[ That's not too much of a surprise. Harry could feel something waiting for minute rice to cook. ]
Glad to hear something's running smoothly down here.
[ His local contact will put out a feeler for the faction that's taken issue with them, and in another couple hours will tell them what it'll take to pave the way. Money, favors, or in the case of neither of those, more bullets. Whatever it takes, the situation ought to be resolved in twenty-four hours, thirty-six at the outside.
Rolling his eyes at the request, he can't help a snort. ]
I fly private, Harry, I don't stock airline food for myself. [ However that doesn't speak to the bottle he'd picked up in town before coming out here. ] Told you already. You'll get your fun once this gets cleaned up.
I'm not asking for fun, just something to smooth the edges off a little. It's been madness, while you've been off doing lines and shagging nines.
[Harry laughs to himself, at that image. He's never seen Rafe snort anything before, but he's also never seen him out doing things for his actual business. Those types, the CEOs and CFOs and C3POs, they're all that type, right? Champagne and expensive girls and good coke.
Harry's never liked liked champagne, anyway.
After a moment, Harry's laugh fades off into the silence, and then a thought hits him. Nothing serious, just genuine curiosity. Maybe something else, but mostly he just wants to know.]
So who were you chatting up? Some model? An heiress?
[ Glaciers move faster than Rafe does, that's how slowly he turns his head to stare at Harry before he echoes: ]
"Doing lines and shagging nines"? What fish and chips fortune cookie did you pull that out of? Jesus.
[ How everyone takes such an asinine view of his day job, he has no clue. Maybe it's a lack of imagination that paints him as some deleted scene from American Psycho. The reality is parsing through pages upon pages of legalese then haggling with lawyers about it, cajoling stubborn interests when all you want to do is break an arm, reading reports upon reports upon reports to catch a discrepancy — nowhere near so exciting as Flynn would think.
There are times he considers dragging Harry along just so he can appreciate the headaches Rafe gets from that shit, but then he realizes what a fucking awful idea that would be and pops another Advil. ]
Corporate officer from across the aisle.
[ Raquelle had been persistent, and eloquent in the nastiest ways possible. Gold star for the effort, at least. ]
[Truthfully, it's only because Harry has had the honor to see Rafe lose his cool that he has the notion of him as Patrick Bateman. He saw him shoot a man once who wouldn't stop singing the praises of a man neither of them would really like to think about ever again. He understood it, yeah, but he wasn't going to shoot the poor bastard for running his mouth.
Besides, the only work that Rafe does that's of any value, in Harry's humble opinion, is this. This is tangible. You can hold it. There's no worth in papers and numbers.]
How was she, then?
[Flynn leers over his dark glasses and knocks his knee against Rafe's, a little gesture of go on then. He's got no reason to believe his boss hasn't been out with other people all this time. Harry certainly has, but mostly because he has to get what he wants from somewhere.]
You look tense, so I'm guessing not exactly passing marks.
[ First off, he'd told the moron to shut up three times before pulling the gun. Second, he shot him in the kneecap — which still wasn't the best option, he could admit that in hindsight, but it's not as if he killed the guy. Geez.
Third, it's the corporate hackery is what makes all of this possible. What allows Rafe to choose where to dig and when and without bowing and scraping to someone's purse strings noosed around his neck. Never mind that since taking the reins... He's good at it, still surprised by the discovery. Enjoys it even, on a good day when he can outmaneuver the entire field and come out on top. ...Rafe tries not to think about those days too much. ]
I'm tense because there's still a possibility of bullets flying until this gets sewn up, [ comes the reminder in a specific flavor of "duh" as he fishes out his phone to skim a half dozen new messages from Rivera. Distractedly, ] Besides, never got around to it. I was busy.
[ Which is...nominally true. He hadn't been sitting on his ass with caviar and Moët for three days. But it'd been three days and if he tried to say that work precluded pleasure then Harry wouldn't be in the jeep with him right now. At close of business, it'd just seemed superfluous to bother and if he ended up horny then there was always Flynn waiting for him. Logic, cold and simple. ]
[Maybe it's because he's been sleeping with other people, but Harry just assumes Rafe has been sleeping around out of the gate. Why wouldn't he? He's open about Harry's deficiencies constantly, he's one of the world's most eligible bachelors. When they go out to a club or a pub he's always covered in women and men until he shoves them away.
