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Queer Eye for the Straight Guy

by Victoria P.

[Story Headers]

Posted: July 25, 2003


Queer Eye for the Straight Guy

"She's gone."

Vaughn's slurring slightly, but the words are clear. Weiss nods, leans Vaughn up against the wall, and fumbles for the keys to his apartment.

"I can't believe she's really gone," Vaughn says.

Weiss has no comforting words to give him. Instead, he unlocks the door and pulls Vaughn's arm over his shoulders. They move awkwardly, stumble through the doorway, and Vaughn slams Weiss into the wall.

The door bangs shut behind them, but Weiss barely notices, because Vaughn's mouth is on his, hot, hard, and desperate. He tastes of tequila and stale beer, but Weiss is too stunned to care.

Stubble scrapes against his skin, Vaughn's hands move up his chest to fasten on his shoulders, and he can hear himself making low, throaty noises that get lost in Vaughn's mouth. Their tongues slide against each other, sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine; Vaughn grinds against him and he responds, thrusting hard, his hands grabbing Vaughn's ass to make sure the friction doesn't stop.

Weiss is surprised, because he's fairly certain both he and Vaughn are straight, but maybe after five shots of tequila, gender melts away like inhibitions do.

Vaughn breaks the kiss and Weiss growls and yanks him back, planting sloppy kisses along Vaughn's jaw and mouth before pressing his head down to nestle in the crook where his neck becomes his shoulders. He threads his fingers through Vaughn's hair in a way he hopes is reassuring.

"It's gonna be okay," Weiss whispers in Vaughn's ear. Lying is easier when he can't see his face. Vaughn nods once and presses closer, as if he's trying to climb inside of Weiss's skin.

They thrust against each other roughly, and Vaughn mutters, "Too many clothes," which makes Weiss laugh.

Vaughn's hands are fumbling at Weiss's fly and he thinks that this has to be the most surreal thing that's ever happened to him, and considering some of the shit he's seen and heard recently, that's really saying something.

Then Vaughn's warm palm is slicking over the head of his cock, wrapping around him and stroking hard and Weiss can't think at all.

He tries to return the favor, but his world has telescoped down to the hand on his dick and the aching tightness in his balls. He feels Vaughn move and opens his eyes slightly. Vaughn is staring at him, eyes wide and intent, as if hungry for the sight of what he's doing to Weiss. As if Vaughn's seeing him and not just touching him and imagining someone else. Weiss has almost forgotten how good that feels. He can't do anything but thrust into Vaughn's grasp until he comes hard with a muttered, "God."

He rests his head back against the wall, seeing his apartment as if for the first time, still trembling. He closes his eyes, opens them when he feels a cool draft of air on his feverish, sticky skin. Vaughn is already moving away, and before Weiss can say anything, he stumbles out the door.

By the time Weiss cleans himself up and gets his pants zipped, Vaughn is long gone.

Weiss doesn't sleep that night, and when he gets into the office early the next morning, Vaughn is already gone, off with Jack to look for Sydney.

Weiss slumps at his desk, and tries to focus on work, but all he can think of is Vaughn's tequila-laced mouth against his and warm, rough hands on his cock.

It's going to be a long day.

end


victoria

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Fandom:  Alias
Title:  Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
Author:  Victoria P.   [email]
Details:  Standalone  |  NC-17  |  3k  |  02/09/04
Summary:  "Maybe after five shots of tequila, gender melts away like inhibitions do."
Notes:  Thanks to Devil Doll for betaing on such short notice. All errors are mine, not hers.
Dedication: For Celli, on her birthday, since the Weiss/Faith is taking a bit longer than expected. This takes place right after Syd goes wherever it is that she goes for those two years.
Disclaimer: All Alias characters belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.

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