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He doesn't expect to wake up.
Young had caught him in his double-cross. Beaten him at his own game. If he had been in Young's position, he's not sure whether he would have let himself live.
So no, he doesn't expect to wake up. And he certainly doesn't expect to wake up to half of the money from the heist.
He's out of bed and on his knees in front of the three black duffel bags, open and filled with cash, before he even realizes what he's doing.
What the fuck is wrong with Young? Why the hell had he left behind half the loot? Why hadn't he just taken it all, left Rush dirty and alone with nothing but the clothes on his back?
And Jesus, Rush thinks, looking down at his naked chest. Young had even cleaned him up.
What the hell kind of psychopath is this guy?
Force of habit makes him count the money by hand, although he's been around the block often enough to estimate the total sum pretty accurately just by looking. It's all there, 1.4 million dollars, and Rush doesn't know why he's not happy.
Well, he is. He's downright ecstatic to not only be alive, but to have the money as well, but... But there's also something deeply grating about this. Young had played him, fucked him, distracted him to the point where Rush had utterly lost. And then he up and left with nothing but half of the money.
There's an undercurrent of dissatisfaction beneath it all, too. Young – and the more he thinks about it, the less likely it is that that is his actual name – was... Well, it was good, with him. The sex. Rush can admit that. And obviously there is more to the man than Rush had expected at first glance. He's interesting, and part of Rush doesn't like the fact that he will never see Young again.
Because he won't.
There's no way of tracking him down. The only one who knew the identity of everyone on the team was Jay, and he is dead. And even his information had been limited to aliases and expendable phone numbers.
Rush looks at himself in the mirror of the filthy bathroom. He lets his fingertips trail over the bruised bite mark at the side of his throat.
And goddammit, what is he even thinking about? He's not going to track Young down just because they had sex once and Young has kind of piqued his interest.
He's not.
“You,” Young says, six months later, when Rush has finally fucking found him. He sounds amused, and he does little more than quirk his eyebrow at the gun Rush is pointing at him.
“Yes. Me,” Rush says. Young looks... He looks better. Less sad. Less beaten down.
It fucking irritates the shit out of him that the sight of Young still makes his heart stutter in his chest, because deep down he'd hoped this obsession – this need to find Young no matter the cost – would have been put to rest by finally laying eyes on the man.
Obviously it doesn't quite work out that way.
“You've been putting a lot of effort into finding me,” Young says, the corner of his mouth curling upwards.
It's not untrue.
He's been looking for nearly half a year and he's spent more money tracking Young's movements and his whereabouts than he can justify, even to himself.
“So, are you going to shoot me?”
Rush almost lowers his gun. He almost wants to let his own lips settle into a small smile to mirror Young's expression. He almost walks the six steps it would take to get within reaching distance of the man. Because his chest still looks wide and sturdy, and his hands are still strangely elegant for his frame, and his face is still... it still beckons him to come closer. To touch and kiss and feel.
“Why did you leave me with half the money?” he demands instead.
Young huffs out an exasperated breath and shakes his head. It does seem kind of unreasonable to threaten to kill someone over their courteousness, but fuck it - Young had shaken him up with that, and that's not something Rush can accept.
“Why didn't you kill me?” Rush asks.
Young gives him a look, long and intense, and shrugs. “I don't like killing people. And I don't like double-crossing people, either.”
Rush snorts. “It certainly didn't seem like it when you pulled that whole drug 'em and fuck 'em routine on me, Young.”
Young just gives him another look, calm and slightly admonishing, and Rush already knows he's going to hate that the man apparently knows how to press all his buttons this easily.
“They weren't my drugs, Rush,” he says. “And I gave you plenty of opportunity to back out.”
Rush doesn't quite know how to respond to that. Again, it's not untrue.
Back then, he'd thought Young was being overbearing with his constant prodding whether he was certain he wanted to go through with the sex. But upon later reflection he'd realized that Young had been trying to give him an out. He'd been trying to get him to come clean, to stop, and even when Rush hadn't, Young had still left him half the money.
“You killed Jay,” Rush points out, not lowering his weapon. He suspects Young could get the drop on him in one ill-timed blink of an eye, and he's not going to let that happen.
