Chapter Text
Iosef
The heavy scent of flowers filled the shop and Iosef only half listened to the conversation about the holidays, instead watching the pretty woman behind the counter smile warmly at John. It was a knowing smile. No hint of flirting. He wondered if she not only crafted each of the weekly bouquets, but filled the order for Helen’s funeral arrangements as well.
He could picture it. A sea of daisies cascading into the open grave as her casket was lowered.
Okay, that’s overboard, even for Wick.
Or maybe it isn’t.
The hyperbole made him smirk.
“I added some cream and orange gerberas, and the little wheat sheafs to make it seasonally festive. Hope you don’t mind,” the shopkeeper said as she presented the fresh arrangement. It was still primarily white daisies of several types with sprigs of baby’s breath and tiny yellow flowers Iosef didn’t know the name of. Didn’t care, really. He’d absorbed enough from tagging along with John on his cemetery visits for going on two and a half months. It was almost Thanksgiving, not that his family had ever celebrated, but it marked the passage of the year.
“It’s lovely as always, thank you,” John said in his soft yet powerful tone.
“Oh good,” she said with a brighter smile. “For December, I can add in some holly and fir if you’d like.”
“I trust you, Madeline.” John nodded as he took the flowers and put a hand on Iosef’s shoulder to urge him towards the exit. “We’ll see you next week after the holiday. Enjoy time off with your wife and her family.”
She waved politely. “Thanks, Mr. Wick. Same to you and your nephew.”
“Nephew?” Iosef blurted out, turning to look at her with a sour scoff. The idea was so wild and off base.
“Oh, was I…?” She winced apologetically.
John gripped Iosef’s shoulder. Squeezed until Iosef scrunched with a whimpering laugh.
“Family friend,” John said simply before marching Iosef out through the shop’s door. A merry jingle from the bells at the top announced their exit.
Once on the street, Iosef shrugged him off. “The fuck was that for?”
“It wouldn’t have hurt to let her think that.” He walked on to the car, not pausing to see if Iosef would follow him.
“We’re not family,” Iosef insisted. He pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and put it between his lips, then fished around in his jacket pocket for his lighter. “We’re not friends either.”
John turned his head. Snatched the cigarette with his free hand and let it drop to the ground. “We’re about to get in the car.”
Iosef held his hands up, fingers outstretched, tips curled in anger. So this was how it was going to be today. Not stoic thoughtful John who went on his little trip down memory lane while he honored his late wife. No, this was going to be Wick. Struggling for control of his own emotions and taking it out on the nearest thing.
Me.
Probably the only reason he’s still keeping me around. Doesn’t want to be alone for the holidays and needs to feel like he’s in control of something or someone. And that someone won’t be Daisy. That’s for damned sure. Little runt gets away with murder. Lucky adorable shit.
“I thought I could get a quick smoke in before we hit the cemetery. Fuck.”
John said nothing as he unlocked the Camaro and got in.
The dog bounded at the passenger window, tail wagging, his little barks clear through the gap in the window. It was chilly and overcast, looked like rain, so no worries about the pup getting too hot in the car for the ten minutes it took to pick up the flowers.
Iosef scooped Daisy up as soon as he opened the door and got settled with the puppy on his lap. They’d tried to keep him in the back seat, but it never worked. So Iosef was left to hold the flowers in one hand and wrangle Daisy with the other. Thankfully the beagle was happy to look out the passenger window as they rode through the city.
At the cemetery, Iosef looked up at the clouds as they walked across the grass between headstones to Helen’s gravesite. The branches of the massive tree nearby fanned out over the graves but offered little shelter. Its burnished leaves had already begun to shed. He kept Daisy’s lead short, wrapping it around his hand a few times so the pup couldn’t follow his nose too far. Even though he had pick up bags at the ready, he hoped the dog wouldn’t shit right on one of Mrs. Wick’s neighbors this time. In his other hand he held a closed umbrella. He felt like a regular boy scout, prepared for whatever.
Once again he watched John swap the wilted flowers for fresh ones and run his fingers along the top of the large granite headstone. Sometimes he traced the floral shapes etched into the corners of the vertical slab. Sometimes he knelt and pressed his forehead to the letters of her name.
