Under Pressure

"That was a hell of a light show, huh, Precious?" Sonny steered the new boat out of the bay, watching the waves that would eventually come up to slap the bow, trying to keep the damned boat between the buoys. His adrenaline levels were pretty damned high, so it wasn't easy. Hell, his hands were still shaking. Fuck, he'd just seen someone's motherfucking head roll across the bar floor.

It hadn't been a head he knew or nothing, but still. Man. Human heads weren't supposed to do that.

MJ, though, he looked cool as a cucumber in a deep freeze.

"Not bad. Not bad at all." Those binoculars never moved, MJ watching, even though Sonny didn't think the son of a bitch could see a fucking thing, as much C-4 as the bastard'd used. That fucking flash-bang probably echoed off some goddamn satellite in space. Probably interrupted the transmission of a ballgame or something. That thought sort of made him grin.

MJ rolled those inked shoulders, muscles rippling. "Keep going, Sunshine. No slowing down."

"Shit. When have I ever slowed down?" He steered off the center line a bit, trying to get less chop. It would kinda suck to break up their pretty new schooner. "You think we got him?"

"He was on the ship. He was on the deck, though." MJ's lips twisted, just once. The man had liked that boat.

"Good." If they hadn't killed the bastard, they'd at least put the hurt on him. "So, where to, Precious?"

"How do you feel about the Galapagos?"

"We'll have to get gas..." Lord. Galapagos. Turtles. That was all he could think of.

"We can do that in Jamaica. Panama. It'll take a while." MJ shrugged. "There's Trinidad."

So, it didn't matter. MJ in the grip of apathy was a dangerous thing. "Maybe we should just find a cove someplace, anchor. Have some R&R."

Fuck like bunnies.

"As long as it's not obvious, yeah. Yeah." The too-long blond hair just moved in the wind, the full set of Samsonite under MJ's eyes starting to show. The son of a bitch had been going for five days, nonstop. Five days of planning and setting charges and making sure that bastard found them. Five days. Shit.

"You should go lie down, man." Look at him, all mother hen. Of course, he couldn't use his usual MJ sleep aid. Either one of them; the fucking or the drugging. He had to drive.

"I'm fine." MJ's belly looked like he could bounce quarters off it.

"Sure you are. You're fixing to have a psychotic episode. Now, you know I love that, but where are you gonna go, huh? We're on a boat." They got out of the chop, and Sonny gave it some speed, needing to get... somewhere.

"I haven't had a psychotic episode in weeks. You're confusing me with the Brit."

"No, he was just sick as a dog..." The Brit and the little redhead were gone. Thank God. They were pretty, but man, those two cramped their style. There was something about hanging with a mind reader that made him itchy. "You think they're boinking, like right now?"

"Ew. No." MJ shuddered, nose wrinkling. "Rick is... not sexual. God. Ew. I'd just gotten the image of those two out of my brain."

"Yeah, but the blond was pretty." He knew that would get him some heat, but damn it, he needed MJ to do more than stare back toward the ship's wake and be all zombie. Arrr.

He almost got worried, but then that eyebrow went up.

And up.

And up.

Oh, hell yes. Score.

"I didn't think you were into nutcase tea-drinkers, Sunshine."

"Well, maybe not tea. But you know I like crazy blonds." The crazy remark might even get MJ to come hit him.

"I wonder if the boat will move faster if I lose a couple pounds of dead weight..."