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Gin Chicken Challange
(or: How To Rise Gin’s Blood Pressure - A Guide by Rye and Bourbon)
The most important part, Rei has learned, is to not let Gin know what they are doing.
It’s a somewhat obvious rule, he thinks, with the challenge in question being a game of chicken as to who manages to piss Gin off more without dying.
And death is the very likely consequence of Gin finding out. Rei might be a little bit reckless at times, but he isn’t suicidal. (He really isn’t. It’s not Rei’s fault some of his more questionable actions in the past had a slightly higher than average chance of fatality.)
The thing is, they really should be dead but somehow aren’t, because they broke that specific rule and Gin had been Not Amused.
Huh.
Maybe that’s something that requires investigating, but it’s not exactly on his priority list right now. Figuring out why the hell they are not rotting away six feet under the ground can wait, he decides. (How naive of him to think they’d get something as dignified as a proper burial; Gin would probably rather piss on their corpses and toss the remains in some old garbage dump.) (Rei is way too pretty to have some prissy blonde long-haired Disney princess piss on his corpse.)
But. Rei has more pressing matters.
His current objective is getting to the couch in their living room without jostling his many injuries, most importantly the broken ribs. He’s not sure one of them isn’t one breath away from puncturing a lung, and that would be really really unfortunate right now, with the goal being not dying and everything. The dark spots in his vision and the bloody footprints he leaves on the carpet are not good signs on the not-dying front, but Rei is nothing if not an overachiever. He can do this. If he doesn’t pass out first. Which he won’t. (Probably.)
He makes it to the couch (barely) and gingerly lowers himself into the cushions. It hurts, (of fucking course it hurts) and Rei doesn’t bother to suppress the pained groan that escapes him; there is nobody important around witness his weak moment anyways.
Well, besides Rye.
But Rye hasn’t stopped cursing and hissing since they entered the apartment, so he has no leg to stand on. Quite literally in fact, with his left leg all sliced up and broken. There might be a bit of bone poking through muscle and flesh, Rei isn’t sure. It’s gross though, bone visible or not, so Rei avoids looking at it. It probably isn’t bone anyways; Rye would have said something if it was. Rei is sure they are on the same page with the whole not-wanting-to-die thing and an open fracture is… possibly more lethal than Rye likes.
He instead fixates on Rye’s pained face, which is a much better view. Much, much better in fact, and it’s got nothing to do with Rye’s face and everything with pain. (The blood running down Rye’s temple is strangely alluring and Rei makes a mental note to review his kinks sometime soon. Blood would be a first. (That jawline though!)).
Every step Rye takes is carefully measured to keep the weight off his bad leg and accompanied by groans until he reaches the armchair opposite Rei, then he flops down ungracefully. Rei is almost jealous; his ribs wouldn’t have let him do that. But his leg also doesn’t look like it went through a meatgrinder, so they are probably even.
They are silent for a moment, and Rei misses the hissed and barely suppressed exclamations of “fuck” and “shit” (Rei is not thinking about the painful moans, he isn’t!) that accompanied their journey back home. He stops the thought. It’s weird and probably a Pavlovian response, a leftover from that time when Rye slammed him into a wall and hissed at him to shut his mouth during a mission. He hasn’t found an excuse for the boner he got then, yet. (He will)
Rei gingerly shifts and lowers his head on the backrest while Rye clumsily paws at his pockets until he manages to get his cigarettes and lights one. The low hum that leaves his throat is probably the first noise either of them has made in the last hour that isn’t one of pain and Rei chuckles unwillingly. Fire laces through his ribs and he almost chokes, cutting off the movement with a sharp hiss. Rye snorts at him and then winces and gingerly pokes at his (probably broken) nose. Deserved, Rei thinks with a smug smirk.
They meet each other's eyes. The situation is ridiculous, both hurt and trying to move as little as possible. And they’ve really had it coming, taunting Gin week after week as they did. It probably ranks under the top three dumbest things Rei has ever done (and oh boy that list isn’t easy to get a high spot on), and he is confident it’s the same for Rye.
Rei still doesn’t exactly know how they got to this point. Something something insanity, perhaps. What he does know is how it started. (And if you ask him it’s entirely Rye’s fault because objectively speaking it’s always Rye’s fault.)
The seeds were planted somewhere on their second meeting when Rye unexpectedly and rather brazenly disrespected Gin. It hadn’t been anything big or impactful, but it had pissed Rei off (and turned him on), because disrespecting Gin was his thing, Bourbon’s thing . Granted, he was usually much more subtle about it because he valued his life. Kazami would probably argue the point and call him insane, but Kazami could go suck a dick. (Not Rye’s; he doesn’t deserve to get his dick sucked. At least not by Kazami. Maybe Rei could- stop this thought right now.)
