Chapter Text
Briggs twists the wedding ring around his finger, lost deep in thought despite the general ruckus that fills the bar around him.
It's not real, the ring or the impression it gives; he's only wearing it to help Mike on a job investigating a mafia boss' wife. He's wearing it because they'd gone to a meeting earlier in the day, a meeting for couples who were preparing to either adopt or give birth to a child, neither of which he was actually planning on doing in the near future. But he had to look the part, had to act like he and Mike were so in love they were looking to snatch up some orphaned baby in order to make their family 'complete'. It was an easy cover, and he did a great job when they were in the moment. Mike had given him this ring to look more realistic, and that was it. That was all he needed to do with this band of gold-coated metal, a band that would hardly pass for a real wedding ring if anyone with the expertise required actually took the time to look at it.
So why was he still wearing it?
"Are you married?" the girl had asked, the girl he'd been chatting up and hitting on for the past twenty minutes, his arm resting on the bar as he leaned forward and employed the sexiest grin and the most charming stories he had in his arsenal.
"What?"
"Are you married?" she'd repeated, pointing at the tell-tale ring on his finger. "I don't have sex with married men."
"Oh, that. No, I'm not, we're separated, sometimes I just forget---"
"Yeah, I don't sleep with married men." She'd clutched at her handbag and slid off the bar stool, not even bothering to finish the drink he'd bought for her. "Sorry."
"Whoa, whoa, wait a second! I'm not lying and I'm not married--"
"You know, I've heard that a lot from guys like you. And then after we fuck he always says, oh, do you mind if I call my wife? Thanks but no thanks; I'm not a homewrecker." And with that she'd disappeared into the crowd of people filling the bar, leaving Briggs alone with his beer and his thoughts.
He blames Mike, even though it's his own fault for forgetting to take the stupid thing off. Mike, the agent who was so green sometimes Briggs was surprised a daisy wasn't popping out of the kid's forehead; Mike, who'd come to his room a week or so before and asked him to pretend they were married so they could get close to a big mob boss' wife; Mike, the guy he had to pretend to be in love with for a day every week while a group of pregnant women (and one other gay couple who wouldn't leave them alone) fawned over the two of them and expressed their congratulations at 'making it this far' and deciding to adopt a child.
Pregnant women made him uncomfortable; always had and always would. It most likely had something to do with babies and the fragility of life and other deep crap he didn't worry about. Yet, somehow, pretending to be married to Mike and forcing himself to act that particular part made him more uncomfortable than a room full of expecting mothers ever could.
It's time for another beer, he decides, ignoring the turmoil in his brain in favor of flagging down the waitress and grinning at her, dimples and all, as she takes his order. He's ready to lose himself in the frothing wheat-colored liquid when he just happens to glance toward the bar and spots Mike. The others - Johnny, DJ, Lauren and Charlie - are sitting at a round table in the corner, one which Briggs had been occupying before he spotted the brunette he'd been trying to flirt with, and Mike appears to have left the group for a similar reason. He's sitting on a stool and drinking a Guinness (as far as Briggs can tell from this angle) and chatting up the guy sitting next to him. It's just some dude, Briggs thinks, even as the jealousy twists in his gut. The fuck do I care? The kid's making friends, and that's good, he's new in town and needs all the contacts he can get....and still Briggs finds himself pushing away from the table and walking over to the bar and tapping Mike on the shoulder.
"Mind if I talk to you for a minute? It's kind of important."
Somehow it seems like Mike's eyes are automatically drawn to the ring on Briggs' hand, the ring he still hasn't fucking taken off, but Briggs is sure that's just the six beers he's consumed in the last two hours talking.
"Sure thing. Just a second." Mike apologizes to his new acquaintance and slides off the bar stool. He doesn't protest when Briggs grabs his arm and leads him out of the bar, not even bothering to glance back and see what the others make of all this. Hopefully they're also too drunk to really give a shit. He'd rather not have to deal with any awkward questions in the morning when at the moment he's still not quite sure what he's doing himself.