Beloved wife.
Sometimes he muttered things. In English. In Russian. Often too soft for Iosef to really hear. And Iosef stood sentinel a few paces back, off to John’s left. Less bored now than the first dozen times. More patient, he supposed. Though he still didn’t know why John telling her memory things here—versus what he could tell her at home or anywhere else—mattered.
“Why don’t you buy fake flowers? They make realistic looking ones now if you pay enough,” Iosef asked. “It would be cheaper in the long run. And you wouldn’t have to worry about—”
“She doesn’t deserve fake flowers.” John angled his head slightly in Iosef’s direction.
She’s dead, John. She doesn’t care. She can’t. It’s you that wants to keep doing this. You that thinks you need to. Same as praying to god to help someone. It makes you feel better. Feel like you’re doing something helpful. Something kind and real.
But he couldn’t say that. Knew it wasn’t what John wanted to hear. Not today. Maybe not ever. The stubborn old fuck.
“And would she want you tethered to a plot in the ground before you’re filling the one next to her?” Iosef shrugged and licked his lips. Damn he wanted a cigarette. But he wouldn’t chance lighting up at the cemetery again. Didn’t want to disrespect the ghost.
John gave no response.
“Pretty sure she wanted you to live. That’s why she gave you this cute mutt,” Iosef said, pressing on. If he could get John to surface for more than the time it took to race around at the airport, to really live a little again out in the world, he felt sure the bastard would let him go. That he’d see he had more to live for than wallowing, than building a routine out of grief and dragging Iosef along. If I can help him get there, he’ll be grateful. He’ll see I’m fucking sorry.
“Take Daisy for a walk.”
“Yes, sir,” Iosef muttered. He let out Daisy’s lead, dropped the umbrella, and headed off for the big tree.
Daisy sniffed and meandered, and Iosef let him follow whatever scents were interesting so long as they kept on a vague trajectory. The pup peed here and there, marking his way. One spot was of particular interest, and he wouldn’t get his nose out of the grass until Iosef yanked insistently at the leash with an urging “c’mon” around the cigarette he’d propped between his lips. As soon as they were under the tree, Iosef leaned against it and lit up at last, hood up and one foot on the trunk behind him. He let Daisy’s leash out to its full length to let him wander safely nearby.
All the while he kept glancing at John until he was just watching the guy crouch on the other side of the headstone. Only the top of his head was visible. His sleek dark hair parted down the middle.
A rumble of thunder made Iosef look up as he exhaled smoke, but he didn’t move from the tree. Rain wouldn’t deter John from standing out there as long as he needed to. Iosef had his hood. John had the umbrella. And Daisy scampered back to Iosef’s legs to cower, shivering.
Iosef stubbed his cigarette out on the tree, then pocketed the butt. Shaking his head, he scooped the puppy up in his arms and rubbed his floppy ears. “The matter, boy? You scared of a little storm?”
Come to think of it, the last thunderstorm they’d experienced had been at night, so Iosef had no idea if this was normal behavior or not. Daisy slept in John’s room, after all.
“Don’t worry, I got you,” Iosef cooed and tucked Daisy in his jacket like he usually did when it was getting too chilly outdoors, leash still around his wrist. He continued in Russian, walking back towards John. “Your papa needs to buy you some little sweaters for the winter.”
He’d been trying to make Daisy bilingual, working on giving him simple commands in both languages when he was on poop duty. Which was typically his job at the house.
“Your son’s scared,” Iosef said as he walked up next to Helen’s headstone. “Look at him, he’s shaking like a leaf.”
John lifted his head, looked up at Iosef cradling Daisy in his jacket, only the dog’s head sticking out of the gap. He stared for a long moment. Iosef stared back, unable to read the set of his brows or his mouth. Was he miserable or contemplative or angry? Something else? Fuck he’s hard to read.
The bottom dropped out as another thunder clap rent the air.
“Shit!” Iosef hunched over Daisy, trying to use his upper body to shield the pup from the sudden downpour. He turned and hurried across the shallow hill to where the car sat, darting inside the vehicle with the trembling puppy.
John trudged after them, furled umbrella in hand. When he got in the car he was soaked, water dripping from his nose and the ends of his hair.
