"If an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared." -Niccolo Machiavelli

The routine of what was done in the morning wasn?t constant, but Mac did best when it was followed. It had been that way before the shooting. The morning was defined by a somewhat regimented set of actions and expectations. After the shooting, it was akin to being a requirement. There was something about waking up, about knowing what needed to be done and how to do it that kept the world, and his temper, from spinning out of control.

There was hitting the alarm three times and swearing at it. The morning **** followed by the morning cigarette and then the morning monitoring and catch up on Ian?s cellphone and all of that other social media **** to see what had happened to whom during the distracted hours. Sometimes people posted videos that were still worth smirking at, but most were pretty idiotic.

Afterward it was some sort of snack-breakfast, like cereal, and then a jog around the glen.

Mac liked to jog, even if he wasn?t any sort of long distance runner during his time. Couldn?t have said he was very fast, either. Everything boiled down to that moment of breathing, stretching, cheered on with the joy of solitude and an endorphin rush. Mostly, he liked the way it made his legs feel. More than that, there was vanity at stake. He wasn?t going to turn into some stone tower like Sonny, but he sure as Hell wasn?t getting all soft like Jimmie and Michael. Those ****. Now that he was dead, it was more like the habit of being vain left him following the same routine.

He didn?t know how much Ian liked to go running, just that he endured it enough for him to feel like it was still something that had been done. Usually, someone had something to ask or say to Ian about Mark or what needed to be done in camp Barlow, but he could have given two **** about that. Silas was out there and he wasn?t so dead that **** wasn?t going to get handled.

Chinese take out and a joint later, he was thinking about cleaning a pistol as he slouched down into the seat at the kitchen table of the small ****, beat-to-**** RV that Ian had gotten from Mark. **** looked like it walked out of the eighties.

Ian didn?t much care for running. Or mornings. Or running in the morning. But it was part of the routine, and the routine stabilized Jay, made him more solid, made it easier for him to keep his grip on the here and now. There had been a handful of instances since that awful night at the theater, when Mac seemed even less substantial than normal, even less together, less here. It was to avoid those awful spells that the kid had resigned himself to getting up with the sunrise.

To putting on jogging shoes. To making the effort.

The effort had almost immediate results. The kid was still young enough that his body was easily moldable, quick to take on and incorporate new stimulus. He?d never been a particularly large or imposing guy, but muscle tone was carving itself out of his mid section, his shoulders, his legs. He was taller, too, by an inch or so, coming ever closer to being eye to eye with the ghost.

Time moved on, pushing him ever forward even as his lover stayed the same. Ian tried pretty hard not to think about it.

Stoned and pleasantly full on Chinese food, the kid checked his email again. It wasn?t quite time for Jay to materialize completely, and there was something in particular that he was waiting on. He checked his phone more than usual that day, looking for a particular message to come through.

Mac's chopsticks swirled, wrapping up another bundle of noodle that he shoved into his mouth. He didn?t know the mechanics of how he ate, slept, or moved around in the world. He was pretty sure he didn?t have to eat, or sleep, and that some of the **** he did was just because that?s what he thought he should be doing. Bodies needed those things and even without one, his mind still acted like it was there. Maybe that was part of what kept him tied to the world. Maybe if he let that **** go he?d float off somewhere, talking **** with Sinatra at the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

?Usually I want to know if it was Fido or Mittens they chopped up for this ****, but it was pretty solid.? He grabbed one of the thin napkins and swiped it over his mouth. It went nearly clear in key points with grease and saliva. His eyes moved to Ian and his focus changed. He hadn?t said anything all that important, anyway. Ian looked occupied, which caught his attention and stopped the banter of bull****.

?Something up?? His chin pointed towards Ian?s phone, even if he couldn?t see the gesture.

It wasn?t that he wasn?t listening -- on the contrary, at times like this, virtually all he could do was listen. The kid had nodded, glancing up quickly at the spot he was pretty sure Mac occupied, if only because of the napkin. That crumpled piece of white paper snagged his attention for just a moment, his slate green eyes zeroing in on the impression of a mouth that stayed behind, the glisten of grease that was plainly visible even with the **** overhead lights of the ancient RV.

Ian shook his head, dragging his thoughts back to the present, and checked his email again. ?**** yes,? the kid exclaimed in a sudden outburst, a wicked smirk painting itself across his mouth. There was a light in his eyes that was positively malevolent when he turned his gaze on the shade completely.


