Archive of Our Own

Jack is bored. He's been sitting in this restaurant for what feels like days now, even though it's probably only been an hour.

If he eats one more piece of cake he's going to be sick, but right now he’s just bored, so that is a problem for later. When Nisha called him yesterday night to tell him she landed them the deal Jack had been whining about forever now, Jack had been understandably testy but also curious.

It’s a genius plan — what else could it be, coming from himself? Jack has been sitting on this vault key piece for a while now, only to leave this window of opportunity open.

Honestly, Jack is kind of surprised nobody else tried to turn a vault discovery into a documentary yet. But maybe none of the other adventurers are cut out for it?

With Moxxi, no matter if she's doing the adventuring or the sponsoring, every trip tends to end in a confusing shootout between the two clans she somehow managed to piss off badly enough that they've been pretty much following her around ever since. And even if she changes her crew ever so often, inevitably, the camera will always stay zoomed in on her breasts, rather than on her face. He can't imagine the audience minds overly much; Jack certainly doesn't.

Torgue is out anyway, even if he's another big name adventurer. The temples and ruins he explores usually explode inexplicably, and even Torgue's admittedly hilarious guitar solos haven't saved him from being banned from most planets because of that.

Jack pushes the last piece of his third — fourth? — piece of cake around on the plate. There's of course the upstart sister-duo, but they're still basically nobodies. Which is good, because Jack really doesn't need any more rivals. He needs the big haul, needs to make a name for himself once and for all. Grinning, Jack shoves the last piece into his mouth with gusto.

Handsome Jack is going to be a goddamn brand, and then Angel won't ever have to worry about money again, and Jack won't just be the weirdo who got burned by a vault.

“Just remember what I told you,” a very familiar voice says, and Jack is on his feet instantly.

“Finally. I thought you dumped me, Nisha.” He stares at her accusingly. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

The dark lipstick is slightly uneven on her grinning lips. “And you deserved it every time, Jack.”

She looks stunning in her violet mock-cowboy garb, the hat sitting loosely on her head. Jack's pretty sure her heels are getting taller and taller every time they meet, but as long as she only stumbles when it isn't an inconvenience, Jack can appreciate them.

His gaze falls on the man standing next to Nisha, and Jack almost whistles.

Hello, there, he thinks appreciatively, taking him in.

The stranger is as tall as Nisha, even with her ridiculous heels. His long legs are clad in dark, tight trousers, his chest covered by equally dark material. The jacket, vest and shirt look tailored, hugging his slim shoulders perfectly. Sadly, the probably lovely stretch of his neckline is almost completely hidden by the pulled up collar.

Jack probably isn’t an expert, but he’s pretty sure orange-glowing buttons are kind of questionable accessories, but, hey. They certainly draw the eye.

And speaking of eyes, the stranger has a nice pair of them. Jack is almost delighted when he realises they're mismatched, just like his own. The brown one has the same soft colour as his perfectly styled hair, and the other eye is bright blue. His lips look soft, an easy curl to them, and something that could be smudged lipstick or just the light playing tricks on Jack.

He's sort of pale, though, especially compared to Nisha and himself. Maybe he could be persuaded to do some naked sunbathing with them?

Grinning winningly, Jack takes a step closer. Though 'man' might have been too much. The stranger looks maybe half Jack's and Nisha's age— not that they're old. Forty-years is nothing, and actually a testimony to their considerable skills as adventures, especially considering most don't even make it to their twenties.

Jack isn't in bad shape, even if he's been doing a lot less adventuring in the last couple of years. If he wants to stay in the game, he can't let himself go. But Jack also really likes cooking. And food.

Nobody can prove if Jack self-consciously sucks in his stomach a bit, but now he sort of regrets the empty stack of plates behind him.

Everything about the stranger is pretty and expensive, and he's either a well-kept boy toy or merely a spoiled brat who stole daddy's best clothes. Jack doesn't really care either way and he has already forgiven Nisha for making him wait for so long.

His eyes flicker to Nisha for a second, then back to the kid. “Aw, Nisha, you should have said something! Now I feel bad, 'cause I didn't get you anything.”

A beat.

One of the kid's trimmed eyebrows draws up.

Nisha on the other hand doesn't do anything a inefficient as step on Jack's foot — she prefers much more bloody disciplinary actions. But she sharp look she sends him makes something almost like phantom pain sting in his side.

“Okay,” long-legs says, and then he turns to Nisha, one corner of his lips raised. “Can't say you didn't warn me.” His voice is a lot deeper than Jack had expected, kind of distinct actually. Jack's pretty sure it would sound even nicer moaning his name.

Nisha stops glaring at Jack, and actually rests one of her arms around the kid's hips, and now it's Jack's turn to arch an eyebrow. He can't help but feel like he's missing something here.

“Rhys,” she all but purrs, smiling at the kid. “This is Jack.” Nisha sends him another pointed look that promises violence later on. “Jack, this is Rhys. He's a reporter who wants to sponsor our next vault hunt and help you with your image.” Sighing, she adds, “At least that was before you opened your mouth.”

Huh. So apparently the kid doesn't only look like money.

Rhys chuckles, a quiet and almost friendly sound. “Oh, don't worry, Nisha.” He looks directly at Jack then, considering him with the fire of disdain in his pretty eyes. “I'm sure Handsome Jack and I are going to come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Jack feels his grin widen again.

This is either going to end terribly awesome or awesomely terrible.

He reaches out to take the offered hand from Rhys, startles only slightly when cool metal touches his palm. Breaking eye-contact only for a blink, he confirms for himself that the shiny kid indeed has a shiny chrome hand.

He returns the firm grip in kind.

Jack's definitely going to fuck him either way, if only to see what else he's got under that carefully chosen layer of finery.

“You've got to be frickin' kidding me.” Jack crosses his arms in front of his chest, skeptically eyeing the camping van that just came to a stop in front of them. It's a massive, sleek looking thing, black with glowing orange lines running along its sides.

It's a fucking target painted right on their heads, that's what it is.

Two days have passed since Jack made the deal with Rhys: The reporter gets the exclusive footage and the rights to them. In exchange, he'll get them the resources they need, when they need them, and he'll help turn 'Jack, the weird guy with the mask' into 'Handsome Jack, vault hunter extraordinare'.

A really sweet deal, all things considered, and Rhys didn't even ask Jack to stop, well, being himself.

Except, Rhys apparently has no idea that a big part of being an adventurer is keeping a low profile.

“You better say something about this or I will,” he hisses at Nisha, who has merely raised an eyebrow at the monstrosity masquerading as a camping van. She told him — very clearly and colourfully — not to mess this up for them, but there's only so many snarky and unadvised comments Jack can swallow before he develops an ulcer or something.

Rhys steps out of the vehicle, dressed in the same business-boy-toy get up, positively beaming at them. “Hope you didn't have to wait for too long, had a bit of a minor disagreement with my team.”

Jack refrains from rolling his eyes. Figures. When nobody else gets out of the van, and the inside of it remains weirdly silent, he gets suspicious. “So, where's the rest of your team?”

Mismatched eyes turn to him slowly. “I'm afraid you'll have to content yourself with only having me around.”

What the hell? Jack doesn't growl, but it's a very close thing. “This isn't really my expertise, but isn't there usually a cameraman around for this? And, I don't know, a director? And the loser who is stuck with microphone holding dude for the entire day?”

A slow smile spreads over Rhys' lips, sweet and entirely poisonous. “I thought you said you'd seen my work before?”

Shrugging, Jack lies through his teeth about this for the second time with the practice of many, many years of professional bullshitting. “Sure, I did. Loved it, you were great, etcetera.” He waves a hand, at Rhys and the van. “You better explain yourself, cupcake or I'll look for somebody else.” It's an empty threat at best, but Jack hopes Rhys won't realise that.

“Well, I'm the cameraman, the director, and—” Rhys grins then, and his blue eye turns even bluer, begins to actually glow. “The loser who holds the microphone.”

Oh. Time to pretend Jack was aware of the fancy ECHOeye all along. In his defence, the lightning in the coffee house was really bad, alright? Recovering quickly, Jack shrugs again. “Just thought you'd have somebody around to hold your hand and pat your hair during the night.”

The kid actually rolls his eyes at him, even while maintaining the false smile and affably tone of voice. “If I had known you'd need a nanny I would have gladly arranged something for you, Handsome Jack.”

Jack grins. Hearing the pretty reporter refer to him by his chosen title is definitely nice, even if a bit formal and weird. “Oh, don't worry, princess. I'm sure you'll—”

“Hey, does this thing have a mini-bar?” Nisha asks loudly, making both of them turn to her.

It's creepy how Rhys' smile turns real and harmless instantly, almost as if a switch has been flipped. “It sure does, but I wouldn't exactly call it 'mini'.”

Nisha laughs, and she pats Rhys' shoulder as she walks past him and into the camping van. “Now that's what I like to hear.”

You know what? To hell with playing nice and Nisha's threats. Jack steps up to Rhys, and is just about to give him a piece of his mind about this van when his eyes fall on Rhys' neckline and stay there.

It's bare today, not hidden by an upturned collar, and there are telling bruises on the right side of his neck, almost faded but not quite yet.

Huh. Jack stops, mouth open and finger pointed at Rhys' unimpressed face. So the reporter isn't averse to some hickeys. That's good, because Jack loves leaving marks on pretty things. But also not so good, because a significant other could possibly complicate the entire 'get the kid naked and sweaty' part of the operation.

Jack almost groans when he notices the tattoos next. A black, circular one on the other side of the reporter's neck, and a blue larger one, only just visible on his upper chest.

“Hey, I'm still waiting,” Rhys pretty mouth says, and Jack's eyes jump back up to his amused face. He bats his ridiculously long eyelashes at Jack, voice sweet. “I think you wanted to say something?”

Cocky little shit— Jack points his finger viciously at Rhys. “But I'm driving!” And with that admittedly weak rejoinder he walks past Rhys, his mind still hung up on the tattoos.

No way around it: Jack really needs to fuck him and get it out of his system ASAP.

The next few hours pass quickly. Jack has to admit, the mutated monstrosity handles pretty well and it's speedier than most of the vehicles he got to drive until now. Next to him, Nisha is holding Jack's wristwatch-slash-compass and contemplating the map, replanning their route on the fly whenever they hit an unexpected obstacle: A new bandit camp, a group of hungry skags, that sort of thing. Nothing to write home about, though Rhys always leans forward between them excitedly whenever he think there's something worthy of being recorded.

Dusk is settling around them, Jack notices, and then Nisha says, “There's a spot a few miles ahead of us that seems safe enough. Head south-west once we're past the factory ruins.”

Jack nods, eyes trained on the road. “Got it.” Never think the baddies have gone to sleep. Once night beckons, that's usually when they become really invested in looking for sleepy prey.

Nisha folds the map, turns around slightly. “Wanna switch places, honey? I need to redo my nails.”

“Sure, thanks,” Rhys replies immediately, happily, and Jack honestly doesn't get why these two are so damn chummy with each other. Why does Nisha get to call him 'honey' and Jack's far superior pet names always cause nothing but a small twitch at the corner of Rhys' mouth?

Rhys settles in besides him, long legs leaning to one side to fit in the footwell in front of him.

Man, Jack really can't wait to have those legs naked and over his shoulders.

“So, what was the disagreement you had with your team about?” he asks after a few moments, because he can totally be nice as well, and he's actually a bit curious.

Humming, Rhys drums his slender fingers against the dashboard. Jack doesn't think he's ever seen him be completely still since he met him. “My team, my best friends, Vaughn and Yvette, they didn't like me going alone with you. I was able to talk them down by promising to check in with them regularly, but... Usually I have a couple of Loader Bots with me when I'm out on an assignment, for security reasons.” He's nodding to himself, looking at the dusty stretch of land in front of them.

In the rearview mirror, Jack meets Nisha's eyes and incredulously mouths 'a couple' at her. Nisha only smiles, lightly shrugging with one shoulder. Yeah, sure, Jack wouldn't let Angel wander the borderlands without any sort of protection either, but Loader Bots aren't exactly cheap. One would probably be enough to clear out an entire bandit camp, with the right weaponry.

“But it just didn't feel right,” Rhys says decisively. He turns, and Jack is suddenly very aware of Rhys' gaze on him. “We want this to be authentic, without too much outside influence. Just you and Nisha, the exciting and dangerous search for the pieces of the vault key and then the rewarding opening of the vault itself.”

Jack doesn't even realise that he's grinning, caught entirely by surprise by Rhys' passion. He discards the first three comments that come to his mind, sure that they'd only result in Nisha throwing her nail polish at him and in Rhys shutting up on him instantly again. He winks at Rhys, voice playful. “Sounds good, cupcake, as long as the camera focuses mainly on Handsome Jack.” Jack lowers his voice into a secretive stage whisper. “Nisha's actually just part of the pretty background, you know?”

“Asshole,” Nisha mutters cheerily, kicking the back of his seat, and Rhys laughs, a clear and sudden sound.

Satisfied, Jack concentrates on the road again. His charm is still as deadly as ever. Some things just never change.

