Chapter Text
Ranboo’s fun.
He’s sorta straight-lace. Ish. Tommy’d heard from Quackity that they’d been to law school or some shit, though that’s not really proof of anything. Look at Q. He’s not straight-lace. And technically, Ranboo wouldn’t be either, by any normal standards. All tatted up and hot, sorta rough around the edges- normal people don’t really look at that and think ‘straight-lace’.
Maybe the word Tommy’s looking for is ‘lame’.
Ranboo’s a little bit lame. Gets all up on Tommy’s ass about everything, every cord he touches, every knob he turns. Despite all Tommy’s protests that he’s a groupie, for fuck’s sake (“Not that kind of groupie,” Ranboo’d said. It’d been sort of an off day. Usually, he just goes ahead and calls him a whore like a real man.), Ranboo won’t let him near any of the fucking equipment. Not while they’re on tour, not at rehearsals, nothing.
Not that he really knows what he’s doing. Like- yeah, maybe he’s fucked up a few soundboards. But Sapnap’s got more money than he knows what to do with! Who cares?
Maybe Tommy’s petty. Maybe he’s just generally an asshole. Either way, the look on Ranboo’s face is nothing short of satisfying when he finds Tommy sprawled out over top of some of the speakers. Tommy’s just hanging out. Passing some time. Pushed about six of them together in a line and waited to scramble on top until he heard Ranboo coming. Casual-like, you know how it is.
See, Ranboo’s all boring right up until he’s not. That’s the fun part. And Tommy’s found that the best way to skip to the fun part is to piss him right off.
“Hey, Boo,” he drawls, rolling over and stretching out in a way that he knows fucks with the knobs. “You need any of this stuff? M’just waiting for the others to get back- didn’t know you’d be here.”
Tommy’s a lot.
And honestly- it isn’t any of Ranboo’s business. Or, it shouldn’t be; wasn’t until he started touching the equipment.
Groupies volunteer to help move stuff around all the time, sometimes they fuck up, that’s fine. Most of them learn after the first time, the ones who don’t usually have the sense to stay the hell away after getting shouted at by a guy with a baseball bat.
Tommy wouldn’t know sense if he snorted half a pound of it.
Ranboo actually has a running tally of everything he’s broken. It’s coming up on 400$ in cords alone. Basically anything Tommy gets his glitter encrusted hands on is as good as scrap. There’s a lot of stuff that’s delicate, most of the soundboards come to mind, quite a bit of it is- less so. Ranboo still isn’t sure how he managed to bend that mic stand- Anyways Candid’s one man wrecking crew has almost surpassed being frustrating and become comical. Almost.
It’s intentional at this point, it has to be. He’s blacklisted from setup but manages to weasel his way in constantly anyways. Plus- Tommy has a phone, he knows USB cables don’t go in wall sockets. Right? Right??
Really the fact that he hasn’t stopped probably means Tommy’s actively looking to get a rise out of him. Which- okay if Tommy wants to play at being a narcotics piñata, Ranboo’s actually happy to oblige him. It’s cathartic, he’d recommend it (Quackity still hasn’t taken him up on the offer to try) but he could do without the property damage pre-req.
So he isn’t surprised to find Tommy sprawled out across a series of speakers in the back of the van. Ranboo wouldn’t even say he’s disappointed- this has become routine enough. Unload, setup, sound check, chase Tommy off with a bat, load, next venue. Easy.
Even being this used to it, his face still sours watching Tommy shift over the knobs in a way that's going to take at least an hour and a few spares to correct. Ranboo adjusts his loose grip on his bat.
“Hi Tommy, I actually need to put more stuff on top of those so if you’d like to still be three-dimensional by the time they get back I’d suggest finding something else to break into.”
It's no secret that this is, like. On purpose. Bit of a bonding activity, right? Tommy fucks around a little, Ranboo gives him what he wants, he lays on the ground wheezing for like an hour, he goes on his way. Match made in heaven, it works out just fine.
