The drive to Dark's house was a blur.

Host slumped in the backseat with his head against the car window, eye closed. Jim clutched his knees until his knuckles were white. In the middle of them, Wilford displayed a side of himself Dark hadn't seen often. No humor, no light. All business. A killer's gaze.

He had called Schneepelstein with his cracked phone, speaking in low, hushed tones. Through the rearview mirror, Dark could tell the call didn't go as planned. Wilford let out a curse that made the taxi driver jump, and he was deathly silent the rest of the drive home, stress lining his every muscle.

The taxi dropped them off, and Dark led them into his penthouse, keeping Jim company as Wilford kept Host up. They tracked blood over the reflective floors, breaths heavy in the aching silence around them.

Wilford dragged Host towards the closest couch and set him down, kneeling before him. Blood smeared the white surface, but none of them cared.

"Host," said Wil, tapping the side of his face. "You still with me?"

Host was looking better than before, but he was still weak.

"I think I broke a few ribs," he said, brushing a hand against his side. His eye slid up and met Dark's. "You have medication, right?"

He nodded. "I'll be right back."

Wilford caught his wrist before he could go, and Dark glanced down at him, raising a brow.

"Do you have a room for them down here?" asked Wil, brows furrowed. "I don't want them going up the stairs."

Now that he had a closer look, Wilford looked beaten. His eyes were full of concern, stress etched in his face. Dark carefully exhaled and grabbed Wil's hand, squeezing it gently.

"I do," he said. "Rest, please. Let me take care of this."

Wilford was about to protest, starting to stand, and Dark waved him off. "Focus on Jim," he said.

Wilford sent him a look, but somewhere in that gaze, there was relief. He sank back down and checked up on Jim as Dark went to grab the medication (and a first aid kid) from the guest bedroom. When he returned, the uneasy energy in the air had settled, replaced by exhaustion.

He understood. He was exhausted, too.

"Here," said Dark, tossing the bottle of pills over. Wilford caught it, fumbling a little, while Dark went to the kitchen for a few glasses of water. He handed one to everyone and sank down beside Wilford, wincing at the pain that shot up his side.

Wilford was at his side instantly. "You alright?" he breathed, that warm presence filling his vision. Adoration flushed through him.

"Fine," said Dark. He handed him the first aid kit to him and nodded at Jim, who now sat next to Host. "You should tend to them."

"But you're hurt—"

"Wil," said Dark. "I'm fine."

Wil frowned, eyes glittering, and after a while, he got up, sitting next to Jim. Dark watched as the mafia boss tended to him, disinfecting his gunshot wound and wrapping it with gauze. It certainly wasn't Schneepelstein-approved—the job was done messily—but from the way Wilford moved, Dark could tell it wasn't his first time doing this.

"There," exhaled Wilford, finishing up Host's and Jim's injuries. His face had gotten paler, and when he sat next to Dark, the businessman grabbed the first aid kit and turned to him. He motioned to his wounds—the cut on his cheek, the blood staining his hip, the state of his shoulder. If anything, he looked worse than all of them combined.

"Let me help," he said. Wilford met his eyes, and he waved the kit away stubbornly.

"I'm fine," he said. "I just need to rest."

"You're bleeding."

"You are, too."

"Wilford—"

"Where's the room?" said Wilford. "So they can rest."

Dark sent him a look, but he was too tired to keep arguing. With a sigh, he motioned down the hall.

"Down there," he said. "There's only one."

"And the other?"

"Upstairs," said Dark. "I'll sleep on the couch, you can take the one up—"

"No..." said Wilford, his gaze far off. "I want to be with you."

The words filled him with warmth, but he brushed it aside. He focused on helping Host and Jim to the guest bedroom, where he supplied them with more water, medication, and the first aid kit. Dark expressed his concern for Host, but Jim waved him off. Although his hands still shook, he was nearly back to himself.

"I'll take care of him," said Jim. "Thank you, Mr. Dark. Make sure Warfstache takes it easy, okay? These things kinda take a toll on him..."