Though Jack has developed a grudging sort of acceptance for the camping van, he refuses to sleep in it. It was enough having to eat pre-made food inside at the build in kitchenette, sitting on chairs way too soft.

It's not like Jack doesn't like to be comfortable. On the contrary, he’s averse to any sort of discomfort, and the past couple of years haven't made him any less aware of his aching back and knees after a long day.

But Rhys is right. This is about Handsome Jack, vault hunter extraordinary, and if it really is going to be Jack's last big adventure before he becomes a full-time dad... Then he doesn't want to be comfortable the entire time. If that means lying outside in a sleeping bag and having to suffer a cold nose, then so be it.

He didn't expect soft and pampered Rhys to join him, but Nisha takes one look at the pull-out couch inside and laughs. “Have fun outside, Jackie boy, and don't get eaten by a Skag!”

Filthy traitor. Grumbling, Jack curls further into himself, willing the ground to be less hard and uneven.

The sky is vast and clear above him, filled with more stars than he can count. Distantly, he hopes Angel isn't worried yet, and that she still thinks he's out for a few days to get a less dangerous job. Which wasn't exactly a lie, all things considered? That's what he's here for, to secure their future.

He also hopes she'll never stop believing his little white lies.

“Night, baby girl,” Jack whispers quietly, smiling at the bright moon.

One day later Rhys is considerably less relaxed, even before they lose the camping van to a rampaging Rakk Hive.

Jack could have told him in advance that no matter how fancy your ECHOeye, getting a connection out here would be a lucky shot at best. Obviously, Rhys feels far less secure without his friends in his ear, and without his Loader Bot bodyguard squad.

They could reassure him, of course, but it's probably better if he's wary and paying attention.

Thankfully, they were able to grab the map and enough rations for the time being before the Rakk Hive trampled the van into a sad heap of metal, and it shouldn't be more than half a day before they reach the ruins where the second vault piece is hidden.

Jack isn't exactly surprised by how quiet Rhys is while the wander the desert, but it's no less unnerving. It certainly doesn't help that the designer backpack he's wearing is barely half the size of Jack's awesome satchel. What the hell's supposed to fit in there? A sock and a comb?

He slows his steps until he's walking beside Rhys, takes note of the blue glowing ECHOeye. Either he's still trying to reach his friends or he's taking panorama recordings of the desert. Probably both. “Sorry about your van, kiddo.”

Rhys' smile is a bit lopsided, but it's there. “It's fine.” He huffs, his smile turning more real at the corners. “My accountant will probably be able to put it in my tax declaration.”

Grinning, Jack lightly slaps Rhys' shoulder. “That's the spirit, stick it to the man!”

They're silent for a couple of minutes, and Jack takes in Rhys' profile, stares at him until Rhys notices.

He tilts his head at Jack, one eyebrow raised.

“I was just wondering,” Jack begins quietly. “Even if you do all the talking in the documentary...” He's guessing here because with a voice like that Rhys would be stupid not to make good use of it.

And Rhys is a lot of things — he's mouthy, infuriating, naive. A gorgeous piece of work and well aware of it.

But stupid isn't one of those things.

Jack grins. “Seems like a damn shame to keep your pretty face behind the camera.”

Exasperation creeps into Rhys' features, softening them even though he looks like wants to be anything but amused by Jack's flirting. “In that case,” Rhys says airily, “You'll be relieved to hear that I can also do this.” He extends his chrome hand palm up, and a projection springs to life from it.

Jack first stares at his own face, and then the screen turns slightly, showing Rhys' grinning mouth.

Well, somebody enjoys showing off his toys.

Rhys' ECHOeye isn't glowing anymore, and alright, now Jack is really curious.

“How does it work? Is it all connected somewhere? Do they function independently?”

For a second, Rhys looks taken aback by Jack's interest, which is weird.

Wasn't he paying attention? Sure, Jack gives him just as much shit as he flirts with him, but Jack has never met anyone quite like him before and he's got no problem letting Rhys know that.

Smile turning self-conscious, Rhys strokes over his hair. “I can use them independently, but the recordings are all stored here.” He tilts his head, taps against the grey data port at his left temple.

Honestly, until now that was the least interesting thing about him.

“Can you access all of it right now or do you— I don't know.” Jack waves a hand. “Or do you have to plug yourself into something first?”

The sheer possibilities! No more wading through dusty libraries, no rude awakenings when you realise the map of the town you're trying to sneak in to is completely useless.

No wonder Rhys' team has him on an expensive and short leash; the reporter isn't just entertaining eye-candy— he's a frickin' investment.

Rhys chuckles, and waggles his chrome fingers, losing his uncertainty. “It's all here, ready to be edited and cut.” The projection changes, showing snapshots of their journey so far:

A close-up of Jack's glowing vault key piece, Nisha and Jack changing a tire, Nisha's finger drawing over their map, showing their route. A close-up of Jack scowling out the windshield, angrily mouthing 'fucking bandits'.

Shit, he should have dyed his hair again before going on this trip; Jack hadn’t realised there was this much grey at his temples already.

Before Jack can ask, Rhys says, “I keep the audio separately from the video material. Makes it easier for me to figure out what's important, and how it will all fit together.” His voice turns softer again at the end, unsureness creeping back into his expression.

The palm display flickers off.

Grinning, Jack nudges his shoulder against Rhys’. “Not going to lie, Rhysie. That's pretty damn cool.”

The new — and quite frankly, amazing — pet name makes Rhys blink, and it might just be the setting sun, but Jack's pretty sure there's a slight blush to his cheeks.

“Thanks,” Rhys replies quietly, bumping his arm playfully against Jack's side.

“Anytime, cupcake.” There's something else he's been wondering about, though, and Jack would be an idiot to not make use of the comfortable atmosphere between them right now. “Why a blue ECHOeye? From your get up, I'd say brown or gold would fit in more with the theme.”

Humming to himself, Rhys seems to consider his answer to that for a moment. Something secretive makes the corners of Rhys' mouth curl up, and he looks at Jack through lowered eyelashes. “Blue is just my colour, you know?”

There are freckles on and around Rhys' nose now, and Jack honestly wants to bite into his fist, because at this point the universe is just plain fighting dirty.

Which is of course the exact moment when Nisha calls over to them. “Hey, boys, I found the cave!”

Smiling sheepishly, Rhys coughs into his fist and turns away slightly, and the moment is gone.

Jack rolls his eyes heavenward. Cockblocked by his own partner. He's pretty sure he doesn't deserve this. Later, Jack assures himself, and then he switches tracks, focusing on what's ahead of them.

They make quick work of their tasks before nightfall: Nisha does recon of the cave and the surrounding area, Jack prepares a fire and Rhys arranges their sleeping bags beside each other to conserve body heat during the night.

Jack catches sight of the dried food Rhys takes out of his miniature backpack before putting his foot down. Figuratively. “No. Tonight we eat real food,” he declares vehemently, stacking three cans in front of him.

Nisha pats Rhys' thigh. “Let the man do what he has to.” She leans towards the reporter, lowers her voice to a faux-whisper. “This is actually something he's good at, so just lean back and enjoy the show.”

With a confused wrinkle between his eyebrows, Rhys does as he's told. He relaxes next to Nisha, looking at Jack expectantly.

Sniffing quietly, Jack doesn't acknowledge either of them, half of a mind to only prepare enough for himself and to just let them eat their processed shit.

He doesn't cook anything fancy: a thick broth with beans and meat, and a few choice spices Jack always keeps on him. Even if it's a simple dish, it's hot and actually tastes like food.

The way Nisha and Rhys devour their servings, you'd think they've never eaten a real meal.

“I know that Nisha is too lazy to cook anything but an omelette, but what about you, princess? Doesn’t anybody feed you?” Jack's honestly a bit baffled, so his question isn't just a ploy to figure out if Rhys is taken or not. Mostly, anyway.

Shrugging, Rhys eats his last spoonful with a pleased sigh before answering, “Most of the time we're busy, so it's usually take-out for us.” He nudges Nisha's shoulder with his elbow, grinning at her conspiratorially. “And to be honest, we're pretty lazy as well.”

They both chuckle, and Jack shakes his head at them. Good thing he taught Angel the value of a self-cooked meal early on. This is just plain sad.

Rhys licks his lips thoroughly, and Jack's train of thought derails and crashes and goes up in flames.

Nisha stands up then, stretches her arms over her head. “I need to blow off some steam.” She pats her revolvers meaningfully, departing with a cheery, “See you later, boys.”

Jack waves her away without looking at her, already busy with burying their used cans in the quickly cooling sand. The fire is dangerous enough, they don't need to add deliciously smelling leftovers to the mix.

He settles back down in front of the campfire once he's done, meets Rhys' eyes over the flames.

“Thanks for dinner. It was really great,” Rhys says quietly, looking so relaxed and soft and terribly approachable.

Well, no time like the present. And just for the record: Jack isn't scared of Nisha. It's pure coincidence that they're usually alone when Jack tries to get into Rhys' good graces. And his tailored pants. “I get that you and your friends are too busy with work, but isn't there somebody else who could cook for you?”

When Rhys only looks at him questioningly, he elaborates, “Somebody else who wants to spoil you. A girlfriend, a boyfriend? Both?”

Realisation makes Rhys' arch both eyebrows at him, tone dry yet incredulous. “Is this your way of asking if I'm single?”

Finally. Took him long enough. “So. Do you have a girlfriend?”

Rhys crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking entirely unimpressed.

“A boyfriend, then?” Jack drawls, waggling his eyebrows.

Sighing, Rhys shakes his head, apparently giving up. “No and no.”

Score. Which means the hickeys were just from somebody who got spectacularly lucky with Rhys before Jack met him.

Rhys is still looking at him suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's probably expecting for Jack to say something like, 'well, do you want a boyfriend?', and sure, that would be an acceptable line, a tried and tested classic actually.

But by now Jack can sort of see where Rhys has drawn the lines, and trampling all over them like a rookie won't do him any favours.

Unobtrusively, Rhys looks in the direction Nisha wandered off to again, and Jack smiles, easily changing the topic. “No need to worry about her, kiddo. Nisha can take of herself.”

Rhys turns to him again, his defensive posture easing. “I am more worried about us without her around.” He grins. “After all, she's the one they call 'gunslinger'.” The fire makes his eyes sparkle, and there's that rewarding playfulness in his tone again.

“Don't worry, Rhysie.” He pushes his jacket aside, strokes over the pistol there. “Jack's going to protect you from the big, mean baddies out there.”

With a slow smile, Rhys leans forward slightly, closer towards the fire and Jack. “And who's going to protect me from you, Handsome Jack?”

It's a pleasure to see and hear how Rhys' lips form his name, it really is. Grinning devilishly, he leans forward as well, cursing the fire between them. “Please, Jack's enough. And I'm sure we'll... come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Lips parted around an amused huff, Rhys lets his head fall back, revealing the tempting stretch of his neck. “I can't believe you just said that.”

Jack really wants to go over to him and leave some marks of his own on that pretty bare skin, but they aren't quite there yet. Maybe once they find the second piece of the vault key.

Nodding to himself, Jack follows Rhys' example and looks up at the clear night sky, enjoying the comfortable silence that settles over them.

Dimly, he can hear the muffled gunshots from Nisha's revolvers, but only hers and no others, which means she's probably having some fun with the pandoran wildlife right now.

For a moment, he considers drawing Rhys' attention to the sound— His eyes fall on the relaxed slump of Rhys' shoulders, becoming fascinated by the way the moonlight is kissing his brown hair.

Jack changes his mind and remains quiet, enjoying the view.

A few hours later Jack's still up and tending to the fire. Rhys excused himself some time ago with tired eyes, and is probably already deeply asleep. Jack glances over to him frequently, but apart from some uncoordinated shuffling, there's no movement.

Heavy steps alert him to Nisha's presence before she sits down next to him, smelling of gunpowder and sweat.

“Already wore him out, did ya?” she asks, eyes flickering over to their sleeping bags.

It's obvious that Jack still hasn't tapped that, and there's no heat in her joke, something else obviously on her mind. “Yep.” He can wait until she sorts her thoughts out.

“You really mean it this time, don't you?” It's not a question, her tone low while she considers him with her chin propped up on one hand. “If this pans out okay for you, you'll give up on this life.”

The flickering shadows make it difficult to see her face, but Jack’s pretty sure she's judging him. It's not the first time they've had this discussion, and the first time Jack wanted to give up on being an adventurer. Be it because of Angel, the incident with the last vault that left him scarred for life, or just because he's sick of the next generation simply buying their way to every treasure.

There was always a reason, but this time he’s serious about it. That Angel wrangled it as a pinky promise from him is probably a huge part of it.

“Yeah,” he answers quietly when it becomes apparent that Nisha has said her piece. “I want to be there for her when she picks her university. I want to scare off the first couple of gals and lads she brings home until there's somebody worthy of her.” Grinning, he pokes at the fire. “But if you just so happen to find another trail leading to a vault I'll still have your back.”

Because adventuring isn't the same as the hunt for a vault. One is an exciting pastime, and the other is destiny. Even if Angel will probably never understand that.

