Heart Breaker

[notjustaface]

It was an easy gig, by their standards at least. They all had their assignments - Face was saddled with his specialty, scamming two days in a suite in Vegas that was well beyond their budget. There were a few ways he could go about it, before things got deep he wouldn't have batted an eye at the thought of seducing some high roller and swiping a key and credit card number. But, things were different. He had to work harder, to get as many leads as he could and carefully select his mark.

Tiffany Connors, a name he won't forget after what he did, came up the most obvious for the scam. Twenty-two, maid of honor for a wedding party that had gotten pretty out of control the night before. According to the night staff he'd hung out with at the blackjack table, being rather generous with cigarettes and drinks for a steady stream of information that seemed worthless to them, they were planning on kicking them out but her Daddy had a standing reservation that sat empty half the year - and they weren't about to lose his business over a daughter that couldn't stay in line.

Of course, they didn't know how to deal with her type - he was pretty sure he did. Sure enough that when he put on his good suit and brass tag calling himself 'Michael Ashton, Manager' he figured they'd be setting up shop by afternoon. If only things went that easily.

"Miss Connors?" He called, knocking loudly at the door with an air of polite authority. "Management, please open up." Several requests and a loud scream of annoyance later, she opened the door in a silk kimono that barely covered her pale, flawless skin.

"What?" She demanded, raking her fingers through her long, dark, bedraggled hair. "What the fuck do you want?"

Drawing on the authority of his assumed position, Face pushed himself into the room and closed the door behind him when she only glared. "Thank you, Miss Connors... I've, uh, I spoke with the night manager this morning and it seems there were a few complaints from other guests about the noise level in your suite last night..."

"Oh fuck them. My sister's getting married!"

"I understand, but the problem is that your father did not authorize charges for damages made on this suite and..."

"Come on... it's not that bad..." the young woman frowned, her shoulders slumping low enough to show the pink flash of a nipple peeking out from under black silk.

Forcing himself to remain on task - and definitely not to look - Face assessed the obvious damage he could see just from the entry way. It was time for the kicker. "I understand, Miss. I'll go ahead and contact your father about covering this... it shouldn't be more than four or five thousand."

"No!" She shrieked, grabbing him by the wrist as he turned to leave. An instinctive smile crossed his lips, she'd been even easier than he'd expected. "Please! You can't tell Daddy we were here... he'd flip..."

"I'm sorry, but someone has to pay for the damages." He turned back toward her, flashing steady blue eyes that had charmed so many.

The girl looked like she was about to cry, but instead she asked; "Just wait, okay? Go sit on the couch and I'll get my purse. I can pay cash."

"Of course, Miss Connors." He obeyed, casually sitting in the corner of the couch where various articles of clothing and an empty wine bottle had been tossed on the opposite end. Whatever they'd done the night before, it sure had been a hell of a party.

"Call me Tiff," she smiled, returning with a small pink clutch. "Look, I know this looks really bad... but you've gotta understand, my Dad's a real tight-ass..."

"Oh, I understand... no problem..." Face shook his head, his voice stopping dead in his throat when she unexpectedly straddled his lap, pushing him back against the sofa. "Miss... Tiff..."

"You're cute, you know that? You look way too young to be the manager..."

"You... you still have to pay for this, I can't make any kind of..." he stammered, fighting the combination of his confidence and suppressing his libido when faced with a mostly naked very attractive woman in his lap; "...deal..." his voice cracked, lifting high when she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him.

"I'll pay..." she whispered, tossing aside her purse before sliding something thick and hard in his pocket. "I just want to thank you for keeping this between us without Daddy finding out..."

"N... no problem, no... no thanks needed."

Grinning like a tiger on it's prey, the girl let both shoulders of her kimono drop, showing the perfect slopes of her bare breasts without pause. "Come on, Mister... Ashton..." she flicked his name badge, grinding down against him hard enough to make him ache. "Let me thank you."

"I... I really can't..." he sighed, already feeling the rise of his cock as her small hands tugged at his pants. "I'm... I'm gay. Really. Really gay."

"So not gay," she rolled her eyes, yanking open his fly to grab his growing manhood. "Don't be shy, man... I won't tell if you don't."

"No..." he whimpered, biting down into his lower lip - knowing full and well things were getting out of control. "I... I have a boyfriend and I... love him so fucking much..." She squeezed his cock hard, stroking the cotton of his briefs over the thick shaft to draw out a silencing moan.

