I had been John's idea to end it just as it had been his idea to start it. To be fair — and Hendricks had few occasions to be fair these days — most of their best ideas were John's. However, it was Hendricks who made sure they were implemented.
That didn't mean that Hendricks had to agree with him. This was one of the few occasions when he didn't. No. That wasn't true. Intellectually, Hendricks knew that John was right; it didn't make reality suck any less. Dozens of philosophers had struggled to grasp in words the eternal battle between emotions and reason. Hendricks had read most of them, and yet none had prepared him for the brutal pain of reality. There was probably some quote to go along with that, but — he had more important things to say, things like:
"John." Not Boss, not in their bedroom. Never there. "We could still—"
"No. We cannot. It's too high a risk," John said in that clipped, even voice that sent most of their enemies running, the one he used when he was not going to back down.
Hendricks closed his eyes, resigned. He wasn't going to win this argument. He tried anyway. "No one needs to know. We've been together for years and no one is the wiser."
"I can't." John sounded like a wounded animal. His eyes were filled with pain, and for a moment Hendricks thought that he would beg. "I can't," John repeated. "This — you're the only person I trust. I need you watching my back."
"I've got your back. When have I ever given you the impression that I didn't?" Hendricks wanted to shake some sense into John. He balled his hands into fists instead.
"Never," John said soothingly. He bracketed Hendricks' face between his hands, forcing Hendricks to look at him. "Never. It's me who can't—"
Hendricks laughed bitterly. "God help me John, if you give me the it's-me-not-you speech I will hurt you."
John let go of his face and stepped back. Hendricks was thankful for the space. He couldn't deal with this conversation with John standing so close.
"They tried to kill me yesterday," John said, as if Hendricks needed the reminder.
"They try to kill you everyday," Hendricks pointed out.
John's fingers traced softly over the white bandage around Hendricks collarbone. "You took a bullet for me."
Ah, so that was what this was about. Hendricks relaxed, marginally. "It was nothing, John. Only a graze. It's my job."
John's expression closed off. "Yes, it is," he said. "If I keep rising in power, more people are going to try to kill me." His green eyes became cold, hard. "There'll be more bullets."
"So there'll be more," Hendricks said at a loss. Being shot at was part and parcel of their plans.
"I can't do what I need to do, knowing that I'm using my lover as a shield." Anger, fear, pain, determination whorled in John's eyes, battling for control. "I won't do it. I refuse to."
It was like that then, Hendricks thought. "I see."
"Do you?" John asked. "The decision is yours. I will have Chicago, safe, under my control. Or I will you, safe, away from here."
"You couldn't abandon Chicago even if you wanted, John." The city was a piece of John. Hendricks' mind failed to imagine John in any other place; he would wilt and die.
"I'm willing to try for you. It's your choice."
They both knew it wasn't true. John had chosen already, years ago.
And so had Hendricks.
He yanked John towards him, ripping John's suit with his hands. The fabric gave away under his fingers. The sound of the seams tearing traveled directly to Hendricks' cock. He kissed John as if his life depended on it, claiming every piece of John's mouth he could reach. John was just as violent. He canted his hips, humping Hendricks thigh and jerked forward.
Hendricks shoulder throbbed, but he didn't care. He muffled his moans of pain against John's mouth and bit at John's lower lip in retaliation.
It was as if a dam had broken.
They clawed at each other, biting, hurting, marking, wanting to leave scars that would never fade. Hendricks used his superior strength to turn John around, pushing him against the nearest wall. He yanked down John's pants and boxers and pushed two fingers into John's ass, relishing the surprised whimper that escaped John's lips.
Hendricks wanted John to feel it. He scissored his fingers, pushing past the resistance, forcing John to open up for him.
"Now, now, now," John was chanting. "Don't waste time prepping me. Just fuck me now. I want it to hurt."
Hendricks obliged him. He couldn't not give John what he wanted. Never had been able to. He shoved his cock into John in one vicious thrust. It burned. John's ass was dry and impossibly tight, not enough preparation to make it comfortable for either of them. This wasn't about comfort, though. Hendricks thought that maybe, years ago, their last time would've been soft and careful, filled with bittersweet words and tenderness. They weren't those men any longer. Why should this be any less brutal, any less painful than their lives?
He bit down on John's neck and pushed forward.
"Fucking bastard, give it to me," John snarled, voice distorted with grief, but he pushed back with equal force, meeting each of Hendricks' trusts. "Come on, come on, come on," John panted, desperate.
Hendricks grabbed John's cock with his right hand and jerked him roughly, with the same fast, punishing rhythm he was using on John's ass. John screamed and lurched against him, coming and coming, until he was empty. Hendricks cleaned his wet hand on John's hair. He yanked John's head back, forcing John's back into an awkward angle that allowed him to slip into John even deeper.
