It's Not You, It's Me
Title: It's Not You, It's Me
Fandom: Wanted, Shame
Rating: R
Pairing: Brandon/Wesley
Summary: Wesley saves Brandon's life in more than one way.
Warnings: attempted suicide
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt here for the lovely fahrenheit_f430.
“OI!” Wesley runs up to the bridge. “You! Hey! Yeah you! Stop!”
This isn’t something that he normally does, stopping men from killing themselves.
“I don’t think you want to do that!”
But this man, dressed in a suit that’s on just the wrong side of expensive, should not be on that side of any bridge.
“C’mon guy! Just- climb on over here. On this side.”
Wesley doesn’t know why he’s so compelled to help this stranger.
“Whatever’s happened to you, I bet you it’ll pass. You know, blow over and shit. Come on guy. You really, really don’t want to do this.”
Maybe it’s some new desire to stop getting walked on and this is his chance to shine.
“Hey! No, fuck, just- get- come on.” He grabs at the guys shoulders just as his grip was loosening on the railing.
Maybe he finally got sick of playing Hamlet, while the rest of the world played Fortinbras.
“Fucking hell! Get off me!” The guy struggles, trying to shake off Wesley, and really, it’s a very precarious situation; if he manages, Wesley may as well be thrown off the bridge with him.
Maybe he’s finally trying to be “The Man” Barry is always calling him.
Wesley shakes his head and yells “I really don’t think you want to do this guy!” while his arms slide across the his chest, fingers tangling in his too expensive tie.
Maybe he’s trying to be more than what his anxiety medication and pathetic disposition make him.
His grip tightens. “Just- c’mon. Promise you’ll not- that you’ll get-”
“GET OFF. You don’t want to fucking touch me. I don’t want you to fucking touch me!” And the guy tries to shake Wesley off again.
Maybe he finally grew a set.
“C’mon guy- you really don’t want to jump. Just get over here. On the other side.”
“Fuck you!”
“You know what? Fine. Fucking off yourself. See what I care.”
He takes a few steps back and taps his foot, counts the seconds, trying to wait for the inevitable, but will vehemently deny it if asked.
Whatever the reason, he’s glad for it. Fucking ecstatic, because he’s never fucked like this before. Slow burn and sweet nothings.
“Oh.” He watches as the man lets go of the railing. “Oh fuck.” And jumps off after him.
The roll of his hips being met every time and pulling sound after breathy moan.
For a moment, the world slows. It’s the magic of Wesley’s mutation. The world feels so much slower with superhuman reflexes and the world feels so much smaller when he manages to catch up to the guy and wrap his arms around his waist just as they hit the water.
The way his breath catches in his throat when legs tighten their grip on his waist.
Wesley wonders if maybe he’s broken a rib or two at the impact because it hurts like nothing he’s felt before. And distantly, he knows that it won’t matter if he doesn’t break the surface soon.
The constant press of his mouth to skin, to anything he can reach.
When Wesley does manage to break the surface he takes huge gulps of air into his burning lungs.
“Fuck- why?”
He looks to the guy.
“What?”
“Fuck you! I wanted to die.” The guy splashes Wesley. “Fuck you!”
The repeated reassurements of this is me Brandon, it’s all me me me never you could never be you want you need you pressed into his mind like a brand.
“Wh-what?”
“I fucking deserve to, you fucker.”
The look he’s given when he takes special care to hold Brandon’s hands above his head; away from everything.
“Calm down.” Wesley swims closer to him. “You need to- fuck- we need to get out of the water.”
“Fuck you. I needed this. And get off me.”
But the guy’s struggling only makes Wesley hold on tighter.
And the way Brandon’s repeats it’s all you like it’s his mantra and his final wish.
When they’ve made it back to shore and Wesley’s shivering, the guy turns to him and says:
“Brandon.”
Wesley cocks his head to the side in confusion at first but then gets it and smiles this smile that’s part relief, part absolute drained tiredness, and part coming home.
