Turnabout Is Fair Play
Author: emocezi
Title: Turnabout Is Fair Play.
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1455
Disclaimer: I do not own The Losers nor do I make a profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: Holy shit you guys. I wrote Roque/Clay. How the fuck did that happen? *blinks in astonishment* I personally put the blame on super_seme04 just because I can. I was talking with her about Roque going off with a guy and Clay going mad with jealously...and then this happened.
Clay ground his teeth and looked at his watch again. He was due for a briefing in ten minutes and his SIC still wasn't on base. Everyone else was here, sitting around and waiting for their orders to be delivered, waiting to be shipped out to the asscrack of the world to do a job no one else wanted. It wasn't like Roque to be late. Roque was usually the one standing here, tapping his foot with a murderous expression when Clay strolled through the doors five minutes before he had to be anywhere.
Clay took a breath, trying to calm himself, then inhaled sharply when Roque walked through the door. He looked relaxed and well kept. The smirk on his face and the bounce in his step telling Clay exactly why his SIC was so relaxed after two weeks on leave. It wasn't uncommon for Roque to come back on base from one night stands, so Clay left it at that and prepared to be thrown into the middle of another civil war for the good of his country.
Roque had kept shifting on his chair like he couldn't get comfortable, and it wasn't until the end of the briefing that Clay had caught a whiff of a deodorant brand that wasn't Roque's. He would rather be punched in the face then admit that he knew what brand of everything Roque preferred, from shampoo to laundry detergent.
Roque hadn't been out fucking through any number of bars. Roque had been out getting fucked. apparently for two weeks. Clay ground his teeth harder until the XO looked over, an raised eyebrow and a smirk daring Clay to say something in front of the General that wouldn't sound like a couple fight. DADT had been repealed for over a month now, and there was nothing to be said that couldn't be said later, in private.
“Have fun on your leave?” Clay asked after they'd both saluted and were given permission to leave the room.
“I didn't end up in the hospital for two days.” Roque said smoothly, casually admitting that he'd been keeping tabs on Clay. “I count that as a bonus.”
“Where were you?”
“San Francisco.” Roque grinned, a predatory leer that always made Clay's heart beat a little faster. “Met a nice guy who's got a thing for uniforms. So I stuck around to see what it's like to be treated right. He didn't disappoint.”
Clay bit his cheek until he could taste blood, not wanting to get into an argument here on base. He stormed through the door, glowering at the trio playing cards in the middle of the room. Pooch paused in throwing a handful of pretzels into the pot and glanced at Jensen who's lips twitched in a badly hidden smirk.
“Roque, John texted me his number. Said you could call him any time, even if it's just to talk.” Jensen reported solemnly, turning his attention back to his cards and avoiding any eye contact with Clay.
“He seems like a nice guy.” Cougar added, his poker face on when he looked at Clay.
“You should keep him around. A guy like him would keep you grounded when you get stateside.” Pooch put in his two cents and nibbled on a pretzel, staring down at his cards like they were going to pull a knife and demand his wallet at any second.
“You.....all knew?” Clay asked, voice dangerously soft. Jensen of course had no sense of self preservation and smiled guilelessly up at the Colonel.
“Well yeah. John is one of my friends. We went though basic together and then he blew out his knee playing football against the Navy team.” The hacker shrugged. “He kept asking after that hot black dude on my team. I figured it wasn't Pooch, cause he's kind of a shrimp.” Jensen snickered, holding up a hand to deflect the half hearted blow from Pooch.
Clay could feel his face turning red from both the embarrassment and anger he was trying to keep bottled up. He had no right to get pissed off when he regularly went out of his way to make Roque jealous. But for some reason this seemed different, more calculated and deliberate. Like they were trying to teach Clay a life lesson.
“Pack up Losers. We're heading out in twelve hours.”
“Sir yes Sir.” Jensen saluted sarcastically, then went back to finishing the poker game. Not that Clay expected any of his men to snap to attention. They'd been trained to move on a moments notice, and twelve hours was the equivalent of a month to finish getting ready.
XxX XxX
“Never thought you were the type of guy to stick it out with one person for two weeks.” Clay remarked casually, getting eyes on the target.
“Guess I just needed to meet the right man.” Roque said mildly, lips twitching when Jensen and Pooch both broke into a round of 'ooooooh'ing. “Quiet you assholes, you want to get noticed?”
“Two weeks?”
“Best two weeks of my life. That man can cook like you wouldn't believe.” Roque moved his toothpick to the other side of his mouth and smirked. “Got a mouth like a fuckin' vacuum too.”
“Okay, that was TMI.” Pooch announced and Jensen lit up like the fourth of July. A single scalding glare from Clay subdued him and he lapsed back into silence.
“Got eyes on the target.” Clay announced suddenly. “We move in three.”