No use in worrying about the future quite yet, though.

Nisha hums quietly. “She's already provided for, isn't she?” She nudges his shoulder, voice teasing. “You always brag about the funds you've stored away for her.”

“I wouldn't be here now otherwise,” he tells her seriously, thinking about the life insurance he topped up before this trip. Chuckling, he shakes his head at Nisha. “Not everybody is as bad with money as you are.”

Nisha chuckles as well, shrugging completely unrepentantly. “Money is there to be spent. What good are all those savings when I'm already lying dead in a ditch somewhere?”

He acknowledges her words with a hum. It's not like he didn't used to think the exact same way until the vault symbol burned itself forever into his face and mind. That was a wake-up call, made him realise how fast it could all be over. Jack doesn't think Nisha will ever understand that, and he's relieved they stopped messing around years ago.

They had spectacular sex, sure, but they work best as what they've always been at the core: partners. In this at least he's sure they agree on.

“To the big haul,” Nisha says, holding the flask with her favourite whiskey between them before taking a long gulp from it.

Jack accepts the flask when she hands it to him, echoing her words. He only winces slightly when the whiskey burns its way down his tongue and throat.

And to doing the horizontal tango with pretty reporters before this trip is over.

“Handsome Jack, now that we've uncovered the second piece of the vault, what are we going to do next?”

Jack traces over the smooth, thin piece in his hand before looking at Rhys.

The reporter is standing in front of him, black suit almost pristine and only a carefully chosen few of his styled hairs out of place. How he does that, even though they've just spend two hours trudging through these Eridian ruins, Jack has no idea. Or why, considering Rhys takes care to firmly stay behind the camera, despite Jack's best efforts.

Then again, since Jack first met him a week ago, Rhys has never looked anything less than drop dead gorgeous, and in the dim light of the ruins, the soft blue glow of his ECHOeye only makes him look even prettier.

Jack grins winningly, at him and the future viewers of this documentary. “Honestly, Rhysie, just call me Jack.” He winks, this time entirely for Rhys. “Or handsome.”

Rhys merely smiles in answer, but it's becoming increasingly more tinted with fondness rather than exasperation.

Yep, Jack is definitely going to tap that before the documentary is over and done with. He holds the vault piece up so Rhys can get a better shot of it. “Anyway, I'm glad you asked. Now that we've got our hands on this beauty, we only need to combine the two to see where they'll lead us for the next and final piece of the vault key,” Jack says, taking the other one out of his satchel.

As soon as the two pieces are close enough, they snap together, glowing a faint violet for a moment.

Rhys watches avidly, recording every second of it. He has his arms behind his back, and only the way he's leaning forward betrays how curious he is about this.

Jack catches the combined vault piece before it can fall to the floor. It's now one half of a circle, with an enclosed arch in the middle.

A quiet inhalation, and Jack's eyes flicker back to Rhys' again.

He's staring at Jack's face or probably more precisely, the scar now hidden under Jack's mask again. He caught a glimpse of it earlier, when Jack had to take an uncomfortable diving trip through a stale pond to pull a lever and get them moving again.

It's all too apparent that he recognised the shape of Jack's scar to be the same one as the still unfinished vault key.

Rhys isn't just a pretty face — there's a sharp brain hiding under his carefully gelled hair, and Jack has no doubt that Rhys will ask him about this later, when the camera isn't rolling. Damn, Jack can’t help it, he's liking the kid more and more. Maybe it's time to lay on the charm a bit thicker. “You know—”

“Hate to interrupt you two,” Nisha says from the entry to the room, ever vigilantly keeping an eye out for trouble, “We're getting company.”

Well, seems like play time is already over. At Rhys' questioning look, Jack shrugs, putting the vault key pack into his satchel. “Probably Bloodshots. Last I heard their leader has his eyes on this vault as well.” He only hesitates for a beat before handing his spare pistol to Rhys. “We've got enough cover here, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared.”

But Rhys is already shaking his head and holding up his chrome arm, palm up. “Thank you, but I'm not a fan of firearms.” A tile of the plating opens, revealing a stun baton, and Jack's eyebrows shoot up.

Rhys throws the baton up into the air, activates it as soon as it lands back in his fingers again. He smiles, looking at Jack expectantly, ECHOeye still glowing, still recording.

Show-off. Huffing, Jack draws both pistols, directs Rhys to a toppled column to his right with a meaningful nod. “Nice toy. Now take cover, princess, and leave the dirty work to the pros.”

He expects Rhys to argue, to claim that he can help; but he doesn't, merely says very quietly, “Be careful.” A beat, followed by a sharp, lopsided smile on his pretty mouth. “After all, I've invested a lot of money in this enterprise.”

Jack sees him off with another grin and a chuckle, just as the first shot rings out around them, and Jack dives into cover as well. Not as cool as the guys in the movies, but it's better to be the smart guy then to be the cool but very dead one.

Dual wielding doesn't come as naturally to him as it does to Nisha, but there's probably nobody as talented as her in that regard. Still, that doesn't make him any less deadly, with the added bonus of never having to worry about his partner not being able to hold her own in a fight. To be honest, Nisha probably wouldn't hesitate to shoot him in the leg if she so much as suspected he was doing anything as ridiculous as trying to protect her.

It's all part of her charm, Jack thinks to himself while he watches her gun down the first two unlucky assholes who storm into the room. Then he remembers that the camera is still recording and that this will probably have a part in the documentary.

Jack shoots the next couple of Bloodshots while Nisha is switching to another position, not to be outdone by her. He keeps Rhys in the corner of his sight, though, and Rhys actually deals well with three Bloodshots who must have come via another pond on his own. A swift strike of his stun baton, and they go down twitching before Jack has the chance to shoot them down.

Many bullets later, Nisha kicks the last Bloodshot in the back before putting a bullet between his eyes. Her cowboy hat sits a bit crookedly on her head, but apart from a few smudges of dirt the fight didn't leave many traces on her. “This was fun.” She grins widely, blows the smoke from one of her revolvers. “How about we get out of here now?”

Hesitantly, Rhys leaves his cover and steps up to them. His black jacket and trousers have probably seen better days, and there's a dark smear on his left cheek. It's not his own blood, Jack's made sure of that, and all in all he actually looks pretty collected for a reporter who just got trapped in the middle of a huge shootout.

Jack slaps Rhys’ shoulder, nods. “Let's see about getting somewhere we can rest up and plan our next move.”

And if his hand lingers a bit on Rhys' back, well, he's only making sure their precious reporter is doing okay.

They park their freshly acquired modified Bandit Technical just outside of Sanctuary, because Jack isn't exactly welcome there anymore, ever since he had a small disagreement with one of her leaders.

Siren or not, nobody tells him how to raise his daughter.

Of course Rhys doesn't know any of this — he thinks they're here to take a breather before they continue on the next leg of their journey.

Sighing, Jack leans more heavily against the hood of the Technical, eyes on Rhys' back.

At some point, Rhys got rid of his jacket which is now lying over a nearby rock. He rolled up his sleeves as well, revealing more of his shiny chrome arm, and the just as enticing smoothness of his bare forearm. Jack hungrily eyes the pale curve of it, wanting to trace over it with his mouth as well. He licks his lips. Rhys' long, long legs are carrying him from one side of the road to the next while he's animatedly gesturing with his hands, laying out their situation to whomever he's working with to get them more supplies.

It took him some tries, and apparently the connection is acceptable at best, but it's almost endearing how Rhys pretty much instantly relaxed once he regained contact with his precious friends.

Rhys draws a hand through his hair, leaving it even more uncharacteristically ruffled, and Jack's fingers twitch. He digs his nails deeper into the flesh of his upper arms, trying to resist the urge to just walk over the Rhys and ravish him right here, right now.

A sharp slap against the back of his head draws his attention back to Nisha, rather abruptly. “Hey!” He rubs the the smarting skin, frowning at her.

“Look, I enjoy the eye candy just as much as you do.” Nisha tilts her in Rhys' direction, a predatory slant to her dark lips. “In fact, seeing as I actually have a fashion sense to speak of, I probably appreciate it much more than you do.” She talks right over Jack's noise of protest, “But we can't take him with us to The Dust. Even if the Bloodshots aren't aware that the last piece has basically been right under their noses this entire time, the area will still be crawling with them.” With a wry smile, she lets two of her fingers walk over the map spread out over the hood of the Technical, nods her head towards Rhys, still pacing energetically. “Pretty leggy thing will just hold us back.”

Jack huffs, his answer subdued. “I know.”

As if on cue, Rhys chooses this moment to bend forward, probably flinging a speck of dirt from his expensive shoes.

Whistling quietly, Jack says, mostly to himself, “Look at that sweet piece of ass.”

Nisha chuckles. “Oh, I bet there's something even sweeter hiding in those smartly tailored pants.”

Jack blinks at her, more than a little confused. “I thought you were taking a break from us men because we are, and I'm actually quoting you here, 'disgusting animals only out for our own pleasure.”

She sends him a sharp grin. “Not all of you.”

“Hey, if you've suddenly got a craving for cock again.” He waggles his eyebrows at her, thrusting his hips out. “You know one who'll always be there for you.”

She raises an eyebrow, a weirdly indulgent smile on her lips. Nisha shakes her head at him, pointedly taps her fingers on the map again. “We've got enough resources to finish this without him, and that's what we should do. You know that.”

Yeah, he does. Doesn't mean he has to like it, and not only because he wanted to know how Rhys' legs would look wrapped around his middle.

It didn't take long for Jack to figure out that Rhys is the reporter Angel could go on about for days to an end, and Jack was hoping to get a personalised autograph from her idol.

Because Jack better bring something really nice home for her once he's found this vault, after he got back on his promise to her about giving up on the dangerous adventurer life. Again.

Yeah, fine. Jack isn't father of the year material by any stretch of the imagination, but he loves Angel more than his own life, and there's very little he wouldn't give up for her. It's just... he knows this is what he's been searching for, for years now. He can feel it in his bones — on his face — calling to him.

Just this one adventure, and then he'll make good on his promise to his little girl.

“Jack,” Nisha says sharply, and Jack looks at her, then follows her eyes to Rhys, who's now giving them a thumbs up.

Jack returns it with a friendly salute automatically. Seems like Rhysie really managed to get them more provisions. Well, no point delaying this any longer. “How are we going to do this?”

Nisha slowly folds the map, watching Rhys until he turns his back to them again, going to grab his jacket. “Now, get in.”

He slips into the Technical's passenger seat while Nisha claims the driver's seat for herself, instantly putting them in reserve with squealing tires. She's looking behind them, and so she doesn't see the way Rhys' face transforms from surprise to anger, looking all the more gorgeous for it. Jack swallows, and he looks down at where his hands are gripping the fixtures, only looks ahead again once Nisha has turned them around.

It's for the best, he tells himself. Sanctuary isn't exactly filled with upstanding citizens, but even if Rhys somehow gets it into his head to follow them, they'll take one look at Rhys' attire, his softness, and tell him that they've got no vehicles in the entire city without missing a beat. They'll probably recognise him right away from the ECHOnet anyway, help him get back to civilisation.

Jack nods to himself, exhales loudly. Damn, Angel would have been so pissed if he got her favourite reporter killed.

Nisha sighs, deftly changing gears. “Look, if you want to fuck him that badly, go find him again after we're done with his job.”

Snorting, Jack shakes his head. “Babe, you didn't see it, but his expression definitely said 'murder' and not 'call me later'. Doesn't exactly make me think he'll ever want to talk with me again.”

“You're usually slyer than this,” Nisha says, sounding oddly disappointed with him. “Once we're successful, you can wave whatever is in this vault at him. He can put it in the documentary, you can put your dick in him, and everybody will be happy.”

Jack laughs, eyeing Nisha's exasperated profile. “You know, that doesn't actually sound half bad.”

Jack massages his temples as best as he can with bound hands, wondering where the hell this all went wrong.

Maybe when he told Nisha about turning their next adventure into a documentary, to turn his name into a brand? Or when she somehow managed to talk gorgeous and snappy Rhys into funding them?

He paces the length of the cell again, only three measly steps wide, lost count already how often he did so.

Jack isn't really superstitious, can't allow himself to be considering how often shiny new treasures are hidden in tombs and once revered temples. But maybe they shouldn't have screwed Rhys out of the deal. Seems like their entire streak of bad luck started right there.

First the bridge that gave out under their Technical, totalling it completely and forcing them to take a detour. Then they decided to try to lose the pursuing Bloodshots in a canyon, which turned out to be infested with hungry skags and spiderants.

Or maybe he should have tried harder to reunite with Nisha again after they got separated? Not, because he's worried about her, oh no. The thought alone is enough to make Jack grin with grim amusement. But if Nisha had been there, then Jack probably wouldn't have been so mind-blowingly unobservant and run right into a scouting Bloodshot unit.

God, once Nisha comes to bust his ass out of this cell, Jack will never hear the end of this.

Jack kicks the wall, growls slightly. Speaking of Nisha, she's really taking her sweet time getting him out of here. “Oh man.” He cackles quietly. “I hope you got caught as well!” Sure, that would make it slightly harder for them to escape, but the amusement factor alone would totally make it worth it.

