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Here’s the ending: They lived happily ever after.
It was not what they deserved. They were not good people, not towards the world they lived in and for the longest time, not even to each other. Capitalist bastards. This was not even supposed to be a love story. They were never motivated by romance. For them, it was money all the way, or influence, or getting the upper hand.
They were businessmen and bitter rivals and set to devastate one another, and somehow they stumbled on a happy ending. Perhaps that happiness in some small ways made them better—their acquisitions a smidgen less predatory, their commitment to charitable causes a touch more sincere—or perhaps the change in company ways was only due to their divided concentration; either way, in the end they did put in work to build a functional relationship out of the scraps of their misdeeds and confused emotions, and they got it. They retired together. Happily.
This was not an expected outcome.
When a corporate fusion made them co-chief executives, there was not an ounce of goodwill between them. They played out a cordial relationship for the public, because if there was something they were more invested in than their rivalry, it was the company’s financial success, but every talk they ever had turned into an argument and every meeting a battle for control.
Cub thought Scar an inexperienced, arrogant upstart who had survived the sharks by his charisma and by his charisma alone, with no other qualities to recommend him. Scar saw Cub as an old relic too stubborn to quit and too set in his ways to navigate and lead a modern business.
Scar was young for a CEO. Cub had been with the company for a long time. But Scar was sharp and imaginative and Cub was cunning and decisive and more flexible than he was given credit for. By the start of the second year of vying for control, they knew each other quite well. The initial impressions had been misleading. They were both the most valuable assets to the company, and their skills combined they would make the most profitable investments and wrangle any negotiation to victory.
And they were still able to remain cordial only by the skin of their teeth.
Now here comes the part where it gets complicated. Here is where the mundane reality of the story gets twisted, deals are made not in the search of profit but of petty vengeance, lines are crossed, and the happy ending switches from an improbability to a fantasy.
Cub became young.
For simplicity’s sake, let’s chalk it up to magic. Cub became a young man in his early twenties for the sole purpose of ruining Scar’s reputation and career.
Arranged himself a job as a golf caddie, set out to get close to Scar. Win his confidence. Cub knew his rival had no lover, nor interest in having one, but he was weak to all manner of temptations. He did affairs. Arranging a scandal might not have worked in Cub’s favor—in a more upstanding company the CEO having an affair with an underling might have made waves, but ConCorp was nothing if not practiced in cover-ups—but it was worth a shot nonetheless, and at the very least Cub hoped to get a look at Scar’s private residence and his private thoughts.
In an utterly predictable turn of events that Cub had utterly failed to anticipate, Scar in private turned out to be very different from the callous, nasty, overconfident man of meeting rooms and formal dinners and unnecessary lunch break dips in the office pool just so that he would have an excuse to walk shirtless around the building. When a few weeks into the con Scar began to let his guard down, he was almost sweet. After all the public bravado, there was something endearing in his hesitancy to take advantage of a young employee. He went through with it eventually, of course; he was not a man of good character. However, he made no attempt to discard Cub after.
“It has been years,” he said, eyes soft. “You may not know it, but you own me now, Mr. Fan. Do you believe it? I hope you use your newfound power wisely, and I hope you will stay.”
He was kind, and he was lonely. And when he believed he had finally found someone who would listen, he talked entirely too much.
Cub got exactly what he had wanted. The young man disappeared without a trace. For weeks, Cub sat on a pile of dirt that, when spread, would make him the sole sovereign of ConCorp. He sat on it and did nothing. In meetings, he could not muster up his usual venom. Scar even asked him, if mockingly, if everything was okay. If his age was catching up to him.
Scar did not expect Cub to notice the forlorn look he had when he thought nobody was watching.
Cub had never intended to let Scar know of the deception. When he revealed it, he justified it by telling himself that this way, he would get to gloat. There was indeed a moment of satisfaction in seeing Scar shatter in front of him: Every emotion evident on his pretty face, first incomprehension, then disbelief and shock, then the raw anger that had him punch Cub, whose cruel retaliation was the refusal to fight back; and then last and most overwhelming of all, the hurt.
There was satisfaction. There was also pity, and something else.
Four days later Scar came to Cub’s office. He had not slept. He had neglected his work. “You win,” he said. “I quit.”
Cub was teetering on the edge. His plan had gone down exactly as he had conceived it, if not better, but still he was not happy. He knew why. He was adept at repression, but he could never stand blatant self-deception.
He was teetering on the edge, he was about to fall, and there was only one hand he could grasp to save himself.
He reached inside his desk for a thick stack of papers he had prepared and put them on the table.
