[Cherik] Beyond Flesh & Skin

Wes x Caz 01

Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners

Fandoms : Wanted (2009), Murphy’s Law Season 3 (2005)

Rating : M

Pairing : Mcfassy – Wesley Gibson (Wanted) x Caz Miller (Murphy’s Law)

Genres : Fanfiction, slash, crossover, AU

Characters : Wesley Gibson, Caz Miller, OC

Summary :

“I dream about yours,” Caz’s hands snaked around Wesley’s slim waist and settled on the front of his jeans. Through the fabric he fondled the boy, feeling complacent with the not-so-subtle change. “Hope that’ll please you.”

A click sound echoed in his ears and all of sudden his lips were kissed by cold metal. The same gun he’d used on his cellmate was now threatening to blow his brain off.

“Give me one good reason not to pull the trigger, motherfucker.”

The fire alarm went off, and chaos erupted.

The corner of Caz’s lips, barely healed, curved up in a smile. He’d heard the ruckus echoing beyond the iron bars – “rats” and “explosives” amongst incoherent shouts. He’d smelled the distinct odor of cordite traveling through the ventilation system. Both turned him on, made him want to shout and dance. He couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

That didn’t stop his smile turning into a wide grin, showing more teeth than proper.

“What’re ya grinnin’ at faggot?”

Obviously Caz’s grin, bordering on the edge of mania, had grazed someone’s nerves. Muscular am with a rhino tattoo barely visible under dark, coarse hair raised up and before Caz could retrieve his outrageous grin, he was struck hard across the face.

His lips split and blood dripped down his chin, onto the front of his prison uniform. “Pussy,” he spitted out and attempted to return the favor. For an ex-gangster his move was fairly decent, yet he was far too weak for his opponent, who effortless caught his wrist and yanked it down with enough force to send Caz falling face-first to the linoleum floor. A foot stepped on the side of his face, pinning his head flat against the cold material.

“Who’re ya callin’ pussy huh?”

Caz’s cheek burnt where the bare foot was, pain and anger both. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to remove the foot. It did, but only to plant a kick to his navel. Caz curled up into a ball, clutching himself tightly. He hadn’t eaten anything since the morning, his stomach practically empty, yet at the moment, he felt as if he was about to throw up. His throat stung and he tasted acid in his mouth.

“Pussy…” Caz’s voice was hardly audible.

He felt thick thighs clamping either of his sides, trapping him like a pincer, and a heavy, undeniable heat pressing to his back. If all the violence and pain hadn’t been enough for him to panic, this surely was. He had a very clear idea of what his cellmate could do to him, would do to him, and the knowledge made the pain his minimum worry. Caz squirmed between the stony thighs, kicking with all his remaining strength, which only resulted in the larger man gripping a handful of his hair and banged his head against the floor. The concussion blacked out his vision for several seconds and rendered his already weak resistance weaker still.

Caz shivered under the sensation of wet tongue assaulting the skin on his neck. His hands balled up in tight fists, blunt fingernails digging hot crescent holes into the tender flesh of his palms.

“Ya like it rough, don’t ya?”

Caz could not help a soft groan when a big hand twisted his hair again, harder this time, yanking it back so painfully he thought some of it must have left his scalp.

Robust fingers slipped past the waist band of his trousers, palming his cheeks before slapping them. Shots of pain went through Caz; he ground his teeth until his gums bled, the taste of copper mingled with acid flooding his mouth, threatening to overflow.

His body jerked violently when he felt a single digit enter him. It wasn’t foreign, truth be told – had done it before, had enjoyed it – yet for all the previous experiences he’d had up until now,  Caz wasn’t able to quench the feeling of utter disgust and shame swelling in his empty stomach.

“So eager to get ya ass fucked, right, cocksucker?” Breath feverish with lust and arousal blowing into his ear, finger drilling into him deeper and deeper.

“Not by you.”

A youthful voice edged with winter’s chill spoke up, followed sharp by several deafening gunshots, stunning Caz and his cellmate for a few seconds.

The metal door to their cell turned Swiss cheese and was kicked down, revealing a lean figure clad in leather, a M249 SAW in each hand.

