A Hero/Villain piece.

The Villain sat back in their chair, swirling their wine with a practiced hand. The fifteen year old bottle of Syrah they had opened for the evening was perfect. They held the glass to their nose, inhaling deeply. They smiled, took a sip. The flavor started with dark fruits, predominantly blackberry. Rolling the wine on their tongue, the profile turned smoky, and as they swallowed the sip ended with a strong, full-mouthed cherry flavor that had them shivering. 

They sighed with pleasure. The grandfather clock in their entryway chimed eleven times.

“You know,” they said, addressing the rim of their glass as the last reverberations faded. “If you weren’t so damn rude, I’d offer to share.” 

“Who’s to say I want to share anything with you?” Came the response. 

Looking through the crystal clear glass, the Villain raised a sardonic eyebrow at the Hero, handcuffed to a chair opposite them. Faded bruises covered the Hero’s forearms, a scabbed cut marred their left cheek, and their hair, while clean, was a mussed tangle. Hidden under their shirt, a deep cut and other bruises covered the Hero’s torso.

“Considering the fact that we’ve been sharing the same residence for nigh on a fortnight, I would expect you to be a little less abrasive.” The Villain took another sip of wine, never taking their eyes off the Hero.

The Hero snorted and raised their hands, the chain between them clinking before drawing taut. 

“Says the person who chains their house guests to chairs.”

“As I have told you every day since your arrival, it’s for your own good.” 

Scoffing, the Hero slumped and winced as their shoulders shifted. 

“You were the one who sought me, remember?” The Villain’s eyes flicked over the Hero’s features, their posture, the way their hair fell into their face.

The Hero glared at the Villain. 

“That doesn’t-“ they began.

“But it does,” The Villain interrupted, voice sharp. The Hero fell into a sulky silence . “Let’s see,” the Villain continued. “As I remember, it was a cold and rainy night.” 

Rolling their eyes, the Hero resigned themselves to yet another monologue. 

“And I was just sitting down to a perfectly cooked rib-eye and French potatoes when someone knocked on my door. Pounded, more like. Intrigued, I got up, answered the door. And who of all people was standing there, dripping blood on my new doormat?

“I was not dripping blood.”

“You clearly hadn’t seen yourself,” the Villain lilted. “You passed out without so much as a ‘hello, may I come in?’ the instant the door opened. If I say you were dripping blood, you were dripping blood. A lot of it.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with-“

“My dear, it has everything to do with this story. Bloodied as you were, I had little choice in the matter but to take you in. Clearly something had gone wrong. Otherwise why would you, my nemesis, seek my house in the middle of the night?”

The Hero gave the Villain a peeved look. 

“Alright, yes. Fine. I was in a scrape and needed somewhere to lay low.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you came to me, the person you’ve yet to bring to justice.”

“I… Well you still haven’t explained why you cuffed me to a chair the instant I woke up and tried to leave.”

The Villain threw back their head and barked a laugh before taking another generous sip of their wine. 

“Darling, it is because you tried to leave that I cuffed you to a chair. You think I’m just going to let my favored nemesis leave after staining some of my best towels without having a bit of fun? Besides, I didn’t want you undoing my stitching handiwork.”

Even as the Hero rolled their eyes, they knew the Villain’s stitching was impeccable. They weren’t about to admit it though. 

“Well then. Why don’t you let me go since you say I am so rude and a burden? The cut is healed, you took the stitches out two days ago.”

The Villain sniffed. They stood, poured themselves more wine, and settled back in their chair with a sigh. 

“Point the first: I never said you are a burden, just rude. And point the second…” Their grin was wicked. “I will let you go when I tire of your company.”

Heart rate increasing, the Hero edged their chair away from the Villain. Yes, they had helped the Hero, but that didn’t mean they were to be trusted.

“Oh please, I’m not going to gut you,” the Villain said, throwing a leg over a knee, shoes gleaming in the low light. “At least not yet. Now why the hell did you come to me?”

The Hero’s jaw worked for a moment, trying to form the words to respond. The sudden shift in tone, from convivial to interrogative, had thrown them. 

“I… A job took a turn.”

The Villain quirked a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Fine. I was jumped. Outnumbered, taken off guard!” The Hero huffed, flustered by the unwavering stare. They hated that stare, and the Villain knew it. “I tried running, tried using my power, but I didn’t want to hurt the civs. One of the thugs knifed me in the side before I–“

“Did you use your power then?” The Villain’s calm voice was tinged with excitement.

“Yes. If I hadn’t the bastards would  have gutted me in that damn alley.”

“Kill anyone?”

The silence that followed was answer enough for the Villain. They started laughing. First quietly, barely a chuckle. A moment later they were laughing uncontrollably, the wine glass shaking in their hand. 

“This isn’t a laughing matter!” The Hero, struggling against their cuffs. 

“Oh but it is!” The Villain gasped. They were shaking so hard they barely managed to set their glass down without shattering it on the side table. “The fact that you killed a few thugs, even in self-defense… Tell me. Did you enjoy it?” 

