#sledge and bandit make the best frenemies

[kiruuuuu]

Bandit/Jäger oneshot in which they’re on holiday, and maybe, just maybe, Bandit is up to something. Includes Sledge/Maestro, Smoke/Mute, Blitz/Rook and my recruits!! (Rating T/M, chaos, shenanigans + fluff, ~9.3k words) -  written for @grasshopper643​! This was an absolute blast, thank you so so much for commissioning me, and also for including the recruits 💖💖

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Bandit awakens to birdsong, crickets chirping up a storm, bright sunlight falling into the comfy room smelling of old wood, and another body draped over his. Mind blissfully blank, he takes advantage of the marvellous situation he finds himself in: a deep breath fills his lungs with warm, fragrant summer air, and when he tilts his head to feel the soothing rays on his cheeks, he just happens to snuggle closer to the man atop him. Hands wander over exposed skin, travel down the dip of the lower waist, climb the gentle rise a bit further down, fingertips digging into inviting flesh.

Jäger stirs, not much, just enough so Bandit knows he’s awake, and wraps even tighter around him with a contented sigh. Normally, an embrace this snug would feel suffocating, and normally, the start of a new day would be met with unwilling groans and mutual shoving, but they’re on holiday. Bandit’s mind is at peace here, aided by the floral scent of all the flowers thriving not only outside the small house but scattered inside, too, inhabiting vases everywhere and mixing with the building’s own organic smell. Jäger’s personal one is merely the cherry on top.

Lazily, Bandit mouths at his lover’s shoulder while continuing the really quite lovely groping, massaging plump cheeks in preparation of early morning sex, something for which they rarely have the time. But they’re on holiday. They can do what they want. If he was any more awake, he might endeavour to take Jäger apart with his tongue until his moans turn into these hoarse pleas which never fail to drive Bandit insane, yet he’s afraid they’ll have to make do with languid humping amid deep kisses – travelling to their destination yesterday was surprisingly exhausting and they needed the sleep.

Nibbling at Jäger’s nape of the neck earns him his first moan for the day, so he uses more teeth, continues down that vein and grins to himself when Jäger stretches into his ministrations, sees a shadow move by the window and looks up, over Jäger’s shoulder, to -

- to be faced with five pairs of eyes. Very wide, and very curious.

His gaze must’ve turned murderous as all five idiots drop out of view immediately and, from the quiet sounds of it, scramble to get away. Vague regret befalls Bandit not for the first time: this half-baked plan might come to bite him in the arse eventually.

Oblivious to this distraction, Jäger curls into him and captures his lips in a sloppy kiss, and just for a moment, Bandit considers not getting up at all. Give ‘em a show, who cares – part of him wants to show off his boyfriend with his long limbs, the adorable little smiles, confident movements so unusual for him. And Jesus fucking Christ, not even twenty-four hours in Italy, and he’s already let its sappy atmosphere seep into his thoughts.

“Off”, he orders and slaps Jäger’s backside hard enough to leave a bright red mark. With a dissatisfied grumble, Jäger obliges and rolls off him, but not without reaching between Bandit’s legs and hell, he really doesn’t make anything easy, does he? There’s a brief scuffle accompanied by sleepy giggling on Jäger’s part and vanishing resistance on Bandit’s, and when he ends up pinning the other man down by the wrists, he still hasn’t won. Because Jäger beams up at him so unguardedly that it feels like a stab to the heart. He’s just, he’s just so -

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots movement once more and that’s it.

“I’ll be right back”, he promises and, despite being incredibly pissed, briefly sucks on Jäger’s neck for good measure just so his smile doesn’t fade before untangling their limbs and getting up. On the way out, he pulls on a t-shirt and underwear since he doesn’t feel like digging through their luggage for his sweatpants, takes one set of keys and leaves the house to face his delegation of idiots.

The five recruits have piled up outside the door, the majority visibly uncomfortable.

“Sorry for interrupting, chief”, the Irish lad, Shay, brightly addresses him and gets shushed by the others immediately before continuing much more quietly: “We just wanted to report back.”

“Did anything happen?”, Bandit asks and looks to the only competent one of the bunch, the Russian lurking in the back, always seeming uninterested yet no doubt watching like a hawk out of the corner of his eyes. Bandit probably likes Ivan Ivanovic the most as he has him largely figured out – he’s familiar with the cool façade of nonchalance hiding a sharp mind, while he never has any clue what’s going on in Shay’s, Jojo’s or Gian’s heads. Nor is he particularly curious. And Valenti reminds him too much of Blitz sometimes: an overachiever, someone who fancies himself a leader.

“They had romantic breakfast, so Gian called cops on them”, Ivan Ivanovic replies levelly.

Bandit waits a second to see if they’re joking, but Shay merely nods encouragingly and since he can’t lie for shit, they must be serious. He massages his temples and, to buy time in order to process this revelation, barks at Valenti and Jojo: “If either of you glances at my cock one more time, I’m going to shove it up your ass.”

Both gazes snap up in instant terror and both faces flush a satisfying crimson. Well. He could’ve phrased this better.

“To be quite frank, we were in a state of non-negligible panic”, Gian points out calmly. “An interruption seemed the necessary course of action, yet revealing our presence unwise, so I acted swiftly.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway”, Jojo cuts in, sensing Bandit’s disbelief, “they turned out to know some of Maestro’s relatives, we think, so they had a pleasant chat and left and were none the wiser.”

“So let me get this straight – you made a false emergency call and are patting yourselves on the back now?”

Valenti opens his mouth to protest yet realises much too late that this is exactly what happened. His sheepish expression soothes some of Bandit’s anger, though it does nothing to improve the situation. “You did say we could use whatever means necessary”, Shay chimes in good-naturedly and Bandit belatedly understands how in the world these five usually land in these kinds of situations.

“Not only did you fucking violate the law, but you also ogled my boyfriend in order to tell me that ultimately nothing happened?”

