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soft breath, beating heart, as i whisper in your ear, i wanna tear you apart

Chapter Text

Deep down he knew that whatever he'll find in Palermo will be bad, but not in his darkest dreams he imagined Martín being that utterly destroyed. Sergio spent five minutes knocking on the door, listening to the sound of stumbling footsteps and and a body hitting various pieces of furniture, and when Martín finally does open, he nearly would have got the door slammed right back into his face if it weren't for the foot he planted against it in foresight.

“Go away,” Martín says, sounding more tired than anything.

“I need your help,” Sergio states and walks into the flat, ignoring Martín's protests and weak attempts to hinder him from entering. After he shut the door he takes a closer look and is shocked by how filthy the apartment is. Every surface is cramped with empty bottles, glasses, and plates, some of them converted to ashtrays. Various clothes are scattered on the floor, and a smell of dust, alcohol and coffee hangs in the air. As long as they have known each other Martín has been messy, but there always seemed to be some sort of plan behind it, this, however, is pure chaos.

“And why on earth should I help you?” Martín laughs, bitter and angry. Only now Sergio takes him fully in, sees how thin he has become, how old despite the fact that merely four years have passed since their last meeting. Sees the old bathrobe he recognizes, and the shirt that would be white if it weren't for the stains of multiple colours and sizes covering it.

“I want to use your plan, I want to melt gold,” Sergio says and it feels like a confession.

“Fuck you,” Martín spits out, coming closer, “You did everything to ruin my life and now you want to take that from me as well? Fuck you!”

Martín is now so close that Sergio feels his breath on his skin, surprisingly it smells like toothpaste. “I don't intent to take it from you. I need your help, I won't be able to execute it without you.”

He gets another laugh in return, an ugly laugh that somehow feels worse than the insults he has expected, “Now, you want my help. After you hindered us from getting through with it in the first place, after you refused to make me a part of your stupid plan, after you took Andrés from me.”

He knew that he hurt Martín with his actions, they were necessary, though, not just to protect him and his brother but Martín himself. So he accepted it, didn't even think about it much until now, convinced he acted in everyone's best interest. However, the look of utter pain in Martín's eyes, so fresh like only days and not years have past, makes Sergio's throat tighten and he wonders whether it had been the right choice after all. “What happened?” he asks lowly, stupidly hoping that it wasn't his doing that broke Martín.

“What happened? Andrés died! And I wasn't with him, because of you,” Martín pokes his index-finger into Sergio's chest, “Because you talked him into leaving me to go into the Mint where he died. You got him killed and didn't even deem it necessary to call me, you had me find it out from the news.” His voice crumbles with the last word, eyes welling up with tears.

“He was sick, he had only a few months left. He stayed behind to protect the others.” To save me and my plan. He doesn't even know if he tries to justify it to Martín or himself.

Martín's face goes blank then, and so pale that Sergio's is afraid he'll just black out. “Since when?” It's nearly inaudible.

“He told me the night before they went into the Mint. I don't know when... I think he got the diagnose when you still lived together in the monastery.”

“Why didn't he... he said- I should've been with him! Why did he... What did you tell him?” Suddenly furious Martín takes hold of his shoulders, shakes him even though it feels feebly.

“That you were a liability,” Sergio admits and the tears are falling from Martín eyes after all, “That you were destroying each other, that you will get both of you killed if you would go into the Bank.”

“He still died,” Martín whispers, stops with the shaking and claws his fingers so much deeper into Sergio's skin. He hisses at the sharp pain, accepts it since it's probably the least that he deserves.

“It's my fault.” Not just that, he realizes as he looks at Martín's small, shaking frame.

The fingers let go of him to be replaced by arms, holding him in a desperate, too tight embrace. Sergio returns it hesitantly, feels his shirt getting wet where Martín sobs into it and tears prickling in his own eyes.

“He said he loved me, that I'm his soulmate and then he left me.” 'It's done' was the only thing Andrés has told him, lips tight and hard look in his eyes, and Sergio didn't dare to ask what he did to Martín, he wishes he still wouldn't know. “And he kissed me,” Martín continues, “He kissed my like he meant it and I thought... I couldn't wrap my head around it when he left.”

Sergio feels sick, he puts his hand into Martín's hair, tries to soothe him, make him shut up. “I didn't ask him to do that. I wouldn't...” he stops, because wouldn't he? Did he really care about what Andrés did to Martín as long as they got rid of him?

“I can't forget it, can't forget him,” Martín says it like a mantra, and Sergio helplessly continues with patting his back and hair just to be thrown right off of track when a pair of lips is pressed against his jaw.

“Martín,” he protest and tries to get away, but the hands are clawing into his shoulders again, keeping him in place.

“I saw how you looked at me,” Martín says right against his skin, and Sergio feels a wave of shame hitting his body, “Is that why you took him from me?” There is a bite, right into his earlobe, the sting immediately soothed by another kiss.

“No,” he groans, unsure if it's due to the pain or the embarrassing memories. He did... wonder about Martín, what he would feel like, but it wasn't because he was attracted to him, but because Martín fuelled his mind with all those talks about blow-jobs and homosexual sex, and that he would make it good for him. “I wanted to protect you. All of us. From each other. This dynamic, it would have imploded at some point.” He realizes he isn't trying to stop those kisses, slowly but steadily making their way to his mouth, any more, knows there is no logically reason to let this happen.

“Me or you? Who would have imploded?” Martín asks. They are nose to nose now, the tears are gone and his eyes are full of determination. The sudden shift feels alarming, nearly dangerous. Sergio doesn't know what to say and after they stared at each other for a few seconds, breathlessly, Martín begins to smirk, “Why did you never act on it? That one time I was sure you'd bend me over the sofa, just fuck me without any preparation.”

He remembers that night, years ago, long before they ever talked about melting gold. It was just the two of them, Andrés being on a vacation with the most recent wife, and they got drunk, reluctant about each other's company at first and then more and more relaxed. It had been nice until they started to talk about relationships, and sex, and Sergio felt entirely too hot because Martín was so close. Sergio got up to straddle him, was halfway there and thought better of it, left for his room instead.

There is suddenly a hand on Sergio's dick. Terrified, he realizes it's painfully hard, and the grin on Martín's face grows that much wider. “From the very beginning I saw how you looked at him,” Sergio admits and somehow compelled he continues, “I knew it would be a horrible idea to do anything. That Andrés... wouldn't have allowed it.” His brother had always been possessive and Sergio didn't know whom of them he would have ultimately chosen if anything went down between them. He's glad he never found out.

“He's gone,” Martín states, only revealing a hint of the sadness he showed a few minutes ago so openly. Then he leans in, presses his lips against Sergio's, starts to move the hand that still palms his dick through his jeans.

For a few seconds Sergio kisses back, forgets about everything around him, about why he's here and that he cannot do this. “I can't do this,” he says, places his hands on Martín's cheeks to pull him away, “I'm in a relationship.”

“I don't care.” Sergio nearly laughs at that, but then he sees the look on Martín's face, hears the desperation in his voice, “Don't do that to me, not again.”

I'm not the one who kissed and left you, he wants to say, but it's his fault that it happened, isn't it. And he did leave Martín, just like Andrés, only that he had the chance to right his wrongs and instead of grasping it he tried to forget about Martín's existences.

“Please,” Martín whispers, all the self-confidence slipping out of him as fast as it came, “I know you want me, stop denying it. Please, I need this,” he presses another kiss against Sergio's lips, “I need you, please. Do whatever you want, just touch me, but don't send me off. I can't.”

Sergio feels sick again. Sick upon seeing what his doing ultimately made out of Martín, sick because this devotion, this desperation, clouds his brain with want. He wonders if that was what Andrés saw when he left Martín for good, if he did see it throughout all the years they've spent together. He kisses Martín back, deep and sloppy, claws on his horrible bathrobe and throws it to the floor. Raquel's face comes to his mind, he feels guilty about doing this to her, but not anywhere close to how guilty he feels about what he did to Martín. He is righting his wrongs, he tells himself, and helps Martín unbuttoning his shirt.

Martín moans into his mouth when their upper bodies are finally bare and pressed against one another, and Sergio hands stroke the naked skin of his back. Surprised, he realizes that Martín feels and smells clean like he just got out of the shower despite the sleazy state of his clothing, and he's weirdly relieved about it. “Fuck me, please, please,” Martín groans when Sergio's hands cup his ass, sounding more close to tears than turned on and a voice in the back of Sergio's mind tells him it isn't a good idea, that they should stop this. As if feeling his reserve Martín fumbles the button of his jeans open, slips his hand inside and takes hold of Sergio's cock in an unrelenting grip. He hisses, bucks his hips forward into this warm and perfect hand. Martín begins to move it then, fast and expertly, and Sergio remembers all the instances Martín offered himself to him, regrets not acting upon it sooner. Maybe nothing of this would have happened then, Andrés dying, Martín breaking, himself being responsible for all of it.

“Please,” Martín repeats, mouth sucking on his pulse point and Sergio just nods.

Unceremoniously, he's pulled to the shabby couch and left to stand there awkwardly. He decides to get rid of his trousers while Martín roams the drawers of a small cabinet, returning with a bottle of lube and condoms. He pulls down his shorts as well, lets them fall to the ground, and knees on the sofa, chest lying on the backrest, and uncaps the bottle.

“Let me,” Sergio mumbles and sees Martín's shoulders sink in. He takes the lube, pours some of it onto his slightly shaking fingers, and presses one of them against Martín's hole. He's never done this, neither with a man nor a woman, and the sight is just as strange as the feeling of it. When he pushes his finger in, though, and hears the moan leaving Martín's lips, his own neglected erection starts to twitch.

“More,” Martín growls when the first finger is hardly inside of him and Sergio complies, desperate to replace the fingers with his dick. For a moment it feels impossible to get the second one into the tight ring of muscles, but then it's nearly sucked inside and Martín lets out a hiss of pain. Before Sergio has the chance to ask if he's okay, Martín starts to move his hips vigorously, and his brain just shuts down at the sight. He remembers imagining this, having Martín willing and obedient under him, taking whatever Sergio gives him, groaning in pain. He remembers throwing up right after he came to the picture of this, as well, horrified by his own mind and sick desires.

“It's enough,” Martín says when Sergio is just about to push the third finger in.

“I don't think-” he tries to object but is interrupted right away, “Stop thinking for once and just do it.”

So he complies, tries to tell himself he's doing it since Martín wants him to and not because he's sure his brain will just shut down if he doesn't get his dick into Martín immediately, and pulls his fingers out, entirely too fast, so that they both hiss at the feeling of it. Martín unwraps one of the condoms and Sergio gratefully takes it, realizing that it would have been a rather difficult task to fulfil with his slippery and shaking fingers.

Fucking someone in the ass turns out to be more complicated than Sergio thought it would, his dick gliding past the hole a few times before Martín groans in frustration, takes hold of Sergio's cock and just sinks back onto it. It feels so unbelievable tight and hot that he's afraid he'll come like that without even having moved an inch. He's concentrating so much on getting accustomed to it, that he needs a few seconds to realizes that Martín's moans definitely don't come from pleasure anymore.

He tries to pull out, apology already on his lips, but Martín beats him to it, “Don't you dare. I just need a moment and then-”

“Martín...” Sergio groans, the sick feeling creeping back up on him.

“No! Just... move okay, slowly.”

And Sergio does. Hesitantly, and then, when Martín visibly relaxes, faster. He tries to take hold of Martín's cock, thinks it would be the right thing to do, but his hand is swatted away. “No,” he growls, “Concentrate on fucking me, I'll do it.”

Again, Sergio complies, because what else is he supposed to do? He puts his hands on Martín's hips, holds him in place with a bruising grip, and lets go. It's like floating, he sees stars, loses every feeling but the one of the tightnes around his cock. Everything narrows down to it, and he's only dimly aware that Martín started to pump his dick, looking as desperate as Sergio feels. He closes his eyes then, not sure whether he merely wants to fully concentrate on the waves of pleasure pulsating through his body, or whether he wants to shut out the pictures of who is doing that to him.

He comes fast, which isn't surprising but definitely disappointing because he doesn't feel like he had enough of this at all. The orgasm shakes him in every core of his being, leaves him breathless, and when he opens his eyes again to pull out, cock already getting soft again, he finds Martín groaning in frustration, still obviously hard. Sitting down on the couch next to him he says, “Let me.” Martín is only shaking his head again, stubbornly biting his bottom lip, and Sergio feels the same frustration creeping up on him. “Just- come on,” and for good measures he adds, “Please.”

Somehow it does the trick, Martín sinks into himself, turns around to sit down on the couch next to Sergio, letting his hands fall down defensively. Sergio doesn't hesitate, puts his hand on Martín's erection, and wonders for a moment why he persisted on finishing him off as he realizes he has no clue what to do now. He moves his hand then like he does on himself, and it's weirdly familiar and strange at the same time. Martín melts into the touch, groans and pants, and is coming when Sergio just started to feel like he knows what he's doing to some extend. Sergio jerks him through it, carefully to not overstimulate him, and only pulls his hand away when Martín hisses in discomfort.

He's probably supposed to say something, Sergio thinks, and when he looks at Martín he sees that the tears are back in his eyes, threatening to well over. Maybe he should place his arms around Martín, let him cry into his shoulder again, perhaps it'll make Martín feel better, make himself feel better.

He is overstrained with the situation, has never been the person for a casual hook-up. But that wasn't that, was it, not after knowing each other for years, not after what he did to Martín, not after Andrés.

“I won't be one of your puppets,” Martín says after a few moments of strained silence, tears thankfully gone from his eyes, “This is my plan, we're going to lead together.”

“Of course,” Sergio says, expecting this ever since he decided to make Martín a part of it.

“Good, I'll get my stuff,” Martín announces and leaves for what seems to be the bathroom.

Groaning, Sergio lets his head fall against the backrest. They shouldn't have done it, he realizes, just like they shouldn't have done it all those years ago, it will only make things so much more complicated.

Chapter Text

“You have to keep calm no matter how high the pressure is,” Sergio tells his class and adds, “Not like in the Mint. We can't afford that either of us loses their head, and especially not over personal matters.”

The look that Raquel gives him in that moment should have been a warning, at least Sergio realizes this in the evening when he walks into their room. It got late, he had a discussion with Martín about why they definitely won't kill any hostages, and had to explain to Tokyo why they won't sent a bunch of hit-men into the police tent, either. Conversations they have had countless of times by now and he is more than sick off.

“I'm sorry,” he says upon entering, “I got-” He closes his mouth when his eyes land on Raquel who sits naked on their bed, only covered by a piece of blanket around her middle.

She grins, obviously due to his speechlessness, but who could blame him, really? “I think you said something about 'keeping calm under pressure',” she asks innocently.

Trying to keep a straight, serious face he walks closer to the bed, “I'm quite sure I did.”

“Oh, but that is something that has to be practiced,” she muses.

“Certainly,” he agrees, finally having reached her. He's just about to lean down, to place his lips on hers, when she pulls the covers away. Turns out she isn't completely naked; around her hips she has fastened a strap-on. It's purple and thicker, yet shorter, than the one they've got back home in Palawan, and he wonders where she got it from.

He lets out a shuddering breath and she grins even wider. “Yes?” she asks.

“Definitely,” he agrees with a hoarse voice.

Apparently, it's all that she has waited for. In one swift motion she's is standing, hands already on the buttons of his shirt. In no time at all he's naked as well, slightly shivering against the cool air. She gets to her tiptoes, plants an opened-mouthed kiss against his lips. Coming a step closer she presses the dildo against his already half-hard cock and he can't stop a low moan from slipping out.

“Bend over,” she whispers and he complies, placing his forearms on the bed, ass just the right height for her to sink into him. He shivers in anticipation.

“So, tell me about how we're getting into the vault,” she demands.

“We- what?” he asks confused and lets out a hiss when a cold liquid hits his hole.

“Performing under pressure, you said it's essential.” He hears the grin on her face, but cannot concentrate on much else than on the finger that presses against him.

“I don't think I'll need to make decision while having sex,” he objects and moans when the finger slips into him, stretching him deliciously.

“No, but I thought it would be more practical than chasing you with a gun. We've done that, after all, and this,” for good measurement she starts to move her finger in and out of him, “is definitely more fun.”

He wants to agree but is too distracted with not falling down on the bed entirely. She suddenly stops her movements, though, and before he can complain she reminds him, “The vault, love, tell me about it.”

So he does, tries to concentrate on their plan and every eventuality that could prevent them from going through with it, which is not nearly as easy as it had been this morning, especially not when Raquel pushes the second finger into him. He's consistently interrupted by his moaning and whenever he stops speaking for a few seconds she stops with the movement of her fingers as well. It's all rather frustrating.

He just finished explaining how they'll melt the gold when she pushes a third finger into him and he forgets about all the stupid details he went over time and time again the last few weeks. He drops his head down onto the bed, and just gives himself completely to her fingers and the delicious stretch. “Keep going,” she reminds him, obviously enjoying what she does to him. He takes a shuddering breath, is nearly able to direct his thoughts away from the prefect, breathtaking feeling and back to the plan, when she seemingly decides this it the right moment to let the fingers brush against his prostate.

By now she knows him well enough to avoid touching certain spots and moving in a particular ways which are making him lose control over his body until she deems it's the right moment to do so. This time it isn't any different; upon the first, small contact Sergio feels like electric shocks are being sent through his whole body, and when she keeps going he's positive he sees stars.

Professor,” she drawls it out like a moan, “Tell me what we'll do when one of us gets captured.”

“Raquel-” he protests, the fingers frustratingly stopping half inside of him once again.

“I'm merely following your instructions here,” she says innocently, and when he turns around to look at her, he sees her smiling brightly, “You can't be too well prepared, can you?”

“No,” he agrees through clenched teeth and tries to remember her question. “Plan Paris,” he says in the end, and thankfully her fingers start to move inside of him again, only brushing against his prostate with every other thrust, though. He feels the desperate need to touch his cock, but is aware that he'll come in ten seconds if he gives in and he definitely doesn't want this to be over just now, so he claws his hand into the covers.

They spend a few, agonizing minutes like that; him explaining how they'll build a tunnel and replace one of their own with a random stand-in to get them back, all the while desperately sinking into Raquel's fingers which are too much and not enough at all at the same time.

“Please,” he says when he's sure can't endure it any second longer, “I need you, I need more.”

She places an open-mouth kiss on his back and pulls her fingers out slowly. He feels his hole gaping with the loss and shivers when Raquel traces around it with her thumb. “I love this sight,” she remarks, which doesn't help with feeling close to coming. Not at all.

He expects her to sink the silicone-cock into him every second now, awaits it, but instead she flops down on the bed, arms under her head and looking up at him with a mischievous grin, “Come on then.”

Sergio wants to protest, this is not what he had in mind, he expected to be taken, but the look on Raquel's face makes it clear she won't be convinced otherwise. When she first asked him do to it he hated it, felt uncomfortable with the thought of sitting on her, exposed, revealing how much he loves getting fucked, something he hardly ever got around to act upon. He still feels self-conscious when he rides himself on the strap-on, facing her, but he got to appreciate the way she looks at him, how much she enjoys to see him that utterly out of his mind. The good thing about it, he realizes, is that this way she won't be able to torment him with any more questions about the plan, so after he few seconds he joins her on the bed.