"Let me give you what he can't..." She grinned, grabbing his hand and forcing it under the fine silk. What he felt was softer than silk, softer than he ever remembered the warm slide of a smooth mound under his fingertips.

She was warm, wet... ready to have him even though he just walked in. "Jesus..." he moaned, flushing hot. "I... I really... really..."

"Want to fuck me?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. His fingers shifted forward, stroking over her slit and she let out a soft, pornographic groan.

"God yes."

***

He stayed with her a few hours... a few long, really athletic hours that left him aching in more ways than one when he left to her promises that she'd be out of the room by two o'clock and nobody ever had to know that Mister Connors' room had been trashed the night before. Finding the last cigarette in the pack he'd brought to the tables the night before, he took his first puff in a decade to try and calm his frayed, guilty nerves.

An hour and three shots later, he texted Hannibal with the room number and location of the key Tiffany had given him to 'personally service the room'. He couldn't go back yet, he couldn't face Murdock and explain just how he'd not only scored an excellent room but a nice stack of cash to go along with it. He could smell her on him, the clinging reek of sex and shame.

Only strong whiskey could cover it up.

Comments

[notjustaface]

Crossing one arm over his bloody shirt, Face sighs.

"No, not really." He tries to steer back toward the van; "I should probably eat something... I haven't eaten since... since we had breakfast the other day. I think."

[notthatcrazy]

"Saw a diner a ways back, we can get somethin' there."

They are going to discuss things, come hell or high water.

[notjustaface]

He doesn't answer, doesn't need to really. It doesn't help that he's pretty sure anything he has to say will only make things worse than they already are.

The diner's quiet but small enough that he hopes Murdock won't make a scene while he buys time before having to go back to the hotel.

[notthatcrazy]

He gives the waitress a defiant look when she looks questioningly at his bloody shirt.

"You should see the other guy."

They sit in silence until the food arrives, which is when he finally pipes up again.

"Shit, man... not eatin' for days, drinkin' til your liver tries to wave a white flag and surrender..."

He chews on a french fry for a moment.

"You really hate yourself that much?"

[notjustaface]

Silence is a good go-to, even if it gives them both time to stew.

He answers quietly, after a few bites of a burger he can't really taste.

"You don't?"

[notthatcrazy]

"I spent the last two days not knowin' if you were alive or dead."

He lets that hang there for a moment.

"I'm mad at you. I don't hate you."

[notjustaface]

Staring down at his hands, he lets out a hollow sigh.

"I fucked up." He swallows hard, still tasting blood and bile. "And I couldn't look at you. I... I just wanted to make it go away."

He'd thought about lying, about going back and acting like nothing had happened and that only made it hurt worse - knowing that he could pull it off. Murdock would never question him.

[notthatcrazy]

He rests a hand next to his on the table, not quite touching but close to it.

"Look... I don't know exactly what to think about this right now. But I can tell you that no matter how bad you hurt me, losing you would hurt worse."

He catches his eye again.

"Can you try to remember that next time you wanna go all self-destructive on me?"

[notjustaface]

It hurts not to touch him, but it would hurt even worse if he pulled away.

"And what about the next time? What about when I fuck up again and hurt you again?"

[notthatcrazy]

"You think it'll happen again?"

It hurts like hell to admit, but he can't deny the possibility.

"Shit... you tried to warn me but I never really understood."

Just like Face had never really understood his craziness until they were dealing with a full-on breakdown.

[notjustaface]

Forcing himself to look up, focusing on his mouth to avoid his eyes, Face swallows hard and says; "I can't promise you it won't."

And it hurts to say it even more than every warning he's ever given because he really does try.

"I really did try," the crack in his voice is almost as telling as the way he looks down at his meal. "I just... she was naked and she came on really strong and I guess part of me just went back to the way I used to be, you know?"

[notthatcrazy]

It would be easy to think that she hadn't given him much of a choice, but he knows that's not the whole truth. On some level he wanted it, and it's tearing him up inside now.

"Right now I'm more worried about the fact that you ran off on me."

He swallows, fighting back the tears that are finally welling up.

"I didn't know if you'd been caught, if you were hurt, or... or just... gone."

He could have left without saying a word, and that scares the hell out of him.

[notjustaface]

He takes a long time to answer, because he knows Murdock's right and nothing he can say would make it any better.

