we aren’t allowed to kill anyone to get it,” a weak voice piped up between them. Jonny and Ashes looked down to see Tim clutching his throat, the flesh stitching back together slowly. His chest rattled, filled with swallowed blood, and he turned his head to the side to spit out what he could.
Ashes scrunched their nose in mild disgust and stuck their free hand out. Tim squinted up at the hand, his eyes readjusting rapidly, and grabbed it. With a grunt from both of them, Tim was yanked up and placed on his wobbling legs before Jonny could protest.
With a flourish, Ashes had Tim turned around with his back leaned against their chest, their height difference comfortable. Spending several millennia together had given them plenty of time to learn the shape of each other, all the curves and edges where they slotted perfectly together like a puzzle. Tim leaned his head back, nestling it atop Ashes’ curls, his own hair draped like water over his lover’s back. Ring decorated hands came to wrap around Tim’s midsection, resting in a loop just above his hips as they cupped what little was left of their whiskey.
“Thank you, dear.” Tim muttered into Ashes’ hair, smiling at the feather light kisses lining up his neck and heading towards his jawline. “Like I was saying, no killing. We can’t use previously stolen items and we can’t kill for them. We have to actually put proper effort in.” He opened his eyes slightly, not realizing he had closed them.
Jonny was squinting between the two of them, his eyes narrowed in jealousy. His tail rapidly flicked back and forth, thumping against his legs like an irritated cat.
“Fine!” he groused out, hands on his hips as he leaned forward. “I won’t kill any of you bastards to get the clothes, but if they shoot at me, it’s on.”
Ashes gave a slight nod in agreement, “Fair enough.”
Tim moved his hips, wrapping his hands around Ashes’ to pull them along in a gentle sway. He pressed a kiss to the crown of his lover’s head, resting his cheek there as he watched Jonny puff up even more. He laughed to himself; Jonny was as predictable as much as he wasn’t.
“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” Jonny turned on his heel, crunching the glass under his boot as he went. “I’m starting without you sappy losers.”
With that, Jonny was gone. Tim and Ashes stared where he had been, still swaying together for a moment.
“Which room do you think he’s going to hit first?” Tim asked, shifting Ashes’s hands higher so he could wrap his own hands around their fingers.
Ashes shrugged, considering it for a moment before they spoke. “If I had to guess, likely Brian’s closet. They have the closest styles, if you don’t include yourself.”
“Hm,” Tim hummed out, his curiosity peaked. “Wait…do you suppose he’ll hit our rooms first since he knows we aren’t there to guard it?”
“Oh.” Ashes stilled then, hands sliding off of Tim to gently push him away. Tim went with a put-upon groan, already missing their warmth against him. “We should get going then, he has the advantage.”
Tim perked up at that, his mind switching to a tactical front. He was already considering the distance between the common room they had chosen to Jonny’s room. Along the way, they could hit Raphaella and Marius’s closets if they split up. He’d be fine giving Ashes first dibs on Marius’s room if he could take Raphaella’s. He had seen a lovely shopping haul of hers a few moons ago that he had not been able to look through yet. Now seemed like a good time.
He turned back to catch Ashes downing what was left in their glass before they chucked it to the side, ignoring the sound of it breaking. He raised an eyebrow at them, a smirk curling his lips. Blood and whiskey, indeed.
“Ready?” He asked, taking a moment to fix his bun.
Ashes nodded at him, tapping their rings against the flask hanging from their hip.
“Let’s go.”
Ashes stopped beside Tim to offer their arm to him, which he gratefully took. Together, they walked out of the room to follow after Jonny, smiling at the sounds of chaos coming from down the hall.