Title: Negotiations fell through
Fandom: Osmosis Jones
Pairings:Thrax/Ozzy
Summary:AU, ThraxOzzy. Thrax goes to meet the Crime Don, but a temperamental waiter catches his eye.
Author Notes: Please forgive the various twists I've done to suit my story. It is AU after all. Reviews are love. Oh and If you want to see Ozzy in a waiter's outfit, Check my profile; I've got a link to it.
oOo
Heavy beats reverberated throughout the club as Thrax leaned back more into the shadows. He was here to meet with the resident Crime Don, Scabies; the whole thing was fishy, so he had already scoped out all the exits. It wasn't reassuring to know that Scabies owned this club either.
If the Don proved to be more trouble than he was worth, Thrax would kill him with no hesitation. It would be easier to gain access to the brain if there was a distraction though, henchmen were needed for that.
Casting another roving eye through the club, he apathetically watched the females as they danced and served and sat on client's laps. Through the swarm of short skirted women he saw a flash of black pants. Upon closer inspection he surmised that he was looking at the only male waiter working the joint, bar the bartender. Black tight pants, black vest, long sleeved white button shirt, an amusing crooked grimace as a tipsy customer ran her hands over his ass as he passed by.
The cell headed his way, tray in hand and maneuvering with experience around the tables, drunk cells, germs and the occasional fight. As he passed by his shadowed table, Thrax could make out a square jaw framed with a small goatee, and expressive eyes with a slight crazed look to them.
"Jones, it's good to see you're still alive." The table next to him was full of germs, probably small fry in Scabies' service.
The waiter, Jones, made a dismissive noise, "Is it really such a surprise?" He unloaded several orders. A germ, clearly intoxicated, slumped forward and belched, "Dunno," he slurred, "How can you survive without your precious little gun and badge to protect you?"
Jones froze, so did all the other germs not trashed enough to ignore the sudden leashed anger emanating from the waiter. With a nonchalant air, he slammed the germ's order onto his face, tray and all. Shaking the tray over the unconscious germ now on the floor, he made sure all the food fell on his face.
Without another word, he stalked back to the kitchens.
As he once again passed Thrax's table, the virus snagged his sleeve in passing.
"I'd like to order." Thrax eyed the tray warily as it moved, but all the cell did was pin it between his arm and side, a small pad appearing alongside a pencil. The cell snorted at the direction of his gaze, and shifted his weight onto the other foot. Nodding at the spacious table, "You waiting for someone, or just want a place for your imaginary friends?"
Thrax chuckled lowly and flicked his head slightly, "I'm-"
"Meeting me." A low voice rasped behind Jones. The waiter's neutral expression slipped down into a scowl; he stepped aside quickly. Thrax raised a semi interested eyebrow, dismissing it to eye the bigger threat in the room.
"So you're the crime don of Frank city."
The Don tilted his head lightly, his three ever present henchmen pulling out a seat for him before sitting themselves. Waving a languid hand he addressed the waiter without looking at him.
"The usual, Jones; and send them with one of the girls. I'm not in the mood for your attitude right now."
Gritting his teeth, Jones met Thrax's eyes briefly before looking away, storming to the kitchens; the scowl he wore was warning enough as people gave him a wide berth as he cut through the crowd. Thrax followed him as he went, eyes slipping down the length of the cells body. Lingering at his ass, Thrax made a 'hmm' noise from the back of his throat.
'Not bad.'
Peering at the Don with half lidded eyes he toyed with his chain, " You don't seem like the type to have an employee who so openly hates you."
Scabies shrugged, folding his hands together so the huge rings glinted in the strobe light. "Jones has the keenest gut instinct I've seen in a white blood cell. He got in the way too many times, so I blackmailed and completely destroyed his reputation; safer for him to be under my thumb than in Immunity."
Thrax filed this away, before steering the conversation to negotiating for Scabies' help to get to the brain.
oOo
Ozzy felt embarrassment burn through him still, treated like a child in front of someone who even Scabies was wary of. He'd seen the way all of Scabies' men filled the tables surrounding the black trench-coated man.
