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"Bourbon Street Has Fangs"

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Summary: BtVS THE MOVIE/Alias. Slash. CIA investigates Buffy

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > AliasClannadlvrFR1815,104011,97315 Apr 0415 Apr 04Yes
Title: “Bourbon St. Has Fangs”

Author: Clannadlvr

Rating: R (18)- This is primarily for language...and for a little slashiness.

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer- THE MOVIE/ Alias crossover

Pairing: Vaughn/Weiss

Disclaimer: I do not, I repeat, do not own any of the characters/settings herein. Just borrowing them for fun and not making any profit.

Spoilers: Uh…let’s say anything third season just to be safe, k?

A/N: Muy thanks to Celli off of LJ for the great (insane) challenge! This story includes some slight slash, so you have been warned. Enjoy, and I live for feedback!


“Laisses les bon temps rouler!!!”

Weiss couldn’t help but grin as yet another scantily clad woman sidled up to him, this one murmuring the New Orleans catch phrase huskily in his ear as her hands worked to snake themselves under his loose fitting t-shirt. But the look that Vaughn threw over his shoulder back at Weiss was cold enough to have the walking wet dream melt back into the raucous crowd.

“Hey, bud, stop acting like the jealous boyfriend already,” Weiss said as he caught up to his friend, wiggling his eyebrows. “People will start getting ideas.”

He’d been expecting a roll of the eyes and maybe even a half smile from Vaughn, but all he received was a hard stare. “Just trying to keep your mind on the mission,” Vaughn said stiffly.

Weiss was left staring at his friend’s retreating back as Vaughn continued at a quick pace down Bourbon St.

What the hell was that about? Vaughn had been acting the wacky the whole time they’d been in New Orleans. Hell, he’d been acting odd ever since they’d left LA. Ok, well maybe part of that was the fact that neither of them actually knew what they were doing on this mission…

“Your new assignment is a reconnaissance/capture mission,” Dixon said as he handed the folders to Vaughn and Weiss.

Weiss began scanning the contents and was immediately confused. He’d only read part of the biographical information, but... “So Vaughn and I are going after a cheerleader?”

“A former cheerleader,” Dixon said with a slightly chastising tone, “who has left a series of dead bodies in her wake.”

Weiss read farther down the document. “Damn…”

“Serial killer?” Vaughn asked.

“Perhaps,” Dixon said. “But what’s important now is that she be brought in for questioning. Some of our lower level agents have been unable to track her down and when they do, she doesn’t stay in one location for very long.” Dixon drew their attention back to their folders with a wave of his hand, saying, “As you can see, Buffy Summers has used a number of aliases since the mass murder incident at her high school in 1992, her latest being Erica Paget during her time in Chicago. Unfortunately, that was the last place the CIA has been able to firmly locate her and it’s been over four years since then. But then we received a tip that she was spotted in New Orleans less than 48 hours ago. It will be your job to travel there, posing as Mardi Gras revelers, find Buffy Summers, and take her into CIA custody.”

Weiss grinned, cheerleader skirt chasing filling his thoughts, “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

He shot his friend a wolfish look. Vaughn was flipping through more of the files, then looked up at Dixon in confusion. “All of her victims were killed by stab wounds to the heart? What type of weapon?”

Dixon shifted his eyes slightly from Vaughn’s face, saying, “The weapons were never found and forensic examinations were inconclusive. Since then, Miss Summers seems to have been more careful about leaving evidence at the scene. Now there’s just a trail of missing persons that leads to and from each place she’s been spotted.”

Slippery chick, Weiss thought to himself, and from the intel she seemed dangerous enough. Still…

“Uh…excuse my stupidity here, but why are we investigating this? Doesn’t this seem like more of a job for the boys in the agency that starts with three little letters I like to call F, B, and I?” Ok, so from the pictures in the folder the woman looked hot, so looking for her wouldn’t be a hardship, but Weiss certainly wasn’t up to being sent on a mission that had nothing to do with their current situation with the Covenant. There was just too much hanging in the balance right now.