But half the fun is pretending this isn't a goal-oriented sorta activity. So he stretches out a liiiiittle further, drapes his arms up over his head in just the right way to show off the shine of his piercings.
"Thought we were hangin' out, though," he pouts, sticking out his bottom lip and giving Ranboo that half-lidded look he likes to use on all the boys. "Look at us, quality time and all. We're bonding." An arch of his back, shift of his hips. Really, Ranboo should be grateful for the decor. Speakers look like shit anyway.
...
"You should be grateful for the decor." Really, Tommy's a genius. Underappreciated in his time. "Speakers look like shit anyway."
Ranboo rolls his eyes. “If you want quality time can you do it by the door over there?” he jerks a thumb at the, currently closed, back door to the venue. “I couldn’t actually find a doorstop and I think your- skillset might be transferable.”
There is for the record- only so much time Ranboo’s willing to watch Tommy squirm on top of equipment and the cutoff is rapidly approaching.
…
Yeah there it is. He squints a bit and grabs at the collar of Tommy’s jacket to haul him out of the van and deposit him mostly harmlessly in the parking lot like a particularly insufferable spider. It isn’t very difficult. Tommy’s not especially heavy for one- also Ranboo has simply removed him from enough places he wasn’t supposed to be that he’s probably an expert at this point. There’s probably a way to slot that into his resume actually- That’s probably a thought for later though.
Ranboo looks down at Tommy, now on the pavement, still posing. Apparently he wasn’t irritated enough- although that does exponentially lose effectiveness as soon as Tommy’s no longer in contact with anything he cares about being broken.
“Also- I know this might be news but there are just- tons of things that do things other than imitate disco balls on ketamine. The speakers for instance- well okay actually you’re familiar with this one aren’t you- they make loud noises.”
Tommy sees the exact moment Ranboo breaks. The whole crack in the facade, the thing with the frustration and the tight press of his lips and the furrow of brows and-- Ranboo's stronger than he looks. Tosses him out on the pavement like he's trash, and the association makes Tommy gasp as he rolls over to expose the places rubbed bloody on the blacktop.
He's not really sure if Ranboo likes to see him broken, exactly, but it's worth a try. Definitely worth catching his breath on a laugh and tossing up his arms to pillow under his head. Maybe one of these days flashing his tits'll get him a more interesting turn with the end of that bat.
"Big fan of loud noises," he grins, hands finding their places against the ground as he looks up at Ranboo. Lots of associations with this positions, all kinds of fun shit sitting mostly-remembered at the edges of his memory. The feeling of his ribs breaking or whatever. He kinda wants it back. He kinda knows how to get it. "Bet you're great at getting them out of all the girls."
Ranboo raises his eyebrows a little at that. Leans on the bat and looks down at Tommy, little slivers of incredulity peeking through his expression. No matter how many times they do this Ranboo's never once managed to anticipate what stupid angle he's going to take. Never a dull moment with Tommy under your skin. "Have you ever even seen me with a girl?"
He hasn't. No one's seen Ranboo with anyone since high school. Although- okay, intermittent rounds of spin the bottle and a singular prom date might not even count. He's just not really the romantic type; pretty happily married to his job, the same way Tommy's face is about to be married to the asphalt.
"Dunno about 'girls'. You might be the leading expert in all this sunshine- actually, new plan." Ranboo shifts his weight back and flicks the bat back up into his hand to swing it abruptly into Tommy's side.
"How would you rate that one? I don't have a questionnaire set up yet one to ten is fine."
Tommy's laughing before the bat even makes contact- it makes him wheeze, hand jumping up on instinct to press over his chest. Nothing broken, maybe, nothing damaged, other than a few burst blood vessels-- God, Ranboo knows how to make a guy's breath come faster. Teasing at the possibilities... Ranboo could beat him into a bloody pulp if he wanted.
There's something about the look in mismatched eyes that's making Tommy think he wants it.
