Work Text:
“Hey, can I get something to drink over here? Maybe a Mai Tai? Or a cosmo?”
Tangerine’s brow twitched, jaw clenching. The sound of his teeth grinding seemed to only grow by the minute as he tried to ignore the other man’s shouted demands. Pacing back and forth in front of him, Tangerine’s eyes darted between every zip tie, every piece of rope, triple-checking handcuffs he had already personally checked, even after Lemon’s assurance that everything was in hand.
Dark eyebrows drew down. Soft black fabric covered Tom’s eyes, shifting with every roll of his head, each new whining half-demand, half-plea. He was still wearing the suit he wore to the premiere. If you could call it a suit, Tangerine thought, doing his best not to sneer at Tom’s outfit. The man was completely shirtless, with a black suit jacket hanging open and matching pinstripe trousers. He must be freezing. Judging by the telltale pebbling peeking out from one side of his jacket, the whining about the temperature was no doubt due to start soon. Tangerine watched as Tom moved this way then that, trying, no doubt, to figure out where the fuck he was, and why nobody was answering him.
It was a simple enough contract. They had known that the premiere for Infinite Conquest would be swarming with people: security, cast, staff, reporters, fans. It was impossible to keep track of everyone. All they needed to do was slip in, grab Ryder before he could sneak back out for ‘just one more round of photos’ with his adoring fans – or, Tangerine would bet, a quick fuck with one of his costars in the bathrooms. Rumour had it that the studio would pay anything to keep their top little money maker in tip-top condition. Paying a few mil to get him back would be pocket change for them. And after the string of bad luck the Twins had been having since the Bolivia job, an easy payday was just what the doctor ordered.
“Seriously, I’m dying over here.” Tom’s voice grew louder, his exasperation clear. Wood creaked ominously as he shifted in place. Again.
Too bad nobody thought to tell them what a pain in the arse their target was.
Tangerine slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He took a few quick photos for posterity’s sake. They had gone with an abandoned warehouse for that part of their plan; something about the bleak concrete and abandoned machinery just ‘added to the aesthetic’, or so Lemon had insisted. Kidnapping wasn’t exactly their forte. Taking out targets was more their niche, as Tangerine liked to think of it. At least with wetwork, they knew where they stood. This actual moving someone, keeping them hidden, keeping them alive, lark? It was starting to look like more trouble than it was worth. Tangerine already regretted letting his brother take point on this job. He should have known it was suspicious when Lemon seemed so enthusiastic about the dossier popping up in their inbox with Tom’s headshot front and centre.
I swear to fuckin’ god, if the rumours about a live-action Thomas the fuckin’ Tank Engine film end up being true, I will burn that studio to the ground myself, Tangerine thought.
Brushing off his suit, Tangerine paced in front of Tom once more, coming to a halt front and centre, legs spread, one hand loosely clasping his other wrist in front of him. He tilted his head, watching closely. The other man wasn’t even trying to struggle anymore. Tangerine couldn’t see a single sign that Tom had tried to get out of the cuffs, either. Or the zip ties. It was as if he wasn’t taking the whole thing seriously at all. Was he kidnapped so often that it didn’t register as a real threat anymore? Or was he still in denial about what was happening? Not that it really mattered, now that they had him safely squirrelled away, but Tangerine did like to know as much about their targets as possible. He never knew when what seemed like an obscure little tidbit could turn out to be far more important than anticipated.
“Seriously?” Tom’s petulant voice rang throughout the warehouse. “I’m–”
Tangerine felt his tenuous grip on his control beginning to snap. “You will be wishin’ you were fuckin’ dyin’ if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“–so fucking hungry. Get me some snacks. Something keto! I’m not doing the whole no carbs thing. Fucking dietitians, man. They really know how to spoil a good time. Am I right?”
It was as if Tom hadn’t even heard him. Tangerine’s eyebrows crept up, jaw slack. Was there something wrong with him? Was that it? One too many hits to the head on set? Tangerine reached up, running his hands through slicked-back hair. He could feel a sharp tightness starting in his temple, a familiar, low thrum of pain beating a tattoo against the inside of his skull. This was shaping up to be less of a milk run than they had first thought.
“Jesus fuckin’ christ, I shoulda taken the job with the fuckin’ Russians,” Tangerine muttered beneath his breath. Searching his pockets, he came up with the little bottle of pills they had used to get Tom out of the premiere. It was tempting. Almost too tempting. He slipped them back into his pocket with a weary sigh. It was going to be a long couple of days. If this was anything to go by, they might need to keep them in hand in case either of them wanted to actually sleep.
