Bryce/Wes fic. Chuck, Angel the Series.
Title: Meeting of the Minds
Fandom: Chuck/Angel
For: nevcolleil, for the Holiday Wishlist meme
Pairing/Prompt: Bryce/Wes
Summary: A CIA agent meets vampires, a demon, and a guy with secrets.
Wes tried to puzzle out the well-worn page. "N'tog n'tokkla hahchtoh ehc," he spoke, trying the words out.
"Maybe it's the vocative. So it's 'N'tog n'tokklehnh hahchtoah ehc,'" Bryce suggested as he pulled off his shirt in front of the closet.
Wes tried not to be distracted by the sight as he murmured, "Yes, vocative, good thinking." It was annoying, in a respect, how good Bryce was at demon variations of ancient languages, especially since a few short weeks ago, Bryce didn't even know there were demon dialects.
He didn't even know there were demons. Not the literal kind.
-----
Bryce was a quick study. He was as good at Wes at armed combat and hand to hand, and Wes tried not to think about the fact that this man spent his life learning to do to humans what Wes learned to do to things. But he was dedicated, good at tactics, great at tricking vamps and other low level evil to revealing more information than they intended. And he wanted to know all of it - the history and the practical things both. He even wanted to help with the research -- he already knew several languages, including some fictional ones from some television program, and so he was able to do his share. He learned, in fact, so quickly that Wes felt a twinge of resentment -- if they had attended university together, he would have surely been outshone.
But there were good things about having Bryce there.
It was nice to have regularly conversations with someone. Besides monsters you were intimidating for info.
It was strange, but Wes got the impression that Bryce was just as alone as he was. There was obviously someone or something he cared about in Burbank. At first, Wes thought Bryce was being cautious, that he didn't want their demon-hunting project to lead danger to his loved ones. But when he offered to trail Bryce to make sure nothing evil followed him to that thing he loves, Bryce just said "It's not necessary."
There was something about the way he said it that made Wes think he understood something, that he had actually managed to see something about Bryce. Wes thought of Bryce's violence, of his determination, of his intelligence that occasionally verged on arrogance. Of his stubborn insistence on joining Wes when he found that monsters were real and that - more importantly - they could be killed. He could see what type of man Bruce was. He could see that if Bryce thought he were doing the right thing, he would do what was necessary, no matter the consequences. He could see that Bryce was perfectly happy to disappear into Wes' world, probably not telling anyone what he was doing or that they were the reason he was doing it.
Wes remembered the times when he has acted this way, he remembered all the reasons he is no longer with the ones he loves, and he understood how someone like Bryce might have ended up alone.
-----
Bryce is (at least) his equal in intelligence, clever comebacks, strategy, and speed and strength. Wes gets over his mild jealousy easily enough since they work well together. But Bryce is far more reserved than Wes is, he holds more back, and the idea that an American is making him look emotionally open by comparison is really quite irksome.
There are other things they have in common too. Wes notes with appreciation that he never has to tell Bryce to "mind the 700-year old book, please, it's not an advert for groceries," as he has so often before. Instead, Bryce gently slides the pad of his finger enough to softly turn each page, having both the respect and the skill to treat the tome as it deserves. He cleans his weapons with care as well, is vicious but careful to avoid injury when they spar, and asks thoughtful, penetrating questions when Wes tells him about the worlds he doesn't know. There is a delicacy to Bryce's work, a precision, that Wes find beautiful. As beautiful as the man himself.
---
In bed, they fall together easily. The constant near-death, the isolation, the mutual dependence on the job, the close quarters -- sleeping with someone on the team is common enough, Wes knows, and he suspects it's the same in Bryce's line of work too, since neither ever once needs to talk about how and why and what if and what then.
Most people whom Wesley has slept with have been mere acquaintances, really. Few knew who he was, much less what he did, and he was of course courteous with them, cautious because of his strength, because of their fragility, holding back even when he was asked to take on the appearance of roughness. Those more serious relationships tended to be with beings far stronger than him, stronger than humans could probably be. Their bodies always felt inescapable, their cold mass leaning onto him, into him, sheer power surrounding him until he felt like he was disappearing into them, until he felt like he was nothing.
