District B13: "Maybe, This Time" (NC-17, Damien/Leïto)
yuletide authors have been revealed, so I guess it's time for me to post the story I wrote this year! The fandom was Banlieue 13/District 13/District B13, so it probably wasn't very difficult to figure out it was me.
Maybe, This Time
District B13. NC-17, Damien/Leïto. 2813 words.
"Damien was watching Fernando check the quality of the latest heroin shipment when a man crashed through the skylight, landed on all fours like a cat, stole a brick of pure from under Fernando's nose, and then took off running."
Beta by nestra. The title comes from an OK Go song.
Damien was watching Fernando check the quality of the latest heroin shipment when a man crashed through the skylight, landed on all fours like a cat, stole a brick of pure from under Fernando's nose, and then took off running.
"After him!" Fernando yelled when Damien stood there staring, caught flat-footed by the flash of Leïto's fierce smirk. Damien turned on his heel and ran after him, with Paul and Thierry so close on his heels that Paul nearly made Damien lose his shoe.
Leïto was fast and fleet, and it was difficult to keep up with the slippery bastard; Damien needed to lose Fernando's guys without losing Leïto so that he could ask the asshole just what the hell he thought he was doing.
Thierry was easy. He didn't last more than a few blocks thanks to his two pack a day habit. You could smell the Gauloises from ten feet away, almost as bad as the scent trail Fernando left with his cologne.
Paul was much younger and more fit, and also irritatingly persistent. He followed Damien down narrow alleys and used cars like stepping stones to cross the street, up a creaking fire escape and across three roofs. Damien had a stitch in his side and his leg muscles were starting to feel a little rubbery, but Leïto showed no signs of slowing.
"Fuck," Damien said breathlessly, repeating it in his head five more times to curse the fact that he wasn't getting any younger.
Damien was wondering how he could take out Paul without blowing his cover when Leïto suddenly juked left and leapt off the building. Knowing Leïto well enough not to follow him over the edge this time, Damien tripped himself and went down hard, paying for the ruse with the skin on his palms.
Paul jumped. And hit the street a few seconds later.
Damien belly-crawled to the edge of the building and looked down. Leïto hung by his fingertips from some decorative molding.
Damien had to say it. "Hang around here often?"
"I have a response to that, but I need my hands to show you," Leïto said. Sweat beaded at his hairline and dripped down his temples. The veins in his forearms bulged; he'd been biting his fingernails.
"You have a hangnail," Damien said. He braced himself and reached for Leïto's wrist. He got a good grip and nodded, and then Leïto let go of the molding. Suddenly supporting all of Leïto's weight made something go very wrong with his back, but Leïto didn't waste any time; he used Damien's hold to return to the roof by defying gravity and physics, although he was less graceful with the dismount and landed right on top of Damien.
"Where's the heroin?"
Leïto squirmed on top of him, pulling the brick from the waistband of his pants and slapping it on the roof next to Damien's head. "Here. Safe and sound."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Damien demanded, shoving hard at Leïto's shoulders.
Leïto didn't budge, but he did drip sweat on Damien's face. "Meet me tomorrow."
"Where and when?"
The fire escape clanged and shook. From the street below, someone yelled Paul's name and then cursed a blue streak.
"I'll have Lola tell you later," Leïto said with a small smile. "Sorry."
Just as one of Fernando's men came into view, Leïto kneed Damien in the balls, shoved himself to his feet, and sprinted away.
"Fucking asshole," Damien shouted.
When he could walk again, Damien limped back to Fernando's warehouse. He tossed the brick to Fernando, who caught it and hugged it to his chest absently. His tweed jacket had patches on the elbows. Damien thought that Fernando always looked like he was playing dress-up with his grandfather's clothes.
"Where's the thief?"
"Got away," Damien said.
"Then find him and take care of him," Fernando said.
Damien spent half the night pretending to look for Leïto, mostly by rousting snitches who wouldn't know Leïto even if the man were in bed next to them. He went to his apartment at half past four and slept badly, thoughts sliding through his mind like a scrolling news feed. He got out of bed around nine and made some Nescafé, then e-mailed his daily report to his superior with some judicious eliding of reality.
When he couldn't put off going to work any longer, Damien called for a ride and went down to the building entrance to wait. A few minutes later, he saw Lola on the sidewalk walking toward him. She was wearing a short purple skirt and an enormous cardigan that looked like it belonged to someone else. Damien kept his face blank, and walked down the front steps to block the sidewalk, pretending to look for his driver as she approached him.
"Excuse me, sir," she said, pushing past him while brushing their fingers together.
Damien curled his fingers around the slip of paper and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. As Lola walked away, a shiny black car screeched to a halt next to him and the driver honked the horn. Damien opened the passenger side door and got in.