They exchange uncertain glances until Valenti of all people attempts to appease him: “Well, we figured -”

“Fuck off. Don’t talk to me again unless it’s urgent, and if you miss me so much that you can’t bear living without me yelling at you, text me. Got it?” His razor sharp tone has them all nod and flee into different directions, leaving him to consider just aborting the entire mission.

But no. He has to get revenge.

The infuriating incompetence at least does have a positive side effect – he’s not only awake but also riled up enough to tongue punch Jäger into never-never land, and when he returns to a long body prettily stretched out on the bed, one hand wrapped around a very interested member, he only needs to grit out a turn around to spark a smile full of anticipation.

He still closes the curtains for good measure.

.

When it comes down to it, it’s Jäger’s fault. He fed Bandit genuine laughs, secretive grins and all the attention he could ever ask for whenever he let the other German in on a joke, and over time Bandit got used to it: shenanigans mean admiration, a few stolen kisses here and there, a re-telling both excited and exaggerated, and even pride. Jäger used to be proud of his innovations, all the creative ways in which he terrorised those around him. Therefore, when Bandit changes all of Blitz’ personalised ring tones to – as he finds – fitting alternatives and merely garners a crushing, accusing look together with a devastating sigh, his world view crumbles.

Admittedly, it did take Blitz an entire weekend to set up the system Bandit single-handed destroyed during two afternoons. Admittedly, most of the song choices were in poor taste and some of them genuinely offensive, but that doesn’t make them any less funny, does it? And admittedly, maybe, just maybe choosing Weird Al’s ‘Fat’ for Rook when the Frenchie only recently voiced wanting to lose a few pounds was a tad misguided. Especially when Blitz hadn’t noticed Bandit’s stunt and asked Rook to call him to locate his misplaced phone.

Well. Alright. Maybe he did deserve the tired look Jäger gave him.

But after that? No matter how hard he tried to impress him, how much of a menace he was, he never managed to regain Jäger’s favour. Instead, he got a talk.

Please stop, was the baseline. Don’t play pranks anymore. Focus on other, more constructive activities. Stop wasting all these resources on messing with people.

And so Bandit stopped. Not because Jäger told him, obviously, but without his partner in crime it just wasn’t fun anymore. It took most of his self-discipline not to tamper with Rook’s new shoes – heelies, of all things, it would’ve been child’s play to make him eat shit – and leave Mute’s new jammer prototype alone, despite him forgetting to lock it away one day. God, it could’ve been glorious. Bandit could’ve strapped it onto Diana and declare her a denial of service dog.

But no, he didn’t even want to mess around anymore anyway, and if he stretched towards Jäger’s resulting affection like a sunflower, it merely was a pleasant side effect. If only the others didn’t notice.

Smoke was the first. Out of boredom, he taped the kitchen door shut and texted Bandit about Monika having baked fresh brownies, then recorded him enthusiastically giving himself a black eye, and Bandit couldn’t retaliate. Because that night was going to be the fourth night in a row on which Jäger would pet his hair until he’s asleep which he’d never really done before, and Bandit wasn’t going to let anything get in the way.

Then Mute hacked his phone and literally every link led to fucking Rick Astley and every time Bandit typed ‘I’, his keyboard replaced it with the entire lyrics to the song, and Bandit still couldn’t take revenge because Jäger was in the middle of watching a series together with Bandit despite not being super into it, and he didn’t want to finish it alone.

And when a handful of others got wind of being immune to his wrath, it turned into hell. People openly approached him to criticise the way he led his team during a training exercise, and sure, he did a shite job due to acute laziness, but who does that? Others let him know they appreciated all the extra care he put in during their most recent mission and fucking Christ, if they don’t even stop shy of compliments, he might as well quit because what’s even left of him in that case? Horrifying.

Obviously, he keeps track of every misdeed. Just in case Jäger gets deployed for a few weeks, allowing him to punish all the wrongdoers. Even if he has the feeling he’d be too distracted to really make it count in that case.

But Sledge puts the cherry on top. One day, he pulls Bandit aside and says a few things which are inexcusable. Unforgivable. And thus, Bandit hatches a plan.

.

They have breakfast in a small café together with Smoke and Mute, both of whom immediately expressed the wish to tag along when Bandit mentioned his plans to go on a short holiday to the beautiful Western coast of Italy and who is he to turn down their company (especially when they potentially distract Jäger, allowing him some breathing room)? The Brits share the vacation house next to theirs and Bandit just hopes they didn’t notice the early morning commotion, but then again it seems as if Mute ensured they haven’t noticed much since their arrival.

“I’m going to eat fucking ten of these overpriced cardboard pastries”, he announces mid-chew and chases down the second half of Smoke’s cornetto with a sip of Jäger’s coffee before anyone can stop him.

“Babe”, Smoke tries to gently reason with him and earns a wild glare.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, not my fault they fold up the footpaths at night, I’m starving.” He gestures to the vaguely horrified-looking waiter to bring more sustenance and finishes Jäger’s latte in one go.

“If I’d stayed up all bloody night high on energy drinks I’d be starving too”, Smoke mutters with a helpless shake of the head which alright, that explains both Mute’s manic restlessness as well as the bags under Smoke’s eyes.

“Are you sure you should be getting more caffeine?”, Bandit wants to know dubiously and realises too late that the young lad’s gaze is worryingly unfocused.

“Huh?”, he makes and it’s obvious he hasn’t been following anyone’s conversation but his own so far. “Bloody hell, if this horrifically sweet stuff is all they eat for breakfast it’s no wonder Seamus is getting fat. I’ll ask whether they have bacon. They must have bacon. Right? Everyone has bacon. Or sausages at least. Fucking cold cuts, anything. Maybe there’s a salt shortage going on in Italy, though the people definitely had more than enough. Bacon.”

