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Hard as Nails, Soft as Silk

Chapter Text

In the darkness of the Administrator's office, John Wick stared at the Administrator and the Administrator stared back.

When he had been ordered to meet with one after his reinstatement as a servant to the High Table, Wick had been less than pleased. He hated bureaucrats, especially those whom had sold their souls to the organization he had once blessedly escaped from. All it took was one dead puppy, however, and somehow he had managed to fall back into the High Table's greedy, blood-stained hands and sin soaked soul.

And John Wick had willingly chosen to sell his own soul, as well, so that he could stay alive in order to remember his dead wife, Helen.

Thinking about her, it made having to endure the pencil pusher's cold and critical lecture bearable.

The Administrator was a short man but his desk was on a raised bit of platform so he could look down his bespectacled nose at anyone misfortunate enough to have to cross his path. His face and body was covered in tattoos and piercings as all workers in his field were required to be. He possessed greenish blue eyes and wore his long black hair gathered at the back of his head in a bun. His look was what would happen if a confused and single focused mirror was met by a steampunk, a goth and a nerd, and not knowing whom to reflect, had merged all three together. The Administrator was hard as nails, cold as a Canadian winter and as unmovable as a mountain.

While usually those in Administration limited their conversations to very few words, this Administrator was hurling a plethora of very nasty and insulting ones at John Wick. The pierced man did it in a flat tone, all the emotions having been stripped away from it, assumably so the man could be proficient and of outstanding service to his employers: the High Table.

That the bureaucrat had sworn his allegiance to such a group of twelve vipers, possibly represented further by the snake bites, made the assassin hate the Administrator all the more. 

"I advised my employers, Mr. Wick, that I did not approve of their decision to reinstate you. You have shown your disloyalty to this respectable organization time and time again and also seriously depleted are selection of trusted workers," the Administrator stated reservedly. "We cannot trust you and what worth is an employee if he cannot be trusted?"

"But you approved the papers?" Wick hissed past his clenched teeth.

The bureaucrat looked at him sourly as if he had just taken a sip from a glass of sugarless lemonade. "Yes I did."

"And why did you do that?" the Baba Yaga asked knowing the answer and gaining joy from making the High Table servant upset.

"I did it because I was told to do it," the pencil pusher replied. "You see, Mr. Wick, I follow orders far more efficiently then you."

His barb had been thrown back in his direction, and John was not pleased.

Still the Administrator refused to show even smug victory and continued with his cold lecture. "You have already chosen to leave the world of the High Table once before. Why you would leave it when it had cared and fended for you so long is a disgrace and proof of your flippant nature."

"I fell in love," the Baba Yaga defended.

The Administrator set forth an unconvincing sound that may have been a laugh but only showed his state of being unimpressed.

"Haven't you ever been in love?" John Wick asked and there was more than a little pity in his voice for he suspected that the answer was 'no.'

"I have the High Table," the pierced man answered frostily. "I have no need for something as antiquated a notion as love."

"Oh I forgot. You are right," the assassin sneered. "There is no room for love among the twelve who sit at the table. They'd all just as easily stab each other in the back. Yet you have the nerve to talk to me about loyalty? You're little else than an appendage to them; you stand behind that desk and stamp away the lives of people you don't even know and you're paid very well to not give a damn."

"Oh I've known a few of them," the Administrator icily and without care corrected.

"Congratulations," John Wick spat. 

"Thank you," the bureaucrat smirked.

"And do you think they'd hesitate to 'retire' you if the need arises?" Wick inquired.

"I wonder," the Administrator asked as he stood above John Wick in his impersonal and professional office, smoke arising from a cigarette or some other dying flame or source of heat on his desk, a look of absolute hatred on his pierced face, "why you came back to us then."

"I came back because I had nowhere else to go," John Wick answered.

Their eyes locked again in deep and heated silence, the Administrator turned once more to the papers on his desk and started to study them; just as he had been doing before the hitman's arrival.

"You can go now," the bureaucrat stated after stamping a file and placing it on the right side of his desk. It would sit there until an Operator would show up to take it to the file archive.

John turned and headed out of the office He was almost out of its inner sanctum when he heard the Administrator address him one more time.

"I hope to see more of you, John Wick. You have a very nice ass."

The Baba Yaga turned around, eyes furrowed in confusion over what he had just heard but found the bureaucrat still attentively studying the files he needed to approve. He did not raise his head nor look at him once.

Wick hurried out of the office.

Although he could not be certain, John Wick felt like he had just been sexually harassed by the man known as the Administrator.

And he could not understand, for the life of him, why.

Chapter Text

In the safety of his room at the Continental, John Wick replayed the conversation that had taken place with the Administrator, close to an hour ago, over and over again in his mind. He kept thinking that he must have heard the other man wrong. There was no way he could have finished the meeting by telling him that he had a nice ass. The Administrator was ice. He probably did not get kissed often because people feared that their tongues would stick to him like what happened with steel in winter. He seemed to look down on humanity in general and possessed not a shred of human kindness and decency.

The man also obviously loathed him with every cold blooded vein in his reptilian body. From the moment he had first set foot inside the smokey office, all that he had done was ridicule and taunt him. The Administrator seemed offended by his mere acceptance into the organization he seemed to venerate.

It had to be a joke; some simple remark meant to further humiliate him and keep him off balance. Nothing more than another little tactic to get revenge for leaving and betraying the High Table.

Still, John Wick felt a strong and urgent need to get a drink. Going to the Continental's bar, the assassin passed Winston whom nodded as if he hadn't tried to shoot him and hadn't knocked him off of the hotel's roof. He also passed Cassian, whom he nodded at and pretended that he hadn't shot a hole in the head of his lover and then pierced the man's own aorta. The Continental was like that; sins were to be forgiven and forgotten under its hallowed roof. It was once more consecrated ground after all. Still you could usually feel old resentments, rivalries and wounds boiling under its seemingly peaceful surface. Only people like those twelve whom sat at the Table and Adjudicators managed to keep it in line.

Administrators as well.

The club part of the bar was already heavily populated. Various assassins and servants for the High Table were dancing or socializing. Most of it seemed sexually based while some of it merely a casual unwinding. John Wick, while not particularly shy, hated it. He was a lone wolf by nature and crowds were as far apart from being his scene as the North Pole was to the South. He could have easily called up room service for a drink, Wick realized, and saved himself the discomfort but he knew that he had not come for the Whiskey alone. He needed some answers.

Addy was busy tending the bar just as he had hoped. A pretty bartender with a quick wit and agile mind she also was well acquainted with nearly everybody in the business. John Wick was hoping that she would know a bit about the man known as the Administrator and could help to shed some light on his odd behaviour.

"Hello John," she greeted. "What's your poison? We see far too little of you since you set up house."

"The usual," the assassin stated. He waited until the woman had poured his drink and he had finished it before he set about the real reason why he had come. "Addy, I was at Administration today."

The bartender frowned in pity. "Poor you. That's never fun. Bureaucrats and red tape are enough to drive anybody to drink. Believe me, I have seen it."

John offered a smile for her humour and then continued unabated. "Do you know one of the Administrators that works there? Short, early to middle thirties, long black hair, blue-green eyes. He has snake bites, a black smudge under his left eye, could be permanent, more piercings and tattoos, one of which seems to be a bird's wing on the right side of his neck?"

Addy thought about it for a while. "I think I've seen the guy around but he never comes in here. Sorry I couldn't be of more help. So has he been giving you a hard time since you've been back?"

"You can say that," John Wick smirked and asked as he finished his drink and tapped it against the counter top, indicating he desired a refill.

"You want to know about the boss?" a sharp and husky voice asked from the end of the bar and both Wick and Addy turned to see a platinum blonde Operator sitting there nursing a Bloody Mary. The Operator's bare shoulders displayed artwork of linked chains that held captive rabbits and she appeared to be in her middle twenties.

"I forgot you could help, Samantha," Addy smiled. "Of course, you'd know him."

The other woman laughed bitterly and took a swig from her glass. "I wish to God that I didn't. He's the worst fucking boss I have ever had."

Suddenly a raven haired Operator sat down beside the blonde and the two women started to kiss passionately as John Wick watched, wondering how they didn't get caught on each other's various piercings.

"Hey Jennifer, we were just talking about Mr. AssBurger," Samantha stated.

"Oh!" the dark haired beauty laughed. "Were you. What about?"

"John Wick was asking about him," the blonde Operator said revealing she had recognized the curious man.

"So what do you want to know about Mr. Arsetism himself?" Jennifer inquired.

"Anything," John Wick replied.

"He's an officious little prick who was spat straight out of hell in order to make our lives miserable," she informed calmly. "He occasionally yells at us but usually prefers to glare; one of his " Eyes of Nightshade" can send certain novice girls into fits of tears, which he does at least seven times a fucking week."

"What about his humour? Does he like to joke?"

"I think if he laughed his face would split in two. He's a robot. The man has no emotions except for disapproval and contempt."

"How about his love life?" Addy asked suddenly interested. She subsequently failed to catch John flinching at the question.

"If the guy has a dick we've never seen any signs of it and you have to have a heart to love: Mr. Rearserved doesn't."

"Sounds like my kind of man!" Addy remarked. "I always did have a thing for the Tin Man!"

Samantha and Jennifer both mimiced gagging.

"If he had a libido you wouldn't be his type, if you get my drift," Samantha stated.

"He isn't nearly good looking enough, either," Jennifer laughed cruelly and then turned an appreciative stare to the Baba Yaga. "As opposed to you. How about it? You want to add some sausage to an Operator pie?"

Seeing the hurt look on Samantha's face, John disliked the brunette more than just a little. "I don't think so," he replied.

A flash of anger in Jennifer's cruel eyes and relief in Samantha's could be seen before both women left the bar together.

When they were gone, Addy turned her attention back on Wick. "So why were you asking about the Administrator again anyway?"

"I think he made a pass at me," John confessed deciding to be honest.

The bartender whistled. "I guess that does mean I am really out of the running. Still, maybe you should have taken Jennifer up on her offer. She can be a real bitch...real vindictive."

"No," John Wick said, staring at the bottom of his once again empty glass. "Helen is a hard act to follow. I don't think I'll even try."

"So is this Administrator really all that ugly?"

"No. He's creepy but he's kind of cute," he said still peering at the bottom of the glass. The words were out before he knew it and when he looked up it was to find Addy studying him in shocked amusement.

"I would not follow Helen up with him either," John Wick stated, trying to remove the idea from her naughty little brain.

* * *

Back in his suite, the dreaded Baba Yaga tried to end what had been a very odd day with some sleep. It became increasingly harder as his mind replayed his conversation with the bureaucrat ad nauseum. John Wick still felt confused about it and slightly violated.

He also could not, for the life of him, figure out why he had called the unnerving little snowman cute in the face of those feelings.

"You're tired," he said to himself and dog perked his head up on the hotel room's floor thinking his master was talking to him.

There was nobody else there after all.

He was just tired, Wick thought more quietly. The stress of the last few months had finally caught up to him, as did returning to a job he had thought he had escaped. Add to it all a snake like little pencil pusher with a bug up his butt, and a brutally cold demeanor, and you had what accumulated to a massive sensory overload.

There was one silver lining to it all, John thought as he finally fell asleep: at least he would never have to see the Administrator again.

* * *

John Wick stood before the Administrator once more and cursed the man under his breath. He had received the summons to see him sometime around seven o'clock in the evening the next day. He had just begun to put the smaller man's pierced little face out of his thoughts when he had been informed that he was required to meet with the man again: same time, same place.

"Due to your highly controversial acceptance back into the fold, the High Table has decided to appoint to you a handler. They have selected me for this unenviable task," the bureaucrat informed him.