“Won't last long,” he mumbles and sinks down slowly onto the dildo, placing his hands on her thighs behind her. It's thicker than her fingers but not too thick and when he's fully seated on it, it presses perfectly against his prostate.

“How unfortunate,” she says, but the grin on her face indicates that she doesn't mind at all, probably pleased about the way she got him worked up with only her fingers.

He starts to move then, lifts his hips slowly up just to sink back down, staying there for a moment to get accustomed to the feeling. The dildo making it so much more intense than her hand before.

“Want me to...?” she suggest and is already holding his cock in a loose grip. He nods, dick twitching at the small contact, and starts to move his hips in earnest.

She jerks him through it, at first carefully, than, as his rides her faster, picking up the pace, as well. It's heaven, everything leaves his body, the worry, the anticipation, the fear, and only arousal is left, burning through every cell. He moans embarrassingly loud, but he learned how much it turns her on so he doesn't try to stop the sounds from coming.

At some point the pleasure becomes too much, he feels like he's close to falling apart while not being able to let go. He stops his movements, bends forward, places his hands next to Raquel's head and sucks on the skin of her shoulder to muffle himself, to feel anything besides the pulsating heat taking hold of his whole body.

She jerks him faster and harder, lets out a stream of words he doesn't understand, and then moves her hips, pushing the dildo impossibly deeper into him. He orgasms like that, trembling and groaning and covering them both in his cum. For a few seconds he stays like that, breathing into her shoulder and trying to get back to his senses.

“Good?” she laughs.

“Perfect,” he answers, places a kiss on her lips and lifts himself off the strap-on, hissing when it slips out of him completely. He plants a trail of kisses along her body, knees down between her legs, and finds her soaking wet. Without further hesitation he takes her clit into his mouth, sucks on it and enjoys to hear her cursing upon the touch.

She bucks her hips against him, places one hand on his head to pull him closer, and only lets go somewhat when he moves his fingers up to sink them into her. With a low moan she clenches down around them, and he thrust them into her, licks and sucks her clit until she comes with a shout. He keeps on going lazily, but she uses the hand still buried in his hair to pull him up to her face with a shaky laugh. “Enough,” she breathes.

“Want to talk some more about the plan?” he asks with a small smile when he settle down next to her, one arm thrown over her rapidly sinking and falling chest.

“Do you?” she grins and slips a finger into his still loose and slick hole.

“Tomorrow?” he suggest.


Chapter Text

It's one of the good days because she is there. She gets him out of his cell, takes hold of his arm when there is no wall to support his weight and he suddenly has to keep himself upright and fails. He's shaking, but he always is, and soon the shaking will be gone. Soon he'll be able to breathe again.

She takes him into the bathroom, she doesn't do it every time, only when reeks too much, or when she feels like it, he doesn't know. There is already water in the bathtub, warm and smelling of flowers, and he nearly cries when she helps him settling into it. She washes his hair for him, since he's too tired to hold up his arms. It's not easy on her either, her belly is in the way so she can't come too close to the tub, has to rub the soap into his hair in an awkward angle. 

He thinks he dozes off, because suddenly her hands are gone and the water is rapidly sinking around him. He finally stopped shaking. She helps him up, gets a towel around his shoulder, rubs him dry. “There,” she says with a warm smile and he wants to thank her, but feels unable to speak.

After she dressed him, put scratchy sweatpants and a plain t-shirt on him that are still better than being naked, she leads him into the small bedroom which he assumes is hers despite the lack of any personal belongings. They hardly ever go here, the only regularity to it is that she baths him before they do, but not every bath leads to this. Sometimes it's hard to wrap his head around it.

“Just the two of us,” she affirms and he's relieved, the pain only comes when they are there.

She lets him sit on the bed and it feels so good to have a soft surface under him, that he would lie down if it weren't for her body next to his. “How are you?” she asks and strokes a wet, too long curl from his forehead.

“Good,” he says. It's a lie and she knows it, but her being there is the closest he gets to good these days. She is aware of that as well.

She smiles as if it makes her happy to hear it, and maybe it does, sometimes she is an enigma. She continues to stroke his hair, lets her hand wander over his face to his shoulders. He melts into her touch. “It's okay,” she mumbles and he realizes only then that he started shaking again.

It's all the permission he needs. He lets his head fall against her shoulder, throws his arms around her body and tries to hold on despite how much the motion hurts his weak arms. She returns the embrace, pulls him in until he's pressed against her belly. Sometimes he hates it is there, like a wall separating them, but whenever she takes his hand to let him feel the kicking under her skin he forgets about his resentment.

He wants to cry, for a second tears seem to well up in his eyes, however, they don't fall, they never fall these days. He nuzzles closer and she lets him, places a small kiss on the top of his head.

“You want me to make you feel good?” comes her voice through this comfortable haze. Again, he doesn't know how much time has passed.

It's not really a question, he once told her no and she did it anyway, but he doesn't want to tell her off anymore, likes what she does to him so much that he can't deny it, not even to himself. “Yes.” His voice is hoarse. Another kiss to his forehead and her hand wanders down his body. They are sitting side by side which allows her to get excess to his groin without having to let go of him. He likes it that way.

She makes him lift his hips so that she can pull down his pants, frees his already hard cock. The first time he was ashamed of it, of getting aroused by her holding him, by her soothing the pain away, but she told him he doesn't need to be and he listened.

Her hand on his dick is warm and tight, stroking him just at the right pace. By now she knows perfectly well how to move in order to wring low, desperate moans out of him. He always tries to keep it quiet, but it never works, not when she flicks her hand over the tip of his dick and uses the leaking precum as lube. Pictures of another woman come to his mind and he does his best to shove them back into the little corner where he stores them, not wanting to mix them up.

He presses his face into her breasts, she likes it when he does that, even more so when he uses his hand as well, to cup them, squeeze them. Today he feels too tired for that, though, and she doesn't complain.

She moves her hand faster and faster until he bucks up into it, until the orgasm takes hold of his whole body, making him forget where he is for a few wonderful seconds. When it's over he sinks into himself, boneless, unable to keep up any longer, and falls back onto the mattress. Through heavy-lidded eyes he sees her licking his cum off her fingers and he feels another wave of arousal rolling through his body.

She helps him to place his legs on the bed, then licks him clean as well. These are the only instances she ever takes his cock into her mouth; when he lies spent under her. Sometimes he desperately wants to come down her throat, but he doesn't dare to ask for it. When she's done and he's shaking with the overstimulation she lies down with him, back to his chest. In the beginning they lay the other way around, but now her belly is too huge. He hates it, it's a constant reminder to the fact that she'll leave him soon. A sick feeling spreads in his stomach. He doesn't want to think about her leaving, not now.

He slings one arm around her, pulls her tight skirt up. She never asks him to do that, but it feels like it's only right, he wants to do it. He finds her panties soaked and she helps him pull them down. She takes a sharp breath when he aims right for her clit. He loves to feel her falling apart in his arms.

After rubbing her for a while he pushes his fingers into her, she is so turned on that he doesn't bother to go slow, uses three immediately. Maybe he wants to hurt her, sometimes he wants to hear her moan in pain and not in pleasure, but she enjoys all of his touches. Just as he enjoys all of hers.

He moves his fingers in and out of her in a fast motion, breathes into her neck, relishes that she gets pliant against him, that he's in control for once, even though it's only fleeting. His hand gets tired soon, cramped with the strange angle, and she takes pity on him, helps him by placing her own fingers on her clit. When she comes it's only the clenching around his fingers that gives it away, otherwise she is completely silent. He hates that, he wants to hear her scream.

Wincing, he pulls his hand out of her. Sometimes she isn't satisfied with coming once, she never tells him, but he feels it in the way she craves his touch. Today isn't one of those days, though, and he's glad about it, he's hardly able to keep his eyes open as it is. He places his hand on her hip and it feels nearly possessive.

“You have to tell them what you know,” she whispers.

“I don't know anything,” he objects. He's too tired for it, doesn't want to go through it again.

“They don't believe you, and they won't let you go until you told them everything.” Her voice is warm and loving and when he doesn't say anything else she continues, “I won't be here for much longer, and I don't want to leave you behind. But I can't take you home if you don't help me.”

“I try to, I do my best,” he promises. The shaking is back, just as the tight feeling in his chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

“I know,” she soothes, “I know. I'm with you. Now, sleep.”

He does it then, enjoys lying in bed with her in his arms for as long as might last.

Chapter Text

“I'm positive the two of you will get along,” Andrés says, finishing his story about persuading his brother to help them stealing those diamonds, claiming they'd need his 'strategic mind' to get into the museum in the first place.

Ever since Ágata met him, sitting next to each other in a police station one night - both wrongfully arrested, of course - she took a liking in him, and surprisingly the feeling turned out to be mutual. This, however, doesn't mean she's ready to put up with some mini-Andrés, but since it's always pointless to argue with him and they're already in his car, driving to said brother, she only shrugs and grumbles, “We'll see about that.”

Turns out he's right, though, because when she's introduced to their new partner there seems to be no trace of the asshole-gene that is so dominate in Andrés, on the contrary, Sergio is rather nice, almost shy even. And cute, she realizes, despite the nerdy glasses and the clothes which make him look like an accountant in his forties. Okay, maybe it's because of that, and the fact that he starts to blush slightly when she says, “Oh, now I know what your brother was talking about,” isn't helping either. They'll definitely get along.

Unfortunately, Sergio isn't too convinced about it. “... matter, she's practically a child,” Ágata hears him say right after she left the bathroom she excused herself to a few minutes after arriving.

“A rather talented child,” Andrés objects with a laugh.

“A child who needs to be home soon,” she says with a sly grin as she walks back into the living room, “my girlfriends will come over so that we can play with our dolls.” She has been called worse than 'child', far worse, but she's still satisfied to see the embarrassment on Sergio's face.


With taking care of a toddler and working full-hours in a bar there is not much time for meeting with a pair of criminals in order to prepare a heist, let alone to sleep. Thus, a few days pass before she's able to go back to Sergio's where she finds the two men hunched over various sheets of paper, and taking the stale air and the dark rings under their eyes into account they're sitting like that for a while now.

“You look horrible,” Andrés says matter of factly when she sits down with them.

“Thanks, you're not the definition of beauty either.” He's right though, Axel kept her up all night, and when she finally did fall asleep, she was woken up by her neighbour Carla brining over her baby-girl for Ágata to look after. Between changing diapers and comforting crying children she still found time to work on a first sample of the fake diamonds they'll exchange with the real ones with, though, so she pulls them out of her bag and says, “Did you get what I asked for or are we just here to compliment each other?”

For the next few hours they work in relative silence and when Andrés goes out in order to get them 'real food' which most of the time means overpriced, yet delicious, sushi, Sergio suddenly stands next to the desk she made into her work bench. “Why are you doing this?”

She looks up, confused, and explains, “Well, I use the drill to-”

“No, I mean all of this,” he makes a small motion with his hand, “I'm sorry I called you a child last time, but you are young. Shouldn't you be in school or get into some form of training that will allow you to work in a... real job?”

Her first instinct is to get angry, but then she sees the concerned look on his face and only shakes her head in disbelieve and lets out a small huff. “That's really hypocritical, taking into account that you are not working 'a real job' either, isn't it.”

“You're probably right,” he admits what surprises her only further, “I think I just want you to know that this isn't the only way, and that you're aware that getting through with it could mean being arrested and losing any chance on leading a normal life.”

“Do you really think I'd forge fake diamonds if it weren't the only way?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I just...” he sighs, “I want you to know that you still can get out.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, “But I really want that money, you know?”

Smiling mildly he goes back to his own desk and Ágata can't help but feel weirdly flustered for the rest of the day. She doesn't remember anyone ever being concerned over what she's doing with her life.


The following days she's able to go to Sergio's apartment, that turned into their criminal head quarters, more often since she cut down the hours at the bar, hoping that she can soon quit entirely. Fortunately, they're making rapid progress, even set a date for the break-in, no one-and-half months from now, so leaving all this shit behind seems to become more and more possible by the day. Sergio warms up around her as well, doesn't call her a child or tries to make her change her mind again, and he starts to stare. It's nothing new, ever since she got breasts men are staring at her, but it doesn't feel as uncomfortable, as objectifying, as it usually does. She likes how his eyes are glued to her lips when she talks, and how he smiles at her whenever he opens the door to let her in, and how his cheeks get pink when she touches him, even if it's just innocently. One could argue she only catches him staring because she is staring herself, and when she realizes that, she makes up her mind that there is no real reason to not fuck Sergio.


After Axel fell asleep that evening, unusually fast, she lies down in her own bed, determined to get a full night of sleep. Her mind keeps racing, though, so she attempts to shut it up with tiring her body out. She takes the vibrator out of her night stand and aims straight for her clit, trying to focus on the nice feeling. It's not enough, so she indulges in some fantasies that normally get her off, just to have her thoughts land on Sergio and she starts to wonders what he would be like in bed.

He's shy, however too good looking for him to be a virgin, but he's probably not into casual sex either. He would be sweet, placing her needs over his own, making sure she comes before he does. Maybe he'd eat her out, let her fuck his face and enjoy it. He definitely seems to be a guy who likes to be handled. She would get onto her knees for him, suck him down until she hears him moan, and let him come on her face.

With the thought of straddling him and riding his cock until she feels him spill inside of her she finally hits her orgasm.


Ágata always took what she wanted and she always got what she wanted, so it's rather frustrating to find her plan to seduce Sergio being more difficult than she first anticipated it to be. Mainly, because they are hardly ever alone, and flirting while Andrés of all people is in the same room is something she not too thrilled about, let alone when the person she wants to get it on with is his little brother. Another part of the problem is that Sergio seems to be absolutely oblivious to her flirting whenever they find themselves alone for a few minutes after all.

However, Ágata always gets what she wants and no ten days before the heist she finds a way to get Sergio as well.


It's Friday evening, Axel is staying with Carla overnight, she's standing in front of Sergio's apartment, wanting to work on some last details, and is let inside with the usual smile. “Andrés won't be here tonight, it's his and his wife's anniversary. Itnearly sounds apologetic.

“Oh, I remember his wife,” Ágata grins, “You seem to be just as found of her.” She met the woman once, got called a variety of names and if it weren't for her experiences with jealous wives and girlfriends she even would have got herself slapped. Of course, there had been nothing to be jealous about, Ágata merely made some general remarks about giving great head when she realized how Andrés' wife looked at her, like she was something nasty, something too unworthy to even be talked to.

“She definitely isn't my favourite,” Sergio says tight-lipped and Ágata wonders if he got slapped as well.

“So he had been married before?” Once again she realizes how little she knows about either of them, despite having met Andrés nearly a year ago.

“She's his third wife.”

“Oh, well, I'm not even surprised to be honest,” she laughs, “But if your brother is getting the evening off we definitely do, too.”

“I'm sorry you drove all the way here. If I knew you wanted to come over I would have called.” Again, there is this apologetic tone in his voice and  a cute look on his face, and she has to stop herself from going over and just kissing him, afraid he will be too shocked and kick her out immediately.

“No, I meant the two of us, together,” she says with a grin, “We should go out, have some fun.”

“I'm not the guy who likes to 'go out',” Sergio says slowly like he's stating the obvious, which he honestly is.

“That's only because you never wentbout with me. Come on, it'll be fun. I know a nice place in walking distance from here. It's not too crowed or loud, and the people are nice.” She tries to look as sweet as possible, even pouts a little.

He seems to mull it over and when he sighs in the end, he isn't able to conceal the small smile that is forming on his lips, “Alright, but I'm not staying there until the wee hours of the morning.”

“I promise you, it'll be great,” she grins, and is already taking hold of his hand to pull him out of his apartment before he can change his mind.


Of course, she was right, it definitely is fun. She leads Sergio to the bar immediately, orders them two beers and shots, and isn't too surprised when he's hesitant to drink them. After she tells him it's fine, she isn't an asshole after all, despite people tending to call her that, he gulps the tequila down, though, and soon she finds out that drunk-Sergio is a rather talkative-Sergio.

When she starts to feel more than tipsy, tongue already heavy in her mouths, she asks what she wondered about ever since meeting him for the first time, “Well, what made you become a,” she takes a look around, but sees no one standing close to the booth they're sitting in, so she continues with a giggle, “criminal?

He seems to think about it for a moment, takes another sip of his beer and says, “I was born into it, I guess. I grew up with stories about break-ins and robberies, and Andrés got me completely in when I came off age. The rush of seeing a plan unfold, of being in control... I like it.” He smiles, nearly dreamily, and to some extent she might understand him, even though forging stuff felt never romantic, it has always been more of a necessity.

Thus, when he asks about her story she answers, ”Neglectful parents, bad neighbourhood, even worse friends, teenage-pregnancies, having no money, well, you know the drill.” From the look of it he really doesn't, so she only shrugs and adds, “But a few days from now the 'no money'-part won't be a problem any longer.”

“It won't,” he affirms.


No hour later they're inside a club and she's dancing with her arms thrown around his neck and his hands on her hips. She still doesn't know how she convinced him to come here, but she sure as hell won't complain, not when she feels his skin under her fingers. Laughingly, she pulls him closer, enjoys the feeling of his arms encircling her waist, entrapping her.

The music is too loud, her head hurts with the drumming of the bass, and yet she tries to fade it out, to concentrate on the way the rhythm seems to flow through her body, makes it move on it own. Sergio doesn't strike her as a guy who likes to dance and yet it seems to come naturally to him. They are moving in sync, like one, like they were made for this.

She doesn't know who kisses whom first, but it doesn't really matter, there's only his lips on hers and his tongue in her mouth. When she presses herself even further against him, she feels the hard outline of his dick against her middle. Involuntarily she moans, wants nothing more than to rub herself on him. “Let's go to the bathroom,” she suggests when they let go of each other, but he only shakes his head.

The awfully shame of being rejected starts to take hold of her, and she's already about to storm off, leave him and his boring clothes, and stupid face, and ugly glasses behind, when he shouts, “I'll call us a cab, let's get back to mine.” She is more relieved than it's probably good for her.


Calling a cab feels excessive since it's not even a fifteen minute walk to his apartment, but she stops thinking about it when he uses the ride to kiss her again. When he lets his hand wander up her stomach and shamelessly begins to squeeze her breasts through her shirt and bra, she wonders whether her take on him being shy and wanting to be led during sex has been wrong. Yes, she clearly got the wrong notion before, she decides, when he literally carries her up the few stairs to his apartment, and more or less throws her onto his bed.

“Are you alright?” he asks after she hit the mattress with a thud, looking somewhat worried.

With a giggle she wraps her legs around his waist, makes him topple over and fall down onto her, “Yes, now get out of your clothes.”

He does as he's told, and as soon as they're both naked, he starts do roam his night stand which gives her a few seconds to marvel at his body. For someone who doesn't seem to do a lot of sports he looks oddly fit and muscular, his chest is covered in fine, dark hair and it leads in a trail right down to his cock. It's rather on the thick-end, a few drops of precum already leaking from its tip, and she finds herself licking her lips subconsciously, wanting to taste it, feel him pulsating inside of her mouth.

Sergio obviously has other plans since she can't do so much else than sitting up before he rolls a condom over his dick and knees back down between her legs. “Alright?” he asks, and of course he's a guy who waits for verbal consent. She always thought it was stupid when some of her friends talked about it and framed it as something a partner should do, the way she touches and kisses them is clearly proof enough of her willingness, but now she finds it strangely hot.

