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Written to the prompt by Make Up A Criminal cohost prompt account — Thief who has been swapping things around.
In which we learn what Neph's non-crime job is and what crime Neph was doing that put him in the river in the first place.
Gauss stumbles out of his boots over the pile of Neph’s shop gear at the front door. He stops before stumbling over Neph in the hall with the broken coffee table leaning against the wall. “Weren’t you tossing that?”
“I was.” Neph looks up from measuring what is missing two legs, cracked down the middle, and too large for their living room anyways. He smiles wide at Gauss. His wide smiles shut his eyes, giving a pure and wholesome impression that Gauss has long since learned better of. “But now it’s full of good memories. I’m gonna take it to the shop and fix it.” He steps into the hands reaching for his waist.
“More like full of my jizz.”
Neph hangs his arms up over Gauss’s shoulders in a tease. A tease because once his gear is ready, he’s out to the shop without delay. “Exactly.”
“You little shit.” Gauss steps back with Neph. If he resisted or moved to drag Neph further into the apartment, Neph would slip out of his arms and—should need be—physically immobilize him in order to get out to the shop. Gauss instead puts his effort into getting as much Neph in his hands and mouth as he can before they reach the door.
At the door, Neph plays into Gauss’s hesitance against letting him go to ply Gauss for— “You gonna help me load it into the truck?”
Gauss laughs and lets go with a smack of Neph’s ass. “Fuck no. Get out of here with your perv table.”
In the industrial area running along the eastern shore of the S’iyaq river, the forge takes up one unit of a long building of workshops and commercial kitchens running along the train tracks. If it weren’t for the rattle and shake, earplugs and hammering would drown out any and all notice to trains passing.
Neph ties his hair up and wears a baseball cap from one of the more crudely named local gay bars. He’s only just gotten to look at work orders in the office when Jagvir jogs in with the clomp clomp of steel toe boots to smack him hard across the shoulders.
“Hey dick brain, where’s the boyfriend?” Jagvir crows while fending off Neph’s attempts to wipe the smirk off his face.
At a sore cheek and two less buttons on the flannel colour-matched green with Jagvir’s turban, Neph quits his assault and returns to the charred clipboard of work orders with the tape label ‘OFFICE USE ONLY’. “Left him tied up at home.”
“I don’t want to know.”
Neph grins something wicked. “You don’t want to know.”
On a workbench, Neph draws out plans for missing legs with soapstone, having hauled the broken coffee table on the bench with substantially less cursing than hauling it down from the apartment to his truck. He looks up to a much less violent hand on his shoulder.
“You doing furniture repair now?” Jagvir earnestly looks over the plans with a considering nod.
“Fuck no. This thing barely fit in my truck.” Neph pulls a chunk of wood from where the screws of a missing leg had ripped out.
Jagvir laughs, breaks off to wave at Carson coming in, and gives a little shove to Neph while he’s distracted with his own wave at Carson. “That’s because it isn’t a truck, you pumpkin toadlet.”
It is a truck. It’s just reasonably sized and already loaded with Dan Pettersen’s twenty thousand dollar toilet that Neph didn’t get to finish swapping for the fuckface with the watch’s twenty thousand dollar toilet the other night.
In which we learn what Neph's non-crime job is and what crime Neph was doing that put him in the river in the first place.
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Gauss stumbles out of his boots over the pile of Neph’s shop gear at the front door. He stops before stumbling over Neph in the hall with the broken coffee table leaning against the wall. “Weren’t you tossing that?”
“I was.” Neph looks up from measuring what is missing two legs, cracked down the middle, and too large for their living room anyways. He smiles wide at Gauss. His wide smiles shut his eyes, giving a pure and wholesome impression that Gauss has long since learned better of. “But now it’s full of good memories. I’m gonna take it to the shop and fix it.” He steps into the hands reaching for his waist.
“More like full of my jizz.”
Neph hangs his arms up over Gauss’s shoulders in a tease. A tease because once his gear is ready, he’s out to the shop without delay. “Exactly.”
“You little shit.” Gauss steps back with Neph. If he resisted or moved to drag Neph further into the apartment, Neph would slip out of his arms and—should need be—physically immobilize him in order to get out to the shop. Gauss instead puts his effort into getting as much Neph in his hands and mouth as he can before they reach the door.
At the door, Neph plays into Gauss’s hesitance against letting him go to ply Gauss for— “You gonna help me load it into the truck?”
Gauss laughs and lets go with a smack of Neph’s ass. “Fuck no. Get out of here with your perv table.”
~~~
In the industrial area running along the eastern shore of the S’iyaq river, the forge takes up one unit of a long building of workshops and commercial kitchens running along the train tracks. If it weren’t for the rattle and shake, earplugs and hammering would drown out any and all notice to trains passing.
Neph ties his hair up and wears a baseball cap from one of the more crudely named local gay bars. He’s only just gotten to look at work orders in the office when Jagvir jogs in with the clomp clomp of steel toe boots to smack him hard across the shoulders.
“Hey dick brain, where’s the boyfriend?” Jagvir crows while fending off Neph’s attempts to wipe the smirk off his face.
At a sore cheek and two less buttons on the flannel colour-matched green with Jagvir’s turban, Neph quits his assault and returns to the charred clipboard of work orders with the tape label ‘OFFICE USE ONLY’. “Left him tied up at home.”
“I don’t want to know.”
Neph grins something wicked. “You don’t want to know.”
On a workbench, Neph draws out plans for missing legs with soapstone, having hauled the broken coffee table on the bench with substantially less cursing than hauling it down from the apartment to his truck. He looks up to a much less violent hand on his shoulder.
“You doing furniture repair now?” Jagvir earnestly looks over the plans with a considering nod.
“Fuck no. This thing barely fit in my truck.” Neph pulls a chunk of wood from where the screws of a missing leg had ripped out.
Jagvir laughs, breaks off to wave at Carson coming in, and gives a little shove to Neph while he’s distracted with his own wave at Carson. “That’s because it isn’t a truck, you pumpkin toadlet.”
It is a truck. It’s just reasonably sized and already loaded with Dan Pettersen’s twenty thousand dollar toilet that Neph didn’t get to finish swapping for the fuckface with the watch’s twenty thousand dollar toilet the other night.
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