They frowned at each other, the Administrator once more from his lofty heights and the assassin from his humble place on the floor.

"Why they would choose me when the very sight of you sickens me to the core is a move I cannot even comprehend," the younger man spat.

"Really?" John Wick said and raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to see more of me. I thought you said that I have a nice ass."

The Administrator neither flinched nor blinked but remained calm and unmoving. "I can assure you, I do not know what you are talking about."

And indeed he looked so confident in his own words that Wick found himself doubting his own surety.

"I heard that you were inquiring about me yesterday, Mr. Wick," the Administrator hissed.

Remembering the look on Jennifer's face when he had rejected her and Addy's warning, the assassin knew that the Operator had rushed to tell her boss in revenge. He doubted that she had been so forthcoming telling the man of the numerous insulting nicknames she and her girlfriend had invented for him.

"My private life is my own business," the bureaucrat said looking down at the papers on his desk and slowly rearranging them. 

"From what I heard you don't have much business to attend to," John Wick stated dryly.

The bureaucrat stopped arranging papers and paused, yet he refused to look at the assassin.

"Three times a week you are to report to me," the Administrator said resuming his actions. "I will inform you ahead of time when and where."

The pierced man raised his eyes and stared blankly into his visitor's dark ones. "I will also notify you of which hits and missions you are to perform. I am your new boss, Mr. Wick, and I expect your utmost attention and respect." He placed his hands on the table before him and laced his long fingers together as he fixed John Wick with an unpleased and unpleasant stare.

John nodded, bristling under his cool pretense.

"You may go now," the Administrator stated.

The Baba Yaga gratefully heeded the command. However, when he was at the exit to the office, he heard movement, quick and graceful and he was suddenly aware that the Administrator had left his desk to stand behind him. The pencil pusher's hand clasped over his.

"If I had said something about your ass or any of your other beautiful features, John Wick, what importance would it be?" the younger man whispered in a dangerous voice all the more strikingly sensuous for its usual reserve. 

The Baba Yaga shuddered as he felt the Administrator's free hand rest gently on his back.

"Nobody would believe you; it would be your word against mine," the man continued. "Any paperwork would only pass by my desk and I'm afraid I would have to not verify it. The rantings of disgraced puppets hold little sway in our world, John. But...we could be friends you and I..."

The Administrator caressed the bare skin on the back of John Wick's hand with his thumb and with great force and agility, Wick knocked down the small man behind him and fled from the room. He passed Jennifer, silently gloating, as he left the building entirely.

Outside in the cold night air, Wick tried his best to compose himself and calm his racing thoughts and heart. He stared at his hand, closed his eyes and started to shake, as he tried to block the Administrator's words from his mind.

He didn't like the touch from the frozen man; it had seemed too human. Nor had he liked the tone of the Administrator's usually emotionless voice which had sounded suddenly too hungry, desperate...

And lonely.

Chapter Text

Walking down the thin hallway to his room, John was still terribly disconcerted by his last meeting with the Administrator. He was shocked at how strange and unsavory it had all become in only a few minutes since he had met the man and he was dreading the fact that he would be seeing the bureaucrat constantly during the next few months.

Lost in his thoughts, John Wick happened to bump into Charon, the Continental's concierge.

The assassin literally bumped into him.

Not looking where he was going, desiring only to get back to the safety of his room, casting anxiety riddled glances behind him in the fear that he would find a short, black haired, steampunk nebbish hot on his heels, and far too hot underneath his too high collar, John collided with the refined North African man and they almost fell on to the hotel's expensive carpet in unison.

"I am most dreadfully sorry, Mr. Wick," Charon politely apologized.

"It's all right," Wick politely denied the apology.

The concierge studied the Continental's guest's face and the way that he kept nervously glancing behind him.

"Are you all right?" Charon inquired. "Is someone after you? If someone has violated the Continental's rules..."

"No. No I'm fine Charon," Wick said, trying to appear calm.

"If you don't mind me saying, you are a dreadful liar," the hotel worker commented. "Are you sure you would not like to see the Doctor by any chance?"

Right at that moment, John Wick felt more in the need of a therapy session than a physical. However, in the presence of the concierge, whom always seemed so tranquil, helpful and reassuring, the assassin felt himself growing more calm. Studying the reserved and stately figure, Wick found himself wondering if he should ask Charon about the rather disturbing situation he had unexpectedly found himself stumbling into. Having been the concierge at the Continental for a few years, and having witnessed several people under the High Table's command come and go, he had probably seen his fair share of licentacious behaviour.

"I wanted to ask your opinion on something," Wick ventured.

"If I can be of any help I will certainly try," Charon remarked.

John nodded. "I have a friend. This friend is being harassed by a certain Administrator. What should they do?"

Charon frowned sympathetically. "Is your Administrator still making passes at you, Mr. Wick?"

"How did you know?" the assassin asked, trying hard to not let his jaw hit the floor. 

"Addy may have mentioned it," the concierge confessed. "We have our hair done at the same place."

John Wick studied Charon's shiny head and tried not to let his incredulity and confusion show. "That's nice," was all that he managed to say.

"So it has happened again?"

"I received a summons to meet with the Administrator just a little while ago. He informed me that the High Table has ordered him to be my handler."

Suddenly the word 'handler' seemed very wrong to John Wick. He did not want to be handled. Especially by the Administrator. He did not want the man to handle him at all but preferred him to keep his grubby little paws to himself.

Although the hand on his back had been gentle.

And the voice whispering in his ear had been kind of sexy.

"He probably volunteered for the position," Charon said somberly interrupting John's trailing thoughts.

"He told me that it was forced on him," John argued.

The concierge looked at the assassin as if he was a clock that could not keep time and was deserved of much pity.

"You think he lied?" John Wick stated flatly.

"Let's just say I believe that he was probably the one to suggest the idea in the first place."

The Baba Yaga frowned and stared at a frayed spot on the otherwise perfect carpet. It was in all odds true. Despite the Administrator's claims that there had been some great controversy to his rejoining the fold, John could think of only a small handful of people that had objected. Cassian had been the main one, still bitter over Gianna's death. Other than that, most of the other assassins had just been grateful they were no longer faced with the temptation of a huge bounty on one of their own's head and their own inevitable deaths when they tried to collect it.

"That makes a lot of sense," Wick said and he could tell Charon was resisting the urge to pat his shoulder in condescending pride that he had finally managed to figure it out.

"And what else did he say Mr. Wick?"

Deciding to leave out the part about his beautiful features, if only for the mere sake of modesty, the assassin replied, "He said that we could be 'friends.'"

The other man smiled brightly as if in perfect understanding. "Well there you see, Mr. Wick. It is always good to have a friend. Especially one in such an important position."

"I don't think that you understand," the bearded man stated.

"Oh but I do! Perfectly. You see, one needs friends in order to survive. When one finds themselves in lower rankings and somebody in a higher position decides to bend in order to help that person...well what is so wrong in that? Friends helping friends. You will find it happens not only in our business but all over the world. We do get by with a little help from our friends, sir."

John saw something catch the concierge's eye behind him and a large smile spread across his face. Turning around quickly, the Baba Yaga saw Winston standing at the end of the long hallway. Although he could not be sure, John Wick thought that he heard the concierge blow a kiss at the hotel manager. When he turned to look, however, the man was standing reservedly composed again.

"The right friend can assist you and make sure that you survive," the man repeated his stance.

John studied him for a moment. "Good evening Charon," the hitman said slowly.

"Good evening Mr. Wick," the concierge said and offered one more friendly smile before walking confidently past him.

* * *

As promised, the Administrator texted him three times throughout the week with their scheduled meetings. For those first few times, John found him continually having too meet the bureaucrat in the man's dark and dreary office. Although he walked into it for the first meeting expecting another lascivious comment, or invasion of his personal space, John Wick found himself surprised when the Administrator remained completely professional. 

And completely horrible.

There was nothing that he could do right in the blue green eyes behind those perfectly cleaned glasses, John felt. Everything that he could find fault with the Administrator would: John Wick used too many bullets; his clothes became dirty, ripped and torn too often, resulting in the Table having to spend too much on dry cleaning and tailors; he caused too much damage to the areas where the fights occurred and the restoration bills were sky high. On and on the tiny bureaucrat droned in his emotionless and business like tone, using every insulting word he could think of. The man was a living thesaurus devoted to any word that could be used to criticize John Wick's intelligence or skill.

The Baba Yaga almost found himself wishing that the man would make another pass at him to save him from the monotony of it all, if not the outright humiliation.

While he sometimes took it silently, there were the few occasions where the hitman found it difficult to keep his mouth shut. One such time came during one of the pierced man's usual diatribes about bullets, clothing and destruction.

"It's all fine and easy for you to talk about it safe and sound behind your cowardly desk," John Wick could not restrain himself from interupting. "Not to mention this cramped office of yours."

"What do you mean, Mr. Wick?" the Administrator asked in his detatched voice.

"That you're a pencil pusher and nothing more and shouldn't talk about things you don't understand."

The short man contemplated it for a moment, and taking advantage of the silence, Wick decided to drone on a bit himself.

"You wouldn't know the first thing about what the real world is like. You've spent too much time in your little cage here. Don't you dare think about telling me how to fight or what I am doing wrong until you have actually seen it for yourself," he hissed venhemently.

The bureaucrat frowned angrily at the assassin but there was a strange look in his eyes.

John Wick prayed to God it was not sadness or tears. No matter how much he hated the little Goth he could not stand to see a grown man cry.

It may damage the black mark under his eye.

The Administrator was unusually silent following his rebuttal and Wick felt somehow guilty when the bureaucrat shooed him hastily away, without so much as a glance or a farewell. The assassin felt so bad, in fact, that he found himself constantly checking his phone, when he was back at the Continental, to see if the Administrator had texted him. Wick hated to think of what Helen would think of him if the bureaucrat went out and killed himself and it was all her angry lout of a husband's fault.

Lying in bed that night, dog growling and lost in some dream on the floor, John wondered where his handler actually went to when his shift was completed. It seemed so odd a thought, the small dweeb outside of his office, that the assassin had trouble envisioning it.

He did not have long to wait to put his imagination aside and see it for real.

* * *

"I will be accompanying you on your next mission," the Administrator informed John Wick the next time he was called in to see him.

"What?" John growled, suddenly wishing that the man had committed suicide after all.

The Administrator put the file he had been studying over to the side of his cluttered desk and looked over his glasses at the stunned hitman. "I considered what you said and you are right; I have not been out in the field for years. I cannot judge you without seeing your work first hand."

"Good," John Wick said, trying to save face. It may be a worthwhile idea, he tried to tell himself. At least, hopefully, it would get the man off of his case.

The Administrator stared at him intensely and John fought the urge to back away from the intensity of his gaze. Stunned, Wick watched as the Administrator removed his glasses, and setting them on his desk, fully showed off his beautiful eyes, which were studying him quite hungrily. It seemed too much like those dirty librarian fantasies he had always harboured, John uncomfortably, realized. Except this was a bureaucrat and a guy. All that was left was for the man to take his hair out of its tie and shake it around sexily.

Wick suddenly shuddered at the thought.

"I'm looking very much forward to seeing you in action, John Wick," the Administrator said, silkily. "I want to see how long you last...what your stamina is exactly . I am dying to see you perform. I can't tell you how many times I've been kept up all night long just thinking about it. Tell me, Mr Wick...will you be up for it too?"

John quietened the urge to squirm where he was standing. He suddenly didn't think that the bureaucrat was merely referring to his assassination skills.

Still he had to ask.

"We are talking about my work performance right?"