“Fuck, yes,” she says and the words have hardly left her mouth when he's already sinking into her.

Even though she wasn't right about him wanting to be handled, she definitely had the right idea about him placing her needs over his own, for that he starts to rub her clit nearly as soon as he begins to thrust his hips into her. She arches her back and moans when he finds the right pace and pressure to move his fingers with and is coming awfully fast.

After catching her breath she makes him lie down on his back, straddles him and fucks herself slowly on his cock. She enjoys the pleasant tingle, his moans and gasps, and his hands that roam her body. When he comes himself, he pulls her down to him and kisses her through it.

It tastes wonderfully sweet.


Ágata wakes up with a dry mouth and without the headache she feared of getting. When she opens her eyes she finds that Sergio isn't spared by those unpleasant side-effects, though, at least taking the pained look and tightly shut eyes into account.

“Need an Aspirin?” she asks and quickly checks her watch, realizing she needs to leave soon to pick up Axel on the appointed time.

“No,” he says and sits up with a slight wince, “Just some time to gather myself.”

“As you wish,” she laughs and sits up herself. In the process she lets covers slide of her body, revealing her naked chest. He looks at her breasts and adverts his eyes immediately, nearly shameful.

“Listen,” he begins and an uneasy feeling starts to spread in her body, “I'm sorry if I have been too rough last night. I'm not used to being drunk, which isn't an apology. And I- I just hope that I didn't do anything you didn't want me to.”

She shakes her head, slightly confused, “No, it was fine. Great actually, no need to worry.”

“Okay, good. I liked it as well, but that doesn't mean you're... obligated to do anything. We're going to steal the diamonds in a few days and whether you... or you don't, it doesn't matter because-”

Involuntarily, she begins to grin which makes him stops mid-sentence, now him being the one who's looking confused. “I'm glad we're on the same page here, but I'm not afraid you're expecting regular, sexual favours in order for me to be still allowed on the job. Which doesn't mean I'm not willing to give them,” she adds with a wink and enjoys the way his cheeks start to slightly blush again.

“Alright,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“Alright,” she agrees and places a small peck on his lips before getting up, “Unfortunately, I have to go now, I'm supposed to pick up my son in half an hour.”

“Your... son?” Sergio asks, making it sound like he thinks he misheard.

“Yeah?” She raises her eyebrow because, sure, she never did tell him about Axel, never talks about him with either of the brother really, but Andrés knows about him and she's pretty sure she let some hint slip last night. On top of that Sergio has seen her naked, she is currently standing naked in front of him, still gathering her closing. “You have seen the scar,” she says in the end and points to her stomach where the C-section scar is still clearly visible.

“Yes, I just thought-” He doesn't finish it, stops himself before he lets those words out, but it's more than obvious what he wanted to say; I just thought you gave him away, you of all people shouldn't be taking care of a child.

She's aware he's right, that she's unfit for the role of a mother, but knowing he thinks that of her as well, still hurts, and apparently she isn't hiding it too well. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean-”

“No, it's alright,” she interrupts him and dresses herself hastily, “But I really need to go now.”

She is out of his apartment and inside her car in no time at all.


The following day she tries to forget about the way his nearly spoken remark has hurt her, since the whole thing is rather stupid anyway. They're working together to make some easy money, she finds him hot, and they have had sex. That's it, no point in caring about what he thinks of her.

When she goes to his apartment the next day to get over the plan one finale time before the break-in, she has the memory of the incident pushed deep into the back of her mind, feeling nothing but indifference towards Sergio. This changes, though, when she sits down at the table where both men are already seated, and he says, “I don't want you to go through with it.”

“You don't- what?” She is completely taken aback and the sour look on Andrés faces indicates she heard him right. 

Sergio clears his throat before he elaborates, “I don't think you should do the break-in with us. I have thought about it and I-”

“Oh right, so much for not expecting any sexual favours,” she growls, feeling hot anger crawling through her body, “But of course you don't want me in your little team after we fucked and I proved myself to be a whore. Because that what I am to you now, am I not? Since-”

“This is not what this is about and I certainly don't think that you're a 'whore',” he interrupts her, sounding calm even though his cheeks are redder than she has ever seen them before.

“You failed to mention this little detail,” Andrés says, seemingly amused.

“Because this is not why I want her out, but because neither of you told me about the child.”

“What does he got to with it?” Ágata asks, confusion mixing with her anger.

“My brother wants to be your knight in shining armour,” Andrés remarks.

“You're not helpful,” Sergio tells him and sighs before looking at her again, “We are all risking a lot, but for you it's different. If they arrest us, and ultimately send us to prison, you'll lose your son. And when you'll get out, there is no way to be sure they'll give him back to you. It's not worth the risk.”

Of course, she has thought about it, spent restless nights pondering the question what she would do if anyone ever takes Axel from her. She is afraid of losing him ever since she had him, though, and this break-in, this money, is her opportunity to give him a better life. However, she'll be damned if she admits to it now, so she settles for, “Would you tell me the same thing if I were a man? No, because a father is allowed to act as his own person, but a mother on the other hand is only that; a mother. Why do you think I never told you about my son? Because now everything you can think about when you look at me is what a horrible person I am.”

“That's not true,” Sergio's sounding so honest that she might even believe him.

“Than why do you want to kick me out?”

“I don't want to kick you out. You'll get your share, you've done your part, I just don't want you to be present at the break-in. If something goes wrong... you shouldn't be there.”

She shakes her head, frustrated with this ill-logic, “You will be caught if I'm not there. The plan was, and is, that the three of us are going in, changing that last minute is fucking stupid. And guess what, I'm doing this because I need the money, and there won't be any when you get thrown into prison because you were too proud to let me do my job.”

“We'll postpone-”

“God, why are we even talking about this,” she looks at Andrés who's still following their dispute with a sly smile on his face, “You want me out, as well?”

“No,” he simply says and that's all she wanted to hear.

“So, two to one, can we cut this bullshit now and start with what we actually wanted to do? I don't have all day because I'm too busy with being a mom.”

That seems to make Sergio shut up after all, and reluctantly he places the building plans on the table for them to rehearse how exactly they'll slip past the alarm systems. For the rest of the night she only tries to think about all that money she'll get her hands on soon and the fact that she won't be forced to meet with Sergio ever again.


She is just about to leave her flat to go grocery shopping when her phone starts ringing. Hardly anyone knows her number, let alone calls her if it isn't an emergency, so with Axel in her arms she walks back into the living room and picks up.

“Hello, it's me. Sergio.” He adds his name like he's uncertain whether she'd recognize his voice, which seems to be sort of stupid considering she had his dick inside of her no three days ago.

“Hi,” she says and tries to sound as indifferent as possible. The anger from last night subsided, mainly because she can't deny that he's got a point. Doesn't mean she wants to talk to him, though.

“I wanted to apologize. For what I said last night. I didn't- I know it's not my place to tell you what to do, and I should have talked with you about it. Explained why I am concerned, instead of saying I want you out.”

“Yes, that would have been a lot nicer,” she sighs and sets Axel down who started to squirm impatiently.

“I wasn't proud, I was worried and I guess I still am.” She wonders what kind of face he's making right now, if he fumbles with his glasses like he sometimes does when he's nervous.

“I'm not a child, Sergio,” she reminds him.

“I know.”

“And I'm aware of what could go wrong and what that could mean for my life. It's not your job to save me, and neither do I want you to.”

“Yes, I'm aware of that. I'm sorry.”

“It's alright. Now, stop thinking about it and focus on the plan that will make rich people out of us by tomorrow.”

She practically hears his smile when they hang up.


Closing her eyes she starts to count down from ten in order to calm her twitchy body. She knows that as soon as they're getting in there she will be fine, able to concentrate. However now, sitting in their hide-out next to Sergio and waiting for Andrés to give them their go, she feels like she'll grow mad any second.

“Will you go on a date with me?” Sergio's voice suddenly pierces through the rushing of blood in her ears.

“You- I think that's not the right time,” she whispers.

“Sorry, I only- I thought I ask before," he sighs, "I just wanted to know the answer.” He nearly looks ashamed and reminds her so much of the shy man she met two months ago that she feels her lips tucking upward.

“I have to finish this little thing first, but after that I'm free.”

He returns her smile, “I take that as a 'yes'?”

Before Ágata can say anything else Andrés appears from around the corner, and with one last deep breath she gets up.

Chapter Text

They leave the Bank of Spain after ten days, and even though they've got what they wanted, Rio and the gold, it doesn't feel like a victory. They still lost Nairobi, they still went through things worse than what they had to live through during their time in the Mint, and even though the outcome is objectively better they're all far from fine.

After two weeks on the run they get to a safe-house where Cincinnati already awaits them, and when Stockholm finally holds her son in her arms she starts to cry, all those tears she held back the last few days coming to the surface. Next to her Denver is crying as well, covers first Cincinnati's face in kisses and then hers. “Please, tell me we're getting through this,” he asks with a hoarse voice, holding both of them close.

“We'll do our best,” she promises, wanting this, him, their family, to work out more than she ever did.


The team splits up again after a night of drinking, celebrating and grieving. Even though Denver and her didn't talk about it, didn't need to, really, she takes Rio's hand into her own when the time for departure comes and sees the look of surprise and relief on his face. They end up in a beautiful house in South Africa, and when she enters it for the first time she's almost certain everything will be okay. Of course, it isn't that easy.


“I was so scared,” Denver admits one night when they are lying in bed, facing each other, “I was terrified to lose you. To a bullet, to the police arresting you, it didn't matter. And seeing Arturo, listening to him talking about what he did to you...” He trembles, eyes full of disgust. She places a hand on his cheek to stroke his skin, to soothe the bad memories away. “I wanted to kill him. I'm glad I didn't, and I'm sorry I lost my mind in front of you, but I'm not... he deserved it. And I need you to know, I promise you, I won't ever raise my hand against you, or our son, or any one ever again.”

“I know,” she whisper, “I know. It's okay. I know you're not a violent man.”

“I am,” he objects with a pained look in his eyes, holds onto her hand that still strokes his cheek like he needs it to ground himself. “I don't want to, but I am. I get lost in my head, obsess over little things and then I lose my temper, only see this stupid, insignificant thing that got me worked up in the first place. And I don't want that any more.”

“So, we'll work on it,” she says and places a kiss on his forehead, “I'm with you.”


At first Stockholm thinks Rio got better after leaving the Bank and all the threats to their lives behind, that being in a safe place helps him to feel safe as well. Apparently, he only got better at hiding it, though, and she is angry with herself that she hasn't realized it sooner.

They are living in their new home for two weeks, when she gets up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back to sleep, and decides to go outside into their garden. For a moment she doesn't notice anything is wrong, but then she hears these weird noises, and when she turns around she finds Rio sitting with his back against the outer wall of their house, head between his knees and obviously unable to breathe.

“Rio,” she says while getting closer carefully. He looks up then, eyes small and scared, and seemingly as taken aback to find her here as she is. “You're fine. You're safe,” she sits down next to him, places her hand on his shoulder, feels the violent shakes rattling through his body, “We're in South Africa, you and me and Denver and Cincinnati. And we're all fine, it's just the four of us.”

When he doesn't show any sign that he understands what she saying, she pulls him closer, takes him into her arms in a tight embrace. He claws his hands into her shirt immediately, buries his face into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. They stay like that for a few minutes while she whispers into his ear and holds him until his shaking finally stops and his breathing calms down. She feels overstrained, seeing him like that, doesn't know what she's supposed to do to help him, to make the pain go away.

“How long is it like that again?” she asks, her foreboding confirmed when he doesn't answers. “Why didn't you tell me?” Why didn't I see the way you still suffer. She tries not to reveal any of the anger she feels, not towards him, but towards herself.

“I don't want to be more of a burden than I already am,” Rio admits, and hearing this hurts, somehow even more than watching him reliving the hell they put him through ever did.

She takes his face into her hands, makes him look into her eyes, “You have never been, and never will be a burden. Not ever.”


“Come on, lets go to bed,” she says when her whole body starts to hurt from the hard stones under her, “We don't have to sleep, but I need to be somewhere more comfortable.”

She pulls him up with her, leads him back into the house and when he wants to make his way to his own bedroom, she isn't even that surprised, only holds his hand tighter, makes him follow her. “I don't-” he begins with a shake of his head as they reach hers and Denver's bedroom door, but she interrupts him, “It's fine.”

He gives in, lets himself be guided to the bed where Denver is still sleeping soundly. She sits down in the middle, draws Rio in until he shakes his head and looks at her husband, “He won't be okay with it.”

“He will,” Stockholm objects and is weirdly sure of it, “Now, lie down, please.”

Rio hesitates for another few seconds then gets onto the mattress next to her. She smiles reassuringly, lies down as well. “Do you want me to hold you?” she asks.

“I don't think you should...” he mumbles and trails off.

“Do you want me to?” she repeats her question and gets a nod in return. He looks nearly embarrassed and turns onto his side and therefore away from her. “It's okay,” she promises again and scoots closer, slings her arms around his body and feels him relax against her. “I'm here, I'm with you.”

At some point they both fall asleep.


She wakes up to being uncomfortably warm and sweaty, and when she opens her eyes she finds Rio lying with his head on her chest and Denver snuggled against her on the other side. Cautiously she tries to get away without waking either of them to go to her son who'll probably be up soon as well, but at her slightest movement Denver stirs. At first he seems confused, then jealous, the same ugly look he had in the Bank half of the time flashing over his face. “Is he okay?” he asks whispering after a few seconds, sounding indifferent.

“No,” she says as quietly as possible.

“What happened?” His facial features relax somewhat and the nervousness she felt upon him waking up settles slowly.

“I found him outside, hardly able to breathe. It was...” she shakes her head, only now realizing how much it has terrified her to see him like that again, “I'm afraid he thinks we want to get rid of him if he doesn't hide how bad he still is. And we won't.” The last words sound like a question and maybe they are.

“Of course, we won't,” Denver confirms, lets out a sigh and kisses her forehead. "What can we do?”

“I don't know,” she answers honestly and smiles despite the anger and pain she feels, suddenly reminded of why she fell in love with Denver in the first place.


Rio tries to stay out of their way through the day, goes into his room right after they've shared a silent breakfast, and doesn't leave it until it's time for dinner. They agreed on taking terms with the cooking and on eating together, mainly to establish some kind of routine, as much for themselves as for Cincinnati, and while Stockholm usually enjoys their shared meals, this day proofs to be rather awkward.

“Lets watch a movie,” Denver suggest halfway through dinner.

Rio seems insecure, hasn't really looked either of them in the eye after he emerged from their bedroom this morning, and nods anyway.

She takes Cincinnati to bed, reads story after story to him until he falls asleep, and goes into the living-room where she finds Denver and Rio sitting on opposite ends of their couch. Sighing she settles down between them, but who is she to blame them, she isn't courageous enough to talk about last night either.

After the villain is established in a rather ridiculous way, Denver places his arm around her and while she enjoys it, it feels less natural than it usually does. It's exclusionary, she realizes and gives Rio sideways glances every few minutes. Even though the movie is obviously target towards families there are some loud and fast-cut scenes and soon she sees Rio squirm in his seat. At first she does her best to ignore the urge, but when he flinches badly upon the hero making a car explode, she takes his hand into hers. He tries to pull it away, darts a scarred look at Denver which only makes her hold his hand tighter.

Even when she still was Mónica, she had been stubborn, and after she got involved in a heist that started out with her being a hostage and ended with her being one of the robbers, that trait only intensified that much more. So sitting there and holding Rio's hand, who deserves none of the horrible things that happened to him during the last few months, Stockholm is ready to fight her husband if he decides to let out any of the jealous bullshit he said in the Bank.

In the end Denver surprises all of them by patting Rio's and her joined hands awkwardly and asking, “Should we put on something else?”

Rio shakes his head, taken aback. They continue watching the movie, huddled together, and Stockholm feels more comfortable than she did in a long time.


After the movie ended there is another moment of awkward silence, and she feels both Denver and Rio tense up next to her, her own mind starting to race with what she's supposed to do now. She doesn't want Rio to sleep in his own room, or whatever he does at night when those memories take hold of his body and no one is there to help him chase them away. However, while taking him to their bed seemed to be only sensible last night, she sees what repeating this could possibly look like, possibly mean. Denver's words echo through her mind just like her own promise that they'll do their best to make it work, and that should be the priority, shouldn't it? Doing their best for them to be the family they had been before, no more fighting, no more anger, no jealousy, and no pain. Naturally, there is no reason for Denver to be jealous, nonetheless she will understand it if he doesn't want to share their bed with someone else. 

They should have talked about it this afternoon when they took a walk with Cincinnati, she scolds herself, but instead they chatted about nothing at all, both consciously avoiding the topic, and she can only guess that Denver was just as afraid of it turning into a fight as she was.

When she adverts her eyes from the credits rolling over the screen and looks at Denver, she sees the same emotions, the same conflict on his face. It's your decision, she tries to tell him, I will do everything to help Rio, but I know I can't ask for this.

“I think,” Denver eventually says with a clearing of his throat, “We should go to bed, it has been... well. All of us," he clearifies. 

Stockholm feels herself letting go of a breath she didn't know she was holding and next to her Rio scoots a few inches away like he's trying to hide the fact that he had been pressed against her side until now, “I don't... you don't-”

“Just come to bed,” Denver interrupts him who seems to feel as uncomfortable, and gets up without waiting for either of them to say anything else. Rio still looks hesitant and it takes Stockholm telling him it's alright to get up himself.

She finds Denver in their bathroom, about to brush his teeth, and she slings her arm around his middle, kisses his neck and mumbles, “Thank you.” He only smiles for an answer, and in the reflection it looks almost genuine.


They don't talk about it, none of them even mentions it, and nothing actually changes besides the fact that Rio sleeps in their bed. After that first night, well, second really, they hardly go to bed together, most of the time Rio crawls under the covers at an unholy hour, waking Stockholm just enough for her to sling her arms around his body. He got back to his computers, sits in his room and does... things. Once during dinner, he tried to explain to Denver and her what he's working on, but neither of them really understood a word. Whatever he's doing there clams his restless mind, though, lets him apparently forget about the horrors and everything else around him, and if it weren't for the schedule they try to maintain and knocks on his door on various occasions, he probably would forget to eat as well.

And not just Rio gets better, her relationship with Denver turns more and more back into the way it has been in those two years they spent with getting to know each other, their son and parts of the world they've never dreamed of travelling to. Everything had been so exciting then, and with them slowly settling into their new home, their new life, they find the time to explore this beautiful country, trying to forgot about their fighting, the pain and all those unspoken things between them. 

Objectively she's aware that they should be talking about Rio, about the fact that he's sleeping in their bed, about the way she enjoys to hold him, and sometimes misses his closeness when he sits at his computer until the early hours of the morning. And they certainly should be talking about the strange looks Denver gives Rio sometimes when he thinks she isn't watching and she doesn't know what to make out of.

However, they are happier than they've been in a long time, so she doesn't dare to address any of it. 


