"Clay,"
There was an eerie silence as 'Clay' thought of how to word his next sentence. . . . .it could have be his last. He glanced up at the man with the gun. It was he who should have been the hostage...not the captor.
"Bill Clay."
The American with the gun only stared at him faintly, a cocky smile growing on his lips. After rolling his cigarette to the left side of his mouth, John McClane muttered out, "Bill, huh? Well, Bill. You know you were could be dead back there. I almost shot you when I first saw you!"
He laughed again, this time almost more playfully as if he just told a joke. He grinned, nodding his head towards him. "You were looking for help over there, pal?"
Hans blinked. . . .there was no BILL. . . . .not HERE anyways. The real Bill could have been a very hostage in his little scheme plotted on Christmas Eve. The very scheme that caught John and he in a game of cat and mouse.
"Y-yeah," He replied, looking around slowly, hoping that a gun might magically appear out of nowhere. "I got out and uh. . . .place is locked down pretty tight, you know?"
"Well, I wouldn't know. Thing is uh," The American laughed heavily, moving over to "Bill." Quickly he pressed a hand on the other's shoulder, his head tilting closer to Hans' ear and whispered, "I managed not to get caught. I'm a, uh, cop back in New York that managed to get away, you know?"
". . . .Oh,"
That was something. That was a big something. He wasn't dealing with some run-of-the-mill, piece of shit secuirty guard from LA. This was one of New York's finest, and that made all the difference.
"We better get goin', I don't want to get caught! I heard they're making the hostages watch 'Xanadu' in there!"
"Ugh, seriously? Nobody watches that! . . .Except maybe my sister. . ."
John shifted his eyes lightly, feeling himself grow more aroused as he slipped his arm around this man's shoulder, helping him get away further together. Perhaps it was the delicate suit he wore against his firm body or that strange scent against "Bill's" skin. It was weird but John liked weird. After all, that was the reason why he married his wife in the first place.
"Yeah," Hans muttered, his eyes shifting as he felt the much stronger, more muscular, far more manly, burly man put his muscle-ripping arm around him. He smelt of man sweat and pork chops.
"Mm, hey...uh, Bill, maybe we should relax, you know? I'm sure they won't know we're here..."
The New York City cop quickly dragged his friend closely over to the tables now, his eyes shifting a bit. No. None of those terrorist pieces of shits would know they were here. Quickly he backed his newfound friend closer to the wall, muttering with a dry smirk, "Man, my stomach kind of hurts now. Maybe I should have laid off those pork chop sandwiches, huh?"
This wasn't in the plan. . .what was going on? Hans' eyes shifted, his eyes darting quickly. Could it be. . . .? Was John McClane, the New York cop and father of. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . however many that he technically shouldn't even KNOW about this early in the movie. . .GAY!
"Y-yeah, my Mom makes porkchop sandwiches." He nodded, his California accent unwavering. "I don't usually eat them 'cause. . .they give me the shits REALLLLLL bad."
"Yeah, I bet they do. Same problem with me."
Gently John began running his fingertips up along Gruber's chest, laughing faintly as he began to grope him.
"I uh. . . ." Hans tried to think on his feet, his mind racing. "I think I just shit my pants JUST NOW. Yeahhhhhhh."
"Really?" John murmured in a sympathetic voice, pressing himself harder against Hans. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it. After all, we're here up here. . .all alone."
"I uh-uh-. . . . .FUCK THA POLICE!" He yelled, shoving McClane to the ground and grabbing his machine gun in the process.
"You thought you could TRICK me back there, didn't you?" HANS asked, his REAL accent shining through.
"Wha-- uh, yeah! Yeah, I did! I knew you were European all along there, Hans! That's why I did some of that fag shit to you because I know how you Europeans like it!" John shouted out, quickly backing up on his feet, trying to scoot away on his ass.
"Oh I know what YOU want, all right!" He growled, his eyes narrowing. Taking one uber-graceful step forward, Hans threw the gun down the open elevator shaft and sat down next to John slowly.
