o10: with you
sundaysnuggles, [here].
SUMMARY: JUN'S FINALLY LET HIS BUTLER, CHESTER, BE HIS SIDEKICK. ONE NIGHT AFTER A HARD NIGHT'S WORK, THOUGH, ALL JUN WANTS TO DO IS HAVE A LITTLE DANCE.
WARNING: h/c, descriptions of bruising.
NOTE: SAME CHARACTERS AS oo2.
Chester took up the pack of ice when Jun put it down, touching it to the bruise on his chin, stretching his jaw slowly to gauge the extent of the damage; it felt cracked, made of sharp splinters and heavy. There was a length of bruising on his ribs too, straining every time he breathed, and some of his fingers were jammed. But otherwise, he was no worse for the wear.
It was looking at Jun, all beat to hell, that was the real bullet. It always was.
"That was some good showmanship tonight, Chester." Jun reached around his back with a wince, undoing the buckles of his disguise. Already, his gloves and mask sat like skins on the table, his hair a mess and purple blotting up on his face too, a mark of kinship. There'd be no way to cover up his split lip for the conference meeting tomorrow. What would he say to them? How would the pictures look in the papers? The last time he'd shown a face like that, the press had jumped all over him. They'd dubbed him Jailhouse Jun, and Chester had spent the better part of a day trying to keep him from seeing the front pages, with no success.
"I had no idea you could do such damage with an umbrella. Remind me to watch my words around you on rainy days..."
"One of the many butler codes. Should I help you along with that, sir?"
"No, I've got it, thank you." Jun's grin seemed vulnerable with the cut in it. He dragged the neck of his suit down over his shoulders, just a bare glimpse of skin, the broadness of his arms, the strong line of his collar. "I just need a bit of a breather."
"Very good, sir. I'll warm some food and put on a pot of coffee. You missed dinner."
"There's no need, Chester."
"You missed dinner," Chester said again, firmer. He got up and started for the kitchen, but Jun's hand culled him back, gentle and solid, strangely romantic in the bitter aftertaste of fighting. It made Chester want to push back against him relentlessly, hoist Jun up on the table, get him under his fingers to sew his wounds and indulge him, take him to bed as he had that one night weeks ago, where there was everything but sleep until late the next morning.
All that in one warm hand.
"You sound like my mother."
"I do worry about you like one, sir. You make it very easy."
Jun took the ice pack back from him and set it against his mouth, covering over a smirk. "I worry about you, too."
"That's... Very good, sir." Sometimes that was all he could trust himself to say.
"Actually," Jun let him go. "Would you mind turning on my father's old record player before you get dinner?"
That was a surprising request. It was an easy observation to make, how Jun went to great lengths to avoid anything to do with his parents. Just living in their house was enough reminder that he didn't want to be reminded, and when Chester had first started working as his butler, he'd struck up a deal with himself to do everything in his power to make Jun's life as unburdened as possible, for as long as Jun'd let him.
Chester nodded. "Not at all, sir. What record would you like to hear?"
"There was one my mother used to play whenever she wanted my dad to dance with her..." Chester turned for the player as Jun went silent trying to pull it from memory.
"When I give my heart, it will be completely," he sang, hoarse and timid, but charming because it was him and Chester had never thought he’d hear something like that from him, of all people. It made him a new person, for a moment, a new person for Chester to see. "Or I'll never something..."
"I think you're looking for Nat King Cole, sir."
"Right. How could I forget."
The record was already on the turntable when Chester opened the lid.
*
He heard Jun start the song over three times, while he readied a plate of lasagna and cup of coffee. Something about it soured the air to melancholy, worse and worse each time he heard the needle scratch and Nat King Cole come in again from the beginning. It made him hurry, made him sloppy and anxious.
When he brought the tray out to serve Jun, Jun was standing at the player, the top half of his bodysuit completely off and melted over his thighs. There were ugly black and blue chew marks all up and down his back, from where Terror had slammed him into the edge of the Startouch building roof over and over and over again.