Of course, there are bad nights. At times Rio crawls into their bed shivering, unable to breathe and a look of shame on his face that is somehow worse than his panic. During those nights, Stockholm holds him especially tight, kisses his forehead and whispers into his ear all over again that he's safe, and waits for him to fall asleep or for morning to come. Mostly it's the latter. She's aware that Denver is awake during most of it, even though he keeps his eyes closed and his mouth shut. Maybe he tries to ignore the fact that his wife is holding another man, that some part of Rio is broken despite him getting seemingly better by the day, and this ignorance makes her as grateful as it makes her angry. 

The worst nights are the ones Rio comes to bed looking nearly content, just to wake up a few short hours later with a scream, tears already streaming down his face. She's usually able to bring him back from where-ever his treacherous mind takes him to rather fast, but as soon as he falls into a restless sleep again, she flees their bed and runs for the bathroom, bile already rising in her throat.

It's Denver who does the soothing during those nights, who takes her into his arms and kisses her, whispers how much he loves her and that everything will be alright. Sometimes she isn't too sure about that.


Ever since they've left the Bank Rio stopped talking about what has happened to him, and while Stockholm is convinced it would be for the best if he did, she's awfully glad he doesn't. She hates herself for it.

“We can't fix him,” Denver says one day out of the blue, sounding defeated.

“I know.”

“Maybe we should... there must be someone who can, though. A shrink, therapy, whatever. It can't go on like that, I can't bear to see him like that anymore. I don't,” he shakes his head, “I don't understand how anyone could to something like that.”

She does neither and probably never will.


That night she is the one waking up from a nightmare, she doesn't remember what it was about, but her shirt is soaked and her hands are trembling. She gets up and takes a long shower, tries to flush the bad thoughts down the drain just like the sweat that is covering her body. When she creeps back into the bedroom, as quiet as possible, she finds Rio lying in Denver's arms, looking as wrecked as she has felt only a few minutes ago. Denver on the other hand looks almost helpless, obviously mimicking the same movements she does when Rio wakes up like that.

She stops in her tracks when she sees those two like that, and a feeling she can't name starts to spread inside her body. While Rio is too far gone to realize she came back, Denver's gaze lands on her. It's apologetic, and suddenly she's able to identify this strange feeling: she's jealous. She wants to cry and wants to laugh because after all Denver has been right, this thing with Rio isn't innocent, probably never has been. A low chuckles escapes her lips and she sees Denver raising an eye brow.

Shaking her head slightly, she lies back down in their bed on Rio's other side and slings her arms around him as well, places her hand on Denver shoulder and strokes the naked skin. The most ridiculous thing about this is that she doesn't even know whom she's more jealous of.


Once again they don't mention it, go through their day as if nothing changed, and maybe nothing did change, maybe it has been only Stockholm who was blind. Under the light of the day the jealousy leaves her, as sudden as it came, and it doesn't come back either when she wakes up in the middle of the night and finds Rio between Denver and herself again, rolled into a ball, sound asleep and with Denver's hand on his neck. The sight is weirdly familiar despite the newness of the situation, and with the thought still on her mind she falls back to sleep.

Rio leaves his room outside the meals and the few hours of sleep more often after that, sometimes even accompanies them on their trips. It's like a spell has been broken, and only now it dawns on her that Rio probably stayed deliberately out of their way until Denver started to show his acceptance to this thing between them by holding Rio every night as well. When they visit one of the National Parks she slings her arms around Rio's waist and kisses his cheek. “We are so glad, you're with us,” she tells him.

Later, when she watches him and Denver laughing and joking with each other while they try to teach Cincinnati how to play football, she realizes how true those words are.


After some research and getting in touch with the Professor, she finds a therapist who's willing to work via video-chat and doesn't ask any questions as long as they pay him enough, which obviously doesn't pose as a problem. She didn't talk with Rio about it, though, too afraid he'll think they are annoyed by him, or worse, try to get rid of him. However, when she finds him sitting outside, obviously unable to get any air into his lungs again, and is painfully reminded of the first time she found him like that and the anger she felt then towards herself for not seeing the extent of his pain sooner, she gulps down the fear and says, “There is someone who might be able to help. He's a specialist and you could talk to him.”

“I can't tell anyone about this, they will find us. They will-” he starts to protest and she takes his face between her hands, tries to stroke the worried lines from it.

“They won't, everything is taken care of. I promise you, no one will get to you. I just want- I want you to be better.“

“Yes,” he says with a weak voice, “Me too.”


Rio kisses Denver first and it doesn't come as that big of a surprise as it probably should. They are watching a movie, sitting on their bed with Rio in the middle, and neither of the men pays too much attention to the mix of drama and comedy Stockholm chose. She doesn't mind, enjoys the flick while listening to their banter with one ear from time to time, and realizes that something in the light-hearted atmosphere shifted when it's strangely quiet all of the sudden. She turns her head to the side, just in time to see Rio placing his lips onto Denver's. It's a short kiss, nothing more than a peck on the lips, and she expects to see some form of shock in Denver's eyes, anger maybe, instead he looks ashamed.

She should probably be angry, jealous, wonder about her husband's sexuality and whether this has been the first time the two have kissed, but she finds herself smiling when Rio turns to her, showing the look on his face she actually expected from Denver.

“I'm sorry, I-”

“It's okay,” she says, still smiling, “Everything is alright.”

She doesn't know who leans in first, is only certain of the wonderful feeling of Rio's lips against hers. It starts out just as innocent, and then there is a tongue and a moan, and her skin's burning with desire. She lets her hand slip under his shirt, touches him like she did countless of times and like she never did before. At some point she hears Denver laugh, lets go of Rio to look at him and finds him radiating the same happiness she feels right now.

When she watches Denver reclaiming Rio's lips, kissing him as deep and desperate as she did only seconds ago, she realizes that this is probably where they were heading all along.


They go slow because it's what they have done these past few months, and there seems to be no reason to suddenly rush into it. They share kisses in- and outside the bedroom, lingering touches and loving glances. A part of Stockholm still waits for Denver to get jealous, for herself to get jealous, but it never comes, instead she feels as madly in love as she did when she met him for the first time, just that they both love another man now as well. Sometimes she gets hit by a wave of shame, though, thoughts of 'wrong' and 'abnormal' going through her head, but then she reminds herself that they were part of two of the biggest heist in history, and that they'll be on the run for the rest of their lives.

“So who cares about normal,” she muses when Rio shares similar thoughts with them.

“I surely never did,” Denver laughs and that's that.


When they have sex for the first time Rio is nearly shy, doesn't dare to touch either of them below the navel, and in the end just watches them finish each other off. After that he gets braver, though, just as Stockholm realizes how much she has missed this. She and Denver did sleep with each other more or less regularly, but always fast and almost hesitant, fearing they would be interrupted, now however they have time and don't need to wait for the right moment. In fact Stockholm finds herself waking up aroused and throbbing nearly every morning, and taking the way Denver and Rio respond to her touches into account, they probably feel the same.

It's during one of those mornings when Rio eventually rolls a condom onto his erection and asks for her permission before sinking into her. They're lying on their sides, slowly moving against each other, while Denver is pressed against her back, arms slung around both of them. She never felt that warm, and safe, and loved, and when she comes it feels earth-shaking.


"Being alone with the fear, with the pain, with my thoughts, that was the worst. Worse than everything else they ever did to me," Rio tells them in a hushed voice one night when Denver is still buried inside of him and Stockholm is cradling his head, "I didn't think anyone would ever touch me again."

She wants to cry, but it feels unfair since it's not her who went through this, who had to suffer beyond what anyone could ever imagine.

"We won't let go of you," Denver promises, "Not ever."

Chapter Text

When the Inspectora speaks those words, her anxious mask slipping to reveal the wide grin she hid underneath probably ever since she came through those doors, and Nairobi's first instinct is to laugh. Nice try, she wants to say, remembering Berlin's anger and his hands on her when she accused him of being a fucking rapist. Of course, the police would use this chance to spread even more lies, a pitiful attempt to make them turn on each other. As if they needed external help for that. But the Inspectora doesn't stop there, says Berlin only has two months left to live, and now it's getting ridiculous.

Then she notice the look on his face, unlike anything she saw there before. He's angry, yes, but there is something else, as well; disbelief, terror.

“Is that true?” Tokyo demands, seemingly as confused as Nairobi herself.

And then Berlin is gone, storming off, and she stays where she is, bewildered, searches for a sign on the Inspectora's face that she lied again, but the only thing Nairobi finds there is a satisfied grin, so she sets off to run after him. He went up the stairs, but she loses his trail there and decides to go to the director's office, since that seems to be what Berlin sees himself as now; the fucking director of their little heist.

The women are still there, flinching when Nairobi slams the door open. She counts them while passing the couch they're huddled on, but isn't sure how many they were to begin with, and thankfully, it's only Berlin whom she finds in the small room behind the next door.

Her throat hurts in the memory of his hands around it not even a few hours ago and she feels uneasy with the fact that he was then, while clearly being angry, still in control. This Berlin, however, doesn't has any control left from the look of it. His hands are shaking heavily, his eyes are wide, and for a moment Nairobi's sure he stopped breathing. She has never seen him like that, and if she didn't know it was him, she wouldn't recognize this face as his'. He's going to wreak havoc, a low, unsettling voice says in the back of her mind. 

“Berlin,” she says, trying to sound as soothing as possible.

“What do you want?” he spits out, flinching like he only now noticed her being there. 

While raising her hands she gets slowly closer, one hesitant step after the other, as if she's nearing a feral animal. “So, it's true?”

The huff that leaves his lips nearly makes her turn around and leave immediately, but she takes a calming breath and walks until she stops right in front of him. Being so close to him, she suddenly recognizes the emotion she saw on his face in the entrance hall; he's frightened. "Oh, it's certainly true, even though I do wonder how she found out, if our dearest Professor told her about it.”

He knew? It doesn't make any sense. How could this mastermind send someone in who's got only a few weeks left to live? Wasn't the main reason he had choosen any one of them, that this heist was their only chance? That they were willing to do whatever it'll take for the plan to succeed because their life would be over otherwise? This, however, isn't true for a man who's going to die anyway, who's probably only here for the hell of it.

“Berlin,” she mumbles, unable to find the right words to bring him back from whatever state of mind the fucking Inspectora send him in to. 

“I don't want your pity, Nairobi. I can't stand it when people act like I am in need of it, just because I remind them of their own pathetic mortality.”

“I'm not pitying you,” she says and realizes at the same moment that she does. He's every minute, every second aware that he'll be dead soon. Sure, in their business is always a possibility, but for him it's a certainty, and she can't even begin to fathom what it must be like.

He seems to see right through the lie, lips parting into an ugly grin, his eyes wandering to her neck, and for the split of the second she's positive he'll finish what he started earlier, but instead he laughs. “Let us hope they won't arrest you, your poker-face is shit.

“She said that one out of ten is healed by whatever it is you're taking, and you'll be crazy rich soon. So-”

“What is that you want exactly?” he interrupts her, and while his voice is back to normal, she sees his hands are still shaking, “If I remember correctly, there's still the greatest heist in the history of this country going on, you're probably needed somewhere.”

She doesn't even think about it before she says, “I want all of us to get out of here, and I won't let you ruin everything just because you think you don't have anything left to live for, that you rather go down with a bang than in a fucking hospital bed. So, get yourself together.”

His laugh grows even louder, and maybe it wasn't the most sensible thing to do, talking to him like that, but unfortunately she never was known for her ability to think before she opened her mouth. “Getting myself together? I'm the most 'together' I have been my whole life, Nairobi. You see, looking death right into the eye makes you realize a thing a or two.”

“Yes? Then how comes you nearly fucked everything up, huh? If Denver got through with this order of yours, you know what would have happened then? The police would get ready to storm right this moment because a fucking hostage would be dead. I don't care what it is that you realized as long as you start to follow the Professor's orders!”

“Believe me, getting all of us and the money out of here is my first priority.”

“Yes? Than start to act like it. Fuck!” She takes his face between her hands as if this will make her capable of seeing through him, “Why are you doing this? You... if you're really going to die in a few months from now, why are you here?”

“We all have our reasons to be here, don't we?” he sneers, and instead of shaking her off he gets closer, so close that they're almost sharing a breath, “Tell me, is there a way to feel more alive than printing your own money while countless of guns are pointed right to the back of your head.”

This time it's her turn to laugh and she lets her hands fall from his cheeks, “You're so full of shit.”

“Am I? I choked you, and still you're here, trying to provoke me. No one would hear you scream. I could just,” he places his hands on her neck, cautiously like she's something fragile, stroking the skin with his thumbs, “Squeeze. So, I'll ask you again; what do you want?”

She doesn't feel threatened, on the contrary, what he wants is obvious, and it's far from killing her. Of course, she has thought about it, how couldn't she? He might be a fucking misogynistic, crazy pig, but he's stupidly attractive, and the way he's aware of it, and shows off every chance given, only enhances it. And she caught him starring, hungry eyes on her tits and ass, but neither of them ever acknowledged it because no personal relationship. Now, he's so close that it only takes either of them leaning in a few centimetres for their lips to meet, and she almost forgets about rule number one. Almost. "I want to make sure you don't do anything stupid, just because that bitch fucked with you. She thinks she got you riled up with her lies about those girls, and that we're going to turn on you, but it's not true and you know that.”

“How very sweet of you,” the hands that were placed around her neck until now slowly wander down her chest.

Berlin,” it's supposed to be a warning, but he squeezes her breasts right this moment, and it turns out to be more of a moan than anything else.

“When you're told you've only got a limited amount of time left, you start to see some things differently. People, whom you'd never looked twice at before, suddenly spark your interest, and you realizes that there is no point in following the rules,” he grins, wide, completely back to his normal, asshole-self, and despite the insult she feels relieved about it. Well, it's hard to pay any mind to his words when his hands are currently on her overall, unzipping it in a slow, deliberate movement.

“That's a fucking horrible idea,” she notes and doesn't even convince herself.

“Is it?” he asks with the raise of an eyebrow and strips the red fabric off her shoulders.

Fuck it, she slings her arms around his neck and kisses him in a desperate meeting of lips against lips. It's sloppy, with too much teeth and tongue, and she doesn't even begin to care since her whole body burns with the sensation. His hands grope her ass, pull her in until she's pressed against him, and she's able to feel his growing dick against her hip. The cut she gave him earlier is prominent against her skin when he starts to suck down her neck, and she wants nothing more than to place a second one there when he reacts to another moan leaving her mouth with a chuckle.

“Get out of this fucking overall,” she growls and frees herself of him.

Again, he laughs, but does as he's told nonetheless. She leans down to unfasten her boots and only got rid of the first one when she's suddenly faced with his hard cock. He didn't even bother with his shirt, the overall lies pooled around his feet, and she doesn't get the chance to comment his eagerness, since there is a hand on her neck pulling her in. “You're perfect down there.”

Part of her wants to tell him to go fuck himself, but she always got off on being manhandled, and so she only swats his hand away for good measurement and leans in herself, holding his hips in a bruising grip. He tastes somewhat sweaty and she still hums lowly because it's been six months, goddamnit. The asshole of course laughs again, but this time she gets him to shut up by swallowing his dick to the hilt.

She works her head up and down his length for a minute or so, enjoys how he slowly but steadily loses his composure, and lets go of him with one hand in order to slip it into her panties. The embarrassing amount of wetness between her legs makes her aware of the fact that it's been a while since she came as well, and that she probably won't last too long. Taking the noises Berlin's already making in, he's in a similar condition, and she's just about to let go of his dick when he takes hold of her shoulders and pulls her up.

“Enough,” he growls like she was the one who wanted to suck him off. 

“Finally ready to fuck me?” she asks and tries to sound as mockingly as possible, while she frees her naked foot from the overall and panties.

He shoves her slightly and it comes so unexpected, that she stumbles back and lands with her ass on the desk. The grin on his face indicates this is exactly what he wanted, and she spreads her legs automatically to make room for him. “Are you?” he asks and slips three fingers into her without any warning.

She howls because the fucker didn't even had the decency to place them over one another. Instead, he starts to scissor them as soon as they're inside of her and it hurts. It feels fucking amazing. Arching her back she takes hold of his neck, pulls him in until he's bend over her body. “Fuck me already, I don't have all day.”

With one last twist he finally replaces his fingers with his dick, entering her in the same, fast and careless motion as before. “No need to be so impatient,” he says with a sly smile and snaps his hips forward.

She meets his thrusts, places one hand behind herself for better leverage, and claws into the skin of his neck to ensure he won't stop. Sometimes, while getting herself off, she fantasized about the people in their little team, and she always imagined Berlin as someone who holds back during sex. However, now he moans into the skin of her neck loud and filthy while he fucks her relentlessly, and for a moment she wonders whether he's doing it for their audience in the next room. The thought is weirdly arousing, and she feels herself growing louder with every one of his thrusts.

When the pleasure gets almost unbearable, and she realizes she won't be able to come from his dick alone, she places her hand between them and starts to rub her clit. Like he only waited for that, he snaps his hips forward unbelievably faster and all of the sudden she feels his dick pulsing inside of her.

“Fuck you!” she hisses when he stops his movements, leaving her hanging right on the edge. Taking the look on his face in, he did it on purpose.

“Don't worry,” he laughs, “I'm not that selfish.”

She doubts it, yet he pulls his dick out and continues to fuck her with his fingers. Before he can change his mind again, she resumes with rubbing her clit as well, and within a few seconds she's coming, clenching hard around him.

“You got me all wet,” he complains mockingly, when she caught her breath and presses his indeed slick fingers against her mouth. Instantly, she parts her lips, lets them slip in and tries to tell herself she doesn't like it. She tastes herself and his sperm, only now realizing that he didn't use a condom, and that she took the pill irregularly at best for the last few weeks, and that he didn't even ask about it. Maybe the prospect of dying soon made him change his mind about impregnating women after all, fearing that there will be nothing left of him when he's gone.

The thought makes a sick feeling spread inside of her, and she clasps his wrist to pull his fingers out of her mouth. There is the need to say something stupid along the lines of 'you won't be forgotten ', but he probably wouldn't appreciate them, so she kisses him. It's weirdly sweet and it doesn't at all help to fight the bad feeling in her stomach.

“No more adverting from the plan,” she reminds him when they're letting go of each other, somewhat breathlessly, “No more killing hostages, or anyone for that matter.”

“Did you give me your body to make submissive?”

“Shut up, you son of a bitch,” she growls and pokes a finger into his chest, “I was serious when I said I wanted all of us to get out of here, and that includes you. So, we'll get back out there, you threaten the hostages, or whatever it is that you do, and I'll print some money and then we fucking leave.”

“Sounds like a solid plan to me,” he states, that stupid, arrogant smile back on his face like nothing ever happened, like he didn't nearly lose it a few minutes ago, like he isn't fucking dying.

“Good,” she says and gets up to put her clothes back on, suddenly not wanting to be in one room with him any second longer.

She'll get him out of here, she tells herself over and over again, while making her way back downstairs. She won't let him destroy everything they've worked for just because he's fucking afraid, and when they're all out of here, and finally safe, there will be a way to ensure he's the one out of ten.

Two days later she hits Berlin with her gun so hard that he falls down unconscious since of-fucking-course he didn't listen to her, and got not justTokyo arrested, but almost shot Rio as well. She's shaking with anger when he wakes up again and looks at her confused, but already with that stupid smile back on his face.