The other three stare after him as he makes a beeline towards the poor guy stuck serving them. “I would be salty, too, if some asshole insisted on New York style pizza being better than the original”, Smoke points out drily.

“Is he gonna be alright?” So far, Bandit has witnessed Mute on caffeine overdose (result: the attention span of a squirrel), sleep deprivation (result: endless ideas better suited for a mad scientist, particularly terrifying coming from someone who can actually implement most of them), and excessive hunger (result: an exceedingly sharp tongue plus an infinite supply of irritation), yet never all three together. He has to admit, it’s a sight to behold.

Smoke shrugs. “The crash is gonna be hilarious, no lie. He did tell me he hates energy drinks but didn’t specify why. Had I known, I would’ve put up more of a fight.”

Just as Mute returns triumphantly with an entire plate of fried eggs probably meant for all of them despite him making no move to share, Bandit notices that Jäger has been unusually quiet ever since they’ve left the house – and it’s even odder that he’s just watching Bandit with a small smile. Does he… does he know about his plan? Is he suspecting something? “What?”, Bandit asks defensively.

The smile widens. Uh oh. “Nothing. I’m just happy we’re here.”

Abort mission, abort mission. “Yeah, me too, and isn’t it a shame Elias and Julien have to rot at base without -”

“I was really surprised when you made the suggestion to come here, I would never have expected anything like this from you.”

“Well, we’re here now and we should make a list of everything that’s bad so we can annoy Maestro when we’re -”

“But it’s wonderful. The house is pretty, the beach is gorgeous and the town picturesque. It’s really romantic and I like it here. A lot.”

Bandit just laughs nervously. His face is on fire and he has to get out of this as soon as possible. Maybe he should split up the dumb recruits and have two of them watch him so he can give them a secret signal whenever a situation like this happens because holy shit, this is -

“Even so, you could’ve chosen any place and it would’ve been great, just because you’d be there. Thank you, Dom.”

He’s scarlet. Across the table, Mute is still stuck in the motion of salting his eggs while gaping at the two of them, unaware he’s created a veritable heap crowning one of the yolks by now. Jäger continues to smile at him and there’s no way he can bear another second of this. “I have to take a piss”, he declares loudly before fleeing to the men’s where he sits down on the lid, trying to will away the blood from his cheeks. Maybe coming here was a mistake after all.

To distract himself from the odd sensation in his stomach, he checks his phone and finds a message from Valenti: two lovebirds heading to the water, unsure how to interfere.

Alright. At least he can do something on this front. Once he’s cooled off a little, he returns to Mute nearly dunking half an egg into Smoke’s glass and Jäger observing them with a shit eating grin. “We should go to the beach afterwards”, he suggests and tries his best not to react to the hand straying to his thigh as soon as he’s sat down.

.

It wasn’t pickpocketing per se. Not really, because the odd object was half sticking out of Sledge’s trousers anyway, screaming to be taken. A rectangular box, while not too bulky, definitely not made for being carried around in front pockets for an entire day, and so Bandit merely… relieved the Scotsman of this burden. After all, he might’ve lost it otherwise and who knows how valuable it is. Better keep it safe for him than fill him with panic when he can’t find it and has to retrace his steps.

Bandit can’t deny it came at a pretty fucking opportune time seeing as he’d been obsessing about vengeance for Sledge’s uncalled-for insults, and so he nicked the velvety item without thinking and, as he hopes, without anyone noticing. For once, having to sit next to Sledge during meetings paid off. He’s patient for the rest of the day, carries his prize around without taking a proper look in case anyone catches him, yet when he opens it at home, he blanches.

Oh the possibilities.

For a few seconds, his mind is filled with delicious scenarios, one better than the other: replace the ring with one from a bubblegum dispenser. Replace it with bees. Add a noisemaker which produces a fart sound whenever the box is opened. Superglue it so it can’t be taken out. The more he thinks, the more absurd his ideas become: have it reduced in size. Engrave it with a random name. Coat it in a substance which dyes skin for weeks.

It’s a really tasteful ring. If he’s honest, it’s gorgeous. At the same time, he knows Maestro will flip the fuck out no matter what it looks like because it’s the act that counts, the intention.

Not only that, but Sledge is certain to inspect the entire box with extreme prejudice once he gets it back, and if he identifies any tampering, Bandit is dead meat.

“You dropped this yesterday”, he says the day after and hands the box back.

Sledge, as expected, examines it thoroughly before nodding – he doesn’t even hide it and alright, that’s fair. Given Bandit’s history of messing with him, he wouldn’t even bat an eye at Sledge sending it in to some lab. “Thanks”, he replies, and Bandit isn’t even offended at the astonishment in his voice. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Relationships really do turn most people into utter fools if Sledge deems it a fruitful idea to ask Bandit for his opinion. Fortunately, he’s very different. He’d never change himself just because of Jäger or fall into the trap of hopeless, helpless infatuation. He’s always in control. “It’d be way too small for me”, he shoots back, unimpressed, “but hey, you measured it, so I’m sure Maestro will love his new cock ring.”

The genuine laugh he gets in return tells him that Sledge really has it bad. “I’m planning to propose to him on our trip to Italy next month”, he foolishly divulges and Bandit’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh?”, he prompts politely. “Tell me more.”

.

If looks could kill, Bandit would’ve dropped dead the instant Sledge catches sight of him. He would’ve spontaneously combusted and his ashes been blown away by the wind, because the Scotsman must know instantly that he’s up to something, judging by how the sun itself darkens along with his mood. He’s stretched out on a towel on the beautiful fine-grained white sand, shielded from the harsh sunlight by a large parasol and ready to wring Bandit’s neck.

“What? How?”, Mute is still going on, not having recovered from this remarkable coincidence. “It’s impossible that we end up in the same vacation spot by pure chance!”

“Yes”, Sledge grits out. “Impossible.”