“Wesley.” He says and sticks out his shaking hand.
Brandon doesn’t take it. He just stares, then coughs something loud and maybe slightly obnoxious; his hand lingering on him mouth for maybe a moment too long.
The look in Brandon’s eyes when Wesley’s pressed nose to nose with him. All pleading and want. And it burns; Wesley has never been needed before.
They’re at a diner when Wesley asks Brandon “what’s your story?”. And Brandon scratches at his cheek and under his chin before saying “you know, you can just leave. The doors over there.” and points his finger. But Wesley just smiles this wry little thing and says “I think I’ll just stay here.” and doesn’t tell Brandon that he wouldn’t leave, not for a second, and it’s not just because he doesn’t trust him be in Brooklyn alone right now.
The hitch of and halt of Brandon’s breath when Wesley presses in deeper. The way his grip tightens on his shoulders and around his hips.
“What d’ya think about mutants?”
Brandon snorts. “Mutants?” He rubs at his face. “Guess they’re alright. I mean, I- they’re alright.”
“Have you ever met one?”
Something goes dark in Brandon’s eyes and it’s not lost on Wesley. Before he can answer, Wesley takes a chance and says:
“I’m one,” And only for a moment does he look over to the left of Brandon’s head than directly at him. “a mutant.”
“Oh.”
The way Brandon’s eyes shoot open when he comes, crying out Wesley’s names like a prayer.
“No one’s ever lasted this long.”
Wesley trains his eyes on Brandon with a questioning glance.
“Huh?”
Brandon rolls his eyes.
“No one has lasted this long before.” He repeats with a sigh.
“Lasted what?”
“Me.”
Wesley squints his eyes and his mouth turn down into a half frown.
“What do you mean?”
“Me. This.” Brandon spreads his fingers over the table, trailing patterns across its’ surface. “My- this.” He takes his hands back and into his lap.
Wesley turns his glaze down. There’s a thin film, powdery and a muted grey, where Brandon touched.
Wesley runs a finger across his bottom lip and looks up to Brandon. The question on the tip of his tongue. Brandon’s mouth tugs downward and he cracks his fingers before saying:
“That’s mine. Pollen.” Brandon’s eyes go from Wesley’s down to his hands.
“Yeah? And what does it do?” Wesley had met a couple of different pollinates before, all able to pollinate different things- flowers, trees and the like.
And maybe it was the wrong thing to say because Brandon’s nearly shouting:
“I’m a walking, talking fucking aphrodisiac. I can’t fucking touch anyone.”
Wesley freezes at that, and after a moment:
“But I can touch you.” His fingers find their ways to the pollen on the table, waits a beat then: “Nothing.”
The breathlessness and glazed over expression when he looks down at Brandon. And thinks fuck, he may be the most beautiful- but stops there, he can’t- won’t- follow that train of thought. At least right now.
Wesley’s sorting of laughing but not really and maybe smiling a little too wide with his hand halfway to touching Brandon’s shoulder.
“That was good.” He’s leaning in closer. “Really good. Now try again.”
And Brandon’s shaking but his fingers find their way to Wesley’s cheek and holds.
The softly spoken hey, hey as his fingers trail their way down Brandon’s face, wiping at stray tears. The it’s alright when he leans down to press his lips onto Brandon’s in a not quiet kiss and mouths the words you’re okay and my turn babe and things that neither of them are quiet prepared to really say or hear.
“See? You’re more than just your mutation. You better than it. You can control it. You can-”
And suddenly, Brandon’s on him. Holding him like he would float away and disappear if he let go.
The feel of Brandon’s skin as he grabs at his arm when he makes a move to stand up.
The look Brandon gives him when he says stay.
The quiet hours afterward when he and Brandon just lie there, with Wesley thinking this is fucking magical- fucking beauty- could stay here forever and Brandon thinking he’s so- I’m more than just- can’t begin to I think I- need him.