Defiance flashed in the Hero’s eyes, but the Villain caught something in the Hero’s expression that paused their laughter.

“You did, didn’t you? You enjoyed watching the fuckers die by your hand, by your power.”

“I didn’t!” The Hero protested, despite knowing it was pointless. In truth, they had enjoyed it. The sense of righteous vindication gave them enough energy to make it out of the alley and to the Villain’s front door.

“Only a Hero would say something like that, denying they enjoyed giving the Villains their own back.” The Villain fell into another fit of cackles. The longer they laughed, the more concerned the Hero became. They’d never seen the Villain lose control like this, and it was more terrifying than any level-headed threat they made in the past.

In another few moments the Villain had regained their composure. 

“You have no idea how proud I am of you.” They said, fighting a grin. 

When the Hero didn’t say anything the Villain stood, unfolding from the chair like a flower. 

“I’m glad you came to me,” they said, stalking towards the Hero. “And not those saps at the hospital. Do you know why?”

“No. And I’m not sure I want to know.” The Hero strained against the handcuffs. Despite everything, they hadn’t worried about their safety – hadn’t felt threatened –  for nearly two weeks. Now they weren’t so sure. Fear coursed through their limbs with the realization they were completely at the Villain’s mercy. 

The Villain stopped a foot from the Hero. They crouched and took the Hero’s jaw between their well manicured fingers. “I told you I’ve kept you here for your own good, though you don’t believe me.”

The Hero grunted, jerking their head back. The Villain dug their fingers in, forcing the Hero to look them in the eye. “I did so because I don’t want you running off and getting yourself killed.” They leaned in, brushing their lips against the shell of the Hero’s ear. “That’s my job, darling. And when I undertake a job, I assure it’s properly done. None of these half assed attempts that leave you two-thirds dead and bleeding out on my imported Persian rugs.”

The Hero shuddered.

“Then why help me at all?” They whispered. Even though the Villain patched them up, they still weren’t strong enough to do anything useful. Like fight back, or escape. 

“Because, my lovely,” The Villain murmured. They pressed a kiss to the Hero’s temple. “When the Heroes fall, no matter how far, the game gets so, so much more interesting. When I let you go I want you to remember this conversation.”

The Hero shuddered. 

“I want you to know,” the Villain continued in a lover’s whisper, “that when we meet again as foes, I’ll know if you hold back. Do you want to know what I’ll do then?”

“What?” The Hero’s voice was rough with fear and something else they didn’t want to recognize. 

“I’ll make sure you and your cadre of Heroes never hold back again.”

The Villain pulled the Hero’s face closer to their own, mouths a breath apart. Before the Hero could sneer or resist, the Villain brushed their lips to theirs in a kiss before whisking back to their chair.

“You are free to go.” The Villain said, back facing the Hero, hand resting on their chair. They spoke as if they hadn’t just threatened the Hero with a kiss. “You’ll find the key to the handcuffs in your front pocket.”

As the Hero tried to processed what just happened, the Villain strode across the room and into their bedroom, closing the door quietly behind them. 

“What the fuck was that?” The Hero whispered. 

When the Villain didn’t return and the only sound in the apartment was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the entryway, the Hero groped in their pocket. The key was there. Wasting no time they undid the cuffs. Standing, joints creaking and popping in protest, they crept to the front door. They were about to unlock it and slip away when they noticed their coat, bloodstains gone, hanging on a coat rack. Their boots, cleaned and polished to a shine, stood beneath them. Shaking their head the Hero slid into the familiar embrace of their coat, tugged their boots on, and came to a sudden decision. Tiptoeing back to the living room they splashed wine into the Villain’s empty glass. They took a sip and were pleasantly surprised. 

It was delicious. 

The Hero finished the pour, rueing the fact they hadn’t been more polite, corked the wine bottle and slid into an inner pocket. It was the least the Villain owed them for keeping them chained to a chair for the better part of two weeks. 

Finding a notepad in a drawer, they scribbled a missive and left it unsigned. Satisfied, they made their way back to the entryway just as the clock chimed twelve thirty. As they opened the door, the Hero cast one look back at the room before slipping silently into the misty night. 

***

The Villain emerged from their room late the next morning, clad in a satin dressing gown. Entering the living room they weren’t surprised to see the chair vacated, the handcuffs laying where they’d fallen, but they felt an annoying twinge of disappointment. 

Irritated at the sentiment, they shrugged off the feeling and retrieved their glass. They noticed the half-full bottle of Syrah was missing the same moment they noticed the notepad, placed more or less exactly where the bottle had been. Intrigued, they picked it up.

Best wine I’ve had in years. Thanks for “sharing” the rest. 

A smirk crept across the Villain’s face. 

“I’ll make a Villain of you yet, my darling Hero. Just give me time.”

With a chuckle they padded to the kitchen, mind already working on the next phase of their plans.