#drunk courage

They were celebrating a job well done. As they fucking should. What a haul! What a goddamn amazing haul.

Mick couldn’t stop grinning. Or drinking. The news was spreading fast. Len was a fuckin’ genius. He was. Mick was sure of it. That planning, down the freakin’ second, but it worked so well. No one had ever pulled off a job like that. Mick couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was a thing of beauty. Getting out just under the wire, the cops holding their own hats in confusion, the goods being worth a cool million. Even after the Santini cut and splitting with the crew, Mick was gonna have more money than he’d ever seen in his life!

All thanks to the punk asshole he’d saved in juvie. Sometimes the world really did reward you for good behavior. Who’d have known?

Lenny kept grinning too. He didn’t often but there it was -- ear to fucking ear. Just wide. People kept handing him drinks: beer, shots, whiskey, you name it. He was king of the world for the night tonight. Mick felt a pull in his chest. That kind of genius, of power and smarts, still fucking young -- he was gonna make enemies, allies, all of it. Len Snart was going places, that much he knew.

He had to go out for a smoke. It was too much, all of a sudden.

He never made it all the way there, though. Was making a beeline for the backdoor of the little dive when a hand caught his shoulder.

“Going somewhere?”

It was Len. ‘Course it was.

“Smoke time.”

“That so?”

He titled his head with a little smile like he didn’t believe Mick for a second, like he saw right through him. Motherfucker. He had that laser vision that always made Mick think he knew more’n he did. 

“Yeah. That’s so.”

“You weren’t thinking of taking off?”

“Now why would I do that on our big haul?”

Len stepped into his space, a little too close, whiskey breath. “You tell me.”

Mick wanted to punch him. God, he wanted to kiss him. “Don’t fuck with me, Snart. You run a good job but--”

Len’s lips were on his. Holy fuck, Len’s lips were on his.

Oh he could get used to this. Rounded up Snart by the shoulders and switched their spots, had him caged against the wall in heartbeat. Oh hell yeah.

Len wove his arms around Mick’s shoulders and let him ravage his mouth like a starved man. He had more finesse than this but fuck he was drunk, and horny, and it was Len. He’d been dreaming about this for months. He could show restraint later.

“Ah--umm...”

He pulled back and growled at the guy trying get their attention, the bartender. Mick didn’t even bother reaching for his own piece -- he reached for Len’s, tucked in his belt.

“Got a problem?” he asked, not leaning back from Snart’s space, able to feel his breath against his cheek. He had his hand on the gun and the guy backpeddled fast.

“No uh-- no.”

“Good.”

He didn’t bother waiting for more, just looked back at Len. “Now where were we?”

“Finding a room, maybe?” Lenny’s grin was crooked. It always was. Mick grinned in return.

“One more minute.”

We’ve seen one another before, In loves lost and lives past. But we’re not usually this close If we can help it.

Then, lightening; a current that The human construct Or my moral compass Will not allow. It wrecks us; Torches our quiet houses While we’re asleep. The fierce front for the already seen, the already sinned, the already pleasured.

Fog,