#Luciano x Lansky

[saintmurd0ck]

moth to a flame

masterlist

pairing: charlie "lucky" luciano x f!reader

summary: time, space and even circumstance aren't enough to separate the two of you. and when you do eventually reunite, the plans are set into motion in the best way.

warnings: yearning, charlie luciano's pretty mouth, alcohol, cigarettes, kissing, m!receiving oral, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good things

a/n: based off of that one scene in s1 ep6 (iykyk) that i cannot get out of my mind. dedicated to @murdock-and-the-sea for getting me caught up in this bullshit 💗

glossary: dolcezza = sweetheart

There was always something wondrous about Charlie’s girl.

The exclusivity, the lack of labels for whatever that relationship became never mattered. Because even on days where things took a turn at every second, when sleep — or life — was never guaranteed, she was the kind of solid permanence that’d ease his mind. And, in almost all cases, make him hard, but that’s a story for a little later.

Lucky Luciano, they called him. He earned that goddamn nickname, but it was ironic, because it only really stuck when you were around. It wasn’t clear as to how you made this happen, or if it was some kind of recurring fluke, but you just had that effect on him: the kind where all of a sudden his operations would go down without a hitch, where law enforcement happened to look the other way rather than come knocking at his door. His pockets would become heavier, his enemies would come crawling out of the woodwork, and things just worked out. Even Lansky agreed — you were good for business, and Charlie’s spirits. 

As much as you were a tether in his life, the fractal patterns began to fall into place. Simply put: you’d go through the motions, things would get rocky, and then you’d pull away. It wasn’t that being with him was bad for you, per se, but rather a constant whirlwind of emotion, with so much left to the unknown. You never knew if he’d come home that night, because he was probably out doing Rothstein’s bidding three cities away, or, and this scared you most of all, if he’d realise the true power he possessed deep within. He had the makings of a great leader; an orchestrator, a divine influence, rather than a foot soldier. Charlie wasn’t made to be muscle, or a gunman in some boss’ grand scheme. You knew that when push came to shove, he’d one day call the shots. You were terrified of being left in the dust — stranded, abandoned — with nothing but a broken heart and feelings for a man who would have the world at his fingertips.

And, to your consternation, you couldn’t actually figure out what kept you coming back for more. 

You weren’t sure if what you had was love; at least, it wasn’t the kind you’d read about in books, or heard discussed in hushed tones amongst your innocent friends. You weren’t even in it for the money, the status, or the protection he could provide. That had always seemed so trivial to you.

Maybe it was the sex. It definitely wasn’t solely sex, because Charlie did make you laugh, and make you feel all the things you thought were supposed to happen when it came to courting. It was consistently the best sex you’d ever had, and he made sure you knew it. Your pleasure became his native language, and even so, he grew impossibly more fluent as time passed on.

It’s like he could read you; not the superficial mask you put on every single day, but through to the molten core underneath. It was the same the other way around. Charlie had Meyer, the perfect partner-in-crime, but only you understood his motivations. His intentions. His desires. Charlie could be safe around you; perhaps the only person with which he could let his guard down.

You could forget about sleeping with anyone else; you wished they were Charlie anyway. Sure, it made you feel like you were a bad person, but no-one compared. Nobody made you feel as good as Charlie Luciano. Whatever it was, you could never get him out of your mind. That was an impossible task, one that with the mightiest of efforts was still rendered futile. 

Hell, he didn’t even have to tell you where he was, because somehow, you’ve always found your way back to each other. 

And tonight was no exception.

Somewhere along the grapevine, you’d heard that he was back in Atlantic City, and all it took was one well-placed telephone call to confirm what you’d already known.

So when you find yourself traversing the halls of the Traymore Hotel, the door to the Executive Suite looming larger with every step, your decision is made in a split-second. There isn’t more to contemplate or to consider. You’re sure of it, the same way you’re sure that if you hold a flame to the end of a cigarette, it’ll catch alight. 

