Falsettos one shots

Pretty boy spins around instantly and the mayor catches a glimpse of the glinting metal on his knuckles before they’re stuffed frantically into pockets, first signs of emotion showing on his empty face. There’s a loud metallic noise, like the sound of a sword drawn from its hilt, and the mayor draws his hand back as though the pretty boy is made of fire. “Sorry—” his apologies are sincere, not what the pretty boy expects “I know you’re with them. Tell them… tell them I’ll have it, soon, tomorrow. I just want- need sleep. Tell them I’ll never cross them again.”

The pretty boy’s expression smooths out like butter and finally a real smile grace’s his lips, “how Mister Mayor?” he asks, a strong taste of sympathy pouring out from every word leaving his parched lips “two points, you owe the commission two million dollars. It’s either your head or mine and I’m not done living.”

Suddenly in an urgent flourish, the mayor tugged at pretty boys elbow, yanking him to the dance floor. “dance with me.” His hands formed a perfect ring around pretty boys neck, he was towering over him like a tree, much taller than he had realised initially.

Pretty boys knuckle dusters were icy cold as his hands tentatively gripped the mayors hips, swaying slowly from side to side, the soft lilt of the music causing his head to loll into a relaxed circle.

“listen very close Whizzer Brown-“ Mister Mayor leant into Pretty boys chest as he spoke, his voice softer than pretty boys chest hair that tickled his cheek. “you know the district attorney?”

“Rudy Giuliani.” Pretty boy whispered back, balancing his chin on the soft hair that floated on the top of the mayors head, maybe he wasn’t just a pretty face.

“he’s taking down the mafia. You need to stall my execution-“ The mayor pleaded.

Pretty boy all but laughed, he head falling back, “There aren’t any links, that’s how the mob works. The foot soldiers are the only ones to get made.”

“there’s a new law, RICO. We’ve almost got them; we just need the link to Carmine Galante’s ordered execution.” Pretty boys blood froze, and the mayor could feel the slight quicken in his heart as he pressed his head daintily against his chest. “that was you If I’m not mistaken.”

Pretty boy closed his eyes, in front of him the fuzzy images from six years prior appeared. The single shot he took at Carmine Galante’s head, the four men around him shooting blindly at the body without skill. Carmine Galante was how he became recognised, rose the ranks to captain. “make it worth my while.” Pretty boy hummed, suddenly twirling the mayor who scowled darkly.

“immunity. How do the rules work concerning the commission and bosses?”

Pretty boy chuckled like nails scraping copper, “I’ll be killed if they find out I’ve informed. How will you keep your side, I need material on you.” He dipped the mayor, holding onto him with a strong grip like scared children. They paused in the crescent moon shape and Pretty boy leant down to whisper into the mayor’s ear, “sleep with me tonight and I’ll help you out.”

The mayor almost fell to the ground in shock, face rushing a brilliant carmine, “but my wife… my wife… is dead—” his face broke slightly as the fact reimagined itself in his brain.

“Sleep with me.” Pretty boy said, smiling truthfully. He was very pretty, with hazel eyes that were cold, and hollowed cheeks engraved deep into his face.

He spun the mayor back up so their lips were almost touching, “okay—” his breath caught in his throat, “a homo sex scandal would ruin my political career I suppose, and I would be lying if told you I wasn’t curious. Answer me this now, how do the rules work with the commission and bosses?”

Pretty boy smirked, continuing to sway the mayor from side to side, “the commission is made up of the five-family head’s in New York city, they run all the mobs throughout the country. They get together every now and again to keep business in order, the only way a boss can be killed is if all four, excluding the one on trial, agree.”

“that’s what happened with Galante?”

Pretty boy hummed, “they sentenced him to death. Now Mister Mayor, did you drive or should we get a cab.” He suddenly bit the Mayor’s unexpecting ear, voice low and gruff, “I am going to fuck you so hard; you’ll forget all about your wife, and you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

The mayor’s legs turned to jelly.

Pillows talk that night was a list of people pretty boy had killed.

Oddly enough it was a turn on for Marvin.

-

“how didn’t the mayor notice it wasn’t his son?” Charlotte asked, confused.

“my husband hadn’t seen him since he was a child.” Trina explained, “my son came out as gay in the seventies when he was in his early teens, Marvin threatened to kill him, so he went off to a ‘boarding school for wayward children’ and hasn’t come back since. It’s been over 10 years since Marv had last seen him.”