Dark wondered why. He nodded, and when he returned to the living room, Wilford was slowly pacing, hand shaking over a cigarette. When his eyes met Dark's, he stilled.

"Ah," he mumbled, waving the cig. "Sorry. I'm stressed."

On any other day, Dark would've told him off for smoking inside. But instead, he walked forward, ghosted a hand behind Wilford's waist, and plucked the cigarette from his fingers.

And brought it to his own lips.

Dark closed his eyes and sucked in a drag, the smoke filling his lungs with a nostalgic warmth. The drug flooded through him, eased the tension in his muscles, and he tipped his head back and exhaled, the smoke curling past his lips.

When he opened his eyes, Wilford was staring at him, transfixed. Suddenly, that heat curled between them again despite their current state.

"I thought you didn't smoke," said Wil.

"I used to," said Dark, handing the cigarette back. Wilford took it and numbly brought it to his lips, puffing. The shakes in his hand carefully subsided.

"Really," mumbled Wilford. "When?"

Dark managed a tired smile, and he led them up the stairs, careful to make sure Wilford didn't fall. The mafia boss refused to use the railings for support, but he didn't mind Dark's hand at his back—a constant, warm pressure.

"When I was younger," answered Dark with a shrug. "And I thought doing things illegally would get my parents' attention."

Wilford hummed as they reached the second floor. "You never mention them," he said. "Your parents."

"Neither do you."

Wilford wearily smiled. "For good reason."

Dark led them into his bedroom, a space so wide and open that it felt achingly empty. He motioned Wilford to sit on the king bed as he went to the bathroom, grabbing another first aid kid and some more pain medication. Usually, he wasn't the type to store these things. His ex, Actor, just happened to like being reckless at all times.

He sat next to Wilford, who still puffed at his cigarette. When he clicked open the first aid kit, the mafia boss scoffed under his breath.

"You really don't have to do this," he mumbled.

Dark sent him a hard look. "Ever since we met, Wil," he said, "you've been taking care of me. It's about time I do the same."

Wilford gave him a lopsided smile. "Look at you," he teased. "All businessman again." He rose a brow. "I like it."

Dark exhaled, humoring him with a look. "I didn't know near-death incidents made you flirty."

Wilford smiled, and he unbuttoned his shirt. He stopped halfway when pain shot up his shoulder, and he winced, hair hiding his face. Dark sat up.

Right. His shoulder's dislocated.

Dark scooted closer, hands at the ready, and Wilford waved him off.

"It's fine," he hissed. "I'm—"

"Wil." Dark stood up, and he grabbed the hand of Wilford's injured arm, sending him a look. "Show me how to fix it."

Wilford sucked in a breath, and he huffed, glaring. "You really are persistent, aren't you?"

"I care about you."

The words made the air around them ripple. Wilford swallowed, and after a while—pinned under Dark's insisting glare—he gave in. He guided Dark through the motions, and after a moment of struggling, and an explosion of pain, Dark popped Wilford's shoulder back in place.

The mafia boss was left hunched over, groaning through the pain.

"Mother fucker," he cursed to himself, moving his arm tenderly. Pain shot through him at every motion. "I could go for those pain pills."

Dark handed some over, and Wilford took them dry, tipping his head back. He lingered there, catching his breath, and Dark had to scold himself not to take in the sight. Right now, he had to focus on the man's wounds.

"Scoot back a bit," said Dark, resting his knee in between Wilford's legs. "I have to—"

"What're you doing?" slurred Wilford with the ghost of a smirk, raising a brow at him.

Dark glanced up, and he met Wil's half-lidded eyes—whether from exhaustion or amusement, he couldn't tell. Wilford had a hand propping himself up as he leaned back, his injured arm gently draped over his lap.

"Trying to tend to your wounds," said Dark, trying to ignore the heat flushing to his face. If this were any other circumstance, he would be drooling at the sight of Wilford right now. "Can't I do that?"

Wilford made an amused sound, but he obliged, scooting back in the slightest. He spread his legs to give Dark more room, and the businessman ran his hands down the yellow fabric of Wil's shirt, focusing on the blossom of blood further down.

