Prompt 2 - A shocking announcement (or the reaction to it)
Somewhere in Nevada...
His mom always used to say to not play with knives. Not really surprising, given Nevada's reputation, but it never changed anything. Mellow hadn't really listened to his mom back then but it seemed all that practice was in vain. He should have just spared himself the embarrassment. The distribution office was a mess. Five knives, one poster, zero hits, and one seriously bleeding finger. So instead of doing his job, although there wasn't much of a job to do at the moment as the Sheriff had just assigned about every warm body to his personal hideouts already, the agent was trying and failing to throw knives at Hank's wanted poster. He had to put a stop to his antics temporarily to bandage up his sliced pinky with unsurprisingly the only first aid kit in the building. Injuries in Nevada were rare with such a high mortality rate. Idiots died off just as fast as those with something between their ears. Mellow genuinely contemplated where he sat on that field.
He couldn't afford to get blood on his new black suit. The promotion just went into effect a few days prior so there was an adjustment period of having to adapt to lifting large heaps of cargo in a three piece. The dark sunglasses were a nice touch but being required to wear them inside made him feel like a jackass. Especially since he had been one of the first few promoted so just about everyone else around him was still wearing their casual and comfortable grey apparel. Meanwhile Mr. Business over here was stuck behind the desk, looking like a real pencil pusher. He got a better gun out of it though so it wasn't all bad. The training he had received for becoming an agent was just slightly more in-depth than being shoved in a room, handed a bat, and being told to just guard a spot. Seemed that his time with the quartermaster's office impressed someone. That or it was because everyone above him had died already.
Throwing aside the wrapper for the bandage on the floor, he started the slow walk of shame to pick up the handful of knives that now littered the ground in front of the pristine target. He still had a few hours left until he needed to work on the inventory and lock the building. Back to that blasted, slightly spooky building. Much of what he had was already shipped off to a depot somewhere so he was mostly just responsible for counting munitions. That and loading magazines. Tedious, yes, but at least it was easy. So in the meantime all he had to look forward to was the usually timely visit of a particular patron of his. One that he certainly wouldn't mind spending a few hours locked up in a dark warehouse with if given the opportunity. But unlike his usual appearances, they hadn't arrived to pick up the weekly order yet. It was very unlike him to not show up especially given their recent...escapades.
With a dejected sigh, he sheathed his combat knife and tossed the rest into an open cardboard box resting haphazardly on his desk. With a quick little hop, he sat back on his rolling stool and pulled himself closer to his monitor. Might as well check his emails. Nothing quite as exciting as reading through corporate invoices on the regular. The Sheriff was pretty anal about maintaining a constant record of what was and what was not available to give to the next sorry sack of shit posted on protective detail. He only managed to boot his tower out of sleep mode when the sound of footsteps approaching his vending window alerted him of a guest. His door had been locked a while ago so there was little to be worried about. He was just about out of everything at this point so he wasn't sure what he could give, but hell might as well do something. With a quick glance down to look over last night's inventory slip underneath his mug, he called out with his back still turned.
"Sorry fella, don't have much in the way to give you. Take it up with your supervisor if you need something to beat yourself over the head."
Almost immediately, he was responded to with a quiet, shaky laugh and a voice far closer than the footsteps had made it seem. So it was him. Once again, his "patron" must have snuck into his office via ways far beyond Mellow's understanding. He simply closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable onslaught of tight hugs from behind as what had become the norm. True to his habit, they wrapped their arms around his chest and brought their mouth up to his ear. His back was racked with chills crawling up his spine and he did his best to ignore the heat building inside him. Thank the powers above that the office was enclosed.
"Ehehe, oh but you always have s-something to give me~"
Oh, OH that perv. He wasn't gonna get away with it this time. Planting an elbow into the man's ribs, Mellow pushed off his desk with his feet sending them both flying backwards. The impact knocked the air out of his snuggly assailant and he took the opportunity to spin around and pin both of their arms above their head. His suspicions were confirmed as below him was none other than the happy form of one flushed Tricky. Mellow had to take a moment to readjust his knee to make sure he wasn't crushing his partner's crotch before giving him a triumphant onceover. His makeup was as impeccable as ever, complimented by the two ginger wildfires of hair he had sprouting from both sides of his head. His eyes were cracked with a pleased grin. Tricky was still wearing his grey combat overalls, straps randomly buckled here and there for no apparent reason outside of being a nuisance to take off on occasion. Helped build tension, he said.