Whizzer laughed suddenly, wine spluttering over his white marble counter, everybody turning to him. He smiled knowingly and took a long gulp of wine.

Gay. Her husband was gay. Her husband liked to take it up the ass and be degraded in bed. By a man.

And in his eyes it couldn’t be more obvious.

-

Fat tony rolled his eyes, “how’d you dispose of the body?” he asked quietly.

“you’d be proud. Pops-“ Whizzer teased, “did the good ol’smiley.”

He grinned across to Fat Tony, trying to keep his movements tiny, and slid his palms along the bottom of the table until he found the metallic fixing.

The bug in his hand suddenly attached to it, and he pressed the small button.

He smirked as he felt the bug whir to life.

Look at me mama. I’m finally getting out.

-

The radio across the street was too loud, the sounds of classical music seemingly targeting whizzer’s apartment, through the open window as he cleaned and ordered his guns on his bedroom floor.

He sighed, unable to concentrate, and got up, walking to the Juliet balcony with the flapping curtains in the early spring air. He drew the curtains, about to close the glass door when he heard it. the emergency broadcast.

His lips curled into an almost psychotic smile.

Tonight a raid was conducted and the five heads of the Mafia, Paul “big Paul” Castellano, Anthony “fat tony” Salerno, Anthony “tony ducks” Corallo, Philip “rusty” Rastelli, and Carmine “junior” Persico, otherwise known as the commission, were taken into custody. They are being charged without bond and the latest developments according to a Hitman and FBI informant, boss of the Genovese crime family, “fat tony” backed a plan to kill the mayor of New York, Mr Marvin Feldman, whose Wife and Son recently passed on under tragic circumstances…

-

Pretty boy took a cigarette out from his pocket, placing it carefully between his cracked, raw lips. The courthouse towered over him and he waited beneath heavy white marble to escape the ever-impending thunderstorm.

“hello Whizzer Brown.”

Pretty boy’s thin lips curled into a soft smile. He didn’t turn, instead let the man’s voice all but consume him as it lapped over his skin like gentle waves at the beach. “hello Mister Mayor.”

Taps of Italian leather echoed on perfect marble steps as the Mayor slowly made his way to the young man. A sudden shadow cast over pretty boy and he looked up.

The sweet gesture of offering an umbrella.

“so… Fat Tony, huh?” the mayor said as pretty boy timidly reached out to take the umbrella, almost as though he were afraid to touch the man. It was a juxtaposed action, he could see the flash of metal where the gun sat at his waist, the sharp curvature of a knife handle, the clinking of knuckle dusters in his pocket.

Pretty boy’s eyes narrowed until they almost vanished, “what about it?”

“your father?” The mayor said as though it were something incredulous, “you sold your own father out and now he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail.”

Pretty boy’s face hardened. “didn’t you ask me to? It isn’t even like I’m his son, my mother’s a whore and he took advantage of that.” His hands flitted to the knife at his belt, “you disowned your son for being a fag, yet I fucked you until you screamed for me to stop. You have no right to talk about my fucking family you cocksucking trailblazing idotic fuck face.”

“I don’t think whore and taking advantage fit in the same sentence.” The mayor muttered as he disassociated, reaching into his pocket. He sparked a bright flame in front of pretty boys face, and with a destructive look, pretty boy leant forward, letting the cigarette light as he smelt the singeing of his own hair that fell floppily over his face like a dog’s ears.

He blew a smoke heart into the air, turning back to the mayor with exhausted, heavy eyes. “ they fit.” He replied coldly. He suddenly shook his head with a grace, pulling the mayor closer so they were sharing the umbrella, their breaths hanging together in the chilly air. “I really should be thanking you Mister Mayor…” he whispered.

“thanking me?” The mayor asked, enamoured all of a sudden by how dry pretty boy’s lips were. They hadn’t been like that when they had slept together, no, they were warm and soft like the skin of a peach. his words were hardly existent as he spoke, “thanking me for what?”

Pretty boys lips spread until his gums were revealed, “you haven’t figured it out yet?” He asked, the smile becoming more wicked as the seconds drew longer. “I really thought you were smarter than this mister mayor.”

It was like a single switch went off in the mayors brain.