Setting the phone down, he crossed his arms loosely. Like a cat with a canary in its paws, he continued to grin. ?I got some fun plans for Jimmie comin? up here real soon.?

Jay was silent while Ian celebrated some sort of revelation he was having. The eyebrow whose hair was interrupted by a scar hiked up as he studied him. He was waiting for something, a hint or a clue though it was pretty easy to know what things were being spoken of most of the time. When it came to Mac and Ian, the subject matter never had changed, just the revelations that came with it.

Jimmie. That ****. The corners of his lips lost some of their smile as he listened. A beat after Ian spoke, he cleared his throat, ?What **** plans??

?The **** is ducking me,? responded the boy. His arms came out of their loose cross to reach for the open pack of cigarettes on the kitchen table. He shook one out of the pack and threaded it between his lips. Digging a hot pink lighter out of his pocket, he took a moment to light the cancer stick in the usual small shower of sparks, sucking nicotine deep into his lungs before he scissored the smoke between two fingers and flipped it, offering it out to Jay with a stretch of his arm.

?I formally challenged him to a fight like two weeks ago,? he went on, exhaling. ?He?s got every **** excuse in the world why he can?t do it. He?s losing even more face with the team because he won?t face me, but he doesn?t seem to care, and not even Sonny has managed to shame him into it.?

Rubbing at the corner of his mouth, Ian caught the lip ring between his teeth and let it go again immediately with a high metallic rattle. He did that sometimes when he was excited about something. ?Turns out there?s this ****?... ring in town. You can go voluntarily, but if no one volunteers, they?ll kidnap people. If the people they kidnap don?t want to fight, there?s this chick that ? I don?t know, exactly, there?s something going on with her eyes that will make them fight.? His grin reappeared, at once pleased and lethal. ?She?s willing to go get Jimmie for me.?

He watched him without flinching, but his eyes were narrowed in Ian's direction with the familiar hardness his face got when he was listening carefully to what was being said. He might have looked like an old movie on pause except for Ian extending the cigarette out to him. His hand bowed down to it, putting it at his lips and drew.

?Jimmie fights dirty and scared,? he reflected. It wasn't like Mac to discourage a fight, especially the sort of fight that might settle ****. His comment about the fighting and people being drawn in made him frown, ?That sort of illegal fighting is gonna draw a crowd.?

?It?s supposed to, yeah.? Ian caught his lip ring in his teeth again, let it go. "Draw a crowd, that is.? He paused. ?...?Illegal? is a ...relative term in Rhydin. I?m not worried about cops, and frankly I hope most of the crew shows up to watch.? A lazy smirk touched his lips. ?Let ?em see what happens to people who run from me. And I?m not worried about Jimmie, either. He?s dirty, yeah, but he?s also slow and dumb as a box of hair.?

Mac could always grip Jimmie or any other mother**** by the heart if they tried to pull anything fast on Ian. Other than that? ?If you lose? you lose. We lose. Think you can carry that?? The cigarette glowed, moved from where his lips were and the filter was turned back towards Ian, who then reached for it. The kid dragged fiercely, his cheeks hollowing out so drastically that, for the briefest second in time, you could perfectly make out the outline of his skull.

Exhaling, his hand twitched, arm extending to ash the cigarette in a chipped coffee mug. It had a faded yellow sun on it, the words ?good morning sunshine!? all but rubbed off its convex surface. The kid took one more drag and then offered it back. ?I ain?t gonna lose.? He said it with conviction, not a trace of machismo in his tone. ?Besides, even if it does turn against me somehow, there?s you.? His lazy smirk spread. ?Which wouldn?t be the worst thing, ever, although Jimmie?s beneath you.? Settling back in his chair, he laced his fingers lazily over his midsection. ?...Oh, and as part of the trade, I get the Subaru back.?

His feelings on intervening were conflicted. Mac always thought a man should fight his own fights, but the outcome of another man?s fight had never been tied so intimately to him. He could reach out and stop Jimmie?s heart, but something about taking it on the chin made him feel like a man. If they cheated that was one thing. What if the win was legit?

Just wouldn't lose, like Ian said. He put the other outcomes out of his mind and moved, sliding into a place beside him with an arm resting over the top of Ian?s shoulders, ?should have just got Ezra and Michael to steal it back but? I can't argue with the beauty of something being taken outright, like it should be.?