“Is there a Covenant connection, sir?” Vaughn asked.

Weiss shot his friend a quick smirk at the inadvertent mind read.

Dixon paused before he answered and alarm bells went off in Weiss’ head. Eric gave only half his attention to Dixon’s “we’re unable to confirm that at this time” speech. Unable to confirm, my ass, he thought. There is definitely more here than what Dixon is being allowed, or willing, to tell us.

Weiss frowned as he thought through that conversation back at headquarters for the millionth time since they’d left LA. Sure, he’d been on “need to know basis” operations before, but they always made him uncomfortable. It sucked to be possibly putting your neck on the line without all the background information you needed simply because some pencil pusher in the upper offices decided you didn’t need to know jack.

But this time around…maybe it was the tension they’d all been under because of the Covenant or it could be the heady atmosphere of New Orleans, but tracking this Buffy Summers was making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

Couple that with a partner who seemed to have a stick up his ass this mission, and New Orleans during Mardi Gras was becoming decidedly “un-fun.”

But then Weiss’ spirits lifted slightly as he noticed Vaughn was steering them in the direction of a bar.

“Damn straight,” Weiss muttered into Vaughn’s ear, “a guy needs a drink after getting through a crowd like that.”

“We’re not here to carouse,” Vaughn said tightly. “This is the last place Buffy was seen so we’re going to look for leads.”

Weiss bit back the angry retort he wanted to make, instead fixing his best friend with a grin as the entered the bar, saying, “Hey, in my book, carousing and meeting informants can go hand in hand…”

Weiss trailed off as he looked over the clientele of the smoky tavern. Teased hair…ruby red lips…hairy arms…and falsetto voices?

Why the hell did this Buffy chick have to make her last stopover a gay bar?!

Vaughn shot Weiss the first smile he’d seen him wear all night. “Well, go to work.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Weiss’ face paled at the thought of hitting on transvestites for information.

Vaughn just grinned and sauntered over to the actual female bartenders, leaving Weiss surrounded by men in halter tops and push up bras.

“Son of a …”


One hour and twenty sexual propositions later, Weiss found himself walking down the alleyway he and Vaughn had been directed to by Candy, a 6 foot 5 blonde with a mysteriously darkened upper lip and a penchant for Lucky Strikes.

“So your friend back at ‘Delilah’s Den’ is sure this is the alleyway Buffy’s been seen around?” Vaughn asked with an arch look.

Weiss felt his face heating up, “You’re not ever going to let me live that down, are you?”

Vaughn just grinned.

Weiss snorted, “Well if seeing me get groped by the Amazon princess back there put a smile on your face and pulled you out of the pissy mood you been in for the past week, then I guess I don’t mind you bringing it up.”

Vaughn stopped short in front of him in the dank alleyway. “What?” he asked.

“Come on, man, you can’t tell me you haven’t been having PMS this week.”


“Yeah, permanent marital syndrome. Of course, since your marriage is ‘fine,’ you can just go ahead and deny it.” Weiss said bitingly.

Vaughn rounded on him, “My marriage IS fine. What the hell is your problem with Lauren, anyway?”

Weiss looked at his friend in disbelief. His problem with Lauren? “Uh, bud, aren’t you the one who’s been pining after your until recently presumed dead ex-girlfriend while trying to keep your marriage afloat? I’d say that counts as your marriage being in some rocky waters. But hey,” Weiss continued as Vaughn narrowed his eyes, “I’m not married, so what can I say?”

“That’s right, you’re not.” Vaughn turned back around and practically stomped down the alleyway.

O-kay…he’d gotten the real Vaughn back for a few minutes, but now it was back to pod!Vaughn again. Yup, this mission was going to be real fun.

Weiss sighed and started to follow Vaughn again, studying his friend’s gait, the way he prowled down the alleyway. Yeah, sure, he moved like a cat…huh, where did that thought come from…but Weiss couldn’t help but see how tense Vaughn was. Almost as tense as things had become between he and Weiss.

