[ 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: ]
[With the brandy and the excitement and the promise of some really excellent fucking, Harry had forgotten all about the marks Cathy left on him over the past few days. She's as eager as Rafe is with her teeth, and the one big bite on his pec was just expected fallout from the whole affair. But Harry hadn't thought about Rafe seeing them.
Surely, he had thought, that he wouldn't mind. He's seen other marks on him before, right? It's not like he hasn't been seeing other people on occasion, more one night stands than anything, but still. Sometimes he just needs to be able to take the control Rafe refuses to relinquish. And Cathy, as bitey as she is, give it to him.
So Adler's reaction is wholly unexpected. At first, he thinks it's something on the papers that he's notices. Following his eyeline though, he sees...well. All that evidence.]
Ah, I believe it's a bite mark? [He frowns, and then:] Catherine. One of the nerds out in the dirt?
[ Rafe echoes, crisp and precise as he tips his chin up to better stare Harry down. ]
Then by all means. Please. Don't let me keep you from returning to said dirt.
[ There's no way to extricate himself without looking ridiculous, without squirming his way free around Flynn — so he doesn't try. Just stays where he is, stock still save for a bit more pressure with the bottle for Flynn to get the hint and fucking get out the way.
What's between them is the farthest thing from sentimental, a contract with a few fringe benefits left out of the fine print, and sentiment has nothing to do with Rafe's problem here — which is apparently that Harry has a problem. The only reason you shop around is if you're dissatisfied with what you've been getting. And if Harry's that dissatisfied with the sex he's been getting then Rafe's not about to keep offering. ]
You're jealous. [He steps back just a fraction, not enough to give Rafe space to escape but enough where he can get a good look.] You're jealous I shagged a woman.
[He laughs, more in shock than humor. This is strange. Adler is so adamantly against attachments, emotions, anything that could be considered a positive emotion towards the the agreement between them, that the mere idea of him being upset he's fucking other people is so surreal.
Sex with Rafe is astounding. He's absolutely gifted in bed and Harry can't even remember a time he hasn't come when they fucked. But the truth of the matter is, Harry isn't a bottom. He likes it every which way, but things get old fast . He only acquiesces just because the fight isn't worth it and the orgasms are. So sometimes he just goes off and gets what he needs from someone else. Not like Rafe is going to provide.]
[ he retorts, blithe as all get out. And it's true. He doesn't. Jealousy implies some kind of commitment, a childish sense of attachment that gets in the way of a good time — neither of which Rafe has the inclination to bother with. Except if Harry's digging in other plots then then it's a simple conclusion to make that he's no longer having a good time. ]
But as clearly you're not satisfied with this arrangement, I see no reason to continue it.
[ A shrug. Rafe may be frosty, to be sure, and rankles at the idea that he's somehow not good enough, but upset? Hardly. Never mind that he knows he's good in bed, works hard to be good and keep things interesting, has made sure that Harry always came first and hard enough to forget his own name afterward.
[He says it's not jealousy, but it sure does look like it from the outside. Overreactions, practically pouting, getting his knickers all in a twist because he happened to have a craving for really excellent breasts. Seriously, one would think they were together the way Rafe is going on about satisfaction and shit.]
It's not a big deal, really. [He shrugs, but like earlier, he feels a little twinge of...something? Nah, it's not important.] I like fucking women on occasion. I not bottoming more than on occasion. Doesn't mean I'm not satisfied, you just can't do those things. 'Sfine.
[Another shrug, and he's back into Rafe's space with a toothy grin and an intent to do bad.]
[ The echo is back but the temperature is edging higher by degrees.
He says he isn't jealous because it's the truth. It's more insult than envy, on the assumption of an inherent failing on Rafe's part. No, not failing — it's something worse, something that Rafe doesn't even have in him, some kind of baseline incompatibility that earns him a write-off. Sorry, best left to others more suited. A line he's heard over and over again and every time it's just more fuel toward showing people how wrong they are.
Whether Harry is aware or not, he's thrown down a gauntlet. Rafe's never been able to resist picking it up. ]
You think I can't. [ The bottle stays pressed into Harry's stomach another moment longer as he stares down every one of those bad intentions. Then he sets it aside for an even crueler grip at Harry's hip. ] Guess you really don't get tired of being wrong.
[ And with that he launches back into a kiss that's twice as ruthless as before, teeth clicking against Flynn's violently.
