As soon as Eli mentioned the Policeman's Ball in the first chapter, I knew I had to write it. Set in SR2, when the Saints are making a name for themselves but have not yet taken down Ultor. Not quite as smutty as I wanted, but I like it anyway.

'You need to take those off,' Eli said, as he tried to grab Johnny's sunglasses.

Johnny ducked and swatted the hand away. 'Nope. No fuckin' way.'

'We're trying, love, to be presentable,' Eli said. 'Take them off.'

'Presentable? What about your fuckin' hair?' Johnny demanded.

The boss ran a hand through his freshly dyed, bright purple tresses. 'That's different.'

'Bullshit.'

'You have the most beautiful eyes...' Eli tried a different approach.

'He's right, you know,' Shaundi piped up, as she leaned around the door. 'They're so dark and mysterious. You should show them off more often.'

'The fuck? And have you heard of knocking?' Johnny asked as he swatted Eli's hand again.

Shaundi shrugged as she made her way into their hotel room. She tilted her head as she looked the pair up and down. 'Not bad,' she said with an appreciative smile.

'Thank you, angel,' Eli said. 'Now, do you mind giving me a hand here...'

This time when he went for his face, Johnny grabbed Eli's arm and twisted. He applied just enough pressure to let Eli know he was done playing.

Shaundi hopped back, and watched with an air of half-baked interest as the two huge men wrestled. 'You're gonna ruin your suits, guys.'

'Tuxedos, not suits,' Eli corrected between grunts.

'Whatever, you're gonna be late too. Though, I still don't get why you're even going.'

'Because... we were invited… and it's only polite… dammit Johnny, stop wriggling.'

'Fuck you,' Johnny snarled. 'Get off my face.'

'Guys...' Shaundi sighed as they crashed to the floor. She pulled a joint from behind her ear and lit it.

'Aw hell, what are they still doin' here?' Pierce asked as he walked into the room.

Johnny managed to roll Eli onto his front and pinned him down with his knee against his spine. 'Heh, shades are stayin' on, boss,' he panted.

Pierce pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Are you two for real? Yo, taxi's waiting.'

'Fine,' Eli mumbled from the carpet. 'The shades can stay on.'

Johnny stood and brushed himself down, his mouth curling up on one side. Eli would no doubt make him pay for that little victory later, but for now he was going to enjoy the feeling.

With Pierce fussing around them, Johnny and Eli made their way out of the hotel and into the black sedan that waited for them.

Eli chuckled as the car pulled away. 'Bless him. I feel bad for not telling Pierce the real reason why we're going tonight.'

'Eh, who gives a shit? He wants some media interest for the Saints, we're gonna get it.' Johnny reached out and smoothed the lapel of Eli's jacket. 'You do look good, man.'

Eli caught his hand and kissed his fingers absently. 'I know.'

'And you're so fuckin' modest.' That earned Johnny a distracted smile before the boss lapsed into silence.

The city sped past the windows, neon lights flashing in the dark. Johnny wondered if Troy was nervous. When the invitation to Stilwater PD's annual ball had arrived at their crib two weeks ago, Eli had stared at the small white card for a long time before he had looked up at Johnny, a savage grin spreading across his face.

It was the ideal opportunity for some very public payback.

x.x.x

The taxi coasted up to the grand old Osthollow Hotel where the ball was being held. Gravel crunched underfoot as Johnny quickly assessed the building, looking for viable exits and strategic weak points. If he had been of a less tactical mind, he might have appreciated the fine Georgian architecture and manicured gardens of the five-star establishment, but this was Johnny Gat, and all he saw was the potential bottleneck at the front doors and wood-panelled windows that would be the very bitch to break through.

At his side, Eli remained quiet. It was making Johnny uncomfortable. A quiet boss only meant one thing: he was angry. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen Eli lose his shit entirely. Despite his reputation for extreme violence, forgiveness came easily to the big dork, but one thing he couldn't stand was being lied to.

When it was revealed that Troy had been an undercover cop the whole time he had rolled with the Saints, Johnny had secretly been impressed by the size of the guy's balls (he had still tried to murder him, but that was by-the-by). Eli, however, had taken the news exceptionally hard. Johnny had lost count of the number of television sets they'd had to replace in the underground HQ due to the boss's propensity to fire a large calibre round into the offending screen whenever Troy and that fucking moustache popped up on the news.

