BWOOSH! The explosion rocked the bank and surrounding blocks, sending a bright plume of flame and ash high into the air, nearly clipping Jack's cargobob.
"Jesus, what the fuck happened?!" she yelled, barely audible over the raging inferno that was once Los Santos's National Bank. A crackle of static came through her earpiece, then a rather familiar (and enraged) voice.
"RYAN'S WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED!" "How is this my fault? You're the one that planted the bombs!" The bickering of the two carried through the radio channel loud and clear, much to the crew's relief and annoyance. "How did y'all fuck this up?! It was a simple bank heist, and now there's no bank, the money's on fire, and the cops are fucking here!" Geoff's shrill shierks pierced everyone's ears, Jack adjusting her volume to avoid permanent hearing damage.
Before Geoff could finish his spiel to the "dipshits", cops, firemen, paramedics, and SWAT pulled up to the bank, desperately trying to contain the situation. "Alright, fellas, Plan B," Matt's voice came through cracked and distorted, but thankfully everyone knew what plan B was: scatter.
Without a second thought, Ryan grabbed Michael by the back of his jacket and ran, dragging the smaller male behind him through the now nonexistent bank wall, taking extra care to smack his lower body into debris. Michael regained footing and began to run, still caught in the Vagabond's iron grip. The pair found themselves smack dab on the wrong side of a police car barricade, and froze. An officer turned slightly, catching the boys in his peripheral. Ryan dragged Michael down a side street, at least three officers in hot pursuit.
Los Santos's back alleyways were a labyrinth unto themselves, full of nooks and crannies to hide in, seedy bars to slip into, and lots of dumpsters, which were great for quick and easy body disposals. However, the one thing they weren't good for was running for your life from cops late at night, praying to God you didn't slip on a puddle of alley slime or run directly into a dumpster. The slap of wet sneakers echoed off the claustrophobic walls as the pair of thieves wound their way through the tight space, then realized they'd lost the officers a little while back. No footsteps rapidly approaching, no yelling, no gunfire. Just a pair of very tired and very irate criminals.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them, like a storm waiting to happen. Michael leaned against one of the cool brick walls surrounding them, while Ryan tried to find out where they even were. " 'S your fault we're in this mess. If you'd just waited, like I fucking said, we-" he stops, feeling the cold, piercing blue eyes of the Vagabond bearing into the side of his skull. Michael doesn't bother to look at the bastard, instead cutting his gaze downward, a silent swallow following.
"My fault?" Ryan's voice was low, almost a growl. In the blink of an eye, the space between the twosome was gone, Michael's back pressed flat against the wall, the cold, unforgiving point of a knife blade pressed to his jugular. The blond man leaned in close, and it took all of Michael's willpower to not risk his throat and headbutt the fucker. "How was your careless mistake my fault? How was I-"
Click. Ryan stops mid sentence, backing off ever so slightly. He'd forgot about Michael's Beretta. "Say one more fucking word and you'll be a fuckin' Pollock painting. You're the one that decided to shoot my explosives, knowing damn fucking well I said not to. But that's your fucking problem, isn't it Haywood? Your head's so far up your own goddamn ass you don't think about the fucking consequences to your shit piss actions!" The Beretta digs deeper into the underside of Ryan's jaw, the metal still warm from the shootout chase with the cops.
There was a bout of silence, a beat of time. Ryan twitched the blade, causing Michael to flinch and shove the barrel of the Beretta against the Vagabond's jaw hard enough to close it, clacking his teeth together. Another beat. Ryan leaned in close, waiting for the gun to go off. Surprisingly, it didn't. Michael lowered the Beretta enough to let him get close, but it's hung just below, like a safety net.
The next moment was a blur. Without warning, he was on Michael's lips, sucking and kissing them like there was no tomorrow. The knife clattered to the floor, along with the Beretta. Michael stood still, if for a second, then fell in step with Ryan's pace, mouths mashing in writhing, blissful hate. "Ah- f-f-fuck y-ah!" Michael choked as Ryan moved from his lips to his neck, biting into the sensitive flesh. Instinctively, Michael shoved his hands into Ryan's hair, grabbing and yanking. The Vagabond yipped in surprise, and Michael did it again, liking the sound.
"Y-you stop that," Ryan said between bites, nicking an especially sensitive spot, drawing blood. Michael whimpered, knees buckling at the feeling of Ryan's tongue cupping his skin, leaving blossoming bruises along his neck. He slid his hand down Ryan's chest, moving along his torso,and grabbed his belt. Ryan pulled back, eyes hazy, a lazy grin stretched across pearly white teeth. "That's not for you," he snarked, grabbing Michael's hand and pinning it to the wall at his waist. He then threw himself back onto his lips, shoving his tongue into Michael's mouth. Michael gagged, sending a shock through his guts. In partial panic, Michael bit down on Ryan's tongue. A burst of copper tang exploded in his mouth. Ryan reeled back, holding a hand up to his face, blood pouring through the slats in his fingers. Michael grinned, licking at the blood spilled upon his lips, painting them the most satisfying red. Ryan sneered. "You mother-"
BANG. Ryan whipped around, Michael peering over his shoulder at the sound. There stood-
"Ray?" The sniper stood waist-deep in garbage, a broad smile plastered to his face. He shuffled to the side of the dumpster, then gripped the side and pulled himself out. "Don't worry, I saw the whole thing." Ray spoke, words dripping with a bittersweet honey. In a flash, Michael wiped the blood from his lips as Ray cornered the Vagabond, grinning from ear to ear.
"Listen, Ray, I ca-" he began, only to be silenced with a kiss. "Don't worry 'bout it. I don't mind sharing ya," he whispered, pulling away and winking at the flustered man. "I'll see you guys back at base," Ray shouted, before lightly sprinting and popping his Vans Heelys and rolling away, throwing up a peace sign as he left. "How long do you think he was just fuckin' waiting there?" Michael asked Ryan, picking up his Beretta off the ground. Ryan didn't reply, burying his face in his hands. They were never gonna live this down.