Chapter Text
“If you’re not cool with this, just say the word, I’ll stop right now, but…” Horangi says, their bodies pressed against each other within the dancing crowd. He looks somewhere over Roach’s shoulder, leans even closer still, lips grazing the shell of his ear on his next words. “Just trust me, okay?”
And… Roach does, weirdly enough.
Horangi is infuriating on a good day, downright insulting on the worse, but Roach can admit, he’s genuinely come to like and appreciate him. That cocky, charming way about him that pisses Roach off endlessly but makes him grin along anyway. The way he’ll point and laugh when you’re already down, but hoist you up the next second with another insult and a pat on the back.
He’s an ass for sure, but a good guy, and Roach trusts him.
So, minutely, he gives a nod. Permission for whatever comes next.
Immediately the hand previously shooed away from his ass returns, another finding its way to cradle the nape of his neck, holding him in place as Horangi dips his head towards him and –
Kisses him squarely on the mouth.
Not just an innocent little peck either, no.
Horangi immediately goes for the kill, deepens it when Roach instinctually opens his own lips with a little noise of surprise, goes in tongue first. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s just a natural response to being kissed like the man before him is on a damn mission, but Roach responds in kind, almost eagerly, brings the other closer.
Turns out he’d been right about Horangi being a damn good kisser too. Not that he’d expected to find that out first-hand today, but he’s not complaining about it now, that’s for sure.
Skillful lips on his, the barest scrape of a sharp canine along his bottom lip, that stupid, self-satisfied hum when Roach’s breath hitches at the delicious drag, can feel the other practically smirk against his mouth. That fucking tongue, the small, smooth barbell in it, providing a sensation that makes the hairs along Roach’s arms stand on end as he licks against it with an appreciative keen. The way Horangi angles Roach’s head up just perfectly with the hand in his hair, pulling just a little, mouths slotted together hot and fast and gasping, not a single pause for breath –
Like. Damn.
That man absolutely knows what he’s doing, likely well aware of Roach’s higher brain functions tapping out almost instantly, lost in the heat and hunger and the feeling of that strong grip still on his ass, nails against his scalp, letting himself get positively ravaged by Horangi, putty in his hands, gladly so even, because Roach can’t recall ever getting kissed this good and thoroughly in his life.
It’s a pretty rough wakeup call then, when suddenly there’s a third hand clamping onto his shoulder, big and bruising, forcefully yanking him backwards, off of his friend, just far enough away to get front-row seats for Horangi getting decked into those perfect teeth of his with an audible crack the next second.
The punch hits hard, sends the man reeling backwards, throwing his arms out in vain, nearly falling completely, were it not for the tight crowd he stumbles against. People yelp in shock, either at being shoved by Horangi or having seen the hit, gasps and complains from all around them, heard even over the pounding music that’s still playing.
Oxygen deprived as it is after getting kissed within an inch of his life, Roach’s brain takes an embarrassingly long second to catch up with what just happened.
When it does though, he instantly rips himself out from under that crushing grip still on his shoulder, sidesteps the second attempt at pulling him back too with practiced ease, ignores the man who threw the punch entirely really, far more concerned at the moment with his friend currently bent in half before him, clutching at his face.
“Jesus fuck!” Roach breathes as he approaches, because that looked downright brutal, right in the face, and Horangi still isn’t moving. “Are you okay?” he asks, a little panicked, immediately at the man’s side, hand on his back, steadying him if needed.
Horangi groans something like agreement, drawn-out and nasally. To Roach’s bewilderment though, the noise quickly develops into a low, breathy chuckle.
“Fuck,” the man snickers under his breath, back shaking with it.
Then slowly, gracefully almost, he pushes himself upright again.
The hand he pulls from his face is bloody, revealing more pouring from his nose, slightly crooked now and with a big split down its side. Underneath spreads a near maniacal grin, blood between the grooves of luckily still perfect teeth. Horangi licks across them, tilts his head a bit, eyes half lidded yet piercing where they focus on the perpetrator behind them.
Asks lightly, casually, grinning, “That piss you off, big guy?”
Roach turns, follows his gaze, finally looking at Simon too now.
Simon, his boyfriend, who’d seen the whole process of Horangi sticking his tongue down Roach’s throat, Roach letting him, if his reaction is anything to go by.
Fuck.
He looks fucking livid.
Soap, slightly behind him, looks equally displeased, though Roach’s not focusing on him.
Clenched fist still poised at his side, Simon has zeroed in on Horangi with a look that would have lesser men, smarter men, drop dead on the spot. His whole body is tense, set of his shoulders like a bull ready to charge again at a moment’s notice.
