A/N: Inspired by a prompt from a tumblr friend. This was posted on the kmeme like a month ago aaand just forgot to upload it here, sorries.
"They last about an hour-"
"So you should be fine then-"
"Fuck yourself-"
"Oh, like you weren't gonna say it."
Jay elbows Butch in the ribs. "Stuff it." A bobby pin snaps off in the lock, the broken end flying. Jay curses and fishes another out of his pocket. Butch nudges him. "Heads up. Vera."
But the Weatherly lady turns a corner and doesn't come their way.
Click.
Danvers is night security in the Marketplace. She's gonna hear the door; that's a given. You can't breathe on these old creaky-ass steel doors without making noise, and in a big echoey open space like the Market, it's gonna be heard. But there's a lot of other noises on the ship, too; whole damn thing creaks and groans and settles, footsteps echo down from the upper decks and mirelurks scuffle around down below. Trick is she's gotta not see the door open. Gotta think she just heard some other noise.
"Ready?" Jay murmurs.
"Born ready." Butch activates the Stealth Boy on his wrist.
It feels the same. That's the weird part. Can't see his own hands, just a waver in the air, and it just seems like he should feel something, but he doesn't. Not so much as a tingle.
Jay vanishes to a shimmer next to him, and the shimmer edges the door open just enough and touches Butch on the thigh. Butch slides through first, moving quick, smooth, snakelike. Ducks behind the medical exam table sitting just inside the door as Jay follows him and presses the door closed, a whisper of steel against steel, and moves to his side. Footsteps stir below. And they wait.
Danvers isn't stupid. She's not gonna come all the way up to the corner of the balcony to check on a closed door while turning her back on the shops where the stealable shit actually is. She'd never fall for a trick like that. And that's why they're gonna get away with this.
The Market's dim at night, a few low lights looking bluish-green against all the steel – a lot like in the Vault. From the corner where they're crouched, Butch can just see around the corner of Flak and Shrap's, can see Danvers walking slowly in their direction. Purposeful steps. She heard something, no doubt about that. Her head turns, scanning the balcony, scanning each entrance, scanning the shops one by one. Scans their corner again. The pool table's like twenty feet away and just the anticipation is getting Butch hard. Jay's hand resting on his thigh doesn't hurt either, and he's tempted to grab at Jay to feel if he's popping one already too, but Danvers is already alert and any sound they make's likely to be heard, and she might or might not shoot them on sight if she spots them. Butch doesn't know 'cause he's not in the habit of breaking into the Market at night – not that he's opposed to the idea, but it ain't like he and Jay need to break into the Market to steal shit, considering how many people just leave their shit lying around. Someone leaves a beer or a bowl of noodles or a combat knife unattended, it's pretty much their duty as Tunnel Snakes to swipe it.
Danvers turns, paces the other way. Jay's hand squeezes his thigh and they move again, skulking around the corner of the balcony. Straight ahead's the pool table, where bored Riveters like to knock a few balls around in the afternoons. Butch is pretty fucking ace at pool because what else was there to do down in the goddamn Vault when they weren't fighting or pranking or fucking. He and Jay've had a few games since they started more or less living on the boat. There's a table down in the Rudder, but that one smells like piss and the felt's torn up in the worst places that always fuck up Butch's corner shots and then he gets his ass kicked by Shrapnel who's learned to aim around the rips, so fuck that shit. Plus there are never enough balls for a decent game.
They've gotten up to more than their share of shit down in the Rudder, but the place never closes and Bonny never leaves. Swear to god the woman doesn't fucking sleep. Jay tried to clear the place once by setting off a fire alarm on the lower deck, which in the Vault would've set everyone scurrying, but nobody moved, just slumped over their booze and hollered at Belle about the noise. "No respect for fuckin' procedure," Butch muttered, and they left the alarm clanging and Brock trying to disable it while they went up to the bridge to smoke and throw rocks at the mirelurks.
Jay stops moving suddenly, which Butch only finds out by running into him and getting an elbow to the chest. They straighten up cautiously, keeping an eye below. Danvers is back in her groove, pacing between the shops, scanning the area, not looking at them. Jay pushes Butch against the edge of the table as they stand. Their mouths find each other, a little awkwardly, bumping noses in a way they never do, but Jay nips at his lower lip in his familiar way, and Butch's eyes close because it's less weird that way. Jay's hands come up under his ass and try hike him up onto the edge of the table, but Butch keeps his feet on floor, bites Jay's lip and pushes back. Arms tighten around him instead of fighting him and for a few minutes they just make out right where they are, hands under each other's jackets groping and touching everything they can't see. Jay's hand squeezes his cock and Butch hisses against his mouth, and Jay breaks away.