And Adler is greedy. So why wouldn't he? ]
Shite luck, mate. If her texts were as good as you said they were, I'm sad for you.
[Which is...kind of true. There's a part of him that's glad she didn't get her claws in him, and he's not terribly interested in understanding why. Maybe just regular contrariness, more of that need to see Rafe fall flat on his face. That's all.
He turns his attention back to the rough path ahead of them, pushing his glasses up to the top of his head. It's dimmer with the tree cover, easier to see the road this way. Problem is he can't hide his occasional looks over at Adler. Hmn.]
[ If Harry ever let up on his own critiques then maybe Rafe would do the same but since he won't, the world will never know. ]
I'm not too broken up about it. [ A rueful smirk as he leaves the last few replies on read for however long it'll take Raquelle to find out he's gone. ] I've rarely met someone who matches their own hype.
[ Sweat starts to prickle along the back of his neck as he tilts his head, eyes closed behind his aviators as if he hadn't a care in the world. Right now, he doesn't. He's back where he belongs. Out in the field and free as a bird.
Minus where Harry keeps staring. ]
Either say what's on your mind or keep your eyes on the road.
And here he thought he was being subtle about his glances. Fuck. ]
Just looking at you, sweetheart, don't get so flustered.
[He smirks, but turns his attention back to the rutted road in front of them. They drive like this for about ten minutes, Harry unusually silent for...you know, Harry. Something about that woman was sticking in his head, and he's not sure why. He doesn't really care. He doesn't. But why is the thought of her sitting up there alone with unanswered texts making him smirk?
While he thinks, he rubs idly ay the mark Cathy left on his chest. Christ, she got him good. It's still throbbing a little, but he doesn't exactly mind it. She could try to not dry blood next time, though.]
[ The very idea makes Rafe snort, derisive and dismissive all in one highly unelegant noise. Still. The oddness sticks with him and he appraises Harry out the corner of his eye — not that he bothers being subtle about it. He could be, of course, but there's no reason to hide it.
Flynn's being really weird. Even for a guy who'd played shooting gallery a couple hours ago.
Once they get back on site, Rafe lets him follow along to the outpost's command center. The crisp dressing down he gives Rivera in front of his men is masterpiece theater, scathing and brutal and without Rafe's voice raising a single decibel. Nor when he informs the man — splayed out on his cot, ass in a mortifying sling — that their contract's terminated with no severance, due to a deftly inserted clause the captain'd signed over. The same one that puts him on the spot for covering his men's exit costs in the even of a negligence of duty. The color drains out of his face while Rafe shrugs and exits for his own setup.
Come noon tomorrow, he'll be offering that same contract to the intrepid jackasses who've been aiming at them. Clearly they're more organized and effective than the so-called professionals and once they've got money under their nose, they'll smarten up fast. People always do. ]
I've already sent word around to stick close to the camp until tomorrow night, [ he grunts as he ducks into the tent, arms stretched over his head to work out cabin pressure kinks. ] Hopefully this time day after tomorrow, things can start getting back on track.
[Seeing his enemies fail spectacularly is Harry's #1 pleasure in life, and so seeing Rivera being artfully torn a new arsehole is nearly erotic. Harry watches with barely restrained glee and after Rafe leaves, he leans over the injured man's cot to tell him that, oh, that wasn't the locals. Whoops.
Harry follows Rafe to his tent, unsure if this is going to be a work night or something else. Really, he'd just like go talk new plans and where he can start going into the ruins proper. He wasn't built to oversee archeologists, or security, ot anyone but himself. Christ he can't wait to go back to just caring about himself.]
They're better shots than those bastards back there, at least. [He snorts, heaving himself into a Rafe's desk chair. It's been a long, long day.] and if you pay them enough, I'm sure they won't care we're desecrating graves.
