linndechir (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
linndechir) wrote2014-02-24 11:47 pm
linndechir) wrote2014-02-24 11:47 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Let's say the Devil is played by two men (Sid/Ned)
Title: Let's say the Devil is played by two men
Fandom: Mob City
Pairing: Sid Rothman/Ned Stax
Rating: NC-17
Words: 6132
Warnings: mentions of Joe's death at some point in the past, mentions of Benny's death, scheming to kill Mickey
Summary: Sid was willing to work for Benny because he loved and respected the man. But Mickey Cohen? Mickey Cohen's just asking for trouble and there's no way he can keep this operation together. So Sid turns to the one guy he'd trust to take over and run things the way Benny always wanted them run: he turns to Ned Stax. He offers Ned the throne.
Author's note: What should have happened in season two, if there had been a season two. *grump* Set about two years after the season finale. Summary stolen from Iris' prompt on the kinkmeme. Also includes lots of mentions of platonic Sid/Benny (or less platonic if you wanna squint and look at it that way).
Ned watched Sid's face quietly, the preoccupied frown that had been there since Sid had arrived at Ned's place. They were standing close, close enough that Ned could feel Sid's breath on his face, and his hands were resting lightly on Ned's collar. Usually Sid would be undressing him now – he liked to do that, just as much as he liked to dress Ned again in the morning, and it had become almost a kind of ritual that Ned missed sorely on the increasingly rare nights they didn't spend together. But Sid's hands barely moved now, his gaze was fixed on Ned's chin, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Ned didn't want to push him, but this was almost worrying. Sid had his brooding moments, but usually he had them in the middle of the night, after fucking Ned, not before.
When another minute had passed and Sid still hadn't moved, Ned covered Sid's hand with his own. Sid looked up, as if startled for a second, but then his eyes cleared. He looked like he had just come to a decision.
“What is it?” Ned prompted. Sid's hand was warm underneath his fingers, his knuckles still bruised in one or two places from a recent confrontation. Ned loved Sid's hands, their rough, brutal strength, loved the way they grabbed him, pushed him, slapped him. And although he preferred not to think too much about that, he also loved the way they caressed him afterwards, ghosting over his throat or his face or his thighs. Loved the way Sid would sometimes rest his hand on Ned's shoulder when he was standing behind him at the club or at some meeting, a quiet reminder that he was there, his hands ready to deal with any situation Ned's words couldn't resolve.
“Mickey is a problem,” Sid said finally. Ned wasn't sure what he had expected, but not this. They talked about work often enough when they were alone, but again, usually after they fucked, smoking in bed and discussing the day's business.
“What did he do now?” Ned lit a cigarette to hide his disappointment when Sid's hands let go of him, followed him with his eyes as Sid went over to the window to stare out into the dark garden.
“Nothing in particular. He's a problem in general. More trouble than he's worth.” Ned could see the tension in Sid's neck, in his shoulders. He'd known that Sid hadn't been happy with Mickey for a long time, but he'd always assumed that was simply because nobody could truly take Benny's place, as far as Sid was concerned. Benny had been more than Sid's boss, he'd meant the world to him. Two years after his death Sid's grief seemed hardly lessened, no matter how good he was at hiding it. Ned spent too much time around him not to notice.
“You spend half your time trying to keep him from doing something stupid, and we both spend the rest of our time cleaning up his mess when he ends up doing something stupid anyway,” Sid continued when Ned didn't reply, turning back around to face him. He seemed restless, and seeing Sid as anything but completely relaxed and in control was somewhat unsettling.
“He's our boss.” Ned shrugged. “It's our job to do what needs doing.”
Ned knew better than to point out that Benny had had one hell of a temper, too, but even so he could see Sid's point. Benny had been unpredictable sometimes, but he'd still been smart, cunning even, a man with a vision and the determination to turn said vision into reality. Mickey Cohen was … well, Ned had gotten used to Mickey Cohen, but as far as bosses went, he was a distinct step down from Benny Siegel.
“It's our job to keep this business running,” Sid said. He snatched the cigarette from Ned's mouth to take a drag himself, and yeah, something was definitely eating at him. Sid usually didn't let himself smoke except after sex. “We don't owe Mickey Cohen nothing.”
Ned watched him closely, wondering if he should ask, but if Sid was seriously considering what Ned thought he might be considering, he had to ask.
“This isn't because of what he said last week, is it?”
Sid's eyes narrowed. He and Mickey had had a few disagreements over the past two years, culminating in a rather tasteless comment from Mickey about how Benny was dead and Sid having been Benny's right-hand man back in the day didn't mean shit anymore. He'd even added that Sid could just go back to New York if he didn't like the way Mickey was running things. Ned still wasn't quite sure how he had managed to get Sid out of there before he could punch Mickey, if not worse.
“No,” Sid said sharply. “This is because he's a goddamn liability.”
Ned didn't disagree with that sentiment, he just failed to see what could be done about it. He took his cigarette back from Sid, finished it with a few quick drags and stubbed it out.
“So you want to get rid of our boss?” he said bluntly. There was no need to beat around the bush with Sid, it was one of the many things Ned liked about the man. Sid didn't pretend to be anything but what he was. And while he'd been fiercely loyal to Benny, he had no such attachment to Benny's successor. Sid's only reply was a quirk of the mouth, a dirty little smirk that said, “are you really surprised that I would?”
Ned sighed.
“What would be the point? Even if something were to happen to Mickey, New York would probably send someone over to take his place, and we might have even more trouble with that guy. There's no one around here who could just take over, the way Mickey took over from Benny. No offence, Sid, but not even you.”
Far from insulted, Sid actually laughed at that, then shook his head.
“Of course not me, I'm quite happy where I am.” They had been close this entire time, within arm's reach, but Sid stepped closer still. His proximity sent a tingle through Ned's body, excitement, not fear. It had been years since he'd been actually afraid of Sid. If anything Sid made him feel safe these days, a solid, dependable presence by his side, sometimes a bit too trigger-happy for Ned's taste, but smart, controlled, reliable.
“I don't want to do anything more than take care of my side of the business,” Sid continued. “But I want to do it for someone I respect, someone I trust not to get me killed or locked up sooner or later for no other reason than that he's an idiot.”
There was a slight tremor in his voice for just a second. He still misses Benny, Ned knew that even though Sid barely ever spoke about the man. He had been doing Benny's dirty work almost his entire life, and now? Sid had to miss not only working for someone he respected, but also for someone who respected him just as much in return. Ned ran a hand over his face, resisted the urge to go for another cigarette just to keep his hands busy.
“Like I said, at least we know Mickey. I'm not sure the alternative would be any better, Sid.”
“That's where you're wrong, lawyer boy.” And Sid's slightly unfocused gaze settled on Ned, met his eyes with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. “I got my alternative right here.”
And Sid didn't mean him, couldn't possibly mean him. Ned shook his head a little, frowned, tried to think of who else Sid could possibly have in mind.
“You're already all but running the business,” Sid said. Ned felt suddenly a bit dizzy, and for once not because Sid was standing so close that Ned could feel his body heat. “Would be a lot more efficient if you did that without having to work around Mickey.”