"Please," John whispered in a ragged breath. Hendricks didn't know if it was a plea for Hendricks to stop or for him to continue. He realized with something like revulsion that he didn't care either way. Hendricks let go of John's hair and pressed him against the wall. He spread John's ass with his hands farther apart and fucked into him, grounding himself into John with sharp, deep strokes until his orgasm seized him. Its intensity took him by surprise. He fell on John's back, limp and useless. Wrung dry and empty.
John stirred beneath him, bringing him back to reality. Hendricks forced himself to pull away. His cock was sore from the dry friction. The rims of John's ass didn't look much better. Come leaked out of John's battered hole and dripped down his inner thigh. Hendricks closed his eyes against the image; it was almost enough to break him.
When he opened his eyes again, John had already turned around and was uselessly trying to salvage the remains of his suit.
Hendricks took a step back. "You should take a shower," he said, strangely proud of how steady his voice sounded to his own ears. "I'll bring you a new suit."
"J—" John started to say, but Hendricks stopped him, clasping his hand over John's mouth, before he could say Hendricks' name.
"No," he said. "It was me or the city. You don't get to call me by name. Not now. Not ever. Just Mr. Hendricks. You wanted me to be just your bodyguard. Then that's all I'll be for you. You're my boss, Mr. Marcone, nothing more. That's the price you pay for Chicago."
John closed his eyes and nodded.
Hendricks stepped away.
John waited until he was at the door to call him. "Mr. Hendricks." It hurt, but it was better that way. The formality would remind Hendricks that he was no longer allowed to have this. "After you bring me my clothes make sure to have a car ready. I have a meeting with one of Vargassi's men at two o'clock. Rumor has it he wants to change masters."
"Yes, Boss." Hendricks gave a curt nod and left.
Beneath them, Chicago pulsed with life, cold, dirty, suffering through yet another unforgiving winter. Hendricks wanted to hate her, this gray lady that had stolen John away from him. He wondered if one day John would find someone who loved this broken city as much as John himself did, someone willing to sacrifice everything for her. Life, love, happiness. Maybe by then, seeing John choose somebody else wouldn't hurt as much.
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timeasmymeasure
Fill: The last time 1/1
Date: 2011-03-13 10:52 pm (UTC)That didn't mean that Hendricks had to agree with him. This was one of the few occasions when he didn't. No. That wasn't true. Intellectually, Hendricks knew that John was right; it didn't make reality suck any less. Dozens of philosophers had struggled to grasp in words the eternal battle between emotions and reason. Hendricks had read most of them, and yet none had prepared him for the brutal pain of reality. There was probably some quote to go along with that, but — he had more important things to say, things like:
"John." Not Boss, not in their bedroom. Never there. "We could still—"
"No. We cannot. It's too high a risk," John said in that clipped, even voice that sent most of their enemies running, the one he used when he was not going to back down.
Hendricks closed his eyes, resigned. He wasn't going to win this argument. He tried anyway. "No one needs to know. We've been together for years and no one is the wiser."
"I can't." John sounded like a wounded animal. His eyes were filled with pain, and for a moment Hendricks thought that he would beg. "I can't," John repeated. "This — you're the only person I trust. I need you watching my back."
"I've got your back. When have I ever given you the impression that I didn't?" Hendricks wanted to shake some sense into John. He balled his hands into fists instead.
"Never," John said soothingly. He bracketed Hendricks' face between his hands, forcing Hendricks to look at him. "Never. It's me who can't—"
Hendricks laughed bitterly. "God help me John, if you give me the it's-me-not-you speech I will hurt you."
John let go of his face and stepped back. Hendricks was thankful for the space. He couldn't deal with this conversation with John standing so close.
"They tried to kill me yesterday," John said, as if Hendricks needed the reminder.
"They try to kill you everyday," Hendricks pointed out.
John's fingers traced softly over the white bandage around Hendricks collarbone. "You took a bullet for me."
Ah, so that was what this was about. Hendricks relaxed, marginally. "It was nothing, John. Only a graze. It's my job."
John's expression closed off. "Yes, it is," he said. "If I keep rising in power, more people are going to try to kill me." His green eyes became cold, hard. "There'll be more bullets."
"So there'll be more," Hendricks said at a loss. Being shot at was part and parcel of their plans.
"I can't do what I need to do, knowing that I'm using my lover as a shield." Anger, fear, pain, determination whorled in John's eyes, battling for control. "I won't do it. I refuse to."
It was like that then, Hendricks thought. "I see."