A part of him still warns against giving up control or a single inch of ground, unease gathering in his gut at the idea of just handing it over, but he's committed now and even more than that... Like hell he wants Flynn to think he's been proven right after all. ]
Edited (screwed up an apostrophe) 2017-12-16 08:29 (UTC)
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chardismastic) wrote2016-08-08 05:33 pm
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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.
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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.]
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[ 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.
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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.
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[ 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. ]
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[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.
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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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Surely, he had thought, that he wouldn't mind. He's seen other marks on him before, right? It's not like he hasn't been seeing other people on occasion, more one night stands than anything, but still. Sometimes he just needs to be able to take the control Rafe refuses to relinquish. And Cathy, as bitey as she is, give it to him.
So Adler's reaction is wholly unexpected. At first, he thinks it's something on the papers that he's notices. Following his eyeline though, he sees...well. All that evidence.]
Ah, I believe it's a bite mark? [He frowns, and then:] Catherine. One of the nerds out in the dirt?
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[ Rafe echoes, crisp and precise as he tips his chin up to better stare Harry down. ]
Then by all means. Please. Don't let me keep you from returning to said dirt.
[ There's no way to extricate himself without looking ridiculous, without squirming his way free around Flynn — so he doesn't try. Just stays where he is, stock still save for a bit more pressure with the bottle for Flynn to get the hint and fucking get out the way.
What's between them is the farthest thing from sentimental, a contract with a few fringe benefits left out of the fine print, and sentiment has nothing to do with Rafe's problem here — which is apparently that Harry has a problem. The only reason you shop around is if you're dissatisfied with what you've been getting. And if Harry's that dissatisfied with the sex he's been getting then Rafe's not about to keep offering. ]
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[He laughs, more in shock than humor. This is strange. Adler is so adamantly against attachments, emotions, anything that could be considered a positive emotion towards the the agreement between them, that the mere idea of him being upset he's fucking other people is so surreal.
Sex with Rafe is astounding. He's absolutely gifted in bed and Harry can't even remember a time he hasn't come when they fucked. But the truth of the matter is, Harry isn't a bottom. He likes it every which way, but things get old fast . He only acquiesces just because the fight isn't worth it and the orgasms are. So sometimes he just goes off and gets what he needs from someone else. Not like Rafe is going to provide.]
It's fine, love, she was just a bit of fun.
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[ he retorts, blithe as all get out. And it's true. He doesn't. Jealousy implies some kind of commitment, a childish sense of attachment that gets in the way of a good time — neither of which Rafe has the inclination to bother with. Except if Harry's digging in other plots then then it's a simple conclusion to make that he's no longer having a good time. ]
But as clearly you're not satisfied with this arrangement, I see no reason to continue it.
[ A shrug. Rafe may be frosty, to be sure, and rankles at the idea that he's somehow not good enough, but upset? Hardly. Never mind that he knows he's good in bed, works hard to be good and keep things interesting, has made sure that Harry always came first and hard enough to forget his own name afterward.
So what the hell could the problem have been? ]
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It's not a big deal, really. [He shrugs, but like earlier, he feels a little twinge of...something? Nah, it's not important.] I like fucking women on occasion. I not bottoming more than on occasion. Doesn't mean I'm not satisfied, you just can't do those things. 'Sfine.
[Another shrug, and he's back into Rafe's space with a toothy grin and an intent to do bad.]
C'mon.
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[ The echo is back but the temperature is edging higher by degrees.
He says he isn't jealous because it's the truth. It's more insult than envy, on the assumption of an inherent failing on Rafe's part. No, not failing — it's something worse, something that Rafe doesn't even have in him, some kind of baseline incompatibility that earns him a write-off. Sorry, best left to others more suited. A line he's heard over and over again and every time it's just more fuel toward showing people how wrong they are.
Whether Harry is aware or not, he's thrown down a gauntlet. Rafe's never been able to resist picking it up. ]
You think I can't. [ The bottle stays pressed into Harry's stomach another moment longer as he stares down every one of those bad intentions. Then he sets it aside for an even crueler grip at Harry's hip. ] Guess you really don't get tired of being wrong.
[ And with that he launches back into a kiss that's twice as ruthless as before, teeth clicking against Flynn's violently.
A part of him still warns against giving up control or a single inch of ground, unease gathering in his gut at the idea of just handing it over, but he's committed now and even more than that... Like hell he wants Flynn to think he's been proven right after all. ]
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