Iosef looked over at him, watched him, opened his mouth to say something but shut it as soon as John shot him a glare.
*
John
Daisy darted upstairs with a whine as soon as Iosef set him down inside the house. He’d kept the dog from getting too wet, but both he and John were well soaked.
The drive back had done nothing to cool John’s irritation with the younger man.
“It’s not like I made it rain, John,” Iosef had said in the car while he hugged Daisy in his hoodie.
And he was right. But it had started before that. Something John couldn’t explain. A bad mood, he guessed. He’d woken up frustrated, itching to go driving, but with the forecast for rain he didn’t want to chance it.
He’d hit his home gym instead. Taken Daisy for a walk around the property—a wider circuit than he normally walked the pup, keeping a quicker pace too. Daisy had been tuckered out when they’d returned and Iosef had been in the middle of making breakfast. French toast. Something he’d just learned how to make and wasn’t the best at.
Why did I let him have Helen’s recipe cards? Of course he’d pick the most well worn one first. In her grandmother’s scrolling cursive.
It was a gesture John knew he should appreciate. But the attempt was a pale imitation of something he’d held as special. Which wasn’t Iosef’s fault either.
Normally, he liked when Iosef shot off his little quips. Ran his mouth without thinking about it. Was just himself in the best worst ways. A young fool. Self-important yet trying anyway. He could see the consistent effort over many weeks. And maybe that was something that had pissed him off in addition to everything else.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what Iosef had said to him before.
Will I ever be sorry enough for you?
John didn’t like the answer he kept coming back to.
“Stay here. I’ll get you a towel,” Iosef said as he shucked his shoes and his jacket in the entryway. “I don’t want to have to clean up two trails of water.”
There was no need to protest. John took off his dripping brown leather jacket and hung it up next to Iosef’s. Took his shoes off and set them next to Iosef’s wet leather sneakers. Stood there staring at their things, side by side, as if they belonged together.
Movie nights. Meals together. Riding into the city on errands. Random conversations about nothing and everything. Laughing together. Getting caught in the rain.
It struck him why he was angry.
He’d let Iosef fill too many spaces Helen had so recently occupied without even realizing it. He’d even let him occupy one that Helen hadn’t wanted to share: his reckless adrenaline runs. And Daisy’s care, a role she’d never have been able to help him with by its very nature.
I should make him leave. He’s done enough. Too much. He doesn’t need to be here.
But the thought of being alone in the house save for Daisy made his chest uncomfortably tight.
Iosef returned with a clean, dry towel and held it out to John. He’d already changed into his black joggers and a matching simple v-neck tee. John’s eyes skimmed over the tattoos on Iosef’s knuckles as he accepted the towel but made no immediate move to begin drying off.
“The fuck is your problem today?” Iosef asked, his expression dark. Green eyes especially expressive as he shook his head incredulously. “You’re acting like I knocked your face in again.”
It was a reflex. An impulsive reaction. He had Iosef pinned to the wall by his shoulders, lightning flashing through the many windows of the house, towel forgotten on the floor before he could think better of it.
“You,” John ground out through his teeth, face inches from Iosef’s. “You’re my problem today. Every day.”
Iosef stared at him, big eyes darting across his face, confusion written in his fair brows. John huffed out an irritated breath. More at himself than Iosef. The rational part of his brain knew it was his problem. Not his reluctant house guest’s. His ward. His prisoner. He shouldn’t belong to you at all. Shouldn’t be anything to you.
John breathed, chest heaving as water droplets rained from his hair where it hung in front of his face. Then Iosef darted forward, grabbed him, pressed their lips together. Thunder boomed and John staggered back as if he’d been shot, dark eyes wide.
He held Iosef at arm’s length. Stared at him. Both of them breathing heavily, eyes locked with dark intensity. “Why?”
Iosef shook his head, mouth twisting into a pained frown. “Thought you needed it. I don’t know.”
John clenched his jaw, tried to read Iosef’s face. It sounded like a lie. Or a partial truth. His heart raced, uncertainty clouding his judgement. A storm outside and inside.
“Well?” Iosef said, his tone demanding. He lifted his chin, a clear indication of a challenge. “Is that all you got?”