“Yeah, but … that's not what I do, Sid. I'm a lawyer, I can't -”
Sid snorted.
“I wouldn't be asking if I thought you couldn't do this. Don't tell me the thought never occurred to you.”
Ned had to sit down, suddenly not quite trusting his legs. What Sid was offering was daunting, tempting – and a sign of greater trust than Ned ever thought Sid had in him.
“Honestly? It hasn't.” Ned laughed, and it sounded a little helpless to his own ears. Ned had never seen himself as a mob boss, of all things. Mob bosses were guys like Benny or Meyer or Mickey, guys who came up through the ranks and made their name on the streets. And Ned liked being the guy behind the scenes, pulling strings, whispering into ears, fixing what needed fixing. But at the same time, Sid was right. Mickey's more … rash decisions had cost them a whole lot of money over the past months, not to mention all but ruined some of their relations with other factions. Sometimes Mickey would listen to Ned, but more often than not he did what he wanted and left it to his people to pick up the pieces make the best of them.
Ned was more nervous than he had been since the early days of the war, quickly lit another cigarette to calm himself. It worked at least somewhat. He looked up at Sid again, dark, expectant eyes watching him closely.
“You've made up your mind already, haven't you?” he asked, because that was easier than admitting that the idea was starting to grow on him. Sid sneered a little.
“I have. But it'd be pretty pointless to give you something you don't want.” There was a slight change in his tone that Ned couldn't quite put his finger on. Not deference as such, no, but … a quiet acceptance of whatever decision Ned would make. Sid had made up his mind.
“What you're offering me is -” Ned shook his head, disbelieving. Sid stepped to the side of Ned's armchair and touched his shoulder. A soft, warm weight. It calmed Ned's nerves more than the cigarette did.
What Sid was offering to give him was nothing less than a throne. Benny's throne. Everything Benny had worked for. Mickey had never deserved to take Benny's place, not in Sid's opinion, and now Sid was offering that same place to Ned. Wanted him to be what Benny had been to him, Ned almost thought, but that was impossible. Sid had loved Benny, there was no other word for it. This was just … making both their lives easier. Once he moved past his shock and surprise, Ned had to admit that it was a good idea. He took a deep breath.
“What about the guys in New York? Meyer? Will they just sit back and let me take over if anything happens to Mickey?” He was pleased that his voice sounded even again, controlled. Sid's hand moved to the back of his neck, fingers curling. It should have seemed threatening, but to Ned it almost felt protective. Sid had killed for Benny countless times, would have died for him without a moment's hesitation. The thought of Sid offering even a fraction of that loyalty to him made Ned feel light-headed.
“They will give you a chance if I vouch for you. You know how it goes. Somebody needs to keep the business running, and if they like how you do things, there won't be any need for them to send someone else.”
Ned nodded slowly, leant back into Sid's touch.
“And Mickey?”
“I'll take care of Mickey.” Sid smiled, that shark smile that promised a very unpleasant fate for somebody. “That's what I do.”
What he'd always done. What he'd done for Benny, what he'd do for Ned now. Ned knew he'd never mean as much to Sid as Benny had, but that was fine. Ned had been happy with what they had – whatever that was, sleeping almost every night with a man who killed for a living, curling up against his back and waking up with strong hands on his throat and cruel lips on his mouth, waking up like that and smiling because he wouldn't have it any other way, so whatever that was, whatever that meant, Ned didn't need anything else. Hadn't needed more than that even before Sid offered to put their whole little world into Ned's hands, casually, like it was nothing.
It was almost romantic, Ned thought and grinned, going by what Sid Rothman would probably consider romantic. He still felt dizzy, but this time it was more like the pleasant buzz after a few glasses of Scotch rather than a disorienting feeling of nausea. He laughed again, looked up at Sid.
“You're actually serious, aren't you?” Sid smiled at him, a smile that would have been soft if he hadn't so obviously been plotting murder. Ned got up slowly to be at eye level with him, and Sid's hand on the back of his neck pulled him closer still.
“You know, you're kind of cheap,” Ned said with a grin.
“Cheap?”
“Yeah, proposing without a ring? That's cheap.”
Sid laughed, a quiet, but actually amused laugh, and Ned joined in. He was relieved that Sid hadn't minded his silly little joke, and his tense neck relaxed under Sid's fingers. After a last drag on his almost forgotten cigarette he offered it to Sid, who accepted it with a smirk.
“Considering what I'm giving you instead, you could've done a lot worse,” Sid said after finishing the cigarette. Ned cocked his head back to feel Sid's fingers against his hairline.
“Yeah, I could have.”
And he meant it. Meant not only that Sid was handing him more power and money than he'd ever dreamt of, but all of this. This odd understanding they had between them, the trust they had built since Benny's death, and Ned still wasn't entirely sure how that had happened. Cleaning up Mickey's mess together again and again, he supposed, and at some point Sid had just become the guy he trusted to have his back, to be there when Ned needed him.
And yeah, there had been that whole unfortunate story with Sid killing Joe once he'd found out who had shot Benny, but there was nothing more Ned could have done about that. He'd warned Joe, all but begged him to get the hell out of the city, but stubborn, brave Joe who just didn't fucking know when to stay down or when to run hadn't listened to him. Somehow it should have ruined this thing with Sid for Ned, but it hadn't, not permanently. He was just glad he never had to see the body after Sid was done with Joe. What he had seen was the pain in Sid's eyes after Benny's death, and no matter how much Ned owed Joe, he couldn't begrudge Sid his revenge. What had happened to Joe belonged in the past, and Ned didn't tend to let the past ruin his future.
He cut that line of thought short. Even if his death had been inevitable, he didn't like to think too much about Joe. Didn't like to think about what the hands that were touching him now had done to the man who had saved his life three times.
“So when is this going to happen?” he asked.
“As soon as I've come up with a good way to get it done. Give me a few days.” Sid's hand slid back to Ned's collar, just where it had been earlier that night, but this time he actually started loosening Ned's tie. A less colourful one than those he used to wear when Benny had still been around, but since Sid had picked it that morning, he probably wanted it that way. Sid threw the tie over the chair before proceeding to unbutton Ned's shirt. Ned shivered a little – there was something possessive about the way Sid dressed and undressed him. He might have worried about that if he didn't enjoy it so much, just like he'd worry about how much he depended on Sid if Sid wasn't so damn dependable. There was no need for Ned to compete with Benny's memory, because Benny was gone, and Ned was what Sid had left now. And apparently that meant more to Sid than Ned ever would have thought.
“No planning tonight, though,” he said with an amused smile when Sid ran his thumb along Ned's collarbone.
“Maybe I'll have an idea while fucking you.” Sid leant in until his smirking lips touched Ned's cheek, mouthed at his slightly stubbly skin, a teasing promise of a bite that didn't come, not yet.
“Like you can think at all when you have your cock in me.” Ned turned his head so their lips almost met, groaned in pleasure when Sid kissed him, hard and rough and quite literally taking his breath away. Sid didn't always kiss him, but when he did, it was like getting mauled by a wild animal, and at the same time Sid's lips tasted of Ned's cigarettes, the only kind Sid ever smoked these days. Sid wasn't the only one feeling possessive sometimes.
