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It starts, like most of Ace's particularly stupid ideas, as a bet. A bet made while drunk, in fact, although that doesn't mean much since Ace is pretty much a functioning (for some definitions of the word) alcoholic and he's drunk more often than he's sober. "I bet," he says, waving his empty shot glass in Arsenal's general direction, "that I can go longer without a cigarette than you." "Why?" Arsenal asks, packing the meaning of "What the fuck is wrong with you, moron?" into that single word. "Because..." Ace cocks his head, considering the question and not managing to come up with an answer. "Because smoking is bad for you," Johnny puts in, plucking the glass out of Ace's hand and putting it in the sink. "Keep smoking like chimneys and you'll regret it when you get old." "I don't plan to get old," Ace says matter of factly, and Arsenal gives a gruff nod of agreement. "But just in case you do," Johnny persists, "it wouldn't be such a bad idea to try quitting smoking." He heaves a long-suffering sigh as Ace reaches over the bar to grab a fresh shot glass and considers what to pour in it. "It's not like you don't have other vices to fall back on." "Besides," Gum says, stopping by the bar, "it'll be fun to see who has stronger willpower, won't it?" "Yeah!" Ace agrees. "Wait," Arsenal protests, but he knows he's already lost the argument. "Okay, then," Ace says, standing up and plucking the cigarette out of Arsenal's fingers to put it out in the nearest ash tray. "Time starts now."
Day 1
Arsenal looks like he wants to kill someone. That's not an uncommon expression for him, but now he really looks like he wants to kill someone. He's cleaning his guns with unusual intensity, polishing away imaginary spots like they've personally offended him. "You're going to rub a hole in it," Jacky says, and when he follows it up with his annoying barking laugh, Arsenal immediately points the gun at him. "It's not loaded while you're cleaning it," Jacky points out. Without a word, Arsenal reaches for his holster and pulls out his other gun, drawing back the safety. "Right," Jacky says (still not really hiding his amusement). "I'll let you finish."
Day 2
It's not really unusual for Ace to have started drinking before noon (assuming he's awake that early), but it is unusual for him to be quite this drunk so early in the day. He's got himself draped over the back of Toppo's chair, watching him play his video game and making all sorts of obnoxious comments. Toppo tolerates it until he pokes a finger at the screen and makes him mess up and die, at which point he snaps, "Get away from me!" "Okay, geez," Ace grumbles, like he has no idea why Toppo could possibly be annoyed with him. "Take it easy." He makes it two steps from Toppo's chair before he stumbles backward and hits the floor. "Just how much have you had to drink already?" Mac asks, frowning. "I had..." Without getting up from the ground, Ace holds up a hand and starts counting on his fingers, only getting as far as three before he shrugs and gives up. Then he drops his hand again and groans. "Fuck, I need a smoke."
Day 3
"What do you get if you win this bet anyway?" Mac asks over dinner. Arsenal's head jerks up, like he's just realized that he doesn't actually know. He fixes Ace with a questioning sort of glare, and he grins sheepishly. "It's, umm...something special, definitely!" "How about the winner gets to make the loser do something?" Johnny suggests. "Any one thing, no refusing allowed." Ace grins widely, obviously liking the idea, but Arsenal says, "Hey, no way." "Why not?" Ace shoots back. "Are you scared you'll lose?" "I won't!" Arsenal retorts, even though he knows he's playing right into Ace's hands. "Good," Ace says smugly. "Then we're on." Arsenal mutters something unintelligible but clearly insulting, hand moving automatically to his pocket even though there are no cigarettes in there. He reaches for his gun instead, the feel of it cold under his fingers soothing his anger a little. Gum chuckles, eyeing Arsenal a little warily. "Man," he tells Ace, "I wouldn't want to be you if you lose."
Day 4
They have a mission. It's nothing too extreme, nothing they'd normally get worked up about, but Ace is pacing the room at double speed. Arsenal's at least sitting still, but he's fidgeting like crazy, fingers tapping incessantly against the hilt of a gun. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Mac asks, looking between them. "We can't risk bringing you along if you can't keep it together." "I'm fine," Arsenal mutters. "Just let me at 'em," Ace says, slinging a punch at nothing. "Maybe it's better if you sit this one out," Jacky agrees. "Don't you dare," Arsenal snaps at the same time as Ace yells, "No way!" "Leave them here and they'll just kill each other," Johnny mutters. "Fine," Mac says. "But you need to calm down or you're going to get someone killed." Arsenal scoffs and resumes his twitching, while Ace rolls his eyes and channels his nervous energy into jumping up and down a few times. "Maybe yourselves," Mac adds under his breath.
