Re: Quicklog, Ocean's 11 (Lake Mead): Graham R & Shane A
[Twenty fucking years and the two of them could fucking communicate in looks and staccato changes of fucking breath, but somefuckinghow, it was still hard to fucking tell if Graham felt anything toward him or fucking Clementine, yeah? Well, not anything. But, shit like this. The fucker went along with shit like a fucking dingy on the open ocean, buffeted by trade winds and the goddamn Coriolis Effect, rudderless or whatever—and sometimes, to continue this shitty fucking metaphor, he'd end up at port somewhere, and no one knew if he meant to go there or if he just let gravity fucking take him without complaint.—And Shane, before, hadn't been bothered by it or whatever. He wasn't bothered by fucking much, yeah? Not really. But, younger now, he wasn't bothered, he just found himself fucking frustrated by not knowing, because if the dipshit didn't want to fucking kiss him, he should fucking say so, yeah? Shane was an asshole, but at least he admitted shit like that.
Of course, at this point, it was kind of a fucking given. Yeah? Shane exhaled a hard breath through the nose, something between a fucking laugh and an exaggerated sigh, at Graham's not-fucking-amusing amusement.] For twenty fucking years, yeah?
[Inconveniencing enough that he got the fuck on top of him, not breaking the fucking kiss if he could help it, but holding on with fingers that scored down from dirty blond, down sun-hot neck, to cradle fucking jaw and throat without crushing his fucking hand. He ended up with a knee between Graham's thighs, and it was really fucking hot, yeah? Literally. The sun scorched down on that fucking tent. His other hand moved up just beneath the fucking black spill of Graham's heat-stick t-shirt on belly, on band of skin there between jeans and cotton, palm flat, and if he fucking flushed or some stupid shit, he didn't think about it, yeah? Shane, I mean. He had vodka rough on his tongue, sweat sheening sunburnt skin, and he fucking liked the feel of Graham beneath him. He kissed hard, teeth in it, but pulling the fuck back after a minute of rough breathing—and for the first fucking time ever, he looked at the fucker beneath him and asked him:] This okay or whatever?