It’s clear now that neither of you are going anywhere anytime soon; at least, not from each other. Life with Charlie would be wildly unpredictable, and involve more running for cover than you wanted to admit, but saying he’s irresistible is an understatement in itself. That, and the fact that you’ve proven your worths to each other more times than you can count. There’s no need for deliberation. Not when you’ve got him, right in your grasp.

Your palms turn clammy at the first instance of the door swinging open, and you feel your eyes tear away from the opulence of the hotel — diving from the ornate wall trims and plush red carpets to settle on him instead.

The corner of his mouth quirks to the side as he looks you up and down, his gaze pinned to the woollen coat belted tightly across your waist, as if he knows exactly what you’re trying to conceal. You’ve missed that stare. His stoic, almost-arrogant posture. The genteel expressions masking the white-hot fury beneath. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart.” 

You breathe, willing your muscles to relax, doing your best to find your footing despite the fact that there is no way to calm your racing heart. Charlie has always made you weak at the knees, and it shows. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” he nods slowly, taking a sip of amber liquid from the glass he’s been holding in his hand. “Ongoing business with that Darmody fella. You know the one.”

You swallow dryly, running your tongue along your teeth. “Are you here to stay a while?”

“I dunno. That depends, don’t it?” He arches a thick eyebrow.

“Hm?” 

He downs the last of the whiskey, setting the glass down on the hallway entrance table, before taking a step towards you. Soon he’s so close that you can see the crease in his brow, the hint of stubble along his jaw. He cocks his head to the side as he approaches, letting his tongue flick out to wet his lips. “I’ll be here s’long as I need to. And when I go back to New York, I want you to come with.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t know exactly what you were expecting, but this is playing out far better than you could’ve envisioned. “You mean it?”

Charlie lets out a soft chuckle, thoroughly amused at the genuine surprise lining your features. “‘Course I do. And don’t you start talkin’ about it bein’ a bad idea.”

You smile furtively, feeling a warmth spread outwards from the centre of your chest. Out of all the things you’ve experienced in this life, one facet — one person — has always made sense, in its own way. “Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

Time seems to stand still for a moment. At your admission, your agreement, a glint appears in his hazel eyes — the kind that doesn’t need words to explain, but is communicated far better through actions. Biting down on his grin, and caring not to break eye contact, Charlie Luciano does as he has always done, and throws caution to the wind. 

His lips crash onto yours before you can think twice, his hands moving to cup your jaw, to tangle themselves in your hair. He steers you into the entryway table, impervious to the sound of it thumping against the wall, or the ornaments that get bumped out of the way. Gentleness is not an option right now, because you can’t get enough of him either. Not the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder, not the feeling of his solid body melding to yours. He closes whatever gap remains between the two of you as you slip your tongue into his mouth, relishing in the alcohol still coating his tastebuds. 

It feels good to kiss him. To be right here, where he is. 

Charlie nudges your chin upwards, trailing his kisses along the curve of your jaw to nip at your pulse. He moves with purpose, intending to touch every inch of bare skin that he can see, but he stops at your collarbone, stepping back with a smouldering look that promises nothing but trouble. 

“Say uh… you got somethin’ for me?” he smirks, hooking a finger into the knot you’ve tied at your waist.  

It’s the heat searing your face that tells all. 

He leans in to kiss you as he undoes the knot, deftly working to pull it apart. When the fabric goes slack, he doesn’t stop himself from yanking your coat open and pushing it off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it, letting the material fall into a crumpled heap on the floor. 

Charlie blows his breath out, surveying you like his life depends on it. “Dolcezza,” he grits, blinking at your naked body, save for a pair of lacy thigh high stockings. You sit back on your hands — as far as the shallow width of the table will let you — and spread your legs, moving your hips slowly until his eyes go glassy.

He sputters and shakes his head, moving right back to press his lips on yours. “You know,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb against the base of your neck, “I ain’t never met a broad as naughty as you.”

“Aw,” you croon, grabbing a hold of his vest and tugging him closer, “but you like it, don’t you?”

