Jumping the Candlestick - Standalone
Title: Jumping the Candlestick
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Mikey/Pete
Summary: Mikey and Pete are old fashioned criminals out to have some fun.
Disclaimer: This is fictional.
Author Note: Written for a decaydanceland challenge
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.
Mikey's humming the rhyme under his liquor-coated breath as he leans over the bar. Wood presses against his narrow chest, tightening his lungs with a familiar squeeze adding to the anticipation which quirks up the corner of his lip in a lopsided smile. The barkeep smiles back at him, a nice gal with no day job and a coat of makeup so deep Mikey has to curl his long fingers into a fist to keep from reaching out and scraping his nails across her cheek just to see what's underneath.
"What can I get for you, doll," she says with a drawl, and Mikey expected nothing less from a bartender in a shitty rundown bar off the highway in a middle of nowhere town.
"Whatever you think I'd like," he answers. It's almost a challenge, but not quite. Let it have liquor and he'll be good. He's already had a few by now, it'll all taste the same so long as it has that nice burn going down.
She serves it quickly, hovering about him like a winged insect. He supposes that makes him the flower. Regulars mingle bout the place like the living dead, kicking back a drink; a stranger must be something special to her. He'll let himself be her breath of fresh air for a moment.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Pete's fingers dancing along the keys of the cash register. He leans forward, eyes meeting the bartender's, his smile widening.
"How'd a pretty thing like you get stuck here?" he says, and he sounds more suave than he feels. He's practiced the fake charm, and he's gotten pretty adept at it, though he can never turn it genuine.
"Aren't you just a sweet talker," she answers, and though she's faking modesty he knows she's eating it up. Pete taught him how to do that. Pete trained him, and though Pete's still the best, Mikey is getting better. This night is a show of trust, a switch of shoes. Mikey needs to prove himself. He will.
It's ten minutes later that Mikey can slip out with a quick pardon. He takes a deep breath of clean air as he pushes past the doors. A car pulls up next to him and Mikey recognizes it, slipping into the passenger side only to be greeted by hoarse laughter.
"You did a good job, Mikey. I told you, no one would recognize you. I told you you'd be a natural."
Mikey couldn't help but preen under Pete's praise, the shine to his eyes returning. He couldn't remember how long it'd just been the two of them. Since Pete first waltzed into his life with that hundred watt smile, and convinced Mikey to walk right out of his. From the time their hands met, they were locked together. Pete was the idea, the light bulb over the head that always burned bright at the best times. He was the charmer; it was his role, being the one to steal the gaze in every room, Mikey was only a practicing understudy. He was also the ghost. A whisper on everyone's lips, fading into the background until no one could see him anymore. They'd been playing this game for so long. Pete would charm, and Mikey would blend; when all was through they'd have gutted yet another register of its precious contents. Least that's the way they'd always played before. They had to switch things up now that they were known. Now that they were wanted.
"We'll be miles out of town before she ever realizes," Pete says, laughing as he shifts the car out of park. The rubber of the wheels screeches against pavement as he accelerates way too fast and just the way they love it. It makes Mikey's heart thump out of his chest, makes him feel alive again. He used to feel empty; a member of the living dead just like the people inside the bar. He hasn't felt that way since Pete. He never wants to feel that way again.
The car is kicking back a dust cloud miles away from any town as Pete slams on the brakes. Mikey nearly flies forward before managing to brace himself on the dash. "Why we stopping?"
"Well, he wants to get his hands on our fortune, that's for sure." Pete answers like it's nothing, and he gets out of the car, bag of money clutched tightly in his hands.
"And what're we gonna do about it?" Mikey asks, getting out as well, moving around the front of the car so he's on the same side as Pete.
Pete just drops to his knees and starts pawing at the dirt. "Help me dig."
It all seems to laughable, but Mikey does it anyway. He can't barely hold back his giddiness as his fingers sink into the ground, dirt and sand embedded in his finger nails as he scrapes through layers of earth until it's deep enough to dump the money in. He can't stop smiling, creases around his eyes as he looks up to Pete and whispers, one conspirator to another, "How will we find it again?"
Pete moves the mound of dug up dirt into the hole again, burying their treasure. He finds a few small rocks and arranges them in the shape of an 'X' over the freshly turned ground. "X marks the spot, of course," Pete answers with a huge grin, cupping Mikey's cheeks without brushing his palms off on his jeans, leaning forward for a quick rough kiss.
He pulls away far too fast and hurries back to the car. Mikey, over eager and thrumming with energy, gives chase, sliding back into the passenger seat and looking out the windshield window before turning to Pete again. "Where to next, Jack?"
Jack and Jill is what they call themselves; took a few shots and a game of rock-paper-scissors to figure out who would be who, Mikey had been a gracious loser ever since. They figured they'd need the aliases one day, for when they were rich and famous and everyone was on their tail. They were alone still, just the two of them. No cop cars sped behind them as they took off again on the long stretch of dirt road, leaving a trail of towns in their wake.