He drags Mike outside into the alley and is glad that Mike is going with his usual tactic in the face of Briggs' wishes, i.e. not saying or questioning anything at all. It's when they're outside and Briggs finally lets go that he realizes he has no excuse, no pressing matter to use when Mike asks what he's doing, which he inevitably does.
"What was so important you had to bring me out here?" Mike's looking up at him with that same doe-eyed expression he always wears whenever Briggs is around, and it just makes it harder for Briggs to come up with a real answer.
"I needed to talk to you about the job," he finally says. Mike stares at him and shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Alright. What about it?"
He can, if he really tries, come up with something on the spot that will answer Mike's question. Briggs is good at that; just like when he'd made up that bullshit story about the Movie when under pressure, he's always been talented with working on the fly if a job starts going south. Except this time his sharp brain and quick tongue, usually so ready to provide the right story, sit heavy and dead and useless in his head. Instead of easily providing an excuse he studies Mike's face, watching the confusion and apprehension flick across those cute features ('cute' was a term that he often used while thinking of Mike and if anyone asked he'd deny it to his grave) and still says nothing.
Mike waits a beat longer before putting on a lopsided frown. "Well, if you're not going to tell me, I was kind of talking to somebody---" Mike cuts himself off because Briggs is cupping his cheek, brushing a thumb over the very same lips he's been staring at for the last minute or so.
"What were you talking about?
"Um." Briggs finds his gaze attracted to the way Mike's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. Well, that's new. "Nothing important."
"Good." He brings his lips to Mike's, tentatively at first, testing the waters to see what Mike'll do. And again he's surprised; the kid immediately clings to the front of Brigg's shirt and drags him back for a deeper, needier kiss, all eager lips and tongue and teeth and so Briggs pushes him up against the alley wall, not caring that someone could come out at any second and see the two of them grabbing at each other as if their lives depended on it. I had more beer than I realized, Briggs thinks as he presses flush against Mike, a flash of heat traveling straight to his crotch when he earns an unintended moan from his 'partner'. Then one hand is in Mike's hair and the other is pressing against Mike's lower back and he can taste the drinks Mike's had, the Guinness and something else, something fruitier, and he doesn't think about much else until Mike pulls back with a quiet gasp.
"I don't---what are we doing, sir?" Mike asks, reverting back to the honorific he'd stopped using weeks ago. He must be really out of it.
Briggs watches him for a moment, searching his face, then drops his arms. "Nothing. We're not doing anything." He's stepping back and Mike almost looks like he regrets what he said, like he wants to reach out and pull Briggs back and maybe even kiss him again, but by now it's too late. Neither of them say anything for a long time; eventually Briggs grabs at the side door and pulls it open, gesturing for Mike to head back inside.
"After you, dear."
Mike opens his mouth, probably to protest, and then surprises Briggs for the second time when he moves forward and gently presses his lips to Briggs'.
"See you inside, honeybunch," he says with a smile, and when he's gone Briggs is left holding the door open to a bar he doesn't really want to return to. This is something they'll have to deal with when the both of them are sober (or, as Briggs suspects as he steps through the doorway and lets the heavy metal door close behind him, put off as much as they can) but until then Briggs is going to have another beer and introduce himself to the fine redhead sitting on the stool closest to him at the end of the bar. He twists the fake wedding ring off his finger and deposits it in his front pocket as he hails the bartender, purposefully focusing on the cleavage peeking through the redhead's sheer top and not how warm and firm Mike's body felt against his own, how he hadn't been this turned on by another man since....well, since a while.
Still, he reasoned as he slid up to the bar next to the redhead, turning on the full power of his dimples; he and Mike were 'married' now. If he tried to pursue something, he'd have plenty of opportunities, right?
They'd be working together for a while, which meant plenty of time to figure all this out and make another move if he felt like it. He finds his gaze sliding from the redhead's and fixing on Mike, who's returned to the table where the rest of the Graceland crew is located, and he finds himself smiling.
There was no way this could go wrong.