He felt the shade draw nearer - it was a subtle sensation, something like electricity or static that raised the fine little hairs on his arms - just a second or so before that arm went around him. As soon as it did, Ian folded into it, shifting his weight so that he leaned more on Mac than on the bench seat behind him. His fingers unlaced, the right arm drawing back at the elbow to find its way around his lover?s waist.

?Not that I particularly want you to intervene,? he clarified with a rough shake of his head. ?The day that **** gets the better of me, just ****? let me die.? He knew how Jay felt about handling things for yourself, and the attitude had long since been part of him in an unconscious way anyway. He knew damn well the man would lose respect for him if he had to step in and help, so he just wouldn?t lose.

Shifting closer still, the kid slid his left arm around the front of Jay?s middle, pressing closer until the tip of his nose found the other man?s neck, where he smudged a light kiss. ?Anyway, she says she?ll text me when she?s got ?im.?

He was still thinking it over, weighing what he would do with the situation as he felt Ian's arm slip behind him. The kid ran hotter than him, he guessed that had something to do with being a teenager and having too much energy for his own good.

The pressure of Ian's hand on his stomach broadcasted his intent. His head didn't turn, he kept still so that Ian's mouth could bury into his neck, mapping out precisely where he was with his lips. He cracked a smile the kid couldn't see but he was sure he felt it. His hands dropped to the top of Ian's thigh, ?Do you think Jimmie knows about me??

If he were a piece of **** coward like Jimmie and knew, that's where he'd try to find leverage. It was all part of why Mac had been Mac. He worked situations over and over and found himself the most comfortable when putting up with the least bull****.

a few days later

Jimmie had been picked up as easily as someone picks up their laundry. He had that sort of stupid **** belief that no one would touch him, that no one would dare. Maybe he was right to feel it, but after Ian pointed the finger at Jimmie, it wasn?t long until the guy had been kidnapped for the fight night.

All of that had already happened. Jimmie was already on the roster and the event, now, expected Ian to show. Mac had done what he could to get the guy prepared. Ian had done more sparring and gotten more exercise, but the window between knowing and performing had been small. Mac knew, like anyone with half a brain, that it was all about where Ian?s head was. If he knew what to think and how to recover better for that handful of experiences.

He didn?t want to watch the kid die, and he knew that hubris was fueling the tanks of Ian?s smile. The sun, half way through the horizon, dipped lower. He felt his body grow more substantial. He felt the cigarette between his fingers begin to mean more to his body. He blew a line of smoke out the cracked window and smiled tightly at Ian as they sped towards the battleground destination.

Jimmie was waiting, whether he knew it or not.

?Every battle, m?boy, is won or lost on th?six inch playin? field ?twixt yer ears.? It was the only piece of advice - useful advice, anyway - that Ian could remember his Da? imparting. When he thought of it, he even imagined he heard it in his father?s voice, though it had been so long that it was hard to say whether the voice was accurate anymore.

It was on his mind now, as he drove. He had a cigarette caught in two fingers, his elbow propped on the ledge of the open window. With the other hand, he gripped the wheel, watching without really seeing the road fall away underneath the tires. He could feel Jay materializing beside him, could see his outline taking shape out of the corner of his eye, but the kid held his silence.

Jimmie had at least three inches and something like fifty pounds on him. He was also a dozen years older, slower, and a whole lot dumber. From what he?d seen, the man tended to broadcast his moves so blatantly that you?d have to be blind not to anticipate where he was going, and the kid felt pretty solidly confident that this would be all too easy, over in a blur, so long as he paid attention.

So long as he kept his mind on the game at hand, everything would work out fine.

There was a Panic! At the Disco song playing on the car?s sound system. He recognized it with a derisive smirk, and lifted that one hand off the wheel to turn up the volume. Dynasty decapitated, you just might see a ghost tonight? Gazing sidelong at the spirit taking shape beside him, his grin took a slightly softer gleam, but its razor edge was no less lethal.

Jay was mulling the song over, looking ahead. The beat was heavy, the message was so on point that there was an unavoidable smile, a reflection of the hunger and certainty in Ian?s smile. I?m taking back the crown, I?m all dressed up and naked, I see what?s mine and take it. He leaned forward enough to put his lips at the crack of the window, exhaling his cigarette smoke. As his body eased back into the passenger seat, he dropped his hand over the top of Ian?s thigh, giving it a meaningful squeeze.