“He killed my friend,” Young answers, all traces of good humor draining out of his face. “You know that.”
And fine, Rush does know that. Obviously.
“Why are you here, Rush?” Young asks, voice deep and full of gravel. His gaze is dark and his eyebrows are furrowed. It seems Young is tired of playing, and Rush feels that same nervousness he'd felt the first time he'd met the man. A small wave of goosebumps prickles over the skin of his back, his arms... even his nipples pebble up tightly.
“I...” he says. And the thing is, for how much time he's spent trying to find Young, he still doesn't have a satisfying answer to that question. He's asked himself often enough. “I don't know.”
Young steps closer to him, right into the barrel of his gun, and pushes it down casually until Rush's arms are both hanging limply next to his body. “I think you do,” he says quietly, sliding his hand up Rush's cheek and closing the last dozen inches of space between them.
Rush feels paralyzed, his heart thumping a rough rhythm in his throat, as Young moves to press their bodies together. It feels much too intimate, standing like this, chest to chest, Young's lips mere millimeters away from Rush's own. It's... Possibly this is exactly what he'd wanted from the moment he woke up in that motel room.
“I'm planning a job, five weeks from now. I still need a vault guy and a hacker,” Young says, lips brushing against the corner of Rush's mouth. Rush feels himself pushing forward, into Young's heat. A small shiver works its way up his spine.
“What's the take?” he asks, when he finally finds his voice again.
Young's hand is still hot on his face, and Rush lets his eyes slip closed when Young nuzzles into his cheek for a second before murmuring, “Diamonds. Forty million. Euros. Split by four, ten percent to the inside man.”
“You have a buyer lined up?” Rush breathes out shakily.
“Mm,” Young says, placing a soft kiss onto his bottom lip. “Of course.”
“Is this why you let me catch you?” Rush asks, pulling back a little to look Young in the eye.
Young's lips curl up into an amused smile, and yeah, he really does look better when his grief isn't fresh and right at the surface. “Maybe. You in?”
And Rush can't help it, he nods and presses forward, tangling the fingers of his free hand into the collar of Young's button-up shirt and slotting their mouths together to finally feel the way Young kisses again.
It's... fuck how can he say that he's missed it? He barely knows the man. But he has, he thinks as he surges forward, pushes his tongue into Young's mouth and lets the hand on Young's collar roam up the side of his neck. He has missed this.
Young kisses him back with fervor, like Rush isn't the only one who has been fantasizing about doing this again, over and over, until the memory of their night together morphed into something bigger and much more significant than it ever should have been.
Young's hand comes up to take the gun from Rush's fingers. He clinks it down on one of the small side tables before pulling Rush in even closer and grabbing hold of his arse to crash their hips together. His grip is hot and strong and possessive, and Rush can feel the exact moment Young's cock grows hard against him.
God, none of this is going the way he'd expected it to, but somehow it's everything he'd hoped for as well.
“Young,” he hears himself moan. He's not entirely certain what he's going to say next, but both his hands are in Young's hair now, and his erection is straining against the material of his trousers, and for some reason he hasn't fucked anyone since his night with Young... “Tell me your real name.”
Young chuckles, a harsh exhale of breath against Rush's jaw, and presses a few kisses into the skin underneath his ear.
“That is my real name,” he says. “Everett Young.”
And Christ, for some reason the idea that Young might have been telling the truth from their first encounter, that he'd given Rush his real name right from the start, makes his hips jerk forward with an uncontrollable urge to find release.
“What about yours?” Young asks, before licking a long stripe from the base of Rush's throat to the corner of his jaw.
“Nicholas,” he admits, not even a little bit tempted to lie right now. “Nicholas Rush.”
“Alright, Nicholas Rush,” Young says, and his voice really sounds much too steady for how unbalanced and turned on Rush feels, himself. “Do you want me to take you to bed?”
“God,” Rush breathes out, letting his head fall forward against Young's shoulder. The thought of having Young on top of him again, inside of him again, sends skittering jolts of arousal through his entire being. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”
“Come here,” Young says, pulling him flush against his body by the grip on his buttocks. With a small sound of exertion, Young hoists him up, lifts him from the ground, and Rush feels his cock jerk dangerously as he wraps his legs around Young's hips instinctively. He's never been carried like this, he's never had anyone hold him in such a strong grip that he truly believes he's not going to be dropped, and Christ, it's something he's not going to forget soon.