“I'm still getting you out of here, asshole,” she growls.

He only laughs.

Chapter Text

Later, Rio will say it was love at the first sight, that she fell head over heels when she walked into that classroom and her eyes landed on Tokyo. It's not a complete lie (how can you look at Tokyo and not fall at least a little bit in love with her?), but when Rio sits down at her desk she feels mostly intimidated. Not just that Tokyo is older and breathtakingly beautiful, the way she lounges in her chair, sly smile on her red painted lips, makes it obvious that she's aware of what an effect she has on other people, and women like her never even look at Rio. Thus, you could say she is more than surprised when Tokyo turns around at one point during their first lesson and fucking winks at her.


Rio sticks with Denver because he comes closest to her age and doesn't seem to belong here just as she does. “Shouldn't you have tattoos and piercings and black hair and shit?” he asks her on day three during dinner.

Genuinely confused she shakes her head and when she doesn't say anything he adds, “Like Lisbeth Salander, you know.”

Berlin starts to laugh at that and before Rio can open her mouth or start to feel uncomfortable, Nairobi places a light slap on the back of Denver's head, “That's really sexist, you idiot.”

“Ouch, how is that sexist?”

It ends with Nairobi monologuing about women being a 'hacker' without looking like a stereotype 'too much movies and porn' gave him about them, and 'no' it's not okay to call her 'hacker-girl', either. She is just about to thank Nairobi for the defence, because otherwise she would have probably let Denver call her that just to avoid him thinking of her as annoying, when Tokyo leans over to whisper into her ear, “Sure, you're not hiding a tattoo somewhere under that shirt.”

She is still struggling which what she's supposed to say to that, when Tokyo's already back to laughing over Nairobi's imitation of Denver like nothing has happened.


The thing is, she is aware that everyone thinks about her as just that: hacker-girl. And they aren't even wrong, are they? While she doesn't know any details about their previous lives, it's obvious that they've all spent the majority of it either doing something illegal or being in prison, and Rio just doesn't fit in. Sure, she was part of this sloppy executed robbery, but her involvement has been more of an accident, and after that she didn't even spend a fortnight in juvenile prison. On top of that, her lack of experience seems to be so apparent that she feels irritated and downright accusing looks on her more and more often, so she tries to keep her head low and to not give them any more reasons to want her out of this.


Tokyo comes to her room one night without even waiting for her knock to be answered. “I'm bored,” she groans and falls down onto to the bed where Rio is sitting, book in her hands. They start to talk about nothing and everything, and Rio is rather proud of herself that her answers come naturally and that she even makes Tokyo laugh a few times. Taking into account that they've spoken three sentences at most with each other on a normal day, it's astonishing. She even tries her best to not stare at Tokyo, but fails miserably since she can't keep her eyes off the flawless, smooth skin, the few centimetres that are visible of her ripped stomach, and her cleavage, which proves to be especially distracting, because even in the dimly lit room it's more than obvious that Tokyo didn't bother with a bra.


When she comes back to Rio's room two night later, it's with a mischievous grin, “I'm so cold, can I lie down with you?”

Rio wants to say that maybe she could put some clothes on, but then there is Tokyo with her under the blanket, not wearing more than shorts and a sleeveless shirt, so close that they are nearly pressed together. “You don't seem cold,” she settles for because Tokyo practically radiates heat.

“Oh, but I am,” comes the giggled answer, followed by an arm that slings itself around her chest.

“I'm a lesbian,” Rio says since it seems only fair to let Tokyo know, to give her the chance to run without calling Rio a creep. Hopefully.

Instead she gets another laugh, “I know, I feel your eyes on me, Rio.”

“I'm sorry.” And she really is, it's unprofessional and disgusting to stare at a person just because you find them unfairly attractive, and she knows she did fuck it up two nights ago.

“Don't be, I like it,” suddenly there is a finger tracing one of her nipples, than pinching it ever so slightly, “Do you like that, too?”

“Yes,” Rio moans, even though it feels unnecessary to confirm it verbally.

“Good,” Tokyo says and kisses her.

So that's that.


“What about rule number one?” Rio asks when Tokyo comes back to her room once again and starts to fumble with Rio's sweatpants.

“This is no more personal than any relationship I have with the others. It's just sex.”

It hurts to hear it out loud, even though she anticipated it since she's aware that women like Tokyo don't fall in love with women like her, and she should be grateful that there is a continuation to their previous make-out session, that it hasn't been merely a joke. However, there is still something she wanted to get off her chest ever since first, unexpected kiss, “I'm a virgin.”

Tokyo lets out a huff before saying, “Fuck, you're serious, aren't you? But how?”

Being a twenty years old virgin is an information Rio would rather have kept for herself, but the only thing that will be more embarrassing than admitting to it now, is pretending to have experience, just to reveal the lack therefore, when she doesn't know what to do right in the middle of having sex. With heat rising into her cheeks Rio says, “Well, I made out with a few people, and I gave my then boyfriend a blow job, which was horrible for both of us. It's just hard to find another girl whose queer when you live in a catholic village.”

“Don't worry,” Tokyo smiles and places a soft kiss against her lips, “There is so much I'm going to show you.”


Sex with Tokyo comes as easily as talking to her did. “Get yourself off for me,” is what Tokyo told her that first night. It felt weird in the beginning, but then Rio started to enjoy the way she was being watched, and eventually came harder than she ever did before. That was at least until Tokyo used her tongue to get Rio off a second time, and for a moment she had been certain she would pass out from it.

Sometimes, the sex feels like an extention to their daily lessons, with the way Tokyo guides her hands and tongue and tells her how to please both of them best, and when Rio voices those thought, Tokyo grins and returns the next evening in clothes that she might have stolen from the Professor. (Turns out she did steal them from him, and Rio nearly chokes when he asks them over breakfast if one of them has seen his jacket.) That night Tokyo bends her over the bed, tells her she was a naughty girl and fucks her so hard with her fingers that Rio is sure they heard her moaning even in the next village.


They have a shooting lesson and Rio's ability to hit the mark is non existent. She spent so many hours playing video games, that she thought it wouldn't be too hard, but it turns out that firing a real gun is something different entirely. It doesn't help either, that the lesson itself makes her nervouss  Of course, she's aware that she's going to carry a gun and might has to use it, but it always felt so far away, unreal even. Now, holding the heavy weapon in her (ever so slightly trembling) hands, she realizes that there might come a point when she'll be forced to shoot someone, potentially kill them in the process, and she's unsure if she'll be able to get through with it.

“Come on, I'll show you,” Helsinki says, who suddenly appeared next to her. He talks her through it, shows her in which angel she has to hold her arms and how she can support her shaky hands. He's so gentle and soft that it's hard to believe he learned this during a war, that he did what she's so afraid of doing.

“Thanks,” she says, when she's finally able to at least hit the slight disc they're aiming for.

“The world is already bad enough to people like us, we need to stick together.”

She raises a brow in confusion, but then he flashes her a bright and suggestive grin, and she feels herself return it.

(Rio remembers this smile when Berlin orders her punishment for her fuck-up with the phone. While Oslo beats her and she is unable to breath through the pain, her eyes land on Helsinki who merely stands there and watches. He opens his mouth then, says it's enough and Oslo listens. After, he brings her a cool-pack and says he's sorry. It's a rather strange way to stick together.)


“Really, you and Tokyo?” Denver asks when they are standing outside during a short break.

“How do you know?” she whispers and takes a look around to make certain no one is listening.

“Man, you were loud last night, not that I'm complaining, if you know what I mean,” he says with a suggestive grin, and Rio feels her cheeks heating in embarrassment.

“Why would you tell me something like that?”

“If you could see your face,” he then states with a laugh, “Don't worry, I didn't listen, nor did I do anything afterwards. I just walked past the door. I knew Tokyo was fucking someone, but I thought it's Berlin or Oslo.”

Now, she's perplexed, “You think it's more likely that she's fucking Oslo than me? Why? Because I'm not in her league?”

“No one here is in Tokyo's league,” he claims (and isn't wrong, is he?), “I just didn't know she's a lesbian, that's all. Nothing personal, didn't want to hurt you.” He claps her shoulder, and she doesn't even correct him, afraid she has to explain the concept of bisexuality to him.


This relationship, affair, whatever seems to make her rather confident and careless, since after weeks of trying to not attract as little attention as possible, Rio forgets about it when she's alone with the Professor to arrange the technology inside the hangar and begins to talk. On the car ride back to Toledo he then says that he's deeply sorry, but he made a mistake and she won't be allowed to set a foot into the Mint, and part of her is glad.

She doesn't say anything to it, only stares out of the window. She was aware that the Professor made a mistake by choosing her ever since she met the rest of the team, and the deal he now offers her is the best she could have hoped for; she has to stay with them until everything is over and then she'll either gets one million euros, or, if the plan fails (“This won't happen, Rio, I can ensure that.”) she'll get nothing, however, her affiliation with the group won't be traceable so that she'll at least be free.

Really, it's a win-win situation for her, if it weren't for Tokyo. Clever, funny, beautiful, perfect Tokyo, who makes Rio's heart beat faster with every word she speaks, every touch she places on her skin, and who Rio will never see again if she doesn't go into the Mint.

When she enters Tokyo's room that night, she is determined to not say a word, but then Tokyo smiles and the way she kisses Rio feels like she missed her as well, and then she is already repeating what the Professor said earlier.

It takes Tokyo no five minutes to convince him to let Rio stay, and she's so happy that she doesn't even care that she gave up her chance to a way out for a relationship that will never be.


“When did you know you're gay?” Tokyo asks her one night while they're sitting outside, sharing a cigarette and a bottle of wine.

“I don't know,” Rio shrugs, “Always, I guess. Never cared for boys, then I saw two women kissing on TV and I knew I wanted that,” she takes another drag before asking, “Since when do you know you like both?”

“Oh, I didn't know until I met you. You and your cute face,” Tokyo smiles and Rio feels her heart missing a beat. This is the closest she ever got to an 'I love you'.


It's the evening before the heist and she's scared shirtless, so she goes to Tokyo in her panic, and asks her to marry her when all of this is over because she needs something, anything to make her feel that it will be alright. 

Of course, Tokyo says no, and for the first time Rio regrets that she didn't just follow the Professor's orders when he said she was out.


Being alone with Berlin is always uncomfortable and especially so when he uses it to pry on her. He has always been looking at Rio with a glinting in his eyes that made her lock the door to her bedroom for the first week of her stay in Toledo because she was afraid he would come in to rape and kill her (as if a piece of wood would stop him from doing that). However, she soon realized that Berlin wouldn't do such thing, that he was merely amused by the fact how little Rio belonged there. He saw right from the beginning how weak she was, and Rio is certain that it would take him less than ten seconds to have her crying to his feet if he ever wanted to, all of that by merely speaking a few words.

Now, not even ten hours into the heist, he takes her aside, and places a hand on her shoulder, nearly like they're friends, “Let me tell you something about women, Rio.”

They sit down and she listens while Berlin seemingly doesn't care about anything that is going on around them, instead he gives a speech similar to countless others he gave before and she thankfully only ever witnessed marginally. When he starts to talk about pregnant women, she has had enough, is desperate to get away from him, “You realize that I can't impregnate Tokyo, do you?”

“Oh, sweet Rio, you really think that Tokyo will stay with you? Poor thing.”

No, she doesn't, and taking the way he laughs in, he sees right through her.


The Professor's most impressive achivement surely is that he was able to convince a bunch of people that they could walk in and out of the Mint and nothing will go wrong, that he has taken every eventuality into account, that it will be easy to print 2.4 billion euros. It has all been a lie and Rio just wants to go back to that house in Toledo where she spent the happiest five months of her life.


“I don't have a daughter anymore,” her father says on live TV, and even though she tries to fight it, Rio feels the tears fall down her face she held back ever since the night before they went into this hellhole. Her mother says a few other words, but she doesn't really hear them, and before she can bring herself to focus again, someone turns off he TV. 

The atmosphere is heavy, awkward, so Rio only chuckles and says, “This really gets boring, you know, he said the same thing when I told him I was gay, and then when I got arrested.”

It's Moscow who kneels down in front of her and takes her face between his huge hands. “This man doesn't deserve to be your father, a parent loves his child no matter what,” he wipes the still falling tears from her cheeks, “And we do love you, all of us.”

The laugh that escapes from her lips almost sounds hysteric, but it doesn't matter because Moscow looks at her with his kind eyes and she believes him.

(In a few days he will be dead, and while she holds Denver in her arms it feels like she lost yet another father.)


She fights with Tokyo all the time and it's rather stupid, considering where they are right now, but with every passing hour Rio feels like she loses the ability to think clearly even more. When she gets another video from her parents and the Inspectora offers her a way out, she think about it for one second, imagines herself waking up from this nightmare and going back to her boring life. It's a wonderful thought, and it's fucking hard to tell them off, to let go off this one last straw.

The anger in Tokyo's eyes, the way she says she'll kill Rio if she ever rats them out (she says it like she means it, like she wouldn't even bat an eye before she'll pull the trigger) doesn't help to make her feel better. Not at all.


Berlin finally breaks her by strapping Tokyo to a table and kicking her out, right into the police's claws and Rio slips. The Professor fuelled her mind with speeches about billions of euros and being fucking Robin Hood, about all of them getting out of this alive. But this is not what is happening. This is war, and Rio's on the losing side either way. The moment she opens her mouth in front of the hostages, she knows it's a mistake, however, she is too angry to even begin to care, and no five minutes later Berlin has her in an empty room, gun pointing at her head.

“She is girl, Berlin, leave her,” Helsinki says, but doesn't do anything to stop Berlin.

The thing is, Rio thought she would be ready to accept death when it came, that the last five months prepared her for this moment. Of course, this isn't true, and she screams at Berlin, tries to tell him what a worthless pig he is, and when it doesn't help she begs.

Nairobi comes in, shouts something Rio doesn't understand, and then Berlin pulls the trigger. She goes down, waits for the pain to come, sees Tokyo's smile and feels her arms around her body, is suddenly safe in her embrace.

But that are Denver's and not Tokyo's arms, and she isn't dead.


“I love you,” Tokyo says in their hideout, and Rio nearly doesn't understand her over all the shots being fired, “I love you, I love you so much.”

Rio wants to laugh because of course Tokyo says those words in a moment like that, and while Rio wants nothing more than to be fucking-finally on the other side of the tunnel, she positive she'll die as the happiest person on earth, if they won't get out of this after all.


They are about to part ways and Rio sees the same unshed tears in the other's eyes she is holding back herself. “Those are the best friends I ever had,” Tokyo told her and only now Rio is aware of how right she has been.

“You have to start standing up for yourself,” Nairobi urges and kisses her cheeks, “You got through this fucking shit, a heart-break won't kill you.”

Rio doesn't know what to say, feels a lump building in her throat, because she and Nairobi never talked much and now she uses their last minutes together to tell her that she doesn't believe in the success of Rio's relationship. “Hey, hey,” Nairobi says and shakes her shoulder slightly, “I don't mean that she will leave you, but relationships fail all the time and you can't depend solely on another person to be happy.”

“You're crap at goodbyes, Nairobi,” Rio answers because what else are you supposed to say to that?


“Rio, I'm bored,” it's playful and they're both smiling at the callback to the first night they've spend together. (Well, of course nothing really happened then, but Rio likes to imagine it as the day the seeds for their relationship were planted.) And while it's clearly meant as a joke, she sees something else in Tokyo's eyes, something close to melancholy, and Rio bites her tongue so that she doesn't ask, 'Am I not enough for you?', afraid of what the answer will be.

Days blur into weeks, and weeks into months, and Rio enjoys floating through time, to do what she wants without paying mind to what will be tomorrow. Tokyo finds her passion for book, which is surprising for both of them, and they begin to read the most remarkable ones they've found, the good and the bad, out loud. It's ridiculously funny, sometimes even romantic, and other times one eats the other out while she has to keep talking in order to earn her orgasm.

“It was all worth it,” Rio says one day and only gets a short kiss in return.


Five months in exchange for a lifetime in wealth and extravagance, that has been the deal. For Rio that lifetime narrows down to not even three years though, and she feels cheated.


The first time it happens, Rio thinks she died. She's standing and she doesn't know for how long or if she's asleep or awake, and sometimes there are muffled noises and then there aren't, and all of the sudden she hears a voice right in her ear. “Poor thing, you really thought Tokyo would stay with you.”

She opens her eyes, or maybe she doesn't, but there he is, grin on his face like he wasn't ripped apart by bullets all those time ago. Are you dead? she wants to ask, but isn't able to open her mouth. It would have been a stupid question anyway.

“I bet you wish I aimed for your head back then.”


Sometimes, when they hurt her, she sees Oslo standing on the other side of the room. She wants to beg him to do it instead of them, because when he had beaten her, she at least understood why and was sure that he would stop before he did any real harm. With them it's different, she knows nothing about what they're going to do to her, and the uncertainty might be worse than everything she had to endure before. (It isn't.)

The best days are the ones during which she sees Moscow. He never speaks either, though, only smiles at her and shakes his head whenever she asks him to take her with him.


“I don't want to die,” she cries, “I don't, I don't. Please, I said everything I knew, they can't do that.”

Berlin laughs, and he shouldn't even be here, there isn't enough air and he'll breathe it away. “You said that once to me as well, do you remember? 'I don't want to die.' Do you wish I did it back then? It would have at least been dignified."

"He'll come for me. He promised."

She doesn't know whether she said it out loud, but Berlin answers anyway, "No one will come for you. Why should they?"


Her relief lasts for exactly twenty minutes, this is until she spoke to the Professor and realized that she merely exchanged one prison for another. You'll get us killed. Two days from now you all will be in a cell right next to mine. She doesn't say it despite the anger boiling up in her. They look so happy, so self-assured, and they did this for her. 

The worst thing is that she begins to hope, that thoughts of being free again, of being without pain, are planted into her mind and start to grow, and she watches them, unable to stop it.

"You will all get out of there," the Professor says before she hangs up, but he gave such promise before and didn't keep them, did he?


Breaking up with Tokyo makes her feel the closes to free she'll probably ever come to again. Rio didn't know she would do it until Tokyo stripped and sat down in the bathtub with her, and she couldn't even begin to care that there is a microphone under her skin since the only thought on her mind was 'She is going to leave me again.' And there is another fucking heist going on, and most of the time she has to concentrate in order to make her body do the breathing, and when they'll be done cutting a bug out of her, they'll give her a gun and she has to point it at those poor people who're just as scared as herself.

Deep down there is an ugly voice saying that she went through all of this shit because of Tokyo, that she would have never been so stupid to use a phone if Tokyo didn't leave her out of the blue, if she hadn't been so fucking selfish. It was Rio who had to pay the price, whom they've buried alive and beat and hurt, while Tokyo was out there having a good time. She tries to ignore it, wants to be fair, is aware that she would regret it as soon as those words have left her mouth.

(A few hours later she almost speaks them, though, when Tokyo stands in front of her, drunk and smirking, saying it has never been more than sex, that their relationship didn't mean anything. However, she only confirms what Rio had been afraid of all along.)


"Why are you here?" Rio mumbles, somewhere between being awake and dreaming, the arms around her body keeping her wonderfully grounded.

"What do you mean?" Stockholm asks, sounding like she has been asleep herself.