He groans into your mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist, allowing his hands to slide under your ass so he can hoist you up. It only takes him a few strides before he sets you down on the bed, climbing on top of you, bracketing your head with his forearms. His mouth doesn’t leave yours, and although he knows your body begs for release, to be touched anywhere else but this, he savours the sensation of your lips, of your body squirming underneath. Charlie isn’t a stranger to pleasure, but to savour it, to take his time, is a scarce luxury. 

You see the opportunity when Charlie relaxes his shoulders and releases the duvet crumpled in his fist. Using your hips for leverage, you roll on top of him, hissing as his erection makes contact with your pussy. Bracing your knees on either side of him, you lean forwards, leaving open-mouthed kisses along his neck as you unbutton his vest, and then the shirt underneath. He sits up, reaching to grip your thighs, taking a moment to flash you a playful grin while you get to work slipping his tie off, his vest, shirt and suspenders joining the pile of clothing on the ground shortly after. 

He grunts when your lips brush the hollow at the base of his neck, and the sound alone coils the tightness in your stomach to breaking point. You need him to fuck you, bad, but there’s no way you’re letting it happen before you take him in your mouth first. 

As you leap off of him and point to his slacks, it becomes a wordless exchange. It’s the careful tracking of your lust-blown pupils towards the outline of his cock, straining against the fabric, the pursing of his lips as you lean over him, naked and insistent. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, at the thought of how he’s going to feel inside you, and Charlie must be thinking the same, because it spurs you both into action. His slacks are gone before you can count to five, and along with them go your stockings, which he helps to remove while his teeth scrape your inner thighs. 

It feels like a dance; not something rehearsed, but a rhythm that falls into place in the most organic way. He leans against the bedpost with a hand wrapped around his cock, ever-aware of the precum gathering at the tip and the fact that you seem to be salivating already. You press yourself to him, leaving lingering kisses down from his neck to his torso, fingers trailing themselves in the dark curls that lead towards what you want the most. 

His hand reaches to squeeze your breasts, to swipe his thumb over your nipples, grunting in tandem with the moan you leave on his skin. You kneel before him, tracing patterns on his thighs with your tongue, working your way up until your mouth seals over his cock. He bites down on his lip as you start to move, his gold signet ring cool on your scalp when he cards his fingers in your hair. His eyes widen, almost uncomprehending at just how good you look with his length disappearing past your lips. 

Flattening a palm on his hip, you begin to increase the depth of your strokes, feeling the tip of him hit the back of your throat with a delicious ease. The grip in your hair tightens as you alternate the pressure, swapping between pressing your tongue against the sensitive underside and featherlight swirls on the head. His cock is heavy on your tongue in the best way, and with what your mouth can’t fit, your hand makes up for in synchronicity. Though your focus remains on his pleasure, you feel the heat of Charlie’s gaze burning down to your core. Despite his fluttering eyelids and the groans that grow in volume and frequency, he can’t tear away.

He’s always loved watching his girl work.

He feels a smug sense of satisfaction seeing you unable to fully wrap your fingers around his shaft, and at the fact that you’re so willing to spend this time making him feel good. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do the same for you — in fact, he’s dying to taste you, to lap you up with his tongue until you’re flooding his face with your arousal. It’s just that you were always the one to walk away first, so by having you here, choosing him and pleasing him without forethought… it feels as if it’s properly cemented the positions you now hold in each other’s lives, and what you’ve agreed to tonight.

“C’mere,” he rasps, breaking the string of saliva connecting himself to you, hauling you up to your feet. He plants his hand on your waist, driving you backwards into the bed, letting out a single taunting chuckle before knocking your knees apart with his leg. He stares at you, a wild and untapped look in his eyes, free from restraint. 

A mix of awe and undulating want runs through you, chilling you from your head to the base of your spine. “Are you gonna do something, Charlie? Or are you gonna make me wait all night?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, straightening at your comment. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

A grin splits your face. “Prove me wrong.”

Charlie drags his hand up your folds, as if he’s marking his territory, an unruly smirk dancing across his lips at the wetness he finds there. He’s purposely stringing you along now, delaying his own gratification just enough to see your guard drop.