“you... you needed to take down the commission” The Mayors voice was shaking as he struggled to finished his sentence, “this was your plan all along, you wanted the commission in jail. But- but why?”

“and now he gets it.” Pretty boy said, laughing. “I think the real question is ‘how I managed to get the commission in jail’. you’ve met my friend Cordelia, right?” he announced. The woman with the thick bouncy blonde hair got out of the taxi that had suddenly pulled up and the mayor swallowed all emotion.

Because he recognised this woman, this woman who had worked as his receptionist for well over a year now who he only saw as fuckable and stupid “Cordelia?” his voice raised suddenly.

“hello Mr Feldman!” She said, her signature bright smile drawing her lips apart as she approached the pair. It looked more satanic now that he thought about it, “you remember that little law called ‘RICO’ you made to take down the mafia, and you remember how your district attorney suddenly had the ideas?” She asked, a patronising little tone sparking through her voice. The mayor nodded; his mouth as dry as the Saharan desert. “well god knows anyone would ever listen to a woman.”

Whizzer turned back to the mayor, his grip tightening on his elbow, restraining him to his chest, “ What Cordelia means to say is that do you really believe that Rudy fucking Giuliani came up with that law on his own, that fucktwat cocksucker? Oh no, that was us, or rather Cordelia just giving him some small nudges in the right direction to fill his ego.”

“who- who are you, what’s your organisation?” The mayor asked, fear brimming in his eyes like fire.

Whizzer smiled, “oh come now, I haven’t finished my story.” He said, pouting playfully as though he were a child. “I also believe you know bitch boy over here.” From the other side of the cab upon hearing his ‘name’, Doctor Mendel Weisenbachfeld got out, reluctantly pondering around the cab like a dinosaur.

“I told you, I’m not a bitch boy.”

“you haven’t killed anyone, you’re a bitch boy.” Whizzer spat nastily, “you know your psychiatrist Mister Mayor?”

The mayor sucked in a quick short breath, suddenly intoxicated by Whizzer’s smell. “Doctor Mendel?”

“turns out there are legal ways to get around the whole ‘patient doctor confidentiality’ but they were too much of a hassle, so we roped in your doctor.” Whizzer explained, grinning. “he told us all about your plans to take down the mafia, we just needed to manipulate the facts a little. Trina darling, why don’t you come give your husband a shock?”

The mayor paled as his wife, adorning a beautiful evening gown exited the car. “did you miss me?” she asked, an almost wicked smile on her face.

“t-Trina?” His face were whiter than the ruffled shirt he was wearing.

Whizzer suddenly looked down at him, “oh god, please don’t throw up on me.” He took a cautious step back.

“don’t worry-“ Trina said, a bright look on her face, a comforting motherly smile, “your son’s not dead.”

“How are you alive? what are you- who are you working for-“

“don’t you get it Mister Mayor?” Whizzer suddenly asked again. Behind him, the men and women lined up, “we’re the commission now thanks to you.”

The mayor held a frustrated hand to his head, “I don’t understand.”

“God Marvin, I always thought you were oblivious, but thick too?” Trina interrupted, “Jesus Christ, Whizzer explain it to the poor idiot.”

Whizzer laughed like pennies being used to beat a person to death in a panty hose, “let me spell this out for you.” He pointed at Trina and began speaking in an obvious, slow voice “your loving house wife who you thought killed herself is actually a trained assassin.” He turned back to her, “What was the number again? Thirty?”

“fifty, doll.” Trina said smiling with white teeth sharper than knifes.

“I don’t understand.” The mayor repeated.

Whizzer’s hand Caressed the mayors face and suddenly Trina coughed loudly. “will you um, will you give me a moment?” He asked, turning to Trina and the rest, smiling in a way they had never seen before.

Trina smiled, but it was a sad, knowing smile, knowing he couldn’t ever be hers, and slowly, they backed away.

“I was fed up with watching my back, fed up with getting shot at, so I took everyone else out of the game.” Whizzer smiled sweetly at the Mayor. “you wouldn’t understand, I was brought up as a killing machine, I’ve never loved anyone because when I got close to them, they became a target. I needed to get out,” a forlorn expression let him smile weakly, “but that’s not possible.”

“so you tricked me into taking down the mafia so you could… become it?”

Whizzer’s eyelids fluttered closed, and he just let himself breathe. “you wouldn’t understand.”