The kiss didn't last long enough for Ned's taste, but he didn't complain when Sid's lips moved to his neck instead, nuzzling him a little before biting down, and not for the first time Ned was grateful that his skin was too tanned to bruise easily. He closed his eyes and leant into Sid, into hard hands that only bothered to get rid of those clothes that were actually in his way. Occasionally Sid liked to take his time – in the morning, more often than not, or when he was feeling playful – but most evenings were like this, quick and rough and brutal. Sid knew what he wanted, knew Ned wanted the same thing, so there was no need to pretend otherwise. Ned didn't even try to undress Sid before Sid turned him around roughly, one hand on Ned's arm, the other wrapped around his neck and pressing down just enough to choke him a little. Ned stumbled as Sid manhandled him over into the adjacent dining room – he didn't think he'd ever used that room, except for this – and bent him over the large table. Ned's thighs hit the edge of the table and he groaned; he'd always thought it was a bit high, but it was just right for this.
He buried his face in his arms to make himself more comfortable, but he didn't try to stay quiet when Sid's fingers dug into his hips. He never managed anyway, and at some point he'd even got over being embarrassed about his moans and whimpers and occasionally even screams when Sid fucked him, if only because Sid didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Another thing Ned liked about him – whatever one might have expected, Sid was oddly non-judgemental. He thought Ned's preferences were pretty damn weird, but Sid thought a lot of things other people did were pretty damn weird and he didn't really care much.
Sid was feeling him up – appreciatively, Ned thought, the way you'd appreciate a piece of meat, and that thought really shouldn't turn him on so much. He shifted impatiently, let out a soft sigh when he finally felt Sid's slick cock nudge against him. Sid could never be bothered to prepare him with his fingers, although he sometimes liked to play with him a little after fucking him; using oil was as much of a concession to Ned's comfort as he'd make, but Ned wouldn't have it any other way. He'd got used to it over time, had learnt to relax, and truth be told he actually enjoyed the sharp burn when Sid fucked him open. If it was tenderness he wanted, he wouldn't let Sid Rothman bend him over.
“You gonna make me ask for it?” Ned said, turned his head to glance up over his shoulder. He couldn't get a good look at Sid's face, but he could imagine the smirk, the hungry look in his eyes. Sid cupped one of Ned's ass cheeks, painfully hard, and Ned thought of all the times Sid had told him he had a pretty ass, with that odd mixture of condescension and appreciation he always showed in bed, and that almost did it as much for Ned as Sid's hands or his cock. Almost.
He let out a pained groan when Sid finally pushed into him, too hard and too fast; it drove the breath out of his lungs, made his fingers scramble for purchase on the smooth surface of the table.
“Fuck!” he gasped when Sid stilled, deep inside of him, his hand gripping Ned's hips like iron.
“What?” Sid leant down, his other hand fisted into a handful of Ned's hair to pull him up against Sid, his back arched, barely able to hold his balance if he hadn't been trapped between Sid's body and the table. “Did you think I'd be nicer now, just because I'm making you my boss?”
Those words, accompanied by Sid's hand wrapping around his throat – those calloused, brutal hands Ned couldn't get enough of – made him whimper, and he squirmed back against Sid, trying to get him to move.
“Don't you fucking dare,” he choked out. He felt a drop of sweat run over his forehead, down his temple. It tickled, and he wished Sid had actually undressed him, wished he could feel Sid's hands all over his body without any fabric in between. “You start being nice to me, Sid, I'm gonna dock your pay.”
Sid laughed, hot breath puffing against Ned's ear, his chest vibrating against Ned's back.
“Got it, boss,” his voice a mocking growl in Ned's ear before he tightened his grip on Ned's throat and his hip, pulled out a bit only to thrust back into him with enough force to slam Ned against the edge of the table.
Ned felt tears welling up in his eyes, from the pain or the pleasure or just the lack of air, but he didn't care. Sid had seen him in worse states than this, he liked reducing Ned to nothing but moans and whimpers and uncontrolled shivering under Sid's thrusts. All Ned had to do was hold on, and not even that, really; he trusted Sid to keep him on his feet, trusted Sid not to actually choke him to death, even though Ned had no clue how the hell Sid was even enough in control to let Ned breathe every now and then while fucking his brains out.
Sid was panting heavily into his ear, but other than that he was far more quiet than Ned, buried his teeth in Ned's neck to muffle his moans when he came. Ned saw black dots dancing in front of his eyes as Sid's hand squeezed his throat for a moment too long, but then Sid let go, ran his knuckles almost apologetically over Ned's neck.
“Don't -” Ned's voice cracked, he had to take a deep breath before starting again, “Don't fucking stop, you bastard. At least give me a fucking hand.”
He squirmed back against Sid, cursed quietly. Half the time he came just from Sid fucking him, but somehow the angle wasn't quite right in this position. For a second he thought Sid would be a goddamn tease and simply pull out, but then Sid's hand slowly trailed down from Ned's throat over his torso to his cock, wrapped his fingers around it almost lazily.
“That what you want, boy?” Sid's voice was rougher than usual, and Ned's hips jerked forward.
“Yeah. Do I need to write it down for you?” He laughed breathlessly, leant back against Sid, as far as he could move without letting Sid slip out of him. Sid's hand finally closed around his cock, a bit too tight, too much, the way Sid did most things with just a bit more force than was strictly necessary, but Ned liked that, too, liked the way Sid twisted and squeezed a little at the tip of his cock before returning to the base, liked how his skin was just rough enough to feel different from Ned's hand, but not so rough that it'd be unpleasant. He felt dizzy when he came, the black dots back in front of his eyes, and his vision only cleared again when Sid let go of him a few moments later and pulled out despite Ned's weakly protesting groan.
Ned's knees felt weak and he turned around so he could lean back against the table, watched Sid do the same. Sid cleaned himself up with his handkerchief and tucked himself in, then proceeded to wipe his left hand clean. Took off that heavy silver ring he wore on his little finger to clean that as well.
“That ring,” Ned suddenly asked, watching Sid's hands, still too out of it to consider that Sid might mind the comment. “You always wear it.”
“Hmm,” it sounded vaguely affirmative. Sid shrugged. “Gift from Benny.” He fell silent again, and Ned thought that would be it, until Sid added, voice even, “One of the first nice things we bought. We invested the money we made instead of spending it on things we didn't need, but once we had some money for ourselves … Benny got this for me. Knew I liked it, knew I wouldn't go and buy it myself.”
“I'm sorry.” Ned cleared his throat, wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Sorry I got it dirty, I mean. Not the first time either.”
Sid shook his head, smiled a little.
“Benny knew I'd get my hands dirty when he gave this to me.” He had finished cleaning the ring, put it back on his finger.
“Probably not like this.”
“Yeah, even like this.”
And that was that, really. Ned doubted Sid and Benny had been anything other than friends, or rather brothers, or else Sid probably wouldn't have started screwing Ned while Benny had still been alive, but somehow Ned wasn't surprised that Benny had known even about Sid's less … respectable pastimes. After all, they had known each other their entire lives.
