Original: "Of Glory, Gauze, and Gunslingers." Slash
So I had a major hardware catastrophe last night (though everything is totes cool now) and I realize it's not exactly Sunday still, but it's part of a three-day weekend (for those of us in the US anyway)? I'm hoping the mods will let this one slide through just this once, though obvs I'll take it down if that is their desire.
Anyway, finally, almost three months later, I finally have grimcognito 's gunslingers. I'm not sure they're really snuggly as they are much rougher than they started out....Anyway, hope you enjoy :)
Summary: Bastian isn't sure which will kill him first; the life of a gunslinger or Lester pretending they aren't in love.
“You shot me!” Even years on the western frontier couldn’t erase Bastian’s German accent.
Lester leaned close, pretending to study it. “Only a little,” he decided glibly.
Bastian gave one of the flustered harrumphs that Lester enjoyed provoking. “Only a little?! Mein Gott, there’s blood, you horse-schtupper,” he snapped.
Lester made no move to hide his laugh at Bastian’s curious choice of insults as he straddled the man. Ignoring Bastian’s continued blusteriness, he efficiently cleaned and bandaged the German gun-for-hire’s wound.
Bastian huffed gruffly at his lean accomplice, still straddling him, a far-off look on his face. “You could kiss it and make it better,” he teased brusquely.
Lester shot off his lap and fled the room. Apparently, Bastian thought - a little hurt - that was a hell no.
*~*~*
Bastian hissed as the alcohol burned each little scratch on his back. “Why is it thet I go tremping through briar bushes efter two thugs with more knives then brains while you get one little scout who trips over hisself end falls et your feet, in a pretty little meadow?” he growled distemperedly.
Lester poked his side rather unsympathetically but continued gently with the alcohol-soaked cotton. “You’re simply unlucky. They could’ve come my way just as well as yours. How could we have known you were over by a prickle patch?”
Bastian snorted disbelievingly. “You cen save your breath. Even if you didn’t know, I don’t doubt you would’ve chose thet way given a chence.”
Lester had no response to that, and simply continued dabbing at the little bloody scratches that covered him.
Even if it stung like hell, Bastian couldn’t help but revel in the brief closeness it afforded him.
*~*~*
Bastian jerked out of a deep sleep, hand immediately going to the pistol he kept under his pillow. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he peered into the shadows, looking for what had awakened him. His heart stopped momentarily as the flicker of the night lamp shone off a pair of deer-like eyes at the end of the bed.
He breathed a sigh of relief in the next moment as he realized it was only Lester. “How long heve you set there? It is still night, no?” he asked, yawning widely as he propped himself up on his elbows to better see Lester.
Instead of answering, Lester sat in an eerie, mute silence, expression unreadable with light reflecting off his eyes. Growing uneasy, Bastian shifted into a sitting position, leaning forward to try to shake Lester from his stupor.
He flinched back, gagging at the stink of alcohol that had washed over him as soon as he got close enough. “Phew! Lester. How much heve you drenk?” he asked incredulously. Lester continued to look at him, glassy-eyed, not making a sound or so much as twitching a muscle.
Frowning in concern, Bastian shoved his blankets off, stumbling half-blindly to the end of his bed. Cautiously, as though approaching a wounded, cornered animal, Bastian reached out a careful hand and gently shook Lester’s shoulder.
As though coming out of a trance, Lester turned his gaze slowly up at Bastian, eyes not completely focused. “Les,” Bastian trailed off. He waved a hand in front of Lester’s face, waiting to continue until he blinked several times and seemed to concentrate some sort of attention on Bastian. “Are you…” Bastian wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to ask, so he went with the obvious. “Are you well?”
Lester hesitated for a long moment and Bastian could see his mind fighting to determine the answer. He shook his head slowly, back and forth. “I…I don’t know.” He looked searchingly at Bastian, not seeming satisfied with whatever he found there. “You…you are…I just…don’t know.”
Bastian was forced to stumble back as Lester lurched to his feet, wavering unsteadily. He reached a hand out to brace his comrade, but Lester shoved away from him violently, staggering from the room, muttering nonsensically to himself.
Nonplussed, Bastian stood in the middle of his room for several long moments, staring at the door still swinging slowly after Lester’s rather sudden exit. Fighting back a jaw-cracking yawn, he decided that the wee hours of the morning were not the time to try to puzzle out the intricacies of Lester’s mind.
*~*~*
The knife lodged high in his thigh had the unmistakable look of one of Lester’s throwing knives. Bastian was less than pleased.