Up to this point, he had been cautious, full of warning. If Ian lost to that piece of **** then a dual death to put his mind out of misery would be worth it. Mac didn?t like winning by narrow margins, it complimented the loser too much. It made people pause and consider too many what-if scenarios. People would argue that it was only because of A or B that the outcome was what it was. This outcome had to be unquestionable. He wanted Jimmie ground into nothing, but there was something more to it than that. Something that almost made sense, except it didn?t. The thought of it all was erotic, he found his interest in the outcome not just bloodthirsty but rock hard. What the **** was that?

He kissed Ian?s shoulder and then tipped his head up by the chin so that the brim of his fedora was horizontal. The cigarette was offered up, filter but an inch from his mouth. Ian could lean in and take it or just part his lips so that he could dock it.

Ian could almost see the hand that squeezed his thigh, the outline of the fedora?s brim shimmering like a desert mirage as the ghost man?s mouth lowered to his shoulder. Ian?s grin changed shape, a desire snaking into it that more completely matched Mac?s, something beyond the bloodthirsty thrill of imminent vengeance.

The moment that phantom cigarette was presented, the fingers of his left hand released the ?real? one he?d been holding, mostly smoked and half forgotten, into the stream of wind that rushed pellmell past the crack in his window. Lips parted readily, almost eagerly to accept the offering, and the flash of heat in slate green eyes hinted at the color of his latest thoughts.

Suffice it to say that Jimmie wasn?t on his mind anymore, just then.

His gaze snapping over to the dashboard, he checked the hour and then the cut of the sun, gauging.

?Women don?t get that about men, and that?s where they lose us. They don?t get violence.? They wrinkled their noses or seemed annoyed at it, which was mysterious. Josh couldn?t grasp how they didn?t feel the same adrenaline skip through their blood during the moment. There were some men like that, he guessed, just not any that hung around him very long. What he didn?t get was how that just seemed not to resonate, that a man and woman couldn?t watch a fight and both feel the magnetic pull of it.

Time was passing and it was more and more like some old moment, some old memory. Back at a time where Mac hadn?t eaten bullets and his crew had to mourn. It was back to the exhilarating annoyance of being a secret, of desperate, half-stolen moments that were becoming more and more bold, like they were just **** ready to get caught fooling around.

?You better knock that mother**** out,? it sounded like the sort of threat someone would want the consequences of.

While Josh spoke, Ian sucked on the cigarette he?d been offered, his cheeks collapsing on the inhale the way they did sometimes. It revealed more perfectly the outline of his skull, transforming his face for less than half a second into a grinning deathshead. He pulled the smoke into his lungs and the effect was lost, the too-lush skin of perfect youth springing back instantly.

His gaze slid sidelong. He could mostly see his lover beside him now, without having to look away, and he swapped hands on the wheel quickly so he could free up the right one. The kid pushed that hand into the specter?s lap, confirming for himself what he knew he?d find there, his smirk growing. ?...Anything you say, boss.?

?Hey,? it sounded like a defense when Ian?s hand found his lap and he saw the subsequent smirk. His right hand arced up, catching the top of his hat to pull it off so that it rested on the bend of one of his knees. The eyebrow interrupted by a scar hiked upward as if pulled by an invisible string, ?We have a lot of **** to do after this so don?t get **** up in the ring.?

The hand resting on the top of Ian?s thigh pushed down, catching him between the legs. They had made an offhand inspection of one another and found themselves wound tight, ready to **** and explode. Mac?s hand eased off Ian?s lap. He swallowed and put his eyes forward, two fingers lifting up impatiently for his turn at the cigarette.

Ian turned his face at a quarter angle to look at Jay, arching a single brow at him as though to mimic his expression, sans scar. ?...Way to ruin the mood, ****,? he quipped back at the older man, giving a gentle squeeze of his right hand. His smirk was still there, though, distorting the muffled moan that rose up from his throat when ?the boss? mirrored his own manipulations back at him.

The kid released his grip, claiming the cigarette from the ashtray with that same hand and passing it back. ?I got this. You know I do.?

His whole body shifted. It required partially sitting up and out of his seat to be able to kiss Ian the way he wanted to before taking the cigarette. The adjustment caused his hat to fall on the floor of the car, which he hadn?t noticed yet, ?Oh, you want me to set the mood for you, sweetie?? A hard suck on the cigarette, starting it up like a car engine before he exhaled, away from the kid but not out the window.

The car was a familiar bedroom for them. When it came to sneaking around and not shooting one another to death, it had been a protective playground. Even now, it still was. There was something about being in a car that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world and that nothing and no one could ruin that.