Day 5
Ace is jerking off in the shower, which isn't anything new and wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't being so damn loud about it today, and for a while too. "Sounds like he's having some trouble," Gum comments with a half-embarrassed snicker. One more groan, and then an even louder one, and then Arsenal snaps, getting to his feet and stomping over to the bathroom. He flings open the door, and Ace turns to look at him in surprise but doesn't even take his hand off his cock. "Shut the fuck up," Arsenal growls, and instead of looking intimidated, Ace actually laughs at him. "Sounds like you could use some stress relief too," he says with an obnoxious grin. "If you come in, I could help you out with that." He meets Arsenal's gaze with a challenge in his eyes, and for a very long moment, they just stare at each other, waiting to see who'll give in first. It's Arsenal who looks away, slamming the door shut, and now Ace's laughter echoes from the shower. He stops laughing soon after when the door opens again, and this time Arsenal steps inside. His guns and his slippers are outside, but otherwise he's fully clothed. Ace watches, bemused, as he stalks over, grabs him roughly by the shoulders, and shoves him against the wall. Rather than looking intimidated, Ace smirks, starting small and widening quickly. "Decided to help me out?" he asks. "Just shut up," Arsenal says tightly, frowning like he's also wondering what the hell he's doing. "Make me," Ace shoots back cheerfully, but he's actually surprised when Arsenal does, leaning in and kissing him hard. Ace has never been one to refuse a kiss, though, so he responds in kind, bringing one hand up to fist in Arsenal's shirt while the other returns to his erection. He only manages one stroke before Arsenal notices, batting his hand away and replacing it with his own. He strokes fast and rough, drowning Ace's moans in his kisses until he jerks roughly and comes. Arsenal stops immediately, taking a step back and looking like he can't quite believe what he just did. When he takes another step away, Ace says, "Wait." He smiles, and adds, a little breathless, "You're a mess." Arsenal looks down at himself, realizing his clothes are half soaked from standing next to the shower and Ace's come is on his shirt and his hand. Ace closes the distance between them in one step and grabs Arsenal's shirt, not giving him time to protest before he tugs it over his head. He doesn't try to resist anymore after that, stripping off his remaining clothes and standing a little uncertainly in the middle of the bathroom. "You want it, don't you?" Ace asks, stepping in close, his voice turned husky. Arsenal isn't hard yet, but when Ace puts a hand on him, a shivers runs through him. "That's why you came in here, isn't it?" Ace continues. "Not for me, but because you wanted me to touch you." He slides his other arm behind Arsenal's back, holding him there as he strokes him all too easily to full hardness. He doesn't get a response, Arsenal's lips pressed tightly together like he'll die before he says a word. Ace chuckles low in his throat. "That's fine. You don't have to say it. I can tell." He keeps his hand moving as he talks, and the way Arsenal's hips involuntarily jerk into the touch prove his point well enough. "You must be really tense," Ace continues in the same low murmur. "Five days without a cigarette and not enough people to shoot at. It's enough to make you crazy." He starts stroking faster, and a choked-off sound escapes Arsenal. "I guess I shouldn't help you," Ace purrs, "but it's only fair, since you helped me." He drops a kiss on Arsenal's shoulder, then the side of his neck. "And I want to see," he adds, voice dropping even lower as his grip tightens and Arsenal gasps, "what you look like when you come." All it takes is one more stroke and his thumb sliding over the head of Arsenal's cock and he does come, barely managing to stay quiet as his body shudders under Ace's touch. When he releases him, Ace gives him a big smirk followed by a kiss on the lips, then steps back under the shower spray. "You know," he says, back to his normal tone, "if this is what happens when we don't smoke, it just might be worth it."