Fandom: Wanted, Shame
Rating: R
Pairing: Brandon/Wesley
Summary: Wesley saves Brandon's life in more than one way.
Warnings: attempted suicide
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt here for the lovely fahrenheit_f430.
“OI!” Wesley runs up to the bridge. “You! Hey! Yeah you! Stop!”
This isn’t something that he normally does, stopping men from killing themselves.
“I don’t think you want to do that!”
But this man, dressed in a suit that’s on just the wrong side of expensive, should not be on that side of any bridge.
“C’mon guy! Just- climb on over here. On this side.”
Wesley doesn’t know why he’s so compelled to help this stranger.
“Whatever’s happened to you, I bet you it’ll pass. You know, blow over and shit. Come on guy. You really, really don’t want to do this.”
Maybe it’s some new desire to stop getting walked on and this is his chance to shine.
“Hey! No, fuck, just- get- come on.” He grabs at the guys shoulders just as his grip was loosening on the railing.
Maybe he finally got sick of playing Hamlet, while the rest of the world played Fortinbras.
“Fucking hell! Get off me!” The guy struggles, trying to shake off Wesley, and really, it’s a very precarious situation; if he manages, Wesley may as well be thrown off the bridge with him.
Maybe he’s finally trying to be “The Man” Barry is always calling him.
Wesley shakes his head and yells “I really don’t think you want to do this guy!” while his arms slide across the his chest, fingers tangling in his too expensive tie.
Maybe he’s trying to be more than what his anxiety medication and pathetic disposition make him.
His grip tightens. “Just- c’mon. Promise you’ll not- that you’ll get-”
“GET OFF. You don’t want to fucking touch me. I don’t want you to fucking touch me!” And the guy tries to shake Wesley off again.
Maybe he finally grew a set.
“C’mon guy- you really don’t want to jump. Just get over here. On the other side.”
“Fuck you!”
“You know what? Fine. Fucking off yourself. See what I care.”
He takes a few steps back and taps his foot, counts the seconds, trying to wait for the inevitable, but will vehemently deny it if asked.
Whatever the reason, he’s glad for it. Fucking ecstatic, because he’s never fucked like this before. Slow burn and sweet nothings.
“Oh.” He watches as the man lets go of the railing. “Oh fuck.” And jumps off after him.
The roll of his hips being met every time and pulling sound after breathy moan.
For a moment, the world slows. It’s the magic of Wesley’s mutation. The world feels so much slower with superhuman reflexes and the world feels so much smaller when he manages to catch up to the guy and wrap his arms around his waist just as they hit the water.
The way his breath catches in his throat when legs tighten their grip on his waist.
Wesley wonders if maybe he’s broken a rib or two at the impact because it hurts like nothing he’s felt before. And distantly, he knows that it won’t matter if he doesn’t break the surface soon.
The constant press of his mouth to skin, to anything he can reach.
When Wesley does manage to break the surface he takes huge gulps of air into his burning lungs.
“Fuck- why?”
He looks to the guy.
“What?”
“Fuck you! I wanted to die.” The guy splashes Wesley. “Fuck you!”
The repeated reassurements of this is me Brandon, it’s all me me me never you could never be you want you need you pressed into his mind like a brand.
“Wh-what?”
“I fucking deserve to, you fucker.”
The look he’s given when he takes special care to hold Brandon’s hands above his head; away from everything.
“Calm down.” Wesley swims closer to him. “You need to- fuck- we need to get out of the water.”
“Fuck you. I needed this. And get off me.”
But the guy’s struggling only makes Wesley hold on tighter.
And the way Brandon’s repeats it’s all you like it’s his mantra and his final wish.
When they’ve made it back to shore and Wesley’s shivering, the guy turns to him and says:
“Brandon.”
Wesley cocks his head to the side in confusion at first but then gets it and smiles this smile that’s part relief, part absolute drained tiredness, and part coming home.