[ Rafe is quick to remind him with a long-suffering sigh. Good lrod. ]
You can check a crypt without stomping through bones and leave enough for the straight-lace crowd to be placated. It just takes a little finesse, if you'd be so inclined for two consecutive minutes.
[ Sure, by and large they were treasure hunters and thieves fallen from the pure faith of archaeology, but that didn't mean they had to be barbarians about it. There are standards and Rafe is ever mindful of them — and will make doubly sure for Harry as well, so long as the dumbass is cutting an Adler paycheck. ]
Get the schematics out.
[ The GPR hadn't yet come through for a more detailed picture before he had had to fly north, and curiosity has been steadily gnawing at him since. And it'll give him a chance to take out the bottle of probably-decent liquor out of his bag before joining Harry at table. ]
[Look, he gets paid to do his thing, not fetch documents. Also, Rafe is closer than he is and hasn't been in a (fake) firefight today. Instead, Harry produces a hip flask from god knows where and takes a long swig. He's not quite sure what's in there, all he knows is it's homebrewed and it's the last of what he had. Damn.
Hopefully he'll have his sight in the morning.]
I get the sneaking suspicion that what we're looking for isn't going to just be there in the dirt. If I may remind you what I'm here for.
Then go get them off the big table while I— [ Yes, some forward-thinking hand has already brought his bag in, where he finds the pisco he'd brought along from the airfield. ] Get glasses.
[ It ought to be enough incentive to get Harry off his ass as he splashes a couple fingers of amber-yellow brandy for each of them. Rafe bites back the sarcasm bubbling in the back of his throat — no, please remind me because I haven't been doing this for ten years already — and shakes his head. One of these days Flynn won't treat him like some wet behind the ears rookie with a thumb up his ass. ]
No shit, Sherlock. But the schematics can give us a little bit more insight as to where we ought to look. A heads-up on any surprises. You know... A general plan of action? Call me crazy but I like to think that sort of thing helps out in the long run.
[There's a few long moments where Harry just stares at the ceiling of the tent, wondering if moving is worth it, but he eventually heaves himself back out of the chair with a tired groan. The brandy certainly is good incentive, and he snags one glass on his way past Rafe to the table.
A moment later, he plops a pile of papers down in front of his boss with a tight smile.]
There you are. [He swallow a mouthful of brandy, closing his eyes while he savours something that wasn't brewed in bottles meth was probably made in.] The findings, a few notes one of the girls took, suggestions. It's all there.
[ Rafe can't help the pleased little smile that plays at the corner of his mouth. Not that he'll rub it in, but getting Flynn to do as he's told is still no small victory and he'll savor it as such. ]
Good. [ And as a reward, he'll even freshen up Harry's glass without prompting. ] Once things are settled, we can grab a couple flashlights and get boots on the ground while the rest of them get back to gridding out within the containing wall over...
[ He spreads the papers out, one hand planted on the desk as he leans and taps a finger on one of the maps. ]
There. Keep them occupied while we find the good stuff. [ A sidelong smirk. ] That is, assuming you can hold out that long.
[Please, smirk it up over there, not like he can't see it and doesn't know what it means. He frowns, but he's not going to refuse the free liquor.
While Rafe plans, Harry hovers just over his left shoulder, nodding and skimming the documents he's already read front to back. It's a good plan, better than his own idea of just doing what needs to be done and letting the profession come in after. The professionals are what give the artefacts value, and if they don't have value they're just pulling rubbish from the ground, aren't they?
He leans over Rafe just a hair more at that question, matching smirk-for-smirk.]
[ There's more to value than just dollar signs but try telling that to Harry Flynn.
Just as there's more to plans than saying "screw it" and jumping in feet first. There must be something about treasure hunters at large, some common allergy to forward thinking— At least among the ones Rafe's known so far. Not that he minds covering the slack. It's another thing he does well, minding the details and watching the angles that others might miss. ]
Just that guys your age can get a little too excited pretty fast. Don't need you blowing your load before we get what we're here for.
