A couple weeks ago, I was overwhelmed with bunnies for all of the Metaltango AUs. The challenge is to put Krauser in a different situation while keeping him Krauser. Hopefully, I succeed.
Here's a snippet of one AU. Enjoy!
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Running a bar wasn’t how Jack Krauser imagined his retirement. Fuck, he hadn’t imagined a retirement at all. Dying bloody on the battlefield made sense. Gunned down by some faceless asshole who wouldn’t give a damn about the corpse he left behind. Hell. Possibly even gunned down by one of his own. Friendly fire and all that shit.
Well. He had been gunned down. Left bleeding in the dirt by some faceless asshole. Somehow, though, he survived. Fuck if he could remember exactly how he got from the VA hospital to behind this counter, though. Kerring had something to do with it. He knew that much. Kerring, Mack, and Francis, with Francis in the back now and Mack on a cigarette break in the alley by the bar. Assholes who dragged him into this shit when he was too drugged up to know what he was agreeing to.
It wasn’t bad. Not what he ever expected, but not bad. Krauser grabbed a beer for a regular and slid it down the bar before reaching for the whiskey. No one expected Krauser to make any fancy shit for them. If anyone got too annoying, Krauser could throw them out on their ass without some uppity commander getting a stick up his ass about it. He even got to enjoy some pretty faces, Krauser mused, pouring the whiskey into a shot glass. Not bad at all. Surely better than some plain grave in a sea of white crosses.
Blue Eyes smiled faintly at him and murmured a thanks before hovering over his whiskey. Kerring’s Place was the name of the bar, even if Krauser worked there the most and was partial owner. They mostly got soldiers from the nearby base, but sometimes some of the Feds wandered in, too. The Suits only ever came once and never showed their too-clean faces again. The ones that came back? Krauser guessed field agents but never asked. That’s why they came here, after all. Alcohol, classic rock low on the jukebox, and no questions.
First time Blue Eyes came in, he didn’t have a suit, but with his clean, pretty looks, Krauser labeled him a Suit and never expected him to be back. Instead, he kept popping in, sometimes days apart, sometimes weeks, eyes as blue as ever even as the shadows darkened in them. Always pretty as fuck with hair that would have gotten any recruit reamed.
The scar on his face was new, though. New and eye-catching. Usually, Krauser gave Blue Eyes his drink and walked away. Today, though, that scar felt like an invitation he couldn’t resist. It was a weekday and there were only a handful of customers, so Krauser casually started wiping condensation off the bar beside Blue Eyes. Not like anyone else was going to ask for a drink right then. Easy for him to clean the bar and study the new scar.
Another nice thing about his early retirement: could check out the pretty boys without worrying about a fight and a night in the brig later. If Blue Eyes noticed, he didn’t seem to give a damn. Another mark pointing toward government field agent: they tended to have other shit to worry about.
Blue Eyes’s lean body was covered up toes to neck: heavy boots and black jeans, leather jacket and tight black turtleneck. Didn’t matter. Krauser was more than willing to bet this week’s tips that he was both fit under those layers and armed. Hints of danger to match the new scar. The fineness of it on his cheek, curving right under his right cheekbone, made Krauser think knife. Up close and personal, just missing giving him a scar to match Krauser’s. Not a popular kind of injury for a Fed. A scar that told stories and somehow still didn’t mess up that pretty face at all.
Blue Eyes had a pretty mouth, too. Looked prettier when it quirked into a smirk, as tired looking as it was. “Aw. Keep that up and you’re going to make me blush.” He tilted his head so his long hair hid one blue eye. It made the shadows under his other eye seem all the darker for some reason. “Or maybe I have something on my face?”
It wasn’t the first time Krauser had heard Blue Eyes speak, but it was the first time it was for something besides asking for a drink or paying for one. He had a nice voice: soft, deep, edged with humor. A little rough, maybe from the first two glasses of whiskey, maybe not.
Krauser completely abandoned wiping the bar to rest his arms beside Blue Eyes’s drink and lean forward. He didn’t miss the way that visible blue eye checked out the muscles in his forearms. Just because Krauser was a fucking cripple in the eyes of the US government didn’t mean he was going to become a weakling. He stayed strong, hard, deadly, and fortunately for him, it looked like that was just Blue Eyes’s type.
In another bar, he would have asked about the scar, opened with that. In this bar, where everyone had at least one scar or tattoo telling dark tales, Krauser knew better. “Wondering how the hell you can see your drink with your hair in your eyes like that. I have a knife back here if you need a haircut.” And based on the calluses he saw on Blue Eyes’s fingers, he bet the pretty boy could use a knife. If not, Krauser was more than happy to teach him.
Blue Eyes’s smile softened into something more playful. He sipped his whiskey, never looking away from Krauser’s face. “Chop it into something short like yours maybe? I don’t think I could pull it off.”
Heh. Krauser glanced around once, making sure no one needed a refill, before turning back to Blue Eyes. “I dunno about that. I think you could get away with a lot.”
Not breaking eye contact, Blue Eyes threw back the rest of his drink. “What can I say? Always good to push the limits.” He put the glass back on the bar and licked his lips. They looked soft and wet in the low light. “Always good to be… flexible.”
At last, Krauser heard the back door creak and familiar steps thunk to join him behind the bar. “Mack, take over,” he called. He trailed his eyes over Blue Eyes’s body. All those layers did shit to hide the man’s broad shoulders and long, long legs. “I’m going on a smoke break.” Test that flexibility.