The blade of his right hand balanced on his knee. His left arm opened up his ribs to him by wrapping behind the shoulders of the driver?s seat so he could scoot in closer. His kisses felt like small challenges, each softer than Ian?s neck as his mouth climbed its way up the column of his throat, stopping at the skull-jut of his cheekbone.

Now he tapped the cigarette ash out the window, offering the fire back up to Ian.

The man was nearly made flesh again, the rough scratch of his stubble against sensitive skin taking on the hard texture of reality. It was an intoxicating contrast to the agonizingly gentle press of lips so soft you could almost forget the teeth that lurked behind them. The sound that escaped him fell somewhere between a moan and a whimper, signalling both that he wanted more and that he almost dreaded the distraction.

In those early days, they?d spent nearly more time in the car together than they had anywhere else. The two kinds of memories were linked indelibly in his mind, riding with Mac and riding Mac seemed to go hand in hand.

The kid checked the road, his knuckles gone bloodless white on the steering wheel. He checked the time on the dash again and then maneuvered the car onto the shoulder. They had nearly reached their destination, and there was at least a little time left. As soon as he threw it into park, the boy was moving, easing himself out from under the steering wheel and into the passenger seat where he could straddle his lover. Hands cupped the man?s face as it took shape, mouth meeting mouth aggressively. The offered cigarette had been forgotten.

The cigarette fell out the window, or away to somewhere. His hands fought to get under Ian?s shirt, to move his hands along his stomach to the point that he could grip the front of his belt line while they kissed. Ian never behaved as though him being a ghost was unattractive, but there was always a difference between then and now. He knew he was more visceral at twilight, more like it had been and less like it had to be.

?****.? The word escaped between their kissing, the small edge his fingernails had found an angle to meet into Ian, to pull him back into him. That was him, that **** mouth that charmed him in the grave without letting him die all the way. The kid held purgatory in his mouth and Jay couldn?t even give a **** about it. He just wanted to kiss him, like he was, their tongues circling, their bodies wishing that clothes were a secondary concern.

His fingers cupped the man?s jaw as they kissed, his hips rolling forward once Jay had a grip on his belt, redistributing his weight more meaningfully in his lover?s lap. The kid loved his mornings with the invisible force, but he was hard pressed to want to miss these moments with the more tangible aspects -- the bruising of lips and fingers, the tearing of teeth and nails.

?That?s the plan, innit?? He breathed between kisses, his lip ring caught and smeared between them. He bounced a little on his knees, impatient for Jay to undress him. ?At least I **** hope so.?

?We can?t be late,? he breathed, tugging Ian?s shirt up over his head before he undid his belt like a hardware fixture that relaxed, instantly, once it wasn?t under pressure anymore. Jay took one look over Ian?s shoulder to see if they were noticed. Usually he wasn?t one to be paranoid or give a ****, but it was fight night, which called for a crowd of unsavory sorts, etc. His right hand dropped, pushing the fob so that the doors of the car locked.

?Damn.? His hand reached up, catching the side of Ian?s face so that his thumb ran the length of his lower lip, stopping for a moment at his piercing. He still couldn?t figure it out, what it was about Ian that untied him. The kid made that **** look so effortless, like it just wasn?t even a thing to be caught in the midst of each other. He swallowed, but it was more like he was trying to breathe than he was clearing his throat. His erection saluted the front of his pants, pushing up undeniably to the cloth and against Ian. The kid knew that before he gave an insinuating bounce on his lap.

****. Well. He groaned even if he sure as hell didn?t mean to. Mac knew Ian would take every inch he could get. Every inch of that mile. His eyes slipped away again, checking their surroundings before he looked at him, ?You know that **** saying, right? I don?t know if its **** right but you?re not supposed to have sex before a fight. It takes the **** edge off.? His body didn?t seem to care about any such myths.

?We ain?t gonna be late,? the kid practically growled in protest, though he pulled his hands away long enough to have the shirt peeled from his body. ?There?s two fights ahead of me and half an hour before the whole thing starts anyway.? He saw the way Josh was looking around, checking out the environment around them, and his lips drew back into a smirk with the soft metal clatter of the ring against his teeth.

He?d pulled over on the side of the highway. What cars flew past were travelling at speed, eager to reach their destinations. There wouldn?t be time enough to see what they were doing, and where people saw, there probably wouldn?t be enough interest for a second look. There were stranger sights to be had in Rhydin than two people enjoying themselves in the car, even if both of them were men.

