| Title: Payment Due Author: Jo Pairing: Joaquin Phoenix/Orlando Bloom Rating: PG13 Summary: Not all weapons are made; some are created. Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you… Notes: Written for the Two Lines Challenge. AU of the LOTR Speakeasy universe, based off Brenda's fic for the same challenge. *g*
Soon. The club, Tartine's, was familiar, even though Joaquin had never set foot in the place before. He'd been in enough whorehouses, enough speakeasies, to know instantly where everything was located. The information was filed away for later. Letting his eyes skim the room, he moved easily through the crowd. Too easily, really, almost as if they knew with just a glance what sort of man he was. Good. Joaquin kept moving and smiled to himself. That smile made more than one person flinch away and move perhaps a little faster than they would have, otherwise. Cold and lethal, that smile never touched his eyes. And the eyes themselves were flat green, not even a glimmer to show that any humanity remained. Few people around him were willing to meet that gaze. Reptilian, someone had once called him. That had been mere minutes before the man's blood had washed Joaquin's hands to mid-forearm. A product of his environment, his father often liked to say. His mother just shook her head and hoped he'd get married one day. What they all failed to realize was how much Joaquin enjoyed his work. He was good at it, and business was good. Even if Lucky was liable to have his hide for the unauthorized trip to Chicago. But some things, Joaquin had decided, needed to be dealt with. Betrayal needed to be dealt with. He'd allowed it to slide for too long. The men were starting to talk. Oh, it was nothing that anyone had been bold enough to say to his face. Not yet. But damned if he was going to allow his men to believe he was weak. Weakness led to problems. Weakness led to more betrayals. And Joaquin would see them all in hell before he'd lose his place in the food chain. Before he'd allow them to rip it from his dead fingers. Because they'd have to kill him first, and they all knew it. And, frankly, none of them had the balls to face him in a fight to the death. He was far too good at what he did. Just then, the crowd parted. Not much, but enough for Joaquin to see a man not twenty feet away. Two men, actually, but he was only interested in one. "Beautiful," he murmured, smile oozing across his face as he stepped back to watch. The taller man, dark hair falling across his eyes, was dismissed after a thorough scrutiny. Larger than Joaquin, he carried an air of lethal grace and certainly wasn't anyone Joaquin cared to meet in a dark alley without a weapon. But Joaquin had no plans to meet the man anywhere. He wasn't part of the equation. A brief kiss brushed across his companion's lips, and then the big man was moving away, sliding through the crowd as easily as Joaquin had. And there, left standing by himself… Orlando. The one person that Joaquin had sworn would die the second he laid eyes on him again. Moving to Chicago had kept Bloom safe for a few years, but Chicago and New York weren't that far apart. Not any longer. Dead green eyes slid over a slender frame, take in carelessly disheveled dark curls. He'd grown into an attractive man. Joaquin allowed himself a few moments to appreciate that beauty. If not for everything that lay between them, Joaquin would have happily taken Orlando to bed. The thought brought a gleam to his eyes. He might still do that. What better way to handle things, really? Break him, then kill him. The sheer simplicity of the whole thing almost made Joaquin laugh. Orlando just might end up being the most enjoyable thing that Joaquin had ever done. He wondered what Josh would have to say about that. No. Josh had made his decision when he'd left New York with a traitor. He knew how things worked, knew there was always a butcher's bill to be paid. And that day had arrived. Orlando turned, profile to Joaquin. Another moment to admire the clean lines of that face, the high cheekbones, the way his lips curved when he smiled at someone. Loved you once. One hand reached out and curled around the wrist of a passing waitress. Loved you, and you used that against me. Soft words whispered in her ear accompanied a twenty-dollar bill. Just a small favor. A tiny one, really. Take this, deliver it to the attractive gentleman in the black suit there. Yes, that's the one. Used that against me, got under my guard. The waitress smiled at Joaquin, happy to tuck the money into her bodice and take the small item on her tray. She moved away with a twitch of her hips, and Joaquin spared a moment to appreciate what she offered. Perhaps later. After business has been taken care of. Got under my guard, betrayed me. Joaquin stood there and watched the waitress approach Orlando. A few words passed between them, then she handed over the gift. Hurt me worse than anyone else ever could. The scar through Joaquin's upper lip throbbed as Orlando's hand closed over what Joaquin had sent. Finally. Orlando looked at it, and Joaquin knew exactly what he was seeing. A switchblade with a bone handle. Not an inexpensive item by any means. Especially not with the ornate 'O' engraved on the handle. The same knife that Joaquin had carried since it came at him in a flash of silver and sliced through oh so fragile skin. The same knife that was now a declaration of intent. Orlando's head snapped up, those beautiful brown eyes scanning the club. And when they collided with Joaquin's gaze, Joaquin smiled at the realization in Orlando's eyes. Time to pay the butcher, brother.
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