What WAS the deal with that anyway? Sure, they’d been disagreeing over Lauren…but…

Weiss’ thoughts were cut off by the sounds of fighting down the end of the alley.

In a flash he and Vaughn had their guns drawn, moving into a defensive position as they advanced.

“So…you read the dossier a bit more carefully than me. Any chance of this Buffy chick having an accomplice?” Weiss asked.

“The only other person recorded as fighting with her during the high school massacre was someone named Pike.”

“Isn’t that a fish?”

Vaughn didn’t smile. He just furrowed his brow into scrunch mode. “Pike hasn’t been mentioned in the recent files, so there’s no telling if he’ll be with her or not.”

Weiss’ back tensed as he sensed someone approach them from behind. From the smell of alcohol and urine, it seemed like a Mardi Gras participant had stumbled into their little sting operation. Great. Just great. Could the night get any better?

“Hey, dudes,” the man swerved toward them with an unnatural smile. “You guys wanna come with me and have a good time?” He thrust his hips in their direction.

Weiss said, “Bite me,” to the man’s lascivious overtures.

All thoughts of Vaughn’s piss poor attitude vanished as Weiss’ vision was filled by a pair of very, very, sharp teeth.

“With pleasure.”


*huff huff*

Weiss kneed his assailant in the groin and was rewarded with an unnatural howl. It was a small victory, but he knew he couldn’t hold up his end of the fight for much longer. He’d never faced anyone who fought so hard and so well; he’d used all the moves the CIA had taught him- and that last one from his little sister- but he was fading fast.

And it didn’t seem like Vaughn was having any easier of a time with the other guy who’d appeared in the alleyway on the heels of his stinky buddy.

Weiss broke away from his attacker for a moment with a mumbled, “oh shit,” as he saw Vaughn lying prone. Vaughn’s opponent crawled on the ground toward him, spindly hands reaching for his neck.

WTF, was the freak going to snap Vaughn’s neck? Weiss’ eyes grew wide as he tried to avoid his own assailant, while still keeping his buddy in sight.

“Hey! Freak show!” Weiss screamed. That was enough to pull attention away from Vaughn for a second as Weiss was tackled by the second man. Then he was attacked from behind, wrestled away from the second man by the first. The two men began hissing at each other like two sorority girls at a date auction.

“Hey, guys, I know I’m a tasty morsel, but there’s no need to fight.” Weiss’ voice sounded way stronger that he felt. Damn it, he just needed to keep their attention off the defenseless Vaughn who seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness.

“Shut up,” the first man hissed, backhanding Weiss.

Well, this was it, Weiss thought as he tried to raise himself off the ground. His body was quickly covered by his attacker, his neck gripped between two rough hands, the smell of sweat and dried blood filling his pores. Weiss’ eyes opened wide as he saw yellowed teeth…fangs descending toward his neck.

The last thoughts in his head as the teeth began to prick his skin were those of regret over not making up with Vaughn before he died, of never telling him how he felt, how much he cared. Of never getting back his collection of porno tapes back from that bastard of the partner who looked like he was just about to suffer the same cruel end.

Shit. Maybe it was good for him to die if he was turning into such a sap. Maybe he was being saved from a far worse fate. Maybe death was better than turning into a puppy dog eyed Vaughn clone.

Weiss closed his eyes as the teeth sunk in, barely registering the sounds of fighting coming from somewhere nearby. But it didn’t seem to matter any more. A strange euphoria came over him…pain gave way to pleasure…his eyes rolled back into his head…the thought that seemed to float away as soon as he formulated it was…damn, this is better than sex…

When the teeth were ripped away, Weiss felt like he’d had the equivalent of a cold shower.

“Damn it, now look what you made me do?!” A voice pushed through the haze.