He grabbed a waitress who was giggling shyly on the lap of a customer. Picking her up and setting her down gently he shoved his tray and notepad into her hands. "Scabies, second table from the back door." She instantly became serious and nodded, bidding her disappointed customer goodbye, and heading over to the kitchens immediately.
The man, in an expensive wrinkled suit, scowled at him, lamenting the loss of his lap warmer. Ozzy sneered back and strode past him to the bar, where his friend had just finished serving a couple drinks. Setting himself down heavily, he slumped on the table and groaned out a indistinguishable mumbles into the counter top.
"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you insist on making out with the counter top, I'm afraid I need to tell you to get a room."
Ozzy groggily looked up and stuck his tongue out; he regretted ever teaching Drix a sense of humor. The pill wasn't even suppose to be in Frank at all; he came upon Ozzy on the way to the bowels a couple days ago. Saved him from being kicked around by some of the germs. It was a game they played every so often, to see how many germs at a time he could take on and come away relatively unscathed. This time there had been around 6 of them, but Ozzy worked well with mob rushes; it gave him the opportunity to stretch around them, bouncing around person to person like a lunatic. And with Drix freezing some of them, he walked away with only a black eye.
Invited him to a cheap take out as thanks, and after a couple awkward starts, they got to talking. About Drix's cool abilities, Ozzy's time as part of the Immunity. Well into the night, and after a couple of drinks, Ozzy began to reluctantly tell how he'd lost his job, and now worked for the biggest scum-bag in town. Since the bowels were closed at that time, Drix would have to go in the morning, so Ozzy offered his couch for the night.
Somehow, instead of going to the bowels the next day, he ended up at the club/ restaurant where Ozzy worked and applied for a job. Ozzy has never told him, but the cold pill just might be his first friend. It worked okay for a couple of days, and Drix was smart; he picked up the skill easily. The pill was also a kind of bouncer as well. No one wants to argue with someone Drix's size who had a cannon attached to one arm, after all.
Then Scabies heard about the fight and sent some of his better cronies to "send him a message" this morning. It was why his stomach hurt so much right now, they'd grabbed him so he couldn't squeeze his way out before a couple good hits landed.
A glass clinked in front of him and he eyed it suspiciously.
"It's not poisoned." Drix said, raising an eyebrow in exasperation.
"Pfft. I'm suppose to believe that?" Ozzy shot back.
Drix rolled his eyes and went to the the other end of the bar to serve a germ who had just come up. Ozzy took it and slowly turned it side to side, a commotion started up somewhere in the background. He didn't really pay attention though, Scabies' men would take care of it.
Drix had his back turned to the room, busy with the order; so he chugged the drink in one go. When he finished, he tasted something grainy in it. Ozzy grimaced. Setting it down, he propped his head up on a hand, still ignoring the hush that settled over the club. He was good at it, ignoring his surroundings whenever Scabies was his vicinity.
"What was in the drink?"
"Something to lessen the pain." Damn, the pill really was too observant.
As Drix turned, he glanced at the empty glass, amused at his friend's stubbornness. "You didn't drink it, did you?"
"Nope, some other guy did. Why would I need a painkiller?" Obstinate to the core.
The bartender huffed lightly and settled his eyes on a spot above Ozzy's head, prompting Ozzy to look up at Drix's silence.
"There's someone right behind me isn't there?"
Drix nodded at that, and turned. Presumably to make another order, but Ozzy knew he would be loading his cannon. Sucking his teeth he inhaled and spun around; only to freeze, as the painfully familiar medallion was all but shoved in his face.
"Negotiation's fell through I'm afraid." A low smooth voice spoke, making him rip his attention off the jewelry. Meeting acid yellow eyes, he leaned back as confident and calm as he could. "Oh yeah?"
"Ozzy," Something in Drix's voice made him instantly discard the dangerous man to look at the pill. As his head was turned, he missed the frown that flitted across Thrax's face at his easy dismissal.
Drix had removed his black apron, "That table is on fire." Ozzy might have said that sounded ridiculous had there not been a threatening man not five inches from his face. Looking over the aforementioned man's shoulder he saw that, yes, Scabies' table was on fire.
