Voltron Legendary Defender (Spy AU) - martinis, girls & guns [1] [Sheith + Allurance]

[scriveyner]

Title: martinis, girls & guns
Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender
AU: Spy AU
Characters/Pairing: Lance, Hunk, Keith, Shiro, Allura
Rating: M
Length: 1637
Summary: The heady stench of smoke and sweat that permeated this casino was nauseating at three in the morning.

The heady stench of smoke and sweat that permeated this casino was nauseating at three in the morning. A tiny, underground and quite illegal operation, the gambling den sat open-faced to the water, shutters thrown open wide in the vain hopes of catching a slight breeze off the bay. The night air itself was stagnant and thick, but the heat and stink did not seem to deter those caught in the throes of pissing their money away.

Lance was tired. He knew this fact well, he had been on the ground running for the past eighteen hours; playing a high stakes game of hide-and-seek across two different country's borders before the trail led here, a seedy joint in a seedy seaside town full of mercenaries, mafia, and oil money. He relaxed against the bar, a low ball glass by his hand as he discretely watched the comings and goings around him through the reflection of the yellow-tinted mirror behind the bar.

A long day, a long week, and even more long days ahead. He thought wistfully of a bed, of air conditioning, of a bath to wash off the sweat and grime instead of a quick towel-off in the bathroom before changing clothes, and took another sip from the amber liquid that burned in the right ways as it slid down his throat.

The target of his attention hadn't moved in some time, seated at a card table, his back to Lance. Lance had made a circuitous route of the small casino, before settling up at the bar next to a lanky, gorgeous woman in a sarong. She moved as soon as he settled, which was a pity; a creature as beautiful as that was a sight for sore eyes when he'd been among the worst of humanity for days on end.

There was no wire here, no tilting his head to obscure the quick touch of finger to ear to confirm instructions, to acknowledge a plan – even with all his tricks of the trade an earpiece was a death warrant in a place like this. He was on his own tonight, and that was fine with him.

The woman in the patterned sarong was making her way around the room in much the same pattern he had an hour earlier, watching the players around each game, the stem of a martini glass held delicately between her fingers. He watched her for a while in the reflection as she hovered around the roulette table. Her long hair was pinned up, to keep it from clinging to the back of her neck with sweat, and the intricate updo left trailing, pale wisps around her face. Lance shifted a little to get a better view and as he did so someone else stepped up to the bar beside him.

He was dressed not dissimilar to the rest of the casino's gamblers; open collared shirt and bermuda shorts, sunglasses that hadn't been needed in hours hooked into the pocket of the tailored shirt. He didn't even spare Lance a glance as he ordered his whiskey from the bartender, but he moved with the confidence of someone who wasn't the slightest bit worried of his surroundings, that no matter what no one would be a threat.

Lance's skin prickled. He was dangerous.

Everyone carried, in the casino. There was a sign on the wall that contained the shutters that prohibited in four languages (five, if you counted the picture itself) the use or possession of weapons; not a single person in the building was unarmed. You didn't walk around with the kind of cash these people were dropping without hired muscle, and that hired muscle better be well-armed.

The dark-haired man glanced in Lance's direction while the bartender had his back to them both, and caught Lance looking. Lance gave him a nod of acknowledgment, before glancing back out to the floor of the casino, looking for the one bright spot amid the filthy, sweating men.

When he turned back to the bar, the dark-haired man was still staring at him, but now with a low ball glass at his hand. He knew Lance was out of place here, that this was his first night in the casino, in town, and he was trying to suss out Lance's motive, if he wasn't throwing his money away at the card tables, why was he here? It certainly wasn't for the atmosphere.

Lance knocked back the last of his drink, his air unconcerned. He left the glass on the bar and stood; acutely aware of the eyes on him now. The man at the bar made no attempts to be covert, and Lance was doing his damnedest to be as unconcerned about the attention on him as he could be. His target was still sitting at the card table, a healthy pile of chips at his elbow. As Lance passed the table, his target lifted his head and caught Lance's eye, and that was the moment that Lance knew for certain that his cover was blown.

She was standing by the roulette wheel still, when Lance stopped beside it. The woman in the blue, patterned sarong had attached herself to the arm of a thickset man who seemed to have more hair spilling from the unbuttoned collar of his shirt than atop his head. Lance didn't look at her, but stared at the wheel as the attendant dropped the ball onto its spinning surface. He knew when he looked up she would look away, because she had come in that evening on the arm of the man at the card table. All he could do now was make a quiet exit in the hopes that no one was interested in making a scene.

As he stood by the wheel, Lance felt the cool, hard shape of the muzzle of a gun press into his side. "Let's go for a walk," a soft voice said at his ear, and when Lance looked over at the woman in the blue sarong, she was pointing to the roulette wheel, and not looking at him.

#

The street outside the casino would be deserted at this point in the day, when the too-late transitioned into the too-early. The sky was still dark, the water calm and the air sweet after the stagnant stink of the cramped casino. This sort of place did not have a valet, although there was what basically stood for a bouncer at the entrance. The burly man did not even look at Lance as he was walked out the door; he probably saw debts fulfilled in many ways throughout the night and knew when to not get involved.

Lance was walked across the cobblestone street, past the barrier that separated street from the sandy slope that led to the beach. He couldn't believe his luck, and kept moving sedately as the man prodded him forward. "I don't know what you think's going on," Lance said, keeping his hands where his captor could see them, "but I think you've got the wrong guy, buddy."

"You've been watching my partner all night, buddy," the sarcastic clip to the man's English let slip a faint accent. Lance took a few steps forward, his loafers sinking in the soft sand, and turned, his hands still held up. The man from the bar held his weapon close to him, elbow tucked to his side, both to conceal the gun and keep it from an easy spin and grab. Professional in some aspects, but not enough.

"Of course I have," Lance said. "He's a specimen, especially compared to most of the people in there." Lance spanned his hands, estimating the breadth of shoulders. "He must be a fantastic fuck."

A confused expression flitted across the gunman's face, like he wasn't quite certain what to make of that; but it was only an instant and it was gone, the gun still pointed squarely at Lance.

"Wait, wait," Lance said, taking another step back. The sand was hardening up beneath his feet, getting closer to where the waves very lazily lapped at the shore. "Don't shoot, man, I'll tell you anything you want to know!"

"Who do you work for, then?" the dark-haired man said.

"That guy," Lance said, and inclined his head.

The dark-haired man didn't even have time to twist entirely around; the punch clocked him so hard he dropped like a sack of wet cement. Hunk kicked the gun away, scattering sand, and glared at Lance, both hands on his hips. "So you're working for me, now?"

Lance retrieved the gun and then turned, winging it into the water. The weapon made a satisfying plink as it disappeared under the waves. "Yeah, so I want updated dental," Lance said. "Also, I'm being sexually harassed by my coworker. You know the one."

Hunk rolled his eyes, hands still on his hips. He looked down at the dark-haired man, who had a small bit of blood leaking from his nose, and then he toed the body. "Who's this, and why'd you piss him off?"

"I'll explain on the way," Lance said. "He'll be useful, he said he's partners with our target."

"Hey, man. We don't do prisoners."

"Yeah, well, I'm making an exception." Lance rolled the guy over and held out his hand. Hunk sighed dramatically and produced a zip tie, so that Lance could incapacitate him.

"Pidge is going to have a coronary," Hunk said, as he picked up the unconscious man and put him easily over his shoulder.

"Pidge will deal," Lance said, and glanced out over the water. "My cover's blown, anyway; let's get back to base."

Neither of the two men noticed the woman in the blue sarong standing at the divider, her hands resting atop the wooden barrier, watching them.