They made their way through the front door and submitted to a weapons check. Johnny guessed that not every guest was going to be patted down as thoroughly as the leader of the Third Street Saints and his second-in-command.

The grizzled old cop who ran his hands over his chest and hips seemed surprised to not find a single gun or blade about his person.

'You wanna check my ass, it's a three drink minimum,' he said as the cop squeezed his inner thigh.

'Let the poor man be, love. He's just doing his job,' Eli said.

Once security were satisfied that neither were strapped, Johnny followed Eli into the main hall. Music came courtesy of the swing band that played on a raised stage at the far end of the room, but nobody was drunk enough to have started dancing yet, leaving a large space in front of the stage deserted.

Eli took two flutes of champagne from a passing waitress with a wink, leaving the young girl wide-eyed and red-faced. He passed one to Johnny, who scowled.

'How many?' Eli asked in a low voice.

'At least seven that I can see, probably the same again that I can't.' Johnny was referring to the armed guards that had been placed around the perimeter.

'A shame. Hardly conducive to an atmosphere of light-hearted revelry. No sign of our old friend yet either,' Eli said. He couldn't even bring himself to say Troy's name. Johnny had started to doubt his ability to keep the boss from killing the chief of police tonight. They had agreed on an old-fashioned beat down, maybe bad enough so that the rat motherfucker might have to be fed through a tube for a while, but not bad enough to put him in the ground. As Pierce would say: that would be detrimental to the 'brand'.

Johnny downed his drink and grimaced. 'Ugh.'

Eli took a swig of his and matched his expression. 'Ugh is right. State cut-backs in action, pet. Let me buy you a decent drink.' He left his half-full glass on a nearby table and headed to the bar.

Johnny was sipping a light Speyside single malt when Troy appeared in full dress uniform, complete with gold medals and ribbons hanging from his chest.

'Oh, fuck me,' he heard Eli say under his breath.

'Yo, keep it together or you'll get us both shot,' Johnny muttered back. His heart was beating hard, and playing the role of peace-keeper did not sit well with him.

Troy glanced in their direction. For a split second Johnny thought he would leave it at that, but then he started to make his way over to where the pair stood by the bar.

Johnny's free hand touched Eli's hip ever so gently. 'Not yet,' he whispered. He felt the boss take a deep breath, then Troy held out his hand.

'Elijah.'

'Chief Bradshaw.' Eli's tone was full of dark ice.

The room had gone deathly quiet. Alarm bells were ringing in Johnny's head, but if Eli smashed his glass in Troy's face right now, he could think of worse ways to die. Instead, he breathed a little easier as Eli clasped the offered hand in his own tattooed one, and the two ex-homies glared at each other as they shook hands.

'Johnny,' Troy said with a curt nod. 'It was my hope that inviting you both tonight would show Stilwater PD's willingness to let go of the past as the Saints become a legitimate organisation, working for the good of the city.'

'We appreciate the gesture,' Eli said through his teeth.

'Right, well… I'd better go and mingle with some of the other guests. Thank you for coming,' Troy said stiffly before he walked away. Eli surreptitiously wiped his hand on his pants.

The two Saints turned to lean heavily on the bar and indicate that their glasses needed refreshing.

'This was such a bad idea,' Eli said, knocking back his drink and holding out the glass to be refilled again.

'The best ones usually are,' Johnny said as he took a large swallow of amber liquid.

'That… doesn't even make sense, my sweet.' Eli let his eyes roam over Johnny's body. 'I haven't told you how hot you look yet, have I?'

Johnny shrugged. 'You've been distracted.' He gave the boss a wry smile. 'Good job I ain't crippled with low self-esteem, huh?'

Eli stepped closer so that their shoulders were touching. 'I want you so bad I can taste it, Johnny,' he purred in a voice that did unspeakable things to Johnny's mind. And groin.

He cleared his throat. 'I dunno if this is the right-'

'Whoops, clumsy me,' Eli said as he carefully spilled his full glass down Johnny's shirt. 'Excuse me, young man, where are the bathrooms?' he asked the barman. 'We seem to have had a bit of an accident here.'