"Damn it." He breathed out, "Drix contain that before it spreads would you? The locker room is behind that wall."
Drix was already jumping over the bar, warning people to not panic and to stay clear. Ozzy finally faced Thrax, wiggling his eyebrows to go along with his leer, even as nerves ran through him. "I could kiss you for getting rid of Scabies, but I-"
He was cut off as a tongue that wasn't his invaded his mouth. Claws gripped the sides of his head, pressing lightly but gripping tightly as a warning to not move until the other was done. Curse his twisted sense of humor.
Ozzy tried to yell something unflattering about Thrax, balling up his hands in the man's trench coat, tugging futilely. It was completely useless of course, the man was no cell, he didn't have the same feel of one. Solid, was the word that came to mind; strong was another. The tongue halfway down his throat was almost pointy, and thorough in its explorations, not to mention hot as hell.
Despite himself, he started to get flushed as the other took advantage of the fact that everyone was watching the other side of the room; pinning Ozzy to the bar and pressing his own body to the cell's.
'Huh, so its not just his tongue that's hotter than normal.'
When two cell's kissed, their mouths became literally attached, and briefly they shared the same membrane. Thrax had no way of knowing this, of course, so he was surprised when the mouth he was currently enjoying began to seal itself over his lips, and sucked in his tongue. Groaning, deep in his throat he pressed back even harder.
Ozzy tried to open his heavy eyelids, as he felt the vibration from his groan and damn if it wasn't one of the sexiest things he's heard. Finally, Thrax detached his mouth from Ozzy's and began to kiss a path down his neck, his claws sliding down to knead at the cell's hands.
Disoriented at first, Ozzy blinked muzzily to get rid of the fog in his head, "Wha-" he gasped and cut off as the taller male, who was leaning down practically curled around Ozzy, sucked the juncture between his neck and shoulder. "Wait, wait! I don't even know you and you're already-"
"Thrax" was the short growled answer, the voice having gotten even lower and rougher, and holy spit was he grabbing his ass?
A polite cough, made both of them freeze. Thrax whirled and one of his claws lit up and stopped at Drix's chest. The pill similarly had his cannon pointed square at Thrax's face. "If you both are done, the private rooms are upstairs." Ozzy would have groaned, if he wasn't trying to suck in as much as possible now that Thrax wasn't making the air around him heavy. He laid his head back on the bar, back halfway onto the counter top anyway; his body was sluggish and he felt a distinct disinclination in moving away from the man still between his legs.
Thrax smirked smugly at the cell, prompting Ozzy to scowl at him on sheer principal. Without another word, Thrax turned and strode out, satisfaction oozing out of every movement he made. Ozzy made a face at that.
"So-"
"Not one word Drixenol, not one word."
The pill's knowing look spoke louder than anything he could have shouted anyway. Conversation started cautiously around them once again, and Drix tied his apron back on. He began wiping down the bar surface, stopping for a second as he reached the medallion, winking innocently in the strobe light. Picking it up gingerly, he threw it in the bin; and went back to cleaning.
Nonchalantly he said, "He was a virus you know."
Ozzy said nothing, but Drix saw his eyes narrow slightly and glance to the side. "So? Won't see him again, anyway." He replied calmly, too calm.
'I wouldn't put money on that.' Drix mused, eyes lingering on the dark hickies trailing down Ozzy's unbuttoned shirt.
"As a pill, it's your job to fight viruses...ain't it?" Ozzy continued, a subconscious note of accusation slipping into his voice. Drix hummed noncommittally, turning to fill a glass a customer had just given him.
"It was my job, remember?" Ozzy sat down again and began toying with the empty glass that he had most certainly not drunk.
"But now you're just a bartender." There was something in the cell that seemed to relax. Drix was unsure that Ozzy himself was aware of it; he was always incapable of hiding his emotions. Drix said nothing in response though.
He might be working as a bar-tend, but he also put himself in charge of caring for the cell.
Being a friend was first and foremost his priority after all. So next time, he'd give them a couple hours to themselves before loading his cannon.