Anything from the "run all the lights" universe would be lovely!! It's just so perfect. I can't wait to read your original work, but I do miss your Captive Prince fics a lot, so I couldn't possibly pass this up!!
“I thought you were going to scare him off!” Nicaise snaps, as soon as the motel room door closes behind them.
The others have gone to bed; they’ve driven through the night, and it’s close to dawn, and Laurent’s not risking any of them on the road with this level of unexpected sleep deprivation. Damen’s sharing a room with Jord, partly because Jord takes zero shit and will tase Damen into unconsciousness if he shifts a finger wrong, and partly because Laurent…would prefer a clear head. This was the right call. He’s certain of it. But he also knows that something happens to his nerve endings when Damen looks at him, and right now he needs all of his synapses intact.
Laurent sits on the edge of one bed. “Damianos doesn’t scare easily.”
“That’s complete bullshit,” says Nicaise. “He’d be halfway to the state border and still accelerating if that’s where you wanted him to be.”
Laurent wants to smile, but doesn’t. He can’t treat this as a joke. His authority is unquestioned, but this–turning an FBI agent, quite literally seducing him onto the crew–is outrageous, even for him. He has to present this as a fait accompli: no arguments, no chance of backing down.
“I want him here,” he says.
Grudging admiration flits across Nicaise’s face. Everyone in Laurent’s crew respects the kind of soft hands and hard guts that Damen displays behind the wheel. Skill is second only to loyalty when it comes to their ethos.
Loyalty’s still at the top, though, which is why it’s unsurprising that Nicaise says, “We can’t trust him.”
Nicaise and Laurent agree, when it comes to trusting people, which is to say: they don’t. They trust one another, and that was hard-fought.
“I’m handling it,” says Laurent. “Any other tips for me, Nicaise?”
“Yeah,” says Nicaise, lifting his chin. Ignoring the warning. “You shouldn’t have fucked him straight away.”
Laurent raises his eyebrows. Nicaise rolls his eyes and taps at the side of his own neck with one finger. Laurent has enough self-control not to lift a hand to his own neck, but he does remember the scrape of Damen’s teeth, Damen’s mouth open and hungry on his skin. His cheeks heat, which is admission enough.
Nicaise says, “Now how are you going to keep him in line?”
“Positive reinforcement,” says Laurent coolly.
Nicaise shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and holds Laurent’s gaze. They’re dressed similarly: dark denim, T-shirts with loose necks, just enough skin showing to make someone’s lip curl in either disdain or desire. Nicaise looks like a teen pop star, like he should be on a reality show, breaking hearts and filling stadiums. It’s useful. They use it. You play as dirty as you need to, in this world.
“Was he any good?” Nicaise demands.
Laurent shrugs. “Fuck him yourself and find out.”
Nicaise stares at him a while longer, sapphire eyes gone sharp. “Law enforcement’s not my type.”
“Your loss,” says Laurent, but his mouth burns with the memory of Damen’s taste and what he means is try it and I’ll lock you in a car bound for the wrecker.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” says Nicaise, who is, unfortunately, more than capable of translating. “Well. This is going to be fun.”
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