Lucky Tonight
By Spug
How dark it was that night, yet occasionally, when a cold
rustle of air whispered past the curtains, enough moonlight would filter in to
make inch thick glass circlets sheen faintly. Certainly not enough light to
outline the rest of the man wearing those thick frames to bed and nothing else.
Not that illumination was needed; he knew that even with a glaring lamp on, the
older, meeker man who’d shared Dent’s bed tonight would be wearing the same
solemn expressionless face.
“Cold?” The question was gruffed out the good side of his
face. Harvey sat up against the bed frame. Long legs pulled into an Indian
style. Another gust of wind to chill Gotham’s most notorious crime boss;
another gust to momentarily witness every disfiguring scar on the left side of
his face.
“Shhh.” Wesker couldn’t be seen putting a free finger to his
mouth. “ Y-you’ll wake him.”
By him, Arnold Wesker of course, meant Scarface, the wooden
dummy that shared his unique form of Schizophrenia; the Dominate driving force
behind some of Gotham’s most heinous mafia dealings these days. Not even to bed
would the Ventriloquist lay that puppet aside. Presently, the dummy rested face
down on Wesker’s stomach, and only the occasional creek of wood as he breathed
reminded both these troubled men that their secondary personalities still loomed
greatly over them.
Dent let out a sigh and his head thunk against his bedpost.
“Then I’ll whisper.” As best as Two-face could whisper. His gnarled lips and
clenched teeth pulled into a frozen sneer on one side of his face made almost
everything he said a growl. Truly frightening in appearance, but in this
skittering darkness, there was only Harvey Dent. Two-face could slumber as
Scarface did.
Wesker didn’t say anything at first. Harvey had come to
understand the other man rarely said anything at all; save for humbly agreeing
with everything his Dummy snarled and barked at him. It was good to be patient.
An ear listening intensively, just incase the meeker man grew brave enough for
a conversation.
Would there be anything worth saying? They’d just shared a
chance encounter. Something Harvey lived his life by, a flip of a coin had
convinced him that bedding the ventriloquist (despite much disagreement from
Scarface) was more fun then shoving the older man to meet his death sixty
stories to Gotham’s dirty streets below. No scratches on Lady Gotham’s
beautiful face said ‘I could love you, not forever, but for one night’. He
could feel the nay side, with its deep etchings, between his scarred up
fingers. Like the Wesker’s dummy, the coin came to bed with him.
A small mousy sound jarred Dent from his coin fumblings.
Turning toward Wesker just in time to see the moon act upon those thick frames
again. The Ventriloquist had cleared his throat. Would he talk, or was that
hellish dummy about to wake?
“I-I’m not really happy with where I’m going nowadays.”
Wesker’s voice was soft, almost non-audible against the rustle of the curtains.
“Not happy.” Harvey gruffed back as quietly as he could. The
taller man sighed as he allowed his legs to stretch out and he lowered himself
down onto his good side, scooting just a few inches from where the other man
laid in his bed. “Who really is in this business? Even if this deal of
Scarface’s falls through, it’s just more money till it runs dry again.”
“Then why bother?” One could almost hear the older man’s
brows flurrying on his forehead. A deeper breath, perhaps maybe because he knew
the conversation was benumbed
at best. “I-I’d rather have a boat, and go fishing. But Mr. Scarface he..”
There was a momentary catch in the older man’s whispering voice. “Well you
know.”
“Because
money’s important, doesn’t matter how long it lasts. We need it.” For a moment
Two-face scratched at Harvey’s mind. The mention of that Dummy made him want to
grasp its ugly woodenhead and fling it out the window. If Wesker wanted to be
free from Scarface’s clutches, he could free him just like that. Only, he knew,
it didn’t work like that. “I know.”
Wesker
shifted very slowly, even if it was just turning his head toward Harvey, So
very careful not to disturb his slumbering nastier personality. “It’s not that
important. But I guess Mr. Scarface needs it, or he wants it. I’m sure one day
he might grow tired of all this, of Gotham, and we’ll go somewhere, retire.”
“Retire,
eh?” Harvey had to chuckle at that. Wesker was cute in that way. Quiet,
subordinate, just hanging onto his other personality just hoping for a moment
when they might converge as one and be done with it all. Dent was not so lucky
to have his split selves so free of each other they could agree that one day
something else would be better then Gotham. No, Harvey relied on Two-faces
scarred up coin for all his future plans. “When you do, send me a postcard.”
“Of
course.” It was a barren dream, but at least the older man had one. Dent figured
the dummy would probably be the death of the kindly confused Wesker. No ranch,
no boat, but probably the bottom of the cold waters of the Gotham River. He
might even have to send the man and his horrid puppet there himself. Well,
Two-face might.
Tonight
they’d been lovers, tomorrow; Harvey could be Wesker’s murderer.
The coin
was grasped tightly in his scarred hand; the other was slid across the cool
sheets to find the older man’s face in the darkness. “Good. If all goes well,
you’ll afford a lot of postcards.” Fingers closed gently around Wesker’s chin
and Dent dragged his own face down till their breaths met.
“You could
warrant a whole letter.” Dent could feel the soft pull of a smile under his
fingers. Not an embarrassed sheepish pull of lips that the older man did when
being belittled by his dummy, but an actual smile. Extra rare.
“You’re
sweet. I’m glad you got lucky.” As close to friendship as two-face could come
anymore. A small groan and he pressed a chastely kiss to the other man’s lips.
Wesker stiffened with another small mousy sound in the back of his throat, but
only for a moment, then the older man relaxed and squeaked happily. A small
hiss escaped from Dent’s gnarled personality, either in disapproval or warring
for more then just a goodnight kiss.
Neither of
which would come, interrupted by the Dummy who clanked suddenly against
Wesker’s stomach. “ Mrgh, Gummy, shut dah fuck up ‘nd go gack tah sleep.” A
brief breeze lit up the scene, the ending kiss, Wesker’s glasses, the tip of
Lady Gotham sticking out from between Harvey’s knuckles and of course, the
glass eyes of the dummy.
Scarface
shifted his brows and growled loudly at two-face. “ Back the fuck off, lover goy.
Once is fuckin’ enough, I don’t ever wanna witness dat again.” A wooden hand
slapped up between the two men, an attempt to shoe Harvey back to his own side
of the bed.
“S-sorry
Mr. Scarface, Sir.” Wesker sighed apologetically. “We were just talking. I’m
going to sleep now. G’night Mr. Scarface, G’night Mr. Dent.”
Harvey
growled himself. That fucking puppet. It needed to go out the window. Lady
Gotham took a spin into the air. His skill hand catching her, and then rubbing
over the face that had landed right side up in his palm. No scratches.
“Goodnight Wesker.” He certainly was a very
lucky man tonight. Part of Harvey hoped his luck would last as he rolled over,
ignoring the clanking of the Dummy, and the idle whispers between the two
separate personalities. Both of his own finding sleep.