“Rush,” Young murmurs, rubbing his nose into the side of his throat.
“Yeah,” Rush answers, not sure where his breath has gone. “Come on, bedroom.”
Young carries him, never quite leaving the skin of his throat alone until he throws him down on the bed, and Rush feels his legs splay open wide so Young can crawl in between them.
“God, Rush,” Young says, crouching down over him and stripping off Rush's shirt. “I've missed you.”
Rush arches up, into Young's touch, and can't stop himself from reaching up to the man's face to pull him back down for a kiss. 'I missed you, too,' he almost says, but instead he lets his fingers play over Young's chest until he can undo the buttons of his shirt and push it off his shoulders.
“You're gorgeous,” Young breathes, pressing kisses into his cheek like he's some kind of precious porcelain doll.
“Fuck off,” Rush answers, twisting his fingers into Young's hair. God, the man has the most marvelous hair, thick and dark and curly, nothing like Rush's own. “You don't have to butter me up, I'm already here.”
Young laughs, a huffed breath that ruffles Rush's hair, and trails a thumb across his bottom lip. “I'm not trying to butter you up, you jerk.”
“Obviously,” Rush says, pulling Young closer against him.
Christ, Young's skin is hot and smooth, rubbing against his chest. He wishes they were naked, that Young was opening him up right now, and damn, there are still way too many layers of fabric between them.
“Fuck me already,” he hisses, yanking at his own belt until he can undo his trousers. Young chuckles against the skin of his throat, and then pulls back to undress himself.
“Don't worry, I will,” he says, settling back over Rush once they're both completely naked. Rush wants to say something biting, something harsh and cutting to make sure Young knows none of this actually matters, but Young is kissing him again, and Young's erection lays thick and heavy on Rush's stomach, and suddenly he's filled with the choking desire to feel that hot length of flesh inside of him again.
“Fuck, Young, come on,” he breathes, wrapping his legs around Young's hips and thrusting upwards, pushing his own cock into Young's and relishing the blunt pressure.
“Alright,” Young murmurs, taking Rush's wrists in his hands and pinning them above his head. He takes them both in one hand and then leans over slightly to grab a bottle of lube and a condom from the nightstand. Dammit, how did Young prepare everything? How did Young know?
Young moves back, lets go of Rush's hands, and pulls him up until they're both sitting up on their knees, Rush pretty much straddling Young's lap. Their cocks are flush together and Rush can't help his hips stuttering forward a little, into the hot cavity between them. Young circles one arm around his shoulder and presses a soft kiss into the skin underneath his ear, and Rush doesn't even realize he heard the click of a cap until Young's slick fingers are probing against his arse.
“You ready?” Young asks, and Rush curses and buries his head in Young's shoulder, because damn it, he was ready forty minutes ago. He was ready six months ago.
“Fucking do it already,” he says through gritted teeth, and when Young pushes two fingers inside of him he can't help the deep groan it rips from his throat. “Yes, yes, God, fucking finally,” he hears himself say, muffled into the skin of Young's throat. Young just chuckles and works his fingers open and closed, in and out, until he deems Rush ready for a third one.
“I've been thinking about you a lot, Rush,” Young rumbles against him, and Rush has a hard time deciding what to focus on – Young's low, growly voice, or their slickening cocks pressed together, or the thick fingers opening him up. “Thinking about seeing you again, touching you again. Fucking you again.”
“Mm,” Rush says, rocking back on Young's fingers a little and squeezing his eyes shut.
“You've been thinking about me too, haven't you?” Young asks, nipping at his earlobe. “Did you ever touch yourself like this?”
Rush lets out another inarticulate sound and shakes his head, not quite sure how to answer with Young pressing down on his prostate like this, rubbing tight little circles into it.
“You've never had your own fingers inside of you?” Young asks, and Jesus, can he just stop talking already? “You've been denying yourself, Rush. If you hadn't, maybe you wouldn't be so desperate for it right now... The way you're squirming around on my hand, I bet I could make you beg for it, hm?”