The Administrator's face became stern once more as he placed his glasses back on his prominent nose and looked away. "Of course. What else would we be referring to?"

John Wick stayed mum and walked out of the office with great speed, not wanting to give the bureaucrat an honest answer.

Chapter Text

As John Wick lay in his bed at the Continental, before the Administrator accompanied him on a mission, the assassin found it increasingly impossible to actually sleep. His insomniac state could roughly be attributed to the fact that he was going to be graded by a High Table bureaucrat.

Or it could be possibly designated to the fact that the Administrator was a creepy little bastard that had the hots for him.

Whatever it may be, John found sleep a slippery prey and he was made uncomfortable by the realization that whatever he was experiencing was akin to what normal average non-underworld civilians felt when they were going out on their first date.

At one point, he went so far as to grab his pillow, and holding it over his head, screamed his frustration out into its downy interior softness. Following this form of scream therapy, he tried to smother himself with it but discovered it was a vain and futile assassination worthy of an "F" from his hard little handler.

When he decided to awaken and finally give up trying to get some rest, it was time for John Wick to get dressed. Here too he found himself with an unthought of dilemma: what should he wear?

Maybe the problem was that he was just too damn good looking, John Wick thought. Helen had always joked that he was so attractive he could turn any straight man gay. Although it was doubtfully the truth, it may not be helping matters: from what the Operators had indicated, the Administrator was likely to prefer men anyway.

Going through his wardrobe, Wick discovered that he had nothing that was remotely dumpy. Every single piece of clothing was expensive and beautiful, especially the bullet proof ones. In a last desperate attempt, John phoned up room service and placed an order for clothing instead of food. A few minutes after the call, Charon stood at his door holding a black shopping bag with the requested items. The usually calm concierge looked at the hotel guest and then the bag as if he was performing a drug deal.

"Here are your articles of clothing sir," the hotel worker said and handed him the bag, obviously happy to be rid of it.

"Thank you, Charon," John Wick politely replied. 

"May I inquire, sir, if you are going duck hunting?"

"No," the assassin answered. "I'm going to work."

"Very well," the concierge nodded and then left.

With great excitement, John Wick opened the bag and started pulling out the items inside: a white undershirt, a red plaid shirt, a brown wool jacket, a pair of jeans and a baseball cap with the John Deere logo on it.

After he had put them all on, he looked at himself in the mirror and smiled at what he had wrought.

While entering the Continental Hotel's lobby, the scruffy John Wick was accosted by Winston.

"Now, see here, we don't need your kind of riff raff!" the Englishman exclaimed. "This is a respectable establishment that I run: only assassins, cut throats and thieves allowed! Head on back to the Ozarks before I have to contact an Adjudicator!"

"Winston it's me," Wick said as he turned around and met the shorter man's eyes.

"Jonathan?" the hotel manager said in shock.

The assassin nodded.

"You look as if you were about to head to a bar, drink beer and listen to atrocious country music."

"I'm going to work," John Wick answered for the second time that day.

"Well, for Heaven's sake, leave now! Hurry!" the older man instructed. "And don't come back unless you're in a suit. Preferably an Armani."

Wick headed out the door grumbling silently.

* * *

"And what is that supposed to be?" the Administrator asked cooly as he examined John Wick's apparel. They were standing outside of the Administration building. The assassin had seen the tiny bureaucrat waiting outside the structure's wide doors before he had even reached them.

"This is what I'm wearing for work," the Baba Yaga answered.

The pierced man studied him for a bit and then scribbled something down on his clipboard.

"That is not the proper attire for your business," the Administrator suddenly criticized and looked at him over his glasses. "Today you are required to assassinate the former bodyguard of Abram Tarasov. This guard frequents only high class restaurants and bars. Perhaps if you were assassinating a wayward moonshiner your uniform would be appropriate; today, however, it is not."

John Wick frowned down at the small man. He obviously was right. Still this only infuriated the assassin all the more.

"I thought I would catch him off guard," John lied.

"Your job is merely to off the guard," the bureaucrat spat. He proceeded to sigh and write something else on his clipboard. "Very well. Let's proceed regardless."

The two men walked down the New York City Street, the tall one looking like a redneck lost in the Big Apple and the short one seeming like a vampire turned office worker. The mismatched pair garnered a few interested stares but even more indifferent ones; the crowd was more or less interested in their own affairs. John Wick led the Administrator to a subway where they patiently waited for the next one to arrive.

The younger man shook his head in disapproval as he turned to his clipboard again. "You really need to obtain a vehicle, Mr. Wick," the man suggested. "Relying on public transport is far too risky. What would happen if you lost your card or if you did not have the proper change?"

John Wick rolled his eyes, not looking forward to listening to the Administrator's constant criticisms for the rest of the day. His sole comfort was the knowledge that the man had not made any obscene comments or gestures so far.

This comfort, however, soon evaporated when boarding the subway car and finding a seat, the Administrator sat too closely beside him.

"Do you need to sit that close?" John asked in obvious irritation.

"Yes," the pencil pusher emotionlessly replied. "It is crowded; there isn't enough room."

Looking around the empty car, the hitman started to feel like Ingrid Bergman in "Gaslight."

They sat silently on their shared seat, John Wick staring off into space and the Administrator with his clipboard face down on his lap. The Baba Yaga felt the bureaucrat's knee repeatedly rubbing up next to his and he was seized with a sudden worry of what the other man was using his clipboard to hide.

Luckily they reached their destination soon enough and John Wick leapt out of the subway compartment. For one blissful moment he envisioned the doors closing on the Administrator and pictured his scowling face through the glass on the doors as the subway carried him far away. When he looked, though, the pierced man was still by his side and jotting something down on his damn clipboard.

"Are you trying to lose me, Mr. Wick?"

"No."

"Good. I would hate to have report it to the High Table."

Grumbling, John Wick started stomping angrily in the direction of where the former Tarasov bodyguard was eating his lunch.

To his great consternation, the Administrator was correct: the five star restaurant would not let him in the front doors, looking the way that he did. Solving the problem did not worry John Wick, however. He quickly knocked out a waiter taking out some trash in the alley behind the restaurant. Knocking him out, he switched outfits with the unconscious man. 

All the while, Wick's companion made snide remarks and wrote things down on his clipboard. When he had made the bureaucrat turn around while he changed, the comments had become even more snide.

As the two of them snuck into the restaurant, they peered out the kitchen door into the restaurant's heart, Wick at the top of the door and the Administrator peeking down below. Wick was worried that his handler was not looking in the proper direction but he tried to remain focused on his target instead.

The Baba Yaga pulled out his gun, intending to shoot the guard as he ironically ate his duck dinner, but the man must have spotted him, for the guard suddenly pulled out his own revolver and started firing it at both him and the Administrator.

"DOWN!" John Wick shouted and threw himself on the very happy High Table servant.

Seeing the guard suddenly hightail it, Wick jumped off of the Administrator, extremely thankful for the opportunity and praying that it had only been the other man's gun poking him through his pants.

A chase through the city soon ensued. Every time, John Wick thought he had lost the Administrator he looked down to find the little bureaucrat still accompanying him and carrying his cursed clipboard. The Baba Yaga found himself admiring the office worker's stamina and wondering, uncomfortably, if it extended to other areas as well.

John finally managed to incapacitate his quarry by shooting both of his legs, while all three of them were on top of a shopping centre. The assassin walked towards the guard, whom had dragged himself over to the wall of the rooftop's doorway.

"Get it over with," the guard hissed. "It's embarrassing to be offed by a guy in a John Deere cap and a waiter uniform."

John Wick shot the man in the head and that was that.

Almost.

He turned around to see his tiny bureaucratic shadow once more scribbling on the clipboard and shaking his head in disappointment.

"Why did you shoot the target in both legs beforehand?" the Administrator asked contemptuously. "A single shot to the brain would have sufficed. You needlessly wasted two bullets."

John Wick threw off his baseball cap and shot it three times. "That makes four," he said.

The Administrator shook his head and wrote on his clipboard. "Five," he corrected.

* * *

On the way back to the Administration building, the assassin and the bureaucrat walked under a starlit sky. To his horror, John Wick felt the Administrator trying to hold his hand.

"Don't do that," Wick warned.

"Do what?" the pierced man asked. "I don't know what you're talking about. The imaginations of assassins are unknown to me."

Still Wick felt him trying again, even when his hand had been clenched into a fist, and when the small man held on to it, Wick was too tired to shake it off but let it remain.

Back on the subway, sitting side by side again, the Administrator accidentally lost hold of his clipboard and it fell off of his lap and on to the floor in front of them both. The younger man went scrambling for it but did not manage to grab it successfully before Wick had gotten a good glance at it. 

While he had thought that the bureaucrat had spent all day recording his many mistakes and shortcomings, John Wick now saw that his handler had been drawing pictures of him instead. There, displayed on the revealed piece of paper, were two sketches of him: one in the horrible redneck garb and the other of him as a waiter. Hearts were drawn all about both of the lovingly created images and at the bottom of the page the man had wrote "A+J."

John Wick felt his heart warm against his will.

The Administrator resumed sitting on the seat beside him but this time he put some distance between them and held his clipboard protectively against his heart. Wick in turn pretended he had not seen anything but stared at the subway compartment's roof, trying to slow down his quickly beating heart.

Once more at the Administration doors, the two men paused at them under the crescent moon.

"You may go home now, Mr Wick," the Administrator stated sharply. "I do not need your assistance to write the report. It has been...enlightening."

John Wick nodded and the Administrator stared at him. The bureaucrat walked nearer. Still shaken by what he had seen on the subway, Wick hesitated in moving back.

"And do you still consider me a pencil pusher?" the shorter man asked looking up into the tall man's bearded face.

The assassin remained silent.

"Pity," the Administrator said. "I have something that I would very much like to push inside of you, Mr. Wick, but it is not a pencil."

John Wick felt the younger man place a tattooed hand on his ass.

"Of course, if you'd prefer to be the one doing the pushing and entering that would be fine with me," the Administrator whispered seductively. "I'm fine with being the bottom because you will always be tops to me, John Wick."

The Baba Yaga felt the goth little nebbish give the cheek in his hand a squeeze and then he went running down the street before he even registered the movement of his feet.

* * *

Two blocks away, John Wick leaned against a wall, trying to catch his breath. He could still feel the phantom palm of the Administrator's hand on his ass.

Apparently clothing did not make a difference after all: the man was more interested in what was under them.

Wick was shaking badly as a car suddenly pulled up to him.

"Hey! Long time no see!" Aurelio, the High Table chop shop owner greeted. "Need a lift?"

John nodded and hastily climbed into the mechanic's stylish Ferrari. "The Continental," the assassin said.

Pulling back on to the road, Aurelio studied his friend. "Jeez, are you all right, John? You look like you just saw a ghost or something."

"An Administrator just touched my butt," Wick confessed without knowing why.

"Was she cute?" the mechanic grinned.

"It was a man," John said, fixing his friend with a sober stare.

Aurelio cringed in obvious discomfort. "Well I'm sure it didn't mean anything. Football players do it all the time."

"He told me that he had something that he wanted to push inside of me."

Aurelio squirmed in even more discomfort. "Well you must have encouraged him, given him the wrong idea or something. What did you do anyway?"

"Nothing," John said in exasperation. "I did absolutely nothing. It wasn't the first time he has done something like that either. To make matters worse, I have to see him again: he's my handler."

John Wick realized that the car had suddenly sped up: Aurelio was clearly in a hurry to get to their destination as soon as possible so he could be rid of his passenger and end the conversation.

Outside the Continental, the chop shop owner practically pushed him out the door.