Weiss shook his head to clear his vision and as he started to push himself off the ground, he realized that he was eye level with sandal covered, pink toe nail painted feet. His muddled gaze followed the length of what seemed to be really nice legs ending in short-shorts, then a midriff top, more-than-a-mouthful breasts, pert pink lips, and a distressed expression. Finally getting his wits back about him, Weiss lumbered to his feet, his inner white knight kicking in as he rasped out, “Are you ok?”

The expression of the woman in front of him went from distressed to incredulous.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, right? I just saved you and your boyfriend’s asses from a pair of really smelly, dentally impaired, so-last-season wearing rejects and you’re asking me if I’m ok??”

Weiss’ mouth opened and closed like a guppy in a chlorine tank. “But you said…”

“Hello?!!” the blonde spat at him, shoving her hand toward his face. “I just got airbrushing and tips done yesterday, and now one of them is chipped!!!”

Weiss just stared at the woman, doing a mental review of the past few hours. A gay bar. Getting bitten by some crazy freaks. And a woman who had just thrashed their two assailants complaining about a broken nail?” Shit, this was the clean sweep of weirdness.

Assailants…fight…the last cobwebs cleared from Weiss’ mind. “Vaughn!!”

Weiss rushed over to his partner, hands running over him looking for injuries. “Hey,” he said, giving Vaughn a light smack on his cheek. “Wake up, buddy.”

The woman pushed him aside, grabbing Vaughn’s neck, inspecting the wounds. With a sigh, she sat back. “Well, he’s not going to go all blood sucking and grodey any time soon- the vamp didn’t get his teeth in there for long enough. See,” she said, gesturing to Vaughn, “he’s already coming around.”

Weiss looked at the suddenly familiar blonde in disbelief. What the fuck was she talking about? Was she trying to say…

His freaky thoughts were broken off by a weak, “Weiss?”

“Hey, bud, you all right?”

“Yeah…just a little woozy. What the hell happened?”

“That’s a good question, maybe Ms. Summers here can help us out.” Weiss said as he helped Vaughn to his feet. “Who the hell were those guys?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “It’s not ‘who,’ you Neanderthals, it’s ‘what.’ I mean honestly, sharp fangs, super strength, biting your neck? Could you get a clue???”

“She’s not saying…” Vaughn began.

“Vampires,” Weiss finished for him. “You expect us to believe that we were fighting vampires.”

“Um, hello? I thought the FBI knew all about this stuff.”

“What makes you think we’re FBI,” Vaughn asked, obviously insulted.

Buffy rolled her eyes yet again. “Off the rack khakis, white sneakers, and Wal-Mart Hawaiian shirts. Need I say more?”

“Please,” Weiss retorted, “I got this shirt from Target.”

“Oh, then you must be CIA.”

Weiss and Vaughn just looked at each other.

“Didn’t you know that every agency has a fashion template?”

They shook their heads.

“How do you think I’ve avoided you guys for so long. You stick out like sore thumbs.”

“Speaking of which,” Vaughn said, “you are hereby placed in the custody of the CIA. Please come with us.”

Buffy looked at Vaughn, then looked at Weiss, and started laughing. Cackling.

“Ok, so I just saved your bacon from two Mardi Gras blood suckers and you think you’re going to be able to take me in?”

Weiss gave Vaughn a quick look and the pair launched themselves at Buffy…only to find themselves grasping thin air.

Shit, Weiss thought, she vaulted over us!!

“Now,” Buffy said when they turned around, “I’m going to leave you nice boys to enjoy Mardi Gras…and each other.”

Weiss watched Vaughn turn five shades of red. “We’re not…”

“Oh please,” Buffy replied with a wave her hand. “You were so petting his face,” she said, looking at Weiss. “Besides, I’m totally down with that sort of thing. I mean I have seen The Birdcage.”

“Anyway,” Buffy continued, ignoring their indignant sputtering, “Before I leave you boys to do your business, is there anything you’d like to know? I mean, I’m assuming there’s a reason you people are after me, right?”

“We’ve been told you’re a serial killer, stabbing your victims in the heart.”

“Um, don’t you mean staking them?”

