I’m not actually here, it’s just a random Wardlow drabble. Set around the thing with MJF on last week’s Dynamite.
You've just been in catering, grabbing an apple to take with you, and you're walking down one of the back hallways of Daily's Place munching away happily when a blonde woman rushes out of a room, straight into your path.
"Whoa," you say, jumping back a little, barely missing her, and she looks at you, clearly distraught, tears running down her face. You're about to ask if she's okay when she hurries off, and you peer into the room she's just exited, leaning around the edge of the door.
And oh, you think, as you see MJF, because yeah, that's generally the effect he has on people. He's with Wardlow, standing close, voice venomous as he spits out threats about paychecks and families being thrown onto the street. And Wardlow just takes it, standing there, tall and upright, his anger visibly simmering, but he doesn't say a word.
You hurriedly move away as MJF strides out of the room, pretending you're walking in the opposite direction, but once he's gone, you look in again.
Wardlow is standing there, and though his back is still straight, there's something defeated in his posture, a resigned look about him.
And you're curious, so you take another bite of your apple, and wander inside. "You always let him talk to you like that?" you ask.
Wardlow stares back at you, silent, the pained expression on his face instantly vanishing, his features set, jaw clenched square.
"No, seriously," you say. "Do you like it when he talks to you like that? Because if that's what you're into, you know, verbal humiliation and all, I know a few girls who'll do a much better job than that guy."
"It's not what I'm into," he says, slowly, carefully, voice deep. "I don't like it."
You shrug, finishing off your apple, tossing the core neatly into the trash can in the corner of the room. "Some guys like it," you say, then gaze up at him. He must be almost a foot taller than you, built like a solid fucking wall of muscle. "Gets them hard," you add, and you see his eyes narrow, suddenly wary.
You reach out, tentatively, waiting to see if he'll stop you, hearing him breathe in as you run one fingertip over the center of his belt, along the upper side of the buckle. He doesn't move, but he doesn't protest, and so you slide your hand downwards, feeling the length of his cock through his pants, palming it, just lightly.
"He's not very big, is he?" you say, softly. "Max, I mean. Like, compared to you." You stroke him, more firmly, and you see him swallow, closing his eyes for just a second.
But then he gently grasps your wrist, moving your hand away, and it doesn't quite feel like a decisive rejection, so you don't give up, not yet. "You could take him, you know that, right?" you say. "Anytime you want."
"I know I could," he replies.
"It's not…" He shakes his head. "It's complicated."
You laugh, the sound of it more bitter than you intend. "It always is." You fold your arms in front of you, looking him up and down, because this guy is way too hot to be someone's lackey, especially someone as big of an asshole as Max.
"Maybe," you suggest, "you should be with someone who's working for your interests, not their own."
"Maybe," Wardlow concedes.
"If you don't want to speak for yourself, I'm good at talking." You lean in a little closer, standing on your tiptoes, your mouth nearer to his ear. "If you want a voice who'll back you up instead of shitting on you." You take a step back, surprised to feel yourself exhale, because mostly you don't fluster so easily.
"Think about it," you say. "I'm betting we'd work well together."
He doesn't speak for a good minute, but he doesn't look away. "So it'd be just business?" he asks.
"Sure." You smile at him, licking your lips. "Whatever kind of business you want."
And he doesn't smile back, face as serious as ever, but there's something there, you can tell, a thought, planted, and maybe it'll grow, maybe it won't.
"Come find me," you tell him, backing out of the room. "Whenever you're ready." He nods, shortly, and you turn away. "I'll be waiting," you murmur to yourself, but you keep walking.