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but listen, honey (you’re no fun)

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And he’s calling himself something else now- Acapulco can’t remember it exactly, but it’s on the tip of his tongue, ostentatious and offensively gaudy , tacky- but it truly doesn’t matter. Niagara is never going to stop being Niagara to him, even if it’s out of spite more than anything else.

 

Like, Pulco agreed to be named after a city, he went along with what everyone else was doing even if he’s positive he could have come up with something kickass on his own. Something intimidating. Better than- The Mean Man, The Animal Man- whatever’s going on over there. It’s so exhausting, actually, Niagara really doesn’t know how boring his schtick becomes after a while.

 

He’s been to Acapulco once or twice or three times. It was nice, he liked it enough to choose it, and that counts for something.

 

The billiard room in the hospital doesn’t fit in with the rest of it- it’s one of the few places that manages to be exclusive within the already members-only operation, and Pulco’s dying to keep it that way. He doesn’t need people contaminating one of his resting spaces with all their blood-borne viruses and used bandages and what have you.  And he likes keeping the couch to himself, lets him stretch his legs out as far as they’ll go and recline- easing the pressure off his shit ribs. It’s all very vintage, classic, with an old hollywood feel- red velvet chaises and a second standing sofa, with intricately carved legs that look like the curlique golden claws on the bottom of a bathtub. A very oppressive atmosphere, heavy curtains, dust in the air, Pulco can swear that people were smoking in here because it’s left lingering and rubbed into the wallpaper. There’s empty ashtrays that are designed to look like 8-balls, funny considering their positions just adjacent to the pool table.

 

He doesn’t smoke because it’s a fucking hospital. He feels he should at least maintain some modicum of respect for what the whole establishment was set out to be in the first place, regardless of how it’s deviated from that now. Mostly because he has respect for The Nurse, he loves her, really does. But even he knows that the place is going to shit, and he can smell it in the air. Can smell the blood in the water and stained into the patient’s bed sheets.

 

The Wolf Guy- that’s not it.

 

The Wolf King , is what people are calling Niagara now. He can’t say that it suits him.

 

It sounds better, he supposes, from purely an aesthetic standpoint. Snappier. But it’s definitely less suiting- He thinks of Niagara and imagines the waterfall, the steady erosion against the rock below and the number of tons of force pouring over at each of the subsequent drops. How it’s constantly moving, constantly steady , unrelenting, patient, inescapable, brutal as a consequence of the sheer size and scope of it.

 

Wolves are a pack animal and Pulco knows for a goddamn fact that Niagara doesn’t play well with others, especially doesn’t hunt with them.

 

The Wolf King knocks on his door with his knuckles, and the embossed golden ring on his finger makes a clinking sound against the hardwood. It’s a dark, dimly lit room and yet Niagara doesn’t take off his stupid sunglasses when he’s peeking in through the opening. “Hello-o-oh? Do you need a- a secret password or something? Must say, hurt quite a bit not being invited into the uh- the V.I.P. lounge.”

 

He’s missing his entourage, which is frightening, and drumming his fingers slowly against the doorframe.

 

“Jesus fucking christ, man.” Acapulco reclines even further on the couch he’s draped himself on, throwing a leg over the back of it, and hearing it creak softly underneath him as he shifts, “You’re so dramatic, you know that, right?”

 

Niagara enters the room with the normal amount of fanfare he usually does it with, spreading his arms out a little and making jazz hands lacking in enthusiasm, face still an even blank. “Oh wow! Testy today? Calm down, baby, relax .”

 

He’s not relaxed.

 

He watches Niagara closely as walks around the room, like Waikiki casing a fucking joint . The man walks very carefully, fluidly, he plucks a billiard ball up off the table as he walks by and rolls it in his fingers. Deeply unsettling- not having the upper hand in a conversation. Pulco is used to negotiations and compromise, it’s what his job comes with, and the atmosphere in the room is just dripping with pretense and ulterior motive, but none that Acapulco can guess towards.

 

“Acapulco. You’re a- now, don’t remind me- an arms dealer, correct? Weapons?” Niagara says.

 

Pulco snorts. “Understatement. Yeah it’s like, weapons, nukes, probably got a few drugs and shit flying around back in the warehouses, I don’t know. If you’re shipping something out or flying something in, it goes through me. So no, man, to answer your question, not just arms.” He pauses, shifting again and hearing another squeak in the springs, “But also, yes weapons. We also have those. Those mainly. I guess.”