Instead of breaking his concentration to yell at his comrade, Bastian kept his focus on the man before him, who was more actively trying to bring about his demise. He wasn’t even entirely sure what they were currently fighting over, but he was pretty damn sure it had something to do with Lester and his big mouth. Again.
Sliding beneath his opponent’s sloppy defenses, Bastian slipped his knife between two of the man’s ribs, relishing in the stunned look on the man’s face as he lowered his gaze slowly to the blood quickly soaking his jacket. Bastian stepped back as the man gurgled out a last breath, already looking around for another target.
Blinking for several long moments, Bastian realized there was no one left standing but himself, and Lester, leaning against a wall, eyes over-bright and a slightly manic smile spread across his face.
Something snapped inside Bastian. In one smooth move, he yanked the knife from his leg, crossing the room in long strides and shoving Lester against the wall, bloody knife laid against his cheek. “Care to tell me how this ended up in my leg?” he growled, watching as Lester’s eyes strayed to the blade, smile dropping off his face.
“I-I…I didn’t…Bas…” Lester’s voice came out as a light gasp and Bastian realized he was probably leaning against a bruised rib, but he didn’t pull back. This had gone on long enough.
“Mebbe you cen tell me why I elweys end up hurt end you elweys are the reason. You do not make sense. I end up shot and scretched and stebbed end it elweys leads beck to you. You set in my room drunk in the night end leave without telling enything. It ends now.” Lester was stiff as a board, eyes wide as he tried to press back into the wall or slide away sideways. Bastian slammed him back against the wall, ignoring Lester’s gasp of pain. “Either slay me or schtupp me, but choose. I em tired of being bloody.”
The fight went out of Lester for a moment, all the tension draining from him. Then he surged forward, breaking from Bastian’s hold and grabbing the German gunslinger’s face between calloused hands. “Fine, then. But don’t complain when you can’t walk straight.”
The self-satisfied smirk on his face lasted for only a second before Bastian dropped the knife and pinned Lester to the wall, claiming his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss, ignoring the pain still radiating from his leg in favor of the finely-muscled man whose arms wrapped solidly around his neck. He took one of those too-distracting lips between his teeth, feeling smug as Lester melted against him, letting out a low groan.
Bastian pulled back, smirking as Lester struggled to focus on him. “I think we shell heve to see ebout who’s compleining.”
Anyway, finally, almost three months later, I finally have grimcognito 's gunslingers. I'm not sure they're really snuggly as they are much rougher than they started out....Anyway, hope you enjoy :)
Summary: Bastian isn't sure which will kill him first; the life of a gunslinger or Lester pretending they aren't in love.
“You shot me!” Even years on the western frontier couldn’t erase Bastian’s German accent.
Lester leaned close, pretending to study it. “Only a little,” he decided glibly.
Bastian gave one of the flustered harrumphs that Lester enjoyed provoking. “Only a little?! Mein Gott, there’s blood, you horse-schtupper,” he snapped.
Lester made no move to hide his laugh at Bastian’s curious choice of insults as he straddled the man. Ignoring Bastian’s continued blusteriness, he efficiently cleaned and bandaged the German gun-for-hire’s wound.
Bastian huffed gruffly at his lean accomplice, still straddling him, a far-off look on his face. “You could kiss it and make it better,” he teased brusquely.
Lester shot off his lap and fled the room. Apparently, Bastian thought - a little hurt - that was a hell no.
*~*~*
Bastian hissed as the alcohol burned each little scratch on his back. “Why is it thet I go tremping through briar bushes efter two thugs with more knives then brains while you get one little scout who trips over hisself end falls et your feet, in a pretty little meadow?” he growled distemperedly.
Lester poked his side rather unsympathetically but continued gently with the alcohol-soaked cotton. “You’re simply unlucky. They could’ve come my way just as well as yours. How could we have known you were over by a prickle patch?”
Bastian snorted disbelievingly. “You cen save your breath. Even if you didn’t know, I don’t doubt you would’ve chose thet way given a chence.”
Lester had no response to that, and simply continued dabbing at the little bloody scratches that covered him.
Even if it stung like hell, Bastian couldn’t help but revel in the brief closeness it afforded him.
*~*~*
Bastian jerked out of a deep sleep, hand immediately going to the pistol he kept under his pillow. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he peered into the shadows, looking for what had awakened him. His heart stopped momentarily as the flicker of the night lamp shone off a pair of deer-like eyes at the end of the bed.