Either way- the swing of the bat, the connection to his ribs? It's exactly what he'd come here looking for, and they both know it. Ranboo looks stressed. Tommy'd like to get fucked. Neither of them are gonna solve each other's problems, so why not cause a bruise or two while they wait? Foreplay, amiright? Tommy can handle a little heat just fine, but an inferno's preferable ten to one.
Speaking of. "Gonna g-give that one a three, princess," Tommy wheezes, and his hand drops to his side, arms sliding back a few inches so he can prop himself up on his elbows. Willing target and all that. "You outta practice? Or you just going easy on me?"
Ranboo makes an irritable noise, tail thrashing behind him with restless energy. “My mistake. Must have forgotten that you’re a masochistic cockroach.” He wedges his boot under the small of Tommy’s back and kicks up to flip him over. “Not the type to enjoy being eased in are you?”
He’s buzzing with anticipation already, hands steady but a little numb, pins and needles where his fingers wrap around the bat. The little taster to begin wasn’t for Tommy at all. Each and every one of their interactions has been wholly self-serving from the beginning. The fact that the things they want align in this one scenario doesn’t make this a negotiation. Just because Tommy wants it doesn’t mean he’s getting his ass kicked on his terms, and Ranboo’s kinda feeling like dragging it out tonight.
“I’ll give you this much though-” Tommy’s worked himself halfway up, hands and knees now. “You sure don’t stay down when you get stomped on huh?” Ranboo takes one step closer.
There’s a kind of manic grin spreading over the disparate halves of his face as he winds up. He’s tired, it’s been a long day, and besides he doesn’t think anything will stop him being tired of Tommy. Ranboo swings hard, catching Tommy just at the bottom of his ribs. And he’s scrawny, weighs nothing; Tommy goes flying a couple feet back into the base of one of the lot lights. The one perk of being perpetually annoyed by someone has got to be the noise their body makes on impact with some well placed concrete.
“That one any better for you?”
There's gotta be some kind of downside to living the way Tommy lives. Some kinda bad part, something something unhealthy in the way he survives off coke and stolen minibar goods. Tommy's yet to find one of those downsides, but like. DARE and all that. He's sure there is one.
The way Ranboo's able to send him flying is definitely a fucking benefit.
Tommy wheezes on landing- duh. Wheezes again as he rolls over, gasping, chest heaving- that part is less duh. The last several seconds roll around in his memory- pain, sure, alright, yeah, okay, okay, okay-- a crunch! He remembers a crunch! A sentiment pretty well backed up by the way his chest rattles when he takes a deep breath in, the way his ribs scream as Tommy lifts his chin, eyes finding Ranboo's as his breath leaves him in a ragged groan.
For a long moment, Tommy doesn't try to get up. He's pretty sure that answers the question all on its own- 'better for him'. This is the best. So he's grinning, all wide and taunting and- is that hot? Is that something Ranboo, like- well, don't get him wrong or anything, he and Ranboo've got their thing and all that, but Tommy's not confident he knows everything makes the dude tick.
Either way, his smile gets answered with one of Ranboo's own, dark with anticipation, and Tommy's pretty sure he gets where the guy's coming from.
"You l-love it," Tommy wheezes, and getting his elbows beneath him is quite a bit harder when he's like eighty-five percent sure he's bleeding internally. He might not know everything about Ranboo, but he sure gets the whole thing where pissing him off gets him his head caved in, and Tommy's never been much of a head guy anyway. "Love it when I don't go down easy- no fun for you if I roll over right away, huh? S-shit--" Dick tastes worse than blood for fucking sure. Ranboo's a homie for coating his tongue in the latter. "You want me begging, you're g-gonna have to earn it, princess."
"Begging huh? Not really my thing but if the impulse strikes you, be my fucking guest." It doesn't matter to Ranboo, he's tuning out 90% of what comes out of Tommy’s mouth most of the time. Those have never been the sounds he was interested in anyways, if he wants to listen to Tommy scream he can loiter outside of Dream's hotel room on one of the days Quackity gets an unmarked package and the band gets too wasted on the contents to practice.
