Chapter 6: When a Man has a Plan

"We're all caught up in circumstances, and we're all good and evil. When you're really hungry, for instance, you'll do anything to survive. I think the most evil thing - well, maybe that's too strong - but certainly a very evil thing is judgment, the sin of ignorance."
-Anthony Hopkins

Alfred looked in the mirror. Two amazingly blue eyes stared right back, went up and down and up again. Over what he once thought to be a rather well-defined teenage body. Had it been conceited to think that? Then again, was he not entitled to a little handsomeness, being the local hero? Or was that conceited as well? He placed a hand over his face, possessively splaying fingers over sun-kissed skin. Patting a few times before dragging it down as he let out a pathetic little moan. Was this truly the face of a hero?

Identity crises were a feat formerly unknown to the young American. However, after all those morally ambiguous meetings with a certain Russian, it was time for a little re-evaluation.

"What would make me a hero…"

Pro: He had saved the life of dozens, hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people.

Con: He had also taken the lives of many others.

Pro: He didn't ask for anything in return.

Con: But he did expect everyone to praise him to the heavens and beyond, treat him like a VIP.

Pro: He could honestly say he was a nice guy, who found joy in helping others.

Con: He also found joy in fighting, perhaps a little too much.

Pro: He didn't shoot Ivan.

Con: …

He didn't shoot Ivan.

He had meant to, of course. Why else would he bring a gun? Not to show off, nor as a mere threat. With Alfred, if it ever did come to him having to draw his gun, he almost always pulled the trigger. Sometimes he shot his opponent in the leg to keep them from fleeing the scene, other times he used the weapon to disarm the other. Few times he'd been forced to kill, the bad guy too far gone to be reasoned with. He saved many lives by doing that of course, but still… It was rather difficult to ignore the rush of euphoria as he heard that gunshot, the blood pumping through his veins when that intoxicating scent reached his nostrils. It was a sin to be this excited over a mere object of power, but Alfred had come up with many excuses to keep ignoring the fact.

He was Alfred F. Jones. Nineteen years old, still in college (but luckily he had summer vacation right now). Had a twin brother who was in a relationship with the guy who coached him. His alias was the Iron Eagle, defender of the city and protector of all things good. And he had almost let himself be kissed by a villain instead of shooting him, like he should have done. For the better good of the city, for the better good of himself. Why? That was what he was currently trying to figure out.

A hand ghosted over his lips. If he closed his eyes, he would be sure to feel the warmth, the anticipation, taste the other's surprisingly sweet breath. Alfred had kissed before, once. (And the other kiss with Ivan didn't count.) However, she caught him by surprise back then, and when he shot back at the touch and hit his head she had laughed and called him a child. Ever since then he had wanted to kiss, dreamt of it, to show he wasn't a child at all, but alas. No one showed interest. Lien had begun flirting with him again as of late, the girl who stole his first kiss, but he'd never felt as excited about kissing her as he did that night, when violet came close enough to entrance but too far to capture.

Alfred shuddered and quickly pulled his hand down, as if they had touched something burning hot. This was a sin. Not only was Ivan a guy, he was a villain, which was far worse. One should never fall in love with the enemy. Romeo and Juliet did, and look where it brought them! Both dead, a few (lots of) casualties in the family on the side.

Alfred didn't want to die. Nor did he intend to kill Ivan. Of course, he could always just turn him in to the police, but somehow it just didn't feel like the right thing to do. Ivan behind bars not only seemed wrong, Alfred also thought Ivan to get far more dangerous then. Nothing more ruthless than a vengeful spirit, after all.

What other options were there? Let Ivan do as he pleased, wash his hands off of him? Now that would only make the teen lose all credibility as a superhero. Join Ivan? See the previous option. ...There was... something he could do about that… but it would be difficult to pull off.

If he started helping Ivan, go after those who truly deserved it, but instead of killing them bring them to jail… If he could somehow change Ivan's image as a criminal, explain to the media that he had good intentions all along… that was a possibility. Ivan probably wouldn't like it. Definitely. Maybe. Taking orders from Alfred? Take on an image? No. But it was the only way for Alfred to- for Ivan to be saved. Redeemed. Yes.

The boy's mood was a little better when he went to the gym for his daily exercise. Ignoring the way few people stared at his biceps, he only focused on the lovely plan forming in his head. It would be good for the both of them. Ivan could finish his work, Alfred could keep his job. And… Alfred almost tripped and fell once the next image flooded his mind. His cheeks weren't just red from effort now.

With all the planning, he had all but forgotten the true reason for him wanting to make this proposition to the Russian. He could almost hear that sultry voice mocking and teasing, see him stalk closer and the shadow fall over his smaller figure as all light was blocked off but those two smouldering eyes-

The sunny blond immediately made for the showers. Relieved to find them all empty, he swiftly shook off his sweaty clothes and let the icy cold water attack his flushed skin.

How to propose this plan without Ivan instantly figuring out his hidden goals? How to approach someone with new intentions when the other had been treated as the bad guy all along? Alfred could feel the shame fill him at the thought of Ivan laughing at him, or worse, take advantage of his newly developed feelings.

What if the tall man had only attempted to kiss him as a manner of distraction, just like the first time? Alfred wasn't sure he could take being played with like that. And yet the desire to once more feel those lips upon his own far outmatched his uncertainties. Thus, as the cold water did next to nothing to help his problem and he surrendered to the sensations, he knew.

He was a sinner, and Braginsky was both his drug and drug provider. By the blood on his hands and the muffled pants and grunts filling the empty showers, he knew.

xoxox

Ivan was just about to eat dinner when a little note slid under his door. In a flash he was there, throwing it open to look outside, just in time to hear rumbling footsteps disappear out of the building. He ran to the window and looked down at the dark streets, a smile creeping onto his face when he spotted the lean figure sprinting down the alleyway. He casually walked back to the door to close it, bend over and pick up the note Alfred had left for him.

We need to talk.

The snowy blond whistled as he deciphered the number quickly scribbled down beneath the short message, saving it in his phone afterwards. Oh, talk they would! And it would be delightful. Most certainly.