A/N: I present to you: a missing scene from Twisted Memories. For the record, I don't really know where this came from. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. :B

Update: There is a slightly smuttier version of this fic up at aff.n now. :D My authorpage there is available through the link in my profile. If you're interested, please do go there! 3

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Chiaroscuro

Beck imagined the view before him as a kind of tumultuous blackness, though it wasn't the dark that moved at all with every jolt and bump: only his body. He couldn't say he appreciated the blindness, the handcuffs, the whole overdramatic shebang, but he decided not to complain about it again after the first time he felt the cool muzzle of a gun pressed glibly to his temple. Mindless cooperation wasn't quite his style anyway, naturally, but he had to admit it was at least a step up from the tedium of prison.

They'd been driving for some time. Him and that weird guy. After several minutes more his right leg began to shake in place, alive with nervous energy. His driver said nothing.

It was starting to get under his skin.

"So, where're we headed, anyway? The big boss want something with me? I hope you know I'm probably not gonna be interested... Self-employed."

"Shh," came the reply, and Beck's keen ears picked up on the soft crinkle of fabric. He saw Alan Gabriel hold his finger to red lips in his mind's eye so vividly that he didn't even need eyes to know.

Disturbed dignity commanded that he snap a retort, but Alan Gabriel had a gun and he probably knew how to use it. Any way you looked at it, it was hard to miss when you were this close. Too close. Much too close.

His wrists chafed against the cuffs behind him. He could only wonder how red they would be by the end.

"I hope you'll find our terms acceptable."

The car stopped. Driver door opened. Back door, driver's side. Then straight across. Everywhere but here.

"And what might those be—"

There was a gun in his mouth. There was a gun. In his mouth. It withdrew slowly, and Alan Gabriel twittered from the seat directly behind him.

"Do something for me, won't you?"

"Like hell!" Beck exploded. He made to lunge for the open driver's side, but the shock of a metal hand clenching around his throat and pulling him back hard against the headrest was enough to still him. Gabriel adopted his most charming tone, and he heard a tiny click.

"Don't worry. The safety's on," he offered. Somewhere inside Beck knew it was one he couldn't refuse.

So he squeezed his eyes shut tight underneath the blindfold, feeling too acutely the luger's chill without ever touching it, tongue probing hesitantly out just long enough to drag along the length of the barrel while Gabriel giggled and cooed in his ear. When he was done, he recoiled back hard against the seat and turned his head away, thoroughly disgusted.

Alan Gabriel disappeared. Doors shut. A weight settled in the seat beside him, and the car started anew.

"It'll still be a while."

Too-perfect teeth closed around his left earlobe, tugging lightly on his earring.

Beck tore away with a knee-jerk, visceral, outraged snarl. The gun pressed like ice through the blindfold. The car began to move.

"The safety's off," Gabriel said.

fin