“What is this?” Scar asked. He sounded distrustful. He sounded dead tired.
“It is me,” said Cub.
“What—?” Scar, almost reluctantly, picked up the stack and flipped through the pages. “Cub, this is—”
“My shares,” Cub said. “A deed to a house on the mountains. Some passwords and other private things. It’s what little I could scrape together.”
“Why?”
Cub shrugged. “I guess you could say you own me. This here is a parting gift, to reflect that unfortunate reality.”
He chuckled. He had destroyed himself, and likely for exactly nothing, but he had not been able to think of anything else he could do. He hoped he had not destroyed the company. Scar turned the papers in his hands, undecided, and at that moment Cub felt he understood him well. If it was him, he was almost sure he would have taken the road of vengeance.
Scar tossed the papers back on the table. “We should go somewhere more private,” he said, as if anyone would dare disturb them in Cub’s office. “We should go discuss the future of the company.”
So. That is what they did. They discussed. They came to an understanding. And there you have it; the most important beats of the story.
This was the turning point. The description of what went down is kept brief by necessity; the actual events did not unfold in this exact neat and straightforward manner. There may have been feelings and desires unadmitted and hidden and pushed down even before any sinister plots were set in motion; and when magic is involved, there is always a price.
But this is the gist of it. Now, to the first step of the happily ever after.
-
It’s not that there is no attraction.
Cub is not young anymore, and Scar is—not as old as him. A good way past thirty, but he tends to like people who are not quite on his level. Perhaps people he does not need to feel inferior with. He likes fun uncomplicated people. Not for anything long term, understand—he is married to the company. Same as Cub.
But it’s not that he is not attracted to Cub—he is—and it is evident that Cub is attracted to him. It is just awkward. It is a complete flip of their previous dynamic; Cub is so painfully courteous and correct and accommodating that it is almost an insult.
So Scar has to do something about it.
They are eating lunch, sitting opposite of each other and discussing a way to go about a new business deal, when Scar puts his fork down and looks Cub straight in the eye.
"So," he says, the tone of his voice light, "you would let me be the one to sign this deal you have worked towards for two years, but you don’t trust me enough to kiss me. What’s up with that?"
Cub almost chokes on his omelet. "That—" He gets a hold of himself, albeit just barely. He manages to respond: "Unprofessional, Scar. Unprofessional. Honestly."
"I see." Scar would be deterred, except it does not escape his attention how Cub’s ears have turned red and a faint blush creeps up from under his collar. "Back to the absolute professionalism our relationship has been all about this far, I see, so that's how you want it?"
Cub stares at him. "I can live with it," he finally says.
Scar leans forward. "Well, I can’t," he says. "See, I’ve had a deep think about this, Cub, a long, hard, very deep think, and I demand changes in our arrangement."
Cub is torn between leaning back, because the personal space that he so values is very close to being violated here, and reaching forward because these last few weeks have been an agony . His mind has been a jumble of absolutely scandalous thoughts that, for him, previously have been so rare he has no strategies for how to cope with them. As a compromise, he doesn’t move at all. "What kind of changes?" he asks, all things considered reasonably dignified.
"For one," Scar says, "this." He grabs a hold of Cub’s shirt, pulls him forward and presses his lips on Cub’s mouth.
It is so familiar, yet so strange. First Cub is too stunned to respond properly, and right when he starts getting into it, Scar pulls away. Cub can’t help but to glance around, even though he knows it is just the two of them in the room. His hands rise automatically to fix his tie. He clears his throat.
"That’s—acceptable," he says. "What else?"
Scar is a little bit breathless. His eyes shine the same as his lips, he leans his hands on the table. "Yeah, wow, that went down better than I expected. Wow. So that was the condition, you will need to kiss me. Otherwise I can't see this deal moving forward."
Cub nods.
"That is a yes? Oh, good. I'm glad we are in agreement! The other thing is harder to demonstrate, you will have to excuse me—"
"I’m listening," Cub says. His face is heated, but as he takes a sip of water he feels surprisingly calm. Scar has moved to his sales pitch mode. He used to find it aggravating, but now—
"Tonight," Scar says, "after we have done some of the aforementioned kissing, you and I will retreat to your house, you will get me a drink and then we will get thoroughly acquainted with each other’s bodies. Especially me with yours. It needs to happen."
Cub chews a piece of omelet. He does it mechanically, but then he catches himself and suddenly the movements of his jaw feel all too noticeable. All too unattractive. His hands may be shaking a little. His perfectly cut pants feel too tight. "Those are all your conditions?" he asks.