The groan told him that he?d won, that Jay wasn?t going to be able to resist him. He shook his head with an insolent grin, leaning in close again, his mouth along the other man?s neck, across his throat, under his chin. ?Nope, neva? heard that before an? I?ll be **** if I b?lieve it now.? The words were slurred once against skin and again through his accent. Ian drove in the final nail when he added, ?C?mon. Please??

((ooc Note: Song referenced is Emperor's New Clothes by Panic! At the Disco))

The interlude had shattered his thoughts and then refocused them. For Ian, those precious minutes in the aftermath could be completely disrupting, taking his brain offline altogether, but they could also sharpen his intent and focus in a way that just made him more energized, more committed. This was one of those energizing times.

He wasn?t nervous, not in a way he felt consciously, but there was a certain tension to him as he put the car back into drive, checked for oncoming traffic and then pulled back out onto the road. The fingers of his right hand tapped a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel while he used the left to push the buttons that would roll down the window to let out some of the steam their commingling bodies had produced.

Twilight lasted longer on these long summer nights, where the world had just begun its gradual tip back into darkness and was reluctant to commit to the position. Where they got maybe an hour together in the cold winter months, here at midsummer that hour could easily stretch into three, sometimes four. Ian checked the dashboard clock first and then the angle of the sun before he answered. ?...?Bout thirty five to the fight. Least an hour and a half ?till??

?Mm.? It wasn?t the sound of agreement, just acknowledgment. His body bent in half, snagging his hat from the floorboard of the car. He brushed it against the inside of his knee before he tugged it so that it sat on his crown like it should. The cigarette moved to his lips, he took the final drag and then pushed down his window fob with his thumb to pitch it out. He left it down, like Ian?s, so that the car could catch its breath.

?You ever kill a man before?? He put the weight of his body on his right elbow, twisting to better face Ian when he asked. There was no mystery as to whether or not Mac had. It was already written into him, about him. Even if Johnny didn?t count, it was likely some competitors in the gun trade needed to be removed.

The kid picked up his phone, swiping his thumb across the print smeared surface to get the music to come back on. Once he hit ?play? he set it down again in the little cubby underneath the stereo and raked his fingers through his hair, pushing the curly mop over to one side. His fingers gravitated almost automatically to the hole in his lip, and Ian forced his hand back down to his side to prevent himself from playing with it.

The question had him glancing sidelong at the passenger seat, skepticism and surprise fighting for top billing on his face. A brow cocked at an angle. ?Seriously?? A dim smile caught the edge of his mouth as he exhaled in a laugh that had not a trace of humor in it, his focus moving back to the road in front of them. He was pulling off the highway now, reading the street signs looking for the upcoming turn. ?How d?ya think I knew what to---you really never looked me up, didja??

?You mentioned your dad and if any of that was like what we dealt with when it was Johnny?s time, I get that. That?s not a person though, that?s a monster about to eat you. That?s not beating a man to death.? Mac wet his lips, the eyebrow interrupted by the scar arching upward. The look was almost imperceptible because of the brim of his hat, but Ian would know it was there. Jay had a way of tilting his head a few degrees whenever he looked at someone like that.

?You need to come out of this okay and not like your brain or heart or whatever the **** just got scrambled, you know? And don?t get me wrong. Jimmie?s a mother**** and I?ll put him out in a heartbeat. I already lost that piece of who I was when it came to hurting people. You don?t have to.? There was a small shrug, and though he wasn?t speaking sweetly, some part of it was. Maybe Mac didn?t want Ian to be cut exactly from the same mold. Maybe he just didn?t want that sort of change to be forced. Maybe he wanted Ian to know that for this, he could go back.

Both of them knew, to some level, that if it wasn?t Jimmie it was going to be someone else. Maybe not this time, this year, but no one lived doing what they did without a few bodies winding up in the woods.

For a time, Ian said nothing. A wide grin threatened to split his features though, and when he realized that he wasn?t going to be able to hold it in, he turned his head to look out the driver?s side window. It wasn?t that he was laughing at what Jay had to say, it wasn?t that he was being dismissive or flippant about the gravity of his words. It was that this was the clearest, most obvious and unmistakable declaration of love the man had ever made for him, probably for anybody.

Josh MacIntosh never gave anybody a way out of anything. There were tests and then more tests, a never ending series of hurdles to clear, and woe betide you if you faltered for even a second.