"Well nice to see you, John," Aurelio smiled falsely. "I hope that problem works out for you."

"I want my "69 Ford Mustang Mach 1 back," Wick stated flatly, remembering the Administrator's order for him to obtain permanent transportation.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever. Goodbye."

John Wick watched at the Ferrari disappeared quickly down the street. He stood on the sidewalk outside of the hotel feeling violated, ignored and alone. Experiencing the need to talk with somebody who wouldn't turn his back, Wick thought of just the person who would be willing to listen.

Even if it was just for the chance to hear the sound of his own voice replying.

Dejectedly, the Baba Yaga turned and walked into the Continental where he was immediately accosted by Winston, whom mistook him for an AWOL waiter.

Chapter Text

"It's all about power," the Bowery King said as he stroked the shimmery breast of the pigeon held in his tight grip.

John watched the man as he made each stroke, keeping the bird contained in his hand, though it obviously looked as if it longed to fly away.

They were on the roof of the King's new base of operations. When the High Table had reinstated John Wick they had also been forced into accepting the Pauper Royale back inside their not so welcoming arms, as well. Wick had coerced the organization into it; they would have much rather have punished the man for his defiance. Still after the brief battle they had suffered from both men, and the Baba Yaga's continual and almost inhuman survival, they had accepted John Wick's terms.

The Bowery King had remained improperly ungrateful. He showed no gratitude to his savior and seemed to consider even this visitation as more of an inconvenience than a chance to display his gratitude.

The man did love to hear himself talk and once he had learned of John's most personal problem he had relished the opportunity to sprout off some sage advice born of his supposedly vast wisdom and experience.

"So you tell me that this bureaucrat has been trying to mess around with you, John Wick," his Majesty said, never taking his eyes off of the pigeon. "Ain't nothing but a damn power play."

"He seems sexually interested in me," John stated. "Romantically interested."

The King shook his head. "Those are only masks John. The boy doesn't love you. He's only interested in having control over you."

Wick furrowed his brow as he sat on an old box made into a make-shift chair. It felt old and about to collapse and he briefly wondered if the Bowery King wasn't trying his own example of power imbalance by making him sit on it.

Considering the man's words about his dilemma, the assassin was not entirely convinced. While he would normally agree that all abuse situations could be whittled down to control issues, he was confused by the Administrator's actions. He could not reconcile the artwork on the bureaucrat's clipboard with some notion that the little guy was just using him in some twisted version of a pissing contest. The High Table servant had definitely not intended for him to see his lovingly drawn sketches; they had been for his own private enjoyment.

And the Administrator obviously did seem to enjoy him in some sick, twisted and adorable fashion, Wick thought wearily.

"But he drew pictures of me," John Wick stated. "I saw them. There were little hearts all around them and our initials were written on the bottom of the page."

The Bowery King looked heavenward and smiled like a gap toothed angel. "Lord help me with unbelievers," he prayed.

Lowering his gaze earthbound again, and meeting John's eyes this time, the man lost his smile and his eyes became steel. "Don't fall for the trappings John. Romantic love, itself, is just another kind of power play. Why do you think I'm fucking well single?"

John thought that it may have something to do with all the feathers and bird shit but kept his mouth shut.

"You've got to keep your focus so you don't end up on the bottom," the King said forcefully. 

"I'm fine with being the bottom because you will always be tops to me, John Wick."

Remembering the Administrator's words, along with the feeling of his hand placed snugly on his ass, John Wick squirmed and fell into the box as it collapsed.

"Need a hand?" the Bowery King snickered.

Sensing this outcome had been his Royal Highness' plan the whole time, John managed to get to his own two feet by himself.

"No, I'm fine," the assassin said as he straightened his suit's jacket and fixed his tie.

"Now you see there, John! You have to stand your ground!" the Bowery King bellowed, frightening the pigeon in his hands. "From what you told me, you're always running off anytime this man so much as looks at you funny. You've got to stand tall; show him that you cannot and will not be intimidated."

John stared at the King and nodded; it was a new approach at least; one that he had never tried simply because he had been too scared to.

"That's the John Wick I know," the Bowery King beamed. "This Administrator is no more interested in you than I am. He's just attracted to the amount of fear he can create in you and the power that he holds over you. Stop letting him scare you and he'll simply fly away."

John Wick watched as the other man let go of the hold he had on the bird in his hand and it swiftly flew away into the clouded sky.

"Power baby," the Bowery King stated. "That's all it ever is about."

* * *

During his next few encounters with the Administrator, the assassin tried to remember the other man's advice. No matter what the office worker's demeanor was he tried to remain distant and impassive. If the bureaucrat chose to hurl nasty little insults his way, John took it with a stony face. Likewise, if he cast an occasional rude remark about his butt or the bulge in his trousers, Wick would let it slide again, acting as if he could not care less.

On another evaluation effort more than a week later, there had been several after the first, all aided by the '69 Ford Mustang Mach 1 Aurelio had kindly and hastily dropped off, John Wick found the Administrator's hand clasping his butt cheek again. Instead of losing his cool, however, the hitman just let it stay there. When he felt the bureaucrat's hot breath on his neck, along with his tongue, he refused to even brush it away like it was a fly. He merely suffered it with deadpanned ambivalence. 

It was difficult to gauge his handler's response, John soon realized. The Administrator was a hard person to understand and his behaviour with him made it even more so. Soon after the pierced man had licked him like he were nothing more than a lollipop, he had also turned away quickly and jotted down, only God knew what, on his always present clipboard.

John Wick had the distinct impression that the man was probably recording what he had tasted like.

At the end of this exact 'evaluation' the Administrator made an unexpected announcement:

"I want to clean your gun."

They were back inside the bureaucrat's dark office and the shorter man had resumed his usual stance of standing behind his desk and observing John Wick as if he were a cockroach, which had somehow infiltrated his sanctuary. He peered at John Wick with a displeased scowl on his pierced lips and Wick stared back at him in complete and utter stillness.

"It occurs to me, Mr. Wick," the Administrator bitterly stated, "that on all of our outings, I have never seen you clean your gun."

"I clean it at the Continental every day before bed," the assassin replied.

The bureaucrat looked far from convinced. "Let me see it," he asked, holding out his hand to take the weapon.

John instantly pulled out the Glock 34 and gave it to his handler.

"Tsk tsk," the Administrator adomished. "This is filthy."

Reaching inside a drawer to the side of his desk, John Wick watched as the pencil pusher brought out a gun cleaning kit.

"I can do that myself," John hissed.

"Not well enough," the Administrator said, his eyes never leaving Wick's. "Watch me and see how it is done."

John Wick exhaled sharply as he watched the bureaucrat methodically take out a towel and lube from the kit and start to clean the weapon.

Viewing the younger man squirt his hand with some lube and then run it up and down the gun's shaft, the fearsome Baba Yaga was dreadfully confused.

The longer the assassin watched the Administrator the less it looked like the man was really cleaning a gun and the more it looked like he was...

John hoped and prayed that his eyes did not widen too much as he realized what his handler was actually doing with his Glock 34. He closed them and tried to remain calm. John Wick remembered the Bowery King's words and attempted to stand his ground, be strong and collected, as he opened his eyes once more.

Breathing deeply, the hitman continued to watch the bureaucrat at his task.

There was only one problem: while John Wick was doing a fine job of staying unmoved one part of him was not being cooperative. It was only that the Administrator was so very skillfully with his hands and seemed to know exactly what he was doing, John reasoned.

And it had been so very long since he had been with anybody...

"No, no, no," John Wick chastised the part of himself that would obviously show the Administrator that he was indeed getting a rise out of him in a very literal sense. "Just be quiet and stay down."

It worked for a while.

At least until the naughty little bureaucrat placed the gun inside of his mouth and stared at him with longing filled beautiful eyes. Then all of John Wick's work went out the window and his body betrayed just how effected he was by the Administrator's demonstration. Hurriedly, John tried to fold his hands in front on himself to retain some crumb of dignity. How much the small goth nebbish had witnessed, the assassin could not tell, however.

The Administrator took the Glock 34 out of his mouth and handed it back to John Wick. Wick walked slowly and laboredly to the bureaucrat's desk and retrieved his weapon. It was covered in the other man's saliva and John knew that he would need to give it a real cleaning that night.

John Wick stayed in front of the tall desk in the hope that it would successfully hide his problem. He looked up as the Administrator bent towards him.

"Do you need any help cleaning your real gun, Mr. Wick? I can give it the same attention if you would like."

"No," John Wick met his eyes and smirked. "I think I can handle it on my own."

"Oh you don't need to do anything on your own anymore," the pierced man stated his voice hoarse with lust. "I am here to help you with anything...anything."

The Administrator was leaning so far over his desk he was completely lying on it and John Wick had the sudden fear he was going to go too far and topple over right on top of him.

And as he was filled with the fright of having his handler fall down on him, it occurred to John that the Bowery King's words were bullshit. The Administrator was not in control when he became consumed by his desires. Quite the opposite: the man seemed to have lost all of his control. Power seemed the furthest thing from his lustful overworked brain.

Wick backed away quickly and the younger man followed suit until he was safely back behind his desk and putting away the cleaning kit as if nothing untoward had taken place.

"I hope you saw what I am capable of, Mr. Wick," he said.

Swallowing harshly at the memory of the Administrator's talented hands and knowledgeable mouth, John merely nodded.

"You know whom to turn to then," the High Table office worker reminded.

The assassin did not nod nor did he run. He simply turned around and walked away, telling himself that he would never be that desperate.

Still his hand went to the gun in his pocket and lingered on its spit covered tip.

Chapter Text

John Wick felt very confused that night when he returned to the Continental. He sat on the edge of the bed and reviewed the current situation that he had somehow found himself entwined in:

Having rejoined the world of the High Table as their own personal assassin, he had then been placed under the Administrator's watch and in his bureaucratic hands. The problem was that while the pencil pusher was usually insulting and cold his watch would often become leering and his hands could become a tad explorative.

Addy had been mostly flippant. Charon had seemed to suggest he take advantage of the situation. Aurelio had not wanted to hear about it at all, while the Bowery King had advised that it had nothing to do with anything other than power and he should hold his ground firmly and shaken.

Wick had done everything that the Bowery King had suggested. Still he was left feeling that the Administrator remained just as interested in him as before and, that if it was some kind of power play, the little guy was more than happy to end up on the bottom, as he had already stated. Or with the fuzzy end of the lollipop as he had tried to demonstrate.

The assassin was equally flabbergasted by his traitorous body. If his heart wasn't jumping when he recalled little things that the bureaucrat had done than it was another part of his anatomy, remembering how the Administrator had worked the Glock 34 with his hands and clever mouth. Except in his mind it wasn't the gun but his...

It was easy to just excuse it all as a need he had long forgotten about but still existed, John knew. Helen had been gone for over a year now and the last time he had seen anything remotely sexual had been when Gianna D'Antonio was parading around in front of him in the buff. He smirked knowing how displeased the woman would be to know she had failed to stir him more than his steampunk, goth, male handler.

Casting a downward glance at his Judas of a crotch, John Wick fell onto the bed and threw his face into a pillow.

He was not attracted to the Administrator. He was not. He was being sexually harassed by him. End of story.

John Wick sighed. He had heard about stuff like that happening to other people. He had never thought it would happen to him...

* * *

More days of killings where sex was not an issue. Even the Administrator seemed to be ignoring the events of their last meeting. He was solely focused on John Wick's assassination work ethics and performance. Much to the assassin's annoyance the nebbish had some good suggestions. He advised that he keep a fresh black suit in the backseat of his car and a bomb diffusing kit in the glove compartment among other things.

