Work Text:
There's a dress form dummy, like the kind seamstresses use to construct clothing, and it's wearing an explosive vest.
Jeremy is pleading at gunpoint, offering up whatever he can think of to the manic smile he knows lurks behind Golden Boy's mask. Please, he'll do anything, he doesn't want to die like this, please don't make him put on the vest.
Golden Boy is pretending to consider it, turning his gilded pistol to catch the light as he theatrically "hmm"s. Finally, he says, "S'pose it might not even fit you. Guess I'd have to let you go, if it didn't."
The vest is being draped across his shoulders, his arms coaxed inside, but Jeremy's not begging anymore. It's heavy, so heavy against his back, pulling him downward as surely as a pair of cement boots. It's a struggle just to stay kneeling as Golden Boy works his pants open.
Golden Boy is already hard, probably from the explosives and the power trip, Jeremy thinks. He's rigid and eager as one of the tubes of dynamite encircling Jeremy's torso, and as he forces his mouth all the way down, as far as he can go, he wonders if what he's doing is suppressing a fire, or just lighting a match.
Maybe this is like quenching lit matches in gasoline; maybe sex is just oil on the fire, but if Jeremy plays this very, very carefully, he can swallow that point of flame before it consumes him.
-
Gavin's mouth was hanging open. "Y-you..." He seemed to be struggling for words. "You know me so well, Jeremy!"
"You really do." The admiration in Jack's voice made Jeremy blush almost as thoroughly as Gavin was. "You got all that from police reports?"
"Uh, yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "My fantasies about you were, um, a little different, though."
-
Jeremy is sitting at a red light when someone wrenches his passenger door open and presses a gun against his head.
"Drive," says a voice, and although Jeremy doesn't dare look, he recognizes it from news broadcasts, and the kinds of social media posts that become news broadcasts.
He's being carjacked by Wheels, and although the barrel against his temple certainly isn't comforting, it's almost less of a concern than the sudden, gripping terror that she's going to judge his driving. He doesn't want Wheels to hurt him, but more than that he doesn't want her to be disappointed in him.
Her stern directions have him turning down a shadowy alley, coming to a slow and careful stop somewhere just out of view of the roaring city. The entirely of Los Santos is out in the sunlight, but in these shadows Jeremy is utterly alone.
"Need to borrow your car, sweetheart." He still doesn't dare turn his head, but he can feel manicured fingertips unclipping his seat belt. "But that doesn't mean you're gonna have to walk."
A hand on his back pushes him forward against the steering wheel, and then the gun is gone from his head and Wheels is moving sideways, over the center divider, pushing in behind him, under him, rearranging Jeremy so that he's sitting on her lap, still in the driver's seat but now, very clearly, no longer in control.
Control had been an illusion, anyway.
"Hope you don't mind, honey." Her arms encircle him as she takes the wheel, and he can feel how strong she is, and how tall, and her erection is digging into his back, and somewhere in the part of his brain that is finding this strangely calming is the urge to grind against it. "Didn't wear my bullet proof vest today. You'll do nicely, though."
He can feel her thigh flex as she presses the gas, presses it all the way down, both the motion and the acceleration shifting him on her lap. He doesn't know where they're going or what she'll do with him once they get there, but he knows, with a calm certainty, that she's not going to crash. That this is the safest he's ever been inside a motor vehicle.
She hadn't asked for an answer, but Jeremy would gladly tell her that he doesn't mind at all.
-
"Aww, honey!" Jack beams at him, and her enthusiastic approval helps with the urge to cover his face with his hands. "That sounds like so much fun! You can sit on my lap any time!"
"So Gavin's got explosives, and Jack's got carjacking," Geoff mused. "What'd your Vagabond fantasies hinge on, Jeremy?"
-
There had been something about the man with the motorcycle. A strangeness to the way he held himself, some unidentifiable quirk to his expression.
Biker stuff, Jeremy had figured. Rugged, rough-riding, hard, manly, hot biker stuff. Fuck, it wasn't fair how flattering all that leather was.
The repairs had been fairly standard, nothing about a slightly-battered motorcycle raising any alarm bells beyond the typical danger the Los Santos streets posed to motorized vehicles. Jeremy had told himself he wasn't looking forward to meeting the customer again for the pickup, but even in his own head he'd known that'd been untrue.
"You did such a nice job," the man had said, the kind of dialogue you'd never hear outside of a cheesy romance novel, except the one time that everything in your life was aligning like Hallmark Christmas magic in fucking June. "You wanna go for a ride, feel those repairs in action?"
Jeremy couldn't have said anything but yes.