It wasn?t laughter or snide superiority he was trying to cover. Ian was feeling a sudden surge of warmth and affection that he knew Mac would hate seeing, but that he also couldn?t quite contain. He didn?t want to take a chance on looking sappy. Not right now.

Once he?d martialed his countenance back into line, the kid reached across the console without looking that direction and put his hand on his lover?s knee. It was an acknowledgment, a wordless thank you for the enormity of what he was offering. Even as he did it, though, he shook his head. ?--that part of me?s been broken since I was eleven, Jay. I?m good.?

As it was with many things, he didn?t miss the reaction. Jay knew to watch someone?s body language, and when he realized he had been caught in that moment of vulnerable admission, he smirked and then rolled his shoulders up as if something had accidentally struck them both. There was no taking it back or doing something as pathetic as trying to say it was a misunderstanding, that he had meant something else entirely. That wasn?t like him, anyway. Jay had meant it, and even if the moment was uncomfortable, he wasn?t going to take it back.

?We need music that will get your head in the game,? he eyed the rectangular, glowing face of the console. The music was fine, it wasn?t pissing him off or anything, it just wasn?t exactly right for the occasion. Propping one foot on the dash of the car, he motioned, ?Get some of that aggressive **** on.? Mac tended to get annoyed when a song didn?t have enough music to it. If it sounded like people wildly throwing things around instead of intending on saying something.

His smirk was there, his eyes kept forward on the road. Mac looked into the future and believed they already had won. It was in his smile, his posture, and somehow in the fact that everything still smelled like sex. It was hard to say how many times he had won before actually winning just because he?d seen it so clearly.

When he pulled up to a red light, Ian obliged. He glanced at Josh out of the corner of his eye and knew he hadn?t entirely concealed his reaction, but the man seemed to be taking it well. He shot him a quick grin and then lifted his hand from the other?s knee, picking up his phone. Swiping through a couple of playlists, he scrolled through the list of artists until he landed on one he thought would work. Queuing it up, the speakers soon filled with an urgent drum line and a catchy if somewhat formulaic guitar driven rock chorus. It even had the words ?let?s get ready to rumble? in it, and the sound of a bell ringing to signal the start of a fight.

Setting the phone down again, he followed the directions he?d memorized from his conversations with Jamie, guiding them into an increasingly remote, seemingly abandoned industrial area. Here, the other cars they passed all seemed to be heading to the same place, not that there were a lot of them. When he met eyes with another driver or two, the connection lasted a second longer than it strictly should have as each sized up the other. Ian put on his impenetrable face, the one with eyes that were a thousand miles away, jaw set, mouth unsmiling. Feel the fire, he?s entering the ring, he only knows how to win?

Once they had arrived and Ian put the car in park, he didn?t open the door but opted to step through it. The motion was a bit dramatic, but he had his reasons. There were others in the parking lot. Some were there optionally and others were there to be observers. Fights always attracted observers and, many times, people who enjoyed the thrill of betting on an outcome. Mac?s motions were a sharp elbow, a flash of warning. He was a man that moved through doors and stood up, correcting the skew of his fedora before he turned to check on Ian over his shoulder.

Mac had perfected the look of Don?t **** with Me. Ian?s look was one that smirked at the prospect of being **** with. Together they were seasoned by life, walking in tandem with the supernatural warning that Mac was the sort of man who moved through walls and metal.

Somewhere inside the place would be Jimmie. His eyes squinted at the light of day growing lower as the warehouse grew larger and more imposing. Streaks of red-brown rust ran down the once blue facade of the building. The large, metal warehouse doors hung open like a mouth.

Ian killed the ignition and pocketed the keys. Unhooking his phone, he pulled the wires loose and stuffed them under the seat. As he let himself out and stood up, his gaze was focused entirely on the phone in hand, tapping out a quick note to the fight?s organizer to confirm his arrival. Without looking up, he caught the edge of the door in his free hand and shut it with a bit of a slam.

Shoving his phone in his pocket, the kid looked up at last, taking in his surroundings. There were a few people loitering, leaning up against cars with bottles in hand, some with brutal looking weapons on plain display. His gaze was detached, seemingly unimpressed by anything it fell on. The kid who traded his phone for a pack of smokes as he rounded the hood of the car and headed for the warehouse bore absolutely no resemblance to the one who?d been grinning, lovestruck, at the window just a few short minutes previous. This was the kid who?d walked out of a massacre bloodsoaked but unharmed, the kid who?d infiltrated a major arms? dealer?s organization and systematically disabled his competition until he?d all but dismantled it. If Mac?s posture said don?t *** with me, his lover?s said I **** dare you.

