The Hardest Part Of Living
Title: The Hardest Part Of Living
Words: 712
Fandom: TAI (Tony/Butcher)
Warnings: implied gore, murder, etc.
A/N: TAI is a group of murder-for-hires, and Tony’s running the show. Written for au_bingo square Other: Evil Goateed Universe. I was also very tempted to make something in this verse for schmoop_bingo’s nightmares square, but resisted. :P
There are weirder things, Tony imagines, than watching your boyfriend wash blood off his hands and finding it endearing instead of fucked up. Some people enjoy getting pissed on, after all, and the whole thing with adults who dress up like babies…he doesn’t try to understand them, and he figures they wouldn’t try too hard to understand him. He doesn’t try to understand himself either, or Butcher, and that’s probably a good idea. He knows whose blood is under Butcher’s fingernails; Butcher doesn’t. It’s a fucked-up situation, to be sure, the least of which is the whole employer/employee power dynamic.
The most fucked up part, Tony’s thinking, would probably be the bit where he sends his boyfriend out to kill people every couple weeks.
---
They started out as just friends, like how the whole thing started out as just a job; Bill was just a little weird (with a flair for the dramatic), Tony was just mostly amoral (with a good head for business). Sisky was in once Bill was, fanatically loyal and just a touch naturally crazy. Mike’s no nonsense in a lot of ways Tony can appreciate, and he rounds out the batshit of the other two’s Bonnie and Clyde act nicely. Tom introduces Tony to Butcher once they’ve got the rest of them mostly figured out. Butcher was a low-level thug with a high tolerance for messy situations, thanks to Tom and Jon’s ability to start and end shit with all the subtlety of a semi truck. When they hook up with Michael Guy, with his penchant for quick and quiet and painless, it feels complete to Tony.
He strikes a deal with Pete and takes all five of them, setting up in Chicago once Pete moves on to LA.
---
The whole thing with Butcher actually started not long after, probably their third job as a team. They’d fallen into the habit of meeting at Tony’s house to work out assignments, figure out who’s doing what or who they’ll need. That week Tony remembers, because Sisky had finally won the fight over whether or not he was going with Bill and Mike on a real job. The mark was a security freak, and Sisky was the one who’d take the least amount of work to get inside. Tony told them to take Chiz to take care of any guards, and they’re all set.
Chiz left first, quietly, and Mike wasn’t long after him. Bill and Sisky lingered for a while, fighting in a way that wasn’t quite fighting, the way they always did when there was wine to be had. They finally left, Bill winning the argument over whether to walk back to their place or call a cab by virtue of talking over everything Sisky said. Tony was still debating calling one for them and making them wait, mostly for their overall security’s sake, until he sat down again and met Butcher’s gaze.
Butcher’s sitting on the couch across from him still, his black v-neck sweater showing off the bird tattoo on his chest. Tony’d never really understood the tattoos, pretty yet distinct and identifiable as they are, but he assumed it had to do with the fact that the people who saw Butcher at work were a few of the least qualified to identify him after the fact.
He didn’t remember how it happened, exactly, how he ended up with a lap-full of Butcher, how his fingers wound up around the back of Butcher’s neck and on his waist. Tony doesn’t remember a lot, truth be told, but he remembered exactly what Butcher said, how he said it.
“Say no,” Butcher said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Whenever you want, please.”
Tony didn’t trust himself to do anything but nod at that point; he could feel hot breath on his neck, the warm trail of Butcher’s lips tracing up and over his cheek and across his chin, until he’s hovering, just a few short inches away from finding their mark.
“You can say no,” Butcher said again. “Whenever you-“
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tony muttered, tilting his head up to meet Butcher’s mouth.
---
Yeah, Tony thinks to himself, as Butcher grabs a towel, turning toward him with a smile. There’s gotta be weirder things.
Words: 712
Fandom: TAI (Tony/Butcher)
Warnings: implied gore, murder, etc.
A/N: TAI is a group of murder-for-hires, and Tony’s running the show. Written for au_bingo square Other: Evil Goateed Universe. I was also very tempted to make something in this verse for schmoop_bingo’s nightmares square, but resisted. :P
There are weirder things, Tony imagines, than watching your boyfriend wash blood off his hands and finding it endearing instead of fucked up. Some people enjoy getting pissed on, after all, and the whole thing with adults who dress up like babies…he doesn’t try to understand them, and he figures they wouldn’t try too hard to understand him. He doesn’t try to understand himself either, or Butcher, and that’s probably a good idea. He knows whose blood is under Butcher’s fingernails; Butcher doesn’t. It’s a fucked-up situation, to be sure, the least of which is the whole employer/employee power dynamic.
The most fucked up part, Tony’s thinking, would probably be the bit where he sends his boyfriend out to kill people every couple weeks.
---
They started out as just friends, like how the whole thing started out as just a job; Bill was just a little weird (with a flair for the dramatic), Tony was just mostly amoral (with a good head for business). Sisky was in once Bill was, fanatically loyal and just a touch naturally crazy. Mike’s no nonsense in a lot of ways Tony can appreciate, and he rounds out the batshit of the other two’s Bonnie and Clyde act nicely. Tom introduces Tony to Butcher once they’ve got the rest of them mostly figured out. Butcher was a low-level thug with a high tolerance for messy situations, thanks to Tom and Jon’s ability to start and end shit with all the subtlety of a semi truck. When they hook up with Michael Guy, with his penchant for quick and quiet and painless, it feels complete to Tony.
He strikes a deal with Pete and takes all five of them, setting up in Chicago once Pete moves on to LA.
---
The whole thing with Butcher actually started not long after, probably their third job as a team. They’d fallen into the habit of meeting at Tony’s house to work out assignments, figure out who’s doing what or who they’ll need. That week Tony remembers, because Sisky had finally won the fight over whether or not he was going with Bill and Mike on a real job. The mark was a security freak, and Sisky was the one who’d take the least amount of work to get inside. Tony told them to take Chiz to take care of any guards, and they’re all set.
Chiz left first, quietly, and Mike wasn’t long after him. Bill and Sisky lingered for a while, fighting in a way that wasn’t quite fighting, the way they always did when there was wine to be had. They finally left, Bill winning the argument over whether to walk back to their place or call a cab by virtue of talking over everything Sisky said. Tony was still debating calling one for them and making them wait, mostly for their overall security’s sake, until he sat down again and met Butcher’s gaze.
Butcher’s sitting on the couch across from him still, his black v-neck sweater showing off the bird tattoo on his chest. Tony’d never really understood the tattoos, pretty yet distinct and identifiable as they are, but he assumed it had to do with the fact that the people who saw Butcher at work were a few of the least qualified to identify him after the fact.
He didn’t remember how it happened, exactly, how he ended up with a lap-full of Butcher, how his fingers wound up around the back of Butcher’s neck and on his waist. Tony doesn’t remember a lot, truth be told, but he remembered exactly what Butcher said, how he said it.
“Say no,” Butcher said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Whenever you want, please.”
Tony didn’t trust himself to do anything but nod at that point; he could feel hot breath on his neck, the warm trail of Butcher’s lips tracing up and over his cheek and across his chin, until he’s hovering, just a few short inches away from finding their mark.
“You can say no,” Butcher said again. “Whenever you-“
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tony muttered, tilting his head up to meet Butcher’s mouth.
---
Yeah, Tony thinks to himself, as Butcher grabs a towel, turning toward him with a smile. There’s gotta be weirder things.