Ned pulled his cigarette case out of his jacket, put two cigarettes between his lips and lit them before he handed one of them over to Sid. He stripped out of his remaining clothes while he was smoking, pleasantly aware of Sid's eyes following him, and leant back against the table, his shoulder brushing against Sid's. Being entirely naked felt a lot less ridiculous to him than being half-dressed with his pants around his ankles. They finished their cigarettes in silence, a comfortable, warm silence. If they had been at Sid's place, Sid would have probably picked up his violin now and started playing – he liked doing that late at night, while Ned was dozing in his bed.
As it was, Ned just lit a second cigarette, only one this time, knowing that Sid would decline another. Sid was running his fingertips over Ned's spine, trailing a few drops of sweat. There was an odd gentleness in the way Sid touched him after fucking him. It reminded Ned of the way he also caressed other things he considered pretty, his violin, a fine suit fabric, a beautiful watch. That comparison probably should have bothered Ned, but it never had. It was just the way Sid was.
“So we're really doing this?” Ned asked after a while. Sid's hand stilled at the small of Ned's back. The metal of the ring was warm against his skin.
“Getting cold feet?”
“Definitely not,” Ned turned his head so he could look at Sid. “Just still processing this. That was about the last thing I expected to happen when I got up this morning, or any morning really. I would have been less surprised if you'd dropped your pants, bent over and told me you'd like to change things up a little.”
Sid huffed out a curt laugh, and his hand resumed its light touches on Ned's back.
“Come on, at least I told you about what I had in mind before whacking him and not after.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for that.” Ned shook his head, closed his eyes again as he leant into Sid's touch and enjoyed the sharp taste of his cigarette. He still half expected to wake up and have a good laugh about that crazy dream in which Sid Rothman offered to murder their boss for him so Ned could take over the L.A. mob, but he was sore enough to be sure that he was awake. And the more he thought about it, the less surprised he was. For all his loyalty to Benny, Sid wasn't a blind follower, wasn't a sheep who'd just run after whoever happened to be in charge. He was too smart for that, too independent, too proud. Sid didn't give a shit about politics or power, he probably wasn't even in it for the money, but he did care about respect. It had just been a matter of time before he and Mickey Cohen would end up having a problem, and people usually didn't survive for long if Sid Rothman had a problem with them.
Benny had treated Sid the way Sid wanted to be treated, like an equal and not a dumb gun for hire, and Sid had paid it back with the kind of loyalty most men couldn't even dream of. Ned didn't dare to dream of it either, but he still had every intention in the world not to make the same mistake as Mickey.
“You gonna stay?” he asked once he had finished the second cigarette. When Sid didn't reply immediately, he continued with a smirk, “I'll suck you off in the morning.”
He added the second sentence more out of habit than because he really needed to convince Sid to stay the night. It had been different in the first months of whatever it was they shared, when Sid had usually left afterwards, or Ned had left when they were at Sid's place, and it had taken rainy nights or promises of morning sex or just a particularly sleepy Sid to change that over time.
But promising to blow him was more comfortable than saying that he slept better when Sid was there, that startling awake after some crap nightmare about the war was less bad when he felt the warmth of Sid's body against his own, that he liked the content, low hum Sid made when he woke up from Ned's hands on him. But Ned would never say any of those things because he was pretty sure Sid would laugh in his face if he knew just how attached Ned was getting to him, and anyway it was easier like this.
“Wouldn't wanna miss that,” Sid said. His arm tightened around Ned's waist and pulled him closer, so Ned stepped between his legs and leant against him. Ran his fingertips over Sid's chest, then started to loosen his tie while Sid placed lazy kisses on the side of Ned's neck.
“You should get out of that suit,” Ned said. Sid had the annoying habit not to get undressed before fucking him half the time, he just didn't get around to it before bending Ned over.
“I will,” Sid mumbled into Ned's skin, but all he did was lick another drop of sweat off Ned's neck, his hands roaming over Ned's back. Ned wondered if Sid was just going to shoot Mickey, or if he'd give him a more personal death. Either way he'd have to make it look like an outside hit, of course, but Ned wasn't going to insult Sid by reminding him of that. Sid knew his business. Ned's skin tingled where Sid's fingers touched him, burnt almost when he thought that those very hands would place their whole world at Ned's feet, and a bit of betrayal was a price more than worth paying for that.
It occurred to him that he should probably feel bad for not only accepting Sid's plan, but actually getting excited when he thought of Sid fucking him after he'd killed Mickey, when he thought about those hands doing his dirty work in the future.
And what the hell did it matter if Ned would never mean as much to Sid as Benny had? Benny was dead, as dead as Joe, as dead as Mickey would soon be, and where it truly mattered, Sid was his now. Ned breathed in, the smell of sex and sweat and of his own cigarettes clinging to Sid's skin, and he smiled. He never would have thought to ask for what Sid was offering now, but he'd be a fool not to accept it when it was given so freely.
* * * * *
Five days later, after a night spent alone, Ned came into his office in the morning to find an envelope and a small, velvety grey box on his desk. He sat down before he opened the envelope and pulled out a simple white card, unadorned, a few words written on it in a flowing, but neat handwriting he didn't immediately recognise.
Can't have you calling me cheap. Hurts my feelings. SR
Ned smiled a little at the absurdity of anything hurting Sid's feelings; and he had almost forgotten about that particular part of their conversation earlier that week. Intrigued, but honestly expecting nothing more than some sort of joke, he opened the small box, and failed to bite back a gasp.
On the black velvet cushioning lay a slender tie clip, a pair of cufflinks, and a ring, all made of silver inlaid with small, elaborately cut diamonds – the kind of jewellery that suggested wealth and taste without being too ostentatious. Ned took the cufflinks out gingerly to hold them up into the sunlight, then the tie clip, admiring the work. He was no specialist on gems, but even so he knew he was holding a small fortune in his hands. And the tie clip and cufflinks alone would have been a perfectly acceptable, if rather extravagant gift for a respected partner. A sign of appreciation for Ned's work.
The ring … the ring was just Sid being funny, Ned decided. He put the tie clip down to take the ring out of its box, turned it slowly, watched how the sunlight caught on the diamonds' facets. The ring was broad enough, the stones small enough not to look out of place on a man's hand. Whether it had been a joke or not, it was the kind of ring Ned could actually get away with wearing.
Before he could put it on, the phone rang. Ned picked up, frowning.
“Stax?”
“Stax, fuck, you gotta get over here.” The voice at the other end of the line sounded breathless, panicked even. It took Ned a moment to place it – Hal, one of Mickey's guys from the Clover. “Something's happened.”
Ned shifted a little on his chair, turned the ring between his fingers. He licked his lips, tried to tell himself that about a thousand things could have happened, but between Sid's absence last night and the gift on his desk …
“Calm down, Hal, what's going on?”
“Mickey got whacked last night, okay? I don't know how the fuck that happened, the bastards dumped his body near the club. The cops are already there!”
Ned was glad he was on the phone, because he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face. He tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear to free his left hand and held the ring up into the sunlight again. It was truly stunning, far too beautiful to be locked away and forgotten in a box.
Ned slipped the ring onto his finger, and somehow he wasn't surprised that it was a perfect fit. Sid had a good eye.
