Wes arises the next morning to find that the storm has cleared. In its wake, it has left the windows coated in a thick blanket of sand.
He grumbles, knowing he will probably be the one that has to clean them.
His PDA is beeping insistently, the screen displaying an alert for a new text. He reaches for it groggily, but feels only the wood of his nightstand beneath his fingers as he grasps for it. A few more attempts, and it's in his hand.
Through bleary eyes he can barely discern the text.
"No missions today, if you want to do something.
-Gonzap"
That's right. We're a couple now. He isn't sure what to think of the fact that he has to be reminded of this. What should be the dawn of a new stage in his life feels like just another morning. Maybe it was the casualty of it all, maybe the lack of any real climax. Whatever the reason, the tides have silently changed. He can't help but smile that the previously avoidant man had made the first move. Though he supposes he had no choice since he was asleep. What time is it anyway?
"Sure, I'll be right there.
-Wes"
He grabs his coat from the floor, and dons it with a surprising amount of exuberance. Despite the mundanity of it all, he can't help but be somewhat excited. He strolls the halls with an unusual bounce in his step, which his teammates are quick to take notice of.
A somewhat stocky young man in the typical Snagem attire, a red vest and light grey shirt, approaches him. In comparison to Wes, his features are thick and angular. His face is framed by round sunglasses and thick headphones which wrap around the back of his head.
"Well, someone's happy today. Must have just heard the boss called off our mission today, right?" he teases.
Wes chuckles to himself. So that's what happened. Somehow, he isn't surprised. Of course the man could pull strings like that, he is in charge, after all, and none of the team members were in a position to question even his most impulsive orders. And even by Wes' standards, this would certainly qualify as impulsive. Perhaps he's already rubbing off on their leader...
"Yeah. It'll be nice to have the day off. Speaking of the boss, he still in his office? Or is he taking it easy, too?"
"You know he never takes a break. Should still be in there."
"Thanks, Agrev." Wes replies simply as he turns his back to him.
True to his word, Gonzap is hunched over a worn wooden desk that Wes is certain is too low for him. Then again, everything is, so it really can't be helped. He's engrossed in a small stack of papers, the closest such a small, slap-shod team can come to 'accounting', perhaps?
Wes approaches the desk without alerting him. Even as he stands directly in front of the corner, Gonzap doesn't bat an eye. The potential for mischief is overwhelming, but Wes manages to contain himself, settling with seating himself on the desk beside him and coughing conspicuously.
Gonzap looks up towards him with a start.
"Oh. Good morning, Wes."
"Morning. Still busy, I see?" he muses, "I don't get it. Call off our mission for a day off, and keep working anyway."
"Well someone has to." Gonzap quips.
"I'm sure there's some grunt you can pass it off to. Come on, relax a little." Wes attempts to reassure softly, leaning in with an eager smile.
"I suppose. Anyway, you got any ideas for what to do?"
Wes raises a perplexed brow.
"Not really."
"Huh. Well. What do people normally do, then? Just go out, or something?"
Wes looks away thoughtfully as he considers their options.
"Just one problem. We're criminals. I've been up in Pyrite, and there's wanted posters for you in the station," Wes explains with some disappointment, "They don't know me, but I think even Sherles would be able to put the pieces together if he saw us."
"Yeah, but that's just Pyrite, right? The rest of Orre is free game?" Gonzap questions.
"Maybe? I'm not sure though. And frankly going to jail isn't my idea of romantic."
"Even with me?"
"Even with you."
"You're so picky, Wes." Gonzap laughs.
"I know, I know." Wes smiles in turn.
"What about Outskirt Stand? It's so far out of the way, no one bothers to police it." Gonzap suggests.
"Could work, that's a long way to go for a date, though, isn't it?"
"Well, we've got all day, don't we? Plus that bike of yours will get there in no time."
"I...highly doubt you'd fit in the sidecar.", Wes sputters, "And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you drive."
"Might be a bit cramped, but I could manage." Gonzap reassures with a laugh.
Wes returns a skeptical smile. But at this point, even the most unlikely of attempts seems more appealing to him than staying trapped within the rusted and decaying walls of the hideout and calling it a "date".
"Alright. Let's go then."
Gonzap pulls himself out of the sidecar with considerable difficulty. He's held fast in its constricting framework, his knees pressed tightly against his torso. His face is whipped by wind and sand, to the point that the dark hair of his mustache is dyed a mottled off-white. How he despises traveling through the desert. Wes, however, is nearly pristine, or as pristine as one can expect after traveling through the deserts of Orre at unreasonably high speeds. The sand is lost in the already sandy color of his spikey hair, and his face is protected by his visor. The grin on his face only seems to rub it in.