Two hours later, he wonders if maybe Nisha just figured she had something better to do than finding this vault with him. Jack stopped pacing the cell a while ago, and is now slouched against one of the walls of his cell. He's so bored. The assholes didn’t take his satchel, sure, but they pretty much stole everything but his spices and flashlight.

He almost wishes Flanksteak would come back again to try to threaten him into revealing where he hid the vault pieces before he got caught. The guy was at least marginally entertaining with his tacky mask and his unimaginative threats. Maybe he's already busy heating up the iron rods he told Jack he'd use on him?

At this point, Jack almost hopes so, because it would probably be less painful than staring at these blank walls and being forced to do nothing.

There's a commotion outside, followed by shouts and a roaring car engine.

Jack is on his feet instantly, trying to catch a glimpse of what's happening through the small, barred window.

He has only enough time to see the dark red Outrunner, and to realise that it's coming right his way before he's already flinging himself against the cell's door, satchel clutched to his chest, hoping to avoid getting rescued to death.

The car crashes into the adjacent cell and his own, and Jack curses over the loud noise of the walls coming down right in front of him. He's still coughing from the dust when an unmistakable voice calls, “Move, asshole!”

Jack splutters, hastily rubs a palm over his eyes to clear them. “Rhysie?”

He hadn't actually thought he'd see him again, and sure, maybe Jack is a bit of a coward for not having wanted to try to contact Rhys again once this was over in fear of rejection.

But it really is him in the driver's seat of the sleek Outrunner that just put an end to Jack's captivity, its rear halfway into the small cell, the engine still purring.

Rhys turns around to him more fully, eyes hard and his expression tinted with already familiar annoyed exasperation. “Get in or I'm leaving without you!”

That certainly gets Jack moving. He quickly climbs up into the turret seat, barely even seated before Rhys is already accelerating and speeding past a Bloodshot taking aim at them.

Jack grips the turret controls tightly, ready to take down the Bloodshots who're going to chase after them, and to show Rhys some of his skills. Grinning, Jack tabs the trigger playfully, admitting to himself that it's mostly the latter. He can't believe that Rhys came to get him out of this.

After a few minutes of practically flying through the barren land, Jack is confused and also feeling slightly cheated, because there's nobody coming after them.

As if reading his thoughts, Rhys yells over the engine's roar, “I sabotaged the other cars, so we should be good for a while!”

Damn. Jack whistles quietly. Rhys just got a lot more dangerous and exponentially more attractive.

Back to the matter of the vault, then. Jack eyes their surroundings critically, matching it to the map of the area in his mind. They seem to be going roughly in the direction of where the last piece is hidden, but they still need to get Jack's parts of the key back first. He hits the car's side with his palm to get Rhys' attention. “Stop the car, pumpkin!”

There's no answer, and Jack is actually beginning to think that Rhys is ignoring him when finally, the car slows, coming to a stop behind a huge rock.

Jack jumps out of the car immediately and steps closer to Rhys who's already leaning against the Outrunner, arms crossed in front of his chest.

He's wearing dark brown jeans, just as tight as anything else he apparently decorates his legs with. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, two buttons of it open. The black vest only accents the tempting stretch of his collarbone, the hint of his blue tattoo.

Licking his lips, Jack forces his eyes up to Rhys' nonplussed face, his windswept hair.

“Didn't know you also were a professional jail breaker, Rhysie,” Jack says uneasily, once the silence stretches on for too long.

Rhys huffs, shakes his head. “Well, now I know for sure you were lying when you said you had seen my work before.” He raises his chin defiantly. “Because then you would know that I can take care of myself.”

Jack concedes that with a nod and a wry grin. “And how well, at that.” His grin widens, and he bounces on his feet slightly. “Going all out of your way to rescue little old me.” Pressing one hand against this chest, he adds, “I didn't know you cared, cupcake.”

“Oh, but I do,” Rhys answers immediately, a sweet smile claiming his lips. “I actually care a whole lot... about the vault pieces.”

Ouch. Well, Jack probably deserves the cold shoulder Rhys is giving him right now. So he only nods again, grin changing into something rueful. “Yeah, about that.” He scratches the back of his neck. “We'll have to turn around again. I managed to hide them before I got caught, but we’ll need to go grab them before going on.”

Rhys looks away from him, taps his chrome fingers against his right upper arm. “I already have them.”

Wait, what? “Wait, what?” Jack stares at him, and he honestly doesn't understand what Rhys is telling him here. “You already— how?”

A fleeting glance, and then Rhys points to the left side of his face. “Direct link to the ECHOnet and all of its satellites. I've been following you ever since you...” His expression hardens again, and Jack tries not to wince. “Since you and Nisha dumped me.”

Damn, is Jack actually going to have to apologise for that, even though it was totally Nisha’s idea? He doesn't do apologies — even to Angel, he only ever apologises when her silent treatment of him lasts longer than two weeks. And Jack had no idea ECHOeye technology was already this advanced. Maybe he should get one as well? Jack files that away for later.

“Yeah, about that... wait, do you know where Nisha is? Usually we take turns busting each other out of hairy situations, but this time she's been a no-show.” And usually, Nisha has to save his ass way more often than he has to save hers, but Rhys doesn't need to know that.

Rhys shakes his head almost immediately, actually looking apologetic when he says, “No, sorry. I was concentrating only on you.”

Of course, that makes sense. Jack was the one with the pieces.

Wait a second. Was.

The realisation is a positively giddy feeling that settles in his stomach, makes the grin return full force. Hell yeah, Jack's still got it, baby! “You got me out of there, but you didn't have to, because you already had the—”

Okay, Rhys is definitely not a normal reporter. He's far too resourceful and quick on his feet for that, has his stun baton pressed against Jack's neck so fast, Jack doesn't have time to do more than swallow in surprise.

“Just so we understand each other,” Rhys says quietly into the small space left between them, voice low and intimate. “I've got my own reasons for wanting to find the vault, and if you cross me again, Jack, I will make you regret it.”

Rhys takes a step away from Jack, his point made. He touches his chest, an almost unconscious gesture, drawing Jack's eyes back to the blue tattoo there.

...nah. Jack had a long day, and really needs a goddamn drink. He's already seeing things.

Rhys lets the stun baton vanish inside of this chrome arm again, stares at Jack defiantly, expectantly. “Are we clear?”

Jack grins, taken in yet again by the fire burning in Rhys' pretty mismatched eyes. “Crystal clear, babe.”

With a satisfied nod, Rhys turns away from him, obviously ready to get them back on the road again, so to speak.

Jack greedily uses the opportunity to make himself familiar with Rhys' perky ass again. “Also, I'm really happy you're finally calling me Jack, Rhysie. Maybe we'll try 'handsome' next?”

Sighing heavily, Rhys throws him an exasperated look over his shoulder, but Jack is sure his charm will have the fondness back there in no time flat.

Unsurprisingly, Rhys doesn't give him the vault pieces back, keeping them in the sorry excuse for a backpack he's carrying around. Honestly, Jack would probably have been worried and kinda offended if he had. And like this, Rhys seems a bit more at ease and Jack has no reason to question why he's more attuned to Rhys' safety than to his own.

So it's a win-win for both of them, really.

Maybe unsurprisingly as well, Rhys turns out to be really capable. He watches his footing, pays attention to his surroundings and actually listens to Jack's suggestions. Well, mostly anyway.

Nisha better be careful or her place as his favourite partner in crime might actually be in real danger.

They had to leave the Outrunner behind hours ago when the combined vault piece's violet-glowing lines lead them into a cave. Frustratingly quickly they hit a dead end there, and Jack actually only stumbled over the small opening leading them further in because he had to take a piss.

Seems like lady luck is finally back on Team Jack.

Grinning, he directs his flashlight ahead of them, mindful of the slippery ground. He really doesn't want to fall into the powerful current running through the middle of the small cavern.

A quick glance over his shoulder shows that Rhys is being equally careful, his chrome hand extended and illuminating the path for him. A soft blue light just like his ECHOeye, recording even now.

He's still being woefully professional, giving Jack clipped answers with only small, tantalising glimpses of his sharp tongue, but thankfully, Jack never learned to give up when something so shiny was almost within his reach.

Jack slows his steps until he's closer to Rhys and doesn't have to scream over the loud current. “Do you ever give your ECHOeye a rest? I don't think anything will happen in here.”

Rhys makes a non-committal sound. “You never know when you might stumble over something interesting.”

A beat, and Jack is about to admit defeat for this round and increase the distance between them again when Rhys adds, “Plus, sometimes you need less exciting material when you want your audience to concentrate on the information you are trying to convey to them.”

“You know your stuff, cupcake,” Jack says earnestly, chances another glance over his shoulder.

His reward is the hint of a smile on Rhys' lips. “So do you, Jack.” The smile turns impish. “And I would never forgive myself for not documenting when you inevitably slip and fall into the current.”

Laughing, Jack concentrates on the path ahead of him again. That would probably endear him to Rhys again, but he actually doesn't want to give him any new ammunition. In the end, the documentary is supposed to show Jack's cool adventurer side, and not the still dashing but slightly less cool rest of him.

Eventually the cave gives away to an underground cavern, large enough that Jack can only guess at its size.

A huge, pyramid-like structure sits in the middle of it, surrounded by a clear looking lake. Thanks, to the wide hole at the top of the cavern, enough daylight reaches down to them to make everything almost day-bright.

Jack bends down at the edge of the water, testing the temperature. Not warm by any stretch of the imagination, but not as chilly as Jack thought it would be. “Time to get wet.” He flops down on his ass, goes about opening his shoelaces.

Rhys folds his long legs next to Jack, doing the same.

The light catches on Rhys' chrome arm, and Jack turns to him, frowning. “Wait, what about your cybernetics?”

One pretty brown and one glowing blue eye blinks at him, something like surprise flickering over Rhys' features. Then he smiles, small but unguarded in a way that makes Jack feel entirely too warm considering they're in an underground cavern.

“Don't worry.” He gives Jack a thumb up with his chrome arm, winking at him. “I'm completely waterproof.”

Jack guffaws, almost startled by the sudden reaction himself. “You sound like one of those obnoxious ad-people, always trying to sell you stuff you don't need.”

Rhys nods sagely. “All part of the job, I’m afraid.” He slips off one of his sleek and expensive looking shoes, revealing a truly horrendous blue and yellow striped sock.

It has small stars on it.

Jack honestly doesn't understand why that only makes him want to lean over and kiss the easy curve of Rhys' mouth even more.

Confused and annoyed with himself, Jack quickly ties his shoes together before he gets up again, focuses on gauging the distance they'll have to swim.

The light is already getting progressively dimmer, which means they should hurry before the sun goes down completely.

“Alright, I'm ready.” Rhys stands up as well, looking at Jack expectantly.

Nodding, Jack takes two steps forward, clenches his teeth on a pathetic whimper when the cold water hits his legs. “Come on, princess. And you better not slow me down!”

A huff, followed by the sound of another body wading into the water. “Wouldn't dream of it, old man.”

Jack ignores that completely unwarranted comment.

See? He's totally being the bigger man here.

By the time they make it to the island it's almost completely dark. Shivering, Jack doesn't waste any time getting rid of his drenched jacket and vest, looking for something to burn.

Thankfully, it doesn't take him more than a handful of minutes of trudging through the tepid sand to find a couple of branches and withered undergrowth.

Rhys is standing where Jack left him, now hugging himself in a futile effort to warm himself. “Sorry,” he says almost immediately through chattering teeth, “I didn't know— I didn't know how to help.”

With his hair plastered to his forehead and blue lips, he makes for a truly miserable picture. Up until now, his unflappable attitude made it so easy for Jack to forget how young he still is.

Shrugging, Jack waves his apology away. “Don't worry, Rhysie, I've got us covered.” He tries not to let it show how cold he feels himself, even though Rhys must have turned his ECHOeye off at some point while they were making their way over here. “Get rid of your clothes before you turn completely blue on me.” Jack stops for a beat to grin at Rhys, adds, “Even if it really is your colour.”

He drops his findings between the bottom level of the pyramid and a statue, a secluded corner for them to rest. Just in case there's any wildlife on this island, though Jack doubts it.

Patting his side, he comes away empty handed. Right, he left his satchel with his drenched clothes. Cursing quietly, Jack hastily makes his way over to the pile, looking for his lighter.

When he turns around victorious, Rhys is crouched in front of their fireplace, and by the time Jack has jogged over again the fire is already burning. Jack comes to a stop next to Rhys, who has so far only lost his vest and is now shivering even harder than before.

As if in answer to his silent question, Rhys waves his chrome hand at him, manages something like a shaky smile.

“A multi-purpose tool, huh?” Jack asks while he spreads his jacket and vest over the still warm stones of the pyramid, letting the lighter fall into the sand.

“Something like that.”

Jack has to fight with his trousers to get them off his legs, the material clinging to his skin. After he's freed himself, he happily sits down in front the fire, his back against the Eridian statue. Usually, Jack prefers to go commando and he isn't really sure why he decided to wear boxers this time around, but he's glad that he did.

