Re: Quicklog, Ocean's 11 (Lake Mead): Graham R & Shane A
[It was fucking different, yeah? It wasn't like it was with a woman or whatever. Graham was fucking right about that. The sun was fucking shining through glint-green, sand blowing in, the tiny fucking tent a goddamn mess, and there were no fucking candles or whatever the fuck. Hard fucking lines of bodies, hip to hip, no give, no soft curves, just scraping fucking palms, chins like sandpaper, but who the fuck cared? Shane wasn't trying to fucking kiss a woman, he was trying to fucking kiss Graham, even though the asshole was going hot under his touch—and he could fucking feel that, yeah? He might've gotten smug about that shit, if he hadn't been busy. But, he was fucking busy, leaning into the rough twist of fingers in pitted denim.
He kept his elbow there, because he wasn't fucking trusting the asshole, yeah? But just before Graham pulled the fuck back for his jibe, Shane let a hand swipe free of jaw rugged with shadow-stubble, and he dipped blunt fucking fingers into the dark blond hair at the nape of Graham's neck, where it curled, where it stuck when he sweat, which, yeah—shut the fuck up—was the kind of shit you noticed over twenty fucking years. Only now that kind of fucking detail stuck in his gut like it was fucking important or whatever, and when that jibe came, Shane glared (in his friendly fucking way) at the other man, low lids drawn over acute blue.] Someone's fucking got to be, yeah? You'll fucking sit on the fence forfuckingever and I have shit to do. [He grinned, but it was broken, raked from lips with teeth, and, yeah, pushy, he wanted fucking pushy, he'd give him fucking pushy.
Those fingers tangling in shorn hairs at Graham's neck pressed fucking hard, forcing the man closer, and Shane bled himself into that fucking kiss, yeah? And it was too fucking hot outside for deliberate. So the thing was a little fucking frayed at the edges or whatever, sloppy. The alcohol loosened him, but now he was just fucking unspooling by way of gravity and whatever—it felt fucking good, what the fuck did he care? He deepened the kiss with force of tongue and a shove of that fucking elbow, pulling in the opposite direction, but he went with it, yeah? If it knocked Graham back, he pulled right the fuck on top of him.]