“Sure boss.” Pooch headed back for the Humvee, leaving Jensen behind to fend for himself.
XxX XxX
Seventy two hours later they had their Zambian drug lord, alive and in zipcuffs. They made it to rendezvous with only mosquito bites and scratches from jungle thorns. They were dirty and stunk like the inside of a septic tank from having to crawl through the degraded sewer system to reach the inner walls of the man's proverbial castle. But considering how their missions usually went, they counted this one as a win.
One six hour plane ride later found the Losers at an English army base taking hot showers. Fourteen solid hours of sleep had them feeling slightly more human again, and the possibility of English Fish and Chips had Jensen dragging Cougar off base by his ponytail. Pooch wandered off to find a souvenir for Jolene, which left Clay and Roque.
Clay didn't want to have The Talk with Roque. They were both consenting adults who weren't in any sort of relationship whatsoever save for the sometimes-they-fell-into-bed-when-it-was-most-convenient-for-both-parties kind. But dammit, Roque was his. He wasn't allowed to just fall into the bed of some jackoff with a uniform fetish. It didn't matter that Clay routinely ran off after every crazy woman that breathed in his direction.
“So...” He began, words catching in his throat when Roque stared straight into his eyes. There was something volatile about the man that had Clay wanting to try and cage him. Make him play by other rules, keep him chained up and waiting until Clay saw fit to release him. But Roque didn't play by those rules, he didn't play by any rules but his own.
“Let me guess. If I throw away John's number and promise never to see him again, you won't go crawling back to Teresa the moment she crooks her finger your way.” Damn him, he had to play the Teresa card. “Come on Clay, we both know how this one plays out. You don't want to be chained down and there's only so much of your bullshit I can take.”
“I just don't want to see you get hurt.” Clay winced even as he said it. Roque blinked at him once, then threw back his head and laughed until he ran out of breath.
“You're such an asshole Clay.” There was no malice in the words and instead of sticking around to talk about any sort of relationship they might be able to have if they worked at it, Roque got up and left. Whistling while he walked, which was terrifying as it signaled Roque was in a good mood. People had died horrifying deaths while Roque was in a good mood. Of course, they had died worse deaths when he was in a bad mood, but seeing him almost happy was odd.
Clay sighed and got up to borrow one of Jensen's spare laptops to check his email. Maybe there was a message from Teresa, or Emma, or Simone. Something that would take his mind off of Roque and the new issues he'd given Clay.
Title: Turnabout Is Fair Play.
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1455
Disclaimer: I do not own The Losers nor do I make a profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: Holy shit you guys. I wrote Roque/Clay. How the fuck did that happen? *blinks in astonishment* I personally put the blame on super_seme04 just because I can. I was talking with her about Roque going off with a guy and Clay going mad with jealously...and then this happened.
Clay ground his teeth and looked at his watch again. He was due for a briefing in ten minutes and his SIC still wasn't on base. Everyone else was here, sitting around and waiting for their orders to be delivered, waiting to be shipped out to the asscrack of the world to do a job no one else wanted. It wasn't like Roque to be late. Roque was usually the one standing here, tapping his foot with a murderous expression when Clay strolled through the doors five minutes before he had to be anywhere.
Clay took a breath, trying to calm himself, then inhaled sharply when Roque walked through the door. He looked relaxed and well kept. The smirk on his face and the bounce in his step telling Clay exactly why his SIC was so relaxed after two weeks on leave. It wasn't uncommon for Roque to come back on base from one night stands, so Clay left it at that and prepared to be thrown into the middle of another civil war for the good of his country.
Roque had kept shifting on his chair like he couldn't get comfortable, and it wasn't until the end of the briefing that Clay had caught a whiff of a deodorant brand that wasn't Roque's. He would rather be punched in the face then admit that he knew what brand of everything Roque preferred, from shampoo to laundry detergent.
Roque hadn't been out fucking through any number of bars. Roque had been out getting fucked. apparently for two weeks. Clay ground his teeth harder until the XO looked over, an raised eyebrow and a smirk daring Clay to say something in front of the General that wouldn't sound like a couple fight. DADT had been repealed for over a month now, and there was nothing to be said that couldn't be said later, in private.
“Have fun on your leave?” Clay asked after they'd both saluted and were given permission to leave the room.
“I didn't end up in the hospital for two days.” Roque said smoothly, casually admitting that he'd been keeping tabs on Clay. “I count that as a bonus.”
“Where were you?”
“San Francisco.” Roque grinned, a predatory leer that always made Clay's heart beat a little faster. “Met a nice guy who's got a thing for uniforms. So I stuck around to see what it's like to be treated right. He didn't disappoint.”
