burntcopper | Bored.

Can't seem to concentrate on anything, so I'm going to post some snippets that're hanging around on my computer.

--After Willow brings the news post Pylea--

Gunn's sitting in the old warehouse that used to be his home before he threw his lot in with Angel Investigations. Just talking, catching up with all the shit that's been happening while he's been gone. No mention of the funeral of a few days ago, though. Enough harsh words been said about that.

Trying not to think about what happened when they got back to the hotel. The expression on Angel's face after that redhead Cordy talks to on the phone said her piece ain't one he wants to be around for. Last time Angel went anywhere near that blank look, a load of lawyers got theirs in a wine cellar.

After a while, the roar of a big motorbike makes itself known, coming closer. After it's clear it's approaching the warehouse, Gunn volunteers to go check. First sight of the bike, he lets go of the tense breath he tends to hold when there's strangers in the area. He'd know the bike and rider anywhere.

The rider gets off the bike, pulls off his helmet to reveal a familiar face, replaces his glasses. Gunn lifts an eyebrow. "Wes, my man, what're you doing here?"

Wes runs a hand through his hair, sighs. "The atmosphere in the hotel is not exactly conducive to comfort. Angel alone is difficult enough in that mood. I thought I'd come and find you. I tried a few places, and since you weren't in any of those, I deduced you'd have probably come here."

"Thought you'd be in on the mourning fest. What's her name, the dead chick?"

"Buffy. And no, we weren't exactly close. Rather, 'close' is something we never were. Antagonistic might suit better."

"Angel's old girlfriend before LA, right?"

"Mmm." Another distracted sigh.

"Okay, something's bothering you, and no way is it the dead girl. What's up, Wes? You look like you're about to start with the furrowed brow."

"I, ah, wasn't sure if I'd be quite welcome tonight."

"Wes, you know you can come see me anytime -" Pause as what Wes is hinting about catches up with him. "- And you're not talking just sharing a beer, are you."

Hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. "No, not just a beer." Reaches out, grazes the bit of Gunn's shoulder that has a bandage on it from where Angel gouged a piece out of it in Pylea. "Some of the things I did there - well, I know you disagreed wholeheartedly with my willingness to sacrifice individuals to win, for a start." Lowers his eyes. "In fact, I remember you refused to talk to me for a while."

Movement from behind. "Hey, Gunn, you need -"

Gunn doesn't turn round, eyes still fixed on Wes. " 'S okay, Jimmy, it's Wes."

"Guy who took a bullet a while back? Got it." Footsteps retreat back inside.

Wes continues. "So, um -"

Gunn gives him an exasperated look. "Wes, I may not have agreed with half the shit you pulled there, but you got us out of it, right? And I didn't speak to you 'cause I was trying to get my head round some stuff." Sees the raised eyebrow. "Okay, I was a little pissed at you."

"A little."

"A little." He confirms. "I got over it, you masterminded storming the castle, everyone's alive, we're cool." Traces a line down Wes's cheek with his thumb. "And yeah, I still want you in my bed." Grins. "You're too cute to be let off the hook like that."

"Cute?" Wes queries. "Gunn, I am not cute."

-----

--On the Subject of Bruce Wayne--

Clark swallows as they step into the room. He may be dressed for it, but he's willing to bet at least a fraction of Lex's fortune that he sticks out like a sore thumb at this gathering of the rich and powerful. Resisting the urge to tug at his collar, he hisses in Lex's ear. "Don't leave me alone, please."

Lex chuckles. "You'll be fine, Clark. Just smile and nod if in doubt."

"I feel like I've got a neon sign hanging over me."

"No you don't." There's a pause as Lex casts a glittering eye over his body. "On second thoughts, you do. 'Far too tempting for his own good.' Sounds familiar."

"Lex!" Clark flushes, cursing himself for the reaction. He's known Lex - and been sleeping with him - long enough that the blushing should be under control by now. Unfortunately for his sake and what's seeming Lex's eternal delight, it hasn't gone away.

They mingle a bit, Clark attempting small talk when he feels he's not about to trip over his tongue. He keeps telling himself he can talk to these rich sophisticates, he's always been able to talk to Lex, who's up in the top tier of rich and sophisticated. However, he's now *really* convinced that restoring said rich and sophisticated person to life from drowning breaks the ice irrevocably. The only problem is he can't see this party suddenly being engulfed by a tidal wave anytime soon. At least not so he can just get over his tongue attempting to tie itself in knots.