So, yes, it started because Rye seemingly didn’t give a fuck about living or dying and because he had the balls (huge, he isn’t thinking about it, he isn’t) to tell Gin to shut up. There had been a staredown, a drawn gun, and a lot of drama until Gin decided it wasn’t worth his time. And Rei could get behind that, he hadn’t been interested in anything beyond balls either at that point.
The next time they both had a meeting with Gin, Rei had taken a page out of Rye’s book and been a bit more… direct in his disrespect. Namely by asking Gin to stop the posturing and blabbering and get to the point because he had better things to do. (That was an excellent example of recklessness, take that Kazami.)
It had been a full success for the five seconds it took until the words registered with Gin and he’d gotten the backhand of his life. Rye’s barely concealed face of shock had been worth it. (He’d come to the conclusion four days later when he was able to open his mouth without wincing again.)
From there the game had been on, and it had slowly but surely escalated to the point where they were now; broken and bruised and probably on Gin’s first-to-die-when-I-don’t-need-them-anymore list. (It wasn’t a bad list to be on considering Gin was on his first-to-get-shot-when-this-is-over list)
Rei doesn’t regret a thing. (Well, okay, there are some things he does regret, mostly the way this whole thing has probably given him the worst case of blue balls he experienced since he was fifteen and still officially straight.)
There had been some… memorable moments. Nothing he’d tell his kids (haha, gay) later though, because there was no socially appropriate way to explain getting the shit kicked out of him by an internationally wanted mass murderer at family dinner that didn’t raise eyebrows. Rye would find a way, though. Not that he’d ever have kids or family dinners (imagining Rye with kids was a form of torture nobody needed), but the way he said the most incredulous things with a straight face tended to downplay a lot of straight fucking insanity to ‘yeah that happened so what’.
Over time they had refined their unspoken challenge into a point system, ranking from raised eyebrows (one point) to respectful nods (two points) and, on a few rare occasions, actual acknowledgment with gifts in the form of med kits or bottles of hard alcohol (three points), depending on what was needed more. (He still can’t get the image of Rye’s smirk out of his head when Rei, in a lapse of judgment, accidentally gifted him a bottle of bourbon.)
So, yeah, they somehow managed to start a “who can piss off Gin more without dying” game, or, as Rye had dubbed it some few weeks ago, the “Gin chicken challenge”. It’s not a bad name. (Kind of like a gay chicken challenge, but with less gay and more Gin)
The game had been officially acknowledged when they were both two points in. Rye for telling Gin to shut up (one) and deliberately not-listening when he should have (two), Bourbon for asking Gin to hurry up because he had better things to do (one), and for daring to call Gin cute (two). (This one had been mentally scarring, barely worth the point.)
The first one to score a respectful nod (two points) had been Rei, thank fuck. And he’s really proud of this one, too. He’d gotten away with calling Gin’s brother a useless piece of shit, and asking him if decaying brain cells were contagious without so much as getting a scratch. The sudden explosion in the neighboring building had probably been helpful, but two points were still two points. Rye’s choked-off laughter had been almost worth a third point, in his humble opinion. (And holy shit, Rye looked good laughing; lips pressed together tightly, a dimple forming on one cheek and eyes sparkling with mirth and crinkling around the edges, the way he let his hair fall into his face and…)
Sadly, Rye had evened the score just a week later, and it had all been Rei’s fault. He’d been secure in his lead (four to two) and so sure of another victory, he’d accidentally handed Rye the points.
Their squabble had been somewhat staged (they didn’t argue anymore, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he likes Rye), neither of them really trying to insult the other, when Gin approached them. And Rei had seen the opportunity and took it and asked Rye if he’d want to go and suck Gin’s dick.
And Rye, the bastard, had answered “Ew god, no! Gin’s not my type.”, in the loudest and most obnoxiously disgusted voice. An easy two points win for Rye and, most surprisingly, no bruises. Because Gin had been embarrassed and pretended not to have heard. (Rei still can’t believe that actually happened and from the way Rye had braced himself for the surely incoming violence that never came, neither could he.) (The smug smirk on Rye’s face afterward had been delectably punchable.)
So, their score had been four to four and Rei had known; the next time he had to do something big, something Rye couldn’t possibly beat. He’d waited until the meeting was almost over, carefully watching Rye and making sure there was no opening. He’d kept almost quiet until the more casual chat after debriefing started and, thankfully, Gin and Rye’s conversation went towards guns and rifles.