"Those are the non-negotiable ones. I'm sure there is something I can offer to you in return."
Cub nods. "So, this evening? That’s non-negotiable too?"
"Why, do you have somewhere to be?"
"No, not at all." Cub slides his hand over the table, until his and Scar’s fingers almost touch. "I was just thinking that in the spirit of cooperation, seeing as it's so important to you, I could cancel the next meeting and—"
Scar straightens his back abruptly, and draws away his hand at the same time, right when Cub is about to touch it. "Oh, no, no, no! You heard my terms, Cub!" He grins. "This evening."
Damned sly bastard; and here Cub dared to think his life was about to get easier. "This evening it is," he accepts, even though he knows his productivity for the afternoon is shot to hell. "As for if I have demands, I will have to sleep on it—but for now, we have a deal.”
—
Cub cannot wait.
He is this close—so very close—to taking a break just to rub one out, and that is unheard of for him. He is not even sure if that would help; since even though his pants scuff uncomfortably, the real problem is in his head. He can't get Scar’s eyes and the promise in them off his mind.
Scar comes to his office at sunset. He presses a palm against Cub’s chest and says, "This is it, Cub! This is where you either kiss me or lose the deal," and pretending confidence Cub tilts up Scar’s chin (His skin is soft. His lips are parted. The allure of his looks and his natural charm so entwined that it's impossible to say which part has Cub metaphorically, and soon literally, on his knees.) and kisses him. Cub worries that his beard might scratch, but Scar says nothing of it. His mouth is hungry. He wraps his arms around Cub’s neck. Arousal burns through Cub almost painful and he cannot wait, but he must. Scar has decreed it.
Scar has laid out the choreography for the night, and Cub can do nothing but follow his lead.
They arrive at Cub’s residence, his sanctuary, he tries to remember the last time he had a guest but his memory is gone; all his mental clarity reserved for this current moment. Scar's lips are hot on the line of his jaw and Scar’s hands urge the coat off his back. He pours Scar a drink, both because that is a part of their agreement and because he prides himself at being a good host, and when he turns, Scar has taken off his shirt. He’s lean. This is not the first time Cub sees the contours of his body, but it’s the first with these eyes. He is startled to notice that Scar looks young.
His thoughts stumble. What if he cannot match. He has never felt insecure about his physical features, but then again, he has never paid them much mind. All he knows is that Scar likes vigorous, dark-haired young men. Cub is capable enough, but what if—
This, too, is unlike him. It is lucky that Scar has decided to take charge. All these strange thoughts wash away when he tells Cub to get undressed.
"This is all I have been thinking about today," Scar says as he brushes a hand down Cub’s side, over his hip, over his backside. "Doing this. I want to touch you everywhere, Cub, my hands need to learn."
Scar’s lips make a trail down Cub’s chest and belly. His fingers brush Cub’s cock, it twitches, heavy and hot. Scar makes a sound of wonder and want that makes something inside Cub clench so tight he feels he can’t take it. He cannot wait, but he must.
They kiss. Cub’s hand wanders between Scar’s legs. He strokes. Reverent, he wraps his lips around Scar’s cock, he closes his eyes and sucks like performing an act of worship until Scar, breathless, barely controlled, tells him to stop.
He leans on the sturdy headboard of his bed as Scar pushes inside him slow, slow, it feels like a dream, Scar’s arm around his chest and lips against his ear. Scar says nothing, though, for once he's speechless, only a constant, mhh-mhh-mhh sound of deep satisfaction as he moves.
Or maybe it's Cub making the sound.
It's them both.
Scar pumps his dick, he doesn’t want it to end, he holds on as long as he can but finally there is a wave he cannot stop: It builds in his gut and makes him tremble and moan as he comes, against the dark wood of the headboard. Scar’s arms squeeze around him. Scar buries his head in the crook of Cub’s neck and only the few final thrusts break the languid pace he has kept on for what feels like a whole complete night.
They lay together, looking at each other, sweaty and spent and if there was still doubt left that all of this might be a move in the game, well—
"I thought about it, you know," Scar says, when Cub has almost drifted asleep, "ways to take advantage. Nothing bad! Don’t be alarmed! Just something little, to make a point. I would get you all wound up and then demand a favor. Some token that would mean I get a point. But then—I just—"
"Hmm." Cub brushes a strand of hair off Scar’s forehead. "I thought about that too. Guess I just forgot."
"You forgot?"
"We'll go with that." Cub smiles.
Scar inches closer. He goes for a kiss, but stops just short and mutters against Cub’s lips: "Well. There is always the next time."