 

“I have a lot of things that need shipping! And flying in, that’s very- very helpful.Very nice.” Niagara says, “I just gotta know, though. What’s a guy like you doing in a gun-free environment, sweetheart?”

 

Acapulco hesitates, pauses for just a second, and Niagara is snapping his fingers in front of his face in an instant. “Hey, Ack. Acky.”

 

He snaps. “Pulco. The nickname is right there if you want to shorten it, it’s literally-”

 

“Ackbar.”

 

“God, you’re unbelievable.”

 

Niagara laughs in a monotone, if that’s even possible. It’s a very long and drawn out chuckle that’s just disconcerting, filling up the room as the guy moves to sit down on a chaise and cross his legs at the ankle. The smile definitely doesn’t extend to his eyes, which are flicking from Pulco's face to his chest and then down, back up again.

 

The tick of the clock behind Pulco’s head seems like it’s slowing down and it sets his teeth on edge. Niagara leans forward conspiratorially, with his elbows propped on his knees. “I’d like it very much if you could get me, some assortment of you-know-whats. It would make me extremely happy.”

 

“You-know-wh- Oh. Oh, yeah.” He rubs at the back of his neck a little aggressively, glancing up from where he’s been fixedly staring at the frayed edge of the couch’s fabric and he does it just in time to watch Niagara- fuck- lick over his incisors. His mouth feels strangely dry, his spine is still ridiculously tense. “I don’t think I have to tell you the rules, man, I’m not going to go and get myself kicked out. Like, that’s- What are you even fucking planning?”

 

“Classified. But it’s always something.” Niagara winks, “Don’t bitch out on me now, Pulco. It’s, it’s quite silly pretending you’re some type of model citizen, right? This place- it’s not sustainable, I’m just- ah- expediting the process.”

 

Acapulco remembers the cool feeling of The Nurse pressing a wet rag to the fresh cuts over his eye and whispering encouragements and comfort, the anti-micro bacterial gel spread across his face and the hiss of bandages being disinfected to be placed across his cracked ribs. White sheets. Aloe vera.

 

He sighs so deeply he can feel his bones rattle when he comes to his decision. Acapulco follows the money trail but it’s just such a fucking drag.

 

“I want the cash up front, Niagara, and I’m removing your fucking discount. And you better get me out of here safe. And I don’t want one of those shitty getaway cars you put me again, I want something with champagne. Some class. I’m not running a goddamn sweatshop.”

 

Niagara claps his hands together like he’s giddy. “It’s going to be a helicopter, actually! I’ll see if I can make arrangements for some- some luxury while you’re fleeing a crime scene, if that’s what you want.”

 

He’s being mocked, he feels it. He finds that he doesn’t really care all too much. Sitting upright pulls at his ribs in a way that’s painful, sends a rush of blood blooming out against the bandages wrapped around his abdomen but he doesn’t even wince, the medicine dulling the hurt down to something sticky and sweet and lazy. “You can’t lay low or like, leave me alone even a little, can you? Can’t not start shit for  one minute? Look at what we’ve got going on here, I can’t believe you. Shooting up a hospital. I hate that.”

 

The Wolf King claps him on the shoulder and pulls him both upright and in. “Glad to have you on the team! In the pack, maybe! We’ll be- or, well, we already- sent a suitcase to your room. There’s goodies inside, it’s all very fun, very professional. I know how much you like your- your tiny- no, I’m not belittling you, don’t give me that look- your gift bags.”

 

Acapulco is going to shoot Niagara in the face so fucking hard and so many goddamn times his head isn’t going to be recognizable by the time it hits the ground next to Pulco’s shoes.

 

He just uses Niagara’s shoulder to help himself up as he stands, “So you’re sticking with the wolf thing, huh?”


“Oh, yes. Grey fur, grey hair, you get it. Sharp teeth too- extremely pointy. Speaking of, please don’t call me Niagara anymore, I’ve been meaning to say that.” He splays a hand against the small of his back, steadying him. Pulco can feel the warmth of his hand leaking through the fabric of his jacket. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself.”

