anything up." MJ headed for the door, rope dangling.
"You didn't have to. How many times do I have to tell you, I saw all your shit in your bag." He followed, frowning as his ankle tried to give out. He had to make sure MJ didn't return the favor, take his clothes and all.
"Didn't you go get your fucking ankle looked at? How're you supposed to run a meth lab all gimpy?"
He gritted his teeth. "It was fucking fine until you tackled me and knocked it out of whack. And I do not run a meth lab.
"It's the chance you take, kidnapping dangerous men. And it looked like a meth lab."
MJ looked fucking tickled. Tickled.
Asshole. Well, Sonny supposed sourly, the man did have a little right to laugh, after all he'd been through. Even if it was for his own good. "Bullshit. It looked like a storage facility for a still."
"I'm still not completely sure that's illegal, man. I mean, that's a lot of trouble for booze ."
"Oh, for..." He sat, kinda abruptly, on the little couch against the back wall. Man. No more walking for like, a year.
Those blue eyes looked back at him, looked him over. "You okay? You want some pants?"
That was precisely why he'd brought the asshole with him on vacation. That fucking concern that MJ just couldn't stop himself from showing. Sonny nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "In the blue bag."
MJ nodded, dug out everything from the hidey-hole and found him a pair of soft-soft shorts, actually fucking helped him get them on. "Did you use all the pain pills, too?"
"No." He grinned wryly. "Didn't want both of us down, just in case..." Well, just in case someone was still looking for either of them. Lord knew he had his share of folks who would want his head. He'd bet MJ did, too.
"You think it's broken?" MJ started digging, pulling out a fat white pill. "If it is, you'll have to go to a real doctor."
"The guy this morning said no, but he didn't exactly have an X-ray machine, or a degree on the wall." Still, he'd been pretty thorough. "Of course, that was before our friendly little good day earlier."
"Don't push, asshole. You deserved it." MJ grabbed his foot, moving it carefully. It hurt, but it wasn't deadly.
"I'm not." He really, really wasn't. Not with the guy holding his foot. Sonny put his head back, closed his eyes. What a fucking roller-coaster week. Maybe he needed Prozac. His eyes popped open. "You're not gonna drug me and leave me here."
"I'm not?" MJ looked just about surprised. "I should."
"No, you shouldn't. I took you with me, at least. Hell, I could have bolted out of that cabin and left you there to deal with those logger boys." Damn it. He'd done his good deeds. He had.
MJ nodded, looking at him dead-on. That hand was rubbing MJ's head and neck. Man must have a hellacious headache. "Yeah. Okay. I think. Damn. Take your pill and I'll wrap you up."
"You ought to take something for your head." Okay, when did they go all June Cleaver? But he dutifully took his pill, deciding he'd trust the confusion factor to keep MJ from running off while he slept. Or maybe the concern factor.
MJ shrugged him off, got him up and moving to the bedroom, where they ended up sitting hard. MJ looked a little like he'd been whacked in the back of the head with a hammer.
Sonny sorta...flopped back on the bed, groaning. He held out his hand. "Come on, Precious. Get some sleep. I promise I won't molest you. Or even puke on you. I'm too fucking tired and hurtin'."
"Won't matter if I beat you now or later." MJ slid in beside him, groaning low. "Good mattress."
"Yeah. Yeah." He was already drifting, eyes heavy, as he rolled and snuggled right up to MJ's side, humming happily at the scent of sun and sand and man. "We can rest up, fight on it later."
"Mmmhmm. Walked for fucking ever. Tired." MJ stretched, sighed soft. "Shouldn't be, much as you drugged my ass."
"It wears you out..." The pill was kicking in, making him swirly. He put one hand low on MJ's belly, letting it anchor him. "You have to make breakfast, since I
"You didn't have to. How many times do I have to tell you, I saw all your shit in your bag." He followed, frowning as his ankle tried to give out. He had to make sure MJ didn't return the favor, take his clothes and all.
"Didn't you go get your fucking ankle looked at? How're you supposed to run a meth lab all gimpy?"
He gritted his teeth. "It was fucking fine until you tackled me and knocked it out of whack. And I do not run a meth lab.
"It's the chance you take, kidnapping dangerous men. And it looked like a meth lab."
MJ looked fucking tickled. Tickled.
Asshole. Well, Sonny supposed sourly, the man did have a little right to laugh, after all he'd been through. Even if it was for his own good. "Bullshit. It looked like a storage facility for a still."
"I'm still not completely sure that's illegal, man. I mean, that's a lot of trouble for booze ."
"Oh, for..." He sat, kinda abruptly, on the little couch against the back wall. Man. No more walking for like, a year.
Those blue eyes looked back at him, looked him over. "You okay? You want some pants?"
That was precisely why he'd brought the asshole with him on vacation. That fucking concern that MJ just couldn't stop himself from showing. Sonny nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "In the blue bag."
MJ nodded, dug out everything from the hidey-hole and found him a pair of soft-soft shorts, actually fucking helped him get them on. "Did you use all the pain pills, too?"
"No." He grinned wryly. "Didn't want both of us down, just in case..." Well, just in case someone was still looking for either of them. Lord knew he had his share of folks who would want his head. He'd bet MJ did, too.
"You think it's broken?" MJ started digging, pulling out a fat white pill. "If it is, you'll have to go to a real doctor."
"The guy this morning said no, but he didn't exactly have an X-ray machine, or a degree on the wall." Still, he'd been pretty thorough. "Of course, that was before our friendly little good day earlier."
"Don't push, asshole. You deserved it." MJ grabbed his foot, moving it carefully. It hurt, but it wasn't deadly.
"I'm not." He really, really wasn't. Not with the guy holding his foot. Sonny put his head back, closed his eyes. What a fucking roller-coaster week. Maybe he needed Prozac. His eyes popped open. "You're not gonna drug me and leave me here."
"I'm not?" MJ looked just about surprised. "I should."
"No, you shouldn't. I took you with me, at least. Hell, I could have bolted out of that cabin and left you there to deal with those logger boys." Damn it. He'd done his good deeds. He had.
MJ nodded, looking at him dead-on. That hand was rubbing MJ's head and neck. Man must have a hellacious headache. "Yeah. Okay. I think. Damn. Take your pill and I'll wrap you up."
"You ought to take something for your head." Okay, when did they go all June Cleaver? But he dutifully took his pill, deciding he'd trust the confusion factor to keep MJ from running off while he slept. Or maybe the concern factor.
MJ shrugged him off, got him up and moving to the bedroom, where they ended up sitting hard. MJ looked a little like he'd been whacked in the back of the head with a hammer.
Sonny sorta...flopped back on the bed, groaning. He held out his hand. "Come on, Precious. Get some sleep. I promise I won't molest you. Or even puke on you. I'm too fucking tired and hurtin'."
"Won't matter if I beat you now or later." MJ slid in beside him, groaning low. "Good mattress."
"Yeah. Yeah." He was already drifting, eyes heavy, as he rolled and snuggled right up to MJ's side, humming happily at the scent of sun and sand and man. "We can rest up, fight on it later."
"Mmmhmm. Walked for fucking ever. Tired." MJ stretched, sighed soft. "Shouldn't be, much as you drugged my ass."
"It wears you out..." The pill was kicking in, making him swirly. He put one hand low on MJ's belly, letting it anchor him. "You have to make breakfast, since I
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