"Do you?" John asked. "The decision is yours. I will have Chicago, safe, under my control. Or I will you, safe, away from here."
"You couldn't abandon Chicago even if you wanted, John." The city was a piece of John. Hendricks' mind failed to imagine John in any other place; he would wilt and die.
"I'm willing to try for you. It's your choice."
They both knew it wasn't true. John had chosen already, years ago.
And so had Hendricks.
He yanked John towards him, ripping John's suit with his hands. The fabric gave away under his fingers. The sound of the seams tearing traveled directly to Hendricks' cock. He kissed John as if his life depended on it, claiming every piece of John's mouth he could reach. John was just as violent. He canted his hips, humping Hendricks thigh and jerked forward.
Hendricks shoulder throbbed, but he didn't care. He muffled his moans of pain against John's mouth and bit at John's lower lip in retaliation.
It was as if a dam had broken.
They clawed at each other, biting, hurting, marking, wanting to leave scars that would never fade. Hendricks used his superior strength to turn John around, pushing him against the nearest wall. He yanked down John's pants and boxers and pushed two fingers into John's ass, relishing the surprised whimper that escaped John's lips.
Hendricks wanted John to feel it. He scissored his fingers, pushing past the resistance, forcing John to open up for him.
"Now, now, now," John was chanting. "Don't waste time prepping me. Just fuck me now. I want it to hurt."
Hendricks obliged him. He couldn't not give John what he wanted. Never had been able to. He shoved his cock into John in one vicious thrust. It burned. John's ass was dry and impossibly tight, not enough preparation to make it comfortable for either of them. This wasn't about comfort, though. Hendricks thought that maybe, years ago, their last time would've been soft and careful, filled with bittersweet words and tenderness. They weren't those men any longer. Why should this be any less brutal, any less painful than their lives?
He bit down on John's neck and pushed forward.
"Fucking bastard, give it to me," John snarled, voice distorted with grief, but he pushed back with equal force, meeting each of Hendricks' trusts. "Come on, come on, come on," John panted, desperate.
Hendricks grabbed John's cock with his right hand and jerked him roughly, with the same fast, punishing rhythm he was using on John's ass. John screamed and lurched against him, coming and coming, until he was empty. Hendricks cleaned his wet hand on John's hair. He yanked John's head back, forcing John's back into an awkward angle that allowed him to slip into John even deeper.
"Please," John whispered in a ragged breath. Hendricks didn't know if it was a plea for Hendricks to stop or for him to continue. He realized with something like revulsion that he didn't care either way. Hendricks let go of John's hair and pressed him against the wall. He spread John's ass with his hands farther apart and fucked into him, grounding himself into John with sharp, deep strokes until his orgasm seized him. Its intensity took him by surprise. He fell on John's back, limp and useless. Wrung dry and empty.
John stirred beneath him, bringing him back to reality. Hendricks forced himself to pull away. His cock was sore from the dry friction. The rims of John's ass didn't look much better. Come leaked out of John's battered hole and dripped down his inner thigh. Hendricks closed his eyes against the image; it was almost enough to break him.
When he opened his eyes again, John had already turned around and was uselessly trying to salvage the remains of his suit.
Hendricks took a step back. "You should take a shower," he said, strangely proud of how steady his voice sounded to his own ears. "I'll bring you a new suit."
"J—" John started to say, but Hendricks stopped him, clasping his hand over John's mouth, before he could say Hendricks' name.
"No," he said. "It was me or the city. You don't get to call me by name. Not now. Not ever. Just Mr. Hendricks. You wanted me to be just your bodyguard. Then that's all I'll be for you. You're my boss, Mr. Marcone, nothing more. That's the price you pay for Chicago."
John closed his eyes and nodded.
Hendricks stepped away.
John waited until he was at the door to call him. "Mr. Hendricks." It hurt, but it was better that way. The formality would remind Hendricks that he was no longer allowed to have this. "After you bring me my clothes make sure to have a car ready. I have a meeting with one of Vargassi's men at two o'clock. Rumor has it he wants to change masters."
"Yes, Boss." Hendricks gave a curt nod and left.
Beneath them, Chicago pulsed with life, cold, dirty, suffering through yet another unforgiving winter. Hendricks wanted to hate her, this gray lady that had stolen John away from him. He wondered if one day John would find someone who loved this broken city as much as John himself did, someone willing to sacrifice everything for her. Life, love, happiness. Maybe by then, seeing John choose somebody else wouldn't hurt as much.
Re: Fill: The last time 1/1
Date: 2011-03-14 04:38 am (UTC)Re: Fill: The last time 1/1
Date: 2011-03-15 11:44 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: The last time 1/1
Date: 2011-03-17 12:20 pm (UTC)