A scatter of dirty shot glasses and the broken pool triangle slide aside, pushed by an invisible hand, and the shimmer that's Jay hops up on the edge of the table, swings his legs up and Butch crawls on top of him, hands on his hips pulling him in close again, and then a hand wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling him down.
It's crazy - when he closes his eyes everything's normal, Jay's body under him and hot mouths and hands stuck all over each other, but when he opens them, just wavering air over faded red felt, even though he can feel Jay's body and his heat under him. Can't see his own hands on Jay, but can feel Jay's hardness under his palm, feel the shiver that passes through Jay's body as he presses down.
Hands unbuckle, unzip, slide into his pants and over his ass. A squeeze and one hand pulls away, and then he feels the nudge of fingers at his lips. Butch sucks them into his mouth and laves all over them impatiently with his tongue and the fingers pull away, and Jay's dry hand is tugging his jeans down and spreading him open, and those two wet fingers press into him, opening him with short, sharp thrusts and then pushing knuckle-deep with a twist and a trace of impatience. Gasping silently against Jay's mouth, Butch grinds down on him, not even caring that Jay's still fully dressed, letting Jay's mouth move to his neck and bite, biting his own lip to keep quiet. Hard to hold back, hard not to groan when the fingers working into him are making him harder, making his gut twist with need.
He slides his knees down on either side of Jay and pushes himself up a little, leaning on one elbow as he fumbles for Jay's fly. Feels Jay's fingers pull out of him, Jay shifting to push his jeans down below his hips feels his cock spring out and fuck yes he wants to be on that. Fucking pants though and he's going to have to get them actually off if he wants to do it like this, and fuck it he does want to do it like this. Swears he hears the quietest half-snort of suppressed laughter from Jay as he sits back fumbling with his invisible bootlaces - why the fuck didn't they just get naked before they stealthed in here? If they're gonna get caught fucking on a pool table, does it really matter if Danvers gets an eyeful of Butch's ass in the process? Soon as his boots are off there's tugging at the legs of his jeans, invisible hands pulling them off him and dropping them under the table or somewhere. Butch sits back, spitting in his hand. Feels for Jay - his thigh, his hip, his cock, bingo – and slicks him up good, stroking up and down his rigid length.
Shifting over Jay, he starts to sink down on him. Slow, the soft bump of the head slipping past the tight ring of muscle, and then the slide down his shaft all the way to the base, until Jay's buried in him, and he gives his hips a roll, savoring the fullness.
Jay's hips arch up to meet him him, hands tight and needy on his hips, as Butch starts riding him in slow, smooth motions. It's rougher with just spit – been a while since they did it that way – but he doesn't mind the added friction since he can't move all that hard or fast on the table without making noise. Fuck it's hard not to speed up though, with Jay rocking up against him, breathing heavily under him, a slight creak of the table under them both, no gotta stay slow, not too hard or the thing's likely to collapse under them but god this feels good. Struggling to hold back his own heavy breaths, the groans he's used to just letting loose, and he finds himself focusing on the silence that presses in around them, silence that isn't really silence but the constant low groaning of old steel settling, faint sounds of decks below. Eyes closed letting the drone of background noise become a dull roar in his ears, more surreal when he opens them and his brain stumbles over their invisibility again, a flicker of almost-nothing where Jay's eyes should be half-closed and his hair tangled and damp with sweat and the leather jacket (Butch's jacket) fallen open over his chest, all that missing but still his body here, the smell of him, everything else, and then he feels Jay's hand leave his hip and suddenly oh shit his cock's wrapped in a wet hand and it's just too much and Butch feels a breathless "Fuck" escaping his throat before he can stop it.
Footsteps below.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Jay goes still beneath him except for his hands dragging Butch down until he's folded over him. Agonizingly still, cock aching, twitching and leaking precome on Jay's t-shirt, Jay's cock throbbing hard inside him. Shitshitshit Danvers is coming up the stairs, they are so fucked, well Butch is pretty fucked already sonoabitch don't laugh. His face is pressed into Jay's collarbone trying not to make a sound and he's fucking on fire with the need to move, heart pounding, and every nerve jumping, and-
-where the fuck did Jay throw his pants, they're not on him so they're visible and so are his boots which he stupidly left lying on the table, thank god there's enough junk on the table at any given time but Danvers might notice a random-ass pair of fucking boots that weren't there before and holy fuck this was a bad idea and they're both gonna end up a green goo pile. Here lies Butch DeLoria the stupid fuck who was too busy chasing cock to show some self-preservation. This is what shit happens when both of them let their dicks do the thinking.
