Move (Wishlist 2012 Outtake)
This is an outtake written for the Wishlist 2012 and goes long after the current stories of the series. The prompt was "threesome", more or less.
In which the Losers get drunk and someone gets laid. Finally.
The Losers were getting drunk.
They were in what had once been an upscale colonial hotel in the middle of the hottest part of Africa, sitting in the lounge, celebrating.
They’d just cleared out one of Max’s more important weapon stashes, blown shit up, ruined someone’s day, and gotten away perfectly clear. It was a good day.
The overhead fans were working lazily, turning over the syrupy air. The barkeep was a tall, skinny man, so black that his teeth seemed to glow from his face. He smiled a lot at them and kept them in booze, seemingly unperturbed by their badly concealed weapons.
And the best part?
The best part was that Aisha had declared them all idiots an hour ago and taken her knives outside to compulsively clean them and keep an eye out for danger.
They might have appreciated her staying sober to watch their asses, if she hadn’t been blatantly using it as an excuse to get the hell away from them.
“You need to deal with that,” Mom had told Clay point blank as they’d watched the other woman stomp out.
Clay had sighed, nodded, and then waved the ‘keep over for more scotch. Since he was paying, he might as well have some of the good shit.
That had been three hours ago.
By now they were all listing slightly in their seats and getting progressively louder as they shared embarrassing stories about each other. Rogue just finished the story of the day Mom got shot in the ass and Jensen was reduced to tears and random giggle fits.
Their coping mechanisms weren’t healthy, and they definitely weren’t sane, but they got by.
“And then Roque had to dig the thing out while we were moving. Gravel road, if you can call it that, Mom flat on her stomach, Roque trying to aim for the bullet, and Miller making lewd fucking comments the whole time.”
Buffy threw he arm up, demanding to take over the story. “So Clay hauls back and punches his lights out. No warning, no nothing. Fist to the face, Miller goes down like a sack of meat. And Pooch yells about how Clay can’t just knock out our sniper, even if he is a piece of shit, and Roque asks if we can ‘lose’ the guy and there’s still a bullet in my ass and suddenly we’re surrounded by insurgents. Since I was drugged up at that point, I’m still not sure how the hell we got out of there.”
Clay clanged his shot glass against the nearest bottle. “You two freaked the rebels the fuck out, that’s how we got out.”
Pooch snorted into his glass, “Right. That was… They ordered us to give up our weapons and Roque and Mom start pulling out knives, right? First it’s a small one, then a bigger on, and a bigger one, and at one point, there was a fucking machete on the floor, but they still kept pulling out more knives and shit, I don’t know where they’re hiding them, but there’s more, and more, and the rebels get shifty-eyed and one starts praying quietly, and before you know it, they turn tail and flee back into the woods.”
“And I still had a bullet in my ass,” Buffy added.
“And you still had a bullet in your ass,” Pooch echoed.
Jensen was, at that point, lying half on the table, giggling helplessly and hugging his glass to his shoulder. Cougar had one hand on the hacker’s neck, whether to keep him from falling from his chair, or to steady himself was anyone’s guess.
His hat was pulled low, but he was definitely smirking. Pooch was chuckling and mumbling into his glass and Clay just sat at the head of the table, legs long in front of him, enjoying the moment. He was also enjoying the view of Mom kneeling on her chair, groping her own ass to try and find the scar.
Since she was staring at Cougar while she did it, and Clay knew for a fact that she knew exactly where that scar was - different cheek, for one – he knew she was putting on a show.
Sometimes running a unit of highly trained soldiers was like running a high school. Hormones everywhere.
“Alright, Losers,” he finally said, drowning the last of his latest drink. “Time for us to head out. I want everyone ready to go at 1000 hours tomorrow morning.”
Groans all around and a snicker from Jensen, followed by, “Just because you’re
not getting any tonight, boss, doesn’t mean the rest of us was planning on racking out immediately.”
Before he could dig his grave any deeper, Cougar pulled the hacker to his feet and started dragging him toward the stairs. Pooch followed, listing drunkenly. Mom rolled her eyes at them all, pecked Clay on the cheek and then ran to catch up with the boys.
Clay, shaking his head, went to settle the tab and maybe have another drink or two. After all, Jensen was right. It wasn’t like he was getting any tonight.
Cougar was busy hefting a flailing, giggling Jensen up the stairs. The hacker wasn’t nearly as smashed as he appeared, he knew. Jensen just got loud and easily entertained - more easily than usual – when he had something to drink. And company tended to make every level of inebriation worse.