At last, he frees himself with a mighty tug, and steps beside Wes as the boy dismounts from the monstrosity of tubes he lovingly calls a motorcycle.
Just as expected, the patrons of the nearly abandoned stand pay them no notice. Even as Gonzap towers over the small and scattered crowd, he's regarded as a completely ordinary sight.
They make their way up the ramp, and take a seat in one of the booths beside the dusty window. An old jukebox plays across from them, a grainy tune that Gonzap vaguely remembers and Wes cannot recognize. The room is small, and dusts plays visibly in the light filtering through the windows. It's clearly old, and the converted framework has seen better days, but there is a strange homeyness about it.
Wes plays idly with his menu as he stares out the window. At what, Gonzap can't be sure. There is nothing but sand as far as the eye can see. Even the mountains are too far away to discern clearly.
He coughs, trying to sway the boy's wandering focus, and Wes immediately snaps to attention.
"So, sleep well?" Gonzap asks idly. It's not he cares, but it seems the most obvious question to ask, if only to start some sort of conversation.
"Uh, yeah. I slept fine I guess. You?"
"Same."
Staring directly down the table into the boy's intensely striking eyes with nothing to say leaves Gonzap subtly unnerved. Wes has always had that presence about him.
To his relief, a waitress finally arrives and steals Wes' focus from him. Even then, the boy's disposition doesn't lighten in the slightest, and Gonzap has to commend the waitress for remaining so warm and professional in the face of his cold gaze.
The rest of the meal follows suit, an uncomfortable silence falling over them for the first time.
By the time they both arrive back in the base, night is beginning to fall. The halls are dark, save for dim lights leaking from beneath closed doors. A subtle chatter echoes against the walls, proof that the team members inside are far from asleep.
Gonzap finds himself quietly sitting on a chair in the open entryway, and Wes follows his lead.
Still, there is not a word between them. Somehow, the quiet of the night has infected them.
At last, the idle silence becomes so overwhelming that Wes can stand it no longer. How can this happen? After having spent most of his life with each other, how can they have nothing to say? The sense of commonality he thought they had falls to pieces under pressure. Suddenly, with no discussion to be had, only the basest of connections show through. An idle hand travels across the seat, which shakes in recoil as Gonzap jumps up suddenly.
"A-awfully forward, aren't you?"
His only answer is a soft, drawn out sound.
The boy's slender fingers slip beneath the thick, coarse fabric of Gonzap's pants. They navigate clumsily, feeling the boundaries in the small, dark space. His eyes are turned away, his wistfully open mouth offset by intently focused brows.
"At least take me to your room, kid. Someone might see."
"Ah, right."
No sooner he answered then he feels himself being swept off the ground in one fluid motion, and his previous thoughts being swept away with it. All he can think of now is how terrifyingly far from the ground he is, and which part of his superior's upper body would be best suited for a defensive punch.
"PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN!"
The boy is surprisingly light, as Gonzap can't help but note. In his mind, he hadn't entirely expected that to work. From the waist down, the snagger's hardened body falls limp in his arms, like a doll. Thin, almost delicate legs kick occasionally against him.
"Calm down."
"How am I supposed to calm down! You just picked me up like a damn caveman!"
Without a word, Gonzap shifts Wes' weight again, prompting another panicked shout. Wes finds himself suddenly peering up into the older man's dark eyes, a cradle of solid muscle surrounding his body.
"This better?"
The boy blows a disheveled hair from his forehead.
Gonzap slowly lowers him to the ground sometime later, and the boy's tense nerves finally begin to relax. Wes makes his way to the bed, and immediately begins to remove the particularly intrusive portions of his outfit.
The bulky leather jacket falls once again to the ground, revealing the thin body beneath, barely concealed by a tight sleeveless turtleneck. While there is muscle there, it is lean, and does little to offset how skinny, almost frail, the boy is.
The shoes follow, and suddenly he appears so very small without the platforms beneath.
His spiked anklets fall with them, and he is no longer quite so intimidating.
It only now dawns on him that Wes has built a wall so convincing, that even his own teammates have forgotten the delicate contents it contained.
Wes flashes a tempting smile. Perhaps even the boy himself has forgotten this.
