[Cherik] Getting Even

Somewhat a sequel to Beyond Flesh & Skin

Getting Even

Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners

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

Rating : T

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

Genres : Fanfiction, slash, crossover, AU

Characters : Wesley Gibson, Caz Miller, Cathy, Barry

Summary :

Caz’s face was so close to his that their lips almost touched, his breath ghosting warmly over Wesley’s skin as he spoke, “There’s a couple there. Is it the man or the woman you have eyes on?”

He leaned back into his chair and took a long drag of his cigarette. Softly blowing the smoke to Wesley’s direction, he added, “Or… dare I say, both?”

“Neither,” Wesley replied after taking a moment to contemplate the sinuous tendrils of smoke lacing with his fingers. “Let’s say they’re old acquaintances from Chicago.”

Caz’s eyes widened in realization and he smiled, an actual smile, not his usual smirks or grins. For a split second he actually looked… benign.

“I see. Sack-of-shit best friend and cheating girlfriend. The last you’d expect to run into in Manhattan huh?”

“Weslie ~!”

Cockney-accented voice deliberately dragged put, followed by the leather-bound menu hitting the oaken table with a thud. Killer instincts alerted, his body tensed momentarily, every fiber flaring up and ready to fight when long, lean cigarette-scented fingers seized his chin and tilted his head so that he was met with cerulean eyes.

Piercing. Smoldering. Much like a leopard’s.

Don’t cats loathe sharing attention?

“What, Colin?”

Catching the hand by its wrist, Wesley snorted, feigning annoyance to hide the heat assaulting his cheeks for getting carried away by Caz’s intense look, which seemed to undress him in one second just to devour him in the next. In bed, it surely was a turn-on; in public, it still was, yet what subsequently followed was awkwardness and embarrassment. They hadn’t donned a suit and dined at a five-star restaurant only to savagely tear off their expensive clothes and fuck each other like rutting animals in some toilet stall. Wesley preferred it later, and on a bed, please.

“You,” Caz said between a thin veil of smoke from the cigarette held between his left fingers, leaning back into the big, cushy chair and lifting his gracefully long legs to rest on… Wesley’s lap under the table, “insisted that we try fine dining for a change. And yet you’ve looked at that direction four times in nineteen minutes…”

“You’ve been counting?” Wesley’s eyebrows arched up in surprised blended with disbelief.

“… and fourteen seconds. Yes, I’ve been counting,” replied Caz, shark grin too wide for his own good.

Wesley winced a little when Caz’s calves – all of sudden and no doubt on purpose – rubbed him through the fabric. His body jolted and a deep blush threatened to creep up his neck as he realized how promptly some part of him reacted to Caz’s harassment. He did not miss the wicked gleam in Caz’s eyes, so peculiarly cat-like.

“Shit, put your fucking legs down Colin!”

Before the whole goddamned restaurant notice was a tacit warning.

Wesley wasn’t ashamed by their relationship, to say the least; still, as he had been straight and had a girlfriend (thanks for reminding), he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the whole idea of public teases and flirtations Caz was coercing him into.

Let them see. The defiant look in Caz’s eyes, half-hidden behind the glass of champagne, seemed to retort.

Knowing Caz Miller, Wesley was certain he wouldn’t bat an eye even if every single person on Earth watched as they were fucking.

Is this your way of asking to be handcuffed and whipped tonight? Wesley quirked an eyebrow and countered.

We’ll see who’ll do who. Taking a sip of his champagne, Caz smirked, and refused to move his legs.

If there was one reason for him to regret making Caz the perfect weapon like himself, it would be that things were particularly difficult to win dominance in bed. Sometimes, Wesley could best him while others, well…

“Seriously Weslie, you’ve been distracted,” Caz leaned in, his eyes squinting with a hint of menace. “Is there a beauty worthy of your attention around?”

“Off-work, off-trouble,” Wesley reminded him.

For a freelance assassin, our Wesley Gibson was surprisingly respectful to the law. When he didn’t need to break it, he preferred not to.

“No guns, knives or dynamites,” Caz grinned, placing his glass of champagne on the table and holding up both empty hands.

Wesley snorted. During his training, he had learned damn well that Caz possessed an uncanny ability to make a weapon out of almost anything, this half-full glass, for instance, or the golden liquid inside it.

Caz’s face was so close to his that their lips almost touched, his breath ghosting warmly over Wesley’s skin as he spoke, “There’s a couple opposite from us. Is it the man or the woman you have eyes on?”

He leaned back into his chair and took a long drag of his cigarette. Softly blowing the smoke to Wesley’s direction, he added, “Or… dare I say, both?”

“Neither,” Wesley replied after taking a moment to contemplate the sinuous tendrils of smoke lacing with his fingers. “Let’s say they’re old acquaintances from Chicago.”

