Shakespeare one shots

Royal kidnapping? More like royal pain in the ass

Uhh, I wrote a thing? It's kinda short but I was reading a bunch of Arthur/Eames stuff and Inception is a badass movie, so.

Also it’s been actual eons and I missed you guys.

So here's this.

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"Do political moves always end up like this?"

Hamlet shrugs as best he can with his hands tied behind his back, and grins even though the black bag over his head hides it. Horatio knows exactly what expression he's making anyway.

"More or less," he says.

Horatio gives an annoysappointed sigh, pulling the bag off Hamlet's head a little more roughly than strictly necessary. Hamlet figures he deserved it. He does not, however, believe he deserves the cold look of protective fury on his boyfriend's face as Horatio begins sawing away at the ropes binding his hands.

"You could have died," Horatio growls, and Hamlet rolls his eyes.

"That's a bit dramatic, Horatio."

"You, Hamlet, emo prince of poetry and seduction, have absolutely no right to call me dramatic, ever. And I'm not being dramatic if I'm right. Which I am."

This is true. Attempts to hold Danish royalty for ransom are nothing new, and the success of doing so with his mother decades before has painted Hamlet as an easy, lucrative target. What kidnappers never seem to understand is that Hamlet was trained much more extensively than the queen in diplomacy, which included lessons such as escaping handcuffs and leaving coded distress signals.

Ah, politics.

Horatio rifles through his bag as Hamlet rubs at his bruised wrists, then tosses him a handgun. Hamlet slides it beneath his belt at the small of his back, a comforting weight that makes him dangerous. Not that anyone would dare to touch him now; Horatio, ambidextrous and armed with four times more guns than Hamlet, would put a bullet in their kneecap too fast. Hamlet loves him so much.

They move through the building with practiced precision. Hamlet doesn't even try to be subtle about ogling his boyfriend when Horatio stops to hack his way through a security keypad on a door. Determination and adrenaline look good on him, and if it means that their six goes unguarded for a moment, well, Hamlet never protested watching how efficiently Horatio incapacitated an opponent.

The relative safety of the building's underground parking lot comes all too quickly, but Hamlet has trouble being disappointed when Ophelia comes flouncing out of their nondescript truck to wrap him in a hug that smells like expensive perfume and feels like a python.

"Getting the layout of the building was so easy," she gushes, finally letting go to allow Laertes to give Hamlet the obligatory man-hug. "The blueprints were just out on the internet. Page four of Google, they're such amateurs!"

"Bad at ransoming, too," Laertes grunts. "Fifty grand for the Prince of Denmark? Come on."

Hamlet snorts. "And they call themselves a mafia. No one out-mafias Italy. Right, Horatio?"

The universe proves Hamlet's point in a way that he will later look back on and wonder about karma. Four armed guards ("goons" as Laertes calls them, because he's a goddamn nerd) come running and yelling all at once with their guns raised, and the boys all shoot a collective look of appreciation at Ophelia, who winks and then puts on her best damsel-in-distress face.

"Put your hands behind your heads!" orders a guard who seems to have deemed himself the leader. His voice is trembling, and Hamlet briefly feels sorry for him. This poor man is probably younger than him. Well, he thinks, occupational hazard.