 

The way that Niagara looks at him then- it sends a quick chill up Pulco’s spine, a cold, tingling rush. He can’t even see the other’s eyes through the mirrored surface of his stupid shades, can only watch himself shift uncomfortably under the fixed gaze, but he feels it nonetheless. He feels like he’s pinned down, a butterfly being stabbed through the wings and mounted up on a wall.

 

The Wolf King isn’t subtle when he flicks his eyebrows up, slowly takes a moment to look down the length of Acapulco’s body and then back up again. His smile is almost imperceptible. The man takes a second to trace a few circles into Pulco’s shoulder with his pointer finger- the one that has a big gaudy ring on it-his  hand moving up to the nape of his neck, almost gently, thumb brushing against his collarbone. The hand that’s pressing against the dip of his back yanks him closer, throws him off balance.

 

When he stumbles forward it’s into Niagara’s chest, and he can feel his laugh shaking through him. He smells like sandalwood, expensive cologne, and something else that’s spicy and heady and intoxicating. The man almost has to curl over to place his mouth right next to the shell of Pulco’s ear, making him suddenly aware of how small he is. It’s embarrassing. He- doesn’t feel as embarrassed as he probably should.

 

“Hey sweetheart?” Says Niagara, softly. “One more thing.”

 

What the fuck. Acapulco shifts, “Hey man-”

 

Niagara cuts him off without waiting for anwer. “As you already know, I’m sure- You and me. And oh- nice private room. You’re a- a smart man, I’m sure you understand what I’m hinting at.”

 

And his hand definitely isn’t resting by his neck anymore, a thumb is tracing up the column of his throat and pressing against his adam’s apple, and Pulco is tilting his head back to let him. Barely even noticing it.

 

“Listen.” He says, he takes a careful breath and can watch how wide his eyes are and how he’s bending over backwards for Niagara in the- fuck- shiny reflective lenses of his glasses, “I really can’t-”

 

“Ah. Ah! You’re a businessman, Pulco, I’m providing you a little opportunity, here.”

 

And- oh, oh god- Acapulco knows that what he’s saying makes a terrible amount of sense, he’s not the type of man to waste something this strategic. He’s not a stranger to the stupid amount of influence that Niagara has, just as much as he’s aware that the man probably isn’t handing out invitations to be his- not partner, not whore- like candy. But for all the people Pulco’s manipulated and coerced and stabbed in the back to get where he is, he’s never slept with a target before.

 

He shivers, again. And it’s fucking infuriating how he can feel the smugness from Niagara, the way he’s drinking in the hesitance and nervous energy. He’s regarding him like a meal, like something inevitable, just like how he sent the suitcase in advance- the guy is such a grade-a asshole that he’s not even considering the possibility of being turned down.

 

What’s most frustrating, though, is that he’s not wrong.

 

Acapulco’s not a whore but he’s also not an idiot.

 

“Private room.” He echoes.

 

Niagara laughs again but this time it’s not humorless, he cracks a genuine smile and almost shakes a little from the force of it, and it makes Acapulco light up. It’s so fucking petty, really, for the guy to be standing there and laughing at him- but he can’t even take the proper time to be offended because the hand around his neck is suddenly firm. Pushing him down to his knees right there on the carpet.

 

He hits the ground with a dull thud and a sharp pain up his legs, falling forward onto his hands from the shock of it. He can just see the shiny wingtips of Niagara’s shoes in the corner of his vision, and he gets the sudden, desperate urge to spit on them. It’s- his fists curl by his sides instead and he looks up and Niagara is reaching up towards his hair.

 

The pain is- fuck- sharp and sudden through his scalp as he gets a fistful of his hair tugged. He takes a quick intake of breath and closes his eyes and he’s, oh, oh no, he’s hard.

 

It’- He’s freaking out, maybe. He’s sucked dick before, he’s enjoyed it almost every time he’s participated in the fucking activity. He shuffles forward a little and places his hands on Niagara’s thighs to steady himself, almost relishing how he wrinkles the crease in his pants- and he’s saying over and over in his head that it’s nothing different, he just needs to open his mouth and close his eyes and relax his throat and take it-

 

But then The Wolf King isn’t letting him forget where he is. He’s flicking him under the nose and snorting and condescending down at him . And he still smells expensive. “Get on with it, then. I’m not a patient man, baby, despite what you’re probably thinking. ”

 

Acapulco jumps into action a little frantically, it’s only when he’s unbuckling his belt that he realizes his hands are shaking. He can’t fuck this up, is his problem, he really can’t do to mess this thing up while he’s on floor in front of the most powerful person he thinks he’s ever had face-to-face interaction with. He has to do perfect- he can’t squander something this rare and fleeting, because The Wolf King wants him- but he’s breathing heavily through his nose and shivering and spreading his thighs a little bit wider against the plush carpet. And regardless of how beneficial the maneuver is, he hates Niagara in a deeply personal way.

