Magic Tower

Good evening, boys…

I've got a job for you that's right up your alley.

The static dragged on and on, test patterns flickering across the screen. Usually it didn't last that long. Usually Mobo got up and banged the TV a few times until it stopped acting up. Funny about that, though--for some reason he was glued to his seat.

A few minutes later, they headed out the door.

They drove down the city streets in a daze, silent, navigating almost robotically to the address that had been programmed into their brains. In the haze of colors and noise, there had been messages: COME HERE. NOW. AND DON'T BE AFRAID.

They walked down the dark, twisting corridors for far too long, but they didn't notice. They navigated it effortlessly, tirelessly, until they reached the end, and still they couldn't speak a word or even realize what they were doing.

The door opened.

"You made it," said the man. He was indiscernible, nothing but a dark shape in a chair. "I see my test patterns worked like a charm. Come. Sit down."

The two stepped past a couple of empty chairs and sat themselves at the man's feet. He chuckled with satisfaction and placed a hand under Mobo's chin, stroking his lips with his thumb possessively. 

There wasn't even the slightest flicker behind Mobo's dark glasses. The man pressed two fingers against his lips and they slipped easily inside. 

"There's an art gallery on 17th Street," the man intoned, working his fingers in and out of the thief's mouth. A small sound escaped his lips. "They've purchased a lot of Cubist art."

Mobo started to huff through his nose, quick and shallow, as the man sped up his hand and thrust his fingers in and out, harder, harder. Then the man pulled them back, leaving Mobo panting in the air, and turned to his brother.

"I want it," he ordered, and Robo's mouth opened without hesitation. He slipped his fingers in, slick, wet. "Bring me that art tomorrow night. Every piece."

Robo murmured something like mm-hmm, sucking hungrily. The man pressed them in deep, then pulled them back. Robo's lips tried to follow.

"Greedy," he said. "You'll both get more once you bring me what I want."

The day after, Mobo came up with this idea that they should steal the gallery's new Cubist art. No reason. He was just getting antsy, and funnily enough, Robo was too. What would they even do with it? Well, sell it, probably. They knew a guy who knew a guy. It'd be fine.

The job went off without a hitch. It was child's play, really, for master robbers like them. They nabbed the pictures, made scathing remarks about the quality of the artwork all the way home, stashed them in their basement and then headed to bed.

Ten minutes afterwards, they got out of bed, loaded it all back up in their car, and drove away without a word.

"Perfect. Good boys."

Mobo and Robo knelt at the boss's feet. They fidgeted, shifting their weight from knee to knee, panting quietly in the air. "You want your reward, don't you?" the shadowy man asked, and they nodded. They wouldn't be able to articulate it if he'd asked, but they didn't need to. He knew.

He pressed a button under his desk. In a moment two of his burly henchmen entered the room, just as indiscernable as he was, nothing but dark shapes in a dark room. "It worked," murmured the boss. "Have fun."

"Yeah?" one of the men asked, waving a hand in front of Robo's face. "No kiddin'. They're under, boss. Deep under. What should we do?"

"Whatever you like," he replied. "But I warmed them up for you yesterday. They're dying to suck someone off."

The men's words were nothing but a blur to the bandits, though some part of them absorbed what they were saying. Talking over their heads like they were well-behaved pets, discussing what kind of reward to give them…

The men stood in front of them, working their pants down. Robo opened his lips eagerly, letting the man slip his cock inside. Distantly he could hear Mobo letting out a low moan--he was more cautious, and always had been, but even he was hungry now.

You've always wanted this, said a voice in Robo's head, but if it was his own voice or the boss's he couldn't tell. It didn't matter, anyway: he opened his lips wider, moaning as the man fucked his mouth with quick, greedy thrusts of his hips. You've dreamed about it, haven't you? 

"You'll do this every night," said the boss. Robo and Mobo let out indistinct sounds, trying to nod. "Work for me and you can have as much of this as you like."

Robo woke up with a jolt, like something had startled him out of bed. He glanced around quickly, his hand on the drawer where his gun was kept--but nothing. No. The sun was only barely starting to come up, and his brother was still snoring away.

He laid back down in bed, unsettled. Something was tugging at the edges of his memory. He'd been dreaming of something. What was it, again?

someone opening up his lips and 

What?

sliding something inside. 

He'd never thought of it before. His dreams were always of schemes and plans and heists, while Mobo dreamt about food and fame and girls. But this touched something inside him, something deep that told him he wanted to have that dream again. 