John closed his eyes, fingers clenching more tightly on Iosef’s upper arms before he released him and pointed towards the hall. “Go to your room.”
“You’re not my fucking father.” Iosef shrugged his shoulders, shaking them loose, then surged at John and kissed him again, hands on his chest making him shift back a step.
John grabbed him by the neck, jerking back to glare at him. “Knock it off!”
“It’s fine,” Iosef choked out. He tilted his face up, leaned heavily into John’s grip with a defiant flex of his upper lip. The mole on his cheek twitched with the stubborn motion. “Let off some steam. You can fuck me.”
John’s heart pounded. He let Iosef go as if his skin were so hot it burned and stalked off to the stairs leading up to his room.
Of course he wants that. Thought as much. Another mistake I made in bringing him here.
He slammed the door to his room in odd timing with a fresh lightning flash. Another clap of thunder shook the house. It was close. Overhead.
The lights flickered, then went out.
It didn’t take long for Iosef to knock at the bedroom door.
“Hey, Wick? Are all these candles in the living room decorative Helen shit meant to collect dust for fucking ever?”
John wrenched the door open, blood boiling, intent on grabbing the fucking idiot and knocking him out. But as soon as he had his hands on him, lightning flashed with a paired thunderous boom. He saw the reflection in Iosef’s eyes. The want. His parted lips.
What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you letting him effect you like this?
He realized too late his hesitation must have seemed like an invitation. An opportunity. Iosef shoved at him, pushed him back into his own room. Made him stumble backwards until he’d tripped back to sit on his bed.
“Don’t lie,” Iosef said as he grabbed the front of John’s heathered cream Henley in his fist. “You need a good fuck.” He didn’t expect a response with how quickly he crashed his mouth against John’s again as he climbed on top of him, straddling his thighs.
“The fuck are you thinking?” John blurted out. But the guttural groan that escaped his throat as Iosef ground himself down on his lap was telling. He was hard. Wanting. The fuck are you thinking?
“Don’t fucking think, John,” Iosef said, tugging the hem of John’s shirt up. “Fucking live.”
John’s eyes searched Iosef’s in the near darkness. Only scant ambient light from the windows illuminated the room. The storm clouds were so dark, it seemed like dusk instead of the afternoon. Then he did something impossibly stupid. Impulsive. He listened to the man on his lap, who’d invaded his room almost as forcefully as he’d invaded his home so many months ago. He lifted his arms and let Iosef pull his shirt off over his head. His wet hair clung to his face, but Iosef’s fingers brushed the strands away before they slipped down to cup his cheek.
It wasn’t the first time John had done something with another man. But those times had been business related. Efforts to get close to marks. To get information. His hang-ups should be different, he knew in the back of his mind. Iosef was half his age. The son of a man he’d worked exceptionally hard to break ties with. A reckless young man with too many vices and not enough introspection.
But that didn’t stop his hands from slipping under Iosef’s shirt to slide up his warm sides. Didn’t make him stop Iosef from pushing him back onto the bed and kissing down his neck to his chest, lavishing attention on his nipples with his mouth and his fingers. It didn’t stop him from ending up in only his socks, Iosef’s clothes on the floor with his own, cock sliding against Iosef’s as he rolled the younger man over and rutted against him like a drunken teenager. Mouth plastered to Iosef’s neck while Iosef clung to him with his arms and legs.
The storm raged on as they panted and shifted together, tangling in the bedcovers. Iosef shoved at John, slipped down his body, took his cock in his mouth with a wanton hum. John let out a broken grunt, fingers tangling in Iosef’s hair, short and almost distracting enough to tear him away from the expert tongue and lips engulfing his hardness. Iosef knew what he was doing.
The heater and appliances hummed back to life as the lights cut back on, and Iosef swallowed around John’s cock as he took him deep into his throat with an obscenely muffled gagging sound. John spilled into him with a startled sigh and thrust of his hips, eyes wide as they refocused.
Iosef pulled back slowly as he sat back on his heels. He licked his lips, swallowed, mouth parting as he licked his front teeth.
John could only stare up at him, heart racing, chest rising and falling under his own hand.
What the fuck have you done now?