“Fuck you,” Rush pants out, biting down hard on the muscle that joins Young's neck to his shoulder and relishing the shocked sound Young makes. He pulls back to glare at Young and feels his prick twitch at the way the man looks: pupils so blown his eyes might as well be black, a soft sheen of sweat on his forehead, a flush high up on his cheeks. God, he looks much more affected by all of this than his voice had let on.
A small smile curves Young's lips, and Rush doesn't know why that makes him think the man is so beautiful, because objectively speaking... well, objectively speaking he'd still be handsome, Rush supposes, but... but not this almost otherworldly type of beautiful.
“Oh, I'm sure we'll get there,” Young says, and then he's withdrawing his fingers - and Rush thinks it's about time he takes control of the situation, because he's not going to let Young drag this out to the point where he might actually beg for it. He shoves Young in the chest and presses his body weight forward until they topple to the bed again, Young on his back and Rush on top of him, hands pushing down on Young's shoulders to keep him there, right where he wants him.
“You,” he says, leaning forward to bite a quick kiss into Young's mouth, “Talk too much.”
He grabs the condom and scoots back until he can roll it down over Young's prick. He doesn't miss the slick trail of precome on Young's shaft, and Jesus, his own cock is leaking, too. He spreads a glob of lube over Young's erection, oddly fascinated by the feel of that rubber-coated length in his palm, hot and thick and slippery. Young makes a choked noise when he squeezes lightly, and Rush lets his eyes shoot up at him with a satisfied little smirk.
Still, what he really wants isn't to tease Young. What he really wants is... He repositions himself until he can angle Young's cock up against his opening, and there, oh God, the head is pressing against him, slipping inside, and fuck, yeah, that is what he really wants.
Young's cock is plump and Rush isn't very used to being breached like this, and it's tight and too full and so fucking marvelous he all but sinks down in one swift move—and Jesus, that's thick.
“Rush,” Young groans, grabbing him by the hips and helping him keep his balance.
“Yeah,” Rush answers when he can find his voice again. He places his hands on top of Young's chest and uses them to push up and back down again, little movements of his hips as his inner walls get accustomed to the intrusion. Young watches him, still, quiet, as Rush sets their pace.
“God, you really are gorgeous, you know that?” he breathes out reverently, letting the fingers on Rush's hips trail little patterns over his skin.
“I'm not a woman,” Rush grits out. It's getting to him, the way Young keeps insisting he's beautiful, and he doesn't like it. He's not beautiful – he knows he's not, and that's entirely fine. He has other attributes, other skills that make him worthwhile.
Young snorts and lets one hand slip away from Rush's hip to reach for his prick. “Yeah, no kidding.” His fingers curl around Rush's length gently, not applying nearly enough pressure, and his thumb comes to rest on his tip, rubbing right over his slit.
Rush moans and lets himself sink back onto Young's cock with more force than before, and God, yeah, he hits his prostate just right.
“Fuck, Rush,” Young says, and his fingers tighten on him almost painfully. When Rush looks down their eyes lock - Young looks utterly captivated, and it's fucking insane that this is only the second time he's even seen this man, because... because...
Young bucks his hips up into him, and then they're off, movements growing faster, more frenzied, less calculated, until they're both panting and groaning with it.
“Young, shit, Young,” he wheezes, leaning back and grabbing hold of Young's thighs so he can ride him to completion. Young's hand on him speeds up, squeezes just a bit tighter, and he climaxes – ribbons of come shooting all over Young's chest, and Jesus, yes, yeah, everything is pulsating with how fucking good he feels right now.
Young is still thrusting into him - looking hazy and passionate and so fucking dirty, covered in Rush's mess - and Rush smiles. “Come on,” he says, spurring Young on as he pushes back against Young's cock wildly. Young makes a low groaning sound and thrusts his hips up hard as his orgasm overtakes him. God, he looks beautiful, the tendons in his neck straining and his eyes shut tight and his lips wet and open in a round 'o' of surprise or bliss or any number of things Rush can easily guess at.