It took Damien two hours to find a moment alone in order to read the note Lola had passed him. He claimed that he was going to take an epic shit and locked himself in the warehouse bathroom. The slip of paper had a street address, and it told him to be there at ten that night. Damien crumpled the paper and flushed it. Then he flushed the toilet two more times and sprayed the bathroom with so much air freshener that he could taste it in the back of his throat for hours.
"Where are you going?" Georges asked suspiciously when Damien left early. He was big and fast, but not too bright.
"I'm meeting a girl," Damien said, grabbing his crotch and smiling lewdly.
Georges laughed and clapped Damien on the shoulder hard enough that his back twinged.
The location was close enough that Damien decided to walk. When he got there, he pressed the button for the tenth-floor apartment and was buzzed inside without a word. The elevator had an out of order sign on it.
He knocked, and Lola opened the door as far as the chain would let her. "Were you followed?"
"If I was followed, I wouldn't be here," Damien said.
Lola shut the door in his face. A moment later, the locks clicked and she opened it again, waving him inside. The apartment was lit by a single lamp and smelled faintly musky. Most of the space was taken up by a Domyos heavy bag and weight bench, with bookshelves crammed everywhere they would fit. No computer. No television.
"Where's Leïto?" Damien asked.
"He's late," Lola said. "Sit down."
Damien sat. The yellow couch creaked alarmingly and nearly swallowed him whole, exacerbating Damien's back problems so much that he groaned.
Lola peered at him. "Is it your back?"
Damien nodded and tried to ease himself off the man-eating couch.
"Get on the floor. Face down," Lola ordered. She kicked off her purple flats.
"Kinky," Damien said.
"Get down now," she said.
Against his better judgment, Damien rolled off the couch and complied. Lola stepped onto his back and walked slowly along his spine. She was tiny enough that it didn't really hurt, at least not more than it already did.
"I think your brother is trying to kill me," Damien said, his face pressed into the floor.
Lola's toes dug into his back. "That's how you know he likes you."
"How's that?"
Lola leaned down, and her breath was a warm push of air against his ear when she said, "Because if he was actually trying to kill you, you'd be dead." She stood up again and did something with her feet that made Damien's spine crunch, then hopped off.
Damien groaned and pushed himself up, stretching tentatively. "Thanks."
Lola's phone buzzed, and she took it from the pocket of her giant sweater.
"He's on the roof," Lola said.
Damien walked up a narrow, steep staircase that squeaked on every other stair. The roof security door was propped open with an ancient can of Cassoulet. He made certain that the door didn't latch behind him.
The ambient light revealed Leïto crouched on the roof's edge, but he stepped off and stood when Damien approached him.
"I've been watching you since you arrived," Leïto said. On the side of his neck, dark, swooping lines of a new tattoo rose above the collar of his black T-shirt.
"Get to the point before I punch you in the face," Damien said.
Leïto raised an eyebrow. "You don't call, you don't write."
Damien made good on his promise and aimed for Leïto's nose even though he knew that Leïto would turn it aside easily. Damien blocked both of Leïto's fists and put a good dent in Leïto's shin, but couldn't stop the knee to his torso just under his ribs.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Damien asked. "You could have blown the entire operation."
"There is no operation," Leïto said.
Damien wanted to punch him again. "What are you talking about?"
"There is no operation; there's just you. You're undercover without backup," Leïto said angrily. "Why don't you have any backup?"
"I'm still establishing my cover," Damien said. "I send daily reports. It's protocol when --"
"Bullshit," Leïto said. He poked Damien in the chest with his index finger. "Fernando deals heroin and his crew took out half of K2's guys a week before you showed up. We may have working streetlights and a post office now, but it's still a bad neighborhood. Why didn't you ask for my help?"
"I can't involve you in this more than you already are," Damien said. "You're a civilian with a felony record."
"Unbelievable," Leïto said, shoving Damien back one step, and then another. "Tell me what's going on."
"No," Damien said. "Mind your own business."
"I live here. This is my city and that makes it my business, asshole," Leïto said, shoving at Damien again.
"Fuck you."
Leïto lunged forward, and Damien recoiled automatically, bringing up his hands, but Leïto simply grabbed Damien's face and said, "You can trust me."
Damien blinked hard and swallowed, feeling like a fist was twisting his lungs around his heart. "It's political. They can't fire me without embarrassing consequences, but they can get me killed. That's why I don't have backup."
"Fuck," Leïto said quietly. He dropped his hands and turned away to kick the shit out of the door. "Fuck!"
"Yeah, fuck," Damien said.
Leïto's back was rigid, his hands clenched on his hips. "I get a presidential pardon and you get a death sentence."
"Yeah," Damien said.
"Damien," Leïto said, looking over his shoulder. "I think you should find another line of work."
Damien burst out laughing. "You want me to quit?"
Leïto shrugged and quirked his mouth sideways.
"Are you serious?" Damien asked.