And he never asked to see or clean John Wick's gun again. If the great Baba Yaga was a little disappointed in this fact he never let the bureaucrat know any more than he admitted it to himself. In any case, he tried to keep the weapon clean, checking it throughly every night before he went to bed.

One day, both Wick's Glock and himself became hopelessly dirty together.

While chasing a target through a construction site, during a thunderstorm, the hunter and the prey fell into a large hole which had filled with rain and become little more than an earthen bowl full of mud. The two men fought, becoming increasingly dirty, until John Wick managed to grab a large rock at the bottom of the pit and bash it several times against his enemy's head. This resulted in, not only the prey giving up the ghost, but also a large gusher of blood spraying out and hitting the Baba Yaga on the face, mixing with the already caked on dirt.

John clumsily climbed out of the hole and made his way back to his Mustang. When he had reached it, he found to his dismay that his phone was ringing on the passenger's seat, where he had hastily thrown it before the chase.

"Hello," the assassin said as he answered it, smearing the device with mud.

"Mr. Wick, I want to see you immediately," the distinct voice of the Administrator commanded.

"You want to see me now?" John asked in disbelief over the annoying handler's incredibly bad timing.

A clap of thunder sounded and the hitman noted how it sounded strangely doubled.

"Yes right now."

"I'll go home and..."

"When I say now I mean now, Mr. Wick. And I expect you to look your best. You will be rated," the Administrator ordered and ended the call, obviously in no mood for excuses.

John placed the phone down in irritation and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; he was a complete and utter mess, liable to garner a "F" on this sudden and maddening pop quiz.

When he reached the Administration building, he gingerly carried his black suit in with him in case he had an opportunity to change. Bracing himself, he walked in to the Administrator's office, his explanation all prepared and ready. 

Except, to his surprise, John Wick found the bureaucrat's office empty when he stepped inside; the Administrator not in his usual position behind his raised desk. There was a sheet of paper on the very same object, however, and Wick squinted as he read it:

"Will be back in an hour. Wait for me Mr. Wick."

"Figures," John Wick mumbled. Of course, the slimy little bastard would demand his urgent appearance and then fail to show up.

John turned to watch as an Operator walked through the door. He recognized her as Samantha and she likewise recognized him past all the mud and grime.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked placing a file on her boss' desk.

"Thunderstorm, a construction pit and an unwilling victim," John Wick answered.

"There's a shower here in the locker room if you need it," she suggested. "This floor, end of the hall, take a left. Nobody really uses either. Bad high school memories."

Wick watched her as she left. He read the Administrator's scrawled letter again. 

"An hour," John Wick said.

More than enough time to get clean.

* * *

Finding the shower room had been simple enough and it did look deserted as Samantha had claimed. Staring at the bar of soap provided, John Wick did not even recognize the brand; it looked like something where the company that manufactured it had gone bankrupt around the time Nixon had moved into the White House.

The assassin wasn't about to complain, however, as the water became warm and he started to lather the soap against his body and wash away the mud that had covered him only moments before. Shutting his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the water, and the wonderful feeling of suddenly being clean, John Wick was surprised when he opened his eyes, only to find the Administrator two feet away and staring at him.

The bureaucrat was still fully dressed in his work uniform: trousers, dress shirt, vest and tie. Even his glasses were still perched on his nose even though they were fogging up quite badly. His clothes were getting wet but the man didn't seem to mind as he looked into John Wick's widening eyes.

The sight of the man was so overwhelmingly startling that the assassin instantly grasped onto the bar of soap he was holding too tightly and it shot out of his hand and on to the shower's wet floor.

"You dropped your soap, Mr. Wick," the Administrator hopefully stated.

The assassin would be damned if he was going to pick it up.

"What are you doing here?" John Wick asked, sharply.

"Same as you: taking a shower," came the reply.

"In your clothes?"

The Administrator stayed quiet and John studied the man again. He was getting quite soaked and looked rather pathetic, like his dog when it refused to come out of the rain, wanting instead to keep playing, Wick thought.

"What are you really doing here?" the hitman asked, knowing the answer already.

"I thought you may need somebody to help you scrub your back," the Administrator asked. "Can I scrub your back, John Wick?"

To his credit, John thought, the pierced man was trying his best to keep his eyes on his face and mostly succeeding.

Mostly.

"I doubt if you would reach my ankles," the assassin stated.

The Administrator kept staring at him in absolute resemblance of a lovestruck puppy and John felt himself squirm.

"How did you know I'd be in here anyway?" he asked the bureaucrat.

Suddenly, John Wick remembered the double clap of thunder on his phone and certain events made seemingly perfect sense.

"You set this whole thing up," the assassin accused. "You were out there somewhere watching me."

The Administrator smirked rather smugly. "I brought my pair of binoculars, Mr. Wick so I could see you from a distance. I wouldn't need them now, though. Everything seems very large as it is."

Before realizing he was doing it, the Baba Yaga had picked the smaller man up and in anger, pushed him up against the shower's wall. Water pelted down on them both from the showerheads, neither of them noticing or caring.

"Now now, John Wick. I wouldn't do this if I were you," the High Table servant stated calmly.

"Why not?" John hissed.

"You know that suit you had waiting for you out there?"

Wick nodded.

"Well it happened to find its way inside of a locker. Only I know which one and what the combination is for it," the Administrator casually informed the livid man holding him up by his lapels. "Unless you want to leave this building and pass by a gaggle of gawking Operators I suggest you give in to my demand."

John Wick rationally asked, "And what is that?"

"Let me scrub your back," the bureaucrat said, flatly.

The assassin considered it. Though he was scared to death of letting the younger man touch him, he was no more thrilled at the humiliating prospect of being witnessed leaving the building stark naked. He let go of the Administrator and the pencil pusher fell to the ground in a wet heap.

"Do it," John Wick said. "But that's it."

The assassin faced the wall, placing each hand on it, waiting for his back to be washed by his tiny perverted handler. He knew a million moves to take the pierced man out when he tried something. Then, Wick knew, he could claim self defence and put an end to this embarrassing and sick joke.

To his suprise, though, the Administrator simply scrubbed his back and nothing more. John opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder to see the other man shyly and tenderly washing his back, being very careful to do nothing more. The look on the bureaucrat's face was so loving and sweet and his touch so gentle that Wick turned away before the man saw him or the fact that he was blushing.

Remembering the times Helen had performed just this task for him, and enjoying the pencil pusher's touch a little too much, John Wick felt his traitorous part acting up again and tried to block it out of the Administrator's view.

"There. Done," his handler announced, softly, and Wick sensed him backing away and dropping the soap. "Locker #28. 34, 5 and 7. Thank you, Mr. Wick."

John listened to him leave, as he kept his hands on the wall and tried to even his breaths and slow down his racing heart, sorry his shower was over.

* * *

The bar at the Continental was full again. This time wishing to avoid Addy after their last chat, lest it make her ask any uncomfortable questions, John Wick chose to sit in an empty chair at a not so empty table. Cassian, whom had been sitting there before, swore as his enemy joined him.

"Leave my table or I will kill you. 'No Business' rule or not," the bodyguard threatened.

"I need your help," John Wick whispered.

"Go and kill yourself that is all the advice I have for you, Wick," Cassian stood and started to leave.

"Have you ever been sexually harassed?" the Baba Yaga asked.

The question was unusual enough to make Cassian sit down. "Once by a woman I was sent to guard. I thought everybody would laugh at me so I never said anything."

John nodded in understanding.

"Are you..." the bald man asked.

John nodded.

"Who?"

"An Administrator," Wick confessed.

"The short guy with the black hair I've seen you running around with?" Cassian inquired seriously.

"Yes."

John watched as the other man's somber look broke as he started to howl in laughter. "That little dweeb geek is putting the moves on the great Baba Yaga?"

"It's not funny," John said flatly.

"No it's not," Cassian gasped, trying to catch his breath. "It is beyond funny John Wick. I am glad I didn't kill you, after all. This is far better punishment than I could ever dream of."

The bodyguard began to wipe his eyes on one of the table's napkins. "So what did he do to you so far?"

"He's made rude suggestions, touched my ass, licked my neck and lewdly cleaned my gun."

Each confession brought forth a fresh gale of laughter from the other man. 

"Today he got me in the shower."

Cassian guffawed and then tried to catch his breath. "And what did he do to you when he got you in there, John Wick?"

John blushed. "He scrubbed my back."

"He could reach that far?" the bodyguard managed to ask through his laughter.

"Yes," John Wick stated.

"And did he do a good job?" Cassian joked.

"Yes," Wick answered.

A beat.

"Actually it kind of turned me on," John Wick admitted.

"I'm out of here," the bald man said before fleeing from the table.

It was okay.

John had tired of the conversation anyway.

* * *

His gun successfully cleaned and both it and himself tucked safely into his bed, John Wick was surprised when the old fashioned phone in his room began to ring. Not knowing who was contacting him, the assassin warily picked it up.

"Yes?" he asked.

"There is an incoming call for you, Mr. Wick," John recognized the Continental concierge' s voice. "Shall I put it through?"

"Go ahead Charon," Wick instructed.

A brief silence as the call was transfered.

Suddenly John Wick's ear was filled with the sounds of moans, groans and laboured breaths.

John waited patiently until he heard the voice on the other end speak, now having a guess of who it was.

"I like your tattoos, Mr. Wick," the caller finally spoke after the heavy breathing. "Would you be interested in seeing mine?"

"Not really," John Wick told the Administrator.

Ignoring the answer, the younger man carried on regardless. "I can see them now; I'm lying in bed naked, John Wick, and I'm thinking about you as I touch myself."

"So I take it this isn't a business call," John replied, his voice emotionless.

"I wanted to know if you would like to go out with me Thursday evening?"

"No."

"Pity," the bureaucrat said. "I was just thinking how much you must enjoy staying at the Continental. How you would hate to find your privileges revoked again or not have enough funds to cover your bill."

John Wick sighed; it was a business call after all.

"What time do I pick you up?" the assassin asked.

"Midnight. The Administration building. Wear your best suit."

The High Table civil servant hung up and the Baba Yaga put the receiver back down on the cradle. Staring blankly ahead, the bearded man consoled himself in the knowledge that he had a few days left to be killed, at least, before his date with the Administrator.

There was some hope left for him.

Chapter Text

It had been a very long time since he had been out on a date, John Wick thought as he prepared to go out with the Administrator. The last real one had been his first year anniversary with Helen, following which she had collapsed and been announced terminally ill. Needless to say, that had rather put a dampner on, not only the date, but his whole life in general.

He could not tell if his upset stomach was caused more by the memory of what had happened on that final occasion or if it was more the fact of whom his date was to be on this one.

The thought occurred to Wick to wear the same redneck lumberjack outfit to the date. But then the hitman recalled his handler's warning to wear his best suit and decided against it.

Having a shower before getting changed, only succeeded in making John Wick even more nervous as he remembered his encounter with the bureaucrat in the office building's shower room. Shuddering as he felt phantom Administrator fingers on his back, the assassin finished up quickly before he found himself becoming aroused again.

Knowing that he had been ordered to look his best, John chose a suit he knew looked elegant but still could aid in a hasty getaway if one should arise. After having dressed, the bearded man sighed as he looked at his reflection in his hotel room's mirror: he looked too damn good. He cursed his own sexiness.

The Administrator would be like a kid in a candy shop.

Pondering his dilemma, a thought suddenly occurred to John Wick and he smiled.

The Administrator had told him to look good; the small bureaucrat had never told him that he had to smell that way too...