"Ass race! Whoever makes it to the stairs first wins!" Without even saying anything the European had already began kicking his legs forward, scooting with more determination and speed than anyone John had ever seen.
McClane only stared out for a moment before kicking up speed, scooting on his ass as fast as he could. Without even saying a word, he quickly shoved Gruber until he was on his side and stood up, running away as fast from him as quickly as he could from the terrorist in fear. HEEEE RAN.
His eyes darkening from the floor, Gruber stood up with marked fury in his steps. Walking to the stairs he slowly made his descend to the main room where the terrorists were keeping the hostages.
"Everybody!" He yelled, frowning slightly when he opened the lobby door and saw a few of the large, blonde, muscle-men snapping towels at each other's asses. "EVERYBODY CALM DOWN! Zere will be plenty of time for zat later."
"Aw, man!" Ellis shouted out after running out of his dead boss's office, balls naked and just standing in front of Gruber with no shame.
"You pig." Hans shouted with such disgust in his voice that it nearly eclipsed the sound of his gun firing and the bullet flying right towards Ellis' package.
Everyone screamed in utter horror; ladies panicking, men shitting their pants. Silently, however, the old Jew fell to the ground, dead for some. . .unknown reasons. As Hans hovered over his body with a ghastly smirk, Karl quickly ran over to Hans and punched him in the ass to get his attention.
"OW!" Hans yelled, sounding more like 'ZOW" due to his accent. "What did I TELL you about ass punches, Karl? HMM? Only FAGS do that. . . .and maybe Japs."
"Zorry zir...I waz informed to tell you zis. . .! Zee American hero. . .he's near! Zee just heard him cross through the room!" Karl called out, his accent carrying more "Z"s than usual.
"DAMN YOU KARL!" Hans screamed, taking a half-eaten can of cold Spagettios that the Germans or. . .Russians or. . . .whatever the fuck they were. . . .were eating for dinner and hurtling across the room as if it were only Karl's fault.
"Z'm zorry, zir. Zlease! Zorgive zeeeeeeee!" The blonde shouted in angst, quickly hurling a chair in the room and smashing it against an elderly man.
"ZORGIVE! ZORGIVE?" Hans shouted, raising the gun to Karl's back. Sighing inwardly and closing his eyes he lowered the piece. . . . .If Karl hadn't fucked that old man's shit up, he'd have a bullet in the ass for sure.
"Wait. THIS THING ON? I, uh, hey! Yeah!" A familiar voice shouted out across the room. Apparently someone was dicking around on the intercom. "What's up! What's up, what's up, what's up!"
Hans sighed and shook his head as his men began running around him in terror like confused yet angry wolves that had just been exposed to the 'mystery word!' one times too many.
"Yeah, this is uh, ROY here on the intercom and I was wondering if Hans Gruber out there wanted to come out and play. Heh, play." The voice continued darkly.
"Zt's coming from zee top floor!" One of the terrorists shouted out, stomping his feet on the ground lightly in fury.
"SHUT UPPP SHUTTT UPPPPP!" Hans shouted, throwing a large statue of Buddha to the ground, causing a few of the hostages to scream. "I vill deal with this," He muttered, stomping to the elevator and pressing a button coolly.
As soon as Hans had left on the elevator, the other terrorists quickly dived for the Spagettios on the floor that Gruber threw to the floor. They were starving and hadn't been fed in five days. The most amusing part was that there was a large vending machine right next to them but since they were not Americans and were thus, foreigners, they obviously didn't have any money.
"Come on! Come on you sexy, piece of man meat! Come here so I can slap around your noodle. . ." John McClane muttered, his newly-found machine gun in hand as he waited for Gruber to approach out of the elevator.
"Damn these fine suits my mother buys me!" Gruber growled from inside the elevator, tearing his own jacket and shirt off, the sweat starting to drip from his forehead and onto the floor obscurely.
"Come on, you fuc--"
Finally the elevator dinged open and within seconds, McClane hurled himself violently into the elevator, tearing his pants off.
