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John Steinbeck hated Lord Francis Scott Fitzgerald, his boss. He really, truly did, from the bottom of his heart. There was nothing he hated more than people who manipulated others with money, saw them as property, abused them for their own gain. That was how the wealthy were, he knew, and Francis was no exception, surely. He hired John and the others, bribing them with money so they would commit atrocities for him. How disgusting.
It was convenient that John was willing to do anything to provide for his family. Before he started working for the Guild, he had no idea just how low he could go. Turns out, there were many things he was capable of. Awful things. Things that, by all means, he should be disgusted by. On some level, perhaps he was. But he was forced to do them for his sister's sake.
Forced into it by Francis, of course. All of it was his fault. John was simply following orders because he didn't want to be fired. He needed the money, and Lord Francis was manipulating him with it. That was all there was to it.
These thoughts were running through his head as he was looking at the man, who had called him to discuss something. He barely registered what it was, simply smiling and nodding along. Francis wasn't even looking at him, allowing him to stare at his profile with what he imagined was thinly veiled disgust, hidden behind a smile.
I hate you. I have always hated you, he thought to himself as his eyes scanned every inch of the man's face – his nicely-styled hair, his beautiful yet somewhat dull eyes with small wrinkles around them, his prominent, straight noise, his full lips which wouldn't stop moving as he talked about nothing of importance. John hated all of these features, of course. That's why looking at them filled his body with warmth, spreading from his chest down to his stomach. At this rate, it was going to reach his head, too. Hatred. Wrath. Bile. He had never felt anything else for this man. That's why he had to keep reminding himself of his many faults. Just in case he was starting to forget.
Francis was talking about money again. What was it, 'money is a nightmare'? That was definitely something John heard him say. How funny, really. Of course, money was a nightmare to people who didn't have enough of it. But, for him? For the wealthy Lord Francis? A laughable idea. He could talk all he wanted about how difficult having so much money was for him, but John wasn't going to feel sorry for him.
He wasn't, was he?
He remembered a conversation he had not long ago. He had confided in Mark Twain about his hatred of Francis, but failed to get the response he was hoping for. What he got out of it was a shrug and, more importantly, weak protest. Some of what Mark had told him was now coming back to him as he watched Francis talk and gesture towards the ocean. His movements were so frustratingly graceful and mesmerizing, John's eyes followed them automatically.
'I don't get why you hate him. You're doing this to save your family, right? That's what his deal is, too. You're not that different from him.'
That was one of the things Mark told him. The way he said it was casual, as if it was obvious. Self-explanatory. It grinded John's gears more than anything.
Him, similar to...someone like that? Someone so unnatural, so manipulative, so arrogant? For whom people's lives were something he could buy? Even if he was doing all this to bring his family back, that was unforgivable. Unlike John's situation, of course. He was forced into it by circumstance.
'Yeah, he has money, but it's not like he hoards it. You gotta admit the pay is good, and he needs it for his ability. Imagine if I gave you shit for having too many grape seeds.'
That was another thing Mark pointed out, shrugging slightly. He may have added that 'if not for that money, John's family would still be poor,' or something similar. John reluctantly admitted that this was the case. But it still meant that Francis was taking advantage of his desperate situation to make him do his dirty work. Paying well was the least he could do.
Perhaps he needed the money for his ability, but who said he needed to use it? He wouldn't have to if not for his overblown ambition.
'I dunno, man. I just don't think he's that bad, and I think he likes you.'
At that point, Mark had given up trying to change his mind. He had no horse in that race, after all, as far as John was aware, and it was the only reason why he paid any attention to what he was saying. Eventually, Mark sent John a crooked smile before leaving him with his tangled thoughts.
The part that stood out to him was the last sentence. It was an odd thought to entertain. Lord Francis, liking him? That would be something! Except it wasn't going to happen, of course. He had no positive feelings like that, and especially not for John, an employee who hated him.
Even if he did have some warmer feelings, though...so what? John did not return those feelings. He had nothing but hatred for the man. The thought of being with Francis like that made him shudder. It sent a violent shiver up his spine. The warmth from his chest spread to his cheeks and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop it.
That was when he noticed that Francis had stopped talking and was looking at him. The look in his eyes…was indescribable.
John desperately tried to remain calm and remember what was the last thing he heard him say. It was difficult. While he's been watching Francis for the past twenty minutes, he didn't process a single word. It must have been something important. A question? Was he waiting for an answer?
'Steinbeck, are you all right?'
He heard that clearly. It made him realise that what he saw in his eyes was concern. Concern…for him? There was no way that was true.
'I'm fine,' he assured with a smile that came too naturally to be fake. 'I guess I just got lost in thought, I'm sorry.'
Francis looked right into his eyes, itching a bit closer. 'Is that so? Your face is flushed, are you sure you don't have a fever, old sport?'
John felt his face get warmer the closer Francis' face was to his. From repulsion, surely. 'No fever, boss. I'm not the type to get sick so easily.' He knew that this answer left the redness of his face unexplained. All he could do was pray that he wouldn't be questioned on it.
Francis was still looking into his eyes. There was some sadness in them that he couldn't quite understand. The eyes were boring right into him, probably leaving his soul exposed. Knowing that, he still didn't look away, against his better judgement. If he could, he would keep looking into these eyes forever.
Suddenly, Francis smiled softly. The sadness didn't disappear from his eyes, though.
