This is my first fic a quite a while, so I hope everybody interested enjoys. This is based off of the Sin City film. It is in the point of view of Marv, and also includes Warren Worthington from the X-Men films, even though there are some time things that don't make sense, and a few technical issues. But I was inspired, so here we are. Review?
He looks like an angel. He sits alone, at a booth in the corner, shaded in black, his face pale aside from the dark rings under his eyes. He brings a glass to his lips. He doesn't talk to anybody, or look any direction but across from him, at the empty seat. He doesn't even notice the women placed around the room, dancing. Nancy can't even catch his eye. The waitress sets down another drink in front of him and walks away. I catch her as she walks past.
"Hey, Shellie, whose the boy?" I ask, trying to sound as casual as somebody can in a city like ours. Nobody asks questions unless there is a reason. I have mine. The good part, is nobody ever questions your questions. If they have an answer, they share, and if they don't, they move right along.
Shellie glances over at him, "He comes everyday. Sits there alone for three or four drinks, and then leaves. He's a good tipper, but the poor kid doesn't have much to say. I've flirted often, decided maybe he's a queer..."
"What about his background?" I questioned, my curiosity hinted in my tone, but only mildly present.
She shrugged, "Honey, he's a Worthington. But I don't know why he comes here."
A Worthington? That means he's a rich motherfucker. I let Shellie go, she has others to serve. I sighed and sit back in my chair, still starring at him, but glancing around the room to keep my interest unknown. Its not a real smart plan for a guy like me to have interest in people. The way I look... The way nobody looks at me... The way I'm not an angel. I finish my drink off and stand, heading for the back door. Just as I push through the door, I see out of the corner of my eye, that somebody has sat down next to the kid. I pause and come back inside, watching closely, directing my body to watch Nancy, my eyes focused on the booth. A man has sat down across from him. The Worthington doesn't seem to care, he goes right along as always. When he finishes his drink, still ignoring his visitor, he stands and walks right past me, out the door. I get a whiff of him as he does so. He smells like angels outta smell.
The man that had sat next to him follows... And so do I.
"Hey, come on, baby... I got money. I don't go time to drive down to Old Town... I need something nice and smooth right now, right here..."
I watch from the door. At first, it seems like nothing is going to change, however, the visitor slams the angel against the wall, straddling his arms and sucking down his neck. The angel squirms and kicks his attacker across the alley, not speaking, just going on his way. However, his visitor is not so easy to get rid of. He follows, and once again gets the angel into a hold, kicking him, hurting him.
And that is where I come in.
Once the visitor's arms and legs are no longer attached to his body, I drop the corpse and offer a hand to the angel, still lying on the ground, now starring at me, in terror, because he is like everyone else, he doesn't see me... He sees the scars, he sees the blood, he sees the danger... But nothing other. But then he takes my offer and places his hand in mine, and I help him up, and he stands, straightening himself out, wiping some blood across his jeans.
"Are you hurt?" I realize he is bleeding, but in Sin City, people sometimes don't consider a little red enough to make a fuss about, so its always nice to ask before looking concerned or worried, however my face might show a little worry... He doesn't answer right away, starring at me still, at my face. After a while I start to get impatient, but I wait for him to say something next.
He finally speaks.
"No more hurt then you." His voice is beautiful. Soft, perfect, like a song that you remember your mother singing to you while she held you and fed you, while you were innocent and little and precious to somebody, before you held a gun, before you paid for a night with a hooker just to feel any warmth besides your own.
"Do you need any help?" I try again, altering the question in a more direct manor.
He shakes his head. No. Then he runs a hand through his hair, "Do you? Are you hurt?"
I almost laugh, but I can see he means it, and I answer truthfully, with a bit of a smile, "No more hurt then you." I lead him quietly out of the alley, walking along the side walk, him trailing two or three feet behind me. "Say, do you, have a room for the night?"
He stares at me, "Are you offering me one?"
I shrug, "If you wanted one... I can easily pay for a hotel. It doesn't have to be anything your friend had intended." I nod slightly toward the alley, reminding both of us of the recently deceased. "But I can offer a bed... And I'm good with sleeping on the floor."
"Beds are usually big enough for two," he said, almost in a logical tone.
"I'm just saying, in order to respect you, I can let you have the bed, and I'll sleep on the floor," It occurs to me how much of a pussy I become when the subject of sex comes up. Its not like I'm new to the idea, but being in a hotel with somebody like him... That would be the ideal night for me in the city.
"Who says I need to be respected?" He asked, "Plus, I owe you for what you've done for me."
"You do not owe me anything."
He shrugs and starts walking with more stride, heading for the hotel just up ahead. I follow him, and we go inside. I buy a room, and we go upstairs. I shut the door. He sits down on the bed, and takes off his shoes. I sit next to him.
Later, when I hold him in my arms, with his smooth, young body cradled safe and undoubtably warm against me, in my embrace, I think about how something like this could happen to me. Why something like it would, on a regular afternoon? Maybe he looked at me and saw more then just the scars and the bruises, but the man beneath them, the man who I aspire to me, despite the bodies I've piled up in allies and buildings. But it is Sin City after all, and you're likely to find anything. He is a stranger to me, but sometimes a stranger is what you really want, whether they stay a stranger and leave you in the morning, or they become real and stay. He is a stranger, and he feels, lying next to me, exactly like angels outta feel.
But that is what he is.