Volatile; A Losers Fic
Title: Volatile
Fandom: The Losers (Movie/slightly comic)
Pairings: Clay/Aisha
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Hardly suggestive themes, but whatever.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Losers, unfortunately.
Spoilers: End of comic series!
Clay knew she was dangerous. Anyone with two eyes knew she was dangerous! And Clay had two eyes, if you didn’t count the one on the back of his head, as The Losers liked to joke. So what if he had a thing for volatile women? That’s not uncommon. If anyone saw her curvy body slinking up to them in those tight red pants- well, they’d have problems seeing the on-coming incendiary grenade too.
Aisha knew she was sexy and she used it against any man, or woman (Clay had seen it himself once), who glanced at her. It was almost unfair, anyone would agree. Sexy women should not be armed every second of their lives, it just ruins things. Clay had the scar to prove the unfortunate placing of a throwing star she had on when the two got…intimate. Admittedly, there was something sexy about a hot woman wielding a huge automatic rifle or missile launcher. And sometimes her knowing every inch of a gun proved for some…interesting nights between her and Clay.
The signs were all there, Clay would admit. She asked too many questions, they went way beyond the normal “getting to know you” conversations. Not like Clay wanted to go through the “getting to know you” script again, he’d done it too many times, he was ready to write a resume and hand it to the women before they landed in his bed. Maybe that’s why he ignored the signs, he was probably too excited at the prospect of talking to a woman who was as exotic as the scenery he was often surrounded by and could talk his language. Often, Clay had to struggle to talk her language. Collecting ears? Counting teeth at a crash site? He admired how thorough she was but some things she said were just disturbing.
The biggest red flag should’ve shot up when they first met. It wasn’t every day you met a woman who could kick your ass. Every time Clay thought she’d give up, she’d just come right back at him with more fury than before. He should’ve known instantly that a woman who could successfully hide a gun from him, nearly wipe the dirty floor with his ass, and seem to have more fun when the room was being engulfed in flames, was more volatile than the others he’d encountered. Again, Clay was distracted. Exotic, curvy, completely badass, he couldn’t see flags, just stars when their bodies would slam together. Good god, he must’ve felt every muscle in that tanned body of hers.
She was in every way a weapon of mass destruction. Clay wished he could see Aisha work her magic on Max. That would’ve made The Losers’ job so much easier. Not to mention make Clay’s life longer. That was what irritated him the most. Sure, he killed her father. Sure, they agreed to “settle” things. But that was supposed to happen later, as in after Max was dead. Chucking an incendiary grenade at Clay while he wasn’t looking to take out both him and Max may’ve been efficient but, in Clay’s opinion, she pussied out. At least he didn’t die from Amber’s car bomb, that would’ve been embarrassing.
While Clay was happy that he died in the line of duty, he was a little pissed that he proved Roque’s point. Clay’s love for dangerous women always got him into trouble and this was definitely no exception. Pooch was the only man allowed to give Clay shit about Aisha because he was lucky enough to have a wife and not be attracted to Aisha. Whether they admitted it or not, all the other men were attracted to Aisha. You don’t have to trust a woman to want to have sex with her. If Clay had a wife he might’ve lived a little longer and have less grey hairs. Jensen once told Clay right before a mission that on average, married men lived at least ten years longer than single men, therefore if anyone would survive, it’d be Pooch. Yet another man on his team that Clay had proved right. Besides, if anyone married Aisha they would not live longer than a single man, by any means. She seemed like one of those women who would shoot you in the nuts for not taking out the trash. Not that Clay would’ve married Aisha or anything. That would’ve been crazy.
He decided to stop trying to make up excuses. Clay’s inability to look past Aisha’s brown eyes and see the murderous sociopath hiding be hind them was inexcusable. Because of his lust, he was now flying through the night, on fire, clutching another man. Not exactly how he pictured his “honorable” death. Within the last seconds of Clay’s life, he became a believer in the Seven Deadly Sins. Lust had kicked his ass yet again.