From behind bared teeth, jaw so tense he might just crack them, Simon practically seethes, “Get. Your fucking hands. Off my boyfriend,”
Their current audience – and Roach himself, he’d reckon, shuffling slightly more in front of Horangi – is probably the only thing holding back the barely contained violence Simon is practically shaking with, most attendees having wisely backed away, though Roach would rather they fuck off entirely.
Because, Fucking Christ. This is exactly the kind of situation he’d wanted to avoid when he’d first spotted his boyfriends. A full-on confrontation in public, that is now rather verging on a bloodbath in the making.
Roach would really rather do anything else right now, but he is as much to blame as Horangi, got carried away, so now he’ll have to defuse it, somehow. Make sure his friend, who apparently has zero self-preservation instincts, taunting his executioner like that, doesn’t get turned into a crime scene.
Because Simon looks about ready to do just that.
“Simon, listen,” Roach starts, calmly, because even with that bit of distance between them, Simon still looks ready to maul the guy. Best course of action is just getting the situation stable enough to move this somewhere else. Not that his input really matters, since he doesn’t make it any further into the conversation anyway. Seems nothing is getting between the two men right now.
Horangi cuts Roach off, case in point for having no fear of god, says, “Shit, he is?” in his most innocent tone, and Roach just knows he’s fucking with Simon now, wants to tell him to shut the fuck up you stupid cunt, but Horangi continues before he can.
“Could have fooled me…”
Simon makes to step forward with a roared snarl of, “The fuck is that supposed to mean?!” held back only by Soap throwing an arm over his chest like a steel beam, mumbling, “Simon, don’t.”
Horangi simply swipes a hand under his nose, huffs a private laugh, not only nonplussed by the very real threat of being beaten to a pulp at a house party, but apparently delighted. Only thing it does is smear the blood around more though, a fair good bit of it already dripped down onto his dark shirt. And okay, Roach will admit he’s not a small guy, but still, Horangi should not be this confident right now, because Simon is bigger, no doubt in Roach’s mind that he’d get absolutely folded.
And his boyfriend will very much do so if Roach lets Horangi open his stupid fucking mouth with that stupid fucking attitude again.
Pointedly, he shoves an elbow into the man’s side, tries again. “Simon, look,” he starts, hoping to break the man’s tunnel vision, get him away from the people at least. “I’m sorry, but can we please just –“
Again he doesn’t get to finish before Horangi’s jumping in again, speaking over him, louder, still with that infuriating grin Simon’s way.
“You know,” he says, that inappropriate casualness in his posture and tone. “I was of the impression you guys had this whole open relations thing going on.” He wiggles the fingers of his bloody hand a little for emphasis, like this is some inside joke of theirs, air quotes definitely audible.
“Thought you’d be cool with me and Sandy here,” and he actually has the gal to sling his arm over Roach’s shoulders then, pull him into his side again, closer still, “having some fun seeing as you’ve got your own boy toy for the night, no?”
Horangi wants to die it seems, as he finishes off with a wink towards Soap.
Predictably, Simon charges.
Chaos breaks out.
Soap, bless him, tries to bodily halt Simon, people around them crying out in alarm, either making to get away as fast as they can or try and hold him off too.
It works just long enough for Horangi to narrowly evade another hit towards his already broken face, dancing away a bit more, Simon roaring, furious, “You motherfucker, get your hands off him before I break them!”
Immediately Roach steps fully between them too, one hand pushing Horangi back, the other raised towards Simon, pacifying, again attempting to somehow reason with him. His words get swallowed with a yelp though, as he feels his wrist get grabbed and then suddenly Roach is being pulled along after Horangi, through the crowd towards the entrance, people parting before them.
Watching Simon redouble his efforts to get through the people around him, needing to be held back by Soap, Gaz, Alejandro and Rudy now, naturally Roach protests. Wants to stay, feels obligated to, because he does need to explain himself and calm the man, if possible.
“Rangi, what the hell are you doing!” Roach demands, rather wanting his friend to fuck off by himself than drag him along. Roach can’t do damage control like this. “Let me fucking go!”
Horangi just glances back for a second, grinning incredulously as they squeeze past another two people with a rushed “Scuze me,” asking him, “You wanna try and reason, still?! Now?!”
As if on cue, another scream of, “Get the fuck back here you fucking coward! I’ll fucking kill you!” sounds behind them, close.
And.
Okay, fair enough.
It had been Roach’s plan to get out all along, though he’d imagined his exit a little more discreet than this.