He sees you, wanting to retort, your mouth parting to form the words, but before you can say anything, think anything, he leans down and buries himself inside you with one sharp thrust. Cradling your head with his arm, he shudders into your body, growling at the sensation of you stretching out around him. He moves at a steady pace, his hands finding their place in your hair as if they’ve never left. 

“Charlie,” you whimper, squeezing around him, eyes rolling back in delirium because his cock feels so goddamn good. 

“Yeah,” he groans. “Wasn’t such a bad idea, huh,” he adds, whispering it down by your ear. “Showin’ up, like this.”

Your fingernails latch onto his back, and you wrap your legs around his waist in response. The sound of your moans echo throughout the spacious room, his far more audible than yours as he turns you to putty. Each stroke drives into that spot inside of you, punctuating your thoughts until you’re all-consumed, with him and only him on your mind. You’re not drifting off; you’re present in this moment, aware of not just how he feels for you, but of how good your pussy is for him. 

Tipping your head backwards, you press your lips to his, running your tongue along his bottom lip before slipping it inside his mouth. He runs a hand along your collarbone, palm resting at the base of your neck, deepening the kiss with every subsequent snap of his hips. It doesn’t take you long to raise your hips to match every thrust, or for your fingers to fumble in his curls — needing to grip his hair tightly, if only to bring him closer to you. 

Charlie’s eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing at how tight you are, how you feel like you were made for him. It’s obscene; the sound of him sliding in and out of your cunt, knowing that each movement is designated to bring you both closer to the edge. 

You yank his head back as you cum around his cock, surging upwards to bury your face in the crook of his neck. His groan reverberates through your chest, abs tightening against your stomach, and you lay panting despite the fact that he keeps going; a man on a mission to get you to unravel as many times as possible before he gives into himself. 

You find your release a few more times, with his mouth roving along the contours of your face down to the sensitive spot by your shoulder, before he pulls out and flips you onto your stomach. 

“On your hands and knees,” he commands, his voice gruff yet as smooth as molten honey. 

You catch yourself flashing him an insolent smile, but your body does as he says, your hands finding the brass metal railing at the foot of the bed. Like the good girl you are, you stick your ass up in the air, shuffling backwards until you find stability. The mattress dips as he climbs on, and you sneak a peek behind you, swallowing a moan at his ruffled hair, the brows furrowed in concentration, the sweat beginning to shine on his chest. Your pussy throbs at the absence of him, from that fullness you’ve grown deviously accustomed to.

He meets your eyes, the corners of his lips tugging upwards, and guides himself into you. His hips jerk uncontrollably as he’s enveloped by your heat, unable to contain the dulcet moans spilling from his lips. He fucks you with languid strokes, hinging forwards to plant kisses down your spine, all blissed out yet with so much more to give. 

“Fuck,” you grit, your knuckles going white from squeezing the railing. With the way your back is arched, and the sharp angle of his thrusts that grow more forceful by the second, it’s a wonder you’re able to function at all. He fucks you like he means it, as if to make up for all the lost time, for all the incidences when he thought it was going to be the last time he was inside you. 

A growl escapes from somewhere deep in Charlie’s chest as he picks up the pace, unrelentless in the way he’s driving into you. He grips your waist with both hands, fingers digging into your soft skin, frenetically crazed because all he wants to do is lose himself in you over and over and over again. 

You clench around him, utterly incoherent at the snug fit of his cock, and the way he has you balancing on a tightrope; ready to fall over at any given point in time. In combination with the haphazardly strewn sheets, the bed begins to rattle, smacking loudly against the back wall. Frankly, you couldn’t care any less, because Charlie’s hitting so deep it takes all of your effort not to scream, not to wake the entire hotel. 

Your moans turn breathier, higher in pitch, as your muscles begin to tighten again, your next orgasm building in exponential waves. The string of noise turns to a repetition of his name, and pleas for him to go with you when you cum. With every grunt, his cock drags along your walls faster, harder. Charlie hisses through his teeth, his movements becoming erratic, surrendering control of his rhythm to the sheer desire of filling you up. 