“Don't say or do anything until I get there,” he said into the phone, his voice even enough not to betray his smile. “I'm on my way.”
Fandom: Mob City
Pairing: Sid Rothman/Ned Stax
Rating: NC-17
Words: 6132
Warnings: mentions of Joe's death at some point in the past, mentions of Benny's death, scheming to kill Mickey
Summary: Sid was willing to work for Benny because he loved and respected the man. But Mickey Cohen? Mickey Cohen's just asking for trouble and there's no way he can keep this operation together. So Sid turns to the one guy he'd trust to take over and run things the way Benny always wanted them run: he turns to Ned Stax. He offers Ned the throne.
Author's note: What should have happened in season two, if there had been a season two. *grump* Set about two years after the season finale. Summary stolen from Iris' prompt on the kinkmeme. Also includes lots of mentions of platonic Sid/Benny (or less platonic if you wanna squint and look at it that way).
Ned watched Sid's face quietly, the preoccupied frown that had been there since Sid had arrived at Ned's place. They were standing close, close enough that Ned could feel Sid's breath on his face, and his hands were resting lightly on Ned's collar. Usually Sid would be undressing him now – he liked to do that, just as much as he liked to dress Ned again in the morning, and it had become almost a kind of ritual that Ned missed sorely on the increasingly rare nights they didn't spend together. But Sid's hands barely moved now, his gaze was fixed on Ned's chin, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Ned didn't want to push him, but this was almost worrying. Sid had his brooding moments, but usually he had them in the middle of the night, after fucking Ned, not before.
When another minute had passed and Sid still hadn't moved, Ned covered Sid's hand with his own. Sid looked up, as if startled for a second, but then his eyes cleared. He looked like he had just come to a decision.
“What is it?” Ned prompted. Sid's hand was warm underneath his fingers, his knuckles still bruised in one or two places from a recent confrontation. Ned loved Sid's hands, their rough, brutal strength, loved the way they grabbed him, pushed him, slapped him. And although he preferred not to think too much about that, he also loved the way they caressed him afterwards, ghosting over his throat or his face or his thighs. Loved the way Sid would sometimes rest his hand on Ned's shoulder when he was standing behind him at the club or at some meeting, a quiet reminder that he was there, his hands ready to deal with any situation Ned's words couldn't resolve.
“Mickey is a problem,” Sid said finally. Ned wasn't sure what he had expected, but not this. They talked about work often enough when they were alone, but again, usually after they fucked, smoking in bed and discussing the day's business.
“What did he do now?” Ned lit a cigarette to hide his disappointment when Sid's hands let go of him, followed him with his eyes as Sid went over to the window to stare out into the dark garden.
“Nothing in particular. He's a problem in general. More trouble than he's worth.” Ned could see the tension in Sid's neck, in his shoulders. He'd known that Sid hadn't been happy with Mickey for a long time, but he'd always assumed that was simply because nobody could truly take Benny's place, as far as Sid was concerned. Benny had been more than Sid's boss, he'd meant the world to him. Two years after his death Sid's grief seemed hardly lessened, no matter how good he was at hiding it. Ned spent too much time around him not to notice.
“You spend half your time trying to keep him from doing something stupid, and we both spend the rest of our time cleaning up his mess when he ends up doing something stupid anyway,” Sid continued when Ned didn't reply, turning back around to face him. He seemed restless, and seeing Sid as anything but completely relaxed and in control was somewhat unsettling.
“He's our boss.” Ned shrugged. “It's our job to do what needs doing.”
Ned knew better than to point out that Benny had had one hell of a temper, too, but even so he could see Sid's point. Benny had been unpredictable sometimes, but he'd still been smart, cunning even, a man with a vision and the determination to turn said vision into reality. Mickey Cohen was … well, Ned had gotten used to Mickey Cohen, but as far as bosses went, he was a distinct step down from Benny Siegel.
“It's our job to keep this business running,” Sid said. He snatched the cigarette from Ned's mouth to take a drag himself, and yeah, something was definitely eating at him. Sid usually didn't let himself smoke except after sex. “We don't owe Mickey Cohen nothing.”
Ned watched him closely, wondering if he should ask, but if Sid was seriously considering what Ned thought he might be considering, he had to ask.
“This isn't because of what he said last week, is it?”
Sid's eyes narrowed. He and Mickey had had a few disagreements over the past two years, culminating in a rather tasteless comment from Mickey about how Benny was dead and Sid having been Benny's right-hand man back in the day didn't mean shit anymore. He'd even added that Sid could just go back to New York if he didn't like the way Mickey was running things. Ned still wasn't quite sure how he had managed to get Sid out of there before he could punch Mickey, if not worse.
“No,” Sid said sharply. “This is because he's a goddamn liability.”
Ned didn't disagree with that sentiment, he just failed to see what could be done about it. He took his cigarette back from Sid, finished it with a few quick drags and stubbed it out.
“So you want to get rid of our boss?” he said bluntly. There was no need to beat around the bush with Sid, it was one of the many things Ned liked about the man. Sid didn't pretend to be anything but what he was. And while he'd been fiercely loyal to Benny, he had no such attachment to Benny's successor. Sid's only reply was a quirk of the mouth, a dirty little smirk that said, “are you really surprised that I would?”
Ned sighed.
“What would be the point? Even if something were to happen to Mickey, New York would probably send someone over to take his place, and we might have even more trouble with that guy. There's no one around here who could just take over, the way Mickey took over from Benny. No offence, Sid, but not even you.”
Far from insulted, Sid actually laughed at that, then shook his head.
“Of course not me, I'm quite happy where I am.” They had been close this entire time, within arm's reach, but Sid stepped closer still. His proximity sent a tingle through Ned's body, excitement, not fear. It had been years since he'd been actually afraid of Sid. If anything Sid made him feel safe these days, a solid, dependable presence by his side, sometimes a bit too trigger-happy for Ned's taste, but smart, controlled, reliable.
“I don't want to do anything more than take care of my side of the business,” Sid continued. “But I want to do it for someone I respect, someone I trust not to get me killed or locked up sooner or later for no other reason than that he's an idiot.”
There was a slight tremor in his voice for just a second. He still misses Benny, Ned knew that even though Sid barely ever spoke about the man. He had been doing Benny's dirty work almost his entire life, and now? Sid had to miss not only working for someone he respected, but also for someone who respected him just as much in return. Ned ran a hand over his face, resisted the urge to go for another cigarette just to keep his hands busy.
“Like I said, at least we know Mickey. I'm not sure the alternative would be any better, Sid.”
“That's where you're wrong, lawyer boy.” And Sid's slightly unfocused gaze settled on Ned, met his eyes with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. “I got my alternative right here.”
And Sid didn't mean him, couldn't possibly mean him. Ned shook his head a little, frowned, tried to think of who else Sid could possibly have in mind.
“You're already all but running the business,” Sid said. Ned felt suddenly a bit dizzy, and for once not because Sid was standing so close that Ned could feel his body heat. “Would be a lot more efficient if you did that without having to work around Mickey.”
“Yeah, but … that's not what I do, Sid. I'm a lawyer, I can't -”
Sid snorted.
