by Kara Greenan
London spread his legs further. “Yes,” he chokes out, fingers digging into the ledge when Sebastian’s hand is back around his cock.
“Good,” Sebastian says, leaning in for another lick. “Because I want to see you fall apart under my mouth first.”
Sebastian pulls his finger free, uses his hand to hold London open and press his face between his cheeks. His lips fasten around his hole, tongue teasing the skin before he sucks. The moan that escapes London is almost a shout and it goes more to Sebastian’s ego than his cock. It’s still surreal that this is London, the London; that they’re doing this out in the open. That he hasn’t enjoyed himself this much in eons, had felt jaded with sex even if that never kept him from having it. This is different. Something he could get used to. He reaches up, his palm wrapping around London’s cock, tugging it roughly while pressing his face deeper, pushing him onto the very tips of his toes with the sheer force of it. London falls apart just like Sebastian hoped, only better because it’s real and because it’s his doing.
Sebastian eases him through it gently, fingers softening their grip and mouth finally letting up, doling out tiny kisses instead while London hangs over the balcony, trying to suck air back into his lungs. Sebastian gives him time to catch his breath while he gets to his feet, trying to arrange his hard-on into a more comfortable position. He pulls London upright and helps him back into his clothes.
“Good?”
London seems giddy, flirty in a way that’s new and infinitely intriguing. Sebastian watches him blink slowly and look up innocently from beneath his lashes as he steps in close.
“My, my,” he murmurs, cupping him through his trousers. “You sure seem happy to see me.”
Sebastian grabs his wrist, presses his hand down more firmly. “I am.”
London laughs, pulling back to retrieve their backpacks.
“Not right now,” he whispers into Sebastian’s ear while giving his pierced nipple a slow twist like some sort of promise. “Now, we run.”
London, present day
The inside of the pub is as gloomy as always, though marginally less gloomy than the inside of the bread van he’s just emerged from. London immediately heads to their private room and Sebastian follows him while his eyes scan the inside of the bar.
“What?”
Sebastian shrugs. “This isn't the sort of place I usually frequent.”
Well that’s the truth, at least. “Because you like your bars high-end. How else would you zero in on the richest person and make them buy you drinks?”
“These people look like they’re living from one pay check to the next, drinking away their problems in here.” Sebastian shrugs. “Can’t really take anything from them, can I?”
London tries to see the pub from a newcomer’s perspective, but there are just too many good memories for him to succeed. The wooden bar spans one entire length of the room. He’s bartended there before, or at least pretended to, when it was a slow day and he was bored. The rest of the room is cluttered with tables and chairs, alongside more private booths in the corners where they take their lunch when they’re feeling sociable. He likes to sit on the backrest, his feet on the seat because it gives him a perfect view of the place. He’ll throw friendly insults at the regulars. Today there’s only Steve on his barstool at the corner. His beard is long enough to almost end up in his beer. He's barely keeping himself upright, he must have been here all evening. Frankie is already at the bar, joking with Paul who clearly got stuck with the late shift again. The light isn't just comfortably dim throughout but actually gloomy.
It’s a shitty place and yet he feels protective of it. “I like it.”
He pushes open the door to their room and pretends not to hear Sebastian’s soft, “I like that you like it.”
He doesn’t get attached easily, to people or places. The fact that Sebastian knows that London is attached to the bar makes him feel like he’s trapped, like he’s been found out somehow. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, he walks straight past the poker table, the stolen watch from his back pocket already tangled in his fingers. He hoists himself onto the table in the corner with his free hand. The air vent is still high enough that he has to stretch, but he manages to remove the grid and slip the watch behind it without Sebastian catching on. A quick glance lets him know that’s because Sebastian is too busy staring at his arse.
Of course.
He grabs the little satchel next to the watch and tosses it to Sebastian before replacing the grate.
“What’s that?” Sebastian closely observes him jumping down, like it’s a competition he’s about to be judged on. Well, he’d always been ace at the balance beam.
“Darts,” he says, nodding towards the dartboard and the tiny holes all around it. “Have to hide them. Frankie has shit aim when she's drunk."
“I see.” He divides them evenly and hands half over to London. “Want to start?”
London smiles. This will be so easy. “Oh no. You go right ahead.”
They're well into the first game, when Frankie joins them, depositing their drinks on the poker table and flopping down into a chair.
"Found them, did ya?"
"Sebastian did,” London says pointing at where Sebastian is biting his lip in concentration. He hits the board, but barely.
If Sebastian thought he’d win against him, he’d been dead wrong. True, so had many people before him, which earned London a pretty penny all around town. But beating Sebastian gives him a feeling of satisfaction that would be sad if it wasn’t so gratifying.
"He any good?"
"Nah," London says. He hardly takes time to aim, just tosses the dart and hits bullseye. "Think he might be worse than you."
