Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Mel/Johnny, Red Hamilton
Fandom: Public Enemies
Genres: AU, Captivefic, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Rating (this chapter): G
Spoilers: For the movie, natch. :)
General Summary: During the chaos of the shoot-out at Little Bohemia, Special Agent Melvin Purvis is captured by the Dillinger Gang and becomes a ‘Hostage To Fortune’…and ‘Johnny’s Indulgence’.
Chapter Summary: During his first morning in captivity, Mel is given personal attention by Johnny.
Date Of Completion: July 27, 2009
Date Of Posting: August 17, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 845
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: This story was inspired by Mary Renault’s The Persian Boy. Alexander the Great’s men accepted their leader’s indulgence, who happened to be Bagoas, the Persian Boy, an ex-slave who shared Alexander’s bed. They didn’t object to him being male but that he was a barbarian (non-Greek). It showed their love and respect for Alexander when they accepted Bagoas, and learned to respect him in his own right.
Canon is a jumping-off point but I changed several things, including the survival of Johnny’s gang, as their dynamic was important to this story.
Mostly this is drama with elements of romance, so I said what the heck and included that in the Genre. :)
Yeah, this was going to be a one-shot, albeit a long one, but the boys were just too much fun to play with. ;)
So, enjoy this story of seduction, sex, and a touch of Stockholm Syndrome. ;)
The entire series can be found here.
"GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE"
Mel had spent a fitful night, alternately nauseous and worried.
He had to escape, somehow.
But the handcuffs were a good deterrent. He had nothing to pick the locks with, and he could bet his trust fund that the gang wouldn’t leave the keys lying around.
He rubbed between his eyes. Thank God that Carter had survived. Thank God.
And what about John Dillinger? His body was reacting to him.
As the rosy-gold rays of dawn filtered through the slits in the shutters of his room, he thought of last night. Johnny had brought him supper and had left him alone after taking away the bowl and spoon when he’d finished.
He rolled over, almost laughing at the bucket close to his bed “in case you need it during the night”. He was being treated well, for which he was grateful, especially since his headache was still with him.
He heard the murmur of voices a half hour later, probably from the kitchen. Footsteps sounded down the hall.
He tried to remember the makeup of the gang: long-time friend John ‘Red’ Hamilton, old hands Homer Van Meter, Charles Mackley, Harry ‘Pete’ Pierpont, Eddie Green, and Tommy Carroll. Would they all be gathered here?
He tried to sit up, dismayed at how dizzy he felt. Did he have a concussion?
How the hell was he going to escape with this debilitating headache?
The door opened and Johnny came in bearing a tray. “Good morning, Sunshine. Eggs and bacon for you.” He set the tray over Mel’s lap. “Do you like your coffee black?”
“Good.” Johnny pulled up the rocking chair. “Sorry, can’t give you a knife or fork. A spoon will have to do.”
“Maybe I can tunnel my way out with it.”
Mel stared down at the tray. He drank the coffee, then nibbled on a piece of bacon.
“Is something wrong with the eggs? I know I’m not the greatest cook…”
“I can’t eat eggs. I’m…allergic.”
“Oh!” Johnny left the room and returned with a fork. “I’ll eat ‘em, then. I only had toast for breakfast.” He paused with a forkful of egg. “Would you like toast?”
“The bacon’s fine.” His stomach was still a little off.
Johnny leisurely ate the eggs, Mel drinking his coffee and eating two pieces of bacon before he quit.
“Your appetite isn’t so good, huh?” Johnny studied his face. “You’ve still got a bad headache.”
Mel debated whether to admit to it, then said, “Yes.”
“Let’s take a trip to the bathroom, Agent Purty.”
Once there, Johnny handed Mel two aspirin, his fingers caressing Mel’s, then handed him a glass of water.
On the way, Mel had glimpsed gang members in the kitchen. He was given time alone and brushed his teeth with a new toothbrush that Johnny had given him.
He looked at himself in the mirror over the sink and winced: stubbled chin, disheveled hair, eyes clouded by pain. He removed the bandage on his right temple and carefully probed the cut, wincing again, putting a fresh bandage on it. He washed up, straightening his shirt, his pants wrinkled, running a comb through his hair. Johnny opened the door.
“No straight razor?” Mel asked with a slight grin.
Johnny answered with a bright smile. “Sorry, Sunshine. It wouldn’t be wise.”
Mel rubbed his chin. “Guess you’ll have to get used to me in a beard.”
Johnny lightly gripped his chin and turned his head back and forth, eyeing him critically. “I like you clean-shaven.” He rubbed his thumb over Mel’s chin and let him go.
He stayed close as they walked back to the bedroom, holding one end of the length of chain that bound the handcuffs together while Mel concentrated on keeping his balance on stiff legs. He crawled back into bed, grimacing as Johnny locked the chains back to the headboard.
“Be right back.”
Mel wondered what Johnny was up to. When the gangster returned, he held a bowl of water and razor, a towel slung over his shoulder.
“Do you trust me?” he asked softly.
“Do I trust you not to cut my throat?” Mel smiled wearily. “You’re John Dillinger, not Baby Face Nelson.”
Johnny smiled. He put the bowl down on the nightstand.
His hand was steady as he scraped the razor across Mel’s cheeks and chin, the agent closing his eyes. He could smell Johnny’s aftershave, mingled with a light touch of cologne.
When he finished, Johnny said, “Try and get some rest. See if you can knock out that headache, Beautiful.” His fingers gently caressed Mel’s cheek, then he left the room with the shaving implements.
Mel touched a hand to his tingling cheek.
Outside the room, Red Hamilton stopped Johnny with a hand on his arm.
“We gotta talk.”
Johnny nodded. “Just let me ditch this stuff.”
Red watched him go, glancing at the closed bedroom door.
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