Wesley didn’t abhor violence, he really couldn’t, given who his employer was, but he preferred to use a more subtle solution to these types of problems, poison, a blade dipped in between the ribs, a snap of the neck.
He let out a annoyed sigh and removed his glasses to clean them, as the crunch, crunch, squish, of blood, brain, and bone being demolished, and the sticky sweet smell of blood filled the air.
He didn’t enjoy violence that caused too much of a mess he liked to keep things neat, as did his employer until that simmering rage that always rolled beneath the surface poured out of him like a white hot geyser of fury.
It’s only a few moments after the Russian goes quiet but his employer has not, the rage hasn’t been quieted and it probably never will. The car door slams shut, the sound of blood and brain hitting the damp pavement, mixed with the harsh sound of Wilson Fisk’s breathing.
Wesley can tell it’s almost over they’ll have to detail the car of course, but that won’t be a problem he is already sending a text to someone who handles these matters. He steps from the car and came around the side.
It awoke something primal in Wesley most men would be disgusted, angry or even afraid, but Wesley just felt deep affection, because he knew what came after these outbursts and they almost always ended well for him…one way or another.
He watches the calm mask fall back over Wilson’s face. He hands over his handkerchief that moments ago he had used to clean his glasses and hands it over to the larger man as the backup car pulls up.
The body is packed up and shipped off to the idiot’s brother, the start of a war, if he’s honest they’d both been itching for, a power play against that masked fool running around Hell’s Kitchen, that should work out well for them both. The car and the body taken care of Wesley moves to the second waiting vehicle and slides into the back seat.
Before he can even speak Wesley can feel Fisk’s hand move to the back of his neck and squeezing slightly.
It was going to be one of those nights, he can’t say he’s surprised, given the outburst. This used to trouble him, like his other urges used to trouble him, but not anymore, working with his employer had unlocked so much for him. He used to worry about the backseat trysts, but who was their driver going to be foolish enough to tell, or talk too about the other half of the nature of their relationship.
The hand at the back of his neck squeezes a little more than Fisk’s rough voice finally fills the silence. “You must be disgusted with me, Wesley,” he says as the car starts to move, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as they move away from the bridge. The grip on the back Wesley’s neck is almost hard enough to bruise.
“While we have different tastes in how to deal with problems like that, sir” He began while trying to control his breathing. “ I am far from disgusted.”
He can hear the catch in Wilson’s breath at the sir, felt the twitch of the man’s large fingers, he did his best to keep his lips from twitching at the reaction. Though he can’t hide the physical effects this exchange is having on him.
Wesley hears Fisk hum a little thinking over what he has said, his eyes flicking over to look at his employer, and meeting them for a moment before Fisk’s eyes rake over Wesley. It’s a look Wesley has seen on Fisk before, a look most predators and men of power get when they see something they want, something they need, before they either claim it as their own, or destroy it so no one else can have it.
It’s a look Wesley has given Wilson himself on occasion, he won’t lie, not to his employer anyway. “Yes… at times I find your methods get us more information… but this was not the time nor place, for those.” Fisk says somehow closer to James then had been before, the hand at the back of his neck tightening again, making James swallow on reflex alone.
“No… my methods were not appropriate for the moment.” Wesley agrees and nods as best he can with the hand around his neck, it’s a comfort, not there to harm, but there to anchor, there to create a point of contact, to funnel the energy that ran through them. James licks his lips the street lights flashing mutedly through the tinted windows, as he turns to look fully at Wilson, the man’s hand moving from the back of his neck to the front and giving another squeeze, making James’ eyes close behind his glasses for a moment, his breath hitching slightly.
He always breaks first, but he doesn’t mind, it’s just what Wilson does, the man rarely breaks first when it comes to these matters. Wesley also knows it comes from the deep fear of rejection and embarrassment that runs through the larger man.
The hand pushes Wesley back into the door for a moment before he is able slide down head on the seat one leg stretched out along the floorboard of the jeep the other hitched up at an awkward angle along the back of the seat pinned between Wilson’s body and the smooth leather making the seams of his pants stretch and pull.
Wilson squeezes and releases as Wesley looks up at him, there are still flecks of blood on the man’s face, but his expression has gone from the need to release his rage to the need for another kind of release. One they haven’t sought from each other in the last two weeks, because of conflicting schedules, dealing with the Russian morons… maybe he would find away to work times like these into their schedules… but then Wilson has always liked them to be spur of the moment… maybe schedule them with letting his employer know they are scheduled… he is pulled from this thoughts with another squeeze to his throat, and Fisk’s free hand starting to rub him through this trousers.
“James, you are thinking time tables and to do lists when my hand is around your throat… and on your cock…” His voice rumbles in Wesley’s ear and his given name on Fisk’s lips makes his cock twitch under the hand working it to full hardness.
Wesley blinks and arches up against Wilson with a grunt. “Apologies…” whatever he was going to say next is cut off the crush of lips and tongue with such force that all he can do is submit to it. Wesley loved and hated how his employer knew how to play him like a fiddle, he grunts as Wilson bites down on his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood but certainly hard enough to leave a bruise.
Most of the time the man was more careful about to leave his marks in the places where his suits would hide.
But he can’t really bring himself to mind right now, his hips roll up against Wilson not surprised to find the larger man just as aroused as he is. The car stops, for a moment he’s unsure if they are at a red light or outside the penthouse.
His question is answered as Fisk pulls away straightening his suit, James sits up and quickly does the same, but it does nothing to quell was has been built up on the ride and through the events of the night. He straightens his glasses and makes himself look as presentable as possible eyes moving over to his employer, not moving until Wilson gives him a stiff nod.
He steps from the car and walks briskly into the building just a few steps behind his employer.