Rhysie probably wouldn't have appreciated the view just yet, and Jack really hates getting sand everywhere.

For some reason, Rhys still hasn't made any move to undress further.

Furrowing his brow, Jack stares at the tense line of Rhys' back. Shy wasn't exactly a word that seemed to fit Rhys. “Rhysie, you'll never get dry like this.” He softens his voice, tries to coax Rhys like a spooked animal. “Come on, the fire will warm you quicker once you're out of your wet finery.”

Slowly, Rhys' hands move down to his jeans, but still far too hesitant, unsure almost. He doesn't even react to Jack's finery jab.

Jack doesn't understand it, and he doesn't like not knowing what is going on.

“Rhys,” he says quietly, prompting him to half turn to Jack, his face cast in shadows. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.” He grins, hoping to put Rhys at ease. “I can be a gentleman, you know.”

A pause, and then Rhys shakes his head — apparently at himself, because he finally slips the jeans down his smooth legs. “I'll need some sources for that claim,” he answers drily, and Jack relaxes.

That sounds way more like the cheeky reporter Jack has come to appreciate having around.

He makes a point to stare at the fire while Rhys peels the tight material from his legs, even though his eyes tend to flicker to the bared skin on their own.

Rhys starts to unbutton his shirt, seemingly becoming frustrated quickly, and ends up just pulling it over his head.

Jack doesn't expect what follows next, but maybe he should have. Rhys' left arm moves to his right shoulder, begins to remove the artificial limb.

It's... intimate, even though all Jack sees is the long line of Rhys' back, still covered by a dark undershirt and not even the terrible star-motif on Rhys' boxers takes away from that uncomfortable feeling. Surreptitiously watching this doesn't feel good, doesn't feel right.

Hastily, Jack returns his attention back to the fire. Still, he's hyperaware of every mechanical click and hiss, even more so of the loud sigh that falls from Rhys' lips when the chrome arm comes loose.

After placing the artificial limb with their clothes, Rhys turns around again. He walks quickly over to Jack and sits down next to him, close enough they are almost but not quite touching.

“I know about body heat,” Rhys mumbles in answer, sounding adorably mulish.

Jack can't help but flinch slightly when the wet undershirt Rhys is still wearing brushes his already warming skin.

A fleeting glance, and then Rhys pulls the soaked material from his upper body, throws it over to the rest of their clothing. Almost immediately he shivers when the air meets his bared skin, and he pulls his legs up to his chest, his arm coming around them.

Very slowly, Jack bridges the distance between them until their sides and legs are pressed together. Putting his left arm around Rhys' shoulder isn't a conscious decision, but since it's already there now, Jack might as well leave it where it is.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says quietly, taking a guess. “We all have tattoos.” He grins at Rhys' raised eyebrow. “Some more embarrassing than others.”

One corner of Rhys' lips rises as well. “Yeah?”

Gotcha. Jack mentally pats himself on the back, nods seriously. “Went drinking with Nisha after a successful haul, woke up with a crude star above my ass.”

Rhys laughs with incredulous delight, relaxing against Jack. “Seriously?”

“Well, Nisha got a super boring half moon, so obviously I got the better end of the deal,” he says quickly. Jack likes the star, alright? Of course he would have gotten rid of it instantly, but Nisha dared him to keep his Tattoo of Shame as well and now it's become a matter of honour. Not that Rhys needs to know that.

Darkness has settled around them by now, though it's not an absolute one. The hole above the lake must be allowing enough moonlight in, but Jack doesn't check to see if his guess is correct.

Actually, the ugly Eridian statue behind them could be coming alive right now, and he probably wouldn't give a damn.

All Jack cares about is watching the firelight flicker over Rhys' face, making it seem soft and hard in turn. He really is a beanstalk of a man, and yet his appearance is deceiving, considering he somehow managed to get Jack out of a bandit camp.

The empty mounting that usually holds Rhys' chrome arm is cold and unforgiving against Jack's left side, but he doesn't mind at all, not when that allows them to huddle even closer together in their search for warmth.

By now there's almost no space left between them, and Jack can see the delicate make-up of Rhys' ECHOeye, the no less gorgeous facets of his brown eye. Rhys' mouth is right there, and if Jack accidentally leaned forward a bit—

His eyes flicker to Rhys' collarbone, become stuck on the revealed expanse of the blue pattern there. It reaches farer than Jack thought, up over Rhys' left shoulder and upper arm and down his side as well. The light is too capricious to make out the entire design, though Jack tries, his tongue caught between his lips.

“I thought you were going to be a gentleman,” Rhys says very quietly, a crooked smile on his lips.

Riiiiiiight. Okay, so maybe Jack should stop staring and continue with his story.

“Anyway.” He coughs once into his fist, letting the sudden roughness leech from his voice. “This tattoo is something else.” Turning a bit more fully into the half-embrace, he holds his right wrist up to Rhys' face, pointing at the dark blue lines there with his other hand.

He waits a moment while Rhys looks at the uneven and almost squarish lines, head titled slightly. Jack turns his wrist around, enjoying how well Rhys looks encircled by his arms. He continues quickly, before he gets distracted again. “When Angel was five years old she broke her leg during one of our mock-adventures. After one day in the hospital she had already filled two colouring books and her entire cast with drawings and scribbles.”

Rhys' bright eyes flicker to Jack's, the promise of a real smile at the corners of his mouth.

Grinning at the memory, Jack says, “Awesome dad that I am, I gave her my arm to draw on next, and this...” He traces over the tattoo with a finger, aware of Rhys' heavy gaze on his face. Jack shrugs lightly. “I liked this one so much I made it permanent.”

That his little girl took parts of the design from her own, much less voluntary siren-tattoo isn't that important to the story, all things considered. Even proven to be much more capable than he let on, Jack has a hard time thinking of Rhys as dangerous.

Still, the only life Jack's willing to risk is his own, and that Angel is a powerful siren isn't exactly something he shares with just anyone.

Hesitantly, as if afraid Jack will pull away, Rhys reaches out to Jack's wrist, gently traces over the dark lines.

Jack isn't entirely sure Rhys is aware that he's resting his head on Jack's shoulder at this point, but hell will freeze over before he says anything about that.

“I think I like this one a lot more than your butt-star,” Rhys says softly. He exhales deeply, and then he's out of it, curled into himself and against Jack's side, fast asleep.

Jack blinks stupidly at Rhys' head. Well, that was unexpected.

Seems like somebody was up well past his bedtime, Jack thinks, pressing his grin against Rhys' mused hair. “Night, Rhysie,” he whispers, and then considers his options.

He can see the pitiful shape of Rhys' designer backpack from here, lying close to their clothes and still holding two of three vault pieces. So technically, Jack could make like a thief in the night, go grab the last one and be long gone before Rhys wakes up.

Jack worries his bottom lip. Doesn't sound all that tempting, especially considering he only just managed to warm up again. He's also getting a bit sleepy, to be honest. It is pretty late already, probably. Jack can’t really be bothered to check his wristwatch to confirm the time, though.

That Rhys is a soft, trusting weight against his side has nothing to do with Jack's decision to stay right where he is, half-asleep, half-minding the fire.

Nothing at all.

Neither of them could be mistaken for morning persons, and so they wash up and get dressed separately. Only after they've shared their last rations — Rhys' disgusting processed food — between them are they able to vocalise more than a grumbled 'morning'.

Jack eyes the pyramid towering before them, wonders if it was already this large yesterday or if it grew overnight.

One glance at Rhys shows him that the ECHOeye is already recording again. “The entrance should be somewhere at the top left of this monstrosity, because Eridians were just weird like that,” he explains, and Rhys rewards him with another smile, definitely more fond than exasperated.

“Just pay attention to step exactly where I do. These Eridians loved their annoying death traps.” Jack cracks his knuckles, begins to scale the pyramid. “Now come on, let's go plunder a temple, Rhysie!”

Rhys follows him with a groan. “Jack, please. What we're doing is entirely legal. As long as you don't indulge in any of your infamous wanton destruction.”

“Hey.” Jack stops and turns around, pointing an admonishing finger at Rhys. “I resent the implication. Those structures in the Dahl Headlands and Eridian Promontory were really old and decrepit and plain terribly build, alright!”

“Sure,” Rhys replies easily while he climbs past Jack. “If you say so.” There's laughter in his voice, a lot of it.

In retaliation, Jack slaps Rhys' ass, just because he can and because it happens to be right there.

He really hopes Rhys will keep his startled squeak in the documentary.

It takes less than an hour until Jack is cursing his aching knees, the irregularly sized stone blocks and the Eridians for turning what should be a simple climb into a frustrating maze.

Each terrace of the pyramid is only wide enough for them to be able to walk behind each other, and the farer up they get, the taller the next terrace is compared to the one they're walking on.

They've taken to boosting each other up, but even that seems to be impossible from where they are now.

Jack rubs a hand through his hair, angrily tries to gauge how far up they already are and — more importantly — how far they still need to go.

Next to him, Rhys uses the small pause to take a long gulp from Jack's canteen, his own already empty.

Now, Jack's old enough that drinking from the same glass and thinking of it as kissing-by-proxy is nothing but childish nonsense; but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate seeing Rhys' mouth wrapped around a place his own lips had claimed for themselves only moments before. Especially with his hair a mess, face flushed from exertion, and two more buttons of his shirt open than is probably decent.

It kind of is an indirect kiss, right?

Grinning at Rhys' thankful expression, he takes the canteen back and takes another sip, just because.

Rhys draws the back of his left hand over his sweaty forehead, leaving two strands of his hair sticking up. “I think I saw one with an indention we could use as a stepping stone a bit earlier.” He points behind himself, to where they just came from, and Jack nods, putting the canteen back into his satchel.

He takes a step after Rhys — who's now already two stone blocks ahead of him — when the ground suddenly gives way under him. Jack barely even registers the surprised sound that passes his lips, all of his senses seized by the sickening feeling of free falling.

His heart lurches inside of his chest, and then his entire body jolts to an abrupt halt.

With wide eyes, Jack stares up at Rhys' tense face, at the pale fingers wrapped tightly around his right wrist, the only thing keeping him from falling—

He chances an unadvised glance down, notices that the stone blocks around him are angled downwards, looking almost slippery, then further down, landing on the violet gleaming spikes at the bottom.

Blinking, he tilts his head slightly. Are those bones?

“Jack.” Rhys' voice sounds tense, muffled by the blood rushing through Jack's ears. “Grab my arm, come on!”

Jack gives himself a mental slap, stops staring at what could have almost been his end. He grabs for Rhys' forearm with his other hand, and Rhys exhales loudly, start slowly pushing himself backwards and Jack up. The only sound that matters is Rhys' chrome hand coming down hard on the stone with every shove.

Once I'm up again, I'm going to worship that arm until my lips are bleeding, Jack thinks deliriously, and then his hips drag painfully over the edge, and he hastily scrambles up the rest of the way.

He lands hard on his front while Rhys turns onto his side, back to the stones, their bodies lying against each other and gulping in air in unison.

Jack is the first to raise himself up on a trembling arm, and he turns around to stare at Rhys' face, white and shaken.

“Hey,” Jack says, voice nothing more than a breathy croak. He realises that their fingers are still clutched around each other’s arms, and he draws Rhys' hand up to his mouth, presses a dry kiss to the back of it. “Thanks, pumpkin. I owe you one.”

“Nice try, but it's already way more than one,” Rhys replies quietly, mustering up a brave and shaky smile.

It's the most beautiful thing Jack has seen in weeks, and Jack doesn't even realise that he's leaning forward until it's almost too late— in the last second he changes the angle, and his lips meet Rhys' freckled nose.

He leans back again immediately without looking at Rhys' face, doesn't want to see what he would find there, couldn’t handle the rejection right now. Instead, he leans back against the wall, feet hanging over the edge and after a tense beat, Rhys rights himself as well, his shoulder bumping against Jack's.

They're quiet for a while, just getting their breathing under control again, waiting for their heartbeats to slow. Dimly, Jack notices that Rhys must have deactivated his ECHOeye somewhere between him falling and Rhys dragging him back up again.

Glaring at the gaping hole next to him has Jack resisting the urge to spit at it. He doesn't get it. He had stepped right where Rhys had, hadn't he? Jack's sure of it, but it doesn't make any sense. While the Eridian traps are annoyingly numerous and potentially deadly, once sprung, they're completely harmless. Even if it wasn't exactly fool-proof, following each other’s steps had always worked with Nisha.

They probably just got really lucky only triggering one trap so far.

“We're gonna be a bit careful from now on where we step, okay, pumpkin?” He weakly pats Rhys' knee once before letting his hand fall into his lap again.

“Got it.” Rhys turns his head to him then, and Jack mirrors the movement. There's barely a hand-wide space left between them, but still Rhys' face is unreadable.

“Your scar,” Rhys says quietly. “The vault symbol... What happened?”

His ECHOeye is still off, and for a moment Jack considers taking off his mask again, just to lend his story more credibility, more impact. But deep inside, Jack's a vain old man, and so he doesn't. “My last vault hunt... it blew up in my face.” He chuckles wryly at his own joke, but Rhys' face remains inscrutable.

