A Killer's Lover

14

A/N: rude language warning

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The last thing that Scott could remember was carrying a sleeping Mitch up into a hotel room. The memory card in his head from the night before drew a blank after that.

So basically, he had no idea how he'd gotten down to his underwear, towels were all on the ground in various places, and his own guest was asleep in his arms.

He felt his heartbeat quicken, and his first immediate urge was to pull away as to not disturb the sleeping boy.

But then he took a closer look at Mitch's sweet face; the way small hairs from his shaved head tickled Scott's bicep, the way his mouth hung partly open, the way his young features remained at peace when focused on in the moon's soft light...

Scott moved a bit closer.

The conversations, the pier, and the kiss flooded back into his head, and suddenly he felt nausea flooding though his veins.

The memories of the constant struggle against the Grassi brand made him shiver. Grassi sent hitmen, he sent spies, he sent fake "escape" missions to get the agency off his back. People from both sides died.

But Grassi always had that same dumb joke. And that joke sent an icy wave of regret through Scott's body.

"Now sir, I'm a family kind of guy," the man said, noticeably picking up certain documents and putting them at the back of the room.

Scott, seventeen, watched as Rick, his father, followed the man with his eyes -and his gun.

"Enough pissy talk, Grassi. Where's my damn money?"

Scott didn't even flinch at the attitude in which his father performed. In fact, he found it kind of fascinating to hear him talk about more than alcohol and hot Hooter waitresses.

"Money? Money doesn't buy family, and life, my good sir." Grassi motioned toward Scott, and Scott thought it best to scowl back.

"Look at that boy! So young, and yet so lethal. He'll be in your clan by the time he's twenty. Shame."

"Don't talk about my boy!" Rick snarled, closing half the distance between he and his target. "Give me the money, or I'll shoot you in your face." It was a bit unnerving, to say the least.

Grassi smiled, before sitting down at his desk.

"I spent your loans to me on my company. You'd have to take my company from me to get it back."

Scott didn't understand why the target looked so calm. Maybe he was just putting on a brave face.

He didn't get it, but his father did.

"You're gonna give me the damn key to your company."

"Doesn't work like that, Hoying." And then Scott felt an arm wrapping tightly around his neck, causing him to drop his gun. It happened quickly, and in seconds, he felt himself gasping for air.

Through his starry vision, he could see another man, tall and broad, going after his father's weapon. In this helpless moment, his father's face said everything.

"I plan on holding the two of you for ransom, or better yet, making an example for the rest of your clan." Grassi stood up, coming closer to the younger man.

"They won't pay you shit. I die for the cause, but he's just a trainee," Rick's voice struggled out.

"Ah," the enemy said with a thoughtful tone. He signaled the man holding Scott to loosen his grip. The boy took a much-needed gasp for air.

"My son," said he, "looks like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

That memory was one that he wished he didn't have to remember. The pair escaped in time, but his father made sure to punish him for not keeping watch.

And yet, it felt kind of good to stick it back to the man who had ruined his chances of a normal life.

Of course, the confusion and the revenge...it didn't add up.

What came after made Scott feel sick to his stomach. But...Mitch was here. Right here, sleeping in his arms.

What happened all those years ago in that alley must have failed. Nonetheless, he hadn't recognized Mitch, and vice versa.

Maybe he wouldn't have to explain.

Mitch stirred. Scott instantly shifted his focus. After he knew that the boy wasn't going to wake up, he let his mind wander.

He wondered if Grassi really cared about his own son. The plan hadn't worked like he and his father thought it would. If he were to walk into the mastermind of a building with Mitch in tow; he can't lie...he thought about getting revenge for a fraction of a second.

But then he remembered who he was thinking about.

Mitch was the first person -that wasn't a murderer- to make Scott feel normal. He ignited Scott's most human emotions, the ones that the man had mastered the art of keeping back. Sure, he didn't really know the real man that he slept beside, kissed, touched.

But in time...would that even matter?

Scott let himself be comfortable again, pulling Mitch closer into his body.

Yesterday, Scott was unsure. Tomorrow, he would have to figure out what to do. But tonight, he just wanted to be normal.

Gay, and wonderful, and normal for tonight only.

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