|Mr. 288 (eider) wrote in areyougame,|
@ 2009-02-19 09:27:00
|Entry tags:||*xenogears, author: eider|
Middle of the Night, Xenogears (Bart/Billy)
Title: Middle of the Night
Word count: ~750.
Prompt: Consensual kidnapping, midnight at the oasis.
Summary: Sometimes Billy needs a little persuasion!
A/N: Just a bit of short fluff, but I couldn't resist the scenario.
Somewhere in the darkest hours of the night, when only the overnight midshipmen and the sisters of St. Sophia were awake, Billy was roused by a clamor at his door. He was already halfway across the room, blanket trailing from his hips and his pistol in his hand, when the door opened.
Bart (who had the key anyway, of course, and didn't even need to knock), blinked down the barrel of Billy's surprisingly steady sidearm. "Whoa, easy. Good morning, Billy Lee."
Still squinting, more asleep than awake, Billy didn't lower the gun. "This hardly qualifies as morning."
"Well, it's not yesterday any more, at least. " Bart was grinning now, having seen beyond the gun into the dimness of Billy's room and the unusually disheveled apparel of its occupant. "C'mon, get your pants on, we're going."
"It's hot," Billy said, hoisting the blanket a little higher, compromising his aim and letting Bart extricate the pistol from his fingers. "If you think I'm going to wear my flannel pajamas in this weather, you--"
"No, no." Holding the gun like he would have handled an angry desert scorpion, Bart maneuvered his way into the room. "If you wanted to go to Nisan wearing only your shorts, I'm not going to--"
"Bart!" Billy swatted away Bart's inquisitive fingers, or at least he tried to. He kept losing his grip on his blanket. Slowly, he was waking up. "What do you mean, go to Nisan?"
"I mean, we're going to Nisan. With or without your pants, it's up to you."
"To Nisan." Billy crossed his arms over his blanket in a last ditch attempt at maintaining his modesty and standing his ground. "And what if I tell you you're out of your mind, traveling that distance at this time of night? I doubt you'd even manage to get Fei out of bed."
"And what makes you think I'm inviting the others? Do you see anyone else here? This little jaunt is just for you and me."
"Y-you and me?" Billy stammered, unexpected heat creeping into his cheeks. Bart obviously had his attention. "What are you up to?"
"What, don't you trust me?" The pirate seemed to remember, at that moment, that he held a loaded gun in his hands. Just one inquisitive swivel, pointing the thing at the floor by Billy's feet, was all it took for Billy's eyes to go wide, and for all the blood to rush to Bart's head.
"You are out of your mind," Billy murmured, shrugging out of his blanket and making a dive for his pants. "Put that thing down before you hurt someone, all right? Just let me get dressed."
Bart didn't set the gun down, though, idly passing it from one hand to the other, as if he were admiring it. As if he could tell a Carbon-rifle from a Machiganater. "Never knew this was all it took to persuade you, Billy Lee."
Emerging from the shirt he was pulling down over his head, Billy made a face. "What, you waving my own gun at me--"
"It's working, isn't it?"
"Look," Billy said, testily, striding over and plucking the pistol away, thumbing the safety on and shoving the gun into its holster. "I don't know what you're up to, but you might have just asked me to go with you."
"And miss that look on your face?" It was Billy who had closed the distance between them, but Bart who made him realize it, not missing the way that Billy's breath caught when Bart moved just a breath nearer. He didn't pull away, though, when Bart ran his thumb over his cheekbone, imitating the blush that was reappearing there. "Not on your life."
Bart thought, at this juncture, that he probably ought to have been grinning cockily, or at least smirking. As it was, he couldn't stop looking at the other's face, thirsty for that look in his eyes-- the flicker of emotion underneath the annoyance and exasperation. Something sweet like uncertainty, some fluttery vulnerability that Bart knew that Billy would never show if he could help it.
Bart liked it when Billy couldn't help it.
There was almost a smile beginning at the corners of Billy's lips. He shook his head, so close now that his breath tickled Bart's throat, and Bart started to wonder precisely who couldn't help what. Billy tilted up his chin, and the smile was unmistakable now. "Well," he whispered, "are we going or aren't we?"