"Inside the Bank. Why are you risking everything?"

"We knew what they were doing to you, and this was the only way to save you."

"This is not..." The guilt is suddenly so overwhelming that Rio's unable to speak. The tears are welling up again, and she tries to concentrate on slowing down her breathing like Stockholm taught her to. Nairobi is dead and chances are high that the rest of them will follow her soon just because Rio had been reckless, because she acted like a teen in love, too stupid to see the consequences of her actions. "You don't know me," is what she eventually gets out between gritted teeth.

"Of course I do," Stockholm objects and places a hand in Rio's hair, strokes her head like a mother who's calming down her child, "We're family. And now try to sleep a little."


The Inspectora is part of their team now, and while everything inside of Rio screams that it's wrong, that she can't be trusted, she tries to ignore it and have faith in the other's judgment since even Tokyo is ready to work with the woman who almost arrested them three years ago, and there has to be a reason for that. (Not that Tokyo has told Rio anything, she does her best to not even look at her,

and Rio is weirdly glad about it.)

She stays out of Lisbon's way until the question that has been nagging on her for the last few months gets too distracting, and she seeks her out while she's on a short break.

"When you offered to get me out of this without me having to spend a day in prison, did you lie?"

Lisbon seems to think about it before she answers hesitantly, "No, I didn't. I think they would still have charged you with something, but you wouldn't have been in for more than a few years."

"I would be out by now." It's a statement.

"Yes, probably." Rio nods and is about to go back to help with keeping watch over the hostages when Lisbon places a hand on her shoulder, "I'm glad you didn't."

"Yeah, me too." It's a lie.


Everything erupts into chaos and Rio doesn't even know what is going on most of the time, just does what she's told to do, and suppresses the voices telling her she'll be back in the cell soon, that they'll bury her again and won't dig her out this time, leave her to suffocate and rot. However, she's not thinking about that, she's not.

They do get out of the Bank in the end, with tons of gold and without losing someone else. The atmosphere is almost festive when they meet with the Professor on a private plane, and Rio begins to shake so badly the moment she boards it that she doesn't even realize she's crying as well, until she feels Denver's arms around her.

"We're safe, we're safe." She doesn't really hear him, there is only the rush of blood inside her ears. After that, they might have sedated her, she doesn't remember.


They stay together and will at least for a while, and it seems like a risk, but the Professor says it isn't. Rio weirdly trusts him, is thankful that they're not forced apart again, because who is going to pair up with her now?

They arrived in the huge mansion that is their new home maybe three days ago (Rio doesn't have a clue where exactly they are, hasn't left the bedroom unless Denver or Stockholm forced her to, and the pills the Professor provided her with stop her from caring about it anyway) when there is a knock on her door.

She doesn't answer it, it never stops them from entering, though. "I'm not hungry," she mumbles.

There are footsteps coming closer and when she looks up it's Tokyo who's standing next to her. "I'm so sorry," she whisper, "I'm so sorry, I should never have left you, it's all my fault."

It sounds like she's about to cry and this is what makes Rio sit up slowly, "It's not. I called you."

"Because I left." Tokyo is sinking down on to the mattress and as her face comes closer, Rio sees a tear rolling down her cheek, "I was so stupid. We were happy, everything was perfect, and I threw it away for a few nights of drinking with strangers."

"I knew it would happen eventually,” Rio says evasively, isn't sure where this is leading to and would rather not find out.

Tokyo suddenly places her hands on Rio's face, and she feels the same pull she did when Tokyo touched her for the first time. "I thought you were dead, and then I found out they were torturing you," there is a sob escaping her lips, "You didn't deserve it. Not you. None of it. And then I treated you like shit because I didn't get what I wanted after everything they've done to you."

Rio doesn't know what to say, doesn't remember the last time she felt anger towards Tokyo, isn't sure if she feels anything at all in this moment.

"I love you so much, you're the best person I've ever met," she places a kiss onto Rio's forehead before she continues, "I know I don't deserve you, and I won't ask you to take me back, because you've got no reason to, but please be a part of my life."

"What is that supposed to mean?" It sounds indifferent, even to Rio's own ears.

"I don't want to run into you in ten years and see you with a wife and kids all of the sudden, I want to be with you, even if it's just as a friend."

Rio nods, she doesn't know how this is supposed to be possible after everything that has happened, but she can't stand to see Tokyo (strong, independent Tokyo) cry a second longer. Rio pulls her into a hug and realizes that this is the closest they have been in three months. "Let us sleep, you can have some of my pills if you want to."

Tokyo laughs into her neck and says, "Yes, that would be nice."


Stockholm says it's time to get slowly but surely off the pills, and Rio listens because there is something about Stockholm that makes you believe she knows what's best for you. Perhaps she really does since Rio begins to feel like she's able to function again. The memories are still there (and the panic) but when it's too much there is always someone talking her out of it. (Once it had been Tokyo, however, when Rio came back to the here and now, she saw the pain in Tokyo's eyes so she does her best to stay out of her way.)

One afternoon she lies down at the pool next to Palermo. He's the only person who seems to do  even worse than her, and it's weirdly comforting. Taking a sip of his cocktail she says, "Your dead boyfriend once tried to kill me." She doesn't know why she tells him that, hasn't really thought about it ever since she came back to Spain.

"Wasn't my boyfriend," he grumbles and doesn't even open his eyes.

"Good for you."

"Yeah, because your girlfriend is a model of fucking perfection."

"Isn't my girlfriend, any more."

"Good for you," he grins and she feels herself smiling back.

"Want me to get us another round?"

"Sure, but put more of the vodka into it than I put into this one, it sobered me instead of getting me drunk."


The Professor seeks her out, and she's relieved since until now it seemed like he went out of her way, and she feared he was angry with her for not following his rules. Again. (The anger would be justified, she's aware of that, still, she has the weird urge to not be a disappointment to him.)

"I need to talk to you," he says and sinks down on the couch next to her, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"Okay," she answers slowly, nervousness replacing the relief she felt only a few seconds ago.

"During your time in the Bank, when I was forced to stay in the hideout in Madrid... Alicia Sierra found me there."

She feels her mind starting to rattle immediately; she didn't follow the news, but she would have heard it if they've found her body. So maybe he got rid of it. No, he wouldn't, not him. He wouldn't kill anyone, especially not a pregnant woman. But he couldn't... He... "What did you do?" she asks with a hoarse voice and a bad feeling slowly sinking in.

"She pointed a gun at me, she had all the access she needed to let the police into the Bank, I didn't have a choice," he takes a deep breath, "She offered me a deal. She wanted... I gave her money and provided her with a safe passage out of Spain."

Her hands are beginning to shake again, her chest tightens more and more as if she'll implode any second now, “How could you do that? After everything she did.”

"I didn't have a choice, Rio. She would have gotten all of you arrested, and that was the only way to prevent it."

"She buried me alive, she made me stand in my own piss!" Her voice grows louder with every word, and she sees how the Professor shrinks into himself.

"I know, and she deserves to be in prison for what she did to you, but-"

"Yes, she does! And you know what; I didn't deserve anything that has happened to me! I was fine, happy even, until you came along and promised me 2.4 billions. You said it was safe, that your plan was perfect and now four people are dead and I..." she shakes her head and looks down at him and into his sad face, she doesn't even remember getting up. Right this second she wants to strangle him, go back in time and stop him from ever recruiting her, wants to fall down onto her knees and beg for forgiveness since it was her who brought him back into this. "You should have killed her. There must have been a point when... she should be dead.”

“Rio,” he says, cautiously, and starts to get up as well, reaching for her. She just turns around and leaves.


After getting two bottles of the ridiculously expensive red wine Palermo bought (and said he wouldn't share with them, and did it no day later anyway), and stealing her medication out of Stockholm bedside table (which she unsuccessfully hid there so that it would be easier for Rio to stay away from them), she goes back to her own room and tries to drown everything with it.

For a moment, she debates just swallowing all the pills and be done with it, but no matter how miserable she feels and how much every breath hurts her, when she thinks about dying, she is back in that coffin, panting for air and more scared than she ever has been before, and she knows she won't be able to put an end to it.

We're both aware that you'll give in eventually, so why not be done with it now? Why don't you spare yourself all that pain?” It's like Alicia is sitting right next to her, whispering into Rio's ear, and so she opens one of the bottles and gulps down the better part of it.

There is a knock on her door not much later, and it's once again Tokyo who's stepping in, hesitantly like she wants to be rather anywhere else but here. “The Professor said you weren't feeling too good?”

"Why did he told me?” Rio asks, “Why didn't he just keep it to himself? I felt safe until he decided he owed me the truth or some shit.”

“What did he tell you?” Tokyo asks while she sits down on the bed as well, and when she doesn't get an answer she adds, “You are safe.”

There are suddenly hands on Rio's face, wiping away tears she wasn't aware of shedding. “Make me forget,” she mumbles, “I need you.”

She remembers the day Tokyo's mother died and it had been Tokyo who tried to forget by making Rio fuck her inside one of the Mint's public bathrooms until she started to cry and told her to stop. Tokyo does the same thing to her now, and Rio doesn't feel much through the tightness in her chest and her rapidly beating heart. At some point she stops crying, pulls Tokyo back up and lets herself be hold until she falls asleep.


“We're going to leave. Stockholm, Cincinnati and me. The Professor found us a nice house a few hours from here so that we can all still be in touch, but... we need some time to get back to the way we were.”

Rio nods, understands it, and bites her tongue in order to not beg him to stay. Denver begins to smile wearily and says, “We think you should get out of here as well, you don't... Maybe it'll help you to get away from all of this. And we wanted to ask you if you'll come with us?” He looks nearly shy, like it's inappropriate to even suggest it.

She wants to laugh and to cry and does neither, only takes him into her arms and says, “Yes, I would love to.”


Later, Rio will say that she fell out of love like she had fallen into to: fast and absolutely. Of course, this isn't quite the truth, either.

When a handler comes to bring them to their new home, Tokyo lets herself be hugged, and while there is an unmistakable glinting in her eyes, indicating the anger she feels, she kisses Rio's cheek and says, “We'll see us soon.”

It's only when they get into the jeep and the mansion slowly disappears in the rear-view mirror that Rio realizes that there won't be a coming back from this, that Tokyo won't be ready to forgive Rio for leaving, even though it has been her who did it first only a few months ago. There is a finality in the thought that makes Rio's heart ache, but at the same time there is a smile tugging on her lips.

She gets better and worse, and then better again until she wakes up one morning and feels content. It's like a spell has been broken.

They visit the others a few weeks later, and when she stands in front of the Professor he says, “Tokyo left."


“A few days after you did. She said she will be in contact.”

For a moment she wonders why he didn't deem it necessary to tell her sooner, then it dawns on her, “She asked you to not to say anything.”

There is a small nod and a look of guilt in his eyes, and she doesn't even blame him. She goes into Tokyo's room, finds it exactly like she remembers it, sits down on the bed and starts to cry. Everything hurts with how much she misses her and at the same time she's so fucking glad she doesn't have to see her, to not be reminded, again, of what she has lost.

Tokyo's last words to her echo through her mind, and now they feel somehow like a promise. For the first time, while sitting there in this stuffed and yet empty room, Rio doesn't regret that she went with the Professor when a offered her what then sounded like an exciting adventure. 

Chapter Text

Her legs are shaking while she makes her way to the Gobernador's office. The adrenaline of her escape, of their success, slowly but surely streaming out of her body, leaving behind a giddiness that makes it hard to gather her thoughts. Tokyo's trailing behind her, said she would show her the way to the intercom that would allow her to talk to the Professor. It's entirely unnecessary, since Lisbon mesmerized the Bank's layout like everyone else did, and she has the suspicion that there might be another reason to why Tokyo was so keen on following her.

When the Professor doesn't answer her calls, Tokyo only stands next to her with a smirk, telling her to wait for the control-call in twenty minutes. “Okay,” she agrees, trying to ignore the uneasiness that the silent intercom gives her.

“So,” Tokyo drawls the word, stepping in front of Lisbon with her smirk still firmly in place, “How long did they interrogate you.”

“Thirty hours,” Lisbon deadpans, not up for the direction this conversation is going.

“A long time to keep it quiet, especially when it's your old friends asking the questions,” Tokyo says, coming closer until there are no twenty centimeters between them, “Makes me wonder whether you really did keep your mouth shut.”

So, that's why Tokyo followed her here. Lisbon can't say she's surprised, it doesn't mean she has the energy for another pointless fight, though. “You don't need to worry,” she says and tries to not think about those few, horrible minutes she entertained the thought of ratting them all out in order to save her daughter, “Everything went according to plan.”

“That doesn't answer my question,” Tokyo is coming closer still, their noses now almost touching, “Did you tell them anything?”

Lisbon feels a shiver running down her spine and tries to tell herself it got nothing to do with Tokyo's proximity. “No,” she says firmly, “I didn't.”

Tokyo nods, and before she can give any more backtalk, Lisbon adds, “There are still twenty minutes left, I need a shower, and a red overall.”

The smirk is back on Tokyo's face, “Yes, Professora.” With that, she walks out of the office and Lisbon is finally left alone. She takes a look around, still not entirely believing that she's really here. Those last two days were hell, not just because she wasn't sure whether Sergio knew she was still alive, but because she was forced to sit in a cage and watch while those people she started to call friends fought and died only a few hundred meters away from her. She takes a deep breath, tries to shove the memories of the night she spent inside a prison-cell aside, how she felt claustrophobic and panic-fueled during every second of it.

A shower, she wanted to take a shower, she reminds herself, and walks into the adjusting bathroom. She doesn't find a shower in it but a bathtub, which is even better, and turns on the faucet to fill it with hot water. Her clothes are smelly and sticky, and she takes them off after using the toilet, throwing them to the ground heedlessly. This was the last time she ever wore a police uniform, she realizes, and feels weirdly glad.

She just turned the water off when Tokyo steps through the door, a bunch of clothes in her arms, and stopping in her tracks when she sees Lisbon's naked body. For a second it seems like she's going to walk out again, apology already on her lips, but then she stays right where she is, eyeing Lisbon shamelessly. The shiver is back and with it a tingling sensation in her stomach, and Lisbon hesitates herself before she raises an eyebrow. Tokyo only grins, “Don't mind me.”

With a stride, Lisbon crosses the room and presses Tokyo against the wall, kissing her with a force that makes their teeth clack almost painfully together. Tokyo kisses her back, equally intense, and moans when Lisbon bites into her bottom lip.

“Bitch,” she growls and seems to let go of the clothes, because suddenly one of her hands is on Lisbon's breast, taking her nipple between two fingers and twisting it. It hurts, and the pain goes right through Lisbon's body, the wetness already pooling between her legs.

She places a hand in Tokyo's hair then, and takes a step back while keeping her in place, ever so slightly pulling on the strands between her fingers. Lisbon eyes the other woman, wants her naked, and on her knees, helpless while Lisbon does to her whatever she wants. Tokyo only laughs, “What would the Professor say?”

He would want to watch me take you apart, Lisbon thinks, and uses her hand to turn Tokyo's head to one side, lying her throat bare, and begins to nip on the delicate skin. “I want you to eat me out.”

“I knew you'd be bossy,” Tokyo says, the laugh now turning into a groan when Lisbon bites into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“And I want you to shut up,” Lisbon adds, and forces Tokyo slowly but firmly to her knees.

“That I can't promise, but the eating out part...” Tokyo grins and licks her lip.

She's glorious like that, looking up with wide eyes, breathing hard, and Lisbon regrets not doing this sooner, back in the monastery or even during the first night Tokyo came to Palawan and punched Lisbon in the face. It would've made things so much easier. However, now she has Tokyo on her knees, and she's not going to waste those few moments they have with looking at her, so she presses her face forward.

Tokyo seemingly doesn't want to waste any more time, either, since she goes straight for Lisbon's clit, licking and sucking on it alternately. Lisbon moans, holding Tokyo in place, closing her eyes and giving herself fully over to the pleasure.

When her moans are getting louder, Tokyo begins to use her fingers in addition to her tongue, presses first one, then two of them into Lisbon, and works them in and out in a fast motion. She knows undoubtedly what she's doing, and certainly not just from pleasuring herself.

Lisbon's legs begin to shake once again, and she has to hold herself upright by placing her free hand on the wall in front of her. Her orgasm comes onto her within two minutes of Tokyo's treatment, and it almost makes her scream with the intensity. Tokyo rocks her through it, her fingers and tongue slowing down, yet still relentlessly moving, and just as it's almost too much, Tokyo stops.

With a satisfied expression she gets back up, and Lisbon's hand slips out of her hair, too tired to keep it up any longer. “Your water's turning cold,” Tokyo says and before Lisbon can wonder about it, Tokyo is leading her to the tub and helps her climbing over the brim.

The water is still warm, and with a sigh Lisbon sinks into it, closing her eyes when she's fully settled in. “Thanks,” she mumbles and hears Tokyo chuckle.

“Don't worry, I know how much one needs a good fuck after a stunt like that.”

Lisbon nods, and thinks back to the beach where they first ran into the waves and where she then rode the Professor's cock right there in the sand, feeling more alive than she ever did before. She can hardly grasp that it was not even a week ago. When she opens her eyes again, she finds Tokyo sitting on the chair next to the tub, still eyeing her.

“You want me to finger you?” Lisbon suggests and is surprised that she truly wants to do it.

“Nah, not now.”

Now might be their last chance, but Lisbon is not going to argue. “I can't go back to prison,” she whispers and wonders why she says it, why she entrusts Tokyo of all people with it.

Tokyo nods, understanding. “We're not made to be locked away.”

“No, we're not.”

“They're not getting you.” The “not alive” hangs unspoken between them.

“You neither,” Lisbon says, and it feels like a promise.

Tokyo is getting up then, small smile on her lips, “I'll be at the intercom, five minutes till the control-call.”

“I'll be right behind you,” Lisbon says, wants to enjoy the warm water for just one more minute.

Before she reaches the door, Tokyo turns around again, though, “Am I going to have beef with the Prof now?”

“No,” Lisbon assure, and when Tokyo still seems doubtful, she adds, “On the contrary.”

“Knew he's a kinky fucker,” Tokyo grins and is out of the door. Maybe, Lisbon shouldn't have said that last part.

Chapter Text

It's late at night when Martín comes back to the monastery, and he might be a little drunk, but who could blame him, really? It's not that he isn't happy for Andrés, he is, just as he's happy for Tatiana, he would merely be a little happier if he was the one who... Well, those thoughts are pointless and do nothing but hurt him even more, so he stops himself right there. Even setting his personal feelings aside he would have preferred it if the two didn't decide to get married during the preparation of the greatest heist in history, however, in a few hours it will be done, and it's not like a wedding is something special for Andrés, after all.

When Martín stumbles through one of the wide hallways to his room, focused on not tripping over any of these stupid pieces of furniture, he suddenly he hears a strange noise. He wandered these corridors countless times in the middle of the night, and he never heard a similar sound, on the contrary, it had always been deadly quiet, thus, he stops confused in his tracks and tries to make out where it came from. A few seconds later he hears it again and since he's concentrating on it, he's able to identify it; it sounds dangerously like skin meeting skin. Martín feels his stomach sink and is about to run to his room when he hears it again, followed by a groan that seems to come from Tatiana. A groan that doesn't sound like a cry of pleasure, at all, and it's only a blink of an eye later when he makes out what's definitely a smack followed by a muffled scream.