Fandom: The Losers (Movie/slightly comic)
Pairings: Clay/Aisha
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Hardly suggestive themes, but whatever.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Losers, unfortunately.
Spoilers: End of comic series!
Clay knew she was dangerous. Anyone with two eyes knew she was dangerous! And Clay had two eyes, if you didn’t count the one on the back of his head, as The Losers liked to joke. So what if he had a thing for volatile women? That’s not uncommon. If anyone saw her curvy body slinking up to them in those tight red pants- well, they’d have problems seeing the on-coming incendiary grenade too.
Aisha knew she was sexy and she used it against any man, or woman (Clay had seen it himself once), who glanced at her. It was almost unfair, anyone would agree. Sexy women should not be armed every second of their lives, it just ruins things. Clay had the scar to prove the unfortunate placing of a throwing star she had on when the two got…intimate. Admittedly, there was something sexy about a hot woman wielding a huge automatic rifle or missile launcher. And sometimes her knowing every inch of a gun proved for some…interesting nights between her and Clay.
The signs were all there, Clay would admit. She asked too many questions, they went way beyond the normal “getting to know you” conversations. Not like Clay wanted to go through the “getting to know you” script again, he’d done it too many times, he was ready to write a resume and hand it to the women before they landed in his bed. Maybe that’s why he ignored the signs, he was probably too excited at the prospect of talking to a woman who was as exotic as the scenery he was often surrounded by and could talk his language. Often, Clay had to struggle to talk her language. Collecting ears? Counting teeth at a crash site? He admired how thorough she was but some things she said were just disturbing.
The biggest red flag should’ve shot up when they first met. It wasn’t every day you met a woman who could kick your ass. Every time Clay thought she’d give up, she’d just come right back at him with more fury than before. He should’ve known instantly that a woman who could successfully hide a gun from him, nearly wipe the dirty floor with his ass, and seem to have more fun when the room was being engulfed in flames, was more volatile than the others he’d encountered. Again, Clay was distracted. Exotic, curvy, completely badass, he couldn’t see flags, just stars when their bodies would slam together. Good god, he must’ve felt every muscle in that tanned body of hers.
She was in every way a weapon of mass destruction. Clay wished he could see Aisha work her magic on Max. That would’ve made The Losers’ job so much easier. Not to mention make Clay’s life longer. That was what irritated him the most. Sure, he killed her father. Sure, they agreed to “settle” things. But that was supposed to happen later, as in after Max was dead. Chucking an incendiary grenade at Clay while he wasn’t looking to take out both him and Max may’ve been efficient but, in Clay’s opinion, she pussied out. At least he didn’t die from Amber’s car bomb, that would’ve been embarrassing.
While Clay was happy that he died in the line of duty, he was a little pissed that he proved Roque’s point. Clay’s love for dangerous women always got him into trouble and this was definitely no exception. Pooch was the only man allowed to give Clay shit about Aisha because he was lucky enough to have a wife and not be attracted to Aisha. Whether they admitted it or not, all the other men were attracted to Aisha. You don’t have to trust a woman to want to have sex with her. If Clay had a wife he might’ve lived a little longer and have less grey hairs. Jensen once told Clay right before a mission that on average, married men lived at least ten years longer than single men, therefore if anyone would survive, it’d be Pooch. Yet another man on his team that Clay had proved right. Besides, if anyone married Aisha they would not live longer than a single man, by any means. She seemed like one of those women who would shoot you in the nuts for not taking out the trash. Not that Clay would’ve married Aisha or anything. That would’ve been crazy.
He decided to stop trying to make up excuses. Clay’s inability to look past Aisha’s brown eyes and see the murderous sociopath hiding be hind them was inexcusable. Because of his lust, he was now flying through the night, on fire, clutching another man. Not exactly how he pictured his “honorable” death. Within the last seconds of Clay’s life, he became a believer in the Seven Deadly Sins. Lust had kicked his ass yet again.