The moment both of them were deep in conversation, he struck. Slinging an arm around both of their shoulders he’d cheerfully grinned. “So nice to see you two get along, you know what? I think you should do a ladies' night, braid each other’s hair and maybe paint your nails or something.”
The look of absolute horror on Rye’s face had been beautiful. At least until Gin kicked him in the gut and shot his thigh. He’d gotten a medkit and a shot of cheap store-brand whiskey before Rye had started stitching the wound.
Seven to four, worth it.
The best thing, the absolute best thing was; Rye hadn’t immediately managed to catch up. It had taken him two tries to get the three points to get them even, and the only reason Rei hadn’t managed to secure his lead had been because he was still fucking hurt and could barely walk on his injured thigh. He refuses to acknowledge Rye’s way of collecting points was the more sensible one; getting three points in one go was an incredible feat and no pain can convince him otherwise. (He was just that fucking more badass than Rye)
The one point Rye got was barely worth mentioning, he’d simply asked Gin for “tips to clean his gun”. (The way Rye’d drawled the words still haunted Rei, he has no idea how Gin hadn’t caught on to that one)
The two points he’d gotten a few days later though, they had been beautiful. Gin had already been pissed when he arrived, his face a barely controlled mess of rage, and Rei had been impressed they managed to get through the meeting without needless violence. There had been threats and raging and a lot of glaring and, at this point, it hadn’t even occurred to him to use the situation to gain points. Until Rye had calmly asked Gin “Have you ever laughed in your life?”
Rye’d gotten a black eye, a twisted arm, and two points for his efforts.
Which had put them both at 7 points each. And then they kept being tied, no matter how many points Rei got, Rye matched him.
Which just wouldn’t do, because Rei had wanted to win this. (They hadn’t set a goal, the only way this was going to end was in surrender or death and Rei’s priorities were probably set as straight as he was, considering surrender was in no way an option)(He wasn’t suicidal, just prideful, stop it Kazami)
So. This was probably what had brought them to the current situation.
Because there was no sane way to explain why they did what they did. And the worst thing? It had been a joint effort, neither of them gaining more points than the other.
(Although, if Rei were to, say, accidentally jostle his ribs so one of them did puncture a lung, his injuries were measurably more grave, and, objectively speaking, that should gain him at least half a point.)(Shut up, Kazami)
So, the thing is. For all their blustering and balls and cocky remarks, neither of them actually ever dared to outright disobey Gin. Because you just didn’t do that if you valued your life.
And Rye and Rei?
Had no sense of fucking self-preservation whatsoever because yes Kazami, you were fucking right, Rei is the dumbest fucking idiot on this god-forsaken planet.
They didn’t just disobey Gin, they fucking sabotaged a mission. Which was so much worse on so many fucking levels there were no fucking words to explain how fucking absolutely braindead assshit dumb that was.
So, why in fucking God’s name, why the fucking hell, did they decide to bring a burned headless corpse as fucking proof of kill.
Technically, technically, they did it because the target didn’t deserve to die and they secured his escape and instead used the fresh corpse of some lowly organization runt that died just days before and had a similar body to their actual target.
Which would have been (almost) fucking fine if they’d just swallowed their pride and forgot the game and acted like they were fucking sorry about it and regretted screwing up and crawled at Gin’s feet and begged for forgiveness.
But no, they both apparently shared a single fucking brain cell, because when Gin had asked “what the fuck this was” Rye had answered “A corpse”. And when Gin had wanted to know why it didn't have a head Rei decided the best explanation was “Because it's missing”. And when Gin, patience already nonexistent, had growled “Why is it missing?” Rye had said “Because it's not here” and Rei had added “He didn’t stop talking it was annoying”.
The thing is, their situation at this point had already been beyond salvageable. They went so fucking far past the line, they were in danger of lapping it a second time and one brain cell was clearly not enough for two people because when Gin had tonelessly asked them if they “wanted to piss him off” they’d just shrugged and said “Yeah, kinda.”
Three points each, no questions asked.
Rei doesn’t know how the fuck they managed to convince Gin not to kill them after, but somehow they did. He’s not sure death wouldn’t have been preferable, his whole fucking body hurt like a bitch.
Rye sighs softly and carefully stubs out the cigarette on the boot of his non-injured leg.
“You wanna quit?”
Rei snorts, the movement jostles his ribs and he hisses.
“Do you?”