Day 6
The others make it all the way until 3 p.m. the next day without saying anything, which is showing quite admirable restraint considering their usual nosiness. It's Toppo who bring it up, not because he's the nosiest but because he gets fed up and sighs, asking, without looking up from his game, "Can we just talk about how Ace and Arsenal had sex and get it over with?" "No," Arsenal says immediately, practically by reflex. "What's there to talk about?" Ace asks. "And anyway, we didn't technically—" "Shut up," Arsenal snaps. "Why do we need to talk about it?" Johnny asks, making a face. "It's none of our business." Arsenal nods his agreement. "Because we want to know what happened, all of a sudden," Jacky says matter-of-factly. "Or if it's not all of a sudden and we missed something," Mac says, a bit sulky like he'll be offended if it does turn out they kept something from him. "You didn't miss anything," Ace assures him. "He just came in when I was right in the middle of—" "Shut up!" Arsenal repeats, louder, at the same time as Johnny says, "We don't need to know." Ace looks a little disappointed, probably less because he wanted to share the gory details than because he wanted to annoy Arsenal by sharing them. "Fine," he says. "You're such prudes..." Arsenal looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. It's no use arguing with Ace. "So," Gum asks instead, "is this, you know, something that might happen again?" When Arsenal turns a glare on him, he hastily says, "Nevermind. Just kidding." "Maybe," Ace answers anyway, turning to catch Arsenal's eyes as he smirks. "I really need a smoke," Arsenal mutters darkly.
Day 7
"It's really pretty impressive," Johnny says, "that you've made it this far." He proves just how impressed he is by not objecting when Ace grabs a shot glass and sets it down on the bar demandingly. He's reaching for the bottle of tequila when they hear the sound of a gunshot. "If he keeps doing that outside, someone's going to call the cops," Johnny grumbles. "You want to tell him that?" Ace asks. "No way," Johnny says immediately, eyes wide. Ace snickers. "Fine, I'll do it." He waits until Johnny pours him a drink, and downs the shot before getting up and heading for the side door. He peeks his head out, calling, "Is it safe?" Arsenal points the gun right at him. Instead of responding the way he's supposed to and looking scared, Ace laughs. "Don't be like that." He steps out into the alley, and Arsenal's gun follows him. "Come on," he continues. "You don't really want to shoot me." Arsenal doesn't respond, just keeps the gun trained on him as he walks steadily forward. "I know you better than that," Ace says, moving closer and closer. "You wouldn't shoot a friend." Finally, he's right in front of Arsenal, and the gun presses against his forehead, but his smile doesn't falter. It's another staring match, and Ace wins again as Arsenal pulls back and deposits the gun in its holster. "What do you want?" "Johnny says you should stop shooting things before someone calls the cops," Ace cheerfully informs him, then turns on his heel and walks back inside. It's a good thing the gun is safely put away, because with the way Arsenal's hands twitch, he just might reconsider shooting a friend.
Day 8
Ace wakes up with his usual Saturday morning hangover and a not-so-usual Arsenal sitting on his bed. "What are you doing here?" he mumbles into his pillow. It's barely intelligible, but either Arsenal understands him anyway or it doesn't make any difference to him. "I can't fucking do this," Arsenal says in a tight voice. He's fidgeting again, the fingers on his right hand endlessly tapping the gun its holster on that side. "Then don't," Ace says, only marginally clearer as he turns his head to the side a bit. "It's just a stupid bet." "It's not," Arsenal retorts immediately. He catches himself fidgeting and stops, sitting stiffly, but only lasts maybe ten seconds before he gives up. That gets Ace's attention enough to sit up, wincing and putting a hand to his head. "What are you talking about?" he asks, his voice still rough and his eyes squinted against the light. "It's..." Arsenal sighs, looking like he's thinking better of saying this, but he continues anyway. "What if we do get old?" "Huh?" "We are getting old," Arsenal amends. "Older. And I'm not ready for it to be over." Ace squints at him for what feels like a very long time before he chuckles and says, "You're always so serious." "Well, maybe you should be more serious!" Arsenal snaps. He doesn't raise his voice often, and Ace is taken aback. "You can't keep living like this forever." "Is this about me or you?" Ace asks. Arsenal frowns. "I don't know. Both of us." Before Ace can make a sarcastic comment, he continues, "I want us to quit." "Because that way we'll be able to live to a ripe old age?" Ace laughs, in case there was any doubt what he thinks of that idea. "Because we should try," Arsenal persists. He doesn't explain himself, but when Ace meets his gaze, there's something in it that wipes the laughter off his face. "Okay," he says. "If that's what you want."