Alarmed, Martín starts to run, however not for his room, but to where Tatiana's scream seemed to have come from. Andrés might be a lot of things, but he would never hit a woman, let alone his soon-to-be wife, so it can only mean that someone broke into their home and is currently abusing her. Martín feels the panic rising and for the first time in a long while regrets having had one drink too many, since his legs refuse to move in the direction his brain orders them to. When he's finally able to locate the room the sounds originate from, he's ready to storm it, just to stop in his tracks once again.

The scenery that unfolds itself in front of him is so unexpected that for a moment, he's sure he passed out during the taxi ride and is now dreaming. Through the half-opened door to Andrés' study he sees Tatiana bend over the desk, naked, with her arms tied to her back and shaking all over. Behind her stands Andrés, dressed in the beautiful suit he wore earlier that day, a small smile on his lips and his hand raised. Later, Martín will blame it on his drunkenness that he's still not able to grasp what is going on, and only as Andrés' hand flies down and meets Tatiana's ass with the distinctive smack from before, and her pained shout gets followed by a low moan, it starts to dawn on Martín what exactly he's witnessing.

They are both facing the wall next to the door Martín is standing in and therefore haven't noticed they're being watched, so the sensible thing to do now would be to go away as quietly as possible and pretend this has never happened. Unfortunately, drunk-Martín is hardly ever sensible, and something about this situation got him transfixed. It's not the first time he sees someone getting spanked, he even tried it once or twice himself, but he was never really into it. However, watching Andrés doing it makes every other of those experiences pale in comparison. He is powerful, beautifuli, in the way he moves, holds himself up, proves that he's made for this, and Martín wonders how he could have missed this side of him. Sure, he has always been aware that Andrés loves to give orders, to be dominant, but Martín would have never dreamed that this expands into Andrés' sex life. Now, it seems obvious.

Even though he's only able to see one side of Tatiana, he can make out the deep redness of her butt and nearly winches himself when Andrés' palm mercilessly meets it again. She cries out and doesn't get time to quiet down before there is yet another hit.

“Shh,” Andrés says in a low and deep voice while gently stroking the abused skin, “You're doing so go.”

Martín feels a shudder run through his own body, watches with a dry mouth as Andrés' hand stops with the caressing and smacks her butt again, this time faster but seemingly with less strength behind it. And Martín, he keeps watching, unable to adverts his eyes or leave for his room. He might have come to his senses at some point, but he'll never figure out because suddenly Tatiana turns her to the side and looks right at him.

She doesn't seem surprised, not even confused, instead a grin starts to spread on her lips, and it only widens when another stroke is placed on her bum. He is about to open his mouth, wants to apologize, to do anything, really, despite staring at her while Andrés gives her a spanking, but before he can do such a thing she starts to groan, low and filthy, and when the hand meets her skin again she moans, “Martín.”

This somehow breaks the spell, and he runs because staying means being confronted not just with Tatiana's gaze but with Andrés'. Andrés, who now certainly has caught him standing there, watching like a creep, as well, and who will be furious. Thankfully, Martín finds his body considerably sobered, since he doesn't trip once on the long way to his room. When he has finally reaches it, he closes his door behind himself with a loud bang and sinks down against it.

While he tries to understand what the fuck just happened, he listens for footsteps coming closer, for Andrés angrily storming after him to demand an explanation for his behavior, but it never comes. When Martín eventually lies down in his bed, he decides to just forgot about the incident, and especially about the fact that he's still half-hard.


For the first time, Martín's glad that Andrés gets married, since the ceremony doesn't leave any room for neither him nor Tatiana to confront Martín about last night. They are ridiculously happy, beaming and singing and dancing all through the day, and he tries his best to share this feeling because he likes Tatiana, something that could never be said about number three and number four, and he wants their relationship to last. The good part of him at least does.

All in all, it's a surprisingly pleasant day and Martín might even have started to believe that last night indeed was a dream if it weren't for the way Tatiana flinches hardly noticeable every time she sits down. Whenever she does, he feels the weird urge to follow her into the bathroom and beg her to show him the marks Andrés inflicted on her. He wants to feel her bruised skin under his fingers, marvel at the painting Andrés left on her body. The thoughts are so concerning that he tries to drown them in alcohol. It doesn't work.


After the wedding he gets somewhat of a break since Andrés and Tatiana go on their honeymoon, which is only a weekend-trip to a some boring city, but he's still grateful. When they come back, they tell him all about it and are so carefree and delighted that they seem to have decided to ignore what Martín did, which is more than alright with him.

Of course, he's never that lucky, and so he finds himself alone with Tatiana in the chapel the next evening, the smirk on her face indicating the worst.

“Hello, Martín,” she says while walking towards the desk he's currently working on.

He looks up, wonders if there is a way to run from this, but before he can find one she is already right beside him, staring down at him with glinting eyes. She sits partly down on the counter top, feet still grounded on the floor, and doesn't flinch as she does. Involuntarily, he wonders what her butt looks like now, five days later, if there are still marks left to be seen, if there are new ones. She seems to read his mind because she chuckles lowly.

“I see how you look at him,” she states, and this isn't what Martín has expected. Not at all. He opens his mouth, wants to deny whatever she's going to accuse him of, but she doesn't let him, “No, don't worry, it's okay. I have seen it the first time we met, and I understand you, I truly do. I mean, I've married him after all, didn't I.” She laughs, and he feels only that much more confused.

“Listen,” he says and clears his throat when he realizes how quiet his voice is, “About that night-”

Once again, she interrupts him, “That was fun.”

“Was it?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course,” she exclaims and scoots a few centimeters to the middle, lifts one leg and places it on the other side of his own. She is now sitting right in front of him and uses it to poke a long, manicured finger into his chest. “And I know you had fun, too. The way you looked at me...” she makes a sound deep in her throat like she has just tasted something especially scrumptious, “I came so hard after that, unfortunately you didn't stick around to watch that, as well.”

Martín's head starts to spin. Why is she telling him this? She is still smirking, and he wonders whether it's some kind of test, if Andrés listens or if she wants to give him the chance to make up for what he did. “I'm sorry,” he eventually says, “I shouldn't have watched. I heard you scream and I thought... Well, obviously I have been wrong, and I should have left immediately upon realizing it. I really am sorry.”

“But Martín,” she laughs and pets his cheek lightly, “I wanted you to watch.”

This only increases his confusion further and with a shake of his head, he repeats, “You wanted me to watch?”

“Yes! I kept the door open and made especially loud noises ever since I came here, but you're always so tighten up in your work that you didn't even notice. I was certain you'd love to see Andrés spank me, and turns out I have been right.” She smiles like he gave her a wonderful present, and he begins to feel frustrated with her not making any sense.

“And why would you do that? What is your plan here, Tatiana? Do you want to embarrass me in front of him? Congratulations, you've done it. Now would you mind stopping with this little game of yours? Like you've said, 'I'm tighten up in my work' and I want to finish this,” he points at the papers which she's still sitting on.

“Please, don't get angry with me, it was supposed to be fun, for all of us. I don't want to embarrass you,” she sinks down onto his lap, straddles him, “I want you. We both want you. Andrés knew I left the doors open deliberately, he enjoyed you watching us just like I did. I'm not playing games with you.”

She is too close, too warm, with one hand placed on his chest and the other again on his cheek, but this time she strokes the skin there. He's reminded of the way Andrés stroked her bruised skin and told her how good she does. He places his hands on her waist, wants to get her off himself and doesn't get through with it. He lets his hands linger there, though. “I don't understand.” And it's true, he doesn't, none of it.

“Two are better than one,” she says, “and I want to you to be number two.”

“I'm gay,” he reminds her because she seems to have forgotten it, maybe she never found out, which is honestly unlikely.

“That's okay. You won't have to touch me if you don't want to, don't even have to look at me, it will be the three of us. You and me and Andrés,” she smiles like it solves everything.

“Andrés is straight,” he starts to feel stupid for stating the obvious.

“So he claims, but like I said, we want it, him and me both. Just promise me you'll think about it, okay? I know you want him, as well, yearn for him.” She places a small kiss on his lips, it's gentle, almost like a friend's kiss, but combined with her words it feels inappropriate.

“Okay,” he says, because what else is there to say?

She climbs off his lap, still smiling, and with one last wink she walks to the door, leaving Martín confused and slightly turned on.


The thing is, Martín wants to talk about Tatiana's offer, but with no word or look Andrés indicates he's even aware of it, and how can you possibly go to your best friend and ask him, Your wife told me you want a threesome with me, is that true? Yeah, not really working, so Martín waits for Andrés to come to him and does so without avail. Which means he either doesn't know about it, or that he stubbornly waits for Martín to talk to him, and Martín doesn't know which he prefers.

The latter, his traitorous brain calls out, because if Andrés knows and Tatiana told the truth it means that Andrés wants him. That Andrés wants him despite never showing any sign he does, and while he claims to be straight. No matter how Martín looks at it, it doesn't add up, and he grows almost mad with it.

Thus, he tries to bury himself in work, getting closer and closer to flashing out the most important parts of the plan by the day. But working means working with Andrés, and therefore his only chance for this being a distraction is to occupy himself with calculations, since Andrés knows better than to disturb him while he does those.

Thankfully, he at least sees no more of Tatiana for the next few days, since she's out during the day doing what-ever. This is until he runs into her.


He should know better than to wander the corridors at night, and if anyone would ask him about it, he'd tell them it was by complete accident that he ran into them again, he was merely up to get himself a glass of water, and when he heard noises he only wanted to make sure everything was alright. So, a week after the talk, he finds himself staring at Tatiana's butt for the second time.

This time around they're both naked, however, he doesn't see much more of Andrés than his legs since Tatiana is straddling him, and there isn't even a door they had to keep purposefully open, they settled for an armchair in the well lit entrance-hall instead. If Martín's throat wouldn't haven tightened as soon as he laid eyes on this, he probably would have mocked them for their shamelessness.

Tatiana's ass is covered in red welts, and his assumption to where those came from gets confirmed when he sees a cane lying to their feet. Martín feels the lump in his throat growing even more, glad he didn't leave his room sooner, angry with himself that he didn't. He lets his gaze wander up her delicate back and finds himself eye to eye with Andrés, and whatever he expected it to see there, it clearly wasn't the mischievous, downright winning grin that is tucking on Andrés' lips.

“Continue,” he says directed at Tatiana even though he doesn't take his eyes off Martín for a second. She complies, starts to move her hips up and down in a relentless pace, and lets out a muffled moan. Only now, Martín sees the strap that is fixed around her head and realizes that she's gagged, and heat begins to spread slowly but steadily through his body. He takes a look at her butt again, and with the rise of her hips, he's able to peek at Andrés' erection. It's exactly as thick as he imagined it, and he wishes he could see all of it, taste it, impale himself on it.

Deep down he thinks this should feel weird, watching them, despite them wanting him to, but it doesn't, instead Martín's skin starts to prickle in arousal. When he looks back up, Andrés has still that grin on his face and orders Tatiana in a low voice, “Harder.” Once again, she does as she's told, the sounds coming out her mouth growing increasingly louder. Andrés is showing off. The thought makes Martín's own indifferent mask slip, a smile tucking on his lips, and he's immediately aware how much it pleases Andrés.

They stare at each other and Martín is petrified, couldn't look away even if he wanted to. It doesn't last long which makes him wonder since when they're at it, if they've waited for him. Andrés keeps quiet through it, only the way his hips buck and his eyes close for a few seconds are giving away that he reached his orgasm. When he's done Martín merely turns around and leaves, this time it doesn't feel like an escape, though, but like a retreat.

Back in his room, he gets rid of his shorts and jerks off.


This new incident makes him somewhat brave because when he walks into the kitchen the next morning and finds Andrés there, reading the paper and not even looking up, he decides that he'll give in after all. “So,” he says and sits down next to Andrés, “Your wife didn't lie to me.”

“Depends on what you're referring to,” Andrés answers smugly, and lets the paper sink down.

Of course, he's making Martín say it. “You being on board with this crazy idea of hers to take me to your bed.”

“Oh, that,” Andrés exclaims as if he really didn't know what Martín was talking about, “No, she certainly didn't lie to you, even though I don't quite see why you'd call the idea crazy.”

“You don't?” Martín asks with a raised eyebrow, “Well, letting your best-friend look at your naked wife sounds at least unconventional to me.”

“But that is where you're wrong; I let my wife look at my naked best-friend, at least that is the plan.” His smile suddenly changes into a stern look, and he takes hold of the hand Martín placed on the counter, “I love you, cariño. You're the most important part of my life, but I couldn't give you what you've wanted, at least until Tatiana showed me a way to do it.”

Martín is speechless, his heart is thumping so loud and fast that he gets dizzy. Andrés did say those words before, always in a friendly-manner, making it clear that he doesn't return the feelings Martín tried to hide all these years. However, this is different, this sounds like a declaration. It's too good to be true, and he doesn't want to let himself believe it because there will be no coming back. When it's obvious that Andrés waits for an answer, he finally says, “How is this supposed to work? I'm gay.” It's even more ridiculous to tell Andrés this since he knows, he knows Martín inside out.

“But this is what makes it so perfect. I don't have to be afraid that you'll leave me for her.”

Martín feels the need to tell him that his main concern should probably be that his wife will leave him, but he keeps his mouth shut because since when is there a point in telling Andrés what he's supposed to do?

“I assume you're in?” Andrés asks and squeezes Martín's hand ever so slightly.

“Has there ever been a time I could refuse any of your requests?” It's sounds dramatic, even to his own ears.

“No, I don't think so,” Andrés agrees with a laugh, “And now let us get back to work, there's a lot we have to finish before my brother comes back, and unlike you, he has to be persuaded to do what I want.”


It's a bad idea. No, it's a horrible idea because even though the thought of having a threesome with Andrés and Tatiana seemed, despite the craziness of it all, quite appealing, the prospect of getting through with it certainly doesn't. For the past week he has been so absorbed into making sense of all of this, while avoiding the thought at the same time, that he forgot about the potential consequences. Martín had one threesome in his life, and he promised himself that it was the last, as well . It was such an awkward experience that they silently agreed on never seeing each other again, and there is no way to know that the same thing won't happen again.

That it will be terrible for him seems actually inevitable because while the sight of Andrés spanking and fucking Tatiana had been arguably arousing, this won't apply to a situation he's being involved in doing so. Not just that the concept of a vagina appalls him, he already sees himself getting jealous as soon as Tatiana puts her hands onto Andrés.

When noon comes he wants to tell Andrés that he won't be a part of this plan, but above everything Martín's weak and the prospect of finally being with Andrés, to get what he wanted for all those years now, is so alluring that there is no way he'll call it off. He's almost certain he'll regret it, that Andrés will realize that it was a horrible idea, and that he'll not just kick Martín out of his bed but his life all together. The thought is alarming.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Andrés tells him when Martín expresses his concerns over the police storming the Bank before they get into the vault, and sounds like he's talking about something else entirely.


In the evening, Martín considers to just open a bottle of wine or two and fall into a drunken slumber, but he withstands the temptation. When he went into the kitchen to eat some leftover from last night, neither Tatiana seemed to have returned from where-ever she had gone to, nor did Andrés from the walk he had set off to earlier, and so Martín retreated back to his room where he's pacing aimlessly up and down ever since.

They didn't talk about when they would go through with it, but the way Andrés looked at him all through the day, like a hunter eyeing his prey, made it clear that he didn't intend on delaying it any further. And now Martín feels like a virgin on her wedding-night, unsure what to do with himself and wanting to get it over with as soon as possible.

In the end, he fetches himself a glass of whiskey and under the alcohol's influence he decides that he won't act like a girl any longer, goddammit, and stomps out his room, ready to tell Andrés that he'll either fuck him right now or he's out.

His latest nightly adventure should have been a warning, though, because when he reaches Andrés and Tatiana's shared bedroom, he finds the door once again wide open and what's inside is even more surprising than what he walked in on before. While Andrés lies on the bed still fully dressed and reading a book, Tatiana knees on the ground right to Andrés' feet, naked, and for a moment Martín has the weird urge to laugh about the fact that he hardly ever sees her with clothes on lately. Her arms are fastened behind her back with one of Andrés' belts, and she's blindfolded, head held low like an obedient servant.

“There you are,” Andrés grins, “Poor Tatiana's knees are probably green and blue by now.” Only now Martín realizes that she's slightly shivering, and if she's really sitting there like that for a while, it's probably not just due to the cold stone under her.

Martín's first instinct is to apologize, but they didn't agree on a time, nor on anything, so he doesn't. He stands in the doorway, staring as stupidly as he did the first time since he probably should have expected that Andrés had something like that in mind, considering he spanks Tatiana regularly, but he didn't, and now he doesn't know what's expected of him.

“Come here,” Andrés says, and while the sound of his voice doesn't leave room for any protest, it isn't a direct order like the ones he gave Tatiana last night, which is reassuring.

Martín walks over while looking at Tatiana, who still didn't show any sign that she realized he came into the room. Some welts on her ass turned blue, and he once again feels the weird urge to touch them, instead he sits down on the edge of the mattress right next to Andrés who sitting up and puts his book on the night-stand. “You're nervous,” he muses.

“Yes,” Martín admits, which is met with a smile.

“Don't be,” Andrés tells him and leans in, places his lips on Martín's. For the course of a few seconds, the world seems to stop spinning, everything narrows down to the fact that Andrés is kissing him. When those lips are suddenly gone again, Martín realizes he didn't do much more than keep still and let it happen, and taking the grin on Andrés' face in, he finds it rather amusing.

Without further hesitation, Martín places his hand on Andrés' neck and pulls him back in and kisses him for real this time. Martín would rather not think about how many hours he spent imagining this, but he never dreamed of it being so good. They should have been doing it for years, he realizes, and moans ever so lowly into Andrés' mouth as he places his hands on Martín's cheeks, holding him possessively in place while he devours him.

Martín stops to hold back then, crawls onto the bed and in Andrés' lap, straddles him while doing his best to not break the contact of their lips. Andrés laughs into the kiss, low, and pleased, and Martín is already fumbling with the buttons of Andrés' shirt, desperate to touch. Andrés lets him, and when the shirt is finally off his shoulders, Martín leans back to marvel at the chest. He has seen Andrés naked before, but never that close, was allowed to place his hands on the naked skin, to feel it under his finger. So he makes up for it now, strokes everything he can reach, takes one nipple between thumb and index-finger, pinches slightly and enjoys the low moan that is coming out of Andrés' mouth.

Then, he kisses Andrés again, open-mouthed and more forceful than before, and just as he's about to get lost in the intoxicating taste again, he's rolled off and suddenly lies next to Andrés. He wants to protest, but is shushed with a kiss and hands trying to get the shirt off of his body. Sitting up slightly he pulls it over his head, lies back down, is about to draw Andrés back in, but it met with resistance.

“Unfortunately, this is where the problem arises,” Andrés says and Martín feels his heart sink into his stomach, “While I enjoy kissing you very much, and even your touches, I'm not interested in what you've got between your legs.” He places another small kiss on Martín lips, “But you already knew that. So, I asked myself the same question you did earlier this morning, 'How is this supposed to work', and it's rather simply, isn't it? While I might not want to touch your cock, Tatiana certainly does.”