No, Ranboo wants to hear the crackle of joints pushed a little too far, wants to feel the give of whatever passes for meat still clinging to Tommy’s coked out bones. Taunting or pleading he goes down the same, blood seeping between lips that never seem to stop moving. Maybe Ranboo actually wants him to be quiet but he wouldn't agree to that.
Peace will come eventually, for both of them. Once Ranboo’s had his fill of bashing Tommy against the concrete and Tommy's dead to the world like he prefers it'll just be ragged breathing and the distant rumble of the freeway. The sky's clear tonight, maybe he'll look at the stars. Yeah that sounds like a plan. Stars and a cigarette once he's done beating Tommy to a pulp. Ranboo sticks around for a bit usually, at least until Tommy starts to wake up again. Wouldn't want some poor organ dealer picking up the human amnesty box looking for a decent kidney.
All that is for later though. He's getting ahead of himself. Tommy is still conscious and Ranboo rather thinks the both of them would really like to see that amended.
God. Parking lot's going to look like a damn crime scene tomorrow with the way Tommy's spitting blood everywhere. Still wearing that shit eating grin and little else though, if Ranboo didn't know any better he'd say Tommy likes leaving his mark most places he goes in- one bodily fluid or another. Whatever, the sound equipment is well out of the splash zone at this point, Ranboo can oblige him. And oblige Tommy he does with another stroke of his bat and a boot to the gut. It knocks the look off Tommy's face and Ranboo lets out an almost giddy bark of laughter. He'll have his stars and his smoke yet but whatever this is is still worth savouring.
Blood drips from Tommy's lips, beading down to pool on the pavement with the rest of it. Tommy coughs. Then he coughs again, choking on the stuff as he tries to force a smile. God he loves this. He loves the look in Ranboo's eyes, blurry as Tommy turns to take it in. He loves the screams of his ribs, every individual burst of pain running like a carress down the front of his chest. He loves the sound his breath makes, wheezing out like something's punctured. Like something's broken.
Well. Lots of things are broken, in Tommy. Even more right now than usual. But something important. Something that hurts, something that rattles and urges him to stay down.
Tommy's never been a very good listener.
When he manages a smile, he's sure it's red with blood. When he reaches up, his hand shakes. But still, he manages it, dipping a finger between his lips, swiping soft over blood gathered against his tongue. And with the same shaky hand, he lets the blood trail down, down-- down to inscribe a letter on his chest, the only one that'll really get Ranboo's blood boiling.
F
"Not your best grade y-yet, Boo," he manages to whisper. "Kind of a downer. You're go-oing easy on m-me, arentcha?"
"Damn," Ranboo mutters, "there go my college ambitions." Tommy grins, crooked, blood shining dark between his teeth. He's clearly still lucid enough to be an annoyance even if he's visibly slowing down. The grade is sort of an ironic taunt, considering that Ranboo's lack of degree is mostly owed to him being too good at roughing up shitheads in parking lots. The tremor in Tommy’s hand and the rattling of his breath are testament enough to that.
It doesn't really need to be accurate anyways. Tommy could've said or done anything and he would've gotten angrier. This is the dance. This is what they do. Tommy makes Ranboo angry and Ranboo makes Tommy hurt. It's fucking shallow and pointless and he thinks that's the appeal. People act like every time you beat someone to unconsciousness its actually about your childhood or something and you need to pay a therapist to explain that to you. Ranboo’s had plenty of things explained to him by therapists and as it happens none of them were actually related to this. He smokes because of his attachment issues. He plays chicken with caving Tommy's skull in because Tommy is annoying.
Ranboo slings the bat up over his shoulder. "You kind of sound like this teacher I had once you know?" He brings it down into Tommy’s shoulder almost absentmindedly, "He was always-" an impact to the ribs, "saying-" the stomach, "I needed-" sternum, "to apply myself-" jaw, "more."
The metallic smell in the air is more intense as he leans down. "But we both know that’s just a nice way to call someone lazy right?"
The body sprawled out on the asphalt doesn't answer.
The tension in Ranboo’s shoulders finally goes slack.