[ Harry enjoys the fact he looms over Rafe, takes whatever opportunity he can to crowd him in. Rafe isn't sure when he stopped being annoyed by that, or when it stopped feeling like a lanky British spider breathing down his neck. Now it's simply become another Flynn-ism like the underlying smell of nicotine.
Not that he's come to as genial terms with that, of course. Guy's got to keep some standards. ]
[Harry frowns in mock hurt and disappointment, and he backs up a few steps from the table. He drains half his glass, then sets it over on the smaller desk with his flask and the random contents of his pockets. A lighter, some crumpled cellophane from a cigarette pack, one of Catherine's hair elastics. Not sure how that got in there, but whatever.]
Tomorrow when we're out, who knows what's happen? Maybe I'll be to slow and decrepit to save your arsenal from certain death or something. [He makes a show, then, of yawning like the shit he is.] Actuallt, maybe I should just head to bed now.
After all that bitching about missing your liquor, you're going to leave this whole bottle here with me? [ Rafe is by now intimately aware how much and how well Harry holds his alcohol. That glass, and that flask? Nowhere near enough — and doubly so when he's been pinned down for the last few days and antsy for action. ] More for me, then.
[ Holding the neck, he swigs back straight from the bottle before putting it back on the table right next to him. ]
Yeah, guess it is past your bedtime. Don't wanna miss the early bird special in the morning.
[Harry takes a long, lecherous look up and down the length of Rafe as he throws his head back and takes a deep pull straight from the bottle. He's all clean sharp lines, the curve of his neck so sharp he could cut himself. He'd love nothing more than to fuck it up, mark it up with red little spots like footprints in fresh snow. It's such a shame he fights so fiercely to be in charge, because he would look lovely on his knees, desperate and begging.
For a brief moment, that thought leads to another one, another time. Another man.
As quickly as it had come on, Harry shakes the thought off and puts it aside in a little box to never open again. The past is the past, and this is now.
This, being the bottle Harry is suddenly pulling from his boss' hands to take a swig himself.]
[ Harry rarely bothers being subtle (earlier this afternoon being the exception to the rule) and Rafe can feel the eyes on him as he exhales, air hissing out from behind his teeth. Partly the liquor as it burns his throat, partly a challenge that he knows Flynn won't refuse.
When he reaches for the bottle, Rafe doesn't let go — fingers twining over glass and under Harry's that can tug it back probably a couple seconds before Harry figures on being finished. ]
You want a milk back for that? We can warm it up special, help you get to sleep.
[ Because sleep is totally what's on his mind, free hand curling round Flynn's belt buckle. Unaware of the momentary flashback and unwelcome memories Harry struggles with, he instead takes another slow sip and holds it. All the better to offer it to Harry mouth-to-mouth as he yanks him closer by that buckle into the only kind of kiss they bother with, rough and hard-edged and with just a bit of a smirk lurking behind it. ]
[He doesn't terribly mind that Rafe won't let go of the bottle, but it's a supreme annoyance to not be allowed a full drink. Rafe pulls the bottle back and Harry frowns, even as the alcohol burns through his blood and works its wonderful magic. Things aren't as confusing as they were this afternoon, in the jeep. It's clear now. This is just a working partnership with some lovely benefits, and anything he does has no bearing on Adler.
So simple, so easy, and so the whole ordeal is out of his mind when lips and brandy assault his mouth in the nicest way. He allows the onslaught, opening his mouth to suck down all he can. Brady, Rafe's tongue, the ferocity that sits between them like a comfortable buffer.
He moans, pushing Rafe back into his table with enthusiasm. The size difference makes some things awkward, but it's not hard at all to pin him and attempt to lift him onto it. Rafe's probably fight it, but who cares? That way he won't have to lean.]
[ The table wobbles behind them — Rafe brings the best equipment but it's still a camp table and likely wouldn't stand up to the type of fight he'd usually put up in the face of Flynn manhandling him like this. Which is the only reason why he allows it now, knees squeezing at Harry's hips until his ass is squarely planted.