Now that he has all of Rhys' attention, Jack doesn't quite know what to do with it. Or with himself, for that matter.

He smiles grimly, interlacing his fingers and looking away from Rhys' face. “I was on my own, but everything was going great. Collected the vault pieces, followed them to the vault.” His eyes flicker over to Rhys for a beat, and his grin turns more honest. “Went toe to toe with some of the Guardians, showed them who's the boss.”

Nodding, Rhys looks at him with wide eyes.

Actually, Jack blew them up with modified grenades without them ever even catching sight of him, but who cares about boring details, right? “The vault activated, raised a throne for me, and then...” He inhales, voice distant, still overwhelmed by the memory of it. “I just knew.”

“Knew what?” Rhys asks in a hush.

Meeting Rhys' gaze again, Jack can't suppress the awed shudder that claims him when he answers in a breathless hiss, “Everything, Rhysie. I knew everything.” He shakes his head, dismissing the spell that has settled over them. “And then it frickin' exploded and burned itself into my face, burning the knowledge and most of the sight in my left eye away with it.”

Swallowing thickly, Rhys' breaks eye-contact with him. “I'm sorry,” he says, sounding uncharacteristically subdued.

Aw, man. Jack hadn't wanted to make him all sad, not after the exciting and terrifying bonding experience they just had. He nudges Rhys' side with his entire weight, jostling him and startling him into looking at Jack again. “It's not all bad, don't make that face! I got a pretty rad mask out of it, mostly covered by my health insurance at that.”

Shit, Rhys is looking almost stricken.

“Don't worry, princess. I can still see well enough to recognise when I've got something beautiful in front of me,” Jack adds with a wink, and Rhys huffs, the tenseness at the corners of his mouth easing slightly.

Instead, a frown appears between Rhys' groomed eyebrows. “And even after that happened... you still want to find another vault?” He hugs his legs close to his chest, body curling into himself. “What if this one only ends up hurting you as well?”

Okay, this was definitely not what Jack had intended. The last thing they need right now is Rhys getting cold feet and making them give up when they're already so close, Jack can practically feel the vault. Jack scratches at his throat, mind running a mile trying to find the right words to calm Rhys.

This is probably what happens when you leave out crucial information, Jack thinks grimly, admonishing himself. He knows why the vault's treasure destroyed itself rather than letting Jack have it: All that knowledge, it wasn't meant for him. Or any other regular human, for that matter. The vault pieces only came alive and turned into a key once Angel touched them, after much cajoling and beseeching.

Jack should have listened to her when she told him she had a bad feeling about this vault. But no, Jack only saw the treasures surely awaiting him, and went anyway.

Once this is done, he'll make a point of heeding her future advice, definitely.

This would all be so much easier if he could just tell Rhys everything about Angel, and he wants to, he really does. But back when Jack still didn't know that Sirens were real, when he held his little girl in his arms for the first time, he vowed to himself that he would never let any harm come to her.

The way Rhys is looking at him now, concerned, insecure, determined, makes it really difficult not to trust him with this as well; the last aspect of Jack’s life worthy of being shared.

“I was just seriously unlucky stumbling over the one vault that would malfunction on its finder,” he says with feigned conviction, shrugging carelessly. “Last I heard, Torgue is still living comfortably off the royalties he secured after reverse-engineering the laser weapon he found in his vault.”

Rhys still doesn't look entirely convinced, and at this rate he'll probably get wrinkles from all that worrying and frowning. Jack wouldn't be able to bear being the one responsible for that.

He jumps to his feet, ignoring the terribly loud cracking of his knees with practised ease. Jack extends his right hand to Rhys, grins at him expectantly. “Let's go find us our vault, Rhysie.”

Rhys takes his hand in the next beat with a small smile, artificial fingers firm and pleasantly cool against Jack's own, and his lack of hesitation is gratifying. “I think you're a bad influence on me, Jack.”

“Wrong; I'm the best kind of influence anyone could ever wish to have in their lives,” Jack says easily, eyeing their clasped hands curiously. This is kind of... nice?

Huh.

He holds fast when it seems like Rhys might pull away, and Rhys blinks at him, head tilted curiously. Jack takes a half-step backwards, tugging Rhys along by his warming chrome hand. “Just in case one of us takes another tumble, yeah?”

There's a smile stretching across Rhys' lips, wide enough to show his perfect white teeth, and Jack turns around quickly, setting a brisk pace for them because apparently now the sun is making his face heat up.

They boost each other up to get to the next terrace, and somehow their hands find each other again. And again and again. It makes Jack feel a bit like an idiot, but that Rhys isn't rejecting this — isn't rejecting Jack — makes more than up for that.

Jack can already see the entryway, only two more stone blocks above them, when Rhys suddenly stops.

“Hey! Wait for a moment, please.”

Stopping, Jack turns around to him, both eyebrows raised. “Do you need me to carry you the rest of the way, sweetheart?”

“Funny,” Rhys replies drily, and then he looks down at their joined hands, gesturing at them with his other hand. “Can I...?”

Jack lets go instantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What, lost your feelings in your fingers?” He only just manages to hide a wince. Shit, Jack, way to go running your frickin' mouth.

Incredibly, Rhys actually laughs, shaking his head and wriggling his shiny fingers at Jack. “Still good.” He turns to face the lake, stretches his chrome hand up above his head. “I just really need to capture this view,” he explains, and the display flickers to life in the next instant, showing a minimised shot of the cave.

Riiiiiight, Jack had sort of already forgotten about the documentary. To cover that, he eyes their surroundings skeptically. It does look okay, probably. The water is clear, sparkling in the sunlight that falls through the hole above them.

Fine, it looks like it should be an expensive painting that hangs in a museum. Once this documentary airs, Angel will probably adore these shots to pieces. Maybe Jack and Nisha have already seen too much that they don't take the time to appreciate this sort of thing anymore. Or maybe they've lost sight of what adventuring is all about?

Movement at his side distracts him from his musings. “Don't fall,” Jack warns harshly when Rhys suddenly leans forward, trying to get a better recording of the pyramid itself.

Rhys has his tongue caught between his teeth, expression focused, and he doesn't sound like he even heard Jack's words when he replies with a nonchalant, “Yeah, yeah.”

Just when Jack decides that he's going to grab Rhys' fancy shirt and forcefully drag him away from the edge again, Rhys deactivates his palm display. He turns to Jack, positively beaming. “Okay, got it.” His eyes flicker to the entry above them, back to Jack. “Should I activate my ECHOeye for the last stretch?”

It's sort of cute that he's actually asking for permission now. Huffing, Jack nods. “Knock yourself out, cupcake.”

Rhys' eye glows a bright blue in the next moment, and then he extends his left hand towards Jack, looking at him expectantly and with a small smile on his lips. “I won't put this in the documentary, promise.”

“Don't care,” Jack replies obstinately, taking Rhys' hand with his own. Something this... this insignificant doesn't even faze his ego, not even a tiny bit.

He's pretty sure Rhys is silently laughing at him the entire rest of the way, though he only ever smiles innocently at Jack whenever he turns around to him.

“Finally!” Jack groans loudly when they reach their goal. Inside of the pyramid, there's a small balcony to his right, allowing a glimpse inside the hollow structure, definitely larger inside than it looks from the outside. He can't really see it from up here, but the last piece should be somewhere down there at the bottom of this overblown atrium.

Taking his flashlight out of his satchel, Jack checks the dark corridor to their left. It basically reeks of Eridian traps, and Jack hopes that there aren't too many Guardians waiting for them. Those things are frickin' bullet sponges, and Jack lost both his guns and grenades to the Bloodshots when those assholes captured him.

“Jack.” Rhys' voice reaching him from outside of the pyramid is tense and hushed, and Jack is at his side instantly, following his gaze down and to their left, landing on—

“Oh, goddamn it. How the hell did they manage to find this place so quickly?” So what if it sounds like Jack is whining— he was already considering this to be their first date, and a highly successful one at that.

But when it's not Nisha cockblocking him, there's apparently an entire battalion of Bloodshots eager to take her place.

Quietly, Jack says goodbye to the celebratory make-out session on the closest flat surface he had already envisioned in great detail once they completed the vault key.

“I'm counting sixteen of them, all heavily armed,” Rhys says quietly, and Jack looks at him, about to ask how he wants to know that without binoculars when Jack can barely see the three boats the Bloodshots must have used to get here.

The mechanical iris of the ECHOeye swirls and swirls, and Jack answers the question himself. Very handy to have around indeed. “That's a lot of them.” Jack considers their options, tugging Rhys into the dark entryway. They probably weren't spotted yet or they would have already been riddled with bullets. Best to keep the tiny advantage they have.

“Fuck, what now?” There's almost no fear visible on Rhys' face, and Jack is so damn proud of him, he could kiss him right now.

Instead, he says absently, “Language, Rhysie,” and grabs Rhys' hand again, grinning with a surety that is more bravado than anything else. “Now we run and take what's ours from right underneath their dirty noses.”

Rhys nods jerkily, one corner of his mouth curling upward. “I have to give it to you, Jack. There's never a boring minute with you.”

They are already running through the weakly glowing hallway leading them down when the first explosion echoes around them.

Of course, they're just going to blow their way inside, Jack thinks bitterly. Why take the long way when you can just go through the wall?

As if ruining their awesome date wasn't already bad enough.

This is not the first time he's been on his knees in front of Nisha. It's also not the first time that Nisha is holding a gun to his head.

It's not even the first time Nisha sold him out for a better offer, and so Jack is mostly mad at himself for not realising earlier what was going on.

There's enough light at the bottom of the huge area inside of the pyramid to see, but Jack can't make out the ceiling of the structure from here. He's kneeling on the ground, hands loosely in front of himself. They hadn't bothered to bound him this time, and why should they? With fourteen Bloodshots and Nisha against him, there's no reason to. Doesn't mean this isn't making his ego smart any less.

Jack was hoping to slip away once the Eridian Guardians made their appearance, but the Bloodshots aren't leaving anything to chance and packing serious firepower this time. They were blown into pieces even before Jack could begin looking for an escape route.

I was rooting for you assholes, he thinks angrily at the head of one of the Guardians, lying pathetic and uselessly next to him.

At least the Bloodshots still haven't recovered the last part of the key. The indention in the middle of this floor might as well have 'vault key piece here' written all over it, but it's remaining firmly shut, and not even crowbars and dynamite have left so much as a dent in it.

It won't open as long as the rest of the key isn't here, which sucks for them.

Smugly, Jack rotates his tense shoulders. Not that he wasn't already glad before that Rhys managed to evade capture by hiding in a nook while Jack made a loud and distracting dash past the scouts that spotted them. That most of the key is still in Rhys' silly backpack and that Rhys is probably well on his way out of The Dust by now just makes it all the sweeter.

Because Rhys might be resourceful and daring, but even he won't be stupid enough to stick around when the battle is already spectacularly lost.

“I don't care for your excuses. Find him, get the pieces and then kill him. And do it in that order, you morons!” Vasquez yells at the Bloodshots, his voice booming in the high and massive room. On him, the no doubt expensive suit he's wearing turn into something gaudy and laughable.

Two Bloodshots leave to go looking for Rhys, still leaving far too many for Jack to take on alone.

Distractedly, Jack wonders if Rhys could make that black and yellow suit work somehow. Probably, because Rhys turns everything he's wearing into an extension of himself, and with that, into something inherently pleasing to the eyes. Jack glances at Vasquez before meeting Nisha's eyes, tilting his head towards the man. “What's he doing here? And where is my good pal Flanksteak?”

Nisha sends an unimpressed look towards Vasquez' back. “Apparently Assquez here had a deal with Flankstead. At least until they had a disagreement over their shares of the treasures.” She shrugs. “Now he's the leader of the Bloodshots.”

Jack makes a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, watching while Vasquez paces and orders and waves his arms around. It's difficult to believe that this is the same guy who used to look up to him. Sure, Jack never liked Vasquez, but seeing as the guy comes from old money, was basically born with a golden spoon in his mouth and a diamond-crusted rod up his ass, that's pretty much a given.

Seems like simply buying his way through an adventure isn't enough for good old Vasquez anymore.

His eyes flicker back to Nisha, to the outwardly bored lines of her body. Jack knows her too well to be fooled, though, and so he looks at her and waits.

Again, she meets his eyes unflinchingly, unapologetically. “I'm getting a shitton of money out of this, and some very nice revolvers from his daddy's collection.” The grin on her mouth is hard and ugly, voice grim. “It wasn't exactly an offer I could refuse.”

Which means that violence was involved, and that Nisha didn't give in without putting up a fight.

He nods in understanding, a wry tilt to his lips. They both know Jack would have done — and has done — the exact same thing in her situation. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it helps.

The tension in his shoulders is gone instantly, seeping out of his body with the heavy sigh that escapes his lips. Seems like this time he really won't come back home.

Hopefully, Angel won't tear up the letter he left for her in case of this eventuality before reading it, even though Jack would deserve that for breaking his promise to her yet again. With his fingers, he traces over the lines of the tattoo around his wrist, relieved that Angel at least won't have to worry about money.

