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The thing is; Marty's been preparing for this for a while.
Daniel Howell is a surprisingly easy going guy, considering he runs one of the biggest drug empires in Europe if not the world. The plan is simple -- make like they want to sell their own organization into Howell's, get him alone, kidnap him and rough him up until he signs all his assets over. Howell's known throughout the criminal underworld for never using private security, the plan should be fool proof.
And so far, it has been. Marty got his top boys with him, bided his time until he could get a meeting with the big boss. Dan Howell holds all his important meetings over a meal, which is perfect. He makes sure each one of his guys has a cufflink with a clasp, so they could dump the drugs on Howell's food if given the opportunity, and that each of them has a counter agent in their back pocket in case they ingest anything.
Howell himself is… actually pretty unintimidating. His hair is straight and brown and pushed back behind his ears. He's tall, but he’s skinny. He has dimples. He greets each of them at the conference room door with a hand shake and a polite smile. The lunch is italian.
“Unfortunately we can't dig in quite yet,” Howell says as he pours them each a glass of wine, minus Tony who's in recovery. Howell actually congratulates him when he admits it, and Marty's also proud of Tony for getting sober since his wife got pregnant, but Howell sells hard drugs, Marty wasn't expecting him to be quite so respectful of tee totalling.
“We have one more guest,” Howell explains. “He's late for everything.”
Almost as soon as he says it, the side door opens, and a man with dark hair rushes in, glasses askew, file folders in his arms. “Sorry, sorry!”
“Gentlemen, my partner, Phil.” Howell says dryly. “I’d say he’s not usually quite so chaotic, but that would be a lie.”
“Hush,” Phil says, rolling his eyes.
The others look at Marty -- another person isn’t part of the plan, Howell is supposed to be alone -- but Marty remains unphased. This pencil pusher is hardly a threat.
They sit to eat, and Marty sees it happen, sees Kev manage to get his drugs in Howell's wine. Now they just have to wait for it to set in.
And it does. Howell starts to blink, longer and heavier. He slides down in his seat, his words slurring.
“Oh,” Phil says, shaking his head. “That's a problem, isn't it?”
They were checked for guns when they entered Howell's office building, but Marty managed to hide a knife in his shoe, and he's already got it out as Tony and Howie leap at Phil.
What he's not expecting, the first moment things really go tits up, is the way Phil neatly sidesteps them, grabs Howie by the wrist, and flips him over his shoulder and into the table.
Ok, so the guy isn't completely useless. That's fine. Marty throws the knife, and it catches Phil in the shoulder. He doesn't cry out, or flinch, instead he ducks under another swing from Kev, grabbing him by the lower leg (Kev's bad leg, no less) and twisting.
There's a stomach churning pop, and Kev screams.
“Phiw,” Howell slurs, head on the table, “don't play with your food, bubby.”
Phil grins -- a dark, twisted thing, and nods. “As you wish.”
And that's when Marty realizes that Phil is not, in fact, trapped in here with them, as he assumed.
Oh no, as he descends, it becomes very clear; they have trapped themselves in a Lions den, and the Lion is intending to kill them all.
Phil is, rightfully, pissed.
Dan had been excited for this meeting. He thought this particular operation had potential, and joked that Marty was close enough to Martyn to be amusing. He was probably more excited about the idea of ordering from Fiore's for lunch, he loved their carbonara.
And Phil was excited too; about lunch, and about anything Dan was happy about. But he'd also had a gut feeling that these guys didn't have pure intentions, and he'd been right.
Dan owes him a blowjob, now, that's a plus.
Over the course of lunch, Dan had looked more and more disappointed. It wouldn't be obvious to anyone other than Phil, who makes it his business to know every one of his beloved's microexpressions. These guys were so obvious, fingering their cheap drug containers and looking at each other like idiots, it was boring -- if he couldn't sign them, at the very least Dan had been hoping to fuck with them a little.
And now, Dan's slid down far enough that he can rub his cheek on the back of his chair, and he's watching Phil tie up the last of the four men with gorgeous, bleary eyes. Dan's been roofied enough times that he can resist it, somewhat, which is why he's still awake but very, very sleepy. Adorable, in fact.
It's a state only Phil is supposed to see him in, which means these men have to die, plain and simple.
“Phil,” Dan whines again, reaching out a hand only to have it flop down again a second later.
Phil checks the last gag, the one around the leader, and kicks him in the balls one last time for good measure. He's given his fair share of black eyes in the last five minutes, but he'll have to make them pay for hurting his angel a bit later. Dan wants him now, and Phil will give his boy the world.
As Phil turns to him, Dan beams dopily up at him with red cheeks and a half chub in his pants. Phil can't help but coo. He's so obsessed with him, just as much now as he was sixteen years ago. He's so precious like this, gazing up at Phil like he's a god.
He runs his fingers through his hair. “They fucked you up, huh baby?”
“Rohypnol,” Dan slurs, “the good stuff.”
He leans into Phil’s touch like a cat. Roofies always make him so sweet -- not that Dan isn’t sweet usually, but something about a sedative always makes him so cuddly.
“Don’t kill the short one,” Dan mumbles, “‘s got a kid.”
