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English
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Published:
2022-05-21
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2,095
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1/1
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No Decent Villain Dies in Bed

Summary:

Inside Jerry’s head the day after The Big Reveal.

Notes:

Thank you so much to beautifulduckweed and nopinkertons for the beta reads! Your insight was incredibly valuable.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

One

Jerry couldn’t imagine any worse place to be, not counting prison of course. Trapped in this bloody castle for up to a week, on Susan Lazarus’ leash, £11,000 of jewels at his fingertips and unable to reach for them. He and Temp still had to take all the risks of this job, with the reward of only being allowed to return to where they’d started.

Months they’d invested in this plan, only to be duped and betrayed by Alec, the lying shit. He’d played some unwelcome roles, but having to pal around with Alec for God knows how many more days… Jesus, he had to find a way to get this over with quickly.

At least he was finally getting a tour of the place so he’d know the lay of the land. But even that was a sort of torture, with seething silences alternating with inane chatter when they encountered other guests.

Or rather, he was chatting. Alec was forcing smiles and turning away. Alec was not enjoying the consequences of his actions and it made Jerry want to laugh. Taunting him at breakfast that morning hadn’t brought much pleasure, though: it was like kicking a puppy. Christ, he couldn’t believe he’d fallen for this man’s act.

He was jolted out of his thoughts in the library by Alec almost frantically opening each drawer of an old desk. As Alec slowly closed the last one, Jerry had to ask, “What were you expecting?”

“Cara put things in here. It was hers, really…”

Jerry realized he was slowly moving closer as Alec described the missing treasures: Alec so desperate for connection, longing for even the lost detritus of childhood.

Alec glanced up, and Jerry saw the moment he realized that they didn’t share these things, not anymore.

With obvious effort, Alec bit out, “Anyway, I think that’s all. Shall we go upstairs?”

But Jerry was caught in a memory: their first evening at the Criterion Bar, when the laughter in Alec’s eyes had suddenly died the same way, as Alec had remembered what kind of man he was talking to. He’d been awkward for the rest of the night. Come to think of it, Alec had been ridiculously wooden at the start of that evening, too, like a bad actor in the melodramas they’d discussed. Alec was terrible at dissembling. He had only been able to play his role as Lord Alexander when that role was made up of truths.

“What I struggle with,” Jerry said at last, “is why you gave me so much truth while also lying to me so extensively. Because you did, didn’t you? That wasn’t all an act. If you had the capacity to run a game so convincingly for so long, you wouldn’t be living in an attic.”

“I wasn’t lying about anything, apart from—that one thing.”

“The small matter of entrapping and grassing me up. Indeed.”

“I wasn’t, though,” Alec said, with a quietly desperate air. “I lied about the job, and Susan, and I’m sorry, but everything else I told you—everything we did—it was true, Jerry. It was all true.”

Good Lord, how foolish could the man be? “That seems to me quite extraordinarily ill-judged.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t regret it.”

“Really?” Jerry said, his anger returning in a flash. “You should.”

To which Alec said nothing, and they walked upstairs to continue the interminable, unbearable tour of Castle Speight.

 

 

Two

Jerry retreated to his room, hoping it would clear his mind. His job, at that moment, was jewel theft. Or at least the hard parts of it.

But that memory of the Criterion Bar had unlocked something, and he couldn’t stop reliving all their conversations, all their encounters.

“Christ, Alec, I want to do the most appalling things to you. Are you sure you want to be kissed while I do them?”
“Especially while you do them.”

Brutally he pushed the memories down. He couldn’t think of this, he had to plan, he had to get out of this castle, he had to get away from Alec. Alec, who was not able to handle even the smallest consequence of the betrayal he had orchestrated.

“Stop telling yourself you ought to be stronger or more manly or feel less, or whatever it is now. You don’t need to be different. It would be a crying shame if you were.”

He forced his thoughts back to the job at hand. Maybe he and Temp could find a way to evade Lazarus and warn Stan to clear out. The castle was so incredibly remote, though, with the train able to overtake anyone leaving on foot.

“We were all in that bloody shadow-filled castle full of echoes and medieval weaponry…”

No medieval weapons now. If Alec was to be believed—ha!—the Duchess had swept away all that was old to ensure her place.

“I used to lie awake at night wondering what would happen if she had a son, with George and me ahead of him in the line of inheritance.”

God, he had to stop this. He had to stop caring about what that supposedly good man had done to him and start planning to open the bloody safe, and maybe even outwit Lazarus. Regain some small measure of control.

“Kissed. And fucked. And controlled. Is that what you want of me?”
“All of it.”
“Then you’re mine. Mine to use. Aren’t you, my beautiful dukeling?”
“Christ, yes. Please.”

Shit and derision, he needed a drink.

 

 

Three

“Right. You need to draw the Duchess.”

He had it now, the plan. He would put Alec’s less …intimate… talents to use, and the woman’s self-importance would do the rest. He picked up the sketchbook and started flipping back through the pages. Yes, this would do nicely. Alec really was very—

He froze as his eyes landed on a sketch of himself, the figure looking back over a shoulder with a knowing grin. Well, of course Alec had drawn him, the man drew everything he saw. He kept going, and told himself again that Alec was a fool as he flipped past sketch after sketch of himself. An ache was growing in his chest. He tried to tell himself it was the burn of anger, but this became harder with each picture of his eyes, his eyebrows, his bare shoulder. He’d thought about Alec that way, too: thought about each beautiful part of him, in addition to the man they added up to.