Nisha follows the movement, then looks away again quickly while she angles her body slightly away from him.

Her gun never wavers, and Jack would expect nothing less from her.

Still, he appreciates the privacy.

Angel will be fine. She's probably the most self-reliant teenager in the entire world. She's a lot more mature than Jack is even on his good days — not that that's saying a lot.

Vasquez stomps over to them, stopping that particular train of thought. He fists his hand roughly in Jack's hair, forces his head back until the strain is a sharp pain down Jack's back. “I'm going to find that ditzy reporter of yours, and when I do.” He laughs, deep and hateful. “Oh, and when I do, Jack, I'm going to make him pay for every goddamn minute he's kept me from what rightfully belongs to me.”

He lets go of Jack, eyeing him dispassionately. “Kill him,” Vasquez tells Nisha without even looking at her. “And make it quick.” He winks at Jack, points a finger at him. “For old time's sake.” And with that he walks over the indentation in the floor again, leaving them alone.

Nisha stares after him for a beat, nose scrunched up as if a terrible smell got stuck in her nose. Then she sighs silently, and her eyes are dark and clear when they settle on Jack once more.

“Hey,” Jack says quietly, not wanting Vasquez or any of the Bloodshots to overhear. “Make sure Rhysie gets out of this okay, yeah? He is—” He stops speaking and swallows hard, unsure what he was even going to say. His voice turns into something tense and subdued. “He doesn't deserve the same end we do.”

“I know,” Nisha replies just as quietly, and then she nods once, decisively. “He'll be fine, just a bit scratched up. I’ll make sure of it.”

Exhaling loudly, Jack relaxes again, calmly staring down the dark barrel of Nisha's revolver.

Angel will be fine and so will Rhys. One corner of his mouth curls upwards. Rhys will turn this into an amazing documentary, even if the actual vault won't star in it. He'll make sure Jack will be remembered as a dashing adventurer and nothing less.

Nisha's posture straightens, like it always does when she's about to fire.

Maybe Rhys will go looking for Angel once he's made it back to civilisation. The other corner of Jack's mouth curls up as well. He definitely will, because under all that lip and finery Rhys has got a soft heart, too big for his lanky frame. My little girl and Rhys, becoming friends, bonding over what a hopeless man I was.

It's a nice image, a much nicer thought, and Jack doesn't mind at all it being his last one.

“Why isn't he dead yet?” Vasquez yells, and the three Bloodshots standing close by turn to them, interested now. “Kill him already!”

“I don't think so,” a voice booms right over Vasquez' order, and Jack has only enough time to think, no, you're supposed to be far away from here already! when a white-blue light suddenly explodes above them, all consuming and almost blinding in its intensity.

Jack rolls into himself with a curse, protecting his face even though there are already spots dancing in front of his vision. The sound of rolling thunder suddenly fills his ears, followed by several loud cracks, and the hairs on his body stand up.

Nisha hisses, followed by the noise of her gun dropping to the floor, and then screams fill the air, high and all ending abruptly, cut off by even more cracks.

He rights himself hesitantly, despite all of his instincts screeching at him, telling him to stay down, blinks his eyes until the shape floating high above him turns into—

An apparition, huge wings of azure light spanning from its sides. A glowing blue pattern encircles its left upper arm, shoulder and side, bright enough to be visible through the white shirt covering its upper body, the black vest gone. Now both eyes are shining in the same hue of colour, not merely the fancy ECHOeye anymore, and in its hand it’s holding a ridiculous and tiny designer backpack.

Rhys.

Arcs of electricity race down from the wildly flickering wings, seemingly no discerning pattern to it, until one of them strikes a Bloodshot cowering to Jack's right.

The man doesn't even manage to scream before he goes down.

Jack stands up on shaky legs, only able to look away from Rhys for long enough to note that there is no other person left standing anymore.

There are only bodies littering the floor, smoking just like the melted guns next to them. The air is thick with the smell of ozone, oppressive almost, and Jack swallows against the weird taste in his mouth.

He steps over the misshapen thing that used to be Nisha's favourite gun, steps over the still twitching body of a Bloodshot, eyes fastened on Rhys' slowly descending form.

Landing softly on feet only clad in those ridiculous socks, Rhys crosses his arms behind his back, the power of his wings weakening until Jack is standing right in front of him.

“Hi,” Rhys says softly. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”

Jack is speechless, and okay, maybe a little bit in love at this point. He's still staring, too busy taking in the soft, dimming glow of Rhys' eyes and chest tattoo, the way some of his brown hairs are standing up, charged by his own abilities.

Blue is just my colour, Rhys had said, and Jack wants to scream at him for being such a cheeky ass, for endangering himself like this. Most of all, he wants to scream at himself, though, for not telling Rhys more about Angel before, for not trusting him.

Rhys fidgets, wings behind him fading away completely. He hunches into himself slightly, shoulders drawn up, and Jack realises that Rhys is— Insecure, afraid? Something ridiculous and absurd like that, and Jack envelops him in his arms, smashes his mouth against Rhys' lips.

A quiet sound of surprise, an unbearable second of Rhys tense against him, and if Rhys draws away now, Jack doesn't even know— Jack can't—

Fingers tangle in his hair, and Rhys moans against his mouth, and what kind of an adventurer would Jack be if he didn't use that opportunity to its fullest?

The backpack falls to the ground and neither of them cares.

He pushes his tongue into Rhys' mouth, and Rhys' chrome fingers fist into the front of his shirt, ripping two of the buttons right off of it, his eyes glazed and half-closed, still unnaturally bright.

Rhys tastes like terrible, synthetic food and like he hasn't brushed his teeth in over a day, and Jack wants to devour him. His hands wander down Rhys' back, one slipping underneath Rhys' shirt while the other one settles possessively on Rhys' ass. He presses Rhys even harder against himself, his erection against Rhys' hip, and Rhys jolts, a loud gasp falling from his spit-wet lips.

Jack ignores Nisha silently slipping out of the jagged hole in the pyramid’s side, and when Rhys looks at him with a question in his dazed eyes, Jack nuzzles at the underside of his chin, greedily licks the taste of sweat from it. “You never know when you're gonna need a mostly reliable gun at your side,” he murmurs against Rhys' skin, feels Rhys swallow and nod.

He's so gorgeous and powerful and pliant and all Jack's.

Jack draws his fingernails gently over Rhys' back, enjoying the way Rhys shivers against him, the sound of his heavy breathing.

Rhys turns his head slightly, and tenses, both of his hands moving to clutch at Jack's shoulders. “Wait, I can't—”

He takes half a step away from Rhys immediately, even when he can't bring himself to let go of him completely. Jack takes in Rhys' gaze, jumping from their right to their left, the unhappy tilt of his lips.

Realisation dawns on Jack, cold and harsh. Shit, is this the first time he had to kill someone?

The colour is slowly draining from Rhys' face, and that is answer enough.

Putting his hands on Rhys' cheeks, Jack draws him in again, until they are only inches apart. “Hey, it's okay. We're grabbing the last piece and then we're outta here.” He pushes his thumb against Rhys' bottom lip, dark red and wet, enjoys the way Rhys' breath ghosts over it, shakily, his pupils blown. Jack says, voice nothing but a throaty growl, “You're only gonna to focus on me, and nothing else. Got it, Rhysie?”

Nodding jerkily, the corner of Rhys' mouth twitches. “You're a very conceited man, aren't you?”

Grinning, Jack bends down to pick up the backpack, tugs Rhys along with him over to the indentation in the ground. “You don't even know half of it.”

Rhys stumbles after him, close enough he kicks Jack's heels every second step, not that Jack minds.

The indentation is reacting even before they're fully there, and a dais rises from it, holding the last piece of the vault key.

Jack takes it quickly, and puts it into Rhys' backpack to the others, all glowing eagerly. He holds the backpack out to Rhys, practically pushes it against his chest. At Rhys' confused look, Jack snorts. “It's yours, isn't it?”

Hesitantly, Rhys slips it onto his back, eyes already flickering around them again while he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Eyeing Rhys' hideous and dusty socks, Jack asks, “What happened to your shoes?”

Rhys looks down at them for a beat, almost as if he had forgotten he wasn't wearing any. “Lost them,” he mumbles, and then his eyes find Vasquez' corpse right next to them and stay glued to it.

He can't let Rhys go through this pile of bodies without shoes, even if there is no blood. Jack snaps his fingers at Rhys, then sharply points them at himself. “You're very bad at following directions and at taking care of your things, I'm very disappointed in you, pumpkin.” Turning around, he bends his knees slightly, ignoring their warning protests. “As punishment, you're getting a reproachful piggyback ride out of here.”

“What?” Rhys looks at him with wide eyes, hands tense at his sides.

“You heard me.” Jack points at his back. “You're not getting out of this, so you might as well accept your dire fate.”

An uneven smile flickers over Rhys' lips, and then he climbs onto Jack's back, arms coming around Jack's chest.

“Princess, you have way too much leg,” Jack grumbles, and then he has to concentrate on where to step and not falling on his ass, because that would be embarrassing.

It's not like Rhys is particularly heavy; apart from other, less G-rated things, he definitely needs a lot more healthy meals inside of his lanky body as well. But Jack had a long day — a couple of them, really — and this isn't going to get any easier if he continues whining at himself. “Close your eyes, alright?” He doesn't intend for it, but it comes out sounding more like a plea than an order.

“Okay,” Rhys whispers obediently against the back of Jack’s neck, arms tightening around his front.

Another getaway, another freshly acquired vehicle. One thing you have to give the Bloodshots— they know their cars.

They drive silently through the desert, Jack's eyes flickering between the road and Rhys, unnaturally quiet next to him. At least he isn't deathly pale anymore, and Jack likes to think every mile they put between themselves and the pyramid helps. Having a new pair of shoes on his feet probably does as well, even if they used to belong to a Bloodshot; Jack knows he feels the same way about the new guns he’s packing now.

“Oh, no,” Rhys says suddenly, sounding stricken, and Jack almost loses control when he slams on the brakes.

He turns to Rhys as soon as they come to a stop, takes in Rhys' mournful expression. “What? What is it?”

The corners of Rhys' mouth turn downward even further. “I forgot to record you getting the last part of the vault key.”

Jack stares at Rhys, uncomprehending. Keeps on staring when he decides that Rhys must be joking, trying to lighten the mood.

“I'm so sorry,” Rhys says, painfully honest, and Jack groans in disbelief, letting his forehead fall against the steering wheel. This is somehow the same man who killed an entire atrium full of people to save Jack. He knocks his head against the wheel once more when he realises that he still wants that frickin' idiot, so much his fingers are itching just thinking about touching him again.

“It's okay, Rhysie,” he tells the steering wheel. “Just put the pieces together now and record that, yeah?”

A thoughtful noise. “You sure? We could find a better location first, something more atmospheric or—”

“Please,” Jack says in a small defeated voice. “It would make me very happy if you would put our key together now.”

“If you say so...” Rhys still doesn't sound convinced, the dumb perfectionist, and Jack wants to punch his arm and kiss his stupid mouth.

Rustling then, and Jack dares to turn his head to the side, watching while Rhys opens his backpack.

Rhys holds up the combined piece, glances at Jack, ECHOeye blue and glowing and familiar.

Jack nodes encouragingly, doesn't even have to fake the lopsided smile for the camera.

Exhaling once, Rhys takes out the last part of the key as well, holds them in front of himself.

Their violet lines gain in intensity, and then they snap together abruptly. The key floats in front of Rhys' face, and maybe they should have taken this outside after all, because Jack doesn't like seeing the symbol that's burned into his skin so close to Rhys, not at all.

He's just about to tug Rhys over to him and outside of the car when the symbol suddenly glows brightly, changing shape. Jack lunges for Rhys' arm, grabbing it tightly, intent on getting him out of harms way—

Rhys catches the sphere before it can fall into the legroom with his other hand, then turns to Jack with an eyebrow raised in question.

Jack lets go of him again, coughs into a fist. “So, what the hell is that? I didn't know keys now came in the form of balls,” he drawls, and Rhys rolls his eyes at him, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

“I don't know.” Thoughtfully, Rhys lets the fingers of his left hand trail over the violet lines on the sphere. “The plating seems to be some sort of metal, infused with Eridian energy.” He tilts his head, blinks. “I can sort of... feel something coming from it?”

Yeah, okay, those are definitely alarm bells ringing inside of Jack’s ears. He has already dealt with too many cursed items in his lifetime, thanks. “Now, don't do anything—”

'Rash' is what Jack wanted to say next, but maybe he should have gone with 'extremely stupid' instead, because the Siren-tattoo on Rhys' upper arm and chest is already glowing in the next moment.

“What the—” Rhys falls silent, expression astounded, and okay, that's it. Jack has had enough of this.

“Playtime's over. Give me that thing, pumpkin.” He extends his hand expectantly, but Rhys only waves his off with his chrome one, actually shushes him.

Jack bites his lip, sure that he's lost Rhys to the stupid cursed key now. All this exhilarating back and forth, braving the stony road to Rhys' affection... only for the Eridians to fuck it all up for Jack yet again in the last moment.

