Work Text:
He was seeing stars already.
Tires pulled to a screeching halt over the pavement, cutting through silence. Hands gripped the steering wheel; covetous, impatient. He didn't want to be here at this time of night, but he didn't have any choice and he didn't want to hang around the same love hotel he'd been stuck up at. With a sigh, Son looked down his nose, pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket, and tossed it in his hand absentmindedly before looking up at the sizable building he was so comforted to that he'd parked in front of. He muttered under his breath.
"Back so soon?"
It was the early morning and all of the other mobsters had left for home already, or as they liked to say, "clocked out". It was dark, excluding a hazy red light enveloping the room in what could barely be described as luminance.
The statement, admittedly, caught him off guard. He couldn't see anyone, but the voice did sound familiar.
Rounding the receptionist's desk, The Son found himself in his common room. 'Tapestries' on the walls, the shark tank, the punching bag. All that, and his henchman's complacent grin out of the corner of his eye.
"You're back soon." A steady chuckle came from the couch. "Did you have fun over there?"
"Why are you still here?"
Feet up on the table and coat on the floor, Henchman pawed with a stack of blackjack cards and threw them aimlessly at the floor. There was a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff, and the stupid smile on his face clearly meant he was intoxicated. At least, a little.
Five cards hit the floor. "Fold!"
Pacing around the room and ripping his jacket off, Son acted like he hadn't nearly had a heart attack from seeing his own henchman. "I want twelve hookers. Now." Standing just before the coffee table, he stopped in his tracks to get a good look at a giggling Henchman throwing cards everywhere- and the bottle. "Where'd you get that, by the way?"
Just previously, Son had made a mental note in his car to notify his secretary to send hookers in the minute he saw the note. He left a shoddily written piece of paper upon his desk. He found himself tracing back to that.
"It's 4 AM... Give the girls some rest." Throwing the cards up and letting them fall, Henchman threw his head back against the couch and sighed. "Where'd I get it? A place."
"Yeah. Sure. What now?"
"She didn't show up, did she?"
Following pausing for a brief moment, Son was able to force a nod and grind his teeth. In response, Henchman laughed, his voice deep and thoroughly amused. He patted the empty space next to him- which was covered in cards- and reached over and tucked the Smirnoff bottle under his right arm.
Son's face twisted. He even looks drunk.
After situating himself on the couch- that seemed much, much harder than it'd ever been before, the two began to relax and slightly unwind. Running a tired hand through long reins of thick, black hair, Son began to lament. The girl he was supposed to meet ditched him and he stood outside a hotel in deep anticipation for two hours.
"Last fuckin' time I try to get with a Colombian bitch," he mumbled.
In that time, as it seemed, Henchman had drunk himself to bliss and currently stared at his boss with a dopey kind of smile. It felt strange to finally be alone with him; he was slippery as an eel, and more often than not, he was surrounded by silent men with guns and laughing with somebody nobody knew on his phone.
Cutting off incessant talking, Henchman's voice arose, his words elongated and kind of fuzzy-sounding. "Why don't we ever get high together anymore?"
Son stopped mid-word. His eyebrows furrowed harshly and he stared out across the room, only to turn to his henchman laying over the couch and cuddling the Smirnoff. Not even when he was drunk did he ever say anything so... outlandish.
They'd only done drugs together twice before, for multiple reasons. The first was that Son was not a reliable person to do drugs with at all. However, at the same time, Henchman had become increasingly wary of the standard Russian products and genuinely refused to take anything he was offered by his own men- which often lead to him walking in on his boss taking an unnamed capsule and not being to reply to anyone or have any working motor functions for at least a full day. That killed it. After that, Henchman didn't touch anything from the cocaine to the meth to whatever else they had.
It was more about getting high and getting money than either of them bothered to really realize at the time.
"I'm sorry?"
"Why don't we?"
With a deep breath, Son stopped. His night had been utterly shitty, and here he was, with the opportunity to do drugs with someone he was so close to. Someone he hadn't done drugs with since '90. He bit his bottom lip evasively and turned to his chuckling, red-faced henchman, and then his half-empty bottle.
He wasn't anything short of strong. With a rough grasp, he ripped the Smirnoff out of Henchman's hands and downed the rest in one, then blinked as the world span.
Rationality was his demise. He couldn't be sober to make a decision like that, so he ignored the fire water engulfing his throat and choked out a statement. "Coke's in the case over there. Ooooh, shit..."
"Oh, come on. You know I was just kidding." Henchman said, a childish laugh on his breath. Though he pushed himself up and looked close at his wavering boss, and then the direction he'd pointed to. "...Unless you want to do it?"
The cocaine hit Henchman like a speeding train.
Son was used to his own product and was able to shake the first hit off without trouble, but Henchman hadn't snorted anything in so long that the first hit left him malleable. He'd essentially slipped into a vegetative state and couldn't do anything but murmur, laugh weakly, and hang onto his boss. He took a bite out of a pizza- when did they order that? And Son took a sip of some Cognac he seemed to have materialized out of thin air.
Going down for another line, Henchman stopped and stood for a minute, tilting over a little as the effects hit him.
A deep hum resonated throughout the room, as it swung and sway between the both of their feet. Feeling himself sink through the floor, Henchman grabbed strongly onto Son and breathed into his sweat-drenched neck. His body seized in that position, a hand loosely wrapped around Son's nape and the other laying awkwardly against his abdomen. The pizza seemed to have vanished.
