#yes they're by the book but the book was written by a guy who bodily throws himself at his enemies

[levitatingbiscuits]

Something very dear to my heart is the 501st thinking they're the badass rebel loose canons who do all the reckless crazy shit compared to the straight-laced, spick and span 212th who are extremely formal and put-together by comparison...

...until they start running joint campaigns and the 501st realize that the 212th are a disciplined, orderly, well-mannered battalion of ABSOLUTE FUCKING LUNATICS

[randomingoftherandomness]

OT3, during exile, Booker sometimes takes missions still. One time, the others run into him on one, and he doesn't know they're there. Someone is flirting really hard, and Booker is very uncomfortable. How would Joe and Nicky respond?

Contains: Non-Consensual Groping, Genital Groping, Harrassment (idk I am covering my bases here)

--

He does not flinch when she forcefully cups her slender hand around his crotch and gropes him with a smile. Internally, Booker had had enough of her dogged pursuit of him from the moment he walked into the party and she had slithered up to him in her Versace dress and her too strong perfume, refusing to leave him alone even though he can clearly tell that she was with her husband tonight and that he really would prefer not to end it with his throat slashed in the back alleyway.

Booker is calculating the three ways he can remove himself from this situation without making a scene when a familiar shadow falls over from behind him.

“Madam, please kindly remove your hand from our husband’s cock,” Nicky’s voice rolls over in an octave that spoke of smoky seduction when it really was a two-step warning from him putting a bullet in your eye.

Booker shivers when he feels Joe place a hand on his shoulder. He can only fix his eyes on her as she snatches her hand away like it had just been burnt. 

Because of fucking course that bastard Copley would have sent him into the fray to run a follow-up job on the same one that his exes were running. 

“You didn’t say anything,” She laughs airily in that specific way that people get when they’re busy trying to dig themselves out of a hole. Her gaze rakes over Joe, then Nicky, before she hums. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement, gentlemen? I only want one night with your... Husband? You could watch us. I don’t mind.”

“Perhaps we weren’t clear enough, Madam,” Joe says, taking a step forward.  “Please kindly remove yourself from our husband’s vicinity.” He grins, leaning in to press his cheek to hers. Booker has to strain to hear the next part. “Or your little indiscretion with, ah, the Minister’s wife might be just the ticket to finally seal that deal on your divorce, yes?”

She jumps. Standing almost immediately with fear written into every line on her face. “Who the fuck are you people?”

“The type of people you really do not want to mess with,” Joe smiles genially, taking her hand and ushering her away.

Booker releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Turning, he takes a good look at Nicky. “I could’ve handled it.”

“I know,” Nicky shrugs, Joe’s necklace shifting on his throat in the light of the bar. For a brief second, he misses the weight of his own on his skin. “But we couldn’t stand by and do nothing, could we?”

“Typical,” Booker snorts, lifting his whiskey for a drink only to have Nicky’s hand shoot out to stop him. He eyes him, then back at the drink. “Really?” He lifts it up, sniffing it. “Ah, fuck.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine, Book.”

He scoffs. Swiftly divesting a passing waitress of two fresh drinks, he downs the first one. Savouring the fruity way it washes over his tongue. “Why the fuck are you here anyway?”

Joe sidles back up to their side, snatching the second drink from him and knocking it back. “Same reason as you, I think. Take out the drug lord in the back room and the immediate five persons in the line of succession.”

“Nope,” Booker pops the P. Flipping himself around on the stool, he turns his gaze back over the party. “I’m here to steal the documents in the safe after you’ve killed the immediate five persons in the line of succession. There’s enough blackmail material in there to buy three nations out simultaneously.”

“Wow.”

Booker smiles tightly. “Nice to know you guys still have such a high opinion of me. Really. It warms me right to my toes.” He scans the edges of the room for the men he had clocked as armed. “And what’s with the whole husbands bullshit? We’re divorced. Stop saying it like we aren’t.”

Joe grabs him by the collar then and hauls him bodily against the bar, caging him in with his body while Nicky covers the other side. Pressed this close, Booker can smell his own cologne on Joe’s skin and fuck, if that doesn’t bring back some memories he would rather not think about right now. 

“We are not divorced. Stop acting like we are,” Joe says easily, hand clasped on the back of his neck, gripping tight. “We’re just going through a patch.”

Booker really wants to laugh at that and would have, had Nicky not thrust his hand under his jaw, pushing his head up for him to lean in with a deep and possessive kiss. When they part, Booker heart races with the heady cocktail of arousal and annoyance because fuck this shit, how was he going to last 100 years being constantly reminded of what was at the end of it if he survives? 

“You are ours, Sebastien. For always,” Joe whispers, biting on his earlobe. The ebb and flow of his heart sings to reach out for them. He stubbornly keeps his hands firmly on the bartop. He flicks his eyes to where the armed men were and clears his throat, pulling away from Nicky’s lips.

“You have about fifteen minutes,” He says, moving to shoulder pass them. “Do it and get out. I will need at least 3 before the cops get here.”

Joe grips him by the wrist, halting his escape. Carefully, he turns Booker’s hand over, lifting it up to brush his lips over his knuckles. Nicky mirrors him with his other hand, both men watching him intently. He holds their gaze. And then pulls his hands back. 

Cutting through the room, he takes out a bag of his tools from the third potted plant before the men’s rooms. Chancing a look back, he is relieved and disappointed to see that they’re no longer there.