“I wouldn't be asking if I thought you couldn't do this. Don't tell me the thought never occurred to you.”
Ned had to sit down, suddenly not quite trusting his legs. What Sid was offering was daunting, tempting – and a sign of greater trust than Ned ever thought Sid had in him.
“Honestly? It hasn't.” Ned laughed, and it sounded a little helpless to his own ears. Ned had never seen himself as a mob boss, of all things. Mob bosses were guys like Benny or Meyer or Mickey, guys who came up through the ranks and made their name on the streets. And Ned liked being the guy behind the scenes, pulling strings, whispering into ears, fixing what needed fixing. But at the same time, Sid was right. Mickey's more … rash decisions had cost them a whole lot of money over the past months, not to mention all but ruined some of their relations with other factions. Sometimes Mickey would listen to Ned, but more often than not he did what he wanted and left it to his people to pick up the pieces make the best of them.
Ned was more nervous than he had been since the early days of the war, quickly lit another cigarette to calm himself. It worked at least somewhat. He looked up at Sid again, dark, expectant eyes watching him closely.
“You've made up your mind already, haven't you?” he asked, because that was easier than admitting that the idea was starting to grow on him. Sid sneered a little.
“I have. But it'd be pretty pointless to give you something you don't want.” There was a slight change in his tone that Ned couldn't quite put his finger on. Not deference as such, no, but … a quiet acceptance of whatever decision Ned would make. Sid had made up his mind.
“What you're offering me is -” Ned shook his head, disbelieving. Sid stepped to the side of Ned's armchair and touched his shoulder. A soft, warm weight. It calmed Ned's nerves more than the cigarette did.
What Sid was offering to give him was nothing less than a throne. Benny's throne. Everything Benny had worked for. Mickey had never deserved to take Benny's place, not in Sid's opinion, and now Sid was offering that same place to Ned. Wanted him to be what Benny had been to him, Ned almost thought, but that was impossible. Sid had loved Benny, there was no other word for it. This was just … making both their lives easier. Once he moved past his shock and surprise, Ned had to admit that it was a good idea. He took a deep breath.
“What about the guys in New York? Meyer? Will they just sit back and let me take over if anything happens to Mickey?” He was pleased that his voice sounded even again, controlled. Sid's hand moved to the back of his neck, fingers curling. It should have seemed threatening, but to Ned it almost felt protective. Sid had killed for Benny countless times, would have died for him without a moment's hesitation. The thought of Sid offering even a fraction of that loyalty to him made Ned feel light-headed.
“They will give you a chance if I vouch for you. You know how it goes. Somebody needs to keep the business running, and if they like how you do things, there won't be any need for them to send someone else.”
Ned nodded slowly, leant back into Sid's touch.
“And Mickey?”
“I'll take care of Mickey.” Sid smiled, that shark smile that promised a very unpleasant fate for somebody. “That's what I do.”
What he'd always done. What he'd done for Benny, what he'd do for Ned now. Ned knew he'd never mean as much to Sid as Benny had, but that was fine. Ned had been happy with what they had – whatever that was, sleeping almost every night with a man who killed for a living, curling up against his back and waking up with strong hands on his throat and cruel lips on his mouth, waking up like that and smiling because he wouldn't have it any other way, so whatever that was, whatever that meant, Ned didn't need anything else. Hadn't needed more than that even before Sid offered to put their whole little world into Ned's hands, casually, like it was nothing.
It was almost romantic, Ned thought and grinned, going by what Sid Rothman would probably consider romantic. He still felt dizzy, but this time it was more like the pleasant buzz after a few glasses of Scotch rather than a disorienting feeling of nausea. He laughed again, looked up at Sid.
“You're actually serious, aren't you?” Sid smiled at him, a smile that would have been soft if he hadn't so obviously been plotting murder. Ned got up slowly to be at eye level with him, and Sid's hand on the back of his neck pulled him closer still.
“You know, you're kind of cheap,” Ned said with a grin.
“Cheap?”
“Yeah, proposing without a ring? That's cheap.”
Sid laughed, a quiet, but actually amused laugh, and Ned joined in. He was relieved that Sid hadn't minded his silly little joke, and his tense neck relaxed under Sid's fingers. After a last drag on his almost forgotten cigarette he offered it to Sid, who accepted it with a smirk.
“Considering what I'm giving you instead, you could've done a lot worse,” Sid said after finishing the cigarette. Ned cocked his head back to feel Sid's fingers against his hairline.
“Yeah, I could have.”
And he meant it. Meant not only that Sid was handing him more power and money than he'd ever dreamt of, but all of this. This odd understanding they had between them, the trust they had built since Benny's death, and Ned still wasn't entirely sure how that had happened. Cleaning up Mickey's mess together again and again, he supposed, and at some point Sid had just become the guy he trusted to have his back, to be there when Ned needed him.
And yeah, there had been that whole unfortunate story with Sid killing Joe once he'd found out who had shot Benny, but there was nothing more Ned could have done about that. He'd warned Joe, all but begged him to get the hell out of the city, but stubborn, brave Joe who just didn't fucking know when to stay down or when to run hadn't listened to him. Somehow it should have ruined this thing with Sid for Ned, but it hadn't, not permanently. He was just glad he never had to see the body after Sid was done with Joe. What he had seen was the pain in Sid's eyes after Benny's death, and no matter how much Ned owed Joe, he couldn't begrudge Sid his revenge. What had happened to Joe belonged in the past, and Ned didn't tend to let the past ruin his future.
He cut that line of thought short. Even if his death had been inevitable, he didn't like to think too much about Joe. Didn't like to think about what the hands that were touching him now had done to the man who had saved his life three times.
“So when is this going to happen?” he asked.
“As soon as I've come up with a good way to get it done. Give me a few days.” Sid's hand slid back to Ned's collar, just where it had been earlier that night, but this time he actually started loosening Ned's tie. A less colourful one than those he used to wear when Benny had still been around, but since Sid had picked it that morning, he probably wanted it that way. Sid threw the tie over the chair before proceeding to unbutton Ned's shirt. Ned shivered a little – there was something possessive about the way Sid dressed and undressed him. He might have worried about that if he didn't enjoy it so much, just like he'd worry about how much he depended on Sid if Sid wasn't so damn dependable. There was no need for Ned to compete with Benny's memory, because Benny was gone, and Ned was what Sid had left now. And apparently that meant more to Sid than Ned ever would have thought.
“No planning tonight, though,” he said with an amused smile when Sid ran his thumb along Ned's collarbone.
“Maybe I'll have an idea while fucking you.” Sid leant in until his smirking lips touched Ned's cheek, mouthed at his slightly stubbly skin, a teasing promise of a bite that didn't come, not yet.
“Like you can think at all when you have your cock in me.” Ned turned his head so their lips almost met, groaned in pleasure when Sid kissed him, hard and rough and quite literally taking his breath away. Sid didn't always kiss him, but when he did, it was like getting mauled by a wild animal, and at the same time Sid's lips tasted of Ned's cigarettes, the only kind Sid ever smoked these days. Sid wasn't the only one feeling possessive sometimes.