                                           

He unzips Niagara’s fly with his mouth, tugging the zipper down with his teeth, and it gets a quick inhale from above him. He almost smiles.

 

Okay, alright, he can see the heavy outline of the guy’s dick in his dumb expensive briefs a solid inch away from his mouth, and it feels hot and looks hard and- oh man- he’s- Sizeable. Whatever. It’s only a little intimidating. He’s already half-hard just from watching Pulco do his fucking charade down on the floor, which seems a little unfair, and he’s getting harder by the minute.

 

Acapulco can almost taste the thread count when he presses his face to Niagara’s cock and mouths at him through the fabric. The man makes a breathy sound and fingers lightly at the hair at the base of his neck and Pulco takes it as both a good sign as well as incentive to move on.

 

Here’s the thing: Acapulco has been through a great deal of shit in his life, ranging from financing a hunting expedition into the Amazon Rainforest to designing, manufacturing, and producing the guns used by both the cops and protesters at the LA riots. He has had quite a lot of sex too, because he’s a criminal fucking mastermind, and he likes a whole slew of activity. There shouldn’t be anything unfamiliar about this all- pulling Niagara out and gripping him around the base, noting the size and weight of him, running a tongue experimentally over the tip of his cock- but he is still so much more nervous than he thought he’d be.

 

He closes his eyes. Inhales. Niagara’s dick tastes salty on his tongue when he closes his mouth around the tip and sucks. And Pulco, he’s lightheaded because he thinks that he’s never been harder .

 

Oh, he shouldn’t be hard. He shouldn’t be turned on like this when nothing has happened and he hasn’t even been touched, for christ’s sake, but there is the physical evidence of his dick twitching inside his trousers like the one twitching in his mouth. He makes a mental note to see if the hospital has any psychiatrists after this.

 

He sinks a little deeper, takes as much of The Wolf King as he can into his mouth, and strokes at what of his cock he can’t fit. There’s a burst of precum right onto his tongue and it’s surprising- so surprising he swallows on an instinct without grimacing. It’s hot.

 

It’s then when he decides- He is going to suck this guy off because he has to make a good impression, but he’s going to spit his cum out right onto the legs of his pants. Or onto his glasses. Or his shoes.

 

He’s pulling off for just a moment, preparing to spit in his palm to wet it, when Niagara pulls him by the hair so hard he gets yanked backward. He feels the sharp pain before he even notices that the man was threading fingers against his scalp. It hurts , and he’s sent reeling backwards. That’s another thing that shouldn’t make him so fucking hard- being dragged and guided around by his head like an object. His dick is pressing against his zipper.

Niagara hums a little, “Look at me, baby, look up at me.” And Pulco would have done it anyway, but he feels the hand in his hair tilting his head up for him and holding him in place. Acapulco’s hands tighten by his side.

 

“What the fuck?” He says.

 

“No hands.” Says Niagara, and his tone is so deeply, terribly gentle, and so fucking hot, “If you may.”

 

Oh.

 

Oh fuck.

 

Acapulco doesn’t trust himself to answer without his voice shaking- Jesus Christ- doesn’t want to risk making himself look even worse, so instead he tries to shut himself up by just doing what Niagara says. His palms are kind of sweaty when he clasps his hands together behind his back, and his fingers are trembling as he lets the other man practically feed him his cock.

 

“Very nice!” Niagara says, and Acapulco is hollowing his cheeks and ignoring the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks. Bobbing his head deeper, trying to run his tongue around the bottom of his cock as he does. It’s- okay, he’s got this- he’s good with this, hands or none. The lack of support causes a sort of balance issue, it removes a good portion of the control he had over his own movements. He almost falls forward onto Niagara’s dick, can’t control the depth of the thrusts as much as he’d like to.

 

Regardless. He pulls back to suckle at the head again, runs his tongue over the tip of his cock and relishes the noise it gets as a response.