He kissed the mayors cheek and took the umbrella again from his hand. As he drew back, the mayor could see light in his eyes, no longer cold, he could see the frown lines on his forehead suddenly smooth out, he could see pretty boy suddenly turn years younger in seconds, and suddenly wondered how young he really was.

“how old are you Mr Brown?” He asked.

Pretty boy just smiled, and stepped down the marble stairs, reaching the pouring sky, thankful for the umbrella and started walking slowly in the direction of his home, not worrying enough to look behind him, not afraid anymore.

“So I guess you won Pretty boy.” The mayor called after him as they were left alone under the leaking sky, miles apart.

Pretty boy smiled, “guess I did.” He stopped before turning, “it really is a pity Mister Mayor, I did like you.” He smiled a final time and suddenly the mayor ran through the sheets of rain to meet him under the umbrella.

“have a drink with me.” He begged, his hands finding pretty boy’s on the umbrella, curling around them.

Pretty boy laughed, a soft laugh like marshmallow pillows. “a drink or a drink.” This was different, it sounded sweet, carefree. Young.

The mayor bit his lip, bright blush brushing the top of his ears where his slicked back hair for the courthouse was beginning to fall out of place, “a drink.”

There was a weighted pause between them as Pretty boy tilted his head, moving forward, his lips almost touching the mayors. His eyes flickered down to his lips, ready to tentatively touch them with a thumb that smelt suspiciously like a gun barrel. “I –“

Life shattered, cracking of skull, red.

Gasping.

The mayor rocked forward as Pretty boy crumpled like paper to the ground, his hands still clutched around the black umbrella, blood pooling out of the side of his head, staining the marble steps.

Shock.

The mayors lips quivered as he reached a hand to his face, trying to physically restrain a sob.

Slick. Wet. Blood spraying his face like paint.

Underwater.

Pretty boy not so pretty anymore, pretty boy bleeding out on the floor, eyes glassy and open, a twisted smile on his face as he tried to finish the words, words that could never be finished, words that meant the Mayor would never know his answer.

Already dressed for his own funeral with the sleek black suit for court, with greased hair smooth on his head, with his perfect face .

There was a scrabble behind the mayor, but he was still underwater.

Men tried wrestling the gun, the police man’s gun from the man Whizzer had testified against, his father, the man with the restrained hands and the death wish.

The man who’s only wish was to see his traitor, homo son dead on the white steps.

A second and third shot rang out.

The mayor fell to the floor, unable to feel anything but grief as he curled up with Pretty boy’s body.

Still warm, still comforting.

A huge heat blossomed in his back, couldn’t feel his legs, but he also couldn’t feel anything.

Except the throbbing pain in his heart.

He curled around pretty boy sobbing into his chest, unnoticed on the floor as he slowly bled out on the white marble steps, unable to move as the bullet severed his spinal cord.

Already dressed for his own funeral as he kissed Whizzer Brown a final time before shivering in a pool of their blood.

“it wasn’t meant to end like this.” He whispered, blood leaving his mouth like spit, landing on Whizzer Brown’s mouth, painting his face as though it were a canvas, “it wasn’t meant to end like this.” Pretty boy had begun to turn blue, and the mayor reached up, closing his eyes with his fingers.

As he moved his hand to caress Pretty boys face, he could almost hear his reply.

Could almost see the twisted smile that just made his face light up like the city. “it’s the name of the game my love,” Could almost feel the way his lips would just brush against his own, teasing him dangerously. “ I’ll see you in hell.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Marvin whispered back, a familiar smile gracing his lips. “turns out you were the angel sent to take me too.”

He held Whizzer’s hand, interlacing every finger until he finally felt safe enough to leave.

His head lolled to the side as his breathing slowly diminished.

They were found intertwined, cold and stiff as corpses are and their fingers had to be prised apart, broken almost clean off for their post-mortems as they moulded together like a statue.

Real life Romeo and Juliet.

But pretty boy would’ve always insisted that the mayor were Juliet, Romeo killed. Juliet stayed strong. Romeo followed; Juliet loved. Romeo didn’t fear death. Juliet pretended she didn’t either.

Romeo let emotion cloud his judgment.

Juliet knew the ending just refused to believe it.

Real life Romeo and Juliet, laid to rest in separate plots in the sweet cemetery beneath a willow tree, because no one knew what they could have been.