It’s just not fair.

“I'm looking forward to it,” Rhys says gently. He turns to Jack again, glow of his tattoo dimming. There's a wide grin on his lips, eyes alight with excitement when he holds the damned ball towards Jack. “This is Gortys. She's an experiment, a prototype of sorts.”

Scowling, Jack crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Great. What does it do?”

“She,” Rhys corrects immediately, waggling a finger at him. He deflates slightly, smiling mischievously. “Actually, Gortys isn't really sure yet. She needs to recharge first, but it might have something to do with other vaults?” He's looking at Jack with wide eyes, obviously expecting him to share the buzz.

Looking at the pretty curve of Rhys' mouth, his flushed cheeks, and dishevelled hair gets Jack excited, alright. He leans forward, presses a lingering kiss against Rhys' lips. “Sounds great, Rhysie. Now how about we relocate to somewhere else and have us an exquisite lukewarm shower?”

If this Gortys thing turns out to be harmless, maybe it would make for a good 'sorry, I lied to you (again)' apology-gift to Angel.

Rhys laughs against Jack's mouth, startled and delighted, and honestly, Jack doesn't even have it in him to care that this vault turned out to be a bust as well.

Lynchwood isn't exactly a respectable town by any stretch of the imagination, but it's large enough to lay low for a while, just in case there are any Bloodshots left to go after them.

Jack doesn't even have to worry about Rhys attracting any unwanted attention, because while it's already getting dark, they both look equally beaten up and tired, definitely not like robbing them would be worth the hassle.

He gets them a room in an almost-mediocre hotel, sure they'll only just be able to drag themselves up the stairs and into bed.

To sleep.

They bump into each other on the way to their room, and their eyes meet, linger, and just like that, the mood shifts.

They barely manage to make it inside before Jack is already pushing Rhys against the horrible red wallpaper in their horribly lit room, arms around Rhys' shoulders. He kicks the door shut behind them, and Rhys lets his backpack — holding the useless sentient vault sphere — gently fall to the floor before he rests his chrome hand on the back of Jack's neck, urging him closer until their mouths meet again.

Growling appreciatively, Jack bites into Rhys' bottom lip, pulls playfully, and Rhys rewards him with a low sound and a shudder.

He doesn't know where to touch first, now that he's got all these options. Jack's fingers dance over Rhys' shirt, skilfully opening the buttons there while he lures Rhys' tongue into his mouth. The mostly-still-white shirt falls open and Jacks fingers jump to the front of Rhys' jeans immediately, almost frantic in the need to finally get Rhys naked.

Rhys' teeth graze his tongue before he can do more than open the jeans, and Jack pulls back slightly, grins at Rhys' flushed face. “You're overdressed for this party,” Rhys informs him in low tones, deliberately pulling at Jack's belt.

“How inconsiderate of me.” Chuckling, Jack makes quick work of his vest and shirt, kicks off his shoes and gets rid of his trousers and boxers as well while he's at it.

He lets Rhys take his fill of the view, keeps himself poised in front of Rhys, bracketing him with his arms. Jack tilts his body to the side, showing Rhys the infamous butt-star, and the small snort-laugh he lets out at the sight is totally worth Jack keeping it on his skin for the rest of his life.

A slow, appreciative smile spreads over Rhys lips, and gently strokes over the back of Jack's neck. “Want to help me with my shoes?”

“If you wanted me on my knees all you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” Jack says, grinning widely, and then he lets himself fall down to his knees. Thanks to the buzz of arousal singing through his veins, his body will only be able to make him regret this move far, far later.

Carefully, he helps Rhys slip out of his left shoe, then his right one, eyes intent on Rhys' face.

Even the dim lighting doesn't make him look any less stunning, and Jack probably enjoys slowly rolling Rhys' atrocious socks down his feet a little bit too much, especially when Rhys' breath hitches audibly.

Jack raises himself up more fully onto his knees, pulls Rhys' jeans down his long smooth legs. He leans forward and presses his mouth onto Rhys' right knee, just because he feels like it and can.

Rhys laughs quietly, breathlessly, scratches through Jack's hair, his other arm leaning loosely against his side.

Eagerly, Jack slips his hand between the elastic band of the boxers and Rhys' skin, feeling trimmed pubic hair and where Rhys is—

Soft and wet for him.

Blinking stupidly, Jack draws Rhys' boxers down as well, watching avidly when Rhys steps out of them, his flushed folds shifting with the movement.

Oh.

Oh.

He looks up at Rhys' face again, notices his heavy-lidded eyes, the way he's biting his lip. The tense way he's holding his free arm at his side and the two, faded lines on his chest, visible thanks to his open shirt.

Sure, Jack could have probably noticed all of this a lot sooner, but with Rhys' pretty clothes and eyes and hair and legs and his pretty everything, Jack feels like it's understandable that he was sort of distracted.

It's one of those crystal clear moments for Jack, not a frequent occurrence, admittedly, but he has no doubt that the wrong move, the wrong word, would ruin everything now.

Shifting forward again, he leans closer to Rhys, parts him with careful fingers, and Rhys jolts, but remains silent.

“Hello, beautiful,” Jack purrs against Rhys' glistering warmth, “I feel like we should have gotten acquainted days ago.” He learns forward, and Rhys' incredulous huff turns into a surprised moan when Jack presses his mouth to him, tongue against his clit.

He moves his hands to the inside of Rhys' upper legs, pushing them wider apart, leaning in more fully, desperate for Rhys' taste, for every twitch of him. Jack licks at him, into him, messily and eagerly and loudly.

Rhys' fingers dig into into his scalp, small, breathless sounds falling from his parted lips, followed by Jack's name, an unnecessary warning.

Groaning, Jack moves one of his hands to Rhys' folds, pushes a finger in alongside his tongue, and Rhys gasps, coming wet and warm against Jack's mouth.

Licking his lips and chasing the taste, Jack stands up again. He looks at Rhys' open mouth for a beat, the smudges of colour high up on his cheeks before gently taking his chin with his left hand, his right one shifting to the inside of Rhys' thighs once more. “I really wanna kiss you now,” he murmurs, and Rhys replies just as lowly, eyes sparkling, “Then what are you waiting for?”

Not one to be told twice, Jack presses their mouths together again, Rhys a warm weight leaning into him.

Rhys' hands slowly trail down his sides, meeting on the soft, tiny bulge of Jack's belly. Fine fingers grab Jack's cock before he has a chance to feel self-conscious about that, firmer fingers his balls, and Jack hisses, thrusting into the contact.

“I want you to fuck me,” Rhys says quietly in between fleeting kisses, one of his fingers teasing at the wet tip of Jack's cock.

Caught somewhere between a groan and a chuckle, Jack presses his mouth hard against Rhys' smiling one. “Anything you want, Rhysie.” He leans down quickly, taking the condom out of the back pocket of his trousers, because an adventurer is always prepared, for all kinds of adventures. Jack's pretty sure he's never rolled on a rubber this quickly before, and all the while Rhys is leaning prettily against the wall; waiting, watching Jack's fingers and his cock, both of his hands resting loosely on the enticing set of his hips.

Jack leans in again as soon as he's done, almost stumbling into Rhys in his haste to get on with the show.

Rhys' hands settle on the sides of his face, stopping him. “Wait.”

“Please stop saying that word to me, it's like a kick in the sternum at this point,” Jack complains even while he stays still, unable to stop the note of whining from entering his voice.

Laughing quietly, Rhys pats his face. “I'll make sure to use 'hold' from now on, you big baby.”

Pouting, Jack lets his thumbs circle closer to Rhys' beckoning warmth.

Rhys' expression sobers once more, voice quiet and hesitant. “I want to see your face. Please.”

Okay, so. Without trying to brag, Jack had a lot of sex, with a lot of different people. Some of them knew about what was behind the mask or at least suspected it.

This, though. This is new. A bit scary as well, for reasons Jack's can't and doesn't want to discern right now.

Rhys' hands fall away from his face again, and before the long lines of Rhys' body can become even more insecure, Jack moves his own hands up, fingers working deftly over the clasps holding the mask in place.

He lets it fall from his grasp, feeling weirdly cheated when it doesn't even make a sound when it lands on the floor.

“Hi,” Rhys says softly, into the small place between them, and Jack grins.

This, he knows. “Hi, yourself.” Sure, it feels weird for air to hit his bare face again, but Rhys parts his legs invitingly for him, and Jack stops worrying about inconsequential things, stepping between them. Jack presses Rhys firmly against the wall, takes one of Rhys' legs and settles it behind himself, and without having to be prompted, Rhys raises his other leg as well, heels digging into the dip of Jack's back and leaning more fully against the wall.

They both groan when Jack's cock slaps against the dip of Rhys' thigh, and that gives Jack a pretty damn sweet idea. He shifts both hands underneath Rhys' ass, stabilising him further, and Rhys exhales shakily in anticipation when Jack angles his hips, leaving his cock lying against Rhys' warmth.

Meeting Rhys' wide eyes, he begins to thrust against him, enjoying the slow drag of his cock against Rhys' wet folds.

“Fuck.” Rhys head hits the wall hard, his fingers digging into Jack's back, and Jack increases the strength of his thrusts, shifting his hips until his length slips between Rhys' folds, rubbing against his clit and waiting hole.

“Language, pumpkin,” Jack admonishes him breathlessly, realising that he could come like this, with Rhys clutching at him and writhing helplessly against his cock. It's so good, it's awesome, and Jack's a frickin' genius.

Rhys leans forward again, eyes wide and dark, and then he presses his mouth against Jack's sweaty temple, voice a thready whisper. “Come on, handsome, come on.”

Jack curses colourfully, hips snapping forward. He stares at Rhys' flushed face, at the hair sticking in wild curls to his sweaty forehead, and Jack's already nodding without even realising it.

Adjusting his grip on Rhys' ass, he leans in for another kiss, quick and dirty while Rhys draws a hand down between their bodies, holding himself open for Jack's cock, and okay, they better get on with the show or Jack is going to come before he's even had the chance to be inside of Rhys and that's just unacceptable.

“Gonna give it to you good, sweetheart, so good,” Jack says mindlessly, and then he's pushing in, not stopping until Rhys' tight heat is enveloping his cock completely.

Rhys groans, a drawn out, deep sound that races through Jack’s entire body, from the greying hairs at his temple down to his toes, and he holds himself still inside of Rhys, even though he's sure he's never done anything more difficult in his entire life.

It's a shame the camera isn't rolling right now, Jack thinks absently, relishing in the way Rhys is clinging at him, entire body trembling. He's pretty sure this would be the perfect post-credits scene for their little documentary.

“Move,” Rhys demands, his chrome hand coming down hard on Jack's ass, and he could get used to this, to getting ordered around by Rhys, and to the rest as well.

He fucks Rhys hard and relentless, too far gone already for any trace of finesse, collecting every sound he draws out of Rhys' mouth and body like little treasures, adding to it the bruises Rhys' fingers are pushing into his skin. He's glad Rhys is still wearing his shirt, otherwise he would have to worry about Rhys' back getting all messed up by the hideous wall behind him.

That reminds him... Jack leans forward, thrusts slowing while he takes his sweet time sucking decorative hickeys into the right side of Rhys' neck, and the lovely curve where it meets Rhys’ shoulder.

Once satisfied, he takes one of his hands away from Rhys' backside, pushes his thumb against Rhys' clit while he keeps fucking into him.

With a choked off moan Rhys clenches around him, shaking and shaking, and Jack is pretty sure his eyes aren't playing tricks on him, that Rhys' tattoo and eyes really are glowing for a few rapid beats of his heart. Jack comes as well, burying himself deep inside of Rhys' twitching warmth.

Tomorrow, Jack's knees are going to straight out murder him, but right now, Jack can lean his forehead against Rhys', sharing their panting breath between them while they look at each other’s bright eyes, both wearing small and satisfied smiles on their lips.

Jack is loathe for them to part, and he moulds himself completely against Rhys' front, keeping his softening cock inside of him.

“Come home with me, Rhys. I want you to meet my little girl,” Jack's mouth says before his brain has the chance to catch up, and he stares at Rhys' surprised face, trying to keep the horror away from his own expression.

Jack doesn't do feelings, he's terrible at them, just ask anyone he ever had a relationship with!

“I mean,” Jack says hastily, trying to save face, “Angel adores you. She's your biggest fan, and it would mean a lot to her if you would come.” Jack swallows, stumbling over his words. “Come over, I mean.”

Rhys considers him with gentle eyes, a soft smile on his lips. He leans forward, presses the gorgeous tilt of his mouth against the scarred skin on Jack's forehead, the ridge of his nose, against Jack's slack mouth. “I'd love to meet her, Jack.”

Hiding his face in the crook of Rhys' neck, Jack gives up trying to talk his way out of this unexpected development he’s somehow gotten himself into, distractedly licks the sweat from Rhys’ shoulder. Who knows, maybe Angel will be more willing to forgive him for going on another adventure if he turns up with her favourite reporter on his arm.

Because — in the end — who cares about vaults and money?

Jack knows he's bringing home something way better.