Weiss looked at Vaughn, Dixon’s words from the briefing coming back to him: “The weapons were never found and forensic examinations were inconclusive.”

Shit. He and Vaughn hadn’t been given any of the autopsies of the victims. And they weren’t told anything about the weapon. Yeah, right, like the CIA didn’t know what they were dealing with.

Weiss was pissed. Real pissed. And one look at his partner told him that Vaughn felt the same exact way.

“So let me get this straight,” Weiss said. “Those guys,” he said, pointing at the still figures on the ground, “and the others the CIA said you killed, were all killed the same way, a wooden stake to the heart?”

“Um, duh! How many ways do you know of to kill a vampire?”

Weiss shrugged his shoulders, “Good point, I guess.”

“Wait,” Vaughn said, “you believe her?”

“Vaughn, you were in dreamland for most of that sharks/jets fight. You didn’t see the fangs on those guys. You didn’t watch them hiss at each other and climb up the walls as they tried to give me a preternatural hickie. But hey,” Weiss said blithely, “if you want more proof, check out the side of your neck.”

Weiss watched grimly as Vaughn touched the bleeding indentations. “Hey,” he said weakly, “if we can believe in this Rambaldi crap…”

“Rambaldi?” Buffy asked. “You mean that crazy watcher who prophesized the coming of the Slayer? What’s up with all you guys wanting to know about him?”

Weiss and Vaughn stared at each other as realization dawned. Now they knew why the CIA was after a vampire slayer.

“Who else has been asking about Rambaldi?” Vaughn said sharply.

Buffy twirled a lock of hair between her fingers. “Look, I don’t know exactly who they are, but they gave me some wacky sort of name, like the Cupboard?”

Weiss’ pulse began to race. He knew he hadn’t gotten his ass kicked for nothing. “The Covenant, you mean?”

“Yeah, that’s it! I gotta say though, the woman who contacted me from their group was much better dressed than the two of you clowns. Still, she still had CIA shoes.”

“A mole?” Vaughn asked.

Weiss blanched. Shit. “What did she look like?” he asked, ignoring Vaughn’s quizzical expression.

“Hmm…blonde, cute, British accent? Oh, and a totally kickin’ leather jacket,” Buffy replied enthusiastically.

Oh god.

“Vaughn, give me your wallet.” Weiss said.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Just give me your damn wallet.” Weiss snapped. Oh shit, he hoped he was wrong about this. But if he was wrong, Vaughn was gonna be pissed at the implication.

Grabbing Vaughn’s wallet, he flipped through to find the right picture. “Is this her?” he asked Buffy.

“What the fuck…” Vaughn started to say.

Buffy took a look at the photo and said, “Yeah, that’s her. But the hair style she had was totally bitchin’, not this Pollyanna do she's got going on in the picture.”

Weiss watched as Vaughn turned sheet white and breathed one word.



Shit. Shit shit shit shit. That one word kept rolling through Weiss’ alcohol hazed brain. Huh, it was a pretty good word. Maybe he’d say it out loud.


Vaughn turned away from the drink he was nursing to look at Weiss. “You’re telling me.”

After they’d finished their “meeting” with Buffy, and after an aborted attempt to catch her one last time before she pranced off into the night, he and Vaughn had returned to Delilah’s Den in search of anything to numb their brains to what they’d just learned.

“Look, Bud, we don’t know that she’s telling the truth…” Weiss said weakly.

“What? About Lauren being a member of the Covenant?” Vaughn shook his head with a bitter chuckle. “Why should I be surprised? My whole fucking life is a lie.”

“Uh, barkeep?” Weiss called out, “I think we need another…what are you drinking?”

“A ‘beam me up, Scotty’.”

Weiss rolled his eyes, “Hell, no, no more pansy drinks for you my friend. You need a real drink.” Addressing the bartender once more, he said, “Two shot glasses, salt shaker, bottle of Cuervo, and a shit load of limes.”

“I don’t do tequila shots,” Vaughn said petulantly.

“You do tonight, my friend. You need to drink a real drink.”