Phil knows, because Phil researched these guys, the same way he researches anyone who gets within striking distance of what’s his. He knows that the short one cheated on his wife too, and he hates cheaters.
“No can do, bear, nobody drugs my angel but me.” Phil says. If Dan was a better person, he would protest. If Phil was a better person, he’d forgive.
Luckily, they are exactly as messed up as each other.
“You say the nicest things,” Dan hums, closing his eyes. “Cash in that blowjob?”
And, oh fuck, Phil's cock takes interest in that idea.
It's not like they don't get high, both separately and together -- Dan can go down to the labs and cook up their own supply whenever he pleases, never mind the fact that they literally package and sell various products by the kilo. But it's always fun, and fucking Dan's throat when he's all lax and drooly is possibly one of Phil's top five ways to fuck Dan.
Plus, the added bonus of the still conscious men behind him, making annoying little whines as they try to escape. Making them see Phil claim what's his, what they can never have, making them bask in all of Dan's beauty when they coveted it, tried to snuff it out, somehow missed how amazing Phil's angel is…
God, yes, Phil is cashing in on that blowjob. He's doing that right fucking now.
Dan's tongue lolls out of his mouth as Phil unzips his pants. His stupid, pretty baby boy, what a slut.
Phil's hand tightens in Dan's hair. “You want this, baby?”
“Yes,” Dan whines, “yes, please-”
Phil drags him down, and Dan's floppy limbs fall off his chair. His knees hit the ground in a way that makes him groan, but Phil doesn't have to listen to it for very long, since a second later Dan's mouth is filled with his cock.
It's warm, and it's wet, and Dan makes these obscene little gagging noises as Phil shoves his limp head on and off his cock, tears forming in his eyes. He's beautiful, he's a mess, he's looking up at Phil like he would gladly die, right here on a conference room floor of the company he built without Phil's help, and his dying words would be thank you.
Phil adores him, loves him so much it makes him feel insane. He's never ever letting him go.
He comes on Dan's face, and Dan smiles like he's been given an ice cream.
“Thank you,” Dan slurs, “love you.”
And then his eyes close, and he lets himself pass out, his hair still in Phil's fist.
Phil lays him down, makes sure he's comfortable. He kisses his forehead. His angel.
Then he turns to the horrified group of men, still gagged, wrists chafed from where they've been trying to escape the knots Phil tied with the rope he made sure was in here.
“Now,” Phil says cheerfully. “I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to give me some answers, and then I'm going to make you pay for hurting Dan, sound fun?”
He doesn't wait for an answer.
Dan wakes up in the passenger seat of the car.
It's a familiar position to find himself in, although normally Phil is with him, since he knows Dan hates waking up alone. He stretches out his limbs, feeling the post-high lassitude of them. He tastes cum on the insides of his teeth. He didn’t actually remember anything after lunch, which meant that those fuckers either gave him a pretty high dose, or they gave him some sort of laced roofie. Neither option makes Dan feel pity for what Phil has surely done to them.
Sure enough as he unbuckles himself and climbs out of the car, he finds that they’re at one of Phil’s favorite drop sites, and Phil is fussing over the arm positioning of one of the bodies. Dan can’t help but snicker -- Phil is so particular, sometimes.
“You didn’t let me watch you work,” Dan says, whining a bit as he walks up behind Phil, careful to watch his step and not leave footprints that are too distinct.
Phil turns back toward him just to roll his eyes. “I really don’t understand why you like watching me, I'm boring, I do it the same way every time.”
“That’s the fun part, you sociopath.” Dan says, eyeing the bloody rings around each neck. His own scars itched with the memory of barbed wire digging in in in.
Phil eyes him up and down, then huffs and turns back. “They got you a bit too well for my liking, I got impatient.”
Dan feels a rush of affection. His big strong lion.
“They did,” Dan agrees, “I want another blowjob, I can’t remember it.”
“Slut,” Phil teases, and he finally smiles a bit. “I had to teach them a lesson.”
Dan hums, stepping over to nudge the arm Phil has been fussing with into a different position. “There.”
Phil beams at him. “Perfect. So smart, angel.”
Phil tugs him close, and Dan goes willingly, as he always does. He wraps his arms around Phil’s neck, kisses him.
“You’re so pretty when you’re hungover.” Phil mumbles.
“You think I’m pretty all the time,” Dan snickers. “I’m hungry. Pizza?”
“You just had italian.”
“My italian got ruined by the roofies, and you absolutely left it for the cleaners to take care of so I’m not getting any leftovers. Feed me Pizza, bitch.”
“Whatever my prince wants,” Phil sighs, kissing him again, twice for good measure. “Told you these guys weren't worth your time.”
“Oh, shut up, you had fun killing them.” Dan winks. “Maybe I did it for you.”
Phil's eyes gleam, a storm of blue green that Dan has needed since he was 18 and desperate for this man's attention. “You get me the nicest presents.”
Dan kisses him again. “Anything for you.”
And he means it. Blood, drugs, time, energy, his body and his soul -- it's all for Phil, always has been and always will be.
It's Dan and Phil against this godawful world, and they'll rule it with bloody fists and crowns of barbed wire, dancing on the bodies of their enemies.
Together, forever. As it should be.