“Adriano recommended this place to us”, Smoke jumps in and Bandit owes him so many drinks, “and I thought you were gonna visit his family?” Some of Sledge’s suspicion fades, even if Jäger throws Bandit a curious glance. He still needs to be careful, so he keeps quiet.

“This… isn’t a set-up? You’re not up to anything?”, Sledge wants to know accusingly and Bandit just snorts.

“Of course not, as if I didn’t have anything better to do in my free time. Are you getting paranoid?”

Sledge looks like he has a few choice words to say, but when Maestro joins them, his attention snaps to him like metal to a magnet – not like Bandit could blame him, not with the Italian’s tan skin glistening all over and his dangerously short swimming trunks clinging to his body. Bandit takes note of this: should he ever need to divert the Scot’s attention, he merely needs to dump some water over his boyfriend.

“Amici miei! What a wonderful surprise, how great to see you!”, Maestro greets them warmly and smooches their cheeks, in the process getting all of them wet, and then turns to where Mute is chasing seagulls while screeching along with them. “What, uh, what happened with my cucciolo?”

“He’ll tire himself out”, Smoke assures him with a sigh.

“How do you like it here? I will show you everything! Isn’t it such a fortunate coincidence, cioccolatino?”

“Marvellous”, says Sledge.

“We can spend all our time together and I will teach you the most important phrases!”

And while the Scotsman looks like he bit into a lemon, Mute rushes over to detail all the sand castles he’ll build.

.

No more than five minutes later, the youngest Brit is already conked out and snoring softly on the very towel Sledge had occupied previously, and when he seems to be wholly unperturbed by the others talking around him, they set up their own beach equipment and share their experiences and impressions of Maestro’s home country. He seems genuinely delighted over their presence, unlike Sledge, and generously shares anecdotes about this particular holiday favourite. Normally, Bandit would rather chew off his own leg than allow the Italian to chew off his ear, but Jäger’s holding his hand and so he really has no other choice. Besides, his lover seems stoked over the opportunity to ask about everything local and his enthusiasm is contagious. At least a little bit.

Eventually, the group breaks up a little, with Sledge announcing his intention to go for a walk along the beach with Maestro, and Jäger urging Bandit to go swimming as well. He shoots Ivan Ivanovic a message about keeping an eye on the unlikely couple and interrupting them should the atmosphere become a little too amorous, and notices a text from Rook: the Frenchman seems to be making the most out of being stuck in Hereford and challenges the holidaymakers in a group chat to snap the best ‘out of context’ selfie they can. Attached is a peace-signing Rook in the foreground, with a half-naked Buck getting his chest hair shaved behind him, looking not at all amused with a doubled-over Valkyrie.

Half a minute later, Blitz contributes by sending a photo of him giving a cheery thumbs-up, while Rook in the background is apparently getting yelled at by a half-shaven Buck. Days since the last superglue accident: 0, Blitz adds.

Bandit, despite being highly entertained, silently vows to upstage him, upstage all of them really, even if he hasn’t figured out how yet.

“At least he’s prepared if he wants to compete with Meghan in the pool again”, Jäger comments good-naturedly, following the chat on his own phone. He turns around to photograph himself grinning while also capturing Smoke drawing a dick on his boyfriend’s unconscious body with sun cream. “You guys are cute”, he adds inexplicably.

Smoke takes one look at the drooling man haphazardly flung onto the fabric, shirt riding up enough to expose a canvas for him to abuse, and nods. “I’ve never loved another human being more”, he responds gravely and adds a few cum spurts shooting from the tip.

“Give the balls some hair too”, Jäger suggests sweetly before dragging Bandit off towards the splashing waves.

The hot sand burns their soles, so they awkwardly skip towards the sea, tackling each other once they’re largely submerged and nearly lose the beach ball they brought. Bandit supposes it’s a bad time to mention how he never really liked going on holiday, figures it’s usually more effort than it’s worth, and hanging around at the beach all day not having anything to do seems like a massive waste of time – but since his presence here has purpose and the cogs in his head never stop turning, it’s actually not that bad. He keeps one eye on the couple strolling along the beautiful shore, almost far enough away that he can’t see them anymore, and focuses the rest of his attention on Jäger.

Because dear God.

He belatedly understands Sledge’s distraction upon seeing his boyfriend emerge from the sea, cheeks rosy, rivulets running down exposed skin, playful smile plastered on his face and -

- and there’s an entire pack of dogs swarming Sledge and Maestro in the distance.

Bandit stares because what else is there to do? It looks as if all stray dogs from the region had assembled to circle the two, jump up and apparently try to slobber all over them, and while his brain is still trying to process the view, he gets thwacked in the head full force by the beach ball, losing his footing in the process.

He’s still coughing up salt water as Jäger drags him towards the sand, unsuccessfully trying to stifle his laughter and apologising simultaneously. He should be more upset, seeing as not only did the recruits choose one of the flashiest ways of bothering Sledge again, but also he’s got a headache now and his lungs are burning, he will probably end up with a nasty sunburn on his scalp as he refuses to wear any kind of hat, keeps stepping on sharp seashells, hates the way sun lotion feels on his skin and despises the taste of tangy water – but when they trip and fall, and his field of vision is filled with nothing but Jäger, and his lover smiles and quietly asks whether he needs CPR, and when there’s warm lips on his own cool ones, none of it really seems that dramatic.

.

Mute is awake and has aged by ten years as they return, but at least he seems to have mellowed out considerably – even though he doesn’t look at all amused with the jellyfish Smoke keeps lining up next to their shadowy spot. “Can someone tell him that sleeping for sixteen hours is a worthwhile activity?”, Mute sighs, massaging his temples.

“If I hadn’t sent you out to get some food, you wouldn’t have let me sleep last night either, babe. Stay up till evening and reset your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll reset your fucking schedule if you don’t stop with these stupid gelatine blobs. We’re not taking one home and that’s final.”

“Glad to see everyone else also enjoying their holiday!”, Jäger pipes up cheerfully while towelling himself dry. “But what happened to you two?”