Rush leans forward, feeling oddly protective over the man in front of him, and traces his fingertip over Young's lower lip. Young looks up at him, then, eyes opening and breath slowly returning to a more regular pattern, and smiles.
“You're amazing,” he says, and Rush finds it hard not to believe that the man means it. God, why does he feel like he knows Young? Like he can trust him?
“You're not so bad yourself,” he answers, and feels his lips quirk up when Young huffs out a laugh.
Young looks down at his chest and raises an eyebrow at Rush. “We should get cleaned up.”
Rush heaves a sigh and levers himself off of Young's softening cock, before flopping down on the bed next to him. Young reaches over to the nightstand for a few tissues, and wipes his chest before wrapping them around the condom and dropping them somewhere next to the bed. Then he curls up against Rush's side and presses a soft kiss into his shoulder.
“So, five weeks from now,” Rush says, eyes tracing the way Young's fingers skim over the skin of his stomach, playing with the little trail of hair running down from his bellybutton. It tickles, but it's nice. It makes him feel wanted.
“Yeah,” Young answers quietly. “Heist of a lifetime.”
Rush feels himself smile a little. “And you wanted me along?”
“Well,” Young says, smiling back in a way that's almost rueful. “I need the best.” Then he grins, and lets his fingernail scrape gently over one of Rush's nipples. “Besides, I already know I can outsmart you.”
“Once,” Rush says vehemently. Young had outwitted him one time, that was all. “That's hardly a pattern.”
Young gives him a look that conveys he thinks Rush's count is off, but doesn't say anything before laying his head to rest on Rush's shoulder.
“You still need a hacker?” Rush asks, letting one of his hands slide into the curls on Young's head.
“Yeah. I've got a back-up, but she's inexperienced. I'd rather take a pro.”
“Hmm,” Rush concurs. “I know someone. Brilliant. Genius, really. He's young, but he's the best.”
Young's hand sweeps over the skin of his belly in broad strokes and Rush feels him nod. “Sounds good.”
“He's going to want to meet you in person, first.”
Young presses a kiss into Rush's chest, and when he speaks his voice is amused. “I know. I've got us tickets to Berlin for tomorrow.”
And Jesus, Young is... It's infuriating, but it's also kind of impressive. Rush tugs his hair a little harder than is entirely friendly, but Young just chuckles and lets his thumb rub a quick circle over his nipple.
“They'd better be first class, you bastard.”
The weather in Antwerp is atrocious – rainy and gloomy and almost reminiscent of Glasgow – but it helps them get away unseen. Eli grins at him from the back of the van, suitcase of equipment pressed close to his chest. Young gives him a contented little smile. Even the brawny distrustful guy who clearly hadn't liked Rush from the start gives him a little nod, lips curled up in a way that isn't even entirely sardonic.
They made it. They pulled it off, and Rush doesn't know how to feel about the fact that he hasn't even considered double-crossing Young this time.
The diamonds sit in the small metal suitcase on the seat between them. 102 of them, most of them at least two carats in weight, clarity and coloration as close to perfect as possible.
Perhaps he's waiting for Young to pawn them, to sell them off, so he can get his hands on the money. Cash is easier to transport, easier to use, so perhaps he's waiting for that.
More and more, though, he suspects the thought of cheating Young, of leaving him behind, is what keeps him from actually going through with it. He could do it, he's sure, but it would mean never seeing Young again. It would mean no more nights curled up against each other.
Somehow he thinks even stealing more than twenty-seven million euros from his fellow robbers isn't worth that.
“Nice work with the vault, back there,” Young says from behind the wheel, pulling him out of his reverie. “I knew you were the best.”
And maybe this is it, Rush thinks. Maybe Young is what he's been searching for all this time. More than money, more than infamy – what he's wanted was someone to share it with. Someone who could... God, he sounds like a fool, but someone who could complete him.
He grins and lets his left hand curl around Young's on the gearshift. He's not going to cheat Young. He's not going to take the money and run. He's going to stay right here, with this man who's somehow become important to him in the short time he's known him, and they're going to stay together for as long as they can. He doesn't even care about Eli's inquisitive looks from the backseat.
“You know flattery will get you everywhere.”