Vaughn stared at the shot glass that had been placed in front of him, murmuring, “Nothing’s real anymore.”

Weiss tried his best not to roll his eyes at the drama, picking up the drinks and moving them to a secluded booth in the back of the bar. “Ok, fine, so your wife is a double agent and your marriage has been a lie. But,” he said, cutting off Vaughn’s comment, “this is sorta good news, right? I mean, not to be moving on before the body is cold, but this does open the door to other things.”

“You mean Sydney?” Vaughn scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“Ok, look, I like to brood as much as the next guy, but you can’t tell me that you’re not just a little happy that things with Lauren are going to be over so that you can get together with Spyhottie.”

Vaughn slammed his hands on the table, “Oh sure, so I’m just going to go back to headquarters and say, ‘Hey Syd, my wife, who I wouldn’t leave you for, just turned out to be a double agent. So, since there’s nothing in our way now, let’s get it on?’”

Weiss gave Vaughn a weak grin, “Yeah, something like that.”

Vaughn just shook his head. “No. I can’t do that to her. I can’t do that to me. Because it’s just not real.”

“Wait.” Weiss said, “You’re telling me that you and Sydney, the our-love-is-so-pure-it-conquers-a-two-year-death couple, aren’t going to happen?”

“But it didn’t conquer death, that’s the point. I gave up on her and married Lauren within a year. Whatever Syd and I had, it wasn’t strong enough. It’s almost like it wasn’t there at all. Like it wasn’t real.”

Ok, maybe Vaughn had a point. Seriously, with all the lies and secrets that came with being part of the CIA, relationships didn’t seem to be based in reality. But still, after all the angst and brow furrowing Vaughn had put into his relationship with Syd, Weiss couldn’t believe he was giving up. And just because he didn’t think what they had was real?

Weiss’d had too many beers to try to wrap his head around the larger philosophical questions of Syd and Vaughn. So he relied on what he knew best.

“You want something real?” he asked Vaughn, leaning in close to make sure he had his friend’s attention.

Vaughn’s head whipped up at the question, his face a few millimeters from Weiss’. “Yeah,” he murmured.

Weiss pushed the bottle of tequila in front of Vaughn in answer.

“Doing shots.” Vaughn said, obviously not convinced.

Weiss sighed. “Not just any type of shots. Tequila shots. Everything about these babies is real. Observe.”

Weiss licked the side of his hand, then sprinkled the salt. “See, tongue feels real. Salt feels reel.” He licked the salt. “Salt tastes real.”

Vaughn seemed to be transfixed by his actions. Huh. Weird. But at least Weiss had his attention.

Bringing the shot glass to his lips, Weiss tossed it back with one quick swig. “That burn is real,” he croaked. After he sucked on the lime, he proclaimed, “and that sour taste is definitely real. See?”

Weiss watched as Vaughn struggled to get his eyes in focus. “So…you’re saying the shot is real.”

“See for yourself,” Weiss said simply, pushing the tequila bottle down the table.


There were two Vaughns…no, wait, just one. But he was kinda like two and one at the same time. Heh heh. Cool. Maybe he should tell Vaughn about it.

“Dude,” he drawled, “there are like two of you, you know that?”

Vaughn draped his arm over Weiss, his head rolling back and forth. “Well,” he slurred close to Weiss’ ear, “there are three,” he held two fingers up for emphasis, “of you.”

Weiss broke into a hale of giggles that comes with 10 tequila shots in as many minutes.

“Vaughn, you are so drunk,” he said.

“Not that drunk,” Vaughn said indignantly. “Could…could still stick your…uh, kick your ass if I wanted to.”

Weiss went into convulsions of laughter at Vaughn’s “put up your dukes” move. Recovering, he placed his hands on top of Vaughn’s and lowered them to the table. “Bud, you couldn’t hit Jack Bristow’s ego with a two-by-four right now.”

Fuck, Weiss thought as he watched Vaughn’s expression droop. Why the hell did he have to bring up Spydaddy?