* * *

As his date exited the Administration building, John Wick watched, as his handler turned to him and, at first, tried to hide a smile. The assassin hid his own smile as the younger man's barely concealed grin turned to one of horror as he realized where the horrible scent surrounding them was emanating from.

"You were sprayed by a skunk!" the pierced man exclaimed as he pinched his nose and his eyes welled up in tears.

"Yes," John Wick said. It had taken him about an hour of roaming around central park to find one that was willing to help him out. The muggers had been far more cooperative.

Hoping his date would call the whole thing off, Wick watched in horror as the Administrator simply released the hold he had on his nose, shrugged the whole thing off and fixed him with an unwavering glare. "There is not time for you to go and take a tomato bath. The reservation is for twenty minutes from now. It is why I am already changed."

For the first time, Wick noticed that the Administrator was not in his usual business attire. He had been so focused on the other man's reaction to the skunk scent, half expecting himself to be a Pepe and the bureaucrat to pull a Penelope and dash off, that he had failed to notice that the younger man was sporting a grey three piece suit. He looked kind of cute even if the black leather gloves were rather disconcerting in a sexy kind of way. Trying to get his mind off of the way looking at his date made him feel, John tried to distract himself.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

When the Administrator answered, it was John Wick's time to have his eyes fill with water.

* * *

"How was I to know you took your wife here for your last date?" the bureaucrat defended under his breath as they waited in line; a line that was quickly clearing out as those in it realized where the horrible smell was coming from.

"You see all the files," John hissed under his own breath. "How could you not know."

"Where retired hitmen take their wives on their wedding anniversaries is never included on official documents Mr. Wick," the pierced man stated. "Besides I made the reservation here ages ago. I assure you, it was before we met. I had planned on coming alone."

"Your phone call to me that night showed you coming alone isn't an unusual occurrence," the assassin said and praised himself inwardly on his own jibe.

Suddenly, at the front desk, the host found the Administrator's reservation, but upon finding out John Wick was the source of the atrocious odor, he attempted to renege on the previous commitment.

"Let me see your rules and regulations book," the bureaucrat calmly asked to which the host could only grudgingly comply.

After having read it in record setting speed, the Administrator slammed it down on the desk. "Only dress codes are demanded; it says nothing about what cologne a patron wears."

"That's not a cologne," the host said, wrinkling his nose. "That's skunk spray."

"And tonight it is a cologne," the pencil pusher frowned.

To further convince the man of the fact, the High Table office boss laid some gold coins on the table which seemed to help the reluctant host become more open to his argument. The host showed the assassin and bureaucrat to their table.

Within five minutes the place had cleared out and they appeared to be the only people left there, other than those whom were paid to be.

A waiter soon came to the table and handed them two menus and then with great haste left them to decide on their choices.

Perusing the menu, John Wick saw the Administrator stealing quick glances at him. He tried his best to ignore it until the smaller man put the menu down.

"What I am hungering for is not on the menu, Mr. Wick," he confessed with a starving stare.

"And what may that be?" John asked continuing to study his own menu.

The Administrator gave a long and detailed description of what he had seen in the shower the other day on the the assassin he had been assigned to watch.

"Why are we here then?" Wick said wearily. "We could have just gone to any Hot Dog vendor in New York City."

"You are positively the most delicious item in this restaurant," the bureaucrat stated as he leered at John Wick and licked his lips.

"I am not on the menu," John chastefully informed.

"Pity," the Administrator said, regaining some of his composure.

The waiter returned and both men placed their orders: John for a medium rare steak and his handler for a roast of lamb.

"If you'll excuse me," the Administrator said and left the table.

John watched him leave, not minding if he excused himself right out of the restaurant and left him with the cheque. Looking around the vacated room, the assassin finally realized that there was one other diner still present.

The Adjudicator, whom had handled the case against him following Santino D'Antonio's murder, sat peacefully at a table not too far away. Glancing around the otherwise empty room, John Wick left his table and sat at the law official's instead.

"Do you handle sexual harassment cases?" he whispered but kept his voice loud enough to be heard.

"Certainly," they said. "Are you being harassed?"

"Yes," John Wick answered. "An Administrator; he's my handler too."

"I am familiar with him, yes. This is a most serious and misfortunate accusation. What has he done?"

"He's made lewd remarks, cupped my butt, licked my neck, suggestively cleaned my gun, joined me in the shower and took me out to dinner," John listed.

"And what evidence do you have?" the Adjudicator asked calmly.

"I don't have any," Wick replied.

The official raised an unpleased brow. "And what do you suggest we do, Mr Wick? Fingerprint your ass?"

"No, that wouldn't work," the assassin returned. "He did it through my pants. You'll have to fingerprint them."

They fixed John Wick with a no nonsense look. "We will not spend our time with unsubstantiated claims, Mr. Wick. Besides, the fact that you agreed to dinner with him would only hurt your case against him. Until you can show me definite proof against him, I suggest you do not waste my time."

John stood, bristling and began to walk back to his table before the Administrator came back. He turned around hopefully when he heard the Adjudicator say his name.

"I also highly recommend you take another shower while you are at it. You stink."

John sat back down in his seat and grumbled to himself.

When the bureaucrat returned he looked at his date. "Are you alright?" the handler asked.

"Fine. Just hungry," the assassin replied, crankily.

The waiter soon appeared with their meals and both men began to eat.

Sometime after his fifth bite, John Wick noticed a peculiar feeling in his lap and looked down to find the Administrator's socked foot rubbing against it. The assassin hurriedly tried to get the Adjudicator's attention, hoping this could be taken as evidence. Dropping his spoon on purpose, John tried to motion to the law official to get their attention until...

John bolted straight up like another part of his body had done. Suddenly it was not a good idea to get the Adjudicator's attention, he knew. It was not a good idea at all but would only serve in embarrassing him.

The Administrator looked up at him as his mouth was clamped around a morsel of lamb on his fork. Wick suddenly pictured the beautiful green eyes staring into his in another situation entirely.

John Wick fell backward on the chair and quickly got to his feet and rushed to the washroom, his napkin held over his crotch.

* * *

When the assassin finally emerged from the washroom, the Adjudicator was gone. John sat down at the table again, stinky and incredibly irritated, cursing his handler and his clever feet!

"Dance with me," the Administrator said as he stood.

"No," the older man pouted.

When the man would not sit down again, John Wick testily got to his own feet and took him to an empty place on the floor. The hitman reasoned to himself that if he just followed the younger man's request the date would be over sooner and his humiliation would be over. He was surprised when the Administrator pressed his face against his shirt, not seeming to mind the strong scent of skunk.

Awkwardly, the assassin started to dance with the bureaucrat as the band continued to play.

"This is the best Birthday that I have ever had John Wick," the High Table pencil pusher confessed softly after fifteen minutes had passed.

John's mouth opened in shock. "It's your Birthday?"

Wick felt as his dance partner nodded against his chest but did not say a word.

"That was why he made the reservations before we had even met," the Baba Yaga thought sadly to himself. "He asked me because he didn't want to be alone."

His eyes moving around the restaurant, John Wick's eyes fell on the table where he had sat so long ago with Helen before his life had fallen apart. Feeling his own sadness and the resulting loneliness of his wife's death, the hitman held on to the Administrator a little more tighter as they continued to slow dance in the empty room.

* * *

Shortly after he had returned to his suite at the Continental, John received several texts.

The first read: Thought you would like to see my tattoos and piercings after all.

What followed were several shots of the Administrator's usually hidden artwork, studs and rings. The photographs did not only show off the man's tattoos and jewelry but his various body parts as well.

All in explicit detail.

Grinning widely, John Wick began to forward the graphic texts to the Adjuducator as the evidence they had demanded.

Before hitting the "send" button, however, the assassin stopped as he admired the photographs.

The art was rather nice...

Particularly the tattoos on the bureaucrat's butt, which was very nice too.

Helen, despite being a photographer, had never taken or sent him any naughty photos of herself during their marriage. She had been endlessly worried over who may see them if John lost his phone or photo album.

He couldn't really do that same thing to his handler, could he? He didn't really want to embarrass the Administrator, Wick thought. The Adjudicator would probably only tell him they were inadmissable anyway.

Still he should probably keep them easily on hand on his phone. Just in case.

Such was John Wick's justification to himself, as he smiled at the photograph of the Administrator's ass, one last time, before heading to bed.

Chapter Text

John Wick knew that he had two severe problems.

The first was simply the horrible fact that he was being sexually harassed by his handler, the Administrator.

The second was even more horrible and distressing to the hitman: he could not stop thinking about the other man. Usually this would be the cause and effect of the tiny bureaucrat's insidious harassment, John Wick knew fully well, but this exceeded it. He was not only thinking of the disturbing things that the Administrator had said or performed: Wick was thinking about the sweet or sad little things the pierced man had done that had moved him as well.

Moved him, perhaps, a little too much in certain areas.

Having looked at the dirty photos his handler had sent so often, and become aroused to the point of wanting to take matters into his own hands, John Wick was now facing a problem he had not faced in ages; one which made him cringe every time he saw the color blue or passed the ball section at the sporting goods section of any store.

And there were the photos of the Administrator looking so inviting and willing on his cell phone. Or his remarks and offers whenever Wick was required to see him.

John Wick knew that something had to be done and he knew where he could go to look for answers.

* * *

The Tarkovsky Theatre had witnessed much of Jardani Jovonavich's teenage years. It had also been the place where he had gone through puberty, a tremendously embarrassing occurrence given the fact that he had been wearing tights during a great deal of it. Still, it had been where he had first fostered crushes and felt the stirrings of both love and lust.

And overseeing it all had been his substitute mother: The Director.

Seeking an audience with her, John Wick waited in the Ballet school's hallways, waiting to catch her on her way to her office. While he waited, his back against the wall, the Baba Yaga's phone began to ring and he hastily picked it up.

"You missed your appointment," the Administrator's voice said petulantly on the other end.

"I thought that it was for tomorrow," John Wick answered.

"I will dock your pay accordingly. Can you come in now?"

Wick frowned. "I can't. I'm at the Tarkovsky Theatre. Something came up."

After the words were spoken, a group of several ballerinas passed by and giggled as they saw the handsome stranger, standing in their lodging's corridor.

"I see," the bureaucrat said and the pain in his voice was obvious. "I hope, John Wick, that you don't mean that anatomically speaking or it won't be only your pay that I dock."

The call ended and John stared at his phone in defeated silence. He could not tell the Administrator that he was seeing the Director because he, himself, was having that particular effect on him and nobody else.

It would only encourage the slimy bastard, after all.

Patiently waiting, John heard the first few drops of water, signalling that it had started to rain, hit the window. He cursed himself that he had decided to walk to the theatre and had not had the foresight to, at least, bring an umbrella.

Suddenly the Director appeared. She was a tall and imposing woman with jet black hair. She looked at her former pupil with mild interest when she saw him but continued to walk by without further acknowledgement.

"I need to speak with you," John Wick said following her on her way to the office.

"And whom have you offended this time, Jardani?" she inquired.

"No one. I have been offended."

She stopped and fixed him with an intense stare and Wick felt like he was ten years old again.

"My office. Five minutes, nothing more" she said before resuming her journey.

Inside the woman's office, the rain pouring heavily outside, the Director sat down and looked at him with supreme authority. "Who is troubling you?"

"My handler," John Wick answered. "He is making sexual advances towards me."

The Director viewed him with absolute disapproval. "And what Jardani Jovonavich? You are frightened? A big hulking wolf like you? The man known as the Baba Yaga? Did I train you so poorly? Kick him in the nuts or stab him in the throat and just call it a day, you little baby."

