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Nigel flopped onto the bed with a groan.
His entire body ached, and he was sure despite the bandages he was bleeding onto the sheets. Nigel couldn’t bring himself to care, Jean could grumble over the set of missing sheets when he got home. All he wanted at the moment was for the painkillers to kick in and to go into blissfully painless sleep.
The fight hadn’t been his fault. Well, not entirely. He threw the first punch, but those little shits in charge of escorting that stiff small-dicked prick Jean played poker against had started it. The idea they thought they were allowed to approach him was insulting enough, but handing him an offer to work for their cock-bag boss knowing damn well who’s ring he bore was not something he’d let slide.
Nigel didn’t get as far as he did by letting the rude go on freely.
“Nigel,”
Nigel groaned. “How the fuck did you get in without making a sound? Need to get you a fucking bell sweetheart, don’t let me forget,” He moaned softly as he turned to face Jean. “How fucking long have you been standing there? Fuckin’ creep,”
“Nigel,” Jean said again, firmer. “What happened to you?”
Nigel shrugged, wincing as the action brought pain. “You still got one fucking good eye don’t you?”
“Don’t be sarcastic Nigel,” Jean grumbled. “I can see you look like you fought a cat and lost, but why, my lovely husband, do you look like that?”
“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Nigel huffed. “Why are you home? You weren’t supposed to even fuck off from the casino until tomorrow,”
“Game finished up early,” Jean said simply, giving no further explanation and leaving Nigel to guess he mopped a group of shit players or a couple people didn’t earn their debts back fast enough. Jean frowned. “You’re distracting me. It does matter, I’d like to think I have the privilege of knowing at least some of what my husband is doing. Especially if it involves him coming home bruised and bleeding,” He looked at Nigel with genuine concern in his eyes.
Nigel huffed loudly, he couldn’t refuse Jean, especially not when he looked at him like that. He should’ve stuck with his swearing off of getting close to people, being cared about was nice but these days a sort of honest man couldn’t come home beaten up without worrying his husband to no fucking end.
“Fine. I got into a fight with a couple little fucks, won, came home and got cleaned up,”
“Nigel, who did you get into a fight with?”
“What’s the name of that fuckface stiff prick who looks like you shoved a used mop up his ass?” Nigel groaned and rubbed his face, growing tired as the painkillers finally set in.
Jean's lips quirked upward, he tried not to seem amused by Nigel’s...colorful description but failed to totally mask his humor. “Dr. Green?” He offered, sitting down on the bed beside Nigel.
“Yeah, that fucker,” Nigel nodded. “Couple of his hands came up to me at the bar, which was bad enough, but Dr. Fuckface apparently learned where they got hands with some balls on ‘em. Gave me his offer of a job, get some money out of a couple debtors or drown ‘em. Not a bad fuckin’ idea, almost got caught a couple times by just popping lead into the back of a fuck’s skull,” He made a gesture, putting himself back on track. “Man had some fucking gall giving me a job offer knowing who I associated with. Didn’t even pay well. Man didn’t have the balls to ask me himself, so I made sure his little postboys got the message and delivered it for me. Got roughed up and stabbed lightly,”
“Stabbed?”
“Lightly stabbed,” Nigel assured. “Don’t get your fuckin’ silk drawers in a tiffy. Didn’t even catch anything important,”
“You reckless, overconfident, impulsive pain in my ass,” Jean sighed.
“Aw damn baby, thought you liked me being the pain in your ass,” Nigel jestingly pouted.
“You’re quite lucky I do,” Jean laughed despite himself. “I don’t know how I would’ve put up with your brashness and constant getting into fights if I didn’t,”
“I’m good in bed?” Nigel offered.
“Not even you bed me well enough to stand watching you nearly get yourself killed over and over,” Jean replied.
“C’mon love,” Nigel spoke soft. “You know I can handle myself, even when I don’t have you to pull me out by the scruff of my neck. I don’t get too hurt, not most days,”
“Most days,” Jean laughed lightly. “I do know that, but you do get hurt, you can get hurt, and I may not always be able to pull you out and you may not always be able to drag yourself back home. I would rather not come home to find you hurt, or drag you out of another fight every week,”
“Sweetheart,” Nigel sounded softer still. “Fuck me, I’m sorry my darling. Didn’t mean to hurt you, you know that. Just fuckin’, not the smartest or most discerning tool. I’ll-I’ll try not to die every week, I could stretch to every other week,”
“Thank you for the compromise,” Jean smiled.
“You know me, fuckin’ missed my chance as a diplomat,”
“Truly,” Jean stood. “Hm, you’ve soaked our sheets red, Nigel. Get up if you’re able, I’ll help, and we’ll get you cleaned and I’ll change the sheets. Alright?”
Nigel yawned but nodded. “Understood Monsieur Le Chiffre,”
Jean rolled his eyes but grinned. “Come on now, you ass,”
“Thought you liked my ass dearest?”
“Don’t start,”