Before they knew it, six more lines were gone and Henchman was burning up with a fever. In some act of high irrationality, he let go of his hold on Son and fell backwards onto the table. The glass didn't break, but he covered the coke the razor they had used, and some pills that nobody remembered appearing.
Too high to notice any difference, Son dropped his drink- although it merely faded out for him- and got on his knees to do another line. He ended up throwing himself aimlessly at the table and draping his body over Henchman's, groaning in confusion when he couldn't find his lines. Henchman laughed a little, slightly disoriented, mostly tipsy.
With unbalanced motions and awkward shifts, Henchman looked blankly up at his boss. There was an abundance of potential stimuli everywhere, but it was all wasted because he was laying on it. Son had moved his face downwards and started murmuring into Henchman's shoulder, groaning and making sounds that sounded like combinations of snickers and mumbles. He pulled himself closer to Henchman.
Henchman was so warm. So hot. Burning up.
There was a tingling numbness enveloping Henchman's limbs. It was hard to care about anything but his boss and the cocaine he was crushing, albeit how the latter wasn't his center stage interest. He was sweating up an ocean, his nose was bleeding, and he didn't remember his coat fading out into oblivion and his shirt unbuttoning itself, but he lay there pawing at his boss' back and giggling like a five-year-old.
"Heyyy." Son said, his voice a low, deep growl. "Hey."
"Hmmm?" Henchman giggled. A groggy yet blissful sigh came after, followed by him holding on stronger and knocking the razor out from underneath him and smearing at least ten hundred dollars worth of coke across the table with a strong jerk.
"You know..." A muzzy kind of laugh came out and Son buried his face in Henchman's neck, chuckling and groaning. He was high as shit and had forgotten about the coke completely. "You and me... We could be rich. We could be rich."
"We're rich. Sooooo rich," Henchman parroted. "Money..."
"Yeah, baby. We're... rich."
Son started yanking him closer, groaning softly in the back of his throat. His teeth gently traced the skin of Henchman's neck, moving slowly downward until he began sucking hungrily on his collarbone.
Over the sound of heavy, droning bass music that he didn't remember being turned on, Henchman looked off to the side distantly and did what he heard. In Russian, Son told him to do things. He was instructed to move with him, to close his eyes. He was lost under him, the world outside their bubble an unknown blur. He was all he could hear and smell.
He wasn't sure if it was the drugs or his arousal that seemed to be shutting his brain down, but he could swear that before everything went black, he could feel a hardness poking around his thighs.
Upon realizing his henchman was seconds from blacking out, Son clenched the back of his shirt- unaware he tore it- and breathed out deep. "You're so fucking high..."
"I'm rich... I'm-"
Henchman couldn't hear himself think. He tried to yell back, but it turned into a steep moan. Son had begun to grind against him.
The next moments were distinctly blurry. At some point, Henchman was pinned down by the wrists, and he vaguely saw Son's seemingly mountainous form rutting against his leg while choking out broken moans. His hair cascaded into his face like molten gold.
Things found their way to the floor and soon enough, the pair were rolling around aimlessly and thrusting against each other, hardness pushing hardness. Son grunted at the sound of Henchman's gasps, flipping him over and pulling his hips against his waist. When did they lube up, if they even did? Neither of them knew.
With seemingly relative ease, Son slid inside and Henchman cried out into his jacket. "Fuck," He whispered, which he punctuated with a breathy laugh. What was even happening? What was he even saying? "My God."
"I love you, too," Son said, humming lightly with happiness. He wrapped his hands around his henchman's hips, beginning to force himself in and out. He pushed himself in as deep as he could go before yanking backwards strongly- causing Henchman's entire body to convulse and resulting in a louder cry with each thrust.
It took the wind out of him, being fucked so brutally and so quickly. He was an intoxicated mess, but all he could do was whine and try to reciprocate the motion by knocking his ass backwards into the cock that was ramming him. Time was speeding by, but the only thing that mattered to him was the fact that his boss managed to hit his sweet spot every single time.
They hadn't even been at it for ten minutes before waves of pleasure hit Henchman's mind like a truck. He let out a broken whimper as his cock spurted white all over the tile floors and he convulsed around his boss' length. He was seeing stars already.
Son hadn't pulled out. He grabbed onto Henchman's waist and slammed his ass against his hips so hard, he must've torn something. Henchman's body went limp the moment he pulled out, and he blacked out just as quick. After shooting everywhere, Son fell over and passed out on the floor immediately after. He managed to sling a incapacitated arm around Henchman's upper body, coddling him close before the world faded out into a deep black.
-
It wasn't until around 8 AM that Son's men had began to flood the building and go about their normal business. His secretary, faithful as ever clocked out all meetings Son had scheduled and sent women into Son's main room. It didn't take them long to arrive, but extra was taken from Son's tab due to the earlier hours. Nobody questioned why he wanted that many girls that early. They came up through the elevator and rounded the counter to the Son's room.
Twelve girls- one of which being the girl he didn't see last night- stood gaping at the mess on the floor. Blood, cocaine, semen, pizza, vodka, a razor, and two naked men. One face-down, one face-up.
The amount of girls blankly staring at the room got some traction from the rest of the men, until everyone in the building happened to view the supposed spectacle. A voice arose, confused; "What the hell?"
Son rolled over to face Henchman and mumbled. "We're rich. Fuck off."