He wraps a thick forearm around your stomach, driving both down onto the bed. He manages a few more strokes, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, before exploding into you with a cry half-muffled by your skin. He takes you with him, of course, and your pussy is a vice that milks him for every last drop he has to give. He bottoms out, panting as he fucks his cum into you, the new position dangerously euphoric.  

You both remain there for a moment, content and satisfied with each other’s presence, shivering despite Charlie’s hot forehead pressed to your back. He slides out of you with a final grunt, reaching backwards for the silver cigarette case perched on the nightstand. It doesn’t take him long to light it, or to lay next to you with the cigarette clamped delicately between his teeth.

He takes a drag as he props himself up on his elbow, and you lean in to kiss him — first on the temple, then on the mouth, being careful to let him exhale first. “So, New York City, huh? Where are we going to live?”

Charlie’s eyes sweep over your body, and he breaks out into a roguish grin. “Eh, we’ll find somewhere. Close to business, to A.R.” He pauses to kiss you. “What about you?”

You scoff. “What about me? You know I’ll support you, wherever you need to be.”

“You’re too nice f’your own good sometimes.”

“Oh?” You narrow your eyes, tilting your head to the side. “S’that so? ‘Cause I could give you hell, if I wanted to.”

The challenge in his tone pools between your legs. “Yeah?” 

He puts out the cigarette in an instant so he can focus on dragging a hand up your side, stopping only when he gets to your breasts. Charlie moves closer, planting another chaste kiss to your lips. 

“‘Sides,” you continue, “I don’t think it matters what I do.” You don’t try to bite down on the mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Not when I’ve got all the luck I need.”

[aks3raao1]

I would just like to say-

Yo, all you A3! and BSD fans, remember that play in A3! With the Autumn Troupe? Yk, this one:

Ishipthemsobad,sueme

Don't they remind you of a certain pair? The characters, Lansky and Luciano I mean 😏

* coughs in this is why I ship them*

Let me elaborate just a little bit

Lansky = Dazai

Luciano = Chuuya

Y'all see the resemblance? Plus, this was a play where they were in the MAFIA LOL

Dazai would so do what Lansky did. You can't tell me anything different

Also, Luciano's loyalty to * insert character Sakyo played* reminded me a lot of Chuuya's loyalty to Mori. Come on, guys, I can't be the only one who sees this...

[flysafepapi]

Summaries for things I will probably never write, part one

“We were never what people assumed us to be. I’d heard it all before. Like two peas in a pod, like birds of a feather, all of that. The truth is, we were just fine by ourselves, but it never would’ve gotten to the point it had if we hadn’t been working together. Together, we were a force to be reckoned with. Together, we could’ve had everything, because we shared that commonality. Less like ‘danger attracts danger’ and more like ‘bullet, meet gun.’”

[manhattan-mari]

[boardwalkempress]

I've officially read every Meyer/Lucky fic on AO3, and it was not enough. I should write my own stuff, but I'm worried that I won't be able to write the characters well enough

[murielguingand]

klaus Guingand art studio "Family" artwork painting 2019. Vito Genovese, Frank Costello, Meyer Lansky, Toto Rina, Sam Giancana, Al Capone, John Gotti, Lucky Luciano, Bugsy Siegel, Pablo Escobar. Acrylic, blood and Posca. Tapaulin: 123,27 in x 57 in. This work has been awaiting creation since 2008. © klaus Guingand (my illustration)

[meyerlansky]