Sledge, sipping what looks suspiciously like coffee instead of his usual tea, glances down at his scratched up legs, at Maestro’s paw print covered loafers as well as the general dirt smeared over them, and replies flatly: “We’ve gone to the dogs.”

“This has been a really odd trip so far”, Maestro adds, “the first evening we couldn’t turn off any of the lights in our house though they switched off by themselves some time during the night. Just this morning, we were approached by policemen about allegedly causing a disturbance even though I’m fairly sure we had the curtains closed the entire time -”

“He’s referring to the fact that he likes to sleep naked”, Sledge hastens to explain due to several pairs of eyebrows shooting up at this comment.

“Then someone threw a few Playboy magazines through the letter slot, and just now we became an irresistible attraction for the local wildlife.”

“It’s almost as if someone was up to something.”

And while the others continue discussing these odd and unfortunate turns of events, Bandit pretends he missed Sledge’s meaningful comment.

“I think I’ve got sunburn on my hands”, Smoke mutters to himself as Jäger and Maestro encourage each other to come up with the most complicated conspiracy theory which would explain all that’s happened to the happy couple, with Sledge merely shaking his head. “They’re pretty red.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your collection”, Mute prompts tiredly and indicates the shrivelling, dead creatures by Smoke’s feet.

“You see, most of them are just see-through slime, but this one is real pretty. Looks like an omelette almost, don’t you think, babe?”

Mute blinks slowly. “Go and buy some vinegar with Adriano, will you? Doesn’t matter what kind, and don’t ask.”

The suggestion makes most of them spring into action as Jäger was considering heading out for lunch anyway, yet he lingers when everyone but Mute and Bandit trail after a happily bubbling Maestro. “Don’t you think it’s weird that all these things happen to the two of them?”, he asks and it takes all of Bandit’s willpower and focus not to smirk. “You’re not up to anything, are you?”

“Of course not”, he promises as sincerely as decades of professional lying allow it, and sends his boyfriend off with a kiss to his nose.

Once he’s out of earshot, Mute mumbles: “You’re absolutely up to something, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am”, he scoffs and blames it on the energy drinks that it took Mute this long to realise.

“It’s a fucking fried egg jellyfish”, Mute explains without being prompted. “Nothing serious, but the bloody idiot is probably gonna feel it for a few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“And have him start early with asking me to piss on his hands? No thank you.”

.

~*~

.

“To be fair”, Valenti, the little fucker, tries to justify himself, “you didn’t say not to use perfume bombs.”

The effects of just 24 hours of Italian air are noticeable on the five recruits: Valenti has gotten even cockier than usual and revels in the warm weather, Shay has turned a lovely shade of lobster red, Jojo has bought a new wardrobe and, remarkably, looks just as fashionable as Maestro, Gian is distracted by everything and anything around him, visibly enjoying himself and writing novellas into his notebook, and even Ivan Ivanovic is smiling. If only Bandit himself felt the soothing touch of the country, he probably wouldn’t be this close to shaking some sense into the confident tiny Frenchman.

“You’re extremely lucky Seamus isn’t into crossdressing or any of that shite, because his soon-to-be fiancé smelling of several whorehouses at once caters pretty well to these fantasies and would’ve set him off, and then you’d have to keep two randy lovebirds apart and not just two sappy ones.”

“How do you know that’d happen?”, Jojo chimes up curiously.

The five of them are eating ice cream while sitting on the stone balustrade separating the promenade from the beach below and Bandit develops the sudden urge to toss the other German off it. “Look”, he starts and immediately gets interrupted by Shay smushing his face into his chocolate ice and Gian starting to giggle uncontrollably.

“The hell are you doing?”, Valenti wants to know, aghast, and rolls his eyes at Ivan’s reply: “I told him milk good for sunburn. Takes off heat.”

“I do feel much better already!”

Jojo grabs the cone out of the Irishman’s hand and sticks it against Shay’s forehead. “Shame you’re not called Shaun because now you’d be a uni-shaun.” Without any hesitation, he leans in and starts licking the ice cream off of Shay’s cheek, causing him to squeal and wield his damaged cone like a weapon and mere seconds later, they’re having a lightsaber fight in the middle of the fortunately empty street, with Valenti acting as referee.

Bandit’s earlier headache is starting to come back, and this time he’s sure it’s not related to heat stroke.

“Like children”, Ivan comments. He’s still got that smile on his face.

“Regardless of how we might achieve the goal you set for us”, Gian addresses Bandit, “our reward remains unclaimed. You’re confident you can procure it?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you what you want, provided you guys keep your end of the -” And then he’s cut off by a screaming Shay colliding with him full force, sending him stumbling and dangerously close to the low banister but not yet over – though when he tries to turn and yell, Jojo joins the dogpile and sends them flying.

.

Jäger looks fucking gorgeous when Bandit returns to their cottage, shorts and boots really hitting the spot and if he complains about having forgotten lighter shoes one more time, Bandit is going to show him just what he thinks of his outfit by having him keep it on as he blows both him and his mind. Thoughts like this one have become second nature and he’s still not entirely sure how.

“Don’t touch me, I need a shower”, he warns his lover before he can wrap around Bandit the way he usually does, no matter how long he’s been gone, “I’ve got sand everywhere, even up my arse crack.”

“What did you do?”

“Slipped and fell on the beach. And other people might’ve also slipped and fallen on me.”

“Odd. Seamus had ice cream tossed at him from inside a bush.”

“Huh. Did he find out by whom?”

“It was a thorn bush, so he stayed away from it.” Yikes. Bandit feels like his conscience shouldn’t be as clear as it is, but on the other hand he’s largely paying for their trip. So if he gets free entertainment out of it, he’s not going to complain. “Look, Elias and Julien sent another selfie.”