The kiss didn't last long enough for Ned's taste, but he didn't complain when Sid's lips moved to his neck instead, nuzzling him a little before biting down, and not for the first time Ned was grateful that his skin was too tanned to bruise easily. He closed his eyes and leant into Sid, into hard hands that only bothered to get rid of those clothes that were actually in his way. Occasionally Sid liked to take his time – in the morning, more often than not, or when he was feeling playful – but most evenings were like this, quick and rough and brutal. Sid knew what he wanted, knew Ned wanted the same thing, so there was no need to pretend otherwise. Ned didn't even try to undress Sid before Sid turned him around roughly, one hand on Ned's arm, the other wrapped around his neck and pressing down just enough to choke him a little. Ned stumbled as Sid manhandled him over into the adjacent dining room – he didn't think he'd ever used that room, except for this – and bent him over the large table. Ned's thighs hit the edge of the table and he groaned; he'd always thought it was a bit high, but it was just right for this.
He buried his face in his arms to make himself more comfortable, but he didn't try to stay quiet when Sid's fingers dug into his hips. He never managed anyway, and at some point he'd even got over being embarrassed about his moans and whimpers and occasionally even screams when Sid fucked him, if only because Sid didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Another thing Ned liked about him – whatever one might have expected, Sid was oddly non-judgemental. He thought Ned's preferences were pretty damn weird, but Sid thought a lot of things other people did were pretty damn weird and he didn't really care much.
Sid was feeling him up – appreciatively, Ned thought, the way you'd appreciate a piece of meat, and that thought really shouldn't turn him on so much. He shifted impatiently, let out a soft sigh when he finally felt Sid's slick cock nudge against him. Sid could never be bothered to prepare him with his fingers, although he sometimes liked to play with him a little after fucking him; using oil was as much of a concession to Ned's comfort as he'd make, but Ned wouldn't have it any other way. He'd got used to it over time, had learnt to relax, and truth be told he actually enjoyed the sharp burn when Sid fucked him open. If it was tenderness he wanted, he wouldn't let Sid Rothman bend him over.
“You gonna make me ask for it?” Ned said, turned his head to glance up over his shoulder. He couldn't get a good look at Sid's face, but he could imagine the smirk, the hungry look in his eyes. Sid cupped one of Ned's ass cheeks, painfully hard, and Ned thought of all the times Sid had told him he had a pretty ass, with that odd mixture of condescension and appreciation he always showed in bed, and that almost did it as much for Ned as Sid's hands or his cock. Almost.
He let out a pained groan when Sid finally pushed into him, too hard and too fast; it drove the breath out of his lungs, made his fingers scramble for purchase on the smooth surface of the table.
“Fuck!” he gasped when Sid stilled, deep inside of him, his hand gripping Ned's hips like iron.
“What?” Sid leant down, his other hand fisted into a handful of Ned's hair to pull him up against Sid, his back arched, barely able to hold his balance if he hadn't been trapped between Sid's body and the table. “Did you think I'd be nicer now, just because I'm making you my boss?”
Those words, accompanied by Sid's hand wrapping around his throat – those calloused, brutal hands Ned couldn't get enough of – made him whimper, and he squirmed back against Sid, trying to get him to move.
“Don't you fucking dare,” he choked out. He felt a drop of sweat run over his forehead, down his temple. It tickled, and he wished Sid had actually undressed him, wished he could feel Sid's hands all over his body without any fabric in between. “You start being nice to me, Sid, I'm gonna dock your pay.”
Sid laughed, hot breath puffing against Ned's ear, his chest vibrating against Ned's back.
“Got it, boss,” his voice a mocking growl in Ned's ear before he tightened his grip on Ned's throat and his hip, pulled out a bit only to thrust back into him with enough force to slam Ned against the edge of the table.
Ned felt tears welling up in his eyes, from the pain or the pleasure or just the lack of air, but he didn't care. Sid had seen him in worse states than this, he liked reducing Ned to nothing but moans and whimpers and uncontrolled shivering under Sid's thrusts. All Ned had to do was hold on, and not even that, really; he trusted Sid to keep him on his feet, trusted Sid not to actually choke him to death, even though Ned had no clue how the hell Sid was even enough in control to let Ned breathe every now and then while fucking his brains out.
Sid was panting heavily into his ear, but other than that he was far more quiet than Ned, buried his teeth in Ned's neck to muffle his moans when he came. Ned saw black dots dancing in front of his eyes as Sid's hand squeezed his throat for a moment too long, but then Sid let go, ran his knuckles almost apologetically over Ned's neck.
“Don't -” Ned's voice cracked, he had to take a deep breath before starting again, “Don't fucking stop, you bastard. At least give me a fucking hand.”
He squirmed back against Sid, cursed quietly. Half the time he came just from Sid fucking him, but somehow the angle wasn't quite right in this position. For a second he thought Sid would be a goddamn tease and simply pull out, but then Sid's hand slowly trailed down from Ned's throat over his torso to his cock, wrapped his fingers around it almost lazily.
“That what you want, boy?” Sid's voice was rougher than usual, and Ned's hips jerked forward.
“Yeah. Do I need to write it down for you?” He laughed breathlessly, leant back against Sid, as far as he could move without letting Sid slip out of him. Sid's hand finally closed around his cock, a bit too tight, too much, the way Sid did most things with just a bit more force than was strictly necessary, but Ned liked that, too, liked the way Sid twisted and squeezed a little at the tip of his cock before returning to the base, liked how his skin was just rough enough to feel different from Ned's hand, but not so rough that it'd be unpleasant. He felt dizzy when he came, the black dots back in front of his eyes, and his vision only cleared again when Sid let go of him a few moments later and pulled out despite Ned's weakly protesting groan.
Ned's knees felt weak and he turned around so he could lean back against the table, watched Sid do the same. Sid cleaned himself up with his handkerchief and tucked himself in, then proceeded to wipe his left hand clean. Took off that heavy silver ring he wore on his little finger to clean that as well.
“That ring,” Ned suddenly asked, watching Sid's hands, still too out of it to consider that Sid might mind the comment. “You always wear it.”
“Hmm,” it sounded vaguely affirmative. Sid shrugged. “Gift from Benny.” He fell silent again, and Ned thought that would be it, until Sid added, voice even, “One of the first nice things we bought. We invested the money we made instead of spending it on things we didn't need, but once we had some money for ourselves … Benny got this for me. Knew I liked it, knew I wouldn't go and buy it myself.”
“I'm sorry.” Ned cleared his throat, wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Sorry I got it dirty, I mean. Not the first time either.”
Sid shook his head, smiled a little.
“Benny knew I'd get my hands dirty when he gave this to me.” He had finished cleaning the ring, put it back on his finger.
“Probably not like this.”
“Yeah, even like this.”
And that was that, really. Ned doubted Sid and Benny had been anything other than friends, or rather brothers, or else Sid probably wouldn't have started screwing Ned while Benny had still been alive, but somehow Ned wasn't surprised that Benny had known even about Sid's less … respectable pastimes. After all, they had known each other their entire lives.