With Bryce, it is different. Bryce is strong too, strong enough that a slip of the hand, a moment of lost control, could kill Wes, could take his breath from him, could bleed him, could do anything to him. It never does, of course - Bryce is too careful, and besides, it's not like Wes wouldn't push back. But the power, the darkness, of Bryce is not a wall, it's not a stone atop Wes' body, it's a mere flutter, a pulse. Even as Bryce is over him, fingers pushing dark spots into his hips, Wes sees his vulnerability, sees his throat, soft and exposed, sees Bryce's ribcage grow and contract as his lungs suck in air more and more quickly, hears the heartbeat, the sound of warm blood coursing through Bryce's flesh, his breakable, malleable flesh. It was an intoxicating blend, and it made Wes wonder why it was so rare, why he had so rarely had it until now.
-----
When the demon in Burbank was finally found and dispatched, Bryce left Wesley. They had been together for almost a year, but Wes wasn't surprised.
"It was good working with you," Wes said. "But you'll be glad to get to less macabre ways of saving the world. Not that you'd tell me anything about that," he said with a grin.
"It'll be nice to be somewhere where if you shoot something, you can be pretty sure it's dead." Bryce smiled wryly, but there was a sadness there. Wes wondered if perhaps it had been good for Bryce to find that sometimes good and evil were actually just exactly that -- no moral ambiguities, no tempation to imagine the humanity of the enemy. If maybe that was why the existence of real evil didn't seem so unbearable when Bryce first found out.
"Are you going to see those people before you leave town? The ones you care about?" It was only the second time Wes had mentioned them, but a distance slid over Bryce's eyes like a screen, as if the good-bye's were done and the Bryce he had lived with were already walking out the door.
"Not likely," Bryce said, and the discussion was done. Wes told him to call if he ran into any more problems of the supernatural kind, but they both knew that Bryce had learned enough to handle most things on his own, and if they saw each other again, it would probably be because some agency threw Wes into a dark room and demanded assistance. As much as Wes had developed a soft spot for the man, he saw him clearly, and he knew that Bryce was the kind who could love fiercely and protectively and even deeply, but it still wouldn't change the fact that the mission always came first.
Wes learned to recognize love like that long ago.
Before Bryce left, they kissed, and there was no fire in it this last time, nothing like the first time, every other time. There was only a dull slow warmth, aching, not quite an apology but something like it. Something close.
Then Bryce walked out the door.
By himself in his tiny room, Wes felt a pang of something. It would be sadder without Bryce there. A little colder, a little more dangerous.
He wasn't sure yet if it would feel more lonely.
Fandom: Chuck/Angel
For: nevcolleil, for the Holiday Wishlist meme
Pairing/Prompt: Bryce/Wes
Summary: A CIA agent meets vampires, a demon, and a guy with secrets.
Wes tried to puzzle out the well-worn page. "N'tog n'tokkla hahchtoh ehc," he spoke, trying the words out.
"Maybe it's the vocative. So it's 'N'tog n'tokklehnh hahchtoah ehc,'" Bryce suggested as he pulled off his shirt in front of the closet.
Wes tried not to be distracted by the sight as he murmured, "Yes, vocative, good thinking." It was annoying, in a respect, how good Bryce was at demon variations of ancient languages, especially since a few short weeks ago, Bryce didn't even know there were demon dialects.
He didn't even know there were demons. Not the literal kind.
-----
Bryce was a quick study. He was as good at Wes at armed combat and hand to hand, and Wes tried not to think about the fact that this man spent his life learning to do to humans what Wes learned to do to things. But he was dedicated, good at tactics, great at tricking vamps and other low level evil to revealing more information than they intended. And he wanted to know all of it - the history and the practical things both. He even wanted to help with the research -- he already knew several languages, including some fictional ones from some television program, and so he was able to do his share. He learned, in fact, so quickly that Wes felt a twinge of resentment -- if they had attended university together, he would have surely been outshone.
But there were good things about having Bryce there.
It was nice to have regularly conversations with someone. Besides monsters you were intimidating for info.
It was strange, but Wes got the impression that Bryce was just as alone as he was. There was obviously someone or something he cared about in Burbank. At first, Wes thought Bryce was being cautious, that he didn't want their demon-hunting project to lead danger to his loved ones. But when he offered to trail Bryce to make sure nothing evil followed him to that thing he loves, Bryce just said "It's not necessary."
There was something about the way he said it that made Wes think he understood something, that he had actually managed to see something about Bryce. Wes thought of Bryce's violence, of his determination, of his intelligence that occasionally verged on arrogance. Of his stubborn insistence on joining Wes when he found that monsters were real and that - more importantly - they could be killed. He could see what type of man Bruce was. He could see that if Bryce thought he were doing the right thing, he would do what was necessary, no matter the consequences. He could see that Bryce was perfectly happy to disappear into Wes' world, probably not telling anyone what he was doing or that they were the reason he was doing it.
