by Te
Usual Suspects, Fenster/McManus


Fenster was getting harder and harder to understand, which was damned worrying.

Fenster was, after all, his friend, his homie, his amigo, his partner, and dammit, McManus treasured his ability to decipher the crazy sonofabitch's... English.



Spanafenglish. Yeah.

But... no one ever mentioned that the man would start wearing scarves.

That was just unfair.

He never wore scarves back in the city, and, okay, sure, so it was about ninety degrees colder up here, or whatever it was in Celsius, but McManus had always assumed that the scarf thing was more a style issue than a comfort one.

Granted, Fenster would look pretty fucked up if, say, his jaw froze off, and those killer blowjobs would come to an end, but... dude.



"Amoco? Does the snowmobile need gas? Do they have Amocos up here? I thought you liked Shell."

And why did getting hit always hurt more when it was cold, anyway?

"Look, if you'd just take the damned scarf off --"

"AMGO, mmph arda argh!"

"Fine. Whatever. But if you hit me again, you're sleeping outside."

McManus threw more wood on the fire, ignoring Fenster's glare as best he could. It wasn't like it'd been his idea to drive all the way to Asshole, Canada just to meet a guy who knew a guy.

No, that was Fenster's plan.

All about their moving up. Bigger scores, going international.

Going blue in the nuts as far as he could see. What was wrong with the hit 'em up jobs anyway? Fast money, the fences never stole more than their due, even a patrolman or two in their hip pocket.

Sure, it wasn't the high life, but they'd gotten out of that shithole they'd called an apartment months ago, you know? Fenster said he needed to get a little ambition.

Though with the way the communication wasn't happening lately, it was just as likely that he'd said something about tuition.

Or maybe, like, trees.

"When is this guy supposed to show up, anyway?"


"Fedda. Right. Are you ever gonna take that fucking scarf off?"

"Eh. Ah. Go."

"Be that way. Is there any beer? No, wait. Just nod. Or shake your head. Or, you know, something other than fucking glare."

McManus sighed. No TV and no beer make Homer something something.


"No TV and no beer make McManus something something."


More silence.

Enough fucking silence that McManus was considering being seriously pissed off when, "... bow ayee?"

"Don't mind if I do!"

And McManus pounced happily, sending them both into a moderately painful sprawl against the thin rug in front of the fire.

Lean, hard muscle beneath him. Sweetest body he'd ever seen, moles and scars and all. His skinny spic bastard, and anyone who had anything to say about it could just suck his left one.

Which, really, was a great fucking plan.

Got Fenster out of his pants, wave of heat and scent hitting like the world's welcomest brick.


"I'm going, asshole!"

Swallowed him down fast and careless, just the way they both loved it. Ran his teeth up the shaft and, okay, Fenster's fucking mittens were just not the same as Fenster's long, strong fingers, but McManus could definitely deal.

Oh, yeah.

Hot and slick and tangy-sweet, pistoning into his throat like a Detroit wet dream and God, yeah, he could do this all day. And by the sounds he was making, Fenster would clearly let him.

This, at least, did not require actual words.

Never did.

McManus grinned around Fenster's cock and thought warm thoughts.