I have only ate up this series about a week ago, but ugh, I am so in love with how in love they are with each other. I am also working my way out of a block, so instead of trying this with my usual (white collar), I am dipping my toes into a new fandom. Uh, so, warnings!
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Cheap Shots
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As hard to believe as it is, Wes trusts Travis.
Of course, there is reading between the lines that lead to reading the writing scrawled in the margins, and also the fine print at the bottom of the page, printed in a size five. Thank god Wes has once been a lawyer, has once been the kind of people to write up these kinds of pages for clients to sign with a flourish in their gel-tipped pens.
So he knows that he only trusts Travis to a certain degree, like when it matters.
And for a long time, that has been enough.
000
What changes occurs in succession.
And because they are a train wreck waiting to happen, they go along the rails for as long as they can. When they can't? Well, Travis has always been creative and Wes has never been stupid. So when Wes sees something break inside of Travis, he stops him with a threat.
Because he can't tell whether this is one of those things that matters, Wes can't trust Travis.
He levels the gun parallel to the ground and threatens to shoot.
000
The suspension feels like a lifetime.
But when they see each other again, a first time since that last time, nothing has changed. Or maybe, everything has changed so far that they barely even resembled what they used to be. Travis doesn't remember, Wes doesn't want to, and he can already feel a headache coming on. The captain makes them sit, and it is just as horrible as it is familiar.
Travis tenses, a tiny whole-bodied thing that only Wes can see, so in silent retaliation, Wes clenches his jaw hard enough to make his teeth grind.
"You can pick between the two," their captain says.
And they disagree on a lot of things, but this, this they agree.
They say yes to therapy (couples' counselling is not the kind of words he is willing to use, not yet, not while he still can), and yes to each other, all over again, like there has ever been a choice.
Like being partners isn't second natured instinct.
Wes lets out a laugh in his head, and it's an ugly sounding thing.
000
It's not an apology when Travis knocks.
But it is something close to it when Wes opens his hotel room door.
000
"Would you have really shot me?"
"I haven't shot you yet, Travis... Doesn't that count for something?"
"That's not at all reassuring, Wes."
"Keep talking and you'll really find out."
000
His mouth still tastes of lipstick when he pushes his way in, his tongue still slick with someone else's spit. Wes doesn't know why Travis does this but he doesn't understand why he allows any of this to happen either. It's not winning or losing, it's calling it a draw, and while they've never been anything but competitive, there are always exceptions.
(They don't talk about it but he is Travis', and Travis is his.)
His kisses are bites that start just below the line of his jaw, over the curve of his bare shoulder and then back again. It is an endless circle of retaliation and cheap shots made in the dark, of hitting where the bruises haven't fade, of hurting where the scars have barely even scabbed over.
It's cruel and it's fascinating, it's every bit like them.
Wes pulls away gingerly for every push. And Travis bites down softly on the tongue that gets pass his lips. His shirt is not completely off, sliding down off one shoulder and only unbuttoned halfway, and Travis' has only been hiked up. His hands don't go any further than they can reach, but they don't let go, and that has always been the most important part.
Wes lets out soft pants in the dark while Travis bites another trail of kisses in his wake.
They finish each other off without ever saying a thing.
000
They wake up alone but feel every bit of last night on their skin and soul, worn raw and used thoroughly through. They don't know why they keep doing this but no one has said stop.
And they have always been good at pushing, and pushing, and pushing until one or both of them are over the edge. Even as they fall, they will argue, a verbal toss of blame that is bound to never end.
They never quite hit the ground and eternal freefall suddenly seems like the only adequate ending to their partnership.
000
They sit at their respective desks like Wes' shoulder doesn't throb, like every shift doesn't remind him of Travis' lips traveling over his skin, like Travis doesn't taste Wes on the flat of his tongue or feel him beneath his fingertips, heart beating something wild and just for him.
Travis reaches over for a file and knocks Wes' pencil holder down.
Wes bites down on his tongue because he doesn't know how to say it in words that don't taste angry or bitter or. Wes doesn't know how and hasn't that always been the problem between them.
But Travis does, he knows this. And while the sheepish grin he throws out is a joke, there's no punch line. Wes glares but it's a soft, mellow thing.
They pick up the pencils rolling all across his desk, the back of their hands brushing up against the other more than not.
000
It's not an apology.
It's far from it.
But neither of them is asking for one.
000
They fuck in the dark and kiss with their teeth.
They go to therapy sessions with Dr. Ryan and solve case after case.
They don't talk about this, whatever this is.
And it'll work until it doesn't.
000
"I guess this means we're back, baby."
Travis calls him baby, because he can, because it irks, because it makes Wes' face draws into lines. He understands him just as well as he understands himself, and while that's not all that much, it has always been enough for them.
"Don't call me that."
Travis laughs, and it's a thing that Wes has needed to hear for a while now.
XXX Kuro