Wes remembered the times when he has acted this way, he remembered all the reasons he is no longer with the ones he loves, and he understood how someone like Bryce might have ended up alone.
-----
Bryce is (at least) his equal in intelligence, clever comebacks, strategy, and speed and strength. Wes gets over his mild jealousy easily enough since they work well together. But Bryce is far more reserved than Wes is, he holds more back, and the idea that an American is making him look emotionally open by comparison is really quite irksome.
There are other things they have in common too. Wes notes with appreciation that he never has to tell Bryce to "mind the 700-year old book, please, it's not an advert for groceries," as he has so often before. Instead, Bryce gently slides the pad of his finger enough to softly turn each page, having both the respect and the skill to treat the tome as it deserves. He cleans his weapons with care as well, is vicious but careful to avoid injury when they spar, and asks thoughtful, penetrating questions when Wes tells him about the worlds he doesn't know. There is a delicacy to Bryce's work, a precision, that Wes find beautiful. As beautiful as the man himself.
---
In bed, they fall together easily. The constant near-death, the isolation, the mutual dependence on the job, the close quarters -- sleeping with someone on the team is common enough, Wes knows, and he suspects it's the same in Bryce's line of work too, since neither ever once needs to talk about how and why and what if and what then.
Most people whom Wesley has slept with have been mere acquaintances, really. Few knew who he was, much less what he did, and he was of course courteous with them, cautious because of his strength, because of their fragility, holding back even when he was asked to take on the appearance of roughness. Those more serious relationships tended to be with beings far stronger than him, stronger than humans could probably be. Their bodies always felt inescapable, their cold mass leaning onto him, into him, sheer power surrounding him until he felt like he was disappearing into them, until he felt like he was nothing.
With Bryce, it is different. Bryce is strong too, strong enough that a slip of the hand, a moment of lost control, could kill Wes, could take his breath from him, could bleed him, could do anything to him. It never does, of course - Bryce is too careful, and besides, it's not like Wes wouldn't push back. But the power, the darkness, of Bryce is not a wall, it's not a stone atop Wes' body, it's a mere flutter, a pulse. Even as Bryce is over him, fingers pushing dark spots into his hips, Wes sees his vulnerability, sees his throat, soft and exposed, sees Bryce's ribcage grow and contract as his lungs suck in air more and more quickly, hears the heartbeat, the sound of warm blood coursing through Bryce's flesh, his breakable, malleable flesh. It was an intoxicating blend, and it made Wes wonder why it was so rare, why he had so rarely had it until now.
-----
When the demon in Burbank was finally found and dispatched, Bryce left Wesley. They had been together for almost a year, but Wes wasn't surprised.
"It was good working with you," Wes said. "But you'll be glad to get to less macabre ways of saving the world. Not that you'd tell me anything about that," he said with a grin.
"It'll be nice to be somewhere where if you shoot something, you can be pretty sure it's dead." Bryce smiled wryly, but there was a sadness there. Wes wondered if perhaps it had been good for Bryce to find that sometimes good and evil were actually just exactly that -- no moral ambiguities, no tempation to imagine the humanity of the enemy. If maybe that was why the existence of real evil didn't seem so unbearable when Bryce first found out.
"Are you going to see those people before you leave town? The ones you care about?" It was only the second time Wes had mentioned them, but a distance slid over Bryce's eyes like a screen, as if the good-bye's were done and the Bryce he had lived with were already walking out the door.
"Not likely," Bryce said, and the discussion was done. Wes told him to call if he ran into any more problems of the supernatural kind, but they both knew that Bryce had learned enough to handle most things on his own, and if they saw each other again, it would probably be because some agency threw Wes into a dark room and demanded assistance. As much as Wes had developed a soft spot for the man, he saw him clearly, and he knew that Bryce was the kind who could love fiercely and protectively and even deeply, but it still wouldn't change the fact that the mission always came first.
Wes learned to recognize love like that long ago.
Before Bryce left, they kissed, and there was no fire in it this last time, nothing like the first time, every other time. There was only a dull slow warmth, aching, not quite an apology but something like it. Something close.
Then Bryce walked out the door.
By himself in his tiny room, Wes felt a pang of something. It would be sadder without Bryce there. A little colder, a little more dangerous.
He wasn't sure yet if it would feel more lonely.