Gonzap sits beside him, and finds he has to hunch over to even see the boy's face. It's a remarkably soft face, now that he can see it clearly, at least for a boy his age. His rounded cheeks aren't set particularly high, and flow into his chin with remarkable smoothness. It is almost bizarre in how youthful it appears without jarring against his otherwise lean and angular body.
Even knowing what the snagger has accomplished, hearing his surprisingly mature observations, he cannot escape that Wes is still only a boy.
"Well?"
An inquisitive voice pulls him from his thoughts.
"Well..?"
"Are you going to do something, or not?"
Wes leans in closer, and Gonzap can feel his forehead brush against his own, his hot breath on his lips. His vivid golden eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted invitingly.
"Uh, right."
He reaches to cup Wes' jawline in his hands, only to be somewhat unsettled by how much they cover. The sides of his face are nearly buried in the rough, calloused palms. Wes reflexively places on hand over his, and can barely cover the back. That tiny, unblemished hand which seems to hardly even brush against the top of his own.
Whether intentionally or not, Gonzap finds himself jerking his head up suddenly, cleanly avoiding the boy's lips and instead planting an uncertain kiss on his prominent forehead.
This does not go unnoticed.
"What are you doing?" Wes mumbles with some agitation.
"Sorry, I missed."
"Well don't do it again."
He lowers his aim slightly and presses forward again.
"That was my eye, you dumbass!"
"I thought it moved too much to be your lips.."
"No shit."
He pulls back again, and can't help but chuckle at the sight before him. Wes is staring back, a comically deep frown etched into his face.
"Will you hurry up and get your act together?", he mutters low with a slight growl, "I'm gonna lose the feeling at this rate."
"Sorry."
Once again, Gonzap reluctantly pulls the boy closer to him, and feels the light brush of his lips against his own, at least at first. The boy's other still gloved hand grabs the side of his jaw and pulls forcefully, and his soft, thin lips press aggressively into his. Gonzap can feel Wes shifting his weight forward, trying to pin the man down on his back.
He begins to panic for both of them, but cannot voice his concerns, his mouth is forced shut by Wes' ravaging kisses.
Another fierce shove, and both fall backwards onto the sheets. The impact breaks Wes' focus, finally freeing Gonzap from what he would be quicker to call an assault on his mouth than a kiss.
Gonzap weakly lifts his head, and is greeted with Wes draped over his stomach, recovering with deep, slow breaths. On his face remains the same eager smile and watchful eyes that warn he has only yet begun.
"Come on Gonzap, stop holding back."
"I'm not holding back."
The boy's self-satisfied smile begins to fade.
"Yes, you are. Why?"
Again with the questions, always with the questions. Even in the bedroom, that boy always has to make him justify himself.
"I don't want to hurt you."
Wes lifts himself, so he is straddling Gonzap's stomach. His previously heavy-lidded eyes are now intently focused, and the brilliant gold seems to glow in the darkness.
"I told you. You don't need to baby me." he responds coldly.
Even as he says this, he appears so small, supported by limbs that nearly threaten to collapse beneath him at any moment.
"I'm not babying you, I just don't want you hurt!"
"I won't let you hurt me. Now come on and give it to me!"
Gonzap lets out a long, exasperated sigh. There's no point arguing this, and quite frankly he has no more patience to.
"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."
Wes grins as he falls forward again, and is surprised to find his next kiss returned with equal passion. He can feel his boss' tongue maneuvering awkwardly against his own within the tight boundaries of his mouth. Both scarcely have room to move, and find themselves pushing violently against each other in lieu of any sort of coordinated effort.
Already, Gonzap is beginning to worry again. If something as simple as a kiss can be so uncomfortable, then surely anything else would be nearly impossible. Yet, with each forceful movement of Wes' tongue, he is reminded of the promise he had made.
He grabs hold of Wes' buttock, finding the entirety of the firm yet malleable surface fits neatly in his palm. Even through the normally cold, smooth fabric, it is pleasantly warm in his grip. He squeezes it lightly, with the utmost care, fearing for even the smallest break in vigilance.
"Nnng, That's better..." the boy comments softly, his voice trailing off to a content whisper.
Wes removes a hand from Gonzap's jaw, and reaches to clumsily draw the shade.
When his faculties finally return to him, he finds himself breathless, wrapped so tightly around Gonzap's abdomen that he's surprised he hadn't cut off circulation during the whole thing. He looks up to see a distinctly less pleased Gonzap staring down at him. Was he awake enough to care at that moment, he would certainly be disappointed. But as it is, he is not.