He breathed a sigh of relief in the next moment as he realized it was only Lester. “How long heve you set there? It is still night, no?” he asked, yawning widely as he propped himself up on his elbows to better see Lester.
Instead of answering, Lester sat in an eerie, mute silence, expression unreadable with light reflecting off his eyes. Growing uneasy, Bastian shifted into a sitting position, leaning forward to try to shake Lester from his stupor.
He flinched back, gagging at the stink of alcohol that had washed over him as soon as he got close enough. “Phew! Lester. How much heve you drenk?” he asked incredulously. Lester continued to look at him, glassy-eyed, not making a sound or so much as twitching a muscle.
Frowning in concern, Bastian shoved his blankets off, stumbling half-blindly to the end of his bed. Cautiously, as though approaching a wounded, cornered animal, Bastian reached out a careful hand and gently shook Lester’s shoulder.
As though coming out of a trance, Lester turned his gaze slowly up at Bastian, eyes not completely focused. “Les,” Bastian trailed off. He waved a hand in front of Lester’s face, waiting to continue until he blinked several times and seemed to concentrate some sort of attention on Bastian. “Are you…” Bastian wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to ask, so he went with the obvious. “Are you well?”
Lester hesitated for a long moment and Bastian could see his mind fighting to determine the answer. He shook his head slowly, back and forth. “I…I don’t know.” He looked searchingly at Bastian, not seeming satisfied with whatever he found there. “You…you are…I just…don’t know.”
Bastian was forced to stumble back as Lester lurched to his feet, wavering unsteadily. He reached a hand out to brace his comrade, but Lester shoved away from him violently, staggering from the room, muttering nonsensically to himself.
Nonplussed, Bastian stood in the middle of his room for several long moments, staring at the door still swinging slowly after Lester’s rather sudden exit. Fighting back a jaw-cracking yawn, he decided that the wee hours of the morning were not the time to try to puzzle out the intricacies of Lester’s mind.
*~*~*
The knife lodged high in his thigh had the unmistakable look of one of Lester’s throwing knives. Bastian was less than pleased.
Instead of breaking his concentration to yell at his comrade, Bastian kept his focus on the man before him, who was more actively trying to bring about his demise. He wasn’t even entirely sure what they were currently fighting over, but he was pretty damn sure it had something to do with Lester and his big mouth. Again.
Sliding beneath his opponent’s sloppy defenses, Bastian slipped his knife between two of the man’s ribs, relishing in the stunned look on the man’s face as he lowered his gaze slowly to the blood quickly soaking his jacket. Bastian stepped back as the man gurgled out a last breath, already looking around for another target.
Blinking for several long moments, Bastian realized there was no one left standing but himself, and Lester, leaning against a wall, eyes over-bright and a slightly manic smile spread across his face.
Something snapped inside Bastian. In one smooth move, he yanked the knife from his leg, crossing the room in long strides and shoving Lester against the wall, bloody knife laid against his cheek. “Care to tell me how this ended up in my leg?” he growled, watching as Lester’s eyes strayed to the blade, smile dropping off his face.
“I-I…I didn’t…Bas…” Lester’s voice came out as a light gasp and Bastian realized he was probably leaning against a bruised rib, but he didn’t pull back. This had gone on long enough.
“Mebbe you cen tell me why I elweys end up hurt end you elweys are the reason. You do not make sense. I end up shot and scretched and stebbed end it elweys leads beck to you. You set in my room drunk in the night end leave without telling enything. It ends now.” Lester was stiff as a board, eyes wide as he tried to press back into the wall or slide away sideways. Bastian slammed him back against the wall, ignoring Lester’s gasp of pain. “Either slay me or schtupp me, but choose. I em tired of being bloody.”
The fight went out of Lester for a moment, all the tension draining from him. Then he surged forward, breaking from Bastian’s hold and grabbing the German gunslinger’s face between calloused hands. “Fine, then. But don’t complain when you can’t walk straight.”
The self-satisfied smirk on his face lasted for only a second before Bastian dropped the knife and pinned Lester to the wall, claiming his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss, ignoring the pain still radiating from his leg in favor of the finely-muscled man whose arms wrapped solidly around his neck. He took one of those too-distracting lips between his teeth, feeling smug as Lester melted against him, letting out a low groan.
Bastian pulled back, smirking as Lester struggled to focus on him. “I think we shell heve to see ebout who’s compleining.”