"VAHHHH!" Gruber shouted in his most vampiric tone, trying to climb to the walls of the elevator. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME YOU SICK AMERICAN PIG?"
"I WANT. . .YOUR BOD."
Quickly he tried to bring Gruber closer before wrapping his legs and arms around him like an octopus on steroids.
Going limp (in more ways than one) Gruber let McClane wrap himself around him. ". . . .Bill Clay doesn't much appreciate this."
John was surprised that Gruber let him get away with this. So surprised in fact that he was naturally turned off.
"Why must you do this?" Gruber shouted. "I have seen pictures of your founding fathers...! They were MANLY MEN!" He grunted slightly as he reached into his pocket, handing John a picture of Ronald McDonald and Grimace.
McClane paused for a minute and looked at the picture of Ronald McDonald and Grimace and began to breathe in deeply.
"I . . .don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I have a thing about accents." John muttered, wrapping Hans closely in his thick arms. Quickly he sat him in his lap, whispering into the foreigner's hair, "You're my cuppycake gumdrop, smoogums, smoogum. . ."
"OOOOKAY!" Hans said suddenly, stepping away from the man and walking away slowly. "THISSSS IS GETTING WEIRD!"
"No! Hans, wait! For these exact 13 minutes I couldn't stop thinking about you!" John called out, wrapping his arms around Gruber's waist from the back, holding him closely. "Even though I hate all terrorists and want to bomb their homelands and steal their oil and laugh at their turbans, I find you so attractive."
"Perhaps. . ."
Hans bit his lower lip, looking off into the distance of the L.A. skyscraper. Closing his eyes slowly, he felt secure for the first time. Safe in a man's arms for the first time in his life. . . .except for that time his buddy Habeb and him fucked like rabbits all night after splitting a keg in Baghdad the Summer before.
"NO!" He shouted suddenly, remembering the time some American pig called him with an order for 'Mitur Banesdurdy'.
"Hans! Please. . .! I-- I just need a beautiful man. Someone I can come home to and make me my dinner. Someone I can slap around when I'm mad but quickly apologize and claim they're the most gorgeous wife in the world. Someone I can stick my dick into their ass on an early Tuesday shower before they go take a college class. You know, that sort of thing."
John stared at him, angst in his eyes.
"Zoh my God," Hans said suddenly, stepping away, tears brimming his eyes as he breathed in deeply.
"That's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever told Hans Gruber."
John McClane, as well, began to cry tears from his eyes until they fell towards his leathery man-mouth. Quickly he stepped over towards the terrorist and held his hands in his own.
"I love Bill Cl-- I mean, Hans Gruber."
"ZAT ARRANGED...CAN BE!"
There was a moment of sheer shock in Hans' eyes when he looked past him and saw that bastard Karl behind them, holding a large flaming trident in both hands.
"Wh-what! Is this some sort of trap! Hans, you asshole, you tricked meee!" John shouted out in fear. Apparently he had been literally caught with his pants down, after all.
"UH YEAH! HWAH!" Hans yelled, jumping back to Karl's side. Like fuck he was going to be caught doing some of that gay shit like in 'Ghost'.
"HAAAAANS!"
John quickly fell to his knees, spilling himself on the floor and sobbing uncontrollably. He quickly growled and leaped at Karl, beating his face into the ground.
"8 fucking years!"
"So uh...yeah." Hans muttered, nodding slowly as he watched him destroy his best man. "I'm gonna uh. . .leave so you can uh. . .just call me whenever and uhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmm, yeah. Byeeeee."
Gruber shuddered as he heard he finally heard Karl unzip his pants and scream, 'ZET'S GET ZIS PARTY STARRTEDDDDDDD!' over John's wailing screams. Shaking his head in guilt and the loss of McClane's perfect ass, he turned to the elevator.
Turning around and facing John, his eyes met his once more before he died at the mercy of Karl's shvonts. Nodding once with a salute, the elevator doors closed forever.
FIN?