Above all others
Cold seeped into Justin's bones. His shoulder chafed against brick. He tried to shift his weight from one foot to the other, but ended up right back in the same position. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the same surge of anger he had felt when Luther had denied involvement in Ken Barnaby's desperate attempt to stay out of prison.
It was good that Justin could see all of it so clearly. The blood and Luther's face and his own inability to read what was in it. Truth and lie looked the same now and that was Luther's fault too. I should go home, Justin thought. He thought it just to get it out of the way. To confirm that leaving was an actual possibility and that he hadn't lost his mind waiting there for a man who was made up of secrets.
A lengthy shadow rippled over Justin's shoes. He looked up to see who cast it. Even here – in the absence of ceilings and walls to box him in – Luther moved as if there wasn't enough room for him to walk upright. His shoulders seemed to strain against the sky itself. The great John Luther: never able to fit anywhere.
The sight of Justin leaning against the side of the building merely slowed Luther's step for a second before he swaggered on. His coat swished around his long legs.
Afterwards, Justin thought about the moment before Luther had spoken. There were any number of things Luther might have said that would have defused the situation. Justin was ready to believe; willing to trust. Just one word of kindness would have done it.
'Come to finish what you started?' Luther taunted. The accusation stung. They smiled at one another nastily and clashed. Justin caught Luther underneath his collar bone. Luther fell back. His retaliatory blow glanced off Justin's shoulder. Neither of them aimed for the face, knowing that Schenk might overlook bloody knuckles, but not bloody faces. They grappled, but their fingers found no purchase. They didn't connect properly. That has been our problem from the start, Justin realised in between attempts to hurt the man he admired so.
Justin soon discovered how exhausting it is to fight someone who is not really into the fight. Luther was clearly stronger, but he never gained the upper hand simply because he didn't appear to want it. It made Justin wonder what both of them were hoping to accomplish. Still, Justin kept doggedly coming at Luther. They struggled and somehow Justin managed to slam his superior into the wall. With his fists bunched in Luther's collar, Justin paused, unsure of how to proceed.
They were both breathing heavily, choppily. In wild bursts of expelled and inhaled oxygen. The lull in the fight went on for longer than Justin had intended. Suddenly, it seemed futile to start swinging again. Nothing touched the great John Luther. Justin looked at his boss.
Luther had the tendency to look down his nose at you because he was so bloody tall. He was doing that now in combination with his trademark head cocked to the side. There was no curiosity in his gaze, though. Luther merely stared at him with an amused air. Could that really be all that he was feeling? Justin's anger returned in full force. He reached down and cupped Luther's crotch. To his surprise, no hands came up to push him away. Justin pulled back slightly to watch Luther, who looked like he had expected Justin to do this. Justin found this very fucking unlikely since he hadn't even known himself what he was going to do until he was doing it. Luther wasn't smirking, but he might as well have been.
His whole stoic demeanour pissed Justin off, so he slid down Luther's body until he was on his knees in front of him, maintaining eye contact. Now, finally, Justin registered something akin to shock on Luther's face. But when Justin tugged at the belt that was level with his eyes, Luther had already recovered. He was back to showing no emotion. He waited for what Justin would do next, indulgently. Justin unbuckled the belt and slipped it through the loops. He knew what he wanted now. He wanted to jolt Luther out of complacency. He wanted Luther off kilter; unsettled. Justin wanted to shake the great John Luther to his core.
When Justin took Luther into his mouth and closed his lips around him, Luther instantly hardened. The only other noticeable reaction was him leaning his head back against the bricks. They regarded each other. Justin sucked. Luther remained still. His hips didn't buck. His hands stayed slack at his sides.
Justin replaced his mouth with his hand and stood up. He leaned in close until his face was inches from Luther's. He pumped, watching his hand at work. When he looked up again, he caught Luther rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. Satisfied, Justin quickened his pace. Luther trembled and grabbed Justin's shoulders. He reversed their positions, pinning Justin to the wall with his bulk. Stunned, Justin didn't move.
Luther slid his hands across Justin's neck to his face and tilted it upwards to meet his lips. Then he kissed Justin savagely while thrusting into his hand. He lowered his left hand to Justin's hip. The fingers of Luther's right hand dug into the tender flesh between Justin's neck and left shoulder. He buried his face in Justin's other shoulder while he came. Luther released a shuddering breath in Justin's ear; his beard chafing against Justin's cheek. Then he rested his forehead against Justin's forehead.
Instinctively, Justin pushed him away. Luther tripped backwards. Justin, cleaning his hands with his handkerchief, stood over the great John Luther with his heart hammering in his chest.
'Justin...' Luther said. Justin walked away; reeling from what he'd done. Had it been a way to convince Luther of his loyalty? A twisted 'I love you'? Justin didn't know. These days he simply didn't know anymore. Loyalty, love; what's the difference? Why be loyal to someone if you don't value them above all others?
The great John Luther. Fuck him.
The end.