Shame. He enjoys Flynn getting a good crick in his back angling down for a kiss. Serves him right for being so freakishly tall.
He pours more onto the kiss to compensate, not wanting Harry to get any ideas just because he went along on this one thing. No, Rafe has to be sharper in response, more insistent as his nails catch on Flynn's belt before scratching up under his shirt. (No more of those Ed Hardy six-pack tees, thank Christ.) ]
[The table is an absolute win, and Flynn wastes no time in using it to his advantage. He gets in close between Rafe's legs, the better to bite back at his kisses. He certainly puts in a lot of effort and that pinched up, blocked back anger into it, and Harry is sure he's drawn blood when he takes his lip and drags it between his teeth. Not that Harry doesn't love it. If he were honest, he can't get enough of it.
Harry breaks the kiss for only a moment to pull his shirt over his head. No more Ed Hardy, but only because half of his luggage had mysteriously gone missing g and Rafe so generously offered to order replacement clothing in their next shipment. The replacements aren't so terrible; the shirts are soft, but too like Rafe's own clothing. The underwear, though, he likes these. Maybe a little snug, but whatever. They breathe.]
[ "Too like" Rafe's clothing? Because there's apparently such a thing as "too soft" or "too comfortable" or "too durable." Christ, some people are just never satisfied.
He grips Harry the harder as he crowds into the kiss, all quick tongue and horse teeth and the copper tang that follows. Between the two of them, they ought to take stock in chapstick. Get some money back. Chapstick and Neosporin both as Rafe claws at him again just to feel the abs tense under his fingers.
A disgruntled noise slips out as Harry pauses, a cross between a huff and a cluck and no matter how quick an interruption it is or how much it keeps up with the program. Making the most of the scant seconds, Rafe snatches up for another pull of liquor.
It cut shorts when he sees red splotches across Flynn's clavicle and an especially angry one above a nipple outlined with the clear impression of teeth. It's fresh. Gotten today. Shoving the butt of the bottle at Harry's diaphragm for a universal time-out, he looks up from under his eyebrows and asks in a deceptively flat, eerily calm voice: ]
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chardismastic) wrote2016-08-08 05:33 pm
no subject
Glad to hear something's running smoothly down here.
[ His local contact will put out a feeler for the faction that's taken issue with them, and in another couple hours will tell them what it'll take to pave the way. Money, favors, or in the case of neither of those, more bullets. Whatever it takes, the situation ought to be resolved in twenty-four hours, thirty-six at the outside.
Rolling his eyes at the request, he can't help a snort. ]
I fly private, Harry, I don't stock airline food for myself. [ However that doesn't speak to the bottle he'd picked up in town before coming out here. ] Told you already. You'll get your fun once this gets cleaned up.
no subject
[Harry laughs to himself, at that image. He's never seen Rafe snort anything before, but he's also never seen him out doing things for his actual business. Those types, the CEOs and CFOs and C3POs, they're all that type, right? Champagne and expensive girls and good coke.
Harry's never liked liked champagne, anyway.
After a moment, Harry's laugh fades off into the silence, and then a thought hits him. Nothing serious, just genuine curiosity. Maybe something else, but mostly he just wants to know.]
So who were you chatting up? Some model? An heiress?
no subject
"Doing lines and shagging nines"? What fish and chips fortune cookie did you pull that out of? Jesus.
[ How everyone takes such an asinine view of his day job, he has no clue. Maybe it's a lack of imagination that paints him as some deleted scene from American Psycho. The reality is parsing through pages upon pages of legalese then haggling with lawyers about it, cajoling stubborn interests when all you want to do is break an arm, reading reports upon reports upon reports to catch a discrepancy — nowhere near so exciting as Flynn would think.
There are times he considers dragging Harry along just so he can appreciate the headaches Rafe gets from that shit, but then he realizes what a fucking awful idea that would be and pops another Advil. ]
Corporate officer from across the aisle.
[ Raquelle had been persistent, and eloquent in the nastiest ways possible. Gold star for the effort, at least. ]
no subject
Besides, the only work that Rafe does that's of any value, in Harry's humble opinion, is this. This is tangible. You can hold it. There's no worth in papers and numbers.]