"If I had called or come back, we both know I would have just lied my ass off." Finally looking him in the eyes again, forcing himself to hurt because he knows he deserves it, he says; "This time yesterday I was puking in a garbage can and washing it down with the liquid courage to come home and tell you I fucked up the best thing that's ever happened to me over a girl who thought I was a hotel manager."

[notthatcrazy]

He wants to tell him he hasn't, that they'll find a way to get through this, but he can't find the words. And he probably wouldn't believe them even if he could. He rests his head in his hands, riding out the tears.

After a few moments, he wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Can we go back now? I'm tired."

He hasn't slept in days and it's starting to show.

[notjustaface]

For a moment, Face reaches out to him - stopping just short of touching his jacket before pulling away.

This was the part he didn't want to deal with. It's the part he can't do a damn thing about because it's all his fault that Murdock's crying and angry.

"Yeah, yeah..." he nods, shoving the last of his fries down with a swig of water. "I could probably use the sleep too."

[notthatcrazy]

He flinches as he shies away from the touch. The truth is, he still needs that contact, even though he's still upset.

"Yeah... let's go."

Neither of them are really in a fit state to drive and it's a wonder they actually make it back to the hotel in one piece, but pretty soon they're in the elevator again.

[notjustaface]

There's blood on the elevator floor that Face makes the effort to cover with his large shoe - Murdock doesn't need to see it.

Going back into the suite isn't easy on him, but he tries not to let it show - getting the impression that if Murdock knew the only thing between the bed he was throwing himself on and where he'd gotten his second wind with Tiffany was clean sheets... He probably wouldn't sleep at all.

He can hear the others in the suite and makes a show of slamming the door between them.

"Can I sleep next to you?" He asks hesitantly as he peels off his bloody shirt.

[notthatcrazy]

That fact hasn't even occurred to him yet... which is probably just as well.

"Yeah."

He's too tired to argue, and hurting too much to sleep alone.

"Still mad at you, though."

Just to make that clear.

[notjustaface]

"I know." He replies quickly, changing into a clean t-shirt and underwear, rinsing off the stench of booze and blood can come later.

It takes a few minutes for him to get bold enough to even get in bed with him, and when he does, he makes a point of sticking along the edge with his back turned toward him.

He won't push no matter how badly he wants to be close, he owes Murdock more than acting like he should just forgive and forget.

[notthatcrazy]

The room's almost as much of a mess as they are at this point - things had been scattered everywhere during the last two frantic, panic-filled days. A bottle of his meds sits prominently on the bedside table, placed there by Hannibal so he wouldn't make things worse by neglecting to take them.

"I just... can't believe you'd rather run away than talk to me."

That's not exactly the truth. He can believe it, but he's never going to forget him saying he should have died in that motel room. Even taking drunken hyperbole into account, it terrifies him. For a few moments, he wants to go back in time and scream at everyone who's ever left him - Sosa, his foster families, even his parents, whoever they were. Everyone who hurt him and convinced him he's not worth loving.

Slowly, he scoots toward him, back still turned, until they're just barely touching. It's all he can bring himself to allow.

[notjustaface]

He doesn't respond at first, but the slight brush of Murdock's shirt against him triggers the part of his brain capable of honest-to-god admissions.

"You've never had to tell the only person who loves you that you're a piece of shit."

[notthatcrazy]

He sighs.

"I don't think you're a piece of shit."

Because apparently that needs to be said.

"Don't ever leave me like that again."

[notjustaface]

He disagrees, but doesn't want to argue when it feels like a spike's been driven into his skull.

"If I fuck this up any worse than I already have, I'm pretty sure a two day whiskey binge won't make things any better." If he does it again, there won't be anything left worth fixing.

[notthatcrazy]

"If you fuck up again, we'll deal with it."

He meant it when he said he wasn't going to let him throw this away. They both need each other too much.

"Get some sleep. I'll be here."

[notjustaface]

He can try, but he can't sleep. Part of him can still smell her and feel her - and as good as it had felt in that moment, now it makes him sick to him stomach.

Still, part of him feels like he's getting off easy.

"I'm so fucking sorry, I can't even tell you how much I wish I could take it back," he whispers when he hears Murdock's soft snores, eyes focused on the overnight bag where he'd stashed the money to turn over later and Murdock's rings for when - if - he wanted them back.