Danvers has reached the top of the stairs but he can't risk turning his head to see where she is exactly, 'cause the shimmer of the stealth field is easier to spot when you're moving even a little. Jay's arms are wrapped tight around him, holding him in place, every muscle tight, and his own thighs ache from the tension. Holding so still he becomes suddenly aware of all these little things like - like how he can feel the rough tickle of hair under his ass, like how stretched he feels around Jay's cock (needs to fucking move, oh god), like how the damp fabric of Jay's shirt feels against his cock, like how the corner of Jay's jacket collar is digging into his ear. Jay's hand covers his mouth, fucker, and the only thing Butch can do is bite him, so he does. Jay doesn't make a sound.
The footsteps have stopped. She's gotta be close to them. A few feet, tops. Butch doesn't breathe.
Then the footsteps again. Moving away. Down the stairs. He lets his breathe out really slow, still not moving, not until the sound of footsteps is far enough away. When it stops, he turns his head slowly, just enough to see, between the bars of the railing and the store kiosks, that Danvers is back at her post in the center of the market.
Jay grips his ass hard and thrusts up into him abruptly, and Butch feels a silent gasp of relief hot against his face. He pushes himself back up, clamps a hand over Jay's mouth because fuck if Jay's gonna be the only one doing that, and rocks up and back as hard as he safely can, feeling Jay push up from underneath him, and oh fuck, right there, as he rocks back at the same moment Jay thrusts up, Jay's cock hits him just right and he bites hard into the flesh of Jay's hand to keep from crying out. A few more thrusts and he hits it again, oh fucking god he's so close, one more hard grind down on Jay's cock and he's coming in hot jets that flash visible for a just a second before landing on Jay and disappearing, and he's struggling to keep his ragged panting quiet behind Jay's hand. Jay pulls him back down and just holds him still while he thrusts up into him, faster and harder, and when he comes he makes the barest choked sound in his throat and his teeth dig into the heel of Butch's hand which is so hot he'd be hard again if it were physically possible.
Instead he just shifts a little, pulling off Jay's softening cock and then rests his weight back on him, only now realizing how soaked with sweat his shirt is under his jacket. Fuck. That warm hazy post-orgasm feeling's rushing over him and good, and even though their clothes are all messy and sticking together and Jay's spunk is probably leaking out of him onto the table, he really can't give enough of a shit to move right now, as Jay's chest rises and falls heavily under him, a hand trailing along the back of his naked thigh and over the curve of his ass. There's no way they've used up more than half the time on the stealth boys and anyway might as well lay quiet for another minute or two. Just to be safe. Yeah.
Jay's other hand is running languidly through his hair and Butch doesn't even care. Feels good. Fuck it, he's invisible anyway. Butch's eyes start to close. The hand in his hair gives it a tug. Goddammit Jay. Butch elbows him somewhere near his ribs. He feels Jay tremble with silent laughter, and the hand tightens in his hair and then drags his head up so Jay can kiss him. A long, slow kiss, fingers stroking through his hair again in a way that makes him feel relaxed and sort of sleepy. Hands give his body an insistent push and Butch shifts off him with a suppressed groan. Collects his boots, which go invisible again in his hands, and then lowers himself quietly off the table to grab his jeans off the floor.
One final pause to glance at Danvers, and then they're creeping back toward the corner, and the wheel on the door turns slowly in Jay's careful, invisible hands and they slip out into the hallway.
They get a few doors away before Jay releases the snort of laughter he's been holding and they both start snickering uncontrollably.
"She totally fuckin' saw us, B-man."
"You think?"
"Oh fuck yeah. Lana's not stupid."
"Where next?"
"Mutie camp."
"Dismembered legs and shit. Not hot."
"Citadel. Lyons' desk. Hell, Colonel Autumn's desk, wherever the fuck that is. If he has one. If he can even sit down with that American flagpole up his ass."
Butch snorts and stumbles over his half-tied bootlaces, bumping into Jay. "Let's go get a drink."
It's hours later - too many hours and too many drinks to keep track of - when they run into Danvers coming off her shift. Or rather she runs into them; they may be drunk as shit but Butch could swear she bumps into him on purpose. They're stumbling upstairs from the Rudder, arms slung around each other and leaning on each other for support which only half works when they're both trashed.
"Watch where th' fuck you're goin'," Butch starts to spit off without even thinking, but he barely gets past "Watch-" before Danvers cuts him off with a terse, "I know you kids think you're hot shit and I know the Chief lets you hang around here for reasons I can't fathom. But I catch you punks creeping around on my shift again, I'll throw you off this boat myself. I don't care what Harkness says."
"Wh'ever you say, Lana," Jay slurs, that trademark smirk blazing across his stupid gorgeous drunk face and he pinches Butch's ass hard enough so he jumps and they fall over each other stupid with laughter as Lana pushes past them and disappears around the corner.