Martín opens his mouth to protest because he doesn't want Tatiana to touch his dick, but Andrés doesn't let him speak, “I know what you want to say, that she's woman, and you don't like them, but considers this, cariño, a mouth is a mouth.” Any further objection he has to this statement is brushed from his mind as Andrés starts to roam his chest with his hands, and leans in to resume kissing him, and with every passing second he cares less about what else Andrés has in mind as long as he keeps his lips right where they are now.

“Tatiana,” Andrés says in between breaths in the same demanding tone he used last night, “Come here.” Out of the corner of his eye Martín sees her crawling onto the bed, graceful like she isn't wearing a blindfold, nor has her hands bound behind her back, and when she gets closer Andrés places a hand on her shoulder to guide her between Martín's legs.

“She didn't stop talking about how much she wants your cock in her mouth, and even though her desperation was quite amusing it started to annoy me,” Andrés tells him, probably to humiliate her, but when Martín looks into her face he finds her grinning.

And why the hell not, he thinks, he never thought about getting a blow job by a woman, but the worst, and most likely, thing that could happen is that it's bad, so he only shrugs and opens his trousers to free his already slightly painful erection.

“Go on then,” Andrés tells her with a sly smile, and she immediately leans down. After sucking her way up Martín's thigh for a few seconds, she finds what she's looking for and swallows his dick down to the base. He moans, loud and involuntarily, and closes his eyes because while it does feel good, the sight of feminine features and long hair around his erection is just strange.

Andrés places a hand on his cheek then, and says, “Look at me.” Martín finds Andrés' face merely a few centimeters from his own, smile still on his face, “I am the one who's doing that to you. It doesn't matter that this isn't my mouth, I'm pleasing you."

Martín nods since he doesn't even care anymore, is too lost in the feeling of the warm mouth around his dick, swallowing him down in a perfect pace, while Andrés looks at him with that smile like he enjoys what he sees.

He pulls Andrés back down to him, claims his lips with his own, and starts to moan more into his mouth than he does kiss him. Andrés doesn't seem to mind, lets his hand wander over Martín's chest, looking for the best places to draw even more noises out of him. Soon Martín is more or less holding onto Andrés while he does his best not to come, not wanting this to end just yet, only to reach his orgasm rather unexpectedly when Andrés bites into his shoulder without any warning. He shouts more from the pain than the pleasure, his whole body convulsing.

“Asshole,” he grumbles when he comes down from his high, which only makes Andrés laugh.

Tatiana lets go of his cock then, which he's thankful for because it started to get uncomfortable, and sits back up, panting and a drop of Martín's sperm running down her chin. Without the arousal floating through his brain, the realization hits in that he not just got blown by a woman, but Andrés' wife, and he feels somewhat sick.

To not let these thoughts take over, he shifts his attention back to Andrés, who's still lying next to him. “I think you said something about a mouth being a mouth .”

“Indeed,” Andrés laughs again, and before he can say anything else, Martín pushes him into the mattress and opens his slacks. He isn't as rapid as Tatiana has been with him, instead he takes a look at Andrés' cock, finds it even more perfect than he thought it was last night, and takes it into his mouth cautiously, savoring every second of it.

Andrés is still coming soon, which makes him weirdly proud, despite the anew feeling of regret that it's over.

“Oh god, please get that thing finally off me , ” Tatiana growls, and Martín might have forgotten about her being there as well for a moment or two.

“Such impatience,” Andrés scolds and sits up nonetheless.

Impatience,” she huffs, "I'll do it myself, I don't even care anymore, I just want to come.” The last word nearly sounds like a whine, and Martín excuses himself to the bathroom before he witnesses that as well.


When he comes back, he finds still Tatiana massaging her probably sore arms with a satisfied grin, so Martín obviously missed the rest of the show successfully. Andrés is propped up against the headboard, looking as content and naked as his wife, and Martín feels his heart flutter at the sight.

“There you are,” Tatiana beams, “I knew I was right about this. That was great, wasn't it?”

“Sure,” Martín nods because even if he wanted to he couldn't deny it, and sees the smile on Andrés' face widen.

She gets up and comes over to hug him and place a kiss on his cheek, “Now, let us go to bed, sucking your cock made me tired,” and disappears into the bathroom Martín just came from.

It feels weird at first, sharing a bed, but considering what they did before, Martín brushes it aside. He lies next to Andrés with Tatiana on the other side, which he is glad for because while he and Andrés at least put their briefs back on, she didn't bother with any of it and Martín would rather not wake up with breasts in his face.

At some point, he scoots closer and carefully places a hand on Andrés' chest, which is met with a kiss to his temple. With a smile on his lips, Martín falls asleep.


The expected awkwardness never comes, not the next morning, nor when Andrés and him spend hours working together, and it doesn't come two nights later when Martín returns to their bedroom, either. Over the next couple of days, he learns that it's the obedience Andrés is getting off on. Tatiana isn't always restrained, but she never does anything without Andrés telling her to, and Martín feels himself getting lost in her mouth or hand while Andrés' touches and kisses, and sometimes even Andres' cock in his own mouth, make him nearly forgot about her being there at all.

For Tatiana, it seems to be about the pain, but what better way is there to prove to someone your obedience to than to let them hurt you. Martín would know. One night, Andrés has her butt in his lap while her head lies in Martín's, and he watches how Andrés covers her skin relentlessly with strikes. When she starts to cry and Andrés asks her whether he should stop, she tells him no, and following an instinct, Martín takes her small hands into one of his own while he pets her hair with the other.

“You're alright, you're doing good,” he tells her, remembering that first night, and it makes her smile through the tears. She starts to sob a few seconds later, and it seems to be cathartic, and if Martín wouldn't be so appalled by the prospect of the pain, he would beg Andrés to spank him, as well. At some point Andrés pushes a finger into her and makes her orgasm on it while he's still striking her, and when she eventually comes down from it, she laughs and kisses Martín, deep and sweet, and he lets it happen, even though it feels like they've crossed a line somewhere along the way.

So, while nothing of this ever feels awkward, Martín gets jealous after all, not during sex like he feared, but during all those little moments in-between. He sees Andrés and Tatiana kissing casually, taking the other's hand into their own without really paying any attention to it, and Martín's guts start to boil with the need to be in Tatiana's place instead. However, he's just in for the sex, and he's never more aware of it than when he lies in bed at night, alone, while asking himself what Andrés and Tatiana are currently doing.

He has always been jealous of Andrés' wives to some extant, but never like that, never was he allowed to get a glimpse into what could be. The worst thing is that he doesn't know where this is leading to, what they expect of him, and when they'll ultimately get tired of this little adventure.

Martín should probably end this while he's able to, move on with dignity, because with every passing day he gets more attached to Andrés, making the eventual ending to this affair only that much more hurtful. Whenever Andrés kisses him, he forgets about his plan, though. He has always been obeying to everything Andrés wanted of him, after all.


When Sergio returns to the monastery, it takes him exactly one day, and walking into Martín stumbling out of Andrés' and Tatiana's bedroom in the morning, to notice what changed. It's rather remarkable, considering the guy is a virgin for all that Martín knows.

“It's madness, and you should end it as long as you're still able to,” Sergio says when they present him the newest additions to their plan, and Martín has the weird feeling that this isn't the only thing Sergio is talking about.

Andrés laughs and shakes his head, “You're too uptight, brother. You have to really imagine it, then you're going to see the appeal. Come on, I'll show you how we're going to fake our deaths in order for them to get off our track.”

And while Andrés did dismiss the concerns, the worried look in Sergio's eyes indicates that this isn't the end of this. Fear begins to spread in Martín's body because despite all their differences, Andrés usually listens to his little brother.


A week later, Sergio's gone again, left in the wee hours of the morning with the same old sour look on his face. At least Martín imagines it like it, he merely woke up to Andrés missing from their bed and with Tatiana pressed to his back. So much to not waking up with breasts in his face. It's still a small price to pay, though, considering the alternative.

With Sergio gone, there are no more talks of printing money, and Martín feels himself giving in to the deceptive hope that Andrés will haven forgotten about all these words of doubt rather sooner than later.


“Tell me, cariño ,” Andrés whispers into his ear one night, “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Martín answers, and isn't even sure whether he's lying or not.

In front of them, Tatiana grins, taking a sip of wine, and Martín leans into Andrés further, the arm around his shoulders pulling him in almost possessively. There is no place he'd rather be right now, that much Martín is sure of.

Chapter Text

It's Sergio's idea and Raquel isn't convinced that it's one of his good ones. Actually, she's pretty damn sure it's a horrible, probably catastrophic idea, but Sergio doesn't like to deviate from his plans and the idea for this one came to him in the very first days of their stay in the monastery. “You know her weaknesses, she's our best bet to get some more desperately needed intel.”

The thing is, Alicia knows her just as well, probably better if Raquel is being honest, because while she always has been an open book for anyone who looked closer, Alicia is still an enigma to her at times, even after all these years.

Sergio parked their camper in a small patch of forest far from any road and his thumb is currently hovering over the key that will connect them with Alicia's private number. Next to him, Raquel shifts nervously in her seat, “Are you sure?”

Sergio merely gives her a weak smile that's probably the closest to a “no” she'll ever get from him. He taps on the call-icon anyway.

It takes Alicia no thirty seconds to answer, and she does it with a barked, “Yes?”

“Inspectora,” Sergio drawls, grin firm in place. It still amazes Raquel how fast he can switch between those roles.

For the split of a second too long it's silent on the other end of the line, then Alicia says, “Professor, unfortunately I already went home, but you probably know that, don't you.”

“Yes, that's why I called you on your cellphone after all.”

“You got the information to my whereabouts from the same source as my private number, I guess. Do I need to be concerned for my safety?” She almost masks it perfectly, however Raquel still hears the slightest tremor in her voice. Good. Sergio apparently heard it too, since his lips are twitching while he leans back in his chair.

“Oh no, we don't want to do you any harm, we just thought we'd chat with you in private.”

“And what makes you think I want to talk to you about anything that no one is ought to listen to?”

“Well, we're all interested in this whole affair ending rather sooner than later, so you might be interested in a truce.”

This whole affair,” Alicia huffs, “You're holding dozens of people at gunpoint and blackmail the government with state-secrets. I would call this terrorism, not an affair.”

Sergio looks ready to argue, but Raquel shakes her head, and he settles for, “So, we're already agreeing on that everyone would profit from this situation ending rather sooner than later.”

For a few seconds there are only shuffling-noises to be heard, then Alicia lets out a long sigh. Raquel remembers all those nights Alicia came home with hurting feet since she refused to exchange her high-heels for more practical footwear unless it was absolutely necessary. Back then Raquel cooked dinner while Alicia lay on the couch, feet propped up, and entertaining the both of them with a narration of her day and rather impressive imitations of their superiors.

“What is your plan here, Professor? Do you want to repeat the little stunt you did during your first heist? Seducing the leading inspector so that she helps you escape? I'm afraid I have to disappoint you, I have at least some instinct of self-preservation. Unlike Raquel here.”

“Charming as ever, Alicia,” Raquel muses.

“Ahh, I knew that would finally get you to speak up. So, enlighten me, what did you tell your boyfriend about the two of us that made him think this conversation was a good idea.”

“I told him everything.”

“Everything, mmh. So you told him all about how I fucked you the first night we met and how I didn't stop doing that until long after you got married to Alberto? Does it make him uncomfortable, talking to me when he knows where my tongue has been?”

It's supposed to be a provocation, but Raquel didn't lie when she said she 'everything', and Sergio's satisfied expression reveals that this conversation goes into the exact direction he anticipated.

“Do you still think about it?” Raquel asks, “Because I do. You could get me off in seconds, always knew where to push and what to say to take me apart. I still sometimes imagine it's your hand when I'm pleasuring myself.”

On the other end of the line Alicia laughs, it sounds a little breathless, though. “What are you doing, Raquel? Trying to get my guard down? It's not gonna work.”

“I only want to talk about the old times, I mean you started it, didn't you. And it's not like we'll have another opportunity anytime soon.”

“Don't be so sure about that.”

“What? Do you want to talk about fucking me while I'm cuffed to a chair? Maybe even do it? Making me come against my will while your co-workers are in the next room?”

“Wouldn't be the first time, would it?” Alicia states, and it's not entirely untrue, just that it certainly wasn't against Raquel's will back then. Now, she's the one who's laughing, though, and next to her Sergio's got a hungry look in his eyes.

“Is that what drives you, Alicia? Do you want to arrest me just so that you can fuck me one more time?”

“And why did you call me, Raquel? Is it because you miss me? Because your boyfriend can't get you off just like your husband couldn't?”

“He's nothing like Alberto,” Raquel smiles.

“Isn't he?”

“No, he actually enjoys listening to our conversation.” She doesn't need to take a look to know that there's a bulge inside Sergio's pants that wasn't there a few minutes ago, however, she still reaches out and finds his cock hard and swollen under the palm of her hand.

“So he's not homophobic but a pig who gets off on two women putting on a show for him,” Alicia says, far from impressed.

“No, I simply enjoy watching Raquel being pleasured,” Sergio states and only somewhat successfully swallows down the moan that escapes his lips as Raquel starts to move her hand. It was a horrible idea, indeed, but she's too far gone to care anymore.

Now, it's Alicia's turn to laugh, “Is that it? Do you watch her getting fucked by other people?”

“Occasionally,” Sergio answers truthfully, moving his hips ever so slightly under Raquel's hand.

“Fuck,” Alicia groans, and Raquel can't tell whether she's frustrated or just as turned on as her and Sergio are, “Is that why you threw your life away, Raquel? To become a criminal who's getting fucked by strangers like a little whore?”

“Are you jealous?” Raquel grins, because she knows Alicia is, that she always has been.

“I'm disgusted.”

“Are you?” Sergio asks, “You sound far from disgusted, Inspectora. But go ahead, hang up, we won't be calling you again.”

For a few seconds it's silent and Raquel wonders whether Alicia will really disconnect the call, but then she hears her let out a puff of air that comes dangerously close to a moan. “Those hormones are making me fucking crazy,” she groans, and Raquel grins because, yes, she remembers that from her own pregnancy. She remembers the meet-ups inside a bathroom-stalls with Alicia during those nine months, as well.

It was a shock to learn that Alicia is pregnant and on top of it a widow. She never believed in marriage nor wanted children, but it's not like they've spoken more than ten words to each other during those last five or so years, so what does Raquel know?

“I was horny all day long,” Raquel says as if Alicia doesn't remember.

“It's hell. I'm fucking wet listening to your and your terrorist-boyfriend's pathetic sex life.”

Raquel can imagine it; Alicia sitting on her couch, legs spread apart, panties clinging to her soaking wet pussy, her biting down on her bottom-lip to muffle the moans when she's finally touching her clit. Sergio next to her seems to have a similar fantasy since he no longer settles for Raquel's light caressing and instead unbuttons his jeans to get his dick out. Without hesitation Raquel fists it, moving her hand up and down in a steady pace.

“I want to eat you out so bad,” Raquel confesses, “Ever since I heard your voice yesterday I can't stop thinking about your taste, about the feeling of your clit under my tongue.”

“Fuck you, Raquel,” Alicia groans, and an unmistakable wet sound comes through the line, “You're a fucking bitch.”

“You always liked that best about me.” She rubs her legs together, feels how wet she's herself and moves her hand faster around Sergio's dick, making him moan.

“Are you jerking him off?” Alicia asks annoyed, “He should be on his knees for you, should be making you come and beg you for forgiveness for ruining your life, during those last few days he'll be able to.”

“Oh don't worry, I intend to do that for the next decades,” Sergio says smugly, he does kneel down in front of Raquel, though.

“Tell me how many fingers you got inside you,” Raquel orders because despite the years she knows Alicia. To her feet, Sergio pulls her jeans and panties down.

“Three,” Alicia lets out breathlessly, “It's not enough, nothing is fucking enough. And try to get someone to fuck you with this huge belly.”

“You never cared,” Raquel says, and arches her back as Sergio licks over her clit for the first time.

“No, I fucking hated it. But you were so pitiful when Alberto refused to touch you, and you ran around with that pissed off face of yours.”

“That oddly sweet of you,” Raquel mocks.

“Why are you even still talking?” Alicia snaps then, “Is your Professor as bad of a fuck as his looks indicate? Explains why you need to whore yourself out.”

As if to disprove her, Sergio begins to suck on Raquel's clit while he pushes two fingers into her to fuck her with them. She still tries to answer, swallows down the words, however, as Sergio repeatedly aims for her g-spot, making her legs shake and her mouth forming a range of desperate noises.

Yes,” Alicia moans, and Raquel hears the wet sounds of fingers rubbing a clit. And that's what makes Raquel orgasm surprisingly fast, the noises of Alicia pleasuring herself and Sergio's tongue and fingers working her vigorously. She moans loud and shamelessly, and when she comes down from her high and Sergio let go of her, she hears Alicia laughing.

“Really, you already came?”

“Shut up, Alicia, and get yourself off. I know you need it.”

“What's about your boyfriend?”

Sergio only grins at her from where he's still kneeling on the ground, and Raquel licks her lips at the sight of his leaking cock. “Oh, do you need the show to come? You were always bad at getting yourself off, weren't you? That's why you haven't hung up yet, because you need someone to talk you through it. It's really kinda pathetic, you know that?”

“Oh, fuck you!” Alicia almost shouts, but makes no efforts to stop rubbing her clit as it sounds, nor does she disconnect the call.

“Very creative,” Raquel says and pulls Sergio to his feet and pushes him back down onto his chair. She straddles his hips and slowly sinks down on his cock, gasping as he fills her.

“You should see her, Inspectora,” Sergio groans after being silent for the last few minutes, “She looks so good on my cock, fucking herself on it, her whole body shaking because she just came.”

Alicia doesn't say anything to that, only moans almost desperately, and so Sergio keeps going, fucking upwards into Raquel who's picking up the pace herself, “She's so pretty like that, but you know that, don't you? She told me you had bought a strap-on at one point, got obsessed with fucking her that way, and I don't blame you. Her pussy is so beautiful, all stretched out and stuffed. And you have the advantaged of not needing to rest after you came. Tell me, how long did you keep her sitting on your cock just to drive her crazy?”

Hours, is the answers, and Raquel moans at the memory, hears Alicia doing the same thing on the other end of the line.

“Come for me, Alicia,” Raquel whispers, “Clench down on your fingers and imagine it were mine.” And at those words she does, letting out a row of curses and insults, and it's only a few seconds later when Sergio orgasms as well, filling Raquel with his cum. “Fuck,” she groans, feeling exhausted and spent.

“That was something,” Alicia says before neither Raquel nor Sergio has quite caught their breaths, “I suggest you get some rest, it will be the last hours you spend in freedom.”

“You won't find us,” Raquel states, and almost feels certain about it.

“We'll see,” Alicia says, the grin audible in her voice, and with that she hangs up after all.

“I knew it'd work,” Sergio says with a satisfied expression and place a kiss on Raquel's lips.

She smiles at him because he's right, they got into Alicia's head, however Alicia got into her head, as well, with all these talks about their shared memories, and Raquel feels the old uneasiness working through her body.

She stops the recording then, saving the file on a cloud server. They're going to use it against the woman who once was her lover when the right time comes, and Raquel already hates herself for it.