This fic is in a totally none related universe to Common Law Chronicles, I wrote this for a very nice reader who gave me a prompt in a review, and I really hope it is what they were hoping for. Thank you for reading!
P.S. This is in Travis' P.O.V.
You look good in that….
He looks good.
Too Good
I don't think I've ever seen Wes look that good in my life, and I can't help but look.
I know that I'm no slob… I mean look at me. This suit ain't wearing me, I'm wearing it, player.
But look at him. He's… well, he's hot. That jacket, those jeans, that basically see-through shirt. Damn! Do I look like that all time? Why didn't anyone tell me!
I didn't know how far I was going to take this 'Role Playing' thing, but if Wes is gonna pull out the big guns and look like that! I really am gonna have to step it up.
I've known Wes for five, going on six years. Never once has the man seemed appealing to me…. Ok, maybe once or twice, but I mean come on, you've seen him. Stick up his ass or not, he's a dangerous guy in the looks department.
Several times, and I do mean several, in our careers, Wes and I have heard the phrase, "They should really just fuck and get it over with already." ; In a variety of ways.
While I don't agree with the sentiment that Wes and I only argue all the time because we're sexually frustrated with each other, and all we need is a good romp in the sheets to get over 'ourselves'.
The way the kid is looking today, may have me changing my mind.
Contrary to popular belief, Wes and I can sometimes get along. It usually takes a shit load of alcohol, a karaoke bar, and a date-rape drug…. Just kidding… about the karaoke.
The point is, is that if I ever wanted Wes with me… like, with me, with me, I'd have to pull out a million different stops, pray to ten different Gods, and sacrifice someone's first born, all at the same time.
Which is do-able, just not practical.
'Cause, you know me, I'm all about practicality, Mr. Logical up in here.
So, you have no idea how confused I am to see Wes at my door, in the middle of the night. Still in that Goddamn shirt and stone cold sober. You have no clue, how much I wanted him. I had no clue how much I wanted him, but there he was, and there I was, and… well…
As it turns out, the next morning, when I woke up to a pale, languid Wes draped across my chest, and my arm tucked protectively around his waist still clutching at that damn t-shirt that he had apparent not taken off… probably at my request, if I remember correctly, I had some clue as to how things went down.
The night before was chuck full of realizations, and longing, and touching, and moaning, and things that will become known as twenty minute innuendos in the future.
When things settled down, just before we fell asleep, I finally told him what I'd been thinking all day:
"You know, you look good in that shirt."
Instead of the snarky, Wes-ish reply that I thought I was going to get, he just blushed, which at this point, after last night, was going to be a thing that I was going to strive for, he said something that I hadn't expected:
"You look better."
Turns out the little fucker snuck into my trailer and stole one of my shirts! All day, I'd been thinking that he looked drop dead gorgeous in a shirt that belonged to me!
Not that he looks any less ridiculously hot… 'cause it's probably more.
You know what, I ain't even mad. I think I'll lend him a few more of my shirts… you know, for the sake of the role play, of course.
-Fin-
Thank you so much for reading, please review! Thanks! :