Frankie just snorts but looks at Sebastian speculatively. London could save her the trouble because Sebastian doesn't do stage fright, doesn’t make mistakes when he’s the centre of attention. In fact, he has this insane urge to perform even the weirdest tasks if he's dared to – London remembers that all too well. Sebastian takes his time to aim, trying to concentrate. He’s probably doing all the things some expert told him, or maybe he read it in a book. He shifts the dart, like he’s trying to feel the weight of it. He takes a deep, calming breath, his chest rising slowly. London could tell him that it won’t work because the moment he releases the dart, London lets out a deep, throaty little moan. Sebastian’s shot goes wide, right off the board, adding yet another mark to the wall.
London grins even wider when Sebastian scowls at him. Then he grabs his beer and makes a show of drinking it, throat working.
“You’re a fucking cheat,” Sebastian whispers hastily into his ear before sitting down, like he’s trying not to give Frankie an eyeful.
London clearly wins this round.
“Amelia!” he says, genuine fondness colouring his tone when his attention is drawn to the door. "Someone who might actually be a challenge. Come play me, yeah?"
She saunters over to where he’s already holding out a dart. She, too, punches Sebastian’s shoulder on the way over. “Don’t go rogue.”
Sebastian doesn’t reply, just rubs his shoulder and nods. He’s masking it quite well, but London has no doubt it hurt far more than Frankie’s punch. While Amelia joins him for the next round, Hale enters. He closes the door behind him, shutting off the soft noises from the bar, the whirring from the fridges and the footie commentator on the flat screen. It’s eerily quiet until Hale turns on some music.
"Soundproof doors?" Sebastian guesses.
London takes his shot. He doesn’t need to look at Hale to know he’s doing his little routine, where he looks down at the floor while his ears turn red. He always does when someone comments on his stuff with awe in their voice. "It doubles as our meeting room, so I had a few things installed."
He has to nudge Amelia for her turn and she turns away from the two of them with reluctance.
"What if someone bugs the place?"
Hale sits down, pulling a small pouch from his backp
ack and gently placing it on the table. He doesn’t make eye contact when he speaks.
"I sweep the room regularly. Also got a signal jammer behind that painting. There isn't a single signal leaving this room."
Frankie shifts in her seat, taking another swig of beer. Her eyes narrow good-naturedly. "'S that why I never get reception in here?"
Hale shrugs, pulling the last suede box from the bag. He places it carefully next to the others.
“Veronica’s been right pissed about that! Thinks I turn it off on purpose, you wanker."
"Hale told us about the security measures the first time around," Amelia says, her voice turning hard. "You just need to listen."
The red tinge from the tops of Hale's ears spreads its way down his neck, disappearing in the collar of his v-neck shirt. No one comments on it, but Sebastian’s gaze flicks between them like he’s just now figuring it out. Hale gets up, his chair legs scraping across the floor. The sounds of the bar filter in for the few seconds it takes him to walk outside, before bathing them in silence once more when he closes the door.
“I feel like I got roped into overseeing couple’s therapy,” Frankie mumbles, pocketing her phone. Then she shakes her head and the familiar grin spreads across her face again. “You’re all nuts!”
Amelia snorts but doesn’t object. “No need to sound so happy about it.”
“I’m not nuts,” London complains. He looks up from taking aim, only to find all eyes on him. “What? I’m not!”
“Babe, I love you,” Amelia says, squeezing his arm. “But you’re the worst of us all.”
He grumbles to himself as he takes the shot and grumbles more when it’s slightly off. Great, now he’s losing his touch. He jabs a finger in Sebastian’s direction.
“It’s because he cheated me out of a job tonight. I was looking forward to that.”
And he really was. He can still feel the itch under his skin, the one that tells him he needs to do something, needs the feeling of success when another safe door swings open under his fingers, when he escapes with whatever he came to steal. Sometimes that feeling gets unbearable and he has to give in, but tonight it doesn’t feel quite that bad. He refuses to consider that it’s because of what happened in the bread van. That was an accident, a slip up. One that won’t happen again.
"Yeah, don’t do that again, please,” Frankie tells Sebastian. "I make contingency plans for when things go wrong – when someone from the crew changes the plan, I’m flying blind."
Amelia smirks. “I’ve been on an airplane with her, she’s terrible.”
“And I do wish people would stop undermining my authority.”
This time, it’s London who smirks. “What authority?”
He easily ducks the coaster she throws at him. “You’re all ungrateful little shits and now I have a crew member who fancies himself a strategist. I’m quitting and starting a duck farm.”
Hale enters with a martini glass and looks around, confused. “Is that a euphemism?”
“Shut it,” Frankie says. “All of you.”
Hale hands Amelia the drink. The smile she sends him in return has even London’s ears feeling warm.
Sebastian shifts in his seat, adopting a casual pose. "I was playing a hunch."
"A hunch?" Amelia asks. She directs her attention from the dart game to him, giving him a hard stare over the rim of her glass. "You didn't have a hunch, you were showing off."
Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "By what, pulling a fifty-year-old trophy wife whose entire self-worth is based on her looks?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
"I really don't. During our conversation she let slip how she isn't just in town for pleasure. It makes sense that important information would be linked to her phone and computer. Don't tell me Hale didn’t clone it while you were hashing out the details."
"I did," Hale confirms. "And we got the diamonds from the room safe. She didn't even bat an eye, just opened it for us."
"Exactly.” Sebastian nods. “All she cares about is her husband not finding out about another infidelity."