How was she, then?
[Flynn leers over his dark glasses and knocks his knee against Rafe's, a little gesture of go on then. He's got no reason to believe his boss hasn't been out with other people all this time. Harry certainly has, but mostly because he has to get what he wants from somewhere.]
You look tense, so I'm guessing not exactly passing marks.
no subject
Third, it's the corporate hackery is what makes all of this possible. What allows Rafe to choose where to dig and when and without bowing and scraping to someone's purse strings noosed around his neck. Never mind that since taking the reins... He's good at it, still surprised by the discovery. Enjoys it even, on a good day when he can outmaneuver the entire field and come out on top. ...Rafe tries not to think about those days too much. ]
I'm tense because there's still a possibility of bullets flying until this gets sewn up, [ comes the reminder in a specific flavor of "duh" as he fishes out his phone to skim a half dozen new messages from Rivera. Distractedly, ] Besides, never got around to it. I was busy.
[ Which is...nominally true. He hadn't been sitting on his ass with caviar and Moët for three days. But it'd been three days and if he tried to say that work precluded pleasure then Harry wouldn't be in the jeep with him right now. At close of business, it'd just seemed superfluous to bother and if he ended up horny then there was always Flynn waiting for him. Logic, cold and simple. ]
no subject
And Adler is greedy. So why wouldn't he? ]
Shite luck, mate. If her texts were as good as you said they were, I'm sad for you.
[Which is...kind of true. There's a part of him that's glad she didn't get her claws in him, and he's not terribly interested in understanding why. Maybe just regular contrariness, more of that need to see Rafe fall flat on his face. That's all.
He turns his attention back to the rough path ahead of them, pushing his glasses up to the top of his head. It's dimmer with the tree cover, easier to see the road this way. Problem is he can't hide his occasional looks over at Adler. Hmn.]
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I'm not too broken up about it. [ A rueful smirk as he leaves the last few replies on read for however long it'll take Raquelle to find out he's gone. ] I've rarely met someone who matches their own hype.
[ Sweat starts to prickle along the back of his neck as he tilts his head, eyes closed behind his aviators as if he hadn't a care in the world. Right now, he doesn't. He's back where he belongs. Out in the field and free as a bird.
Minus where Harry keeps staring. ]
Either say what's on your mind or keep your eyes on the road.
no subject
And here he thought he was being subtle about his glances. Fuck. ]
Just looking at you, sweetheart, don't get so flustered.
[He smirks, but turns his attention back to the rutted road in front of them. They drive like this for about ten minutes, Harry unusually silent for...you know, Harry. Something about that woman was sticking in his head, and he's not sure why. He doesn't really care. He doesn't. But why is the thought of her sitting up there alone with unanswered texts making him smirk?
While he thinks, he rubs idly ay the mark Cathy left on his chest. Christ, she got him good. It's still throbbing a little, but he doesn't exactly mind it. She could try to not dry blood next time, though.]
no subject
[ The very idea makes Rafe snort, derisive and dismissive all in one highly unelegant noise. Still. The oddness sticks with him and he appraises Harry out the corner of his eye — not that he bothers being subtle about it. He could be, of course, but there's no reason to hide it.
Flynn's being really weird. Even for a guy who'd played shooting gallery a couple hours ago.
Once they get back on site, Rafe lets him follow along to the outpost's command center. The crisp dressing down he gives Rivera in front of his men is masterpiece theater, scathing and brutal and without Rafe's voice raising a single decibel. Nor when he informs the man — splayed out on his cot, ass in a mortifying sling — that their contract's terminated with no severance, due to a deftly inserted clause the captain'd signed over. The same one that puts him on the spot for covering his men's exit costs in the even of a negligence of duty. The color drains out of his face while Rafe shrugs and exits for his own setup.