"Wherever we want, Jill." Pete smiled, reaching over and taking Mikey's hand. Their fingers intertwined as the car sped up, chasing the latest sunset.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Mikey/Pete
Summary: Mikey and Pete are old fashioned criminals out to have some fun.
Disclaimer: This is fictional.
Author Note: Written for a decaydanceland challenge
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.
Mikey's humming the rhyme under his liquor-coated breath as he leans over the bar. Wood presses against his narrow chest, tightening his lungs with a familiar squeeze adding to the anticipation which quirks up the corner of his lip in a lopsided smile. The barkeep smiles back at him, a nice gal with no day job and a coat of makeup so deep Mikey has to curl his long fingers into a fist to keep from reaching out and scraping his nails across her cheek just to see what's underneath.
"What can I get for you, doll," she says with a drawl, and Mikey expected nothing less from a bartender in a shitty rundown bar off the highway in a middle of nowhere town.
"Whatever you think I'd like," he answers. It's almost a challenge, but not quite. Let it have liquor and he'll be good. He's already had a few by now, it'll all taste the same so long as it has that nice burn going down.
She serves it quickly, hovering about him like a winged insect. He supposes that makes him the flower. Regulars mingle bout the place like the living dead, kicking back a drink; a stranger must be something special to her. He'll let himself be her breath of fresh air for a moment.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Pete's fingers dancing along the keys of the cash register. He leans forward, eyes meeting the bartender's, his smile widening.
"How'd a pretty thing like you get stuck here?" he says, and he sounds more suave than he feels. He's practiced the fake charm, and he's gotten pretty adept at it, though he can never turn it genuine.
"Aren't you just a sweet talker," she answers, and though she's faking modesty he knows she's eating it up. Pete taught him how to do that. Pete trained him, and though Pete's still the best, Mikey is getting better. This night is a show of trust, a switch of shoes. Mikey needs to prove himself. He will.
It's ten minutes later that Mikey can slip out with a quick pardon. He takes a deep breath of clean air as he pushes past the doors. A car pulls up next to him and Mikey recognizes it, slipping into the passenger side only to be greeted by hoarse laughter.
"You did a good job, Mikey. I told you, no one would recognize you. I told you you'd be a natural."
Mikey couldn't help but preen under Pete's praise, the shine to his eyes returning. He couldn't remember how long it'd just been the two of them. Since Pete first waltzed into his life with that hundred watt smile, and convinced Mikey to walk right out of his. From the time their hands met, they were locked together. Pete was the idea, the light bulb over the head that always burned bright at the best times. He was the charmer; it was his role, being the one to steal the gaze in every room, Mikey was only a practicing understudy. He was also the ghost. A whisper on everyone's lips, fading into the background until no one could see him anymore. They'd been playing this game for so long. Pete would charm, and Mikey would blend; when all was through they'd have gutted yet another register of its precious contents. Least that's the way they'd always played before. They had to switch things up now that they were known. Now that they were wanted.
"We'll be miles out of town before she ever realizes," Pete says, laughing as he shifts the car out of park. The rubber of the wheels screeches against pavement as he accelerates way too fast and just the way they love it. It makes Mikey's heart thump out of his chest, makes him feel alive again. He used to feel empty; a member of the living dead just like the people inside the bar. He hasn't felt that way since Pete. He never wants to feel that way again.
The car is kicking back a dust cloud miles away from any town as Pete slams on the brakes. Mikey nearly flies forward before managing to brace himself on the dash. "Why we stopping?"
"Well, he wants to get his hands on our fortune, that's for sure." Pete answers like it's nothing, and he gets out of the car, bag of money clutched tightly in his hands.
"And what're we gonna do about it?" Mikey asks, getting out as well, moving around the front of the car so he's on the same side as Pete.
Pete just drops to his knees and starts pawing at the dirt. "Help me dig."
It all seems to laughable, but Mikey does it anyway. He can't barely hold back his giddiness as his fingers sink into the ground, dirt and sand embedded in his finger nails as he scrapes through layers of earth until it's deep enough to dump the money in. He can't stop smiling, creases around his eyes as he looks up to Pete and whispers, one conspirator to another, "How will we find it again?"
Pete moves the mound of dug up dirt into the hole again, burying their treasure. He finds a few small rocks and arranges them in the shape of an 'X' over the freshly turned ground. "X marks the spot, of course," Pete answers with a huge grin, cupping Mikey's cheeks without brushing his palms off on his jeans, leaning forward for a quick rough kiss.
He pulls away far too fast and hurries back to the car. Mikey, over eager and thrumming with energy, gives chase, sliding back into the passenger seat and looking out the windshield window before turning to Pete again. "Where to next, Jack?"
Jack and Jill is what they call themselves; took a few shots and a game of rock-paper-scissors to figure out who would be who, Mikey had been a gracious loser ever since. They figured they'd need the aliases one day, for when they were rich and famous and everyone was on their tail. They were alone still, just the two of them. No cop cars sped behind them as they took off again on the long stretch of dirt road, leaving a trail of towns in their wake.
"Wherever we want, Jill." Pete smiled, reaching over and taking Mikey's hand. Their fingers intertwined as the car sped up, chasing the latest sunset.