rebellion. freedom. ideals

oh, he’s really serious, huh? hugo winces when berlin’s fingers dig into his shoulder, dipping slightly with the pressure.   ❝   berlin, amigo, can i, uh – can we talk about this for a sec?   ❞   his voice drops to a whisper as he tries to glance around the other to catch a better look at the guy on his knees. 

straightening back up as best he can, he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends.   ❝   i’ve never killed nobody before. i’m not… i don’t… i don’t, uh, usually do that.   ❞   there’s something funny happening with his insides — heart racing, simultaneously sitting in his throat and dropping into his stomach — he don’t like it. and, because of his wriggly insides and the way his nerves are imploding, he suddenly, unwisely, can’t keep his damn mouth shut ( then again, when has hugo van houten ever been wise ).   ❝   b-man. can i call you that? i gotta be straight with you, i definitely think there are better options, i mean, i ain’t ever really held a gun before, yuh know? we probably shouldn’t even put me in charge of the c4, if i’m honest. i think, like, i think that nerdy one? i think he can do it. i definitely believe in him. d’you want me tuh’ go get him for you?   ❞

“What’s there to talk about?”   Andrés frowns, genuinely confused. He gave a clear and simple order, one that shouldn’t allow questions. But apparently so. Fine. He’ll entertain the American — honestly, what was with American’s needing constant attention? — he barely fought rolling his eyes. 

Which is just as well as Secaucus spews never ending sentences; as it turns out, Andrés doesn’t have it in him to feign it anymore. His agitation shows in a deep sigh, the clenching and unclenching of his jaw and the small rolling of his shoulders to ease them back down. He never liked being tense.   “I have a better idea,”   he announces, putting an end to this hole the man’s digging himself into. (Though it sounds as if he doesn’t know how to stop.) 

hugo van houten has been in over his head from the second he agreed to the job with berlin. and don’t get it wrong, hugo knows crazy, right? his uncle frank? a fuckin’ wild card. would show up every march fifteenth in a toga with like twenty fake knives taped to his back. but this berlin guy? he really takes the cake.

his mind had wandered while he stands idly by, keeping guard at the door for whatever it is berlin is prattling on about.

it’s only when the other man’s attention is turned on him, offering the handgun from his holster, that hugo catches onto the tone of this… meeting.   ❝   wait… what?   ❞   this definitely wasn’t in the job description. he’s shaking his head, hands lifting up, palms outward.   ❝   nah, no thanks. i’m just here for backup and explosions, man.   ❞

Andrés releases a deep a sigh; he truly doesn’t like to repeat himself and it seems it won’t just be repeating his words that he’ll have to do. Secaucus is choosing now to be defiant, when he’s trying to set an example for their lucky hostages? Well, that won’t do. 

The arm drops back to his side, throwing his head back to crack his neck.    “You’ll have to excuse us, señor Gonvales.”    The tone is fake when his looks back down at the man sentenced to death, his brown eyes cold and devoid of any emotion. In a fast movement, his spins on his heels, looking directly at Secaucus. It’s a matter of seconds before his facial features change into friendly humour, sliding up to him to place a not-so-gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Tell me, señor Gonvales, do you know what the army does to those that abandon their team and post?” Berlín asks, walking with a light air around the man whimpering on his knees in the centre of the room. A small flash of a smile as his brings his index finger to his lips, tilting his head looking down at the man. “No?” 

The man shake’s his head. 

He’s still trying to get his breath back, his eyes closed, listening to the soft piano coming from the record player in the corner of the room. The grin on his features only stretches more when he hears the soft sound of a snuffle and a snore closely following. There’s nothing that could stop him from letting out a breathless chuckle, peaking out to see Martín exhausted, passed out beside him. 

“I think you wore him out a bit too much this time,” Andrés turns his head, grinning wickedly. Idly, his hand reaches for his glass of red on the nightstand, bringing it to his lips and savouring the taste before he passes it over to JB. “Or was it your intention to knock him out first, hm?” And there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, his hand coming to rest between Martín’s shoulder blades as he leans closer. 

“No peaking,” he hummed against Anthea’s ear, his breath ghosting over her lobe before he pulls away, a light kiss to her neck. This is the most his flourished on Valentine’s Day, the first time he’s been with someone and felt this alive, this passionate for the day. Andrés is a romantic, he doesn’t deny it, the Hallmark tradition, the red roses, flower petals, great proposals! It’s all an art form that so few men can ever get right. 

Tonight, he hasn’t spared any expense. First was an intimate dinner overlooking the gardens of Schönbrunn Palace. Then, a room: the honeymooners suite of Hotel Imperial that overlooked the city of Vienna. “When you open your eyes, my dear, know this is all for you. All and more.” Andrés whispers, moving to the centre of the room littered with rose petals