Come noon tomorrow, he'll be offering that same contract to the intrepid jackasses who've been aiming at them. Clearly they're more organized and effective than the so-called professionals and once they've got money under their nose, they'll smarten up fast. People always do. ]
I've already sent word around to stick close to the camp until tomorrow night, [ he grunts as he ducks into the tent, arms stretched over his head to work out cabin pressure kinks. ] Hopefully this time day after tomorrow, things can start getting back on track.
no subject
Harry follows Rafe to his tent, unsure if this is going to be a work night or something else. Really, he'd just like go talk new plans and where he can start going into the ruins proper. He wasn't built to oversee archeologists, or security, ot anyone but himself. Christ he can't wait to go back to just caring about himself.]
They're better shots than those bastards back there, at least. [He snorts, heaving himself into a Rafe's desk chair. It's been a long, long day.] and if you pay them enough, I'm sure they won't care we're desecrating graves.
no subject
[ Rafe is quick to remind him with a long-suffering sigh. Good lrod. ]
You can check a crypt without stomping through bones and leave enough for the straight-lace crowd to be placated. It just takes a little finesse, if you'd be so inclined for two consecutive minutes.
[ Sure, by and large they were treasure hunters and thieves fallen from the pure faith of archaeology, but that didn't mean they had to be barbarians about it. There are standards and Rafe is ever mindful of them — and will make doubly sure for Harry as well, so long as the dumbass is cutting an Adler paycheck. ]
Get the schematics out.
[ The GPR hadn't yet come through for a more detailed picture before he had had to fly north, and curiosity has been steadily gnawing at him since. And it'll give him a chance to take out the bottle of probably-decent liquor out of his bag before joining Harry at table. ]
no subject
[Look, he gets paid to do his thing, not fetch documents. Also, Rafe is closer than he is and hasn't been in a (fake) firefight today. Instead, Harry produces a hip flask from god knows where and takes a long swig. He's not quite sure what's in there, all he knows is it's homebrewed and it's the last of what he had. Damn.
Hopefully he'll have his sight in the morning.]
I get the sneaking suspicion that what we're looking for isn't going to just be there in the dirt. If I may remind you what I'm here for.
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[ It ought to be enough incentive to get Harry off his ass as he splashes a couple fingers of amber-yellow brandy for each of them. Rafe bites back the sarcasm bubbling in the back of his throat — no, please remind me because I haven't been doing this for ten years already — and shakes his head. One of these days Flynn won't treat him like some wet behind the ears rookie with a thumb up his ass. ]
No shit, Sherlock. But the schematics can give us a little bit more insight as to where we ought to look. A heads-up on any surprises. You know... A general plan of action? Call me crazy but I like to think that sort of thing helps out in the long run.
no subject
A moment later, he plops a pile of papers down in front of his boss with a tight smile.]
There you are. [He swallow a mouthful of brandy, closing his eyes while he savours something that wasn't brewed in bottles meth was probably made in.] The findings, a few notes one of the girls took, suggestions. It's all there.
no subject
Good. [ And as a reward, he'll even freshen up Harry's glass without prompting. ] Once things are settled, we can grab a couple flashlights and get boots on the ground while the rest of them get back to gridding out within the containing wall over...
[ He spreads the papers out, one hand planted on the desk as he leans and taps a finger on one of the maps. ]
There. Keep them occupied while we find the good stuff. [ A sidelong smirk. ] That is, assuming you can hold out that long.
no subject
While Rafe plans, Harry hovers just over his left shoulder, nodding and skimming the documents he's already read front to back. It's a good plan, better than his own idea of just doing what needs to be done and letting the profession come in after. The professionals are what give the artefacts value, and if they don't have value they're just pulling rubbish from the ground, aren't they?
He leans over Rafe just a hair more at that question, matching smirk-for-smirk.]
You insinuating something about me, love?
no subject
Just as there's more to plans than saying "screw it" and jumping in feet first. There must be something about treasure hunters at large, some common allergy to forward thinking— At least among the ones Rafe's known so far. Not that he minds covering the slack. It's another thing he does well, minding the details and watching the angles that others might miss. ]
Just that guys your age can get a little too excited pretty fast. Don't need you blowing your load before we get what we're here for.