It was in Atlantic Highlands. The wiki article used to say that he lived in the Homestead in Atlantic Highlands but now I checked and see it just says "A house in Atlantic Highlands". My great-aunt told me that he lived at the hotel. It burned down in a house fire in the 50s or 60s or so and I don't even have pics of it. My aunt said her room was above the bar and learned from a young age to ward off unwanted drunken intruders. But yeah, the wiki article said before that Luciano and Lansky (1/2)

went there for one or two meetings or whatever and ALLEGEDLY according to Wikipedia that is where they decided "what to do about Benny Seigel" which I doubt since I figure none of them want to even be connected to that let alone to have that line in an article but it was interesting to read that nonethless. According to Great Aunt my great-grandpa remarried after my great-grandma died, to a woman who was one of Vitos former mistresses. Allegedly. I have it written down but cant remember her name

I wish I had screencapped the wiki page before they edited it. It was like a whole paragraph and now it's gone. lol At one point before my aunt clarified all she said was "great grandpa remarried the misstress of the head of X family" and my brain was like freaking a bean because I was like WHAT YEAR WAS THIS WAS CHARLIE STILL IN CHARGE WAIT and almost keeled over right there until she mentioned Vito and I was like "ah, okay it was later makes sense LOL"

IDK Charlie, Meyer, AR and Benny are fave so like I was super interested that she told me because I was like OMG THATS SO DAMN COOL but I couldnt say it out loud because shed be like "um... cool???" lol So I was just hoping to see if any other info was out there and also to flail about it with someone who understands lol :)

[condensing into one reply hope that’s cool SORRY I FELL INTO THE HOLE OF MY NYTIMES ARCHIVE SUBSCRIPTION i’m back now]

oh man i totally get it, it’s so much fun hunting down this kind of stuff! i’ll cop to the fact that vito’s one of my many many blind spots, i really only know about his stuff where it intersects with charlie’s and [to a MUCH lesser extent] meyer’s, but from what i’ve found it looks like he definitely lived in atlantic heights for a while, and anna divorced him in the early 50s so he probably moved out of the house they were living in before that. the benny thing is preeetty dubious, admittedly, if only because charlie never came back to US soil alive after he was deported and there wasn’t any reason to talk about killing benny before charlie got arrested and vito bailed for italy in the late 30s. so that might’ve been a fuckery on the part of the wikieditor, or they may have had bad info [which considering how shIT the historiography of this stuff is, would not be surprising nor could they be blamed for it] BUT ANYWAY i am getting in the weeds SORRY i will stop now

wrt the wikipedia page, the “View history” tab lets you look at old revisions on the article, if you wanted to try to hunt the thing down. i tabbed back through a couple of revisions and didn’t find it myself but if you happen to remember when the last time you read the page and that paragraph was there, you might be able to find it? i would offer but i must do the sleepings shortly /shakes fist at capitalism

[flysafepapi]

Yeah, sex scenes are cool, but have you ever had to watch two people, over the course of several seasons, only ever showcase their feelings through subtle looks and interactions and then end on a scene where one of them looks right at the other when talking about partners and then sharing a little toast between themselves while everyone else is distracted? I’m not sobbing.

[flysafepapi]

Charlie: To be honest, you are not exactly the easiest person in the world for someone to admit their feelings to.

Meyer: What? How can you say that to me? I'm compassionate and sensitive. You can say anything to me.

Charlie: Well, calling me a pussy in Yiddish is not helping things.

[flysafepapi]

[flysafepapi]

Meyer: I don’t wanna add more stress to your day, but I love you.

Charlie:

Meyer:

Charlie: So you just said that to me for the first time, knowing that it would make my day more stressful.

Meyer: That’s correct.

[flysafepapi]

Charlie: Meyer talks in his sleep sometimes. It’s adorable.

Meyer, in his sleep: Fight me.. you motherfucker.. square up.. I think the fuck not..

[flysafepapi]

Charlie talking to anyone about Meyer, probably:

[flysafepapi]

Charlie: Meyer’s so cute.

Benny: He just killed five guys that tried to shoot me?

Charlie: I said cute, not harmless.

[flysafepapi]

Frank: Charlie, Meyer is in a bar fight!

Charlie, standing up: Alright

Benny: You're going to drag him away?

Charlie: Fuck no, I'm going to cheer him on. Wanna come?

Frank: You should really break up the figh-

Benny: Fuck yeah, let's go!