Clay bit his cheek until he could taste blood, not wanting to get into an argument here on base. He stormed through the door, glowering at the trio playing cards in the middle of the room. Pooch paused in throwing a handful of pretzels into the pot and glanced at Jensen who's lips twitched in a badly hidden smirk.
“Roque, John texted me his number. Said you could call him any time, even if it's just to talk.” Jensen reported solemnly, turning his attention back to his cards and avoiding any eye contact with Clay.
“He seems like a nice guy.” Cougar added, his poker face on when he looked at Clay.
“You should keep him around. A guy like him would keep you grounded when you get stateside.” Pooch put in his two cents and nibbled on a pretzel, staring down at his cards like they were going to pull a knife and demand his wallet at any second.
“You.....all knew?” Clay asked, voice dangerously soft. Jensen of course had no sense of self preservation and smiled guilelessly up at the Colonel.
“Well yeah. John is one of my friends. We went though basic together and then he blew out his knee playing football against the Navy team.” The hacker shrugged. “He kept asking after that hot black dude on my team. I figured it wasn't Pooch, cause he's kind of a shrimp.” Jensen snickered, holding up a hand to deflect the half hearted blow from Pooch.
Clay could feel his face turning red from both the embarrassment and anger he was trying to keep bottled up. He had no right to get pissed off when he regularly went out of his way to make Roque jealous. But for some reason this seemed different, more calculated and deliberate. Like they were trying to teach Clay a life lesson.
“Pack up Losers. We're heading out in twelve hours.”
“Sir yes Sir.” Jensen saluted sarcastically, then went back to finishing the poker game. Not that Clay expected any of his men to snap to attention. They'd been trained to move on a moments notice, and twelve hours was the equivalent of a month to finish getting ready.
XxX XxX
“Never thought you were the type of guy to stick it out with one person for two weeks.” Clay remarked casually, getting eyes on the target.
“Guess I just needed to meet the right man.” Roque said mildly, lips twitching when Jensen and Pooch both broke into a round of 'ooooooh'ing. “Quiet you assholes, you want to get noticed?”
“Two weeks?”
“Best two weeks of my life. That man can cook like you wouldn't believe.” Roque moved his toothpick to the other side of his mouth and smirked. “Got a mouth like a fuckin' vacuum too.”
“Okay, that was TMI.” Pooch announced and Jensen lit up like the fourth of July. A single scalding glare from Clay subdued him and he lapsed back into silence.
“Got eyes on the target.” Clay announced suddenly. “We move in three.”
“Sure boss.” Pooch headed back for the Humvee, leaving Jensen behind to fend for himself.
XxX XxX
Seventy two hours later they had their Zambian drug lord, alive and in zipcuffs. They made it to rendezvous with only mosquito bites and scratches from jungle thorns. They were dirty and stunk like the inside of a septic tank from having to crawl through the degraded sewer system to reach the inner walls of the man's proverbial castle. But considering how their missions usually went, they counted this one as a win.
One six hour plane ride later found the Losers at an English army base taking hot showers. Fourteen solid hours of sleep had them feeling slightly more human again, and the possibility of English Fish and Chips had Jensen dragging Cougar off base by his ponytail. Pooch wandered off to find a souvenir for Jolene, which left Clay and Roque.
Clay didn't want to have The Talk with Roque. They were both consenting adults who weren't in any sort of relationship whatsoever save for the sometimes-they-fell-into-bed-when-it-was-most-convenient-for-both-parties kind. But dammit, Roque was his. He wasn't allowed to just fall into the bed of some jackoff with a uniform fetish. It didn't matter that Clay routinely ran off after every crazy woman that breathed in his direction.
“So...” He began, words catching in his throat when Roque stared straight into his eyes. There was something volatile about the man that had Clay wanting to try and cage him. Make him play by other rules, keep him chained up and waiting until Clay saw fit to release him. But Roque didn't play by those rules, he didn't play by any rules but his own.
“Let me guess. If I throw away John's number and promise never to see him again, you won't go crawling back to Teresa the moment she crooks her finger your way.” Damn him, he had to play the Teresa card. “Come on Clay, we both know how this one plays out. You don't want to be chained down and there's only so much of your bullshit I can take.”
“I just don't want to see you get hurt.” Clay winced even as he said it. Roque blinked at him once, then threw back his head and laughed until he ran out of breath.
“You're such an asshole Clay.” There was no malice in the words and instead of sticking around to talk about any sort of relationship they might be able to have if they worked at it, Roque got up and left. Whistling while he walked, which was terrifying as it signaled Roque was in a good mood. People had died horrifying deaths while Roque was in a good mood. Of course, they had died worse deaths when he was in a bad mood, but seeing him almost happy was odd.
Clay sighed and got up to borrow one of Jensen's spare laptops to check his email. Maybe there was a message from Teresa, or Emma, or Simone. Something that would take his mind off of Roque and the new issues he'd given Clay.