Not to mention that he can hear whispers about 'Lex's boy-toy.' That really doesn't help. "Darling, the word catamite does spring to mind." That one's from someone he can't see by the door. Oh god. He didn't think anyone used that particular phrase outside of Lex's overwhelming amount of Greek history books. Well, except Lionel. Lionel's used it where he knows Clark can hear it, even without the super-hearing. Except Lionel never, ever whispers and somehow it's a lot less offensive coming from him than it is from this gathering. Maybe there is something in that line 'familiarity breeds contempt' after all. He knows he's in a fairly rare position - some might say privileged, though most of Smallville would snort at that - of knowing Lionel Luthor well enough that he can brush off insults casually.

As he's fantasising about going down for the third time, someone says off to one side "Well, Lex, haven't seen you out this way for a while. How are you?"

Clark turns to see a young woman greeting Lex. She's Lex's age, maybe a little younger, and on studying her, Clark's heart sinks a little. Gorgeous, tall, brunette, fitting into this society like a glove. Exactly Lex's type.

"It's called banishment, Selina." Lex replies. Okay, missed a couple of lines of the conversation there. Lex continues. "But small-town life has proven to have a few advantages." He knows her. Clark wonders how many times he can do the irrational jealousy thing in one time. Because Lex has a *lot* of exes.

Selina gives Clark a frank appraisal, then she grins, slowly. Something about her reminds Clark of a cat. "So I see. You always did have a certain amount of taste. Introduce me, Lex."

Lex smiles. "Selina Kyle, Clark Kent." Clark swallows. It's almost exactly the same smile Lex gets when someone praises his choice of car, which is kind of unnerving, but fortunately it's tempered by fondness, which the cars definitely don't get. Clark rates above the Lamborghini. Oh, great step forward in the self-esteem battle, Clark, comparing yourself to the cars. He tells himself to stop doing this to himself on such a regular basis.

"Pleased to meet you, Clark." Selina grins again. "You look fidgety."

"Um. Different crowd than I'm used to."

With introductions over, Lex goes onto the next topic. "How's Bruce?"

"Still himself." Selina replies. "Very much so." And if that wasn't a cat that got the cream smile - Clark's seen it enough times on Lex, usually in bed - Clark doesn't know what is.

"Managed to cure him of his habit of eating in the kitchen and never using the dining room yet?" Lex asks.

Someone looms up behind them. "I'm afraid that being raised by the butler pretty much ingrains that in you for life, Lex. And it's not like you can talk." *Big* guy. All muscle. Again, Lex's age. And so classically handsome you'd have expected him to have stepped out of a magazine. Also giving off serious looming vibes. Though the magazine bit is true. The last time Clark saw this face it had '50 most eligible bachelors' under it as a magazine headline. Bruce Wayne, the young head of Wayne Enterprises.

Though Clark's wondering why a billionaire would have all the marks. Specifically, the tell-tale marks of someone who's in fights regularly along his skeleton and musculature. Thickening along the bones where they were broken. Torn muscles and scars. Maybe there's one of those fight club things in Gotham, except he never heard of them using knives. Or guns. Lex has a lot of marks like that, but he heas fast, and doesn't scar easily. One of the few benign meteor mutations. Aside from the air loss, but Clark counts that one as good; Lex wouldn't be half as striking with hair; attractive, yes, but not striking. And he's pretty sure Gotham billionaires don't get involved in the Smallville craziness that caused Lex's marks.

----

Lex and Bruce have drifted off. From what he can hear, they're talking business.

Clark's left alone with Selina. "So... um... you and Lex used to be -"

"Me and Lex?" Selina chuckles. "Oh no. Bruce and Lex."

"Lex slept with Bruce?" Clark asks, slightly shocked. Not about the bisexuality thing, Lex is pretty much omnisexual, let alone bisexual, but Bruce and him just wasn't an image that sprang easily to mind.

"Why not? He's sleeping with you, isn't he?" Selina replies.

"I, uh, just didn't think Lex was Bruce's type."

Another chuckles. "Oh, that's the way you meant it. No, Bruce has been known to go to the male side in his time. Him and Lex happened before Lex moved to Smallville, though, so you can leave aside the jealousy."