“The fu…”

His cellmate didn’t have the chance to finish the curse, being abruptly shut up by a rigid kiss of the muzzle on his temple.

He would be wise not to test his skull against a M249 SAW.

A smirk spread across boyishly handsome features when piercing eyes looked down to meet Caz’s; the devious gleam in impossibly blue orbs sent a surge of electricity down his spine. His state of pain and humiliation momentarily forgotten, replaced by a raging flame coursing through his veins as Caz drank in the dangerous lithe figure clad in sleek black leather. Were he not trapped, he would have sprung up and ravished the boy like it was the only thing he was born to do.

“Now, please remove your-fucking-self from him and retreat to the corner, hands up, no sudden movement unless you want a taste of this.”

The man’s hesitation only earned him a loud smack across his temple. Blood was dripping where skin broke as he, slowly, cautiously, did as he was told.

“Can stand up?”

A gloved hand appeared in Caz’s vision, fingers outstretching in a silent offer to aid, which he took and borrowed the strength to get up to his feet. His legs were slightly trembling and he was feeling dizzy from all the blows he’d received; still, he managed to stand straight.

“Good. ‘Cuz I hate carrying your ass.”

The last syllable had barely left his lips when Caz wiped out the short gun from the boy’s belt in one swift movement and emptied the chamber’s content into the large man, who was having his face pressed to the wall and hands above his head.

It was either an insane mastery of aim or just some fucked up luck that Caz had missed all the man’s vital spots. Beyond help yet unable to die, he was lying in a pool of his own blood, roaring like a tortured beast.

Neither of them did anything to release him from his agony.

Caz returned the gun to its owner, head unconsciously held low and he missed the iciness in those electric blue eyes he was so intrigued by.

“Let’s go. Truck’s outside.”

The boy tilted his head and led, Caz following suit.

Fluorescent light filtered through the dusty tube on the ceiling cast a ghastly shade on the spartanly furnished room – a coffee table, a drawer, a double bed with tainted bed sheet. There was a layer of grime on the table, where the boy laid his M249 SAWs.

“My dad’s safe house,” the boy explained even before Caz opened his mouth to question. Removing his leather jacket and gloves, letting them fall carelessly to the floor, he turned around and pushed Caz down the mattress. With as much care as he did his jacket and gloves, he kicked off his boots – also leather – and climbed on the bed, straddling Caz.

“Long time no see, Colin.”

“Long time no see, Weslie.”

Their first proper ‘greeting’ after they had reunited.

Using his elbows to support himself so he didn’t sink into the mattress, Caz lifted his head, cerulean meeting electric blue, and he put on a defiant grin, showing his teeth. With his shark-like grin, he managed to appear menacing despite being straddled.

Wesley returned the grin before his fist connected with Caz’s jaw. Blood from his split lips dotted the bed sheet.

“What was that for?”

Caz’s tone – too calm for someone who got hit for no obvious reason – was laced with flirtatious hints.

“Belfast. The bar.”

“Still bitter about being deflowered? Or…”

Wesley’s reply was another blow, surprisingly lighter than its predecessor. On Caz’s bruised flesh, it felt all the same.

“And this?”

“The undercover cop.”

Caz’s pupils dilated for a moment, confusion dominating his facial features until realization came conquering.

“You’re jealous.” Caz punctuated his statement with a hard squeeze of Wesley’s ass. The boy’s slight shudder brought a grin to his lips. “If I’d met you first, I wouldn’t have bothered with that… King Kong.”

“You dream about that King Kong’s cock all the same, don’t you?”

“I dream about yours,” Caz’s hands snaked around Wesley’s slim waist and settled on the front of his jeans as he said. Through the fabric he fondled the boy, feeling complacent with the not-so-subtle change. “Hope that’ll please you.”

A click sound echoed in his ears and all of sudden his lips were kissed by cold metal. The same gun he’d used on his cellmate was now threatening to blow his brain off.

“Give me one good reason not to pull the trigger, motherfucker.”

Caz made no attempt to either stop or retrieve his hands as he opened his mouth. His lips stretched around the muzzle, his tongue darting out and he gave Wesley’s gun first a lick and then a thoroughly suck, making the metal wet and slick with his saliva. He was doing it with a burning slowness that was certainly both annoying and arousing to anyone watching.