'Accident?' Johnny growled. He was soaked.

'Let's get you cleaned up. This way.' Eli grabbed his arm and dragged him in the direction the barman had pointed.

'Fuck it.' Johnny rolled his eyes and went with it, almost pushing the boss through the door to the gents.

Their lips met as they stumbled into an empty cubicle. Eli tugged Johnny's shirt out from the waistband of his trousers and he started undoing the buttons.

'God, you're so wet, love,' Eli said with a chuckle.

'That's fuckin' disgusting, man,' Johnny said before biting his neck.

Jacket and sodden shirt now in a pile on the white-tiled floor, Johnny found himself pushed back against the cubicle wall as Eli dipped his head to lick the remnants of whiskey from his skin.

They both froze as they heard the door open and a man enter, whistling. The tune was hauntingly familiar, some old Irish ditty about murder, or drinking, or both. Johnny looked down to find blue-green eyes staring back. In that instant, it seemed as if both thought exactly the same thing. No cameras, no gun-toting guards, and Troy had just walked in for a piss. Not much could beat a blow job from the boss, but this… this was just perfect.

Eli stood slowly as Johnny slid back the lock and opened the door.

'The fuck?' Troy's eyes widened as he half-turned. Eli rushed forwards.

The chief of police didn't stand a chance. Where he had grown fat and slow on a diet of Freckle Bitch's burgers and deskwork over the years, Eli and Johnny combined to make almost five hundred pounds of street-sharp muscle. They may have left their guns and knives at home, but they had brought themselves, and a grudge.

Eli cracked Troy's head against the wall and let him fall before kicking him hard in the ribs and back as he rolled over, gasping for air.

'Wait… guys… c'mon,' Troy managed to plead between breaths.

Eli dropped his knee onto Troy's chest and grabbed his jaw. 'Wait? Oh, I've waited long enough for this, you two-faced piece of shit.' He drew his fist back and slammed it into Troy's face. Johnny heard something break, and smiled grimly.

Troy groaned and spluttered on his own blood. 'I never did anything to hurt you guys. Eli, you know me-'

'That's just the point, isn't it, Chief?' Eli's voice was quiet. Dangerous. 'Everything I ever thought I knew about you was a lie.'

'So what you gonna do, kill me? Surrounded by cops?'

Eli placed his mouth next to Troy's ear. 'No, love. I'm just going to make you wish you were dead.' His words sent a shiver down Johnny's spine. He was one sexy, dark son of a bitch.

Troy's eyes were so wide, and showed so much white that they reminded Johnny of hard boiled eggs. Eli stood and together they beat their former brother unconscious. During this time, several unlucky men entered the restroom.

Now, a person cannot claim to have stared death in the face until they have come face-to-face with a half-naked Johnny Gat, covered in blood. However, the Saint was feeling particularly charitable that night, and merely knocked each man out as they entered.

Troy's face was unrecognisable when Johnny caught Eli by the arm and pulled him back. For a few tense heartbeats, he was convinced the boss was going to swing for him too. Then Eli sighed, and all the tension he had been carrying in his neck and shoulders for the last two weeks relaxed.

'We need to get outta here,' Johnny said. Eli nodded.

They wriggled out of an open window, then sprinted across the lawns and through the kitchen garden at the rear of the hotel. They were almost back on the main road by the time the manhunt started in earnest, shouts echoing behind the pair as they nonchalantly dragged the owner of a silver sportscar out into the night and climbed in.

Johnny insisted on driving. Eli could ride a motorbike like he had been born to it, but he couldn't drive a car for shit. At first, Johnny had accepted the excuse that he was just used to driving on the wrong side of the road back in England, but he had never gotten any better.

They raced along deserted streets, the red and blue flashing lights in the rear-view mirror gradually disappearing from sight.

Johnny eased his foot off the gas and sat back. He glanced at Eli. 'Yo, told you the worst plans are the best.'

'That you did. Remind me to never doubt your wisdom again, dear heart.'

'You takin' the piss?'

'Would I?'

'You're takin' the piss.'

Eli laughed. The sound made Johnny grin.