 

The hand at the base of his skull is tensing somewhat and pulling him forward, almost holding him steady for a few extra seconds whenever Pulco goes down far as he can. He takes a deep inhale from his nose and tries to sinks a bit lower, feeling Niagara tickle against his throat and just nearly set off his gag reflex.

 

He moans wetly around the cock in his mouth.

 

And he’s getting sloppy- he feels it. He’s moving up and down, over and over, pressing Niagara’s dick against the soft inside of his cheek just so he can lick down the shaft. His face is hot and his knees hurt already, and his jaw is beginning to ache. And Niagara is starting to thrust shallowly into him.

 

Niagara pats him on the cheek and Pulco looks him, which he immediately considers a mistake- because he can see himself wide-eyed and debauched with the dick of someone he considered an enemy stretching open his lips and his slack jaw all reflected down at him. Niagara raises his eyebrows and- oh shit, he forgot he was making eye contact the whole time he was watching himself.

 

Niagara snorts. “Pretty little thing like you can fit my cock all the way down your throat, can’t you, darling?”

 

Pulco moves to pull off of his dick but the hand on his head won’t let him. His throat spasms once.

 

“Yes or no question,” Says Niagara, and his voice is amused,  “You can nod just like this.”

 

Fuck this guy.

 

Acapulco he- there’s nothing else that he can do , short of getting up and leaving. Walking out of the room stiff-legged with his dick hard in his slacks. So he swallows his pride, and squares his shoulders, and almost closes his eyes before Niagara just-

 

“No! No, sweetheart, I want you to look at me when you’re answering my questions.”

 

So Acapulco locks eyes with himself and The Wolf King and nods, jerkily, spastically , with a mixture of humiliation and anger and arousal all churning in his stomach. The cock in his mouth makes a slick, obscene noise as it moves. Acapulco how he knows for a fact how ridiculous he looks. His face is burning and he thinks he’s so turned on he’s going to die. His fists are curled into balls.

 

And then that’s when Niagara starts to thrust.

 

It’s very languid, measured, slow and long movements of his hips forcing himself down further into Acapulco- and he’s doing his absolute best to adapt. He’s, oh god, his throat is closing up and he’s swallowing over and over again, he’s shoving down his gag reflex as much as he can, taking every single obstacle his body is throwing at him to fight out the intrusion and combatting it. Shivering, with his hands grabbing at each other in a death grip behind his back, trying to fit all of this guy’s stupid huge cock down inside him.

 

Niagara’s hips stutter once and then he pushes in a little harder, hits a place that makes Pulco panic, and gives an actual little sigh. “Oh, that’s it.”

 

Vaguely, Pulco thinks that it’s stupid he’s the one being taken apart while he’s also the one who hasn’t even been touched. He can barely breathe, he’s sucking in air through his nose and ignoring the tears pricking at the back of his eyes while he does. He’s- he’s debasing himself like this. He knows that.

 

There are these pathetic little whimpers he doesn’t even recognize are from himself, heard just over the whir of the fluorescent lighting from the outside, and even a- a wet gurgle at one point. He’s choking on precum and saliva with his eyelashes fluttering. But he won’t cry. He’s not sinking to that level. He’s telling himself that, over and over, that he refuses to cry, despite how his eyes are welling up.

 

Pulco gets dragged forward by his hair as soon as Niagara starts to pick up speed- and suddenly it’s like what he was doing before was nothing. This is- life ruining.

 

“That’s it, baby.” Niagara says, “Wow! Not, well, not to be rude in saying this, but you know how I happen to adore your pretty voice- oh, fuck- so much! But you do have this- this bad habit, darling, you just run your mouth so much. You don’t know when to stop for your own good, sweetheart, I like to imagine that may be the- the ah- ah, fuck- the root cause of why you get into so much trouble!”

 

It’s absolutely brutal. He loses his balance and flings his arms out, catching himself by grabbing at the fabric of Niagara’s pants, doing nothing else but clutching on for dear life as he chokes around The Wolf King’s dick. As he’s pulled onto it over and over again, mouth hanging open, making these stupidly hot noises.

 

What’s most embarrassing about it all is how he’s getting off on it. Pulco is too far gone to register how humiliating it is to be used like this, to be shut up and stuffed full and debased so spectacularly that he’s actively drooling out of the corner of his mouth. His jaw is aching an incredible amount, and his knees hurt, and he swears he’s going almost limp because his head is lost in some type of daze.