Caz’s eyes widened in realization and he smiled, an actual smile, not his usual smirks or grins. For a split second he actually looked… benign.

“I see. Sack-of-shit best friend and cheating girlfriend. The last you’d expect to run into at Manhattan huh?”

Wesley’s answer was wordlessly grabbing the menu and contemplating the options. Since he forced all his attention on the variety of steaks and side dishes, he missed the queer glint in Caz’s eyes as he began studying the couple at the opposite corner with growing interest.

Like a leopard did his luscious meal.

Water was dripping down his chin, threatening to soil his expensive suit as Wesley looked at his reflection in the large, gilded mirror. His blue eyes contracted, cheeks flushed and lips a thin, strain line – all signs had indicated he was aroused.

Whether to mate or to kill, the lust was the same.

Wesley had been agitated since the moment he caught sight of Barry and Cathy entering the restaurant. Cathy was clad in a backless, wine-colored dress, showing as much skin as possible without being nude and pressing herself to Barry, who had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist in a possessive manner. He wasn’t jealous by their show – truth be told – had not felt a sliver of love for that cheating girlfriend the day he’d learned of her adulterous nature; still, just a sight of her being together with his once-best friend was enough to make his blood boil and whether he liked it or not, his attention had unconsciously kept veering back to them.

He scooped a handful of cold water and splashed on his face. Deeply he inhaled, filling his lungs with fresh air and then, exhaled. He repeated many more times to allow the water to seep into his skin and dampened his fire. He was the one to tell Caz they weren’t looking for trouble and going back against his words was the last thing Wesley wanted to do. Nights of leisure when they didn’t have to be on business like this were rare and he’d rather shoot himself in the foot than waste it to the likes of Barry and Cathy.

He took some tissues to wipe away the water on his face and hands. In the mirror his cheeks were still slightly flushed and his eyes were retaining a little murderous air but at least, his heart race had gone back to normal, the result of his rage subsiding thanks to the water. He spent a few more minutes fixing his suit and tie before leaving the bathroom.

Positive thoughts to keep his rage in check, Wesley mumbled as he was making his way back to the dining hall. He pictured Caz, all sharp and pretty like a leopard, in his charcoal suit, casually yet not inelegantly sipping his champagne as he waited for Wesley to join him at their table. He thought of what they could do, would do tonight until the dawn arrived and it spread a grin across his countenance, befuddling a few waiters and customers on his way – Caz’s shark grin was more contagious than he’d imagined. He chided himself for being distracted by Barry and Cathy while he should have been enjoying their time with Caz. Caz was his now, and Caz was far more loyal as a partner and faithful as a mate than Barry and Cathy would ever be.

He felt Caz’s eyes on him at his first step into the dining hall. It would be unsettling to most people, being watched inventively by such sharp, smoldering eyes – like a trembling fawn in the presence of a starving predator, waiting helplessly for sharp canine to rip apart the tender flesh of its neck and drink its warm blood. Not Wesley though. Wesley was no weak fawn and Wesley immensely enjoyed the predator’s attention focused solely on him.

He wondered if Caz would ever fail to blaze up the fire in him.

Caz was savoring some sort of dessert when Wesley came back to his seat. The manner in which Caz enjoyed the finer things in life – luxurious dining, expensive champagne, designer clothing and such – sometimes led Wesley to think if the former gangster-turn-assassin had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Right after he sat down, he felt the weight of Caz’s legs on his lap. Just as Caz couldn’t keep his hands to himself, he couldn’t keep his legs either. Wesley had no other choice but to accept his fate as a leg pillow.

“Try some,” Caz gestured to the same dessert placed in front of him. “Really fine crème brûlée. Took the liberty to order it for you. You don’t mind?”

Wesley shook his head and dipped the spoon into the treat. To tell the truth, he hadn’t the slightest idea about what a ‘crème brûlée’ was in specific and fine dining in general since he hadn’t had a lot of opportunities in the past – the cost of one would have severely damaged his monthly budget. Thus he was fine with whatever Caz picked for him.

The cream was so soft it melted right on his tongue, leaving a lingering trail of sweetness which made his taste buds flutter.

“Shit, Colin, this cream- whatever it is- is so good!”

Caz graced with a smug grin.

All at once he leaned in, his nose almost touching Wesley’s, and he licked at a smudge of cream at the corner of Wesley’s lips. The moist sensation where Caz’d touched sent a ball of flame rapidly going south, which nestled in between his legs. Caz smirked upon witnessing his partner’s cheeks reddened by embarrassment and arousal both. He took a sip of his champagne, his tongue darting out to lick at his own glistening lips.

No, the God of Mischief’s name wasn’t Loki, Wesley seethed, his name was Caz Miller!