He couldn't deny the heat that swelled in the room.

His fingers brushed Wil's skin, fabric parting with each button undone.

He couldn't deny the prying feel of Wilford's eyes on him.

Dark sucked in a breath, and he finished unbuttoning Wilford's shirt, making sure to avoid the mafia boss' gaze. He could feel the warmth of him, from this close; could hear the steady rhythm of his breaths; see the rise and fall of his bare chest, which grew more visible the more Dark parted his shirt.

Dark didn't realize that Wilford had shifted closer until he felt his breaths ghosting in the space between them.

"Y'know," exhaled Wilford. "I could've done that myself."

Dark lifted his gaze, and a searing heat poured through him, lighting him up from the inside out. He knew how suggestive their position was—his knee between Wil's legs; his hands prying apart his shirt. He carefully exhaled and grabbed the first aid kit, pulling out some cloth.

"I know," he breathed, avoiding his gaze. He brushed aside Wil's shirt and focused on the cut at his hip, shallow but still covered in blood. "But I want to take care of you, like you've done to me."

The cloth blotted red as he pressed it against Wil's wound, and his gaze slid up, meeting his.

"Let me take care of you," Dark insisted.

Wilford sucked in a breath, something glittering in his eyes, and his gaze flicked down to Dark's lips. Before he could succumb to the draw, the constant magnetic pull that existed between them, Dark bowed his head and focused on the wound.

He cleaned him up in silence. The air was heavy over them, thick with tension, and Wilford's eyes never once left Dark as he worked. As he wrapped bandage around his waist, fingers skimming his skin, the pull between them grew stronger.

They were finding it harder to resist.

"Alright," exhaled Dark, sliding his hand along Wil's stomach to secure the bandage. Tingles raced through him at the gesture. "You should be good."

He didn't meet his eyes. Was too flustered to, but before he knew it, fingers slid along his jaw, tilting his chin up. The moment he met Wil's eyes, his breath left him, and warmth flushed through his body.

Wilford's nose brushed against his. "Thanks," he exhaled, breath hot. He shifted, and when the sheets rustled beneath them, a charge kicked in the air. It was the Continental all over again—the energy between them, the heat—but this time, it was different. This time, they knew what they wanted. This time, Dark wasn't afraid.

"Now, it's time for me..." Wil's fingers slid down Dark's neck, along his collarbones. "...to take care of you."

Dark's breath left him, and he could feel his head tilting, body shifting closer to him. Inevitably, they were drawn to the pull; drawn to the heat that always swelled around them.

His heart pounded despite the exhaustion in his limbs.

"I said I'm fine," breathed Dark, tingles racing down his spine when their lips brushed. He braced his hands at Wilford's sides, caging him in. "We just... need to rest."

Wilford's hand slid down Dark's spine, resting at the small of his back. His palm was warm, claiming, and Dark inhaled when Wilford pulled him closer until their chests brushed. Suddenly, Dark felt too hot under his clothes.

"Dark..." started Wilford, his voice low. "I want—"

"I know," breathed Dark, his pulse racing. "Me too." His eyes flicked down to the bandage around Wil's waist. The petals of blood like a stark reminder. "But you're injured."

Wilford smirked, his breath hot against Dark's skin. When their eyes met, the tension between them rose, and Dark felt breathless under that gaze.

"Goddamn it, Dark, isn't it obvious?" he breathed against his lips. "I want you. I want all of you."

The words made Dark breathless, and he could feel heat rushing through him, all over him. And then Wilford smirked, a toying, tempting thing, and Dark flushed with need.

"Besides..." breathed Wilford, curling his fingers in Dark's collar. "A little blood never stopped me."

He tugged him forward, and together, they fell against the bed—Dark's arms pinned beside Wilford's head, knee pressing between his legs; the mafia boss pressed into the mattress. The contact left him breathless, and before he realized it, the space collapsed between them.

The kiss was electrifying. The moment their lips met, the world melted away—the city beyond the glass walls, the worries and fears and doubts, the wounds aching their skin. Wilford's touch was like liquid desire. Addicting, mind-numbing, dangerous.