On screen, the happy couple is smooching in front of Echo sleeping on one of the workshop tables, with a variety of objects stacked on top of him in an impressive display of balancing skills. Next to him, Dokkaebi is showcasing a veritably demonic grin, much to Hibana’s concern. “Cute”, Bandit comments sarcastically yet it seems Jäger takes him at face value.

“Right? I still don’t understand why you kept gagging next to them when they were freshly together. They’re so good for each other.”

And he’s never understood how Jäger can support kitsch on four legs this openly. “This might come as a shock to you, but I’m not really the romantic type.”

The knowing smirk following his statement is what drives him away, ears burning, and it’s still adorning soft lips when Jäger joins him in the shower a few minutes later.

.

~*~

.

“Mutiny”, Bandit repeats after a grave-looking Jojo. “Are you taking the fucking piss?”

“We’ve spent almost three days of constant surveillance, spontaneous action, consistent communication as well as doing a remarkably good job, if I may say so”, Valenti jumps in, eager to support his mate, “and you’ve not met your end of the deal.”

They’re huddled behind the very stone balustrade which has painted Bandit’s back a hideous shade of yellowish-green due to an acute case of getting bodychecked over it, and he’s beginning to feel like a repeat performance is preferable over dealing with these numbskulls. “My end of the deal?”, he parrots in disbelief. “I’ve paid for your fucking vacation, you ungrateful little shits, and all you’ve done is ruin their holiday.”

“I wouldn’t go that far -”

“Well I fucking would. You nearly gave Seamus food poisoning, caused him to fall into the sea, harassed him with prank calls which weren’t even remotely funny -”

“Billy’s roadkill diner – you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em”, Shay interjects cheerily, earning a snort and an addition from Jojo: “You frag ‘em, we bag ‘em!”

“- and you even egged Maestro’s favourite shirt.”

“That was little funny”, Ivan Ivanovic butts in, and alright, the string of expletives exploding out of the hot-blooded Italian was admittedly hilarious, especially when even Sledge seemed genuinely scandalised over some of them.

Still, he’s understood by now that engaging any of the clowns leads to madness, so he simply keeps talking. “Besides, what the fuck do you want me to do about a Scot who flat out refuses to take off his shirt at the beach? I can hardly go and undress him, can I?”

“You could show creativity, like we have. Aren’t you supposed to be resourceful?”

If this had come from anyone but the Russian, Bandit might’ve slapped some sense into them, yet this gives him pause. “I mean – I tried, but he wouldn’t budge. Why is this so fucking important to you anyway, are you that bloody horny?”

Jojo looks ready to hold an entire speech as to why it’s crucial for mankind’s survival that they witness the buff Scotsman shed his shirt, but fortunately it’s Gian who speaks up instead: “I cannot help but feel your heart is not in this endeavour.” How fucking dare he. “You informed us of your wish to exert revenge, yet your glee has been muted, your undertakings half-hearted and your satisfaction with our actions astonishingly low.”

Bullshit. Bandit enjoyed watching the one guy suffer who usually throws wrenches into his plans, who reprimands him constantly and sabotages his pranks – it was extremely satisfying, he enjoyed it so much that he’d say it was the best part of his holiday so far.

…he would say that, wouldn’t he? And simultaneously know he’d be wrong.

Because his focus really wasn’t on Sledge, and with passed time it’s gotten harder and harder for Bandit to remind himself of why Sledge’s words stung so much. Why what he said sent Bandit into a white hot fit of rage.

Five pairs of eyes are staring at him expectantly. They might’ve gone about it arseways, but they did indeed accomplish what he asked of them, to the best of their capabilities. They even managed not to get caught, and while there’s no doubt someone is up to something, no one has been able to prove it was Bandit, even if Sledge, Smoke and Mute continuously side-eye him.

Maybe he should call the whole thing off after all and enjoy what’s left of his holiday.

“Give me a minute”, he asks and thankfully, all of them nod. When it comes down to it, they’ve proven reliable in the way a thunderstorm is – no way of telling when the next lightning strikes, but thunder always follows. Besides, now that they’ve overcome their terror of speaking with him, their natural banter reminds him of the familial atmosphere of his own team. Fuck. He’s starting not to mind them, even if they look like vaguely reverent meerkats staring up at him for any kind of signal as he paces back and forth next to them.

This is when he spots Sledge and Maestro, a short distance away from where Jäger, Smoke and Mute are building a proper sand fort: they’re holding hands, facing each other and seem to be deeply moved and fucking shite, it’s the perfect atmosphere with the gentle sea retreating in low tide behind them, the sun sliding lower and lower and flooding the beach in a warm, orange light. Sledge is gonna go down on one knee any second now and Bandit has no way of stopping them.

Shay must’ve noticed the horror in his expression as he peeks over the banister and immediately rips open Valenti’s backpack. “Code red”, he announces more professionally than he’s ever sounded in his entire career, stands up and -

And lobs a water balloon at the two lovebirds. A water balloon which bursts upon impact with Sledge’s broad chest, no doubt interrupting their little moment. A water balloon filled with neon yellow paint.

There’s a second of perfect silence.

Then Shay throws a second one.

In an impressive demonstration of his skills, Sledge catches it without it detonating in his hands and hurls it back full force, a detail the other four recruits quite obviously missed as they rise to get a better look, and when the second paint bomb explodes on the balustrade in front of them, literally all five end up coated in hot pink, with Bandit only suffering a light dose.

Well. That could’ve gone better. For another brief moment, the spattered recruits, Bandit, and the eye-wateringly yellow couple stare at each other.

“You fuckers”, Maestro then screams, and Sledge yells: “Dom, you little prick!” And the recruits and Bandit exchange a single glance before individually coming to the conclusion that an escape is in order. Especially when the two star-crossed lovers start running.

