Look at your behavior
Looking for a savior
Underneath the mistletoe
It was the worst type of relationship. He remembered the drunken stupor and the moans of his Warchief, and how the next morning he woke up with a name. A name that said "I'm a bitch, and guess who's bitch I am!" It wasn't like he was unhappy, though. He loved running with the Furies, maybe even loved his Warchief, but that was another story, and something he didn't care to think about. It was Christmas, and it wasn't time to dwell on anything other then the season of giving. Even if his name was being called.
"BJ! Get your ass over here and help me hang this!" Thurman shouted. BJ winces and walks over to where Thurman's standing, trying to nail a bundle of mistletoe to the doorframe. Thurman wraps an arm around BJ's waist, pulling him close and kissing him, grinning.
"Hey cutie." he says, and BJ can't help but grin as well. Thurman may be a semi-psychopathic asshole, but the guy cared. Cheesy as shit, sure, but he always knew what was on BJ's mind. Thurman bends over, lifting BJ up onto his shoulders, and standing back up so BJ can nail the ribbon-tied bundle to the wooden panelling.
"PDA!" Mickey yells, throwing a glass ball their way. Thurman side-steps it, sticking out his tongue.
"Missed us, fucker!" he shouts back. Mickey laughs and grabs a handful of the shiny, red baubles. Darien grabs some as well, tossing them at the pair of face-painted men. Everyone's laughing and shouting, but one well-aimed ball sends Thurman to the ground. He quickly scrambles up and off of BJ, kneeling next to the red ad black Furies' head.
"BJ! BJ, are you okay? C'mon man, c'mon! Get up!" he shouts, slapping the side of the unconscious man's face.
"COBB!" Ryan shouts. The skeleton-painted Warlord comes rushing out of the kitchen, a spatula in hand.
"You sons of bitches had better not killed someone in the middle of the fucking living room! Blood does not come out of the goddamn carpet!" their Warlord chides, pointing at the gang with his spatula.
"It's BJ. He's unconscious." Zack explains, sitting cross-legged, facing away with a box of ornaments in his lap.
"Son of a motherfucking whore. What did you bastards do now?" Cobb sighs, tossing the spatula to the table and kneeling next to Thurman.
"We were messing around, but we fell, and he blacked out when we hit the floor." Thurman explains, carefully checking for broken bones.
"Goddamn it. Who the fuck broke the Christmas ornaments?" Cobb asks, scowling.
"It was Mickey 'n me." Darien explains, rubbing his arms. Cobb mutters something under his breath and tells 4D to get some smelling salts out of the bathroom.
"Why the fuck do you have smelling salts?" asks Mike from beside Zack.
"Because they're helpful in these situations, which you fucking dickwads aren't mature enough to avoid! Goddamn it, I must be running a daycare instead of a gang." Cobb glares at Mike's back. 4D comes back with the vial, handing it to Cobb. A couple passes under BJ's nose and he's moaning, clutching blindly for something.
"T-Thurman?" he mumbles. Thurman grabs his hand and smiles.
"Yeah, I'm here. I'm here. You're okay." he says softly.
"The fuck I am. What happened?" BJ asks, rolling onto his side to rest before sitting up.
"We fell over, and you blacked out."
"Shit. Did the mistletoe go up alright?"
"Yeah."
"We're under it, aren't we?" BJ asks.
"Well, y-" Thurman starts, only to be cut off by BJ's lips. The shorter man breaks away, wearing a shit-eating grin so similar to the one usually plastered on his Warchief's face.
"Gotta uphold the tradition." he winks. Thurman laughs and pulls BJ into a hug.
"Don't do that again."
"I won't. Promise."
"Cool. Now c'mon. We've got some other shit to do...elsewhere." Thurman says, not-so-subtly winking. BJ shakes his head, following Thurman into the bedroom they basically shared.
"You owe me, for scaring me shitless like that." Thurman whispers. BJ scoffs, but lets his Warchief push his head down, entangling his fingers in BJ's hair. He let's the "magnificent" blowjob go where it normally went, Thurman inside of him, making BJ moan and plead and scream. Thurman pulls him close when he's done, resting his chin on BJ's head, sighing in content. Thurman was nothing close to a savior, but he was the closest thing the Fury would get to a guardian angel, and BJ was far from displeased.