Dark felt those hands against his body, and when he thought of all the bad Wilford had done with them—a gun fired, a man strangled—it only aroused him. Their lips slid and met in a cadence they couldn't resist; a melody that had always thrummed between them.

They were caught in a daze. Bodies moving against one another, heat flushing between them. Hands sliding, lips parting, and—

Dark rocked his knee between Wilford's legs, and the sound he made—

It left him breathless.

Dark had never felt such need before, but he knew it now. He needed Wilford's touch; needed his gaze; needed his full attention. He needed him.

Their breaths shook in the space between them, hot, heavy. Wilford undid the last buttons of Dark's shirt, and he cast the fabric aside, panting hard. His body flushed with heat at the look Wil gave him. The remark he made, low and slurred in that alluring tone.

He couldn't get enough.

As if it were meant to be, their bodies rolled through the motions. Sheets sliding, hands pressing, breaths shared and skin hot. Clothes discarded, both their bodies bare, desiring.

Dark kissed Wilford again. Felt high on the taste of his lips; the brush of his body against his. Wil's hand slid down Dark's side, tracing the arch of his back, and brushed his thumb against the fresh scar at his hip. The place he'd been shot. An echo of pain lingered there.

Dark shuddered, and he gently pulled away, panting against Wilford's lips. When he met the mafia boss' eyes, they were full of intimacy.

"Looks like we're matching, now," he breathed, voice a low gravel. The tone made Dark's body flush, and as his brows furrowed, confused, Wilford pressed a hand against Dark's chest, gently nudging him up.

Together, they sat up, legs tangled. Wilford brushed aside his hair and motioned to his back, which was littered with scars.

Dark sucked in a breath. Carefully, he met Wil's eyes and brought out a hand, running it along his back. A pattern of texture wove beneath his fingertips, each scar a memory. Dark didn't ask how he'd gotten them, or why he was showing him his scars. Instead, he dipped his head, kissed along Wilford's neck and down to his scars, his hands gently pulling him closer. Wilford gave a shuddering exhale, and he guided Dark's attention back with his fingers beneath his chin.

They met eyes, and Wilford shifted closer. Could feel Dark's arousal against his thigh. He swept his thumb over Dark's lips, parted them. Took a moment to revel in the closeness between them.

He kissed along his jaw, mustache brushing his skin. Felt him shiver as he trailed lower. Lips sliding against his neck, lingering at his sweet spot. He remembered it from the Continental; could never get Dark's reaction out of his head when he'd bit him there.

Wilford did it again. Kissed Dark's sweet spot, his hands warm and claiming over his hips. Shuddered at his gasp. The shaky exhale. His hands, desperate, sliding over Wil's arms.

The need between them grew. The heat between them unbearable.

Wilford shifted their positions and guided Dark against the mattress, pressing his body into the silk sheets. Dark's chest heaved, his pupils blown with arousal, and Wilford took a long moment to take in the sight. Appreciate it. Burn it into his memory.

Wilford braced his hands on either side of Dark's head, and he suppressed a wince when pain shot up his shoulder. Dark sent him a concerned look.

"Your shoulder..." he breathed.

Wilford smirked, and he adjusted himself. He planted an elbow beside Dark's head, taking the pressure off his injured arm. Their bodies were closer in this position, chests brushing, lips ghosting over one another's.

"It's alright," breathed Wilford, slotting himself perfectly in the angles of Dark's body. "I like the pain, anyway."

His hand ghosted over Dark's stomach, down... down... down... and he gripped his thigh, the pressure aching. He kissed Dark's neck, his jaw, the shell of his ear, and said lowly, "Now spread your legs."

Dark lost his breath. Obeyed. His legs practically shook as he parted them, and Wilford pressed closer, the heat of their arousals meeting. A jolt ran through Dark's body at the contact, making his entire body shudder. Wilford drank in the sight.

"I want you, Dark," breathed Wilford against his lips, hand sliding further up his thigh. "All of you." He kissed his lips, his throat, his jaw. "Will you let me have you?"