Fitting the cigarette he?d chosen between his lips, he made no effort to hide the obnoxious, sparkly pink quality of the lighter he used to get it started with, nor did he cover or alter the way he took a single drag on it and then passed it off to Mac. He stepped through that gaping metal maw into relative darkness, giving his eyes a moment or two to adjust while he got his bearings.

Directly in front of them, as promised, was the Pit. It looked like something out of a Mad Max movie, a gigantic steel cage reaching its blood and rust stained arms for the high ceiling. The top was open if you could get there, but Jamie had told him there was a trick to it, magic that would keep people inside no matter what. There was a fight already underway, two men and a woman circling each other warily, each more battered than the next. Cheers and heckling came from public school style bleachers that flanked each side of the cage, the crowd rowdy, amped up. Bloodlust seemed to be running high, suggesting that it had been a good fight so far.

Mac had been shoulder to shoulder with Ian most of the time as they moved. He?d seen plenty of fights and even the coordinated bouts on the camp grounds, but never anything of this magnitude. It wasn?t just that there were a lot of people, it was that they were all relative strangers to one another. He wondered how everyone knew to be there almost as much as he wondered about the likelihood of the police showing up.

Ian's phone buzzed in his pocket. He shoved the pack of cigarettes into it, trading back for his phone, checked the message. ?Good. Meet me on the far side. You?re up next.?

His eyes dropped over to Ian?s screen for a second, feeling him move. He didn?t see the message, but those sort of messages didn?t have to be read to be understood. His eyebrows pushed together and then he pointed, his voice loud to tackle the sounds of everyone around them, ?Over there,? he had spotted the metal swing door that was at one side of the pit and beyond that the area where some of the fighters were kept. The caged area had a few mean looking bouncers, no doubt meant to keep all the dogs in the dog fight. Somewhere in there had to be Jimmie.

Ian?s analytical gaze swept the room, paying particular attention to the area immediately surrounding the pit. After a couple minutes? searching, he found her, the woman Jamie had told him about, her hair close cropped and her gaze fastened on the ring. He?d forgotten what her name was, but he spent a few seconds studying her.

Mac?s voice carried, cutting through his preoccupation. He followed the direction the other was pointing, locating the door in question. Nodding once, the kid glanced around the room one more time and then started emptying his pockets. Cell phone, keys, cigarettes, even the sparkly pink lighter. He handed them over to Josh, then peeled his shirt off, too.

Mac was squared off to Ian, his palms up, taking what was in his pockets and then cutting a grin when Ian took off his shirt. Ian grinned back. The last year had put more muscle tone on his skinny frame, still lanky but broader of shoulder than he used to be. The tattoo was there, the top corner of the skull smeared where he?d once taken a bloodstained bullet. There were dark, mouth-shaped bruises across his lower belly, below the navel but prominently visible above the beltline. The finger with Ian's lip ring rubbed against the side of Mac's neighboring finger, shifting up to catch the shirt and then sling it over his shoulder like a sweat towel. Thus stripped of most anything that could be used against him, Ian flashed his lover a final smile and then headed for the swinging metal door.

Focused on the moment that raced towards them,
Josh turned, taking a front row position against the fencing of the pit so he could look in and onward. He wanted a smoke, more than anything, but he wasn?t willing to do the work to get it, or to grind Ian?s pink lighter to bring the cigarette to life. Somewhere in the back of his body he felt the ebb and flow of twilight. He felt it, like small spider threads, beginning to tug him into the half existence he spent most of his time in.

Just a little while longer, I want this **** to see my face.

Through the metal door, Ian waited ?backstage?, exchanging a few last minute pleasantries with the woman who was running this whole thing. He couldn?t be sure, but the chick seemed nicer to him than some of the others, maybe because he was here voluntarily? He forced his mind to go blank, closing his eyes a moment to block everything out, pushing away the noise of the crowd, the knowledge that Mac was out there, watching, the scent of blood and sweat and old beer that seemed to permeate these barren walls. He distanced himself from everything, closing out anything that wasn?t directly connected to the moment ahead: Jimmie.

((ooc: The song referenced is The Warrior's Call by Volbeat))