He started to apologize but Vaughn cut him off. “No, no, it’s ok. Remember?”

Weiss looked blankly at his friend.

Vaughn rolled his eyes and grabbed Weiss face between his hands. “Remember? She’s not real. This,” he said as he clumsily poured another shot and pushed it toward Weiss, “is real.”

“Right,” Weiss grinned and went to lick his hand. He was startled when Vaughn’s hand closed around his wrist, stopping his movement.

“Let me do it.”


Wait, he hadn’t said that out loud. Maybe he should try that again.


“Weiss,” Vaughn nagged, “let me do a body shot with you.”


“Uh, bud, don’t you usually do that with the ladies?”

Weiss felt an odd tingle slide across his skin as Vaughn looked him directly in the eyes. “Weiss, the women here certainly aren’t real. So that just leaves you.”

Weiss tried to argue with Vaughn’s logic, but tequila and a sharp pair of eyes were muddling his thoughts.

“Uh…I guess…”

Weiss watched in morbid fascination as Vaughn grabbed his wrist with a surprisingly steady hand and brought it close to his lips. He tried to chuckle and make some sort of silly “did you go to an all boys school?” comment, but he couldn’t get the words passed his lips.

He also couldn’t help the way his eyes closed when Vaughn’s tongue skimmed his skin.

Weiss’ eyes popped open in shock. And when he regained focus, all he could see was his friend’s eyes locked with his. Their gazes remained steady as salt was sprinkled and Vaughn’s tongue descended for the second time.

Lick. Shot. Suck.

What the fuck just happened??

“That felt pretty real, didn’t it?” Vaughn asked in a hushed voice.

“Uh, I guess…” Weiss stumbled.

“Maybe,” Vaughn said, “you should give it a try.”

Weiss nodded dumbly, his hand reaching for Vaughn’s before he could stop himself.

All he knew was that he wanted to see what Vaughn’s skin tasted like.

So he did.

He grabbed Vaughn’s hand roughly, pissed, annoyed, and fucking confused by what was happening. He licked his hand across Vaughn’s skin like a knife against a sharpening block, a quick intake of breath from the man across from him his only reward. The salt was barely dashed on before he took tongue to skin again.

But this time he didn’t slice…he caressed. Fuck, if this was the only time he was going to do this, he sure as hell wanted to remember what Vaughn taste.

Then he backed away, the tequila sliding down his throat and the lime in his mouth an afterthought.

The whole time their eyes had never left the other’s.

Then the anger Weiss felt when he first touched Vaughn came racing back. What the fuck were they playing with? He made a move to get up, to leave the table, to run away from the sensations that were flooding his mouth, tingling throughout his body, and flowing down a dark downward path.

But with one quick wrench of the hand that had reattached itself to his wrist, Weiss was back in his seat, his back pressed up against the booth, and Vaughn practically straddling his lap.

Weiss didn’t even have time to think as his best friend…his buddy…his fellow T & A ogler…began the attack of lips on lips.

Vaughn’s tongue traced the outline of Weiss’ lips then forced his way inside. One tongue searched another. The shivers that ran down his spine were revulsion, he told himself. Just like the hands that were grabbing Vaughn, pulling him closer, were actually pushing him way.

Just like the way his thrusts upwards were a way to push Vaughn off his lap.


Vaughn pulled back away slowly, the Cheshire grin on his lips widening as Weiss reflexively tried to pull him back toward their heat.

“What the fuck was that, Vaughn?” Weiss demanded huskily as his blood cooled and his breath steadied enough to form a coherent sentence.

“That,” Vaughn replied contentedly, “was real.”

Weiss stared at his…friend, a million thoughts stampeding through his brain. But the number one thought was that Vaughn didn’t look half as drunk as he had a few minutes before. And he looked pretty damn proud of himself too, like he’d taken down the Covenant and bagged Irina Derevko all in one fell swoop.

Then Weiss’ eyes widened in realization.

Vaughn could always drink him under the table.


The End

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