It was not the reaction he had hoped from his matriarch. As if reading his expression, the Director smirked. "What you wanted me to hold your hand? Women have dealt with this type of thing for ages. What do you think I did? I made him know that I had the power and not him. I made him know that I was the stronger between us and him a mere rat."

"There's one other problem," John started hesitantly.

"Yes?" the Director said impatiently after a few seconds of hearing no words come out of the assassin's mouth but only watching as his cheeks turned deep red.

"I'm starting to think about him all the time," John hurriedly said to get the embarrassment over with. "I'm starting to..."

"What?"

"When I think of him I..."

The Director sighed in frustration.

Wick grabbed a pencil from off of her desk and laying it down flat, slowly stood it up.

"Oh," she said in dawning realization. "A woody? Do not be so coy!"

John squirmed in his chair.

"And how long has it been Jardani since you have known intimacy?"

Taking a deep swallow, John answered, "About three years."

"I thought your wife died about a year ago?" The Director eyed him suspiciously. "Was it not a happy marriage?"

"It was," the assassin answered, tearing up. "She just wasn't well those last two years. Helen was in the hospital and..."

The Director waved her hands about. "Enough! I am not interested. It is your own problem. Since you do not wish to fulfil your needs with this Administrator, I suggest you find somebody else. Then the problem will be solved."

She grabbed the pencil from out of the Baba Yaga's hand and broke it in two. "Now leave me be," the woman commanded. "I have other more important matters to attend to."

John Wick walked dejectedly out of the Director's office. He was coming to the conclusion that his situation rarely conjured anything other than annoyance or embarrassment from anybody that he approached with it.

As he exited the room, Wick saw a beautiful woman, long blonde hair and with a dancer's body, giving him the eye from the end of the hallway. She was obviously too old to be a student so he guessed her to be a teacher. Watching as she motioned him closer, the assassin found himself walking towards her, favoring a talk to going out in the rain without an umbrella.

While waiting for the rain to let up, John talked with the woman, whom did, in fact, turn out to be a teacher at the school. She also seemed more than willing to let him stay in her room for the night until the downpour stopped. Sex with her was explicity included with the deal.

The Baba Yaga looked out the window at the rain which seemed even more fierce than when it had begun, probably close to two hours ago. He thought of his current physical problem, the Director's advice and the teacher's offer.

Shaking his head, and walking away, John Wick declined and took his chances on getting wet. Helen Wick had taught him something about sex: if it did not include love it was pointless and empty.

Stepping out into the rain, John pulled up his suit jacket and started to walk in the flood. He felt too tired to run and knew, at least, his room at the Continental would be warm and dry.

"You were with her weren't you," he heard an easily recognizable voice behind him say. The hitman turned around to find the Administrator standing in the dark, damp night, soaking wet.

"How long have you been standing there?" John Wick asked.

"Long enough," the bureaucrat said, his face impassive.

"What does that mean?" Wick sighed, facing his accusor.

"You were in there for over an hour with her."

"Who?"

The Administrator scowled. "The Director."

The bearded man nearly fell over in shock, exasperation and hysteria. "The Director? She's like my mother! She's old enough to be my mother."

The younger man stood there, quiet and pathetic. His clothes were drenched and his glasses were unclear from the rain.

"Come on," John Wick said. He placed a gentle hand on his handler's arm.

The pierced man went to shake it off in anger but then lost his strength and collapsed. The older man caught him before he hit the wet pavement. Feeling the heat emanating from the other man, John frowned.

"I need to get you home," he mumbled, picking the Administrator up. "Where do you live?"

"The Continental," the Administrator answered and John Wick almost dropped the man he was holding in his arms.

"I've never seen you there," the hitman argued.

"I didn't want you to," came the weak reply.

It didn't matter, Wick told himself; getting the sick man dry was all that did, right then.

John Wick rushed all the way back to the Continental Hotel, the small, shivering, feverish bureaucrat held protectively against his chest.

* * *

When Wick had brought the Administrator to what was supposedly his room, he asked where the key to it was.

"My key is in my pocket," his handler informed.

"I'd better find an actual key in there," John warned as he began to fish around inside of it.

Feeling cold metal, the assassin sighed in relief and took it out and unlocked the door. As he stepped inside, both men were small clouds dripping their own raindrops on to the Continental's carpet. John tried to rush them as quickly as he could into the bathroom.

Once inside, the older man started to undress the younger man, all the while feeling him still shaking. It was nothing he had not seen before. Still he was shy over seeing it all in person and not on the small screen of his phone. Knowing that he would only risk getting the man wet again if he stayed in his own soaked clothing, Wick stripped down to his own birthday suit. They were both completely naked as John Wick dried them off.

"Stay here," he ordered as he went to fetch fresh clothing.

The Administrator nodded, cradling himself while he sat on the edge of the bathtub.

John found the bedroom and began to search through the drawers for some night clothes. As he rifled through them, he noted the lack of personal items. The man was obviously similar to him in that way, the assassin realized. Pulling out a pair of pink and grey striped pajamas, Wick looked up in shock to find the bureaucrat standing naked in the doorway.

"I told you to stay in the bathroom," John Wick scolded as he started to dress the Administrator.

"Do you not like me because I'm a man? Is that it?" the bureaucrat asked, forlornly.

Wick knew that the pencil pusher was not in complete possession of himself and would most likely regret his words later.

"No," he answered nonetheless.

Fully clothed once more, John put the Administrator to bed and tried to find something to wear that would fit. A fluffy bathrobe seemed to do the trick. He was heading out the door, intending to sneak back to his room, when the Administrator held out a hand.

"Stay."

It was a pleaded whisper; one John Wick found himself unable to resist. He took the mini High Table servant's offered hand and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Do you like me just a little?" the Administrator asked.

John Wick did not know what to say so he decided on the truth.

"Yes."

The pierced man smiled softly and then fell asleep still holding the other man's hand.

The assassin stayed there for the rest of the night, watching over his handler as he slept and wondering how someone so twisted and depraved could look so sweet and innocent.

 

Chapter Text

John Wick stayed all night and early morning with the Administrator. For the whole night long, he sat on the edge of the bureaucrat's bed, holding the other man's hand and checking his forehead to see if it was hot or cool. About mid morning, Wick was relieved to find that his handler's fever had broken.

"I'd still call in sick if I were you," John Wick stated giving him a hopefully intimidating glare.

"I have not taken one day of sick leave, John Wick, since I was appointed my most noble and honorable position," the Administrator returned, haughtily. "I can assure you that I am not about to begin now."

John stared at him blankly flustered. "You're an infuriating little nerd. You know that, right?"

"I am the one evaluating you not the other way around, Mr. Wick," the bureaucrat countered.

The Baba Yaga shook his head and fought a hysteria induced smile. "Point proven."

Remembering the sight of the High Table civil servant standing soaked to the bone outside of the Tarkovsky theatre, Wick sighed. "Maybe if you had enough sense to get out of the rain instead of stalking someone you like you wouldn't need a day off."

"I don't just like you," the Administrator replied softly and John Wick widened his eyes as he looked into the pierced man's own.

The eyes usually partially obscured by the glasses were now fully revealed. Not only that but they contained more clear, honest human emotion than any other time the assassin had looked into them.

It was a pure glimpse of the man behind the wall he had erected around himself. The two walls, John Wick corrected; the first being the cold and robotic office boss; the second, the lascivious pervert that kept propositioning him or making a lewd remark at any available opportunity.

This was the human being behind both masks and he was both vulnerable and scared.

The Administrator also believed himself to be in love and had just confessed as much.

"I'm going to go make you breakfast," John Wick said, standing and slipping into a pair of bunny slippers that the Administrator kept by his bedside.

"Okay," the younger man whispered.

Shuffling out to the kitchen, John noticed that the slippers were a surprisingly good fit, the guy apparently having large feet for being of small stature. He also felt his back yelling at him the full repercussions for sitting up all night and morning. 

Finding the fridge in the kitchen area of the Continental suite, John took out a jar of peanut butter and honey. Finding a loaf of bread, he proceeded to make the man a sandwich. He could have easily have phoned room service but chancing anybody seeing him in the Administrator's room, let alone wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe and a pair of bunny slippers, was out of the question.

If word of it leaked out he would likely no longer be known as the fearsome Baba Yaga. Guns and pencils would no longer be needed; his targets would die laughing. Bunny Yaga they would come to nickname him.

Which would really mean: rabbit woman.

Suddenly as he was spreading the peanut butter on the bread, John Wick wondered why his nickname was that of an old woman?

Placing the knife down, Wick realized something else as well; he was letting his thoughts constantly ramble so he would not have to face the fact that the Administrator had just told him that he loved him.

While his handler had erected a wall to hide his feelings, the bearded assassin knew that he had built one also. With Helen it had been simple: she was a sweet, smart and sexy woman. Though she had been quiet in ways she had always been open in regards to her feelings and every other aspect of her life. The woman she had been had demanded honesty and integrity.

Both the Administrator and himself were hopelessly below that high standard. They were loners whom existed in a seedy, filthy and violent world. Morals had been chucked out the window long ago with honesty and its ilk. 

While the pencil pusher had broken through his own wall back there in the bedroom, John felt the urge to remain safely behind his own. He did not want to face what the man had blatantly implied.

Or his own potential feelings for him in return.

Squeezing on the honey, John Wick was interrupted by a sudden and uncontrollable urge to sneeze. He quickly grabbed a bit of nearby paper towel and caught it in there, not having to worry about ruining the sandwich he had just made. 

"Great," he muttered. "Now I'm probably the one with the cold."

John Wick looked at the piece of wet paper towel in his hand, briefly wondering why everybody looked at their snot after sneezing or blowing their nose. It was as if they had the belief that their noses may be temporarily possessed by Jackson Pollock to create some boogery masterpiece.

Aware that he was getting distracted again, the assassin looked for the garbage bin so he could throw his piece of nose art out. 

While searching the area, John Wick made a rather strange discovery: while there was a bin close by, next to it was a large black garbage bag. Picking it up, the bag felt rather heavy and the hitman made the assumption that the Administrator must have opted out of the room service option and chose to take care of the trash himself. He was so fussy and prissy it fit within the realm of his anal retentive personality.

Not wishing to add to the bin, and believing that the heavy bag was close to being sent out with the other hotel guest's trash anyway, John Wick opened the bag to toss out the paper towel. Catching a glimpse of the bag's contents, the assassin thought how similar it was to his own.

It was only as he looked closer that an unnerving fact became painfully clear.

Turning the garbage bag upside down and spilling its contents on to the kitchen floor, John Wick was horrified to have his suspicion confirmed.

Having heard the commotion, the Administrator had left his comfy bed and stood in the kitchen in his grey and pink pajamas, his large bare feet on the cold floor.

Wick was too outraged to be very concerned about this last fact.

"You stole my garbage?" he asked the bureaucrat in a complete and utter state of disbelief.

"No," the Administrator calmly stated. "I bought your garbage."

John fixed him with an incredulous stare as his mouth hung open.

"You were throwing it away after all," the pierced man further elaborated. "I merely offered the maid $1000 for it."

"You paid a Continental maid a thousand dollars for my trash?" Wick flatly repeated the man's statement.

"Yes," the Administrator said. "It was only supposed to be twenty but some guy named Zero turned it into a bidding war."

"This is ridiculous!" the Baba Yaga said, exploding in to anger as he began to hastily place every single item back in the garbage bag where it had previously been hidden. As he did so, John Wick felt like Pandora stuffing all the world's evils back inside of her box, even if it was only just old toothpaste tubes and gum packages.

"I must warn you, Mr. Wick, that I paid for that," the Administrator stated. "If you intend to take it I will have no choice but to call the authorities."