Dark slid his hands down Wilford's sides, feeling him, and rested them at his hips. He gently pulled him closer, breaths shuddering at the feel of him. Their eyes met with a startling passion.

"Yes," breathed Dark. And although he felt vulnerable beneath Wilford, it wasn't anything like the Continental. Before, he was afraid of the feeling. Now, he embraced it.

He would only ever embrace it with Wil.

"Please," Dark exhaled, shifting perfectly beneath him. "Make me yours, Wil."

The words stunned them both. Their lips met again in that alluring cadence, and Dark shuddered when he felt it. Wilford's fingers, pressing inside, stretching him out. Preparing him. Three digits, and he graced that bundle of nerves inside, a sensation that made Dark throw his head back and gasp, fingers digging into Wilford's sides. He was careful to avoid his bandages, but a low groan of pain still met his ears.

He enjoyed it.

When Dark was ready, Wilford lingered a moment, meeting his eyes. As they breathed hard, chests heaving, lips parted, bodies burning, they shared a nod.

I want you.

Wilford carefully slid himself inside of Dark, arm braced beside his head. Dark clutched onto his body, legs trembling, heart hammering in his chest. When Wil was fully seated, their hips meeting, Dark tipped his head back and heaved for breath, pleasure arching through him.

The pain was perfect.

"Ah yes..." groaned Dark, hands sliding up Wil's back. The moment he began to move, Dark's entire body responded with a shudder of pure ecstasy. His mouth fell agape, and his back arched as he tipped his head back, the perfect picture of pleasure. "Wil."

Wilford lost his breath, dazed by the sound of his name like that on Dark's lips. He kept his movements slow, careful, watching Dark closely. The sight of him, shuddering beneath him, sent him wild. His head, tipped back, exposing the pale length of his neck. His chest, heaving for breath, skin damp beneath the moonlight. His legs, his thighs, trembling around Wilford's waist, trying to pull him closer.

Dark Edwards, untouchable, commanding, and powerful, crumbling under his touch.

Wilford thrusted deeper, picking up pace, and as he did, he kissed Dark's throat, relishing the gasp of pleasure from him. His hands slid over Wil's back with a growing fervor, fingers trembling, nails biting his skin. Wilford couldn't get over it. Dark, always so calm, calculated, and steady, spiraling out of control.

He kissed him hard, and deep, and as he did, he angled himself, thrusting right into Dark's sweet spot. Pleasure jolted through him, and before Dark could contain himself, he moaned in ecstasy, the sound muffled in Wilford's mouth.

The sound left them breathless. Wilford wanted more; needed to hear him again.

Wilford pulled away, and he kept his pace, pressing into the nerves that set Dark alight. Dark's entire body flushed with heat, and he shoved a hand over his mouth as he threw his head back, moaning again. The sight made Wilford's arousal grow.

"Darling," groaned Wilford, angling himself to meet Dark's eyes. He rolled his hips, earning another muffled sound. Dark's brows were furrowed in pleasure, face flushed with color. Wilford carefully grabbed Dark's hand, pried it away from his face, and said against his lips, "Let me hear you." Dark lost his breath, chest heaving. "Show me how good you feel."

Wilford moved against him, and Dark let out a strangled sound, his face burning. He grabbed a fistful of Wil's hair and pulled his head into his neck, hiding his face from view. Wilford was about to protest, expressing the need to see Dark's face, but the sounds that met his ear made him shudder.

Once Dark was comfortable, he was vocal.

Wilford couldn't get enough of it.

Wilford pressed against Dark in a steady rhythm, their hips meeting with every thrust. The need between them rose, coiling in the heat of their bodies. All the while, Dark could feel himself lose control. Felt the warmth of ecstasy fill his head, his body. Every slide of their bodies heightened his arousal, and the way Wilford moved against him, inside him...

Wil's hand trailed down Dark's stomach, warm, claiming, and gripped his thigh. He thrust deeper, more passionately, and as he did, he spread Dark's legs, relishing every tremble in his muscles. Pleasure flooded Dark at the position, and he arched into the feeling, moaning in ecstasy. Moaning right in Wil's ear, his breath hot, desperate.