Triumph shone in his cerulean eyes when he felt the weight on him shifting awkwardly.

He won. Every time.

“Because I’m good with tongue? That’s not too bad a reason, is it?”

He put his Cockney accent to good use, lengthening each syllable just long enough for the sensuality to sink in. If tone could speak for itself, right now it was giving off an invitation of sex.

Basically the core of their relationship – sex. And more sex.

And beyond sex, neither of them knew what bond could tie an assassin and a gangster together.

“Fuck you, teaser…”

Cool blue orbs turned murky and before Caz could smirk, his jaw received yet another blow.

Gun tasted metal. So did blood.

With blurred vision Caz watched Wesley threw the gun over his shoulders before hastily stripping himself naked, swears and curses freely rolling off his tongue. Then he felt his own prison uniform being tucked at and ripped off with more force than necessary, leaving his body bare and offered to the boy’s hungry gaze.

“Always eager, are we?”

His hands palmed the boy’s firm cheeks and gave them both a squeeze, strong enough to feel but not too strong that it would pain. Carefully treading between ‘rough’ and ‘gentle’, he knew exactly what made Wesley go crazy.

Practice makes perfect, and Caz was talented to begin with.

His deft hands were suddenly caught and wrenched back behind his head. With a soft ‘click’, Caz lost the use of his hands.

Caz craned his neck and got himself an eyeful of the sight of his hands bound to the headboard by a pair of shiny handcuff. He had tasted it too much to mistake it for any pleasure toys.

“What?” His voice came out soft, like a breeze.

“A quaint souvenir from the cops,” Wesley said, smirking. “Thought you’d miss it once out.”

Caz wanted to protest. Caz couldn’t protest. Because Wesley had claimed his lips in an extremely possessive manner.

Sharp teeth deliberately grazed the fresh wounds on his lips and Caz hissed, from pain or pleasure unsure.

Obviously the ‘rough yet gentle’ rule didn’t just apply to Wesley.

“I like to use my hands, Weslie,” he purred into Wesley’s ear, tongue darting out to lick his lobe. Wesley dodged him and straightened up.

His blue eyes were clear again, so clear that Caz could see his own reflection in them. And his eyes were blazing.

He reminded Caz of a panther which had just done playing with its prey. Now was time to devour.

“That’ll remind you to keep your hands to yourself.” Wesley slid back smoothly and situated his ass directly on Caz’s groin; the direct contact and pressure made Caz groan.

“And never touch my guns again.”

One calloused hand gripped his protruded hipbone with blatant dominance, Wesley brought the other to Caz’s bruised cheek, caressing it almost lovingly. The contrast in his gestures seemed to startle Caz to the point of speechlessness. Surely they’d had sex many times before, with dirty talks and shameless gropes never absent; still, any gesture that indicated something more than just venting out their lust was beyond their comprehension.

Sex was the core of their relationship; both tacitly intended to keep it that way – anything beyond flesh and skin seemed far-fetched for the likes of them.

“This time, I’m in control. And I’ll top,” Wesley spoke in a tone that frankly cut off any objection.

Caz’s whole body jolted when Wesley gave his feverish cock a light squeeze.

“Fuck you, teaser…”

“Tell me what you want and I may oblige you.”

His thumb idly drew small circles on the head, already moist. If pleasure was dynamite, Wesley’s touches had lit the fuse, and boy, how the fuse burnt fast!

In his haze of lust and impending climax, Caz felt like he was getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Tell me, Colin.”

Wesley’s hand closed tightly around the base, keeping Caz’s climax just a little out of his reach.

Pleasure and pain were only two ends of one spectrum; at the moment, Caz was trapped on his less preferable end.

“Tell me, Colin, and I’ll oblige you.”

“Just… fuck me… get on with it!” Caz hissed through broken pants, his cheeks flushed despite dark bruises. A fine sheen of sweats coated his fair skin.

Wesley’s eyes were speaking of storm.


That was all he’d been waiting for.

It was like bathing in his morning porridge, Caz mused. Laying his head on the tiled edge, he slid deeper into the bath tub.