Before he could turn his attention any lower, much to the chagrin of the undeniably horny clown, Mellow noticed the subtle visual of a set of bandages just underneath the collar. With a quick impromptu yanking lower of the man's shirt, he could see that the bandages extended even further down than what he could see. Mellow quickly shot to his feet, afraid of causing any more damage, and pulled Tricky up off the floor by his arm. The jittery whining by the clown was not lost on him but he was in no mood anymore to be playful. These hadn't been here a few days earlier, Mellow could attest to that, so when did Tricky even have the time to get injured to this degree? More importantly, how was he even alive? His partner, clearly noticing the distress on Mellow's face, readjusted his shirt and just gave a quick smile. When that obviously didn't work, the clown took the agent's hand and brought it up to his white cheek.
It was an unexpectedly soft gesture and it caught Mellow off guard for just a moment. Not letting himself get distracted, he pressed the issue with mounting concern.
"What the hell T, when did THIS happen? Were you going to mention it anytime soon? I could have seriously hurt something!"
Mellow's tone, as harsh as it was, couldn't hide the nervousness lurking underneath. All it did was fuel the slowly forming shit-eating smile growing on Tricky's face. The clown always liked to get an emotional rise out of "his agent", mostly because he thought it was cute. It was a snowball's chance in hell that he would actually take something seriously though when it came to his own wellbeing.
"Oo-ooh Mellooooow, if I didn't kn-know any better, I would say you had feelings for meeeee~"
Wait, that stutter hadn't been there before. Actually, the subtle jitteriness that was plaguing his partner's body was new as well. It looked like he had taken a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart and was fighting off the effects. Did this just happen? It certainly didn't look like the clown was anxious about the reaction so what was going on? With a less than playful shove, Mellow continued.
"Shut it you ass, just tell me what happened".
With a melodramatic sigh, he unbuckled his overalls and pulled his shirt off with a flourish. He didn't even seem pained by the movement. The bandages, surprisingly none of them still bleeding or even bloody for that matter, covered his entire upper frame stopping just short of his collarbone. They seemed to extend down to his waist as well but no lower (thankfully) so it could have been a lot worse. By the looks of things he had been shot...repeatedly. The spread was harsh but effective. What bastard did this? Before he could even ask, Tricky with a wink latched onto Mellow's outstretched arm and nuzzled up his shoulder to his ear. It seemed he already knew what was about to be asked. Typical.
"Goooo on then, protect me from the big b-bad Hank~ He's so scarrrrry with those guns of his. You gonna put him in his p-place?"
"Oh shit".
Oh shit was, in truth, not the first thing that he could have said. He first thought that the clown should for all intents and purposes be buried in a box somewhere in Nevada. That murderer never took any prisoners, showed no mercy, and most certainly was not the kind of psychopath to leave a job half done. So how was Tricky even alive at this point? In all honesty, who cared. Mellow was just happy that he hadn't lost the man yet to the wild ongoings outside of his small office. So with a little ounce of hesitation, he pulled Tricky off his arm and into a full-fledged hug. He fought off the temptation to squeeze the clown into submission so he would never put himself into harm's way again. This was their job, after all. They both knew what they were getting into. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to get the most out of the situation. Maybe this was the excuse he was looking for to put his plans into motion.
Mellow quickly untangled himself from Tricky leaving the partially naked man confused and disappointed. A brief dash to his desk to fetch a piece of paper and a working pen later, he was scribbling a note against the man's chest. He was met with confused giggling as he eyed up Mellow with glee. With one final underline, Mellow bounced the pen off of Hank's poster and shoved the note into the clown's surprised hands. As he took a moment to read over it, Mellow swept down to pick up the discarded grey shirt and explained.
"Before you get your goofy ass shot again, we're going on a date. Not the making out in my office kind of date, an actual going to a decent place to eat, that ISN'T a hotdog stand, and spending the night at my place kind of date. I know just the diner too so I'm not accepting any excuses. We've been dancing around this for too long."
Tricky seemed taken aback by it, eyes darting across Mellow's face as if to see if it was a jest, before the softest smile graced the clown's wide-eyed face. That was a good sign. He clearly wanted it too, Mellow was the only one who could read the clown like a book, but Tricky always seemed too scared to bring it up. Makes sense that the bubbly overly-affectionate psychopath would be nervous of commitment. But before his partner could say anything, the grey shirt was thrown straight against his head leaving him spluttering from surprise. No getting the last laugh this time. Not like it would stop him from laughing anyway, the giggly bastard.
Damn clown.