Re: Quicklog, DC: Clem M/Shane A
[Shane had never thought of Clementine as a sad clinging thing of a woman, but, then again, he didn't fucking get what the hurt was all about either. He understood it or whatever, and he could fucking cluck his tongue in shame or whatever, but he didn't feel it. He was plenty fucking annoyed with Graham and Clementine both for leaving him the fuck behind when they went on their spiritual journeys or whatever the fuck, yeah? But even when he thought Clementine only had eyes for Graham, it didn't hurt him. It just was. He knew some people wanted those who fucking fought for them or fucking hunted them down or whatever—like maybe that validated them, but that wasn't Shane, and all he could fucking do was wait for the day that people came to that realization on their own.
Not that he was thinking about that now. Because, yeah, maybe he fucking sucked at chasing, but once shit was established, he was like any other man, yeah? Beautiful fucking girl practically on top of him, he wasn't getting introspective.
The fucking music changed and Shane hadn't expected Clementine to pull back from the kiss—his fingers catching in her straight, dark hair—, so when she did, he looked at her, rueful blue as ever, his perpetual smirk turning into his trademarked acid-open irritation before he groaned, her hips rocking against his and her grin all fucking lip gloss and shitty drinks and wide.—Shane rolled his eyes, leaned to the side—to grab his rapidly-ashing cigarette and take another drag. And then, when she fucking sang, pretty as bells, he blew the smoke in her face.] Asshole.