Shay shrieks like a little girl, Ivan takes a brief moment to wipe some of the paint off Valenti’s eyes with the inside of his shirt, and Jojo is already halfway down the street. Bandit is in great company. Gian nearly gets run over by a scooter and apologises in fluid Italian, Bandit slides over the hood of an expensive-looking car and leaves behind frankly hideous pink streaks, and Ivan seems to consider scaling the nearest building while Valenti is still coughing up paint. Shay trips and gets dragged along by Gian, and together the six of them scramble their way through the picturesque seaside town, garnering more than a few odd looks from the locals.

“Whose fucking idea was this?!”, Bandit wants to know and struggles to make it up the steep stairs to another busy road, though he does appreciate Ivan lending him a hand eventually.

“I didn’t think he’d catch it”, Valenti admits between breaths.

“He played fucking rugby, you moron!”

“May I suggest postponing this argument and instead focusing on the task at hand?”

“This colour actually suits you, Jojo, did you know?”

“Let us make left here, come on.”

“Jesus fucking Christ”, Bandit mumbles to himself though he can’t curse away the rush of endorphins in his system – he’s started to become complacent, and though Jäger will no doubt be disappointed in him, he’s missed this, the chaos, the knowledge of doing something forbidden, the guilty laughter bursting out of them now and then as they weave their way through alleys and between cars. He wastes no thought on what’s going to happen once they’ve successfully evaded their pursuers, right now he’s preoccupied with feeling the wind in his hair, jumping obstacles, running with the pack, rushing around corners and -

And apparently colliding with what feels like a brick wall. Something that doesn’t look like one though. Because it’s neon yellow.

“I will fucking castrate you and shove your own balls so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste them”, Maestro growls while Sledge causes another pile-up next to him by letting the recruits bounce off him easily.

It seems like this is it.

“How on earth are you so fast?”, Shay wants to know with wide eyes as the five of them take turns shoving each other to the front to face the Scotsman glaring daggers.

“Shouldn’t have let the one guy among you with no sense of direction lead”, Sledge explains. All eyes slide over to Jojo whose face starts matching the paint he’s covered in.

“Who’s the ringleader here?”, Maestro demands to know. All eyes slide back over to Bandit.

“It was a group effort?”, he tries.

“Will you let us live if we tell you?” Hell, he really should’ve gotten rid of this French gremlin sooner. A single nod from Sledge, and now five fingers are pointing at Bandit.

“Look”, he begins and gets interrupted by being slammed into the wall next to him, and it’ll be a miracle if the furious Italian lets him get away with mere bruises, though fortunately a hand on Maestro’s arm stops him.

“Adrianito. Let him go.” Sledge’s intervention is welcome yet Bandit’s relief short-lived when the two of them part to reveal the rest of their group: Mute and Smoke who are only missing popcorn, judging by the unadulterated amusement in their expressions – and Jäger.

A very unimpressed-looking Jäger. This is worse than a few bruises. He pushes to the front, brow raised and demeanour so calm it instils paralysing fear. For the first time ever since they came here, there’s not even a hint of a smile on his lips and it does unpleasant things to Bandit’s insides. He wasn’t meant to prank anyone, let alone follow Sledge and Maestro like this just to terrorise them. Whatever will come out of his lover’s mouth next is sure to be devastating.

“What were you doing?”, Jäger asks quietly. So far, so good. Around them, everyone seems to be holding their breath.

It’s the perfect opportunity. Seeing as Bandit won’t be able to interfere anymore after this, he could mention his plan off-handedly, complete his revenge by spoiling the surprise waiting in Sledge’s pocket. He can see it in Sledge’s eyes that he knows it too: a few words, and he’d be forced to show the ring, do it all on Bandit’s terms. He holds power over the Scot he never thought possible, and even if he doesn’t ruin his proposal right now, he could use it as an excellent source of blackmail later. The idea of Sledge having to do whatever he wants is more than enticing. “Annoying the hell out of him”, he replies, buying himself time. Sledge’s hazel eyes are boring into his.

Jäger just shakes his head a little. “And, what, were you planning on following them to his parent’s place too?”

Maestro senses his hesitation and though he hasn’t overcome his animosity, he doesn’t leave Bandit in the dark: “My mamma invited us for a family reunion. We’re leaving tomorrow morning and spending the rest of the week with my family.”

Oh. He didn’t know this, their plans must’ve changed since he talked to Sledge about their vacation. It’d be lovely. He pictures it, Sledge kneeling down, surrounded by Maestro’s relatives, all of them freaking out and cooing over them. It sounds heart-warming. And he could destroy it with a single sentence. If he doesn’t do it now, the two will be gone tomorrow and he’ll have missed his chance.

“Well”, he says. Jäger looks ready to cross his arms. “I hope you two have a great time.”

And Sledge gets it. His smile speaks volumes, he relaxes and even graces Bandit with a slight nod. Despite how much they clash the rest of the time, Bandit doesn’t want to do this to him, not like this. There are other methods he can employ without messing with Sledge’s love life and potentially ruin what could’ve been a wonderful memory.

Even so, he’s not out of the shite yet, there are still five recruits looking like they’re going to be gutted any second now, a seething Italian just waiting for his signal to rip them apart, and Jäger. So far, he’s not done one of his sighs. There is hope.

“Why did you do all this?”, he wants to know and Bandit realises something belatedly: namely just how truly fucked he is. Conveniently forgetting about this little detail, he pushed it to the back of his mind, merely holding on to his rage about Sledge’s words yet ignoring their content. His gaze snaps to Sledge and oh boy, how the tables have turned.

.

You’ve been behaving well recently, Sledge said to him that fateful day Bandit swore revenge at all costs. It’s Marius’ influence, isn’t it?

Bandit grumbled a little, waved him off, tried to change the topic but Sledge wasn’t having any of it: Have you told him you love him?

And fucking Christ, how presumptuous could any one person be? Not only wasn’t it his business, but also was he plain wrong. One fact Bandit had accepted long ago was that he cared about no one but himself. His life was littered with selfish decisions, no matter how much he tried to care, tried to hold on. Ultimately, the only one he ever protected was himself. He said something along those lines, unusually earnest with his nemesis, and felt more than just irritation rise in him when he received the response: Stop running from him and ask him to move in with you.