Day 9
"You really haven't had a cigarette in nine days?" Mac asks. "Really," Arsenal mutters. "Or a cigar?" he persists. "Or anything else you can smoke?" "Really," Arsenal repeats, "and it helps a lot to keep talking about it." "Sorry," Mac says. "I'm just surprised. I didn't think you had it in you, and I really didn't think Ace did." Arsenal doesn't respond to that, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Mac hesitates for a second before he says, "He's doing it for you, Ace. Sticking with it. He looks up to you." Arsenal frowns a little but doesn't look surprised at the comment. "So what's your point?" "Nothing, I guess." Mac considers, then says, "Keep it up. For both of you." The only response he gets is a grunt from Arsenal, but for the first time in nine days, his hands are still.
Day 10
This time it's Arsenal who wakes up to Ace in his bedroom. "You're up early," he grunts. "Mac's talking to a client and he was chain smoking. I had to get away," Ace says, which doesn't explain why he's awake but does sort of explain why he's in Arsenal's bedroom. "Okay," Arsenal mumbles into his pillow, eyes still half-squinted. "This is really hard," Ace says. "Really fucking hard." His tone is still mostly conversational, but his expression is pinched. "I don't think I can do this." "You can," Arsenal retorts immediately, automatically. "Why do you even care?" Ace drawls. "What difference does it make to you if I smoke myself into an early grave?" That's enough to get Arsenal to sit up so he can glare at Ace. "Of course it makes a difference," he snaps. "Why?" Ace pushes. "You've got five other friends to keep you company." Arsenal punches him. He never punches anyone, not when he could just point a gun at them, but he punches Ace square in the jaw. He falls back, just barely staying on the bed, and looks up at Arsenal in shock, gingerly rubbing his jaw. "What the hell was that for?" "Thinking you don't make a fucking difference to me," Arsenal mutters, shaking his hand out and wincing a little. Ace stares at him in surprise for a few more seconds, and then he laughs. "You're crazy," he says, still snickering. "No wonder we get along." Arsenal scoffs, shooting him an annoyed look, but doesn't argue. Ace rolls off the bed and gets to his feet, back to his usual cheerful self. "Point made," he says as he heads for the door. "I'll do my best."
Day 11
Ace and Arsenal sit out the chain smoker’s mission, but they can't object too much since Toppo and Jacky do too. They still don't like it, being left at home for another day of trying to think about anything but cigarettes. "Why don't you put that fidgety energy to good use and clean the club?" Jacky asks. Ace looks at him like he's crazy, while Arsenal's expression is downright murderous, but he just laughs. "Okay, okay. Do whatever you want." Arsenal sits down to clean his nearly-spotless guns yet again, but Ace can't seem to decide what to do with himself. "Fuck this," he mutters to no one in particular, pacing restlessly. "I hate being left behind." "You got left behind because this isn't a fighting mission," Toppo points out, reasonably enough. "If you want to punch someone, you'll have to do it somewhere else." "Maybe I will," Ace shoots back and stomps away. Mac, Johnny and Gum come back three hours later with all the information their client asked for. Ace doesn't come back, not then and not for hours. The club opens with still no sign of him, and it's almost closing time when he stumbles in the door and over to the bar. "What happened?" Johnny asks as he slumps into a bar stool. He's shocked, but not as much as he could be; Ace getting himself beat up isn't such an unusual occurrence, even if he usually does it where the rest of them are around to keep it from getting too bad. Ace drops his head onto his arms on the bar, hiding a split lip and the start of a black eye. "Toppo told me to go punch someone somewhere else," he says, hardly intelligible. "Did he tell you to get the shit kicked out of you?" Johnny frowns as he leans closer, barely making out the bruises on Ace's side in the dim light. "'S not so bad," Ace mumbles. "You should try it some time." After the club has closed and Ace's wounds have been bandaged and he's gotten a lecture from Mac and Jacky about knowing when to quit in fights that don't matter, he slumps in a chair in the darkened club. "You're an idiot," Arsenal tells him, leaning on the back of his chair. "I know," Ace mutters. There's a long pause before Arsenal asks, "Are you trying to prove something?" The pause before Ace answers is even longer, but in the end, all he says is, "No. I just wanted to punch someone."