Though it was rather itchy under the skin, the sensation was not necessarily terrible. Moreover, this thick liquid was doing a marvelous job easing the aches worrying his shoulders, chest, hip and below.

When you leave Wesley Gibson in control, pains ensure, which is why you shouldn’t leave him in charge… which is particularly hard considering how much stronger he is than yourself.

Caz’s dilemma.

His head was still spinning from the hunger and fatigue. He would leave the bath at once had Wesley not ordered him to stay at least until his skin knitted.

Caz had taken orders from none except Callard; now that Callard was behind bars, he took orders from none except Wesley.

A pair of arms snaked from behind to cage him in a loose embrace. A mob of unruly chocolate hair rubbed against his neck. Caz tried to ignore the tickling and stayed still. It was harder than he thought.

Post-coital bliss, in Wesley’s dictionary, was tearing Caz from the warmth of his blanket and, literally, throwing him into a tub full of thick white wax, while normally people would just cuddle and make promises of breakfast in bed.

Though Caz wasn’t a fan of cuddling, he could do with a huge breakfast in bed. Irish preferably.

“What’re you thinking?”

Wesley’s hands hovered above the skin of Caz’s chest, deft fingers occasionally playing with his nipples. He grimaced when Wesley’s thumbs brushed the love bite he’d deliberately left there in the heat of sex; however, he didn’t stop the little harassment.

Caz was thinking about a full Irish breakfast, with eggs, sausages, generous slices of bacon and a dose of caffeine; instead he said, “How tender you were a few hours ago.”

“Define tender,” Wesley sighed and laid his head on the juncture of his neck and shoulders, lazy like a satiated cat. “I even prepared a bath for you.”

Caz snorted, but said not a word.

“Still bitter about being deflowered?”

“Do I look like I’m still keeping my asshole’s V-card?”

“By those in jail?”

Wesley’s tone took on a dangerous edge; his embrace around Caz tightened, almost painfully.

“I wasn’t that desperate. Not after I’ve met you.”

Wesley snorted, disbelieving; his arms on Caz’s shoulders loosened all the same.

The wax was lukewarm and cradling him like mother’s womb. Strangely relaxed in Wesley’s arms, he closed his heavy eyelids and was ready to drift off.


“What?” Doziness made his voice akin to a soft purr.

“Come to the States with me.”

His shoulders tensed momentarily, then went lax under Wesley’s caress.

“Do I have a choice in this?”

“No,” Wesley’s hands reached under the wax surface, below Caz’s slender hip as he said, flatly. “If you refuse, I’ll blow your brain off – you know I can do that – and when the cops arrive, they’ll only find your naked rotting corpse.”

Caz stifled a laugh at Wesley’s bluntness. At the same time, an alien warmth seeped through his skin, his flesh and settled deep into his bones.

“You broke me out of jail to say this?”

“And to fuck you, yes. What, miss all those cocks you could get there already?”

“Jealous much?” Caz teased, barely able to contain his chuckles. “Not when I’m having yours. And of course…” Tapping his forefinger to his temple, Caz leaned back so that his head touched Wesley’s and whispered, “…I prefer my brain in here, not plastered on the wall.”

“That’s a ‘yes’?”

Caz shrugged. “Unless you find otherwise meaning,” he said and captured Wesley’s lips… munching on them with his unusually sharp teeth.

“Fuck it, Colin, I’m not bacon!”

Covering his mouth with one hand, Wesley backed away, putting some distance between them. Caz graced him with his shark-grin.

“I prefer you are. Feeling involuntarily like Bobby Sands here.”

“One and a half hours more. Be patient or else you’ll be walking funny the next few days.”

“Like you did after the bar?”

He laughed out loud when he witnessed an undeniable blush creeping Wesley’s neck.

Beyond sex, sensual teases and playful banters, what bond could tie a cold-blooded assassin and a wanted ex-gangster together?

Caz would like to find out.


*This is set in an alternate universe where Caz didn’t get shot by Murphy but ended up in jail. He met Wesley sometime after Murphy and their ‘relationship’ has continued till the time of the fic.

**Caz’s real name is Colin – Colin Miller.

***Callard is Caz’s boss – the main antagonist of Murphy’s Law Season 3.

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