“Y’know what? I could do with calling my agent, too. She worries.”
“I’ll fuckin’ give her somethin’ ta worry about, you–” Tangerine’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it free with more force than necessary, he took one look at the familiar lemon emoji on the screen, before neatly hanging up. Whatever it was could wait.
“And Gail! Gail will want to know what’s happening. So if you could just go ahead and–”
“You do realise this is a kidnapping, not a sodding trip ta Butlins, right?” Tangerine asked mockingly. His hands slammed down either side of Tom’s head, the slap of skin on bare concrete echoing in the warehouse.
Tom flinched, bravado flickering away for no more than a moment before twisting into something far cockier and far more familiar. “What the fuck is Butlins?”
Fingers tugged roughly at the edge of the blindfold, ripping it free from around Tom’s head. The other man blinked blearily, face shying away from the sudden bright, unexpected light.
“Hey! Warn a guy, why don’t you?” Tom snapped. Hands grasped the lapels of his suit jacket – who the fuck wore a suit without a shirt? Seriously, it was just a jacket with nothing beneath it – pulling him up until his restraints strained against the wooden chair.
“Seriously? Are you havin’ a fuckin’ laugh? That’s the part of this whole fuckin’ situation that you have questions about? What is soddin’ Butlins?” Tangerine hissed between clenched teeth. Tom finally seemed to focus on him, eyes flicking between his dishevelled hair, down to the neat line of his collar. All traces of anger melted away as a slow smile spread across his lips.
“Well h,ello there. Did Gail hire you for my birthday? Is this because of the whole strip club thing last year? Because I told her, it happened in Vegas. Like, the law says–”
Tangerine could feel the vein in his jaw beginning to twitch. Whatever they were being paid? Wasn’t anywhere near enough to deal with this shit. He forced himself to suck in a steadying breath. They couldn’t afford another clusterfuck. Not after Bolivia. They needed this to go right.
“Do I look like a fuckin’ stripper to you?” Tangerine asked incredulously. As Tom opened his mouth to reply, Tangerine shook him, fists balling up tighter in the fabric of his suit jacket. “You know what? Don’t answer that. You can’t actually be this stupid. It’s not possible.”
Tom barralled on, his smirk never faltering. “–what happens in Vegas–”
Tangerine’s eyebrows rose higher. “Jesus Christ you really are, aren’t you? I’m in hell right now, aren’t I? Was it the Bolivia job? It was, wasn’t it? This is what I get for gettin’ creative with that wood chipper.”
Bright light flooded the room. Two sets of eyes turned towards the warehouse doors as the sound of metal screeching against metal echoed through the space. In the doorway stood Lemon, phone in hand, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“Phone broke, did it? Something better to do with your time?” he asked, waving his phone for emphasis. Tangerine released Tom’s lapels, taking a step back. “Good, good. Hands off the merchandise, yeah? It looks like the studio’s already agreed to pay in full. Didn’t even need ta keep him overnight. I think we might have undercharged ‘em. Is it bad form to ask for more?”
Tangerine rubbed between his eyes. Next time, they were sticking to wetwork. Nice and simple. Clean. No babysitting. “Yes, Lem, it’s bad fuckin’ form. When’s the dropoff?”
“About three hours?” Lemon’s eyes slid between the two of them, coming to rest on Tom. “Hey man. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Why, thank you,” Tom said. Tangerine could practically feel his eyes sliding between the two of them. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets, hiding the way that they curled into fists. “That’d be much appreciated.”
Tangerine’s jaw closed audibly, knuckles cracking from the sheer strain of holding himself back. “Idiots. I’m surrounded by fuckin–”
As he spoke, Lemon moved towards them. Before he could finish, the other man had released Tom’s wrists, zipties and handcuffs slipping into his pocket. Lemon offered Tom a bottle of water with a smile.
“–hell, what the actual fuck, Lem!” Tangerine reached for the water, snatching it out of Tom’s grasp and throwing it at the far wall. It exploded in a shower of water, splattering across the three. Lemon wiped his face, an unimpressed look on his face.
“You know what? I’d actually prefer sparkling, if you’re getting another one anyway. Thank you. Thanks. I appreciate it,” Tom said as he sent Lemon a wide smile.
“Sure, no problem. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You just sit tight while I catch up with Tan,” Lemon said, wrapping an arm around Tangerine’s back and leading him towards the open door. Tangerine dug his feet in, refusing to move beyond the doorway.