Cougar knew that and suffered in silence. Mostly. Drunk Jensen also made for horny Jensen, so he didn’t see a reason to stop it.
Except that flailing, giggling Jensen was kind of hard to get up two flights of stairs, especially after Cougar had to take his glasses to keep him from losing them.
Flailing, giggling and blind
Then Summers was there, suddenly, slipping past Jensen’s other side and up ahead, palming Jensen’s room key as she went. By the time Cougar had the giant lump in front of the right door, it was already open, Summers standing in the doorway, waving them through.
She was still in the jeans and t-shirt she’d worn for the mission today and her hair was a complete mess. Her cheeks were bright red from laughter and alcohol and her grin was too wide to pass for sober.
Jensen leaned forward to focus on her. “How are you still running around, little girl?” he asked, sounding honestly curious.
Her grin got brighter. “Haven’t you heard, I’m Superwoman.”
Jensen sighed and used Cougar to right himself before dramatically slumping on the bed. Cougar waved the blonde inside and then closed the door.
“Kicks ass,” Jensen mumbled to himself, “Puts Aisha in her place. Cooks food. Fights monsters. Knows comics. Holds her liquor. Marry me!”
He started patting the bedspread around him for his glasses and Cougar patiently turned them over to his boyfriend’s searching hands. Sometimes, he wondered why he couldn’t have gotten stuck with someone a little
Summers turned to Cougar. “Was that seven or eight?”
“Proposals. Seven or eight. I lose track.”
Cougar, who had heard no more than four proposals out of Jensen, frowned. Summers watched him for a moment, then suddenly raised both hands, palms out. “Look, tell me if I’m reading this wrong, and I’ll be gone.”
Cougar blinked. Jensen made a questioning noise from the bed.
Reading this… Oh. Cougar had to admit, he hadn’t actually expected that she’d be the one to make a move. He’d been sure he’d just get up one morning to find Jensen in bed with her and then have to deal with it.
This was… unexpected. He shot a look at Jake.
Who was half sitting up, looking between them, suddenly a lot more alert.
Summers’ hand shot out, snagging Cougar by the jaw, turning his face back toward her. “Hey, no. I’m asking you, not him. He’s pretty damn obvious about this. So. Am I leaving?”
Cougar didn’t do her the disservice of blurting out an answer.
He thought about it. About care packages, thoughtfully packed by a complete stranger, about the candy stashes, about the stories, about breaking into her living room at three in the morning and receiving a warm welcome anyway, of the cabin in Montana, of Jensen’s obvious crush, of how she smiles and handled knives had had a spine made from diamond and steel.
He shook his head. “No. You’re not leaving.”
Her smile was radiant and she took a small step closer, tugging him down a little. He went, willingly.
“Uhm,” Jake asked, “Whatcha doin’?”
Summers – Buffy – stopped moving with their noses only a breath apart and looked at Jake. “Me? I’m kissing your boyfriend. Whatcha gonna do go about it?”
She winked at him.
And then she turned back to Cougar, stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
For a brief moment, Cougar held himself very still in shock. He had, somehow, up to this second, not believed she’d go through with it. They’d been flirting for months
and they’d all known where they were headed but now it was happening and finally, Cougar kissed back.
It was a slow kiss, and sweet for a pair of special ops soldiers about to have a threesome, but Cougar was patient. He wanted this to be good.
Eventually they parted, Buffy planting a last, small kiss on his chin and then pulling back. She hummed in pleasure and then turned to look at Jake, who was sitting on the bed, fisting the bedspread, staring at them, slack-jawed.
“So?” she asked, sassily, one eyebrow raised.
Jake licked his lips, swallowed, shrugged. “Gimme a moment. My brain just broke.”
Buffy threw her head back and laughed and then apparently decided that a moment was too long to wait. She grabbed Cougar’s left hand – not his gun hand even though it was closer, he loved her a little for that – and pulled him forward. Once they reached the bed, she changed her grip of his hand to twine their fingers together and then climbed into Jake’s lap, knees on either side of his thighs.
She used her and Cougar’s joined hands to hold herself steady on Jake’s shoulder, and her other one to grab his neck and tilt his head toward her.
She kissed him the same way she had Cougar, and okay, he sort of understood why Jake had needed a moment to reboot his brain.
He finally came back online in time to hook his hands under the blonde’s thighs and pull her closer. Cougar put one knee on the bed, pressed into their sides and didn’t even try to reboot his own brain.
They didn’t even try to make Clay’s deadline at 1000 hours the next morning.