"Do you have a death wish?"
Damien snorted. "No!"
"Then let me help," Leïto said, looking a little smug.
"If you wanted to help, you should have worn a mask when you broke into Fernando's warehouse."
Leïto stepped close. Damien's instincts told him to back up, but he stubbornly held his ground.
"I can still be bait. And I wanted your attention," Leïto said. And then, while looking him in the eye, he put his hand on Damien's crotch and squeezed gently.
Damien's throat clicked when he swallowed. "You're very direct."
"I hope I didn't damage anything," Leïto said. He pushed his thumb inside the zipper placket of Damien's trousers and dragged his thumbnail down the teeth.
"I'll live," Damien said. He closed his eyes because Leïto's stare was getting to him, and he wasn't sure he knew what the hell he was doing.
"Good," Leïto said, and shifted his weight.
When Damien realized that Leïto was moving away from him, his hand shot out and grabbed Leïto's wrist to prevent him from removing his hand.
"You should make it up to me," Damien said, opening his eyes.
Leïto touched the side of Damien's neck and then cupped his nape, leaning close to kiss his throat and the point of his jaw, anywhere but his lips. Damien slid his hands down Leïto's back and onto his ass, pulling him closer. He chased after Leïto's mouth and kissed him hard, licking Leïto's tongue and the roof of his mouth. Leïto made a soft noise and kissed him back with the same enthusiasm Leïto had for flinging himself over the roofs of Paris.
Leïto popped the button on Damien's trousers and tugged the zipper down, shoving his hand inside Damien's briefs to stroke his cock.
"Take off your shirt," Leïto said.
Damien didn't bother with the buttons; his shirt was loose enough that he simply pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. He pushed his hands up Leïto's T-shirt and touched the hard planes of his abdomen. Leïto's skin was soft and warm, marred here and there by raised scars. Leïto yanked his shirt over his head, his spiky hair pointing in every direction.
Leïto scratched his blunt fingernails down Damien's back and began jerking him off, his fingers strong and sure.
Damien had been living like a monk for far too long; he'd been undercover for the better part of a year with only a handful of days off, and he didn't have sex when he was pretending to be someone else, not if he could avoid it. It was too risky and he could live without it, but it meant he was touch-starved. Leïto's hands and mouth felt so good that Damien was going to come before he was ready.
He kissed Leïto, messy and a little wild, dragging his lips over the stubble on Leïto's cheek and biting at his neck. Leïto's breath caught in his throat, and he squeezed Damien's cock a little harder, dragging his thumb over the head. Damien pressed his face into Leïto's sweat-damp neck and bucked his hips, making a strangled noise before coming. Leïto continued stroking him through it until Damien hissed. Leïto put his hands on Damien's hips and rubbed his thumbs in a gentle circle.
"My hands are messed up," Damien said, nosing at Leïto's neck before lifting his head to look him in the eye.
"Your mouth isn't," Leïto suggested with a little grin.
It was a challenge, and Damien accepted by dropping to his knees. He yanked down Leïto's loose athletic pants. He was wearing a jock instead of underwear, a starburst design on his hip cut in half by a strap. Damien pulled the thick elastic band under Leïto's balls and then licked his cock. Leïto shivered and put his hands on Damien's head, Leïto's fingers curving along his scalp.
Damien guided Leïto's cock into his mouth and sucked. It was wet and sloppy, Leïto's cock sliding in and out, and he bobbed his head. Damien jerked him off for a moment while he caught his breath and then dove back down. Leïto made a hurt noise in the back of his throat; he slid one hand down Damien's neck and gripped his shoulder, fucking his mouth a little. Damien breathed through his nose and let him, his jaw beginning to ache and spit slipping down his chin. Leïto came, and Damien let Leïto's cock slide out of his mouth with a lewd pop, turning his head to spit.
Leïto gave him a hand up and kissed him slowly, as if they had all the time in the world and weren't standing on a rooftop with their dicks hanging out for everyone to see.
"Come to bed," Leïto offered. "We'll come up with a plan in the morning."
Dubiously, Damien said, "I saw your bed. We won't fit."
"You should have more faith in our teamwork," Leïto said. He tucked himself into his jock and pulled up his pants, and then did the same for Damien, feeling him up quite thoroughly in the process. Damien bent down and picked up their shirts, tossing Leïto his T-shirt before pulling his button-down over his head. He walked to the security door and tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge. The door had buckled under Leïto's assault, crushing the can of Cassoulet propping it open.
"Door's jammed," Damien said.
Leïto looked over his shoulder. "I guess we'll have to find another way down."
"After you," Damien said.
Leïto's eyes crinkled as he smiled. And then he was running, leaping over the side of the building to land on the fire escape with a loud clang. There was another clang as Leïto jumped to the next landing, because God forbid the man actually use the stairs.
Damien followed him over the edge.
the end.