He turned another page and his breath caught.  

It was his face: a full-page piece unlike the others. Alec had clearly taken time with the drawing, adding shading and incredible detail, like it was important. Like Jerry was important.

It wasn’t quite right, though. That face was of a different Jerry, one who was the hero of the story. Did Alec see him like that? It reminded him somehow of the look Alec had given him the night they had first kissed. Jerry had thought about that night so many times; hardly a day went by when he didn’t congratulate himself on the amazing fuck and the dukeling in his hands, and—

That night had been the best of Jerry’s life.

The smolder inside him burst into a flame, not of anger but of wanting. He wanted; he wanted it all back. He wanted that look in Alec’s eyes, that look that said it was Jerry whom Alec desired, not an anonymous puppeteer. That Jerry was someone worth desiring.

But no, this was his prick talking. The fucking was fantastic, that was all. He wanted Alec pliable beneath him. He wanted Alec gasping his name, or biting back cries. He wanted that fuck, the risky one, the one he’d promised but never given.

He gathered his thoughts. “You’ll have to take some of these out.”

Yes,” Alec said, his voice sounding stifled.

Jerry lifted his head and met Alec’s eyes. And wanted, while his chest hurt and his gut twisted. He could have this, at least, surely he could. Alec would surely say yes to an approach.

He had to try. The game was almost over, and he was First Villain, after all.

“You owe me,” he said quietly.

 

--------------------------

 

Jerry bit down hard on Alec’s shoulder as he spent.

His thoughts were a gray, roiling mass. Slowly he pulled out, walked to the washstand and cleaned himself, then pressed a cloth into Alec’s hand without looking anywhere near his face.

He turned away, leaning on the dressing table and letting his head hang. Christ. Christ. It was worse than before, if that was possible. He’d thought it would be enough: Alec saying yes to everything, clearly aroused by it, so beautiful and obedient as Jerry fucked him. Jerry had reached, and had gotten what he thought he wanted.

But Alec was not his Second Villain, and Jerry didn’t want this: not this empty physical release with Alec a million miles distant. The wanting still had him, though, the hot weight in his chest growing until he could hardly breathe.  

Alec made a vague noise behind him. Oh God, he had to get out of here. He took a breath and stood.

“Well,” he said, forcing the man-about-town cadence into his voice. “Thanks for the nightcap, old man, but I’m for bed now. Sleep well.”

And he escaped into the corridor.

 

 

Four

Jerry shut his door and sat down on the bed, fists clenched and thoughts churning.

He wanted Alec, wanted all of him. He didn’t care anymore what Alec had done; who was he to throw stones? And if he was right about Lazarus and the ring business—well, all the more reason. Alec had lied and betrayed but his heart was true as steel, the good man to Jerry’s bad every step of the way. Alec must have known that it would end this way, known that Jerry would find out eventually. Yet he had still given Jerry all that truth: all his desires, hurts, and fears.

But Jerry had returned it with contempt, lashing out at every possible opportunity since Lazarus had walked in last night. Jerry had cut Alec to the bone with those insults, and he’d meant to do so. The courage that man had, to face him even still. He wished he’d done so many things differently.

That brought him up short.

It had been years... years since he had thought that. But there it was: he was sorry.

This wasn’t misplaced self-pity or any of the other empty reasons people said those words. God, he was actually, truly sorry. People repent when they fail, indeed. He had failed at so much.

And as long as he was taking stock of unfamiliar bloody emotions, he may as well face up to this, too: he loved Alec with his whole pathetic excuse for a heart and soul. How could he not? Alec was brave and beautiful and generous, and had successfully hoodwinked him for months while planning revenge against one of the most powerful men in the land. And Christ how he fucked...  

Jerry loved him, and that made everything worse. He’d had this jewel in his hands and lost him. No: cast him away. And he didn’t even have an Iago to blame; he’d deceived himself all on his own. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment, as if that would relieve the weight of love and regret and longing.

Christ, he was sick of himself. If he were a different man, that man in the picture, someone Alec could trust, someone Alec could forgive—

“So often what one wants is there for the taking, if one only makes the effort to reach for it.”

Well. He couldn’t say it was likely Alec would forgive him. In fact, he couldn’t see any reason in the world why he should. But Alec hadn’t precisely been wise when it came to Jerry, and if he…

No, Jerry couldn’t think of that. It was too big, too far beyond his control.

But he had to do something to right things between them. Apparently he now inclined to repentance; he may as well begin at once. He’d talk to Alec, or even better, listen to him. Then he could—they could—decide what to do next.

He would put himself in Alec’s hands, which was…not a comfortable feeling. But hadn’t he been a tool in those hands for months already? At least this time it would be honest. It would be a start.

 

Notes:

Much of this was inspired by the discussion of melodramas in Chapter One, in case you're looking for quotes.

Also, there's a sort of prologue called In the Palm of His Hand