Deciding right then and there that he will not be dealing with Simon tonight, hadn’t wanted to from the get go, Roach stops struggling. Instead, starts swiftly slinking after Horangi, passing through the last few people, fleeing the party together with the man.
As soon as they’re out of the house, feet on the porch, both of them book it down the street, Roach moving his wrist to grasp Horangi’s hand more securely, sprinting after the man, who’s still grinning, soon laughing out loud as they keep running.
Stupidly, unbelievably enough, so his Roach.
Feels the grin on his face despite it all, because Horangi’s cackles are infectious, always have been, so he’s laughing.
They come to a stop a good few blocks and several turns later, both panting, Horangi still wheezing on laughter as he flops down onto the grass, Roach’s head buzzing with adrenaline, giggling all the same.
“Holy shit,” he gasps out, braced on bent knees. “I can’t believe you just called Soap Simon’s boy toy to their fucking faces!” is somehow the first thing he thinks to say. Something must be seriously wrong with his head, because Roach thinks he should be fucking mad right now at Horangi for ruining his night. Or at least mildly affronted on his boyfriends’ behalf about that.
Instead, he’s choking on laughter, can’t stop smiling.
“I can’t believe I got away with it!” Horangi gasps back, spread-eagle on someone’s front lawn, chest heaving still. “Christ, my face hurts so bad!”
“It looks fucking bad, man!”
The laugh louder still, stupidly, uncontrollable, when Roach doesn’t even feel all that drunk. Genuinely, what the fuck is wrong with them?
“You totally deserved that, though, just saying,” Roach notes, pointing a finger. “Kissing me in front of my boyfriends, are you actually insane?!”
Horangi just keeps grinning up at him, eyes squinted, bright even in the dim street lighting, declares loudly, “Was so worth it though!”
Roach snorts, shoots a doubtful look to the open, still slightly weeping wound on the bridge of the other’s nose, blood coating about half of his face by now. “Really?”
“You kidding? I’d give an arm and a leg any day for a smooch from you, baby!” He’s joking, of course, teasing, as Horangi does. Obviously.
But, as previously established, something is very wrong with Roach’s head right now, because instead of laughing it off, somehow, he finds himself plopping to his knees beside the man, grabbing his face with both hands.
Brings him in for another kiss.
It’s disgustingly hot.
The taste of blood is overwhelming almost, crusted and congealed on the other’s lips, barbell no longer the only metallic thing on Roach’s tongue. Both of them are still slightly winded, gasp into it, Horangi immediately humming with pleasure again, a bitten-off moan, seemingly finding it just as absurdly sexy as Roach does. His hand is back in Roach’s hair, propping himself up with the other, pulling him closer by the hair again, deeper, still, as they make out wetly like crazed teenagers on some suburb property.
In their wild disregard though, mindless in the heat of the moment, Roach accidentally bumps his nose against the other’s, making Horangi flinch back abruptly with a bitten back hiss.
“Think we’ll need to go to the hospital with that?” Roach asks after a moment of regaining his breath as Horangi mutters some more curses.
“Nah, it’s fine,” he insists, hesitantly dabbing against it with a finger. “Not concussed or anything, I don’t think. Goddamn, can Riley throw a punch though.”
“Could have told you that much…”
“Still worth it,” he says again, winks at Roach from behind his hand.
Roach just rolls his eyes this time, doesn’t lean back in. Instead watches the other pat at his once perfect nose. “’S a little wonky. Might need stitches.”
“Eh, I’ll have König set it. Put a bandage on and I’m good.”
He says it like that happens a lot, normal procedure. Roach will have to ask later.
“Should be on our way then, no? Might still catch him awake...”
Horangi hums in agreement. Doesn’t get up from his prone position though.
Instead, he grabs the front of Roach’s shirt, tucks him in again until they’re but a hairsbreadth apart, lilts, lowly, “Five more minutes,” before biting at Roach’s lower lip, all thoughts instantly lost again as he moans into that hot mouth once more.
He's not thinking about what will happen tomorrow, the inevitable fallout of tonight. About how he’ll have to face Simon about it eventually, not just about the kissing with Horangi, but the talk that has been long overdue between them anyway. The things that have been building up, held back for weeks.
No, right now, Roach isn’t thinking about that.
Instead, he’s discovering that making out with Horangi is really, really fun, actually.
The man has always been stupidly attractive, Roach isn’t blind, nor dumb, but he’d never considered kissing him would feel this good, be this addicting.
If he still thinks so by tomorrow morning – and the other man agrees – they should do this more often, Roach decides.