Day 12
Ace sleeps through most of the day, which at least makes it easier to avoid the temptation to smoke, but the rest of them can't help worrying. "You know," Johnny says uncertainly, "maybe it's time to call off this bet, if this is what happens." "You were the one who told them to quit in the first place," Jacky points out. Johnny frowns and wipes absently at the bar. "I didn't think it would turn out like this." "Maybe he just needs to get past this," Mac puts in. "It's not the first time he's gotten himself beaten up." Arsenal sits silently, not even looking up, until Gum asks him, "Did he say anything to you?" "Nothing much," Arsenal says. "You should talk to him," Jacky says, ignoring (or maybe not even noticing) the incredulous look Arsenal gives him, "when he's feeling better." "Or knock some sense into him," Johnny mutters. "I think he's had more than enough of that," Toppo says.
Day 13
Ace isn't in his room or anyone else's, or in the club or out front, but Arsenal finally finds him sitting by the back entrance with a cigarette in his hand. "Hey—" he starts before he realizes that it's not lit. Ace is looking at it thoughtfully, twisting it in his fingers, but he looks up at the sound of Arsenal's voice. "Hey," he says. "Don't worry. I didn't do anything stupid." He laughs a little; when did smoking cigarettes become something stupid for them? "You look like shit," Arsenal tells him flatly. Ace is sporting a particularly nasty black eye and some scratches on his arms, with more hidden by his clothes. Arsenal sits on the doorstep next to him and plucks the cigarette out of his hand. "You sure know how to flatter a guy," Ace mutters, but they both knows he's not really offended. "You should take care of that face," Arsenal continues. "How do you think you're going to pick up girls if you let people break it all the time?" Instead of the expected laugh, he gets silence in response. When it stretches out too long, he turns to look at Ace, who's now eyeing him thoughtfully. "What?" he asks. Ace doesn't answer, just plants both hands on Arsenal's cheeks and kisses him. He pulls back after only a few seconds but doesn't take his hands away. "You're an idiot too," he says, following it up with a cheeky grin. Arsenal pushes Ace's arms down, dropping the cigarette in the process. "And you're crazy," he grumbles. "What kind of joke is that?" In an instant, Ace's grin is gone. "I'm not joking," he says in a low voice. Arsenal tenses, like he's bracing for a punch instead of more words. Ace takes a deep breath, then asks, "Why did you come into the shower that day?" "I don't know," Arsenal says, not looking at him. "Why do you care so much what happens to me?" Ace asks immediately. "Because you're my friend" would be the easy answer, but it's not the truth, or at least not the whole truth. "I don't know that either," he admits. Ace abruptly gets to his feet. "Then figure it out."
