Two Pros Drabbles
by Mab
Day is scarier than night. By day there's no avoiding seeing everything there is to see. Cowley's frustration, Bodie's scowl, the way that his own hand shakes infinitesimally before the action, as well as after. By day, one day, he might have to see someone hurt because he's getting too fucking old for this. And him not forty yet.
One night, keeping company in the dark, Bodie states, "Time we packed this in."
"That obvious, is it?" There's no hiding the relief in his voice.
"Always did need me to point out the obvious." He's a smug bastard, sometimes, Bodie.
Doyle spinning his makeshift torch amidst the eye-stinging reek of spilled plane fuel sparked Sangster's attention. Handcuffs bit my wrists so that gentlemen thieves could conveniently chuck me out 8,000 feet up, but that mad bastard sparked my attention too. Now, my hands free, I run a finger along the inside seam of Doyle's jeans.
"Nice of you to eventually convince the plods I was on the side of the righteous, Raymond. Should I wonder about you and cuffs?"
No dirty laugh; just a broad, urchin grin beneath desire-lit eyes. Blaze of glory it is, then. One way or another.
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