Disclaimer: I do not own Hancock or anything connected with Hancock. That right belongs to Peter Berg, Vincent Ngo, Vince Gilligan, and Blue Light. I just took them for this :D

Warnings: SPOILERS for the movie Hancock. Slash (m/m), and language.

For You

When he would later think about it, Ray's mind would never be able to offer him a vaild excuse as for why he did it.

Alcohol seemed like a good excuse, of course. And then there was the usual human drive, and the pity he felt, and the need to simply have some form of contact -- any form of contact -- with such an extraordinary being.

But in truth, he knew the truth, that when he had cornered John Hancock against the shadowed wall of the celebrity gathering, it had not been for any of the excuses he had gathered in his mind.

John's story had killed him, straight and simple. Sure, he found the would-be superhero attractive -- anyone who didn't had obviously not gone through puberty -- but that had not been enough to drive his hands forward to touch with John's. No. It had been the blankness in the deep mocha eyes as the man spoke -- the despair that formed in the wrinkles of the pained scowl of his recollections, the lost tone of his voice. To the world, Hancock was nothing more than an ambitionless drunk who, after a well-served stay in prison, had turned over a new leaf and realized his place was to protect them.

Ray was ashamed to admit that he had been one of them just a few hours ago.

But now, as he stood before the restrained figure of a man he was quickly coming to respect as more than just a super-being, he realized how wrong he was. As John pinned him with a look of faux bad-ass and hidden starvation, his own heart, blackened with his sin, crumbled to ash with the next beat.

"What are we doing to you?" He whispered, unsurprised when the taller man jerked back, as though just realizing how close they had gotten. He held up his hand in a movement of peace, speaking to him slowly as he had to Aaron so many times when his son was timid and scared. "You've been through hell, and here we are treating you as though you deserve it."

"It's nothing," John quickly muttered, jerking his head away and glancing toward the table they had left behind. "Go back to Mary, Ray. I'll be there in a few. I just ... I just need a minute, okay? He looked down, shifting his feet in a nervous way. "Damn, wish I had some whiskey ..."

"I'm sorry." And this time, he was surprised, because they were not the words that he had meant to say, and John had the same reaction, looking up with narrowed eyes of suspicion that had long since been painfully taught. He rushed to take the apology back, to offer some manly, off-wall and pointless joke that the older man was used to, but his mouth continued on the same track. "What I've done to you. You trusted me help you set up a better life, one where people wouldn't scorn you and eventually accept you for who you were -- but I've done just the opposite, haven't I?"

The narrowness softened to the natural round, and still the gazes held in a steadfast grip. Ray could see it coming back -- the confusion that had been in John's eyes when he spoke of awakening alone in the hospital, the hurt of no one wanting him. And it was reflex, sure, that drove his hand upward, but it was entirely him who chose its destination -- laid calmly upon the superbeing's jawline, fingers curling into the neck to stop the man's natural flinch backwards.

"I've changed you," Ray whispered. "I ... I feel like I've broken you -- tamed you in the wrong way. You were so proud, so independent. And though it may have taken a near century, you were finding yourself again. And I took that away. Put you on an entirely different path -- I'm no better than the bastards that left you."

It could have been the alcohol -- it should have been the alcohol. But as the last words left Ray's mouth, he saw John's mouth tighten, felt his neck stiffen, saw the defensive grief on every line and it was all him, and not the damn wine, that had their lips pressed together the next second.

It wasn't a kiss of wanton, lustful passion -- nor of pity, of fear, or of help. It was fervent in the sense that Ray was desperate to get his message firmly across, wanted John to see it. And as he dragged his tongue across the chapped lip with slight hesitation, finding equally reluctant access, he pulled away, forcing his eyes into the same narrowedness that John had previously used.

"You are not, and I am almost a hundred percent sure have never been , so much of a bastard that no one wanted you." He paused momentarily, swallowed, and then admitted lowly with a shy but stern gaze. "I want you."

And it may have not come out right, especially not in the way a man with a wife and son might say it, but it didn't feel wrong. Especially not he felt himself being slammed against the wall with just enough strength to leave him breathless, and John's lips back on his.

This time, the kiss was as brutal as one would have expected from one such as John Hancock. It was a feirce, outraged, grevious answering cry to his own, and Ray was tsure that, in the tangle of tongues and grinding of hips, John was responding to him in the only way he knew how.

And just as quickly as before, it ended, John pulling away so fast an untrained eye may have thought him burned by disgust. But Ray, managing to pull himself away from the wall after more than a few unsuccessful attempts, could see the same suspicious light in the superhero's deep eyes.

"Go back to Mary, Ray," he repeated, voice softer than before -- lighter, somewhat, like it was with Aaron. "And don't get too drunk on that wine. Sucks like a bitch, trust me. Been there."

An attempt at humor. Ray smiled in spite of himself, managing to keep the selfish wobble from his legs as he manuvered to do John's bidding. But just as he walked by him, he drew to a stop, clapping the taller man tightly on the shoulder.

"I heard you, Hancock." Using the last name for public's sake -- he could see curious eyes now aimed toward them as they neared the light. "Heard you."

The wine, the damnable need -- no. Not even the guilt, heavy and necessary though that was.

As he neard his wife, he could only grin at the questionable, oddly knowing gaze in her eyes, careless for the first time.

It was John Hancock, through and through.

Maybe he would get drunk.


Just a drabble. Inspiring movie, I guess. (wink). More mature sequel to be posted on my AdultFanFiction account, if you're interested. If not, whatever. But click the review button and let me know what you think, k?



(Special note: Anyone know why the Doc isn't letting me center anything?! TT.TT)