“There really was no need for that, Tan. They’ve already wired us the money. And, y’know.” Lemon wrapped his arm more tightly around Tangerine’s shoulder, pulling him in close as he leaned in to whisper into his ear. “I was thinkin’, he could sign a thing or two before he goes. Have you seen the price of some of his merch on eBay? We are in the wrong business. Fucking three hundred quid for a squiggle on a photograph. I was thinkin’, we should maybe consider that, y’know?”
Tangerine looked at him incredulously. “We should consider what? Forgery? Fuckin’ kidnappin’ celebs ta make some fucked-up production like of signed merch? What the fuck are you on about!”
Tangerine’s voice echoed around the warehouse, the sound of his frustration reverberating back to them. Chest heaving, Tangerine tried to calm himself. He knew that his anger would do neither them, nor the job, any good. Trying to calm himself, Tangerine let out a long, low breath. “Look, I–”
“Did I hear someone say they wanted an autograph?”
The Twins jumped. Spinning around in place, two sets of eyes landed on Tom, now stood just a few feet away. He sent them a wide, easy grin.
“Sure, sure. I can do that,” he said, eyes slipping towards Lemon. “D’you think you could give us a moment? Maybe get me that water? I’ll be more than happy to sign whatever you want before I go,” Tom offered, a wide smile stretched across his lips.
Tangerine watched, jaw slack, as Lemon turned to leave. “Is there something in the fuckin’ water, or have you both lost your fuckin’ minds? Get your arse back here. Why would you–”
Lemon held his hands up as he walked towards the door, slowly shaking his head. He didn’t bother to turn back around. “Tan. Seriously? If you can’t take him, we have bigger things to worry about.”
Heat crept up the back of Tangerine’s neck, his words failing him. Behind him, he heard Tom clear his throat. “So, about that lap dance…”
“Did you not hear a fuckin’ word we just said?” Tangerine said, taking a step back. Tom took a step forward, grin locked in place.
“Or stripping. I’m not fussy.“
“Seriously. Is there somethin’ wrong with you?”
“I know, I know. Kidnapping. Ransom. Same old shit,” Tom said dismissively, hands dropping to the buttons of his suit jacket. Tangerine’s eyes flicked down; he couldn’t help himself. His eyes locked on Tom’s chest as inch after inch was revealed. “But the way I see it, we’ve still got a couple of hours before anyone is expecting me, right? When are you going to get the chance for something like this again. Hey, if you do a good job, I’ll even tell Gail to drop you an extra couple grand. How’s that sound? You can use it to buy some new suits.”
Tangerine’s mouth fell open. Tom took the chance to move closer, hand reaching up to cup his cheek. A thumb brushed against the sharp line of Tangerine’s cheekbone. For one brief moment, Tangerine found himself lost in Tom’s eyes. He really was quite handsome…
A hand fell to the front of Tangerine’s suit. In an instant, he snapped back to himself. Shaking his head, Tangerine’s hand rose, batting Tom’s away. “What part of I’m not a stripper are you not getting through your thick head? Seriously, do you do your own stunts or somethin—wait. What the fuck is wrong with my suits?”
“Of course I do!” Tom’s voice rose, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice for the first time. Tangerine scoffed, shaking his head.
“Explains a lot, that.”
“Thanks,” Tom said, a beaming smile settling into place. Tangerine stared back at him blankly. Tom’s eyebrow rose, the corners of his lips twitching in a smirk. He couldn’t be serious. There was no was someone could be that stupid and that cocky at the same time. Tangerine refused to believe it.
Tom took a step back, the last of his buttons coming undone. His jacket fell to the floor in a pool of silk, revealing the smooth expanse beneath. Tangerine tried his best to resist, eyes locked firmly on Tom’s face.
“C’mon. I’ll even let you top.”
Tangerine let out a bark of laughter. Inadvertently, his eyes dropped, catching sight of Tom’s chest, the broadness of his shoulders, the definition of his arms. Tom did make a good point… when would he get an opportunity like that again? His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Across from him, a small, satisfied smirk settled on Tom’s lips. He already knew that he had won.
“I– you know what? Fine. But I don’t want a runnin’ commentary the whole time, or I’m getting the blindfold back out,” Tangerine warned, ringed fingers reaching for his cuffs. He began to unbutton them, his mind already racing with the possibilities of what they could do together over the next few hours.
“Kinky,” Tom said, hands already moving to his trousers. Tangerine paused.
“...I’m starting to really think we’re getting underpaid for this job.”