He hadn't had any assumptions about what a date with this man might look like. Hadn't offered any protestations when they'd turned onto increasingly deserted roads, edging farther and farther from the hum of the city. They wound upwards, into the mountains, Jeremy's handiwork carrying them safely as the man drove with a calmness that promised to never, ever crash. When they finally came to a stop in a deserted grove of pine trees, Jeremy still hadn't realized there was anything wrong.
Not until the man unzipped his backpack, and Jeremy caught a glimpse of the mask inside.
Too late, Jeremy realized he'd been wrong about the genre. This wasn't a romance story. It was a horror novel.
Still, he thought numbly as he was bent over the smooth leather seat, one gloved hand gripping the back of his neck while the other worked his pants down, the two had more similarities than one might think.
-
"I, uh." Ryan seemed to be struggling for words. "I have...lots of leather."
"Ooh, me next!" Michael clapped his hands for attention as Ryan continued to process what he'd heard. "Did you have mushy dating fantasies about me too, Jeremy?"
"Um, actually..." Jeremy laughed, remembering. "I kinda did, just not in the way you'd think."
-
The Fakes don't generally operate alone, but then, Mogar isn't called the Lone Wolf for nothing.
Jeremy is lying face-down on some grimy convenience store floor, listening as Mogar dictates an order which includes, not only all the money in the register, but also "a couple'a packs of beef jerky, those chips- no, not those, the good flavor! And four of those Rockstar drinks or whatever they're called, yeah, yeah, those; Golden Boy loves those things."
Jeremy is listening with a numb sort of detachment, right up until heavy bootfalls stop beside his head and the voice adds, "Oh yeah. And him."
Alarm bells blare in Jeremy's head as he's yanked upright, a plastic shopping back smacking against his shoulder as he finds his feet. It's heavy with cans, cold and damp through his t-shirt. Jeremy gets one quick look behind him at the frightened clerk, frozen in fear beside her empty register.
Somehow, Jeremy knows she can't help him.
"Golden Boy and I are having a stakeout," hisses a voice in his ear as he's marched toward the door. "Boring things, stakeouts. A man needs...refreshments."
-
"I mean." Jeremy can see Michael struggling for thoughts as Gavin squeaks beside him. "Y-you're not wrong about the Rockstars, Jeremy, y- God damn, that's hot. You can be groceries any day. Fuck, I'll- I'll add you to my list right now."
"What about me, though?" Geoff's voice was playfully hurt. "Don't tell me you never fantasized about the Kingpin!"
"Fuck no!" Jeremy laughed. "Oh, no; I definitely fantasized about the Kingpin!"
-
The zip ties are firm and unyielding around his wrists, his neck. Whether to keep the bag over his head in place, or purely for decoration, Jeremy is acutely aware that a single tug could have him gasping for breath at any moment. Still, he jolts in surprise when a blade slides beneath the plastic, snapping it.
The bag is yanked away, and for a moment he can only blink in the sudden light. He's kneeling on plush carpet in an opulent shade of red, and he wonders for a moment if that's a stylistic choice, or merely a practical one to hide the blood he's sure is about to be spilled.
Then a low laugh rings out from above him, and he slowly, slowly raises his gaze.
Reclining in a chair so ostentatious it may as well be a throne is a man Jeremy can only assume must be the Kingpin. The tattoos spilling down his arms whisper of flowing robes, the mask dangling casually from the arm of his chair a stand-in for a crown. The smirk playing across his lips is giving Jeremy the absurd urge to bow, were he not already kept kneeling by firm hands on his shoulders.
The Kingpin's words are a teasing drawl. "I asked you to show me the loot."
"The team has reached a consensus, and..." Wheels' pleased voice is accompanied by a not-at-all reassuring squeeze of Jeremy's shoulder. "This is definitely part of the loot."
"Well then." The Kingpin leans forward, looking Jeremy up and down with undisguised interest. "Have you also reached a consensus on how to...divide this loot?"
"Oh, we have." The Vagabond's voice, smooth and sure, gloved hand as unyielding as marble. "Seems to us that our illustrious leader should take the first turn."
"Should show us how it's done." Golden Boy's voice, somewhere behind him.
"Yeah! Should set an example to follow!" Mogar's.
"Well then." The Kingpin stands, advancing on Jeremy with an unhurried grace. Jeremy looks up and up and up, meets those cruel eyes as, lower down, the Kingpin's tattooed hands are already undoing his belt. "Always nice to see the crew in agreement."
-
"Ha!" Geoff laughed. "I wish these assholes respected me that much!"
"Oh, but we would definitely share the loot with you," Jack assured him. "If that loot was Jeremy looking all pretty in zip ties."
Michael smiled, catching Jeremy's eye from across the table. "Or if it was Jeremy telling us stories. You got any more of those, Li'l J?"
"Um, well..." Jeremy smiled, remembering. "Yeah, there was one about a bank heist..."