Super vs Crazy
The Tactical Advantage of Proximity
The interior of the van smelled like a mix of stale coffee, industrial-grade disinfectant, and the lingering, metallic tang of Adrian’s blood. It was cramped, cluttered with discarded equipment and spare ammunition crates, and currently vibrating with the muffled sounds of Peacemaker and Harcourt arguing outside about the proper way to dispose of a malfunctioning sonic grenade.
Caleb sat on a metal bench, his shirt pulled up to his ribs as he pressed a cold compress against a particularly nasty bruise. His yellow eyes had long since faded back to brown, but his senses were still sharp enough to catch every shift in the air.
Adrian was supposed to be cleaning a shallow gash on his forearm. Instead, he was leaning into Caleb’s personal space, his glasses sliding down his nose and a look of intense, singular focus on his face that had absolutely nothing to do with first aid.
"You know, Caleb," Adrian whispered, his voice dropping into that low, suggestive hum that usually preceded something incredibly inappropriate. "Adrenaline is a natural aphrodisiac. It’s science. If we don't act on it, we’re basically disrespecting biology. And I’m a man of science. I have a very high IQ when it comes to the human body."
Caleb shoved Adrian’s face away with one hand, his palm squishing against Adrian’s cheek. "Adrian, stop. Harcourt is literally five feet away. If she hears you talking about your biology, she’s going to shoot both of us just to save herself the headache."
Adrian didn't move. He just leaned back into Caleb’s hand, kissing his palm with an uncharacteristic softness before nipping at the skin of Caleb’s thumb. "She’s busy. She’s doing 'leader' stuff. And Chris is trying to explain the plot of a movie no one has seen. We have a window of opportunity, Caleb. A tactical opening."
"We are in a government-adjacent vehicle, covered in grime, and currently surrounded by a team of highly trained killers," Caleb hissed, his face heating up. He tried to pull his hand back, but Adrian caught his wrist, his grip surprisingly strong for someone who looked like an awkward office clerk. "Have some shame. Just once."
"Shame is a social construct designed to keep the hot people from ruling the world," Adrian countered. He crawled forward on his knees, the fabric of his tactical suit rustling loudly in the small space. He wedged himself between Caleb’s legs, his hands finding purchase on Caleb’s waist. "Besides, you’re vibrating. I can feel it. Is that a wolf thing, or are you just happy to see me in my glasses?"
Caleb groaned, throwing his head back against the metal wall of the van. The problem was that Adrian was right. The post-mission high was humming through his veins, making his skin feel too tight and his nerves feel like live wires. Under normal circumstances, he would have dragged Adrian into their bedroom the second they crossed the threshold of their apartment.
But this wasn't their apartment. This was a crime scene on wheels.
"I’m serious, Adrian," Caleb muttered, though his hands had instinctively migrated to Adrian’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the reinforced fabric. "If the door opens, I am throwing you out of it. I will claim you attacked me. I will use my 'wolf-like reflexes' to justify the assault."
"I love it when you talk dirty," Adrian whispered, pressing his face into the crook of Caleb’s neck. He inhaled sharply, his breath hot against Caleb’s skin. "You smell like woodsmoke and anger. It’s very intoxicating. It makes me want to do things that would definitely get us kicked out of the Justice League, if we were ever allowed to join, which we won't be because Batman is a snob."
Adrian’s hands began to slide upward, disappearing under Caleb’s shirt. His fingers were cold, but the heat they ignited was instantaneous. Caleb let out a sharp, hitching breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief, treacherous second.
"Adrian..."
"Just a little bit," Adrian murmured against his skin, his lips tracing the line of Caleb’s jaw. "No one’s looking. They’re all distracted by the explosion. It’s the perfect crime. We’re like Bonnie and Clyde, but with better skin and less getting shot at the end."
Caleb felt a surge of genuine irritation war with the desire pooling in his gut. He grabbed Adrian’s hair, pulling his head back so he could look him in the eye. Adrian looked back, his blue eyes wide and dark with a hunger that was entirely undisguised. He looked ridiculous—crooked glasses, a smudge of soot on his forehead, and a grin that was half-maniac, half-lover.
"You are the most frustrating person I have ever met," Caleb said, his voice a low growl. "You have zero sense of timing. Zero sense of decorum. You think with your dick seventy percent of the time, and the other thirty percent is spent thinking about ways to kill people with household appliances."