Day 14
They barely talk all day, but when Ace stumbles drunkenly to his bed, he finds Arsenal sitting on it again. "What are you doing here?" he asks. His words are slurred, but no more than on a usual night. "Waiting for you," Arsenal says matter-of-factly. He's back to fidgeting, but maybe it's not from nicotine withdrawal this time. "Came to punch me again?" Ace asks. He's not angry, but he's not smiling either. "No." Arsenal frowns and runs a nervous hand through his hair. "Then what?" Ace pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside in one motion, getting ready for bed like he's alone in his room. The bruises on his torso are still dark and angry, although he doesn't seem to notice them. "I don't know," Arsenal mutters. Ace makes a "hmph" sound but doesn't reply, moving on to his pants. Arsenal is silent for the time it takes him to strip down to his underwear, but then he says, "That's not true." "What do you mean?" Ace asks. A few more seconds of heavy silence pass and then Arsenal gets up, grabs Ace's wrists and pulls him over to the bed. He stumbles and falls onto the bed, half on top of Arsenal, but before he can complain, Arsenal kisses him. It's not like the day before, or like that day in the shower, soft despite the intensity. It's the kind of kiss that says this isn't a joke or a game or stress relief. It quickly turns into more than a kiss, Arsenal rolling onto Ace, a knee slipping between his legs. It's all too easy for it to escalate, with Ace almost naked already and more than willing to let Arsenal slide a hand down his side, even when it skates over bruises and he hisses in pain. "I bet you like that," Arsenal murmurs, barely breaking the kiss enough to talk, and Ace's smirk is answer enough. When Arsenal's hand hits the waistband of Ace's underwear, he pulls and Ace obligingly lifts his hips so he can push them down, making them both gasp in the process. He kicks them off, not seeming to mind that he's naked while Arsenal hasn't taken anything off. Arsenal does, though, pulling back with a certain reluctance to tug his own shirt off. Ace sits up and yanks Arsenal into his lap by his belt loops, leaning in to taste the newly-exposed skin of his collarbones. His lips move up Arsenal's neck, kissing eagerly, until Arsenal loses patience and drags him up to his mouth again. The kiss is deeper now, messy and hungry. Ace keeps one hand on Arsenal's back and with the other pops the button on his jeans open with practiced ease. He shoves a hand inside and pulls Arsenal's cock out, stroking once from base to tip. "Fuck," Arsenal groans, and Ace chuckles. "Get those pants off and we'll talk." Arsenal does as he's told with uncharacteristic speed before climbing back on top of Ace. "Good," Ace murmurs, his voice dropping impossibly deep when Arsenal gets a hand around him. He's reaching behind him, digging under the pillow until he finds a tube and opens it one handed. "You're good," Arsenal comments, half mocking and half impressed. Ace laughs. "Wait until you see what I can do with this." Arsenal looks a little startled, which makes him laugh harder. "Another time," he says, handing it over. "Lie down," Arsenal tells him, voice low. Ace obeys immediately, lying back and pulling his legs up. He's casual about it, like they do this all the time, but his eyes are dark and serious as he watches Arsenal coat his fingers with lube and move between his legs. Arsenal's not gentle, but he hesitates for a second when Ace cries out. "No, it's good," Ace grunts, and Arsenal shakes his head in fond bemusement before he starts to move his hand. They don't say much after that, but Ace watches Arsenal steadily until he drops his head, hair falling down to hide his face, and quickens his pace. By the time Arsenal's done, Ace isn't looking at him anymore, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open. "Do it," he gasps. He grabs blindly for a condom and shoves it in Arsenal's general direction. "Now." Ace moans deeply and appreciatively when Arsenal thrusts in hard, wrapping his legs around his waist to push him deeper. Arsenal sets a steady pace, and Ace pushes against him with each thrust, not patient enough to lie still. It's good, intense and too fast, but so good. Ace starts to touch himself, and everything after that is gasps and moan and desperate thrusting until Ace arches off the bed with a cry, Arsenal's movements stuttering almost immediately as he follows him into a few seconds of blissful oblivion. Arsenal pulls back almost as soon as he's done, letting go of Ace's legs and dumping the condom in the trash can next to the bed. Ace stays where he is, watching Arsenal move with half-lidded eyes. Neither of them says anything until Arsenal stands up with his back to Ace. "Are you leaving?" Ace asks. Arsenal looks over his shoulder, his face half hidden behind his hair. He opens his mouth, hesitates for a moment, then asks, "Do you want me to stay?" "Yes," Ace says right away. It's not begging, just a statement in an even sort of tone. "Why?" Arsenal asks, and it's his tone that's almost pleading, looking for answer. "Because I like having you around," Ace says lightly, "just like you like having me around. That's what we've figured out, right?" He smiles even though it's a bit of a loaded question. Arsenal hesitates again, but then he says, "Yeah," and sits back down on the bed. Ace smiles widely at that, but Arsenal pretends not to notice. For a few seconds, everything is perfect, until Ace frowns and mutters, "I want a cigarette." When Arsenal gives him a look, he says in a soft voice, "I don't know how long I can do this. Even for you." He laughs shortly. "Because I am, you know. Doing it for you." Arsenal doesn't quite smile, but the corners of his mouth do quirk up the tiniest bit. "Not today," he says. "You can do that much." Ace looks at him for a long moment, then nods, expression breaking into a smile. "Not today."