He managed to catch Wesley’s fist only a second before it connected with his jaw (which would be very painful for certain). “A kick in the teeth is good for some,” Caz softly sang, from some song Wesley’d never heard of, “a kiss with a fist is better than none. However… “ He placed a haste kiss on Wesley’s clenched knuckles before releasing him, entirely confident that his face wouldn’t receive another blow. ”… I prefer a kiss to a fist.”

Wesley was debating whether he should let it go when the sound of glass breaking caught everyone’s attention, his included, followed by the furious shouts and yells that were definitely inappropriate in a five-star restaurant (or anywhere for that matter). When he turned around, he was startled by the sight of Barry and Cathy engaging in a heated quarrel that climaxed with Cathy splashing her glass of red wine over Barry’s face, having his suit soiled, no doubt. Barry, shamed and enraged, would abandon any social norms and hit her if the restaurant’s security guards didn’t intervene and politely ‘asked’ him to leave.

Quite a show, Wesley thought, amused. What had made Barry so furious when only minutes ago they had been parading their love like the happiest couple on Earth?

He was greeted with Caz’s sardonic smirk when he turned back; the gleam in his cerulean eyes was too bright to trust he had been wholly uninvolved with this little ‘ruckus.’

Wesley arched an eyebrow questioningly, to which Caz only shrugged and signaled the waitress to bring the check.

The waitress’s face turned a shade darker than her mob of ginger hair when Caz blew a soft kiss at her after giving her a handsome tip. Wesley shot him a murderous look, trying to resist punching him square in the face, causing yet another ruckus. One in a night was enough for a prestigious five-star restaurant.

Someone had once told him, “Peace was always an option.” Right now he attempted to act on it. By saving his punches for later.

Wesley strongly suspected that it was a mere coincidence they encountered none other than Cathy, her eyes puffy, her makeup smeared and her mouth spitting venoms – for Barry, of course – as they were going through the parking lot. His suspicion only grew when Caz stopped about two feet from her, their echoing footsteps causing Cathy to look up and saw them both.

Her eyes went wide upon looking at Wesley – did recognize him – before her gaze shifted to the taller man by his side. The color that rose on her cheeks was disturbingly akin to the waitress’s as she approached them.

Fueled by intense jealousy, his rage flared up, threatening to burst out of him. He would have done something terrible (and violating his own code of not causing unnecessary trouble) if not for a pair of strong arms entertwining around his waist, breath scented with nicotine and champagne ghosting in front of his nose and firm lips capturing his.

Caz still tasted faintly of the crème brûlée earlier as their tongues battled for dominance and their hands roamed about each other’s lithe form, seeking control. It was the warning that they were in public and having an unwanted audience that lent Wesley enough strength and courage to not groan audibly when Caz broke the kiss. He cast a brief glance at Cathy, the corner of his lips lifting up and he led them both, arms still around Wesley’s waist, to where they had their car parked. Wesley didn’t need to see Cathy to tell her face had to be very ugly now.

The November winds put out some of the fire in him. Wesley tore off the tie to let his sweated skin kissed by the air; the sudden exposure to the cold caused him to shiver slightly.

Beside him, Caz was having his left hand on the wheel while his right was holding a half-burnt cigarette. He’d unknotted his tie, letting the silk fabric hang loosely around his collar bone, graciously outlined by the amber dome light. He was singing a horribly off-key yet not-so-unpleasant version of Garbage’s Crush.

“Something tells me you’d caused trouble.”

You’re just like me…” Caz finished the line and replied, “Causing trouble is my specialty.”


“Easy enough,” a look of arrogance spread across his face. “A few roses, a flattery note and a little of Miller’s charms – there we had a fabulous show.”

Wesley’s snort was his poor disguise of suppressed laughter.

“You saw how all worked out. Plus…” Caz took a drag of his cigarette before he continued, “…she fell easily.”

“Barry even more easily…”

As Wesley burst out laughing, Caz resumed his off-key singing, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Really, Colin, why did that? You don’t know them nor they do you.”

After a while, Wesley’s laughter died out and he asked, wiping some mirthful tear off his eyes.

“Getting even,” he answered, “for distracting you. From me.”

Realization dawned on Wesley’s face and he shook his head, hitting Caz’s shoulders. “Show her I’m queer is hardly getting even.”

“No,” Caz replied with a grin, “showing her my boyfriend is hotter than yours is getting even.”

Another gush of laughter threatened to burst out again.

“You’re a fucking asshole!”

A moment of silence. “But thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

For once, Caz’s tone was free of innuendos or sarcastic remarks.

Wesley smiled. He liked Caz’s tone even when it was inappropriately flirtatious or sarcastic; but he loved it when it was sincere.

“Just to show my gratitude, I may not handcuff you tonight,” he added, after a short pause, “Still top you though.”

“We’ll see about that.”


Plenty of teases and fluff and little of plot.

A friendly reminder: Caz is a violent, maniac and bitchy asshole.

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