Ned pulled his cigarette case out of his jacket, put two cigarettes between his lips and lit them before he handed one of them over to Sid. He stripped out of his remaining clothes while he was smoking, pleasantly aware of Sid's eyes following him, and leant back against the table, his shoulder brushing against Sid's. Being entirely naked felt a lot less ridiculous to him than being half-dressed with his pants around his ankles. They finished their cigarettes in silence, a comfortable, warm silence. If they had been at Sid's place, Sid would have probably picked up his violin now and started playing – he liked doing that late at night, while Ned was dozing in his bed.
As it was, Ned just lit a second cigarette, only one this time, knowing that Sid would decline another. Sid was running his fingertips over Ned's spine, trailing a few drops of sweat. There was an odd gentleness in the way Sid touched him after fucking him. It reminded Ned of the way he also caressed other things he considered pretty, his violin, a fine suit fabric, a beautiful watch. That comparison probably should have bothered Ned, but it never had. It was just the way Sid was.
“So we're really doing this?” Ned asked after a while. Sid's hand stilled at the small of Ned's back. The metal of the ring was warm against his skin.
“Getting cold feet?”
“Definitely not,” Ned turned his head so he could look at Sid. “Just still processing this. That was about the last thing I expected to happen when I got up this morning, or any morning really. I would have been less surprised if you'd dropped your pants, bent over and told me you'd like to change things up a little.”
Sid huffed out a curt laugh, and his hand resumed its light touches on Ned's back.
“Come on, at least I told you about what I had in mind before whacking him and not after.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for that.” Ned shook his head, closed his eyes again as he leant into Sid's touch and enjoyed the sharp taste of his cigarette. He still half expected to wake up and have a good laugh about that crazy dream in which Sid Rothman offered to murder their boss for him so Ned could take over the L.A. mob, but he was sore enough to be sure that he was awake. And the more he thought about it, the less surprised he was. For all his loyalty to Benny, Sid wasn't a blind follower, wasn't a sheep who'd just run after whoever happened to be in charge. He was too smart for that, too independent, too proud. Sid didn't give a shit about politics or power, he probably wasn't even in it for the money, but he did care about respect. It had just been a matter of time before he and Mickey Cohen would end up having a problem, and people usually didn't survive for long if Sid Rothman had a problem with them.
Benny had treated Sid the way Sid wanted to be treated, like an equal and not a dumb gun for hire, and Sid had paid it back with the kind of loyalty most men couldn't even dream of. Ned didn't dare to dream of it either, but he still had every intention in the world not to make the same mistake as Mickey.
“You gonna stay?” he asked once he had finished the second cigarette. When Sid didn't reply immediately, he continued with a smirk, “I'll suck you off in the morning.”
He added the second sentence more out of habit than because he really needed to convince Sid to stay the night. It had been different in the first months of whatever it was they shared, when Sid had usually left afterwards, or Ned had left when they were at Sid's place, and it had taken rainy nights or promises of morning sex or just a particularly sleepy Sid to change that over time.
But promising to blow him was more comfortable than saying that he slept better when Sid was there, that startling awake after some crap nightmare about the war was less bad when he felt the warmth of Sid's body against his own, that he liked the content, low hum Sid made when he woke up from Ned's hands on him. But Ned would never say any of those things because he was pretty sure Sid would laugh in his face if he knew just how attached Ned was getting to him, and anyway it was easier like this.
“Wouldn't wanna miss that,” Sid said. His arm tightened around Ned's waist and pulled him closer, so Ned stepped between his legs and leant against him. Ran his fingertips over Sid's chest, then started to loosen his tie while Sid placed lazy kisses on the side of Ned's neck.
“You should get out of that suit,” Ned said. Sid had the annoying habit not to get undressed before fucking him half the time, he just didn't get around to it before bending Ned over.
“I will,” Sid mumbled into Ned's skin, but all he did was lick another drop of sweat off Ned's neck, his hands roaming over Ned's back. Ned wondered if Sid was just going to shoot Mickey, or if he'd give him a more personal death. Either way he'd have to make it look like an outside hit, of course, but Ned wasn't going to insult Sid by reminding him of that. Sid knew his business. Ned's skin tingled where Sid's fingers touched him, burnt almost when he thought that those very hands would place their whole world at Ned's feet, and a bit of betrayal was a price more than worth paying for that.
It occurred to him that he should probably feel bad for not only accepting Sid's plan, but actually getting excited when he thought of Sid fucking him after he'd killed Mickey, when he thought about those hands doing his dirty work in the future.
And what the hell did it matter if Ned would never mean as much to Sid as Benny had? Benny was dead, as dead as Joe, as dead as Mickey would soon be, and where it truly mattered, Sid was his now. Ned breathed in, the smell of sex and sweat and of his own cigarettes clinging to Sid's skin, and he smiled. He never would have thought to ask for what Sid was offering now, but he'd be a fool not to accept it when it was given so freely.
* * * * *
Five days later, after a night spent alone, Ned came into his office in the morning to find an envelope and a small, velvety grey box on his desk. He sat down before he opened the envelope and pulled out a simple white card, unadorned, a few words written on it in a flowing, but neat handwriting he didn't immediately recognise.
Can't have you calling me cheap. Hurts my feelings. SR
Ned smiled a little at the absurdity of anything hurting Sid's feelings; and he had almost forgotten about that particular part of their conversation earlier that week. Intrigued, but honestly expecting nothing more than some sort of joke, he opened the small box, and failed to bite back a gasp.
On the black velvet cushioning lay a slender tie clip, a pair of cufflinks, and a ring, all made of silver inlaid with small, elaborately cut diamonds – the kind of jewellery that suggested wealth and taste without being too ostentatious. Ned took the cufflinks out gingerly to hold them up into the sunlight, then the tie clip, admiring the work. He was no specialist on gems, but even so he knew he was holding a small fortune in his hands. And the tie clip and cufflinks alone would have been a perfectly acceptable, if rather extravagant gift for a respected partner. A sign of appreciation for Ned's work.
The ring … the ring was just Sid being funny, Ned decided. He put the tie clip down to take the ring out of its box, turned it slowly, watched how the sunlight caught on the diamonds' facets. The ring was broad enough, the stones small enough not to look out of place on a man's hand. Whether it had been a joke or not, it was the kind of ring Ned could actually get away with wearing.
Before he could put it on, the phone rang. Ned picked up, frowning.
“Stax?”
“Stax, fuck, you gotta get over here.” The voice at the other end of the line sounded breathless, panicked even. It took Ned a moment to place it – Hal, one of Mickey's guys from the Clover. “Something's happened.”
Ned shifted a little on his chair, turned the ring between his fingers. He licked his lips, tried to tell himself that about a thousand things could have happened, but between Sid's absence last night and the gift on his desk …
“Calm down, Hal, what's going on?”
“Mickey got whacked last night, okay? I don't know how the fuck that happened, the bastards dumped his body near the club. The cops are already there!”
Ned was glad he was on the phone, because he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face. He tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear to free his left hand and held the ring up into the sunlight again. It was truly stunning, far too beautiful to be locked away and forgotten in a box.
Ned slipped the ring onto his finger, and somehow he wasn't surprised that it was a perfect fit. Sid had a good eye.
“Don't say or do anything until I get there,” he said into the phone, his voice even enough not to betray his smile. “I'm on my way.”