Preposterous. Frankly insulting. And Bandit silently vowed to have Sledge’s head for this.

.

“Oh well, who cares, just yell at me and let’s move on, alright?”, he hastens to change the topic and doesn’t miss Sledge’s grin amid everyone’s bewilderment.

Jäger doesn’t seem happy with this answer. “What do you mean? You can’t tell me there was no reason for you to pull this shite.”

“He pissed me off, I wanted revenge, here we are, now let’s stop dwelling on the past and -”

“What did you do?”, his boyfriend turns to the Scotsman in question, fuelling Bandit’s panic.

“Don’t ask him, he probably doesn’t even -”

“Be quiet. If you won’t give me an answer, Dom, let him.”

This is bad. Bandit’s and Sledge’s eyes meet and he’s well aware to be completely at his mercy – and he doesn’t harbour much hope, not after the past three days of constant torment, not after he very nearly spoiled their holiday. The recruits are holding their breath, neither of them fully aware of what’s going on but Bandit knows they treat the members of Rainbow like celebrities, so it must be exciting for them to witness drama like this up close. Smoke and Mute are following the conversation silently, gazes darting back and forth like in a tennis match, and Bandit wouldn’t be surprised if they’d placed bets on the outcome. Maestro has postponed his fury, though he’s clearly waiting for his time to lay into pretty much anyone involved.

Sledge seems to have made a decision and there’s no way in hell he’s not disclosing Bandit’s innermost thoughts to the world. He simply has to take this opportunity to humiliate him, uncover the secret he carries in his heart, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it. He fixes Bandit with a level stare and says: “I insulted his bike.”

A beat.

Oh, thinks Bandit.

“You did what?!” And suddenly, Jäger’s composure has vanished. “How dare you! It’s a piece of art!”

Like a real trooper, Sledge keeps it up. “I called it a death trap waiting to happen and the decals juvenile.”

“Luce dei miei occhi, you can’t be serious!” Unbelievably, even Maestro looks offended. “It has fire, spirit, passion – that motorcycle has a soul, who are you to call it names!”

“I bet you’ve never even ridden it, it sounds like a large cat purring”, Smoke chimes in as well now, and all of a sudden, nearly everyone is directing their ire at Sledge who admittedly takes it like a champ. It’s a miracle. And Bandit instantly forgives him everything he’s ever done, from uncovering his candy related Ponzi scheme which not only involved Rainbow’s recruits but even spread to the SAS ones, to winning against him in hand to hand literally every time. He can’t believe it, merely gapes at the outrage directed at Sledge of all people and vows to try and never cross the Scot again.

Even so, there’s something he still has to do. “We need to talk”, he quietly informs the very upset Jäger and gently drags him a few steps away from the loudly arguing group, ignoring Mute’s encouraging about time! and Smoke’s meaningful wink. For some reason it seems that pretty much all people present know more about Bandit’s emotions than he does, and though he should find this fact concerning, his mind is currently trying to wrap around what he’s about to say. It’s been a while since this particular phrase has left his mouth, indubitably much too long. He doesn’t use it nearly enough and is painfully aware, so now’s his chance.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Jäger simply blinks at him. “What for?”

Now it’s Bandit’s turn to be gobsmacked. “Wha – for doing all this behind your back. For not listening to you. For almost ruining this holiday.”

His lover softens and shakes his head with a smile. “Dom. I knew you were up to something. I may be horribly in love, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.” Bandit almost chokes on nothing. He what. “It was never about the stupid pranks, it was about them getting so elaborate that we spent less and less time together. I’m fine with you doing whatever as long as you pay enough attention to me. Which you have in the past days. I’m really happy with this vacation – and besides, you’re adorable when you’re shifty.”

Closing his mouth seems impossible at this point. “You – I’m -”

“We’re staying here for the rest of the week, right? So let’s make the most of it.”

The friendly, unguarded smile is killing him. Killing him. How can Jäger say – how can he stand there and just – it’s impossible, and his face is on fire yet again, and maybe, just maybe Sledge was spot on with what he said. He should stop running. For now, he merely nods, disarmed, and avoids Jäger’s much too intense gaze. There’s so much he still has to tell him, but it can wait. He doesn’t think there’ll be a shortage of romantic moments any time soon.

Looking towards the others, there’s at least one battle he can win. Maestro has switched to yelling at the poor recruits and doesn’t seem to notice anything else, so Bandit calls: “Seamus! Could you take your shirt off for me?”

.

The selfie Bandit posts in the group a minute later has him and Jäger in the foreground, lips touching and both ears crimson, but the background is pandemonium. A neon yellow Maestro is giving the splattered recruits a well-deserved bollocking, though neither of the five seems to be listening – instead, they’re staring over Maestro’s shoulder, eyes wide and transfixed on a shirtless Sledge who seems ready to humour anyone (probably courtesy of the fact that Bandit will leave him alone from now on) and is flexing for their benefit as well as showing off suspicious scratch marks and bruises all over his chiselled torso. Next to him, Mute has donned Sledge’s paint-soaked shirt and dragged his fingers through the viscous liquid to write TWAT on the bandages around Smoke’s hands, both of them beaming into the camera while making obscene gestures.

Blitz’ reply summarises the scene quite aptly: wtf, he writes and adds a row of appropriately dumbstruck emoji. Are those our recruits??

You guys are cute, is Rook’s contribution and for once, Bandit wholeheartedly agrees. And while he holds on to Jäger’s slim form, ignoring the chaos next to them and grinning at his lover’s suggestion of involving him in future plans so they can kill two birds with one stone, he decides to let the recruits enjoy the rest of their holiday unbothered.

After all, everyone deserves a bit of peace and quiet now and then. And it just so happens that he’s currently embracing his own.