[ Harry enjoys the fact he looms over Rafe, takes whatever opportunity he can to crowd him in. Rafe isn't sure when he stopped being annoyed by that, or when it stopped feeling like a lanky British spider breathing down his neck. Now it's simply become another Flynn-ism like the underlying smell of nicotine.
Not that he's come to as genial terms with that, of course. Guy's got to keep some standards. ]
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[Harry frowns in mock hurt and disappointment, and he backs up a few steps from the table. He drains half his glass, then sets it over on the smaller desk with his flask and the random contents of his pockets. A lighter, some crumpled cellophane from a cigarette pack, one of Catherine's hair elastics. Not sure how that got in there, but whatever.]
Tomorrow when we're out, who knows what's happen? Maybe I'll be to slow and decrepit to save your arsenal from certain death or something. [He makes a show, then, of yawning like the shit he is.] Actuallt, maybe I should just head to bed now.
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[ Holding the neck, he swigs back straight from the bottle before putting it back on the table right next to him. ]
Yeah, guess it is past your bedtime. Don't wanna miss the early bird special in the morning.
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For a brief moment, that thought leads to another one, another time. Another man.
As quickly as it had come on, Harry shakes the thought off and puts it aside in a little box to never open again. The past is the past, and this is now.
This, being the bottle Harry is suddenly pulling from his boss' hands to take a swig himself.]
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When he reaches for the bottle, Rafe doesn't let go — fingers twining over glass and under Harry's that can tug it back probably a couple seconds before Harry figures on being finished. ]
You want a milk back for that? We can warm it up special, help you get to sleep.
[ Because sleep is totally what's on his mind, free hand curling round Flynn's belt buckle. Unaware of the momentary flashback and unwelcome memories Harry struggles with, he instead takes another slow sip and holds it. All the better to offer it to Harry mouth-to-mouth as he yanks him closer by that buckle into the only kind of kiss they bother with, rough and hard-edged and with just a bit of a smirk lurking behind it. ]
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So simple, so easy, and so the whole ordeal is out of his mind when lips and brandy assault his mouth in the nicest way. He allows the onslaught, opening his mouth to suck down all he can. Brady, Rafe's tongue, the ferocity that sits between them like a comfortable buffer.
He moans, pushing Rafe back into his table with enthusiasm. The size difference makes some things awkward, but it's not hard at all to pin him and attempt to lift him onto it. Rafe's probably fight it, but who cares? That way he won't have to lean.]
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Shame. He enjoys Flynn getting a good crick in his back angling down for a kiss. Serves him right for being so freakishly tall.
He pours more onto the kiss to compensate, not wanting Harry to get any ideas just because he went along on this one thing. No, Rafe has to be sharper in response, more insistent as his nails catch on Flynn's belt before scratching up under his shirt. (No more of those Ed Hardy six-pack tees, thank Christ.) ]
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Harry breaks the kiss for only a moment to pull his shirt over his head. No more Ed Hardy, but only because half of his luggage had mysteriously gone missing g and Rafe so generously offered to order replacement clothing in their next shipment. The replacements aren't so terrible; the shirts are soft, but too like Rafe's own clothing. The underwear, though, he likes these. Maybe a little snug, but whatever. They breathe.]
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He grips Harry the harder as he crowds into the kiss, all quick tongue and horse teeth and the copper tang that follows. Between the two of them, they ought to take stock in chapstick. Get some money back. Chapstick and Neosporin both as Rafe claws at him again just to feel the abs tense under his fingers.
A disgruntled noise slips out as Harry pauses, a cross between a huff and a cluck and no matter how quick an interruption it is or how much it keeps up with the program. Making the most of the scant seconds, Rafe snatches up for another pull of liquor.
It cut shorts when he sees red splotches across Flynn's clavicle and an especially angry one above a nipple outlined with the clear impression of teeth. It's fresh. Gotten today. Shoving the butt of the bottle at Harry's diaphragm for a universal time-out, he looks up from under his eyebrows and asks in a deceptively flat, eerily calm voice: ]
What the hell is that.
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