Instead of taking her shot, Amelia grabs a chair and places it between Hale and Sebastian, crossing her legs and holding the stem of the glass delicately. She levels Sebastian with a hard look. "But how could you have known that would be her main motivation?"
London gives one last, longing look to the dartboard before finding a seat. This discussion is going to happen now and all the fun things will have to take a back seat. Sebastian watches him walk to the other side of the circle. For a split second their eyes connect and – is he sad? About what? That he didn’t choose the seat next to him? Well, Sebastian can get used to that. Because if this discussion is teaching him anything, it’s that he’s being distracted from his job.
Sebastian catches himself quickly, his eyes still lingering on London and a small frown etched onto his forehead. "I read people for a living. If I wasn't able to tell that sort of thing, I'd be a pretty shitty grifter."
"We still don't make those sort of decisions on the go," Amelia says. "Not if it affects us all."
“Okay, understood,” Sebastian says levelly. He looks at the boxes Hale has neatly placed on the table. "What's the haul, then?"
Hale reaches out and starts opening the suede boxes. Each contains at least six sparkly diamonds, sorted by size. London makes a little cooing sound and snatches a box right out of Hale's hand. He doesn't flinch, because that’s how London behaves when he brings in snacks too. Well, there’s less cooing. Cooing is reserved for babies and diamonds. His jeweller's loupe is in his hand as if conjured out of thin air. He bends forward, inspecting each stone, murmuring to himself when it’s a particularly gorgeous one.
God, he loves diamonds.
There’s an uncomfortable clearing of Hale’s throat. He probably said that last part out loud.
“Shut up,” he murmurs, gently turning the second stone in his fingers. He doesn’t look up. “None of you are as pretty as these, so you don’t get to have an opinion.”
There are some complaints but honestly, he doesn’t have time for them.
No one hurries him along, and London knows it’s because of the focused concentration on his face. He doesn't often get so absorbed with one thing for this long. He’s too easily bored, flitting from one topic to the next. But looking at these diamonds, it's like every fiber of his being, every pocket of anxious energy, is finally able to focus.
“I like pretty things,” he says a bit defensively.
Sebastian clears his throat this time. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough.
“That much is clear.”
London glances up, catches the heat in Sebastian’s gaze. Fuck. He wonders who’s the bigger weirdo. Sebastian for getting turned on by watching London focus on the diamonds, or London for inspecting the diamonds in the first place.
The music changes, something slower, and suddenly everything feels comfortable, easy. The way it does when he’s with his friends, only now Sebastian is there as well. And now that doesn’t feel weird, even though they’ve been a group for years, something unheard of in their line of work. There’s Sebastian, hardly off the plane and already fitting in, toasting Frankie with his beer and talking softly to Hale. He even gets a small smile out of Amelia when Hale actually laughs – she’s clearly warming up to him.
It scares London half to death.
He’s able to let his guard down around these people, to relax in a way he hasn’t in, well, ever. And if Sebastian has taught him anything, it’s that he’s not to be trusted. He made London feel the happiest he’d ever been, only to take it all away, to taint even those few happy memories he’s managed to collect. London takes a sip from his beer, dreading what Sebastian will do when things get boring and stale. The last time that happened, he very nearly killed whatever little capacity London had left in him to love. He isn’t sure if he would survive a second time.
Three beers later, they've catalogued their haul, turned up th
e music and had three rounds of shots.
Or four.
London blinks slowly and his double vision recedes.
Probably four, yeah.
Amelia climbed into Hale's lap during the second round and has forgotten to get back onto her own chair since. She grins drunkenly, her arms slung around Hale's neck. "What's the time?"
Sebastian automatically looks at his watch. Or more precisely at his naked wrist. "What the fuck?"
Apparently, this is hilarious because Amelia breaks down into uncontrollable laughter, the others following soon after.
Sebastian glares at London. "Give it back."
There’s a true scowl on his face and it fascinates London to no end because he’s never seen it before.
"Give what back?"
"Don’t play around. My watch, give it back please. It was a present from my mum."
He looks so earnest and desperate that London can’t help but give in.
“Fine,” he mutters. And just because he can’t let it stand like that he mutters, “Spoilsport.”
He jumps back onto the table far less elegantly this time and sways for just a moment. Shit, he might just be tipsy. A teensy, tiny bit.
“Don’t fall.” Sebastian wraps his hands around London’s ankles, steadying him.
“Let’s dance,” Amelia says loudly, mock-disgusted by their behaviour.
London wholeheartedly agrees. He pulls the watch out of its hiding place just as Amelia pulls Hale up off his chair. In a move that surprises absolutely no one, Frankie gets up too, dancing by herself as if she doesn't even mind.
Sebastian takes the watch gently, lets it dangle from a finger as he places both his hands on London's hips.
“I can get down myself,” he says softly, unable to look away from Sebastian’s piercing gaze.
He squeezes gently. “I know,” he whispers. “Indulge me.”
London does, hops off and straight into Sebastian’s arms. By the time he finds his footing they’ve been too close for too long. London feels Sebastian’s heat everywhere they touch, feels his soft breath against his cheek.