He could feel Wilford's excited breaths at his neck. Tipped his head back when Wilford kissed his throat, his neck. Arched into him, their stomachs pressing, as Wil bit and sucked at his sweet spot.

"Fuck..." Dark gasped, fingers curling in Wilford's hair. "Yes... yes... Wil—"

Dark felt a sudden, deep pull in his belly, and he made a strangled sound, pulling Wilford closer. He knew Wil could feel it, too. Felt it in the way his body arched beneath him; felt it in the way their rhythm faltered, growing more desperate.

Dark tugged Wil's hair back, and in the next moment, their lips met, the kiss long, deep, passionate. Dark lost himself to the feeling, his moans muffled, as he practically melted beneath Wilford's attention. Trembled as Wil's hand slid up his thighs, his stomach, his chest. Gasped for breath and broke the kiss when Wil's hand lingered at his neck.

Wilford's hand slid higher, and Dark caught his wrist, panting hard as they met eyes. Gaze unbreaking, he guided Wil's hand back to his neck and applied pressure—testing, at first, then harder.

Wilford's brows rose in the slightest, and he blushed deeply, eyes glittering with an emotion Dark couldn't place. The mafia boss pressed his hand against Dark's throat, fingers curling around his neck, and this time—as he resumed his rhythm—Dark didn't turn his head away to hide his face. He let Wilford see him—see all of him—as he succumbed to ecstasy.

"Ohhh... yes," groaned Dark, brows curled up. "Just like that, Wil."

Now that Wilford could see him, really see him, he lost his breath at the sight. Dark's body, rocking against the bed with each of his thrusts; his slicked-back hair now a mess of loose black locks that fell over his eyes, his face; and his expression, one of pure ecstasy and adoration—a look that had Wilford in a daze.

The intimacy of it all snapped the tension between them, and in a blinding wave of sensation, they reached the brink, all the build-up, the emotion, the arousal collapsing between them.

They were left gasping, chests heaving for breath in the aftermath of their climax. Dark's thighs shook, and he bit his lip, groaning at the sight of them both. Wilford's body, hot and claiming on top of him; the hair that strewn his face, lips parted beneath that pink stache.

Wilford carefully pulled out, and Dark tipped his head back, groaning at the feeling. Wil slid off the bed and returned a moment later with a damp rag, cleaning themselves up. Dark shuddered as Wil ran the cloth across his skin, fists curling in the sheets. There Wilford was again—taking care of him.

Dark scrutinized the bandage on Wil's waist, but before he could ask about his wounds, the mafia boss clambered back into bed and pulled Dark close, kissing him deeply. The gesture made any tension in his body dissolve, and he sighed into the embrace, resting his hands on Wilford's strong chest. When they pulled away, they stared at each other for what felt like hours, comfortable with the silence of their breaths and the heat between them.

Time seemed to shift. Dark ran his fingers along the edge of Wilford's jaw, and he felt his chest swell. A swelling that grew when he imagined this to be a normal night; just the two of them in a lover's embrace with no thoughts but of each other. No lingering threats, no death sentences, no hostages.

Dark pressed against Wilford and trailed his fingers down his neck, his chest, drawing patterns on his skin.

He knew a life with Wilford would never be without threat. That was a part of being in the mafia. A constant trade of life for power, money, status.

He only wished things could be different.

Wilford draped an arm over Dark's waist, and they laid side by side on the bed, gazing into each other's eyes. The look on Wil's face made him shudder. It was a look he recognized—not because of Actor, because he never showed such an emotion for him—but because anyone could recognize it. Adoration. Praise. Love.

The look intimidated him, at first; but as time passed between them, and Dark's body slotted so perfectly against his, he realized he felt the same way.

...

Well, well... what are you thoughts...? 😏

Smut scenes are still difficult for me to write, so I approached it in a way I was more comfortable with. It worked for me writing-wise, but how about reading-wise?

Anyways, thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day/night!

Love, Vic xoxo