***

Benny: That was great!

Charlie: You look so good when you fight. The way you punched that guy in the face for me? That was so hot.

Meyer, spitting out blood, one black eye, smiling a little: Thanks, Charlie.

Frank: What's wrong with you two?

[flysafepapi]

heart of the ocean

we’re there, everyone. it finally happens

part four; other parts linked in the previous part here

Fandom: Boardwalk Empire

Warnings: I guess attempted un-aliving? Only for a minute though, and not seriously (I think)

The stars are beautiful here, he has to admit that. They’re far enough away from anywhere that there’s no other light to outshine them, and they twinkle brighter in the sky than he’s ever seen them. Benny and Tommy had gone hours ago, laughing as they went, jostling each other towards the stairs leading back down to the third class rooms. Back to where their rooms were, but more importantly, back to where the women were. It’s just Meyer on the deck, now, laying on one of the wooden benches with one arm under his head, the other holding a cigarette. The shapes the smoke makes when he blows out, curling in and around on itself, is almost hypnotic.

The peace and silence of the moment is broken by the sound of someone rushing down the stairs, and he raises his head up to see. Whoever it is, they don’t sound happy in the slightest. He doesn’t expect to see him, the guy from earlier, rushing past like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels, but he’s not surprised that the guy doesn’t see him, laying in the shadows of the deck above.

He watches in some strange mixture of amusement and worry as he starts to climb the railing. It reminds him of earlier, the girl standing on the rungs supported by her father, but there’s no support here, and it’s not just one rung to look over the edge better. Meyer watches as he carefully, not carefully enough, climbs down on the other side of the rails and looks down at the rushing water below him, swirling in the dark like myriad vortexes waiting for him to fall to take him away to somewhere he won’t come back from.

“Don’t do it.”

He shouldn’t have spoken. It makes the man startle a little, almost letting go of the rail as his head turns abruptly, looking for the source of the voice. There’s no recognition in his eyes when he sees Meyer standing there.

“Stay back. Don’t come any closer.”

“What if I did?”

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sa- Charlie.”

“Charlie.”

Now that he’s closer, Meyer can see why he’d been running, why Charlie’d been so upset; tear tracks on his cheeks catch the dim light from the bulbs along the stern. In the low light, they almost glitter like diamonds.

“Take my hand, Charlie. I’ll pull you back.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and taking a step closer, another, might make it worse.

“No! Stay where you are. I mean it, I- I’ll let go.”

“No you won’t.”

He almost smiles when Charlie huffs at him, but somehow manages to keep it off his face.

“What do you mean ‘no I won't’? Don't tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me.”

“You would have done it already. Now come on, take my hand.”

Charlie looks at this man, apparently with nothing better to do than coax complete strangers off ledges, literally in this case, and he doesn’t understand why he’s even trying. No one ever tries, not with him. They needle, and ridicule, and humiliate, all under the guise of affection, and then they look the other way. They don’t offer a hand.

“You're distracting me. Go away.”

“I can't. I'm involved now. If you let go I have to jump in after you.”

Charlie laughs before he knows he’s doing it. It’s not supposed to be funny, but he looks at the height of the man beside him now and can’t help it. “Don't be stupid. You'll be killed.”

Meyer nods a little, fingers working at the buttons of his jacket. He can’t remember where he got it, or how long ago, but it’s warm and probably the nicest thing he owns. If it comes to that, he’d rather not ruin it.

“I'm a good swimmer.”

He starts on his shoe next, left first, balancing on one leg as he pulls the thin strings back out, wiggling the shoe back and forth until it drops to the deck with a muted thud.

“The fall alone would kill you.”

“It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. To be honest I'm a lot more concerned about the water being cold.”

Charlie turns and looks back down at the water and, just for a second, he looks like he might still let go.

“How cold?”

“Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over. Ever been to Poland?”

“No.”

At least keeping Charlie talking is distraction enough. He doesn’t seem to notice that Meyer’s already down a coat and one shoe, or that he’s been steadily shuffling closer and closer over the course of the last five minutes. Slowly, like Charlie’s a spooked horse and he’ll run if anything makes any sudden movements.