'I have to thank you for letting me talk for so long, old sport. I started wondering why you were so quiet, but it truly seemed like you were listening. In return, I want to offer you my undivided attention, if you wish to tell me anything,' he said, finally looking away from John and off into the distance.
John blinked. Francis must have known that he wasn't listening at all. After all, it was difficult to hide that he had just snapped out of a daydream.
A horrible realisation made him shudder. Francis must have noticed something in the way John looked at him. In a moment when he let his guard down, he must have let them show even before the warm blush made its way onto his cheeks.
'I don't think I have anything to say,' John responded carefully. 'But I'll listen if you have anything more to say.' He was planning to keep that promise. Perhaps it would reveal what Francis was talking about earlier.
'If you're sure that it doesn't bore you,' the man said with a laugh. 'I'm not sure how interesting my thoughts could be. I'm surprised that you didn't interrupt me earlier. Talk of money…does not make for a lighthearted conversation. For either of us, I'm sure.'
John's eyes lit up. He was right, then, when he thought that he'd heard him mention money. 'It's good to get things off your chest,' he remarked thoughtfully. His eyes were starting to wander around Francis' body again, down to his aforementioned chest. It was so wide compared to his own…
'You're right about that. I suppose we don't have much room for lighthearted conversations, either way. I'm grateful that I can share thoughts like these with someone, though. I wouldn't want to burden Louisa with that when she's already doing so much, but I felt like you would understand.' He heaved a sigh, looking John in the eyes again. 'I'm a lonely man. Your company is quite helpful.'
John continued smiling. He couldn't stop. He didn't understand why Francis was saying such things to him with such sincerity. It was going against everything he had grown to expect, proving that Mark was right.
In a way, he felt guilty. Not only was he not paying attention, his thoughts were occupied by such embarrassing things. His eyes fixated on Francis' lips, wondering just how they would feel against his own.
Not that they would ever…
'Loneliness, huh?' John mused. 'I know a thing or two about that.' He hated the feeling more than anything. He missed his family dearly, and there were no opportunities to really bond with the other members of the Guild.
Similar, huh?
Before he could stop himself, a sentence escaped his lips: 'Maybe I could help you feel less lonely.'
Francis' lips opened. He was looking into John's eyes, trying to confirm what he meant. John was prepared for it.
He'd been so stupid. And wrong. Perhaps there was something that he wanted to tell Francis, after all. It could possibly get him fired, but he had to get it off his chest.
'I have something to say, after all. I've always hated you,' he said, clenching his fists. 'You embody everything I hate. Your wealth, the way you've been manipulating all of us into working with you. The atrocities you made me commit. I've been blaming it all on you, and I grew to hate you more and more.' He paused to take a breath. Francis listened to him patiently, with the sadness once again tinting his dull eyes. '...But I was wrong,' John continued, tears forming in the corners of his eyes before he wiped them away with the back of his hand. 'I don't think I'm a good person. It was easy to think of myself as the good guy and you as the bad guy. It was convenient for me to think that way. I was wrong. And I don't think I ever hated you, really.'
John had to force himself not to break eye contact. He wanted to look away. Run away. Disappear. But instead he stood there, fists clenched, waiting for Francis to react.
His face changed while John kept talking. As soon as he said that he was wrong, Francis' eyebrows rode up his forehead and stayed there until John was finished.
'I see,' he said, nodding his head. 'I'm glad that you revealed your feelings to me, though not all of them were pleasant to hear.' He paused, smiling faintly. 'May I ask what changed your feelings?'
John felt his face warm up all over again. He didn't fight it this time. 'You could say this conversation did.' He hesitated. 'I don't know why I said all that.'
Francis reached out his hand and touched John's chin. Softly, hesitantly. 'It's not a bad thing that you said it, John.'
A pleasant shiver went through his body. In that moment he wanted, desperately, to fling his body against Francis' and embrace him. What an embarrassing thought.
'Guess so. I was kind of worried that you wouldn't take it well.'
'Understandable. But, look at me, do I seem hurt?' He cupped John's cheek. 'Thanks to my family situation, I have been missing certain things. Your honesty made me feel…less lonely, for sure.'
'I can't replace your wife,' John offered, touching the hand that was cupping his cheek, 'but I can do my best to try.'
He wasn't sure if that proposal was too bold or too vague. In any case, it seemed like Francis understood it. His other hand touched John's waist. 'It would be my pleasure,' he whispered.
John cupped his cheeks and pulled him down into a kiss. His heart fluttered as Francis' arms wrapped around his waist, an embrace that he'd been craving - unknowingly - ever since they first met. It was such a relief to stop denying it and accept what he'd desired, no matter how wrong it felt.
John broke the kiss for need of air. He breathed in and out loudly before starting another kiss, his hands stroking Francis' hair, no doubt messing up his hairstyle.
Not that he minded.
The kiss ended. John pulled away and took a step back, looking into the other man's eyes.
'Never expected I'd get there,' he mused, a satisfied smile lighting up his angelic face. 'Is it really all right to do…all this?'
'I understand your doubts,' Francis said, wrapping his arms around John's waist. 'Everything is alright.'
John looked down at his crotch. 'Is there anything more I can do for you?'
Francis smirked. 'I think it's as much for you as it is for me. In any case…yes. Enjoy yourself.'
John got down on his knees. He was going to hate himself soon, he knew. But at that moment, he felt no hatred whatsoever.