 

He can’t breathe. Or, well, he can- but he has to take gasping breaths in between the thrusts, and when he cracks open his eyes and finds his eyelashes wet, peers up at the look The Wolf King is giving him, (nothing short of predatory )- he chokes on that alone.

 

He’s pathetic. Throat stretched. So, wildly hard. He moans out loud, again.

 

“Perfect,” Niagara says, groans, “Look at you , honey, so lovely taking me like this, so, so talented. What a sight! Like a view to behold! You’re so good at this, so pretty, I really don’t know why you do anything else, darling.”

 

Pulco moans. Wetly.

 

“And not to be crude- If you even knew what I would do to you right now- I’m going to bend your pretty little ass over, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your name. You’d be so fucking good riding me, baby, do you think that would work? Do you think I could get you all tied up, maybe? Spread out for me? Think that’s a good plan?”

 

And Acapulco- quivering, eyes glazed, drool and tears on his cheeks, and no longer registering his chokes, hearing the obscene sounds of Niagara pistoning in and out of him, does all that he can- he nods around the thrusts he’s taking. Thinks faintly that everything in the room is spinning, and he can’t tell if it’s from the lack of air.

 

The Wolf King forces him all the way to the root as he comes, and Acapulco is almost delirious by the time he feels the man’s cock twitch deep in his throat, doesn’t even taste the cum he swallows.

 

He’s proud of himself for not choking, a little. Proud of himself for not passing out. It’s the small victories.

 

It almost hurts to peel his knees off the carpet when he shifts, falls forward onto his palms, and he can tell something is going to bruise. He coughs a few times, opens and closes his mouth, takes a moment to catch his breath before wiping all the shit off of his face.

 

He’ll get his chance to spit something at Niagara. Preferably- sooner rather than later.

 

Looking up after he regains his composure, he croaks when he sees The Wolf King because the man looks perfectly normal. It’s so fucking unfair- You’d have to take one cursory glance at shit, anything about Pulco to know he was on his knees, from the wetness to his eyes to the bulge in his pants- but Niagara is unreadable. Outside from the flush on his cheekbones and breathing that’s coming a little heavy.

 

There’s the clink of Niagara’s belt buckle being done up.

 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Says Acapulco, and his voice is hoarse and rubbed raw. “Or whatever. Not to be cheesy.”

 

Niagara shrugs. He’s speaking casually, like he didn’t just come down Pulco’s throat. “I thought it was excellent. I’ll be expecting the guns about, hm, let's think about this. About tomorrow.”

 

“That’s impossible.”

 

“Two days from now.”

 

“It’s a gun - proof hospital. Five days from now.”

 

“Four days!” Niagara claps his hands together, “See you then, sweetheart.”

 

Here’s what’s important: Acapulco comes after two strokes into his palm, collapses like he’s boneless the second he’s spent, but only after The Wolf King has left the room.

 

-

 

Waikiki is gaping at him like he’s an idiot.

 

Which he probably is, but that’s not important right then. Acapulco has had an array of injuries come back for a whole slew of reasons- namely his ribs acting up from an ambiguous form of manhandling he’d prefer not to talk about- and a sore throat that he thinks is going to be lasting for like, two days. But at the moment at least, he’s killing it.

 

He’s in the same room again, same red-gold color palette, same pool table, same dust-topped bookshelves, but this time time, well-

 

“Yeah, Kiki,” he drawls, as lazily as he can manage, trying not to highlight how ragged his voice is from his, uh, previous activities a few hours  before, “I can get you the guns tomorrow morning. And a few grenades, too. I like to have fun.”

 

Waikiki shifts, his hands deep in his pockets. Pulco doesn’t doubt that the man trusts him. He’s just in shock or something, maybe amazed, and that’s how Acapulco would like to keep him.

 

“And The Wolf-“

 

“The Wolf King is getting his guns about a week from now. And he trusts me. You should trust me too, man!”

 

Kiki snorts. “I shouldn't trust you. It’s really such a big fuckin’ mistake that I do.”

 

“It really is, huh?” Acapulco crosses his legs and smiles, “But I can get you the plans to 3D print a gun in about an hour, though, if you want them.”