The tray was shaking suddenly. "Sir, dinner." Chester set it down at the head of the table before he could throw it, moving toward the dish cabinet to get a matchbook for the candles.
It took several tries and several matches until he managed to light one without snapping it in his fingers first. He could feel Jun watching him lazily from the middle of the empty floor, feel the way he'd started swaying on his feet, from the music or the drug of fatigue, or just for something to do to wind himself down the rest of the way.
"Don't tell the press rags... I always wanted to dance with someone to this, like they did."
Chester got the last candle lit and looked up at him, cut to the core.
"I-- I'd be happy to oblige, sir. If you still want." Obliging wasn't the half of it.
"Would you?" Jun muttered. He opened his arms up easily then, like he'd expected it, planned it. Demanding, almost. "Come here, then."
Chester glanced at the dinner and coffee -- probably already sporting a layer of lukewarmth -- and set down the matchbook in favor of veering slowly round the table edge, as though he might spook Jun or spoil him to the moment if he were too quick. He swept at the front of his suit sheepishly, knuckled over the sore spot on his chin. They'd been dragged through the dirt tonight, and he still cared how he came across, same as ever.
Jun's arms went around him first, pulling him in strong where he was unsure. He took his time putting his hands on Jun, though, cautious to the point that Jun eventually just grabbed them and wrapped them low around his waist with a chuckle, eyes soft on him.
"I never remember how shy you really are."
“Well.” Chester turned his red face down, only barely saved himself stepping on Jun's feet when Jun leaned in and buried his lips under the hook of his jaw, started humming the song into his throat.
"...I," he got quiet a minute, 'very good, sir' in the back of his mind on reserve, inappropriate. If he could keep Jun like this forever, nothing else would ever matter. "I'll try not to step on your feet, sir."
Jun just went pliant against him, like he might go to sleep any second.
[the song: When I Fall in Love - Nat King Cole]
SUMMARY: JUN'S FINALLY LET HIS BUTLER, CHESTER, BE HIS SIDEKICK. ONE NIGHT AFTER A HARD NIGHT'S WORK, THOUGH, ALL JUN WANTS TO DO IS HAVE A LITTLE DANCE.
WARNING: h/c, descriptions of bruising.
NOTE: SAME CHARACTERS AS oo2.
Chester took up the pack of ice when Jun put it down, touching it to the bruise on his chin, stretching his jaw slowly to gauge the extent of the damage; it felt cracked, made of sharp splinters and heavy. There was a length of bruising on his ribs too, straining every time he breathed, and some of his fingers were jammed. But otherwise, he was no worse for the wear.
It was looking at Jun, all beat to hell, that was the real bullet. It always was.
"That was some good showmanship tonight, Chester." Jun reached around his back with a wince, undoing the buckles of his disguise. Already, his gloves and mask sat like skins on the table, his hair a mess and purple blotting up on his face too, a mark of kinship. There'd be no way to cover up his split lip for the conference meeting tomorrow. What would he say to them? How would the pictures look in the papers? The last time he'd shown a face like that, the press had jumped all over him. They'd dubbed him Jailhouse Jun, and Chester had spent the better part of a day trying to keep him from seeing the front pages, with no success.
"I had no idea you could do such damage with an umbrella. Remind me to watch my words around you on rainy days..."
"One of the many butler codes. Should I help you along with that, sir?"
"No, I've got it, thank you." Jun's grin seemed vulnerable with the cut in it. He dragged the neck of his suit down over his shoulders, just a bare glimpse of skin, the broadness of his arms, the strong line of his collar. "I just need a bit of a breather."
"Very good, sir. I'll warm some food and put on a pot of coffee. You missed dinner."
"There's no need, Chester."