Clark flushes and denies it. "I wasn't jealous." Selina just smirks and shakes her head.

----

On a rooftop in Gotham. A voice behind him makes Clark turn. "No Luthor sponsorship logo?" Batman asks.

It's the first time they've met in person, costumed. Clark blinks slightly in the low light afforded by the neon of Gotham at night. Batman is... seriously scary in person. Dark, much darker than Bruce Wayne, and you couldn't get much further than Bruce's slightly foppish persona. Same skeleton and musculature, but the voice and body language are very, very different. They're the kind that're designed to send 'please don't hurt me' vibes down the spine of an ordinary person.

Clark swallows, regaining his voice. "My boyfriend only just tolerates this. He thinks I'm an adrenalin junkie for doing it. What's your excuse?"

"I have to." Batman replies. You really can't think of him as Bruce like this. It's like they're two different people.

Clark folds his arms to give himself a bit more confidence. "When we first met, I thought you were in a fight club. This is taking ennui a bit too far for most rich kid's tastes, huh?"

"There's no ennui involved." Batman says, with utter conviction. "What are you doing on my turf?"

"Looking for a murderer." Clarks looks at him. "Your turf?"

"Gotham is mine." The tone brooks no argument. Though Clark does remember from searches he and Chloe did once, that is pretty close to the truth. The Wayne family - sole survivor, Bruce Wayne, if you discount the adopted son and the rather big possibility that Selina holds for the future - owns most of the land Gotham City's built on, as well as a fair proportion of the land on its outskirts. Guess it's an advantage to your ancestors moving here pretty soon after the settlement started.

---

--Same universe as Black as a Lifestyle Choice--

The door goes. Someone probably left the door downstairs off the latch again. Faith bets it's the plumber in Flat 1. Useful guy when something goes wrong with your taps, but absent-minded as hell when it comes to doors and locks. She refuses to look up from this week's copy of Heat, aka how much really sad celebrity gossip can you fit in one magazine. Utter trash but kinda absorbing. It's not like she cares who D-lists celebs are going out with, but, like she said, kinda magnetic. Like a train wreck. Wes sighs when it becomes obvious she's not going to answer the door, so he puts down his book and goes to open the door.

The silence after makes her look up. Not even a greeting, and that's weird, because though Wes' automatic politeness that normally sounds so fucking stuffy sometimes goes down the plughole - she's been thinking way too much about the plumber for her brain to be thinking in terms of plugholes - he normally gives people some kind of greeting. She puts down the magazine and goes to see who it is at the door. Christ, even someone from the Council would get an icy "And what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" from him. Real meaning "State your business, then you can fuck off."

Big black guy at the door, dressed in American street gear. Not British. Wes registers her interest, and says icily "Faith, this is Charles Gunn."

Okay, him she's heard of. One of Wes' old buddies from LA, who dropped him like a hot potato when he was laid up in hospital. Wes told her what the circumstances were and his own shitty part in them, but it reminds her a bit too much of the snobbery of the Sunnyhell gang. Faith smiles, wide and welcoming. "Fuck off out of here."

Gunn looks surprised, then snarls. "Hey, no-one asked your opinion." He looks back at Wes. "Faith? Ain't that the name of that bitch who carved you up?"

"That's the name of the bitch who's got more right to be here than you." Faith replies, tensing her muscles and just spoiling to kick this guy's ass into the street so hard he bounces. No big nasties for a week, and this guy's just right for her to take some of the tension out on.

Wes sighs. It's the pained sigh that gets people who know him's attention. It snaps Faith's attention back from potential fight to the situation. Gunn reacts the same too, so the urge to take notice of Wes hasn't diminished since he dumped his ass. "If you two would kindly put the little show of egos away? Gunn, what is it?"

Gunn deflates a bit, looking defeated. "Angel's disappeared."

Wes raises an eyebrow. "And what gives you the impression I would know anything about it? There's a rather large ocean and landmass separating us."

Gunn slumps some more. "You're the knowledge guy."

"Gunn, these days I tend to concern myself more with my immediate situation and surroundings and the occasional world threat. Amazingly, one single souled vampire doesn't tend to loom very large on my horizons. No matter what Wolfram and Hart in LA might think. I've found apocalypses tend to be somewhat localised."

--