“Well they have some of the coldest winters around, and I grew up, or not far from there, anyway. Once, when I a kid, me and my father were ice- fishing. Ice-fishing's where you chop a hole in the--“

“I know what ice fishing is!”

Charlie glares at Meyer over his shoulder when he hears the laugh.

“Sorry. Just... you look like kind of an indoor person. Anyway, I went through some thin ice and I'm telling you, water that cold,like that right down there? It hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can't breathe, you can't think. At least not about anything but the pain. Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said, I don't see a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here.”

“You're crazy.”

“That's what everybody says. But with all due respect, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship. Come on. You don't want to do this. Give me your hand.”

Charlie stares at him for a long time, long enough that Meyer’s arm starts to hurt, but he doesn’t drop his hand. He wonders what Charlie’s thinking and wants, suddenly, to know everything that goes on inside his head. He wants to hear everything, to know everything about him.

“Alright.”

Slowly, Meyer watches Charlie take one hand off the rail and reach out for him, and doesn’t miss the little sigh of relief Charlie lets out when Meyer takes it.

“I’m Meyer.”

“Nice to meet you.”

He shouldn’t’ have laughed; it makes Charlie laugh, and while he’s distracted turning back around to face the ship, to face Meyer, his foot slips and he drops.

“Help!”

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. I won’t let go.”

Between the two of them, somehow, they manage to get Charlie back on the right side of the rail, even if he has turned pale and can’t stop his hands from shaking. “I didn’t mean- it wasn’t supposed to-“

“I know. It’s-“

Whatever he’d been about to say next, it’s cut off by the quartermaster running out onto the deck, alerted by the yell when Charlie had slipped.

“What the hell-“

Meyer can’t fault his reasoning. He knows that the man takes one look at Charlie’s torn suit, Meyer’s state of undress, the way Charlie sits on the dusty floor and can’t quite breathe properly, and comes to a conclusion that definitely doesn’t work in Meyer’s favour. The handcuffs are a bit much, though. As is the man that stands in front of him now, looking like Meyer’s nothing but dirt on the bottom of his shoes. It’s not a look he’s unfamiliar with.

“What made you think you could put your hands on my fiance?! Look at me! What did you think you were doing?!”

“Sal, stop! It was an accident.”

“An accident?!”

“It was.. stupid really. I was leaning over and I slipped. I was leaning way over, to see the.. ah.. propellers. And I slipped and I would have gone overboard... and Mr. Lansky here saved me and he almost went over himself.”

Charlie looks at Meyer, catching his eye.

“You wanted to see the propellers? Was that the way of it?”

“Uh huh. That was pretty much it.”

Meyer doesn’t look away from him, and Charlie nods slightly. He can’t say thank you, for keeping my secret, for not telling them what I would’ve done. Not when everyone is still crowded into the small room. He wants to flinch away, when Sal moves closer to him, but manages to stop himself. Barely. He knows by the way Meyer looks at him that Meyer, at least, noticed.

“Well the boy's a hero then. Good for you son, well done! So it's all's well and back to our brandy, eh?”

Sal’s halfway through manoeuvring (leading) Charlie back out the door, making a show out of offering his jacket to ward off the cold, when the quartermaster stops him.

“Ah..perhaps a little something for the boy?”

“Oh, right. Mr. Rosetti. A twenty should do it.”

“Is that the going rate for saving the man you love?”

Charlie knows it’s a lie. Salvatore doesn’t care for him any beyond what he gets from AR for agreeing to this entire farce. Still, he’ll use it to his advantage when he has to.

“He is displeased. Mmm.. what to do? I know. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow, to regale our group with your heroic tale?”

Meyer still hasn’t looked away from Charlie.

“Sure. Count me in.”

“Good. Settled then.” Still with an arm around Charlie, possessively, not to be any source of comfort, Sal slows down as they go to pass the steward standing beside the door. “This should be amusing.”