"Hey, Robo," Mobo said sleepily from the other bed. "You awake?"

"Yeah," Robo replied.

"You get any weird dreams?"

Robo blinked. "Yeah," he said. "Kinda. Hard to remember. Good ones, though, I think."

"Yeah," Mobo agreed, yawning. "Good ones."

Another time, Robo took them both, sucking one off as the other one fucked him. Distantly he had a sensation of I've never done this before, something pushing him to his limit, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. A strong thrust took the words right out of his head, and he could do nothing but moan around the other man's cock. 

"Never thought he'd get so hungry," one of the men laughed. "He's aching for it."

"So's this one," the boss purred, reaching down a hand to give Mobo's hardon a squeeze. He moaned as his cock dripped onto the floor. "He can hear it all. I hope you'll have enough left for him too."

"Hey," the other man grunted. "Think we can get 'em to fuck each other?"

This was a dream Robo had never had before. It had been after one of their heists, maybe, so high on the rush of adrenaline that they'd hid in an alley for the cops to pass by. He remembered the sensation of his back against the wall. He remembered gasping again and again as Mobo did something to him, roughly, greedily, and he remembered grabbing at his brother's back and wanting more.

He remembered it when he woke up. He remembered it vividly, extremely vividly, but only for a brief minute before it began to fade. It should have disturbed him, and maybe it did, in the back of his mind, but he didn't dwell on it for long before he rolled over and went back to sleep.

They were pulling heists every two or three days, now, far more often than they usually did. They were starting to make mistakes, stupid mistakes--tripping the alarm like amateurs, or running down the wrong hall when the cops were coming for them. Several times they escaped only by the skin of their teeth.

One evening, Robo piled into their getaway car and waved Mobo in. "C'mon!" he hissed, as the distant sound of sirens began to grow louder. "Hurry it up, Mobo!"

His brother practically dove into the car. Robo turned and suddenly Mobo's mouth was on his, kissing him, their hearts pounding from the excitement. They huddled together, parked in the deep shadow of a building, and the sirens became louder and louder--

--and then they started to fade, as the cop cars passed by and headed, en masse, to the other end of town. As the noise disappeared into silence, Robo and Mobo slowly came apart.

They stayed like that for a minute or two, breathing hard. They didn't say anything--what could they possibly have said?--and they simply adjusted their glasses, wiped their mouths on their sleeves, and drove quietly off into the dark.

They kind of obliquely talked about it a couple days later. "Sorry," Mobo mumbled out of nowhere, as they were eating their dinner. "I dunno what got into me the other day. We...didn't used to do that, did we?"

"I…I don't think so," Robo mumbled. A chill crept up on him as he realized he wasn't sure.

"Robo," Mobo whispered. His brother stared. "I'm startin' to think those dreams maybe aren't just dreams."

The whole plot started to come together pretty soon after that. The brothers told each other about their dreams, nervewracking though it was, and found out that they synced up far too well to be a mere coincidence. Once they realized that, it was like unlocking a door: they found they could remember everything in detail, and from there it was easy to figure out where they'd been going all those nights.

The Bonanza brothers were thieves at heart, not hitmen. Their guns had rubber bullets, after all, and they avoided violence if they could help it. But occasionally, they made exceptions.

Afterwards they sat in the car, seething. Mobo was the one driving this time, and his hands tightened up so hard on the wheel Robo was afraid he'd break it in half.

They had to talk about it, eventually. They had to. It was too big not to.

"We're lucky," Robo sighed, smoking. "It doesn't really hurt. It doesn't feel like…you know," he mumbled, gesturing vaguely. "Still feels like a dream to me, everything that happened."

"Me too," Mobo groaned. "Maybe it didn't happen."

"You know it did."

"Yeah…" Mobo glanced away, taking another drag on his cigarette. He exhaled, and tried again. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"You know what for," he said tersely. "Everything. Especially the other night," he said, "in the car."

Robo fell quiet. They were in their basement, under a dim lightbulb, which is where they got all their best thinking done. He traced patterns in the cigarette ash with a finger.

"All right," he said. "I'm sorry too. For--"

that one night when I sucked you off and they watched, and I did it over and over until you couldn't come anymore

"For--"

begging you please more please i've never wanted anything so bad in my life 

"For--"

wanting you more than gold or jewels or money

"--everything."

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