"It’s a very balanced lifestyle," Adrian replied, completely unfazed. He reached up, his thumb brushing over Caleb’s lower lip. "And you love it. You love that I’m the only person who isn't afraid of the big bad wolf. I want to see your teeth, Caleb. But not the 'I’m going to eat a criminal' teeth. The other ones."
Caleb’s grip on Adrian’s hair tightened, but he didn't pull away. He could hear the gravel crunching outside as Peacemaker stomped toward the back of the van.
"Someone’s coming," Caleb warned, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Let them come," Adrian whispered, leaning in until their noses touched. "I’ll tell them we’re practicing a new wrestling move. The 'Vertical Integration.' It’s very technical."
"I hate you," Caleb breathed, even as he leaned forward to close the distance.
The kiss was desperate and messy, a collision of teeth and tongue that tasted like copper and adrenaline. It was the kind of kiss that belonged in a dark alley or a private bedroom, not a cramped van filled with high-explosives. Caleb’s hands moved of their own accord, gripping Adrian’s waist and pulling him flush against him. The tactical gear was a barrier, cold and hard, but the heat beneath it was undeniable.
Adrian made a low, muffled sound of triumph, his hands roaming over Caleb’s chest with frantic energy. He was shameless, bold, and entirely focused on the sensation of Caleb’s mouth against his.
The metal door of the van groaned as someone grabbed the handle from the outside.
Caleb bolted upright, shoving Adrian back with enough force to send him tumbling into a pile of empty duffel bags. Adrian let out a soft "Oof!" as he hit the floor, his glasses flying off his face and landing near a crate of grenades.
Caleb scrambled to pull his shirt down, his face a deep, burning crimson. He grabbed the cold compress and pressed it back to his ribs, trying to look like a man who was in deep physical pain rather than a man who had been seconds away from making a terrible mistake.
The door swung open, flooding the van with the harsh, artificial light of the railyard. Harcourt stood there, her arms crossed and an expression of pure, unadulterated exhaustion on her face. She looked from Caleb, who was breathing like he’d just run a marathon, to Adrian, who was currently lying on his back among the bags, blinking blindly at the ceiling.
"What the hell is going on in here?" she asked, her voice flat.
"Medical emergency," Adrian chirped from the floor, not moving an inch. "Caleb had a... a muscle spasm. A very violent one. I was trying to massage it out, but he’s very territorial. He threw me. It was very impressive. I think I have a concussion. Can you see my glasses? Everything is a blur of gray and judgmental energy."
Harcourt stared at them for a long, silent minute. She looked at Caleb’s flushed face, then at the way Adrian’s tactical suit was bunched up at the waist. She let out a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul.
"I don't get paid enough for this," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "Chase, get off the floor. Reeds, if you’re done 'spasming,' Smith needs help loading the heavy ordinance. And for the love of God, if I catch either of you doing whatever the hell this was again, I’m locking you in a room with Eagly and a bucket of raw liver."
She slammed the door shut without waiting for a reply.
The silence that followed was heavy. Caleb let out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders sagging with relief. He looked down at Adrian, who was now sitting up and feeling around the floor for his glasses.
"That was close," Caleb whispered, his voice still slightly ragged. "Too close, Adrian. She knows. She definitely knows."
"She’s just jealous," Adrian said, finally finding his glasses and sliding them back onto his face. He looked up at Caleb, a wicked glint in his eyes. "So... she’s gone now. Where were we? I think I was explaining the biological necessity of intimacy."
Caleb stood up, stepping over Adrian and heading for the door. "We were leaving, Adrian. We are going to help Smith, and then we are going home, and I am going to lock you in the bathroom until I’ve had a shower and a very long nap."
Adrian scrambled to his feet, following Caleb out into the cool night air. "A shower? Together? Because that sounds like a very efficient use of water, Caleb. We have to think about the environment. The wolf is a creature of nature, right? You should be the most eco-conscious person I know."
"Shut up, Adrian," Caleb called back over his shoulder, but he couldn't stop the small, reluctant smile from forming.
"I’m just saying! We could save like, twenty gallons of water! That’s a lot of gallons, Caleb! Think of the fish!"
As they walked toward Peacemaker, who was currently trying to fit a rocket launcher into a space it clearly didn't belong, Caleb felt the familiar weight of Adrian’s presence beside him. It was chaotic, it was dangerous, and it was completely lacking in any sense of propriety.
But as Adrian reached out to give Caleb’s arm a quick, hidden squeeze, Caleb realized that he wouldn't trade the madness for anything in the world. Even if it meant occasionally having to explain a "muscle spasm" to a government agent.