John Wick let the bag fall to the ground and then picked it swiftly back up again, refusing to let the other man frighten him any longer.

"Look. This is my garbage, not yours!" the older man raised his voice in anger. "You've gone too far this time!"

"Really?" the bureaucrat said thoughtfully. "Hiding your clothes in a locker and joining you in the shower wasn't too far? That is very interesting."

"Look," John Wick replied threateningly. "You are a sick, twisted and antisocial little bastard and I have had enough!"

No longer caring about his attire, John stomped all the way to the door in the bunny slippers, the Administrator close on his heels, and stormed out the door.

The bureaucrat stood their speechless only to tilt his head to look at Wick when he peeked his head in again only two seconds later.

"There's a sandwich on the counter for you. I'll have Charon give you your robe and slippers back later. The garbage I keep," the hitman said before slamming the door a second time.

* * *

Having made his way back to his abode, the only person John Wick encountered was the maid exiting the room. It was just as well, he realized since his key was back in his pants pocket which were still presumably drying in the Administrator's bathroom. With his luck, John knew, the slimy pencil pusher would probably have a copy made by the time he had Charon fetch them.

Having the concierge exchange the Administrator's bathrobe and slippers for his pair of pants was going to be embarrassing enough as it was.

"Can I take that for you?" the maid asked spotting the bag in his hand. There was a greedy look in the woman's eye and Wick noticed in terror that she was holding another bag in her own hand.

"No thank you," he said. "And I'll take that too, please."

The maid looked severely disappointed as John Wick grabbed the bag out of her hand and retreated into the safety of his room.

Much later, he exited his suite in a fresh black suit, the garbage bags now combined and in his hand. John Wick went straight to the Continental Manager's office and burst into it without the benefit of an appointment.

"Here," he said dropping the mammoth bag onto Winston's desk as the Englishman looked up at him non-plussed.

"Jonathan," the older man said, taking off the glasses he had been wearing to read a letter. "Do I look like the cleaning staff?"

"Your maids have been selling my garbage," John Wick hissed.

"Have they?" Winston asked looking slightly bemused. "And who would be pathetic enough to buy it?"

"Room 778."

"Oh," the Continental manager nodded in understanding. "Your Administrator...your problem."

"How did you know?" John Wick demanded.

"Charon. We're very good friends."

"I figured as much,' Wick said deadpanly. "Any chance you can kick the freak out?"

"Charon?" the Englishman asked confused. "Certainly not. He's the best I've ever had."

Not sure if the manager meant concierge or "friend," John only shook his head. "No. The Administrator."

Winston studied his former ally and then motioned him sympathetically to sit down.

"Now Jonathan," he began. "I don't believe that you are looking at this whole thing fairly. There are other things that must be considered."

"As?" John asked obviously disgruntled.

"The Administrator's history for one thing," Winston said calmly as he laced his fingers together on his desk. "People are rarely born evil. Monsters are made, I fear."

"Well do you know anything about him?" the assassin asked.

"Not a bloody thing," the Englishman confessed.

Wick raised his hands in exasperation.

"But that's what I mean," the other man remarked. "He could have been abused himself. This could be the only way he knows of how to handle his interest in you."

John stood up. "It sounds like you are giving him excuses at the expense of my personal safety."

"Don't be unreasonable Jonathan," Winston said as he remained seated.

Not wanting to hear any more of it, John Wick strode to the door in a huff. "One more thing," he stated before leaving. "I'll take care of my own garbage from now on."

For the third time that day, the great Baba Yaga slammed a door shut behind him.

* * *

That night when he received his work order, John Wick was grateful to find no summons to see his handler accompanying it. He set about his nightly death routine without the prospect of having to see the Administrator hanging over his head.

However, having spent all the night before awake and sitting up, not only was he tired he was still also very sore.

As the night wore on, John found his reflexes too slow for his liking and his back and arm in serious need of a pain killer.

At one point, while he was trailing an absconding embezzler, Wick found himself instead cornered by the target. The man surprised John by shooting him in the shoulder, pushing him into the wall of the building of the alley he had trailed the prey too and then throwing his gun away.

As Wick sat on the alley's dirty floor, the fraudulent accountant smiled down at him in boastful glee.

"Say your prayers oh great Bunny Yaga," the villian said about to shoot Wick. The assassin was resigned to his fate; it would help put him out of the misery of the knowledge he must have been seen in the damn bunny slippers after all.

A shot rang out through the alley and John Wick watched stunned as his would be killer fell to the floor, a single bullet to his heart, having gone through his back.

Looking down to the alley's entrance, John Wick saw to his own amazement that it had been his own cursed Administrator that had been the one to save him.

"Good evening Mr Wick," the bureaucrat greeted, his face placid while his was gun aimed at the sky. "Are you happy to see me?"

Chapter Text

Looking at his savior across the length of the dark alley, as he sat down on its dirty floor with his back against some crummy restaurant's wall, John Wick did not know if he should be grateful or upset. While suspecting the answer was the former, his pride and own complicated feelings for the Administrator prevented him from the joyous gratitude which would be normal in this particular situation.

"What the hell are you doing here?" was all that the hitman could manage to say.

The bureaucrat smirked. "Tsk, tsk. It appears that you are the one who should have called in sick today, Mr. Wick."

"And would you have let me?" Wick asked, curious.

"Doubtful," the Administrator replied.

The small man began to walk down the alleyway towards him and John Wick pressed himself further against the wall. He did not know what had happened to him; usually he would have gotten to his feet by now and strode off to the Doctor or, at least, back to his room at the Continental. Right now, however, he could not seem to find the strength to stand on his own. He blamed it on the bureaucrat's presence and his already state of ill health.

As the Administrator knelt down to look at the bullet wound on his shoulder, John thought he detected worry and concern in the younger man's green eyes. Though the bureaucrat was trying his best to appear cold, he could not hide the truth.

"He cares for me," John Wick thought. "He honestly care for me."

The Administrator carefully studied the wound. "It doesn't look bad," he assessed.

It was all rather innocent until the pierced man tried to examine the assassin for any other damage.

"No," Wick said as his handler tried to handle him.

"I have to make sure that you weren't shot anywhere else you may not have realized," the Administrator claimed.

"No!"

"Are you sure?"

John Wick glared and blocked the younger man's hands from exploring his lap. "Believe me, if I'd been shot there I would have known it!" he snapped.

The bureaucrat's eyes looked up into the assassin's and the latter felt himself growing dizzy from the sweet and soft vulnerability he saw in the unmasked gaze. It was once again another glimpse at the man behind his cold mask and John Wick felt woozy, knowing it was not from the bullet still lodged in his shoulder; it would have been easier to blame his feelings on it instead.

Without knowing he was doing it, John started to slowly lean his head forward, closer towards his handler. At the same time, the Administrator was moving his own face nearer to the assassin's. Before their lips could meet, though, Wick realized what was happening and quickly backed his head away, hitting it painfully on the bricks behind him.

"Ow!" he muttered in pain.

The Administrator rose to his feet and looked down at the hitman, once more adorning his cold and professional manner. 

"You see how many bullets I used, Mr. Wick," he stated flatly. "One. Not a single bullet more. That is all that was needed. I'll instruct you to remember that the next time you go shooting your gun off and wasting valuable ammunition; ammunition the High Table pays for, I needn't remind you."

John stared up at the man that was lecturing him and saw that his cheeks were burning bright red; the bearded man found himself seriously doubting it was from anger too, feeling the same exact blush on his own.

"Here," the Administrator stated and handed him the gun he had just used. "I'll go and find us a taxi. Be more careful this time."

The Baba Yaga took the offered weapon and watched as the small man walked calmly down the alley, away from him, in search of a cab.

John Wick's thoughts were in a flurry. He felt both terrified and exited; frosty and warm all over; in pain and yet somehow better than he had felt in a very long time.

It was a confusing feeling but confusion had been his common state after having met the Administrator.

When the hitman saw a dark shadow entering the alley he raised his gun, knowing from the shape that it was not his handler but someone else entirely. John Wick lowered the revolver after seeing that it was only Earl: the Bowery King's favorite subject.

"Hi," John greeted as the vagrant sat down a few feet away from him, against the building's wall.

The mute man nodded in silent acknowledgement. 

"How's it been?" the assassin inquired.

Earl held up his hand; holding it straight, he turned it one way and then the other. The man then pointed a finger at Wick.

"Same here," the wounded man answered.

There was a moment of comfortable silence before the assassin began to speak.

"You see, I have this problem," John started hesitantly. "I was sent to meet with an Administrator after my reinstatement."

Earl nodded.

"It went as expected until he made a suggestive remark," Wick continued. "Then, to make things worse, he was assigned as my handler; under his own request. The pervert started making more and more remarks and even a few advances."

The Bowery King's minion looked appropriately shocked.

"I hated it but...then he would do these little things. Like sketching my picture or just being really cute and I'm afraid...I'm afraid that I started falling for him."

John Wick raised his eyes, afraid that he would see judgement or disgust in the other man's look. When he saw only sympathy and kindness, he felt relief flooding over him.

"Am I weird?" he asked softly.

Earl shook his head from side to side.

Having been treated so often unfairly, and judged by complete strangers on a daily basis, John guessed that the man knew all about unfair criticisms and had learnt a great deal about compassion from being so often hurt himself.

He knew that sometimes all you needed was somebody who would just listen without casting blame or offering their own two cents.

"Thanks Earl," the Baba Yaga said. "That's the best conversation I've had in a while."

Both men turned as they heard the Administrator coming back into the alley. When the bureaucrat saw the vagrant he offered him his spare change and John Wick introduced the two men.

Watching the small man attempting to get the fearsome Baba Yaga to his feet, Earl stood to offer help but the Administrator put up a hand, possessively. "I've got him."

And to his surprise, John Wick realized that he did.

The assassin and the bureaucrat made their way down the alleyway to the taxi cab that was waiting for them. At one point, John looked back to see Earl giving him a thumbs up. Using the hand draped around the Administrator's shoulder, John Wick offered his own to the man in return.

* * *

The Administrator took John to the assassin's room back at the Continental. Once there, they both waited patiently for the Doctor to arrive. It was the first time that dog met the small pencil pusher and Wick watched in amusement as human and canine stared at one another, not knowing what to think of each other. Finally dog gave up and curled up on the hotel room's floor to sleep.

When the Doctor finally arrived, the assassin felt terribly embarrassed when he saw the relatively minor injury; relatively minor for him, at least. When the Physician saw the fretting and fussing Administrator, however, he seemed to understand and took care of it with little comment.

"Thanks Doc," John said as he showed the older man to the door.

"No problem, Mr. Wick. Tell your boyfriend he doesn't need to worry. You'll be fine."

"He's not my..." the Baba Yaga started to say but stopped when the Doctor had shut the door and the words would only be wasted and unheard.

John Wick felt a hand slip around his waist and looked down to find the Administrator trying to lead him to the bedroom. "I'm taking you to bed," the bureaucrat informed.

"That's what I'm afraid of," the hitman retaliated.

Still the older man let the younger lead him to the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to lie down on the comfortable mattress and get some much needed sleep. It had been a very trying day.

There was only one problem.

As they neared the bed, John Wick's foot tripped on one of the Administrator's bunny slippers. The assassin hadn't had the heart to have Charon return the stupid thing, having grown accustomed to it. Losing his balance, John Wick toppled onto the mattress taking the High Table office boss with him.

With much flailing of limbs, the assassin ending up on top of his small and prickly handler.

Both men could not breath as they realized what had just happened. They stared into each other's eyes, their bodies pressed warmly together. Neither had time to find their missing breath as John Wick suddenly and passionately started to kiss the Administrator.