"You missed dinner," Chester said again, firmer. He got up and started for the kitchen, but Jun's hand culled him back, gentle and solid, strangely romantic in the bitter aftertaste of fighting. It made Chester want to push back against him relentlessly, hoist Jun up on the table, get him under his fingers to sew his wounds and indulge him, take him to bed as he had that one night weeks ago, where there was everything but sleep until late the next morning.
All that in one warm hand.
"You sound like my mother."
"I do worry about you like one, sir. You make it very easy."
Jun took the ice pack back from him and set it against his mouth, covering over a smirk. "I worry about you, too."
"That's... Very good, sir." Sometimes that was all he could trust himself to say.
"Actually," Jun let him go. "Would you mind turning on my father's old record player before you get dinner?"
That was a surprising request. It was an easy observation to make, how Jun went to great lengths to avoid anything to do with his parents. Just living in their house was enough reminder that he didn't want to be reminded, and when Chester had first started working as his butler, he'd struck up a deal with himself to do everything in his power to make Jun's life as unburdened as possible, for as long as Jun'd let him.
Chester nodded. "Not at all, sir. What record would you like to hear?"
"There was one my mother used to play whenever she wanted my dad to dance with her..." Chester turned for the player as Jun went silent trying to pull it from memory.
"When I give my heart, it will be completely," he sang, hoarse and timid, but charming because it was him and Chester had never thought he’d hear something like that from him, of all people. It made him a new person, for a moment, a new person for Chester to see. "Or I'll never something..."
"I think you're looking for Nat King Cole, sir."
"Right. How could I forget."
The record was already on the turntable when Chester opened the lid.
*
He heard Jun start the song over three times, while he readied a plate of lasagna and cup of coffee. Something about it soured the air to melancholy, worse and worse each time he heard the needle scratch and Nat King Cole come in again from the beginning. It made him hurry, made him sloppy and anxious.
When he brought the tray out to serve Jun, Jun was standing at the player, the top half of his bodysuit completely off and melted over his thighs. There were ugly black and blue chew marks all up and down his back, from where Terror had slammed him into the edge of the Startouch building roof over and over and over again.
The tray was shaking suddenly. "Sir, dinner." Chester set it down at the head of the table before he could throw it, moving toward the dish cabinet to get a matchbook for the candles.
It took several tries and several matches until he managed to light one without snapping it in his fingers first. He could feel Jun watching him lazily from the middle of the empty floor, feel the way he'd started swaying on his feet, from the music or the drug of fatigue, or just for something to do to wind himself down the rest of the way.
"Don't tell the press rags... I always wanted to dance with someone to this, like they did."
Chester got the last candle lit and looked up at him, cut to the core.
"I-- I'd be happy to oblige, sir. If you still want." Obliging wasn't the half of it.
"Would you?" Jun muttered. He opened his arms up easily then, like he'd expected it, planned it. Demanding, almost. "Come here, then."
Chester glanced at the dinner and coffee -- probably already sporting a layer of lukewarmth -- and set down the matchbook in favor of veering slowly round the table edge, as though he might spook Jun or spoil him to the moment if he were too quick. He swept at the front of his suit sheepishly, knuckled over the sore spot on his chin. They'd been dragged through the dirt tonight, and he still cared how he came across, same as ever.
Jun's arms went around him first, pulling him in strong where he was unsure. He took his time putting his hands on Jun, though, cautious to the point that Jun eventually just grabbed them and wrapped them low around his waist with a chuckle, eyes soft on him.
"I never remember how shy you really are."
“Well.” Chester turned his red face down, only barely saved himself stepping on Jun's feet when Jun leaned in and buried his lips under the hook of his jaw, started humming the song into his throat.
"...I," he got quiet a minute, 'very good, sir' in the back of his mind on reserve, inappropriate. If he could keep Jun like this forever, nothing else would ever matter. "I'll try not to step on your feet, sir."
Jun just went pliant against him, like he might go to sleep any second.
[the song: When I Fall in Love - Nat King Cole]