“Wesley.” He says and sticks out his shaking hand.
Brandon doesn’t take it. He just stares, then coughs something loud and maybe slightly obnoxious; his hand lingering on him mouth for maybe a moment too long.
The look in Brandon’s eyes when Wesley’s pressed nose to nose with him. All pleading and want. And it burns; Wesley has never been needed before.
They’re at a diner when Wesley asks Brandon “what’s your story?”. And Brandon scratches at his cheek and under his chin before saying “you know, you can just leave. The doors over there.” and points his finger. But Wesley just smiles this wry little thing and says “I think I’ll just stay here.” and doesn’t tell Brandon that he wouldn’t leave, not for a second, and it’s not just because he doesn’t trust him be in Brooklyn alone right now.
The hitch of and halt of Brandon’s breath when Wesley presses in deeper. The way his grip tightens on his shoulders and around his hips.
“What d’ya think about mutants?”
Brandon snorts. “Mutants?” He rubs at his face. “Guess they’re alright. I mean, I- they’re alright.”
“Have you ever met one?”
Something goes dark in Brandon’s eyes and it’s not lost on Wesley. Before he can answer, Wesley takes a chance and says:
“I’m one,” And only for a moment does he look over to the left of Brandon’s head than directly at him. “a mutant.”
“Oh.”
The way Brandon’s eyes shoot open when he comes, crying out Wesley’s names like a prayer.
“No one’s ever lasted this long.”
Wesley trains his eyes on Brandon with a questioning glance.
“Huh?”
Brandon rolls his eyes.
“No one has lasted this long before.” He repeats with a sigh.
“Lasted what?”
“Me.”
Wesley squints his eyes and his mouth turn down into a half frown.
“What do you mean?”
“Me. This.” Brandon spreads his fingers over the table, trailing patterns across its’ surface. “My- this.” He takes his hands back and into his lap.
Wesley turns his glaze down. There’s a thin film, powdery and a muted grey, where Brandon touched.
Wesley runs a finger across his bottom lip and looks up to Brandon. The question on the tip of his tongue. Brandon’s mouth tugs downward and he cracks his fingers before saying:
“That’s mine. Pollen.” Brandon’s eyes go from Wesley’s down to his hands.
“Yeah? And what does it do?” Wesley had met a couple of different pollinates before, all able to pollinate different things- flowers, trees and the like.
And maybe it was the wrong thing to say because Brandon’s nearly shouting:
“I’m a walking, talking fucking aphrodisiac. I can’t fucking touch anyone.”
Wesley freezes at that, and after a moment:
“But I can touch you.” His fingers find their ways to the pollen on the table, waits a beat then: “Nothing.”
The breathlessness and glazed over expression when he looks down at Brandon. And thinks fuck, he may be the most beautiful- but stops there, he can’t- won’t- follow that train of thought. At least right now.
Wesley’s sorting of laughing but not really and maybe smiling a little too wide with his hand halfway to touching Brandon’s shoulder.
“That was good.” He’s leaning in closer. “Really good. Now try again.”
And Brandon’s shaking but his fingers find their way to Wesley’s cheek and holds.
The softly spoken hey, hey as his fingers trail their way down Brandon’s face, wiping at stray tears. The it’s alright when he leans down to press his lips onto Brandon’s in a not quiet kiss and mouths the words you’re okay and my turn babe and things that neither of them are quiet prepared to really say or hear.
“See? You’re more than just your mutation. You better than it. You can control it. You can-”
And suddenly, Brandon’s on him. Holding him like he would float away and disappear if he let go.
The feel of Brandon’s skin as he grabs at his arm when he makes a move to stand up.
The look Brandon gives him when he says stay.
The quiet hours afterward when he and Brandon just lie there, with Wesley thinking this is fucking magical- fucking beauty- could stay here forever and Brandon thinking he’s so- I’m more than just- can’t begin to I think I- need him.