~
Hal wasn’t drawing back, and he wasn’t relenting, either. What he was doing was making this entire situation worse (which until now had, in general, been Flint’s job – and even he would never pull this shit). Their foreheads were still resting together; Hal’s breath was on his face, his voice a rumble in the little space between them, and despite the fact that he was clearly referring to Flint snapping his fucking neck, the unusual tension between them simply wasn’t going away.
His hands twitched. His body shifted under Gates, like he might be working himself up to start fighting again. That would have been the intelligent thing to do. At least, it would have been the intelligent thing to do in comparison to what Flint did do, which was decidedly up there on the list of stupid, impulsive decisions he’d made throughout his life.
Flint kissed him. It took only the slightest tilt of his head to allow it, which in Flint’s mind was only proof that Hal should never have been this fucking close to his face in the first place. It was the briefest press of lips, but it was decidedly more than a peck, which could have been played off as a jest. This–could most assuredly not be played off. But what the fuck did Hal think was going to happen?
Probably not this, Flint’s mind supplied helpfully, while he burned with adrenaline. Just about anything else, maybe.
He was already trying to come up with some kind of excuse in his mind as he withdrew, wide-eyed and whole body burning (and shaking, which he supposed was only natural after kissing a man you had no business kissing). With nowhere else to look, Flint simply glared like this was Gates’ fault, and tilted his chin up slightly without a word.
Perhaps he should not have provoked him.
In truth Hal couldn’t have said what possessed him to do it in the first place, but there was no denying the outcome was already leading to panic. He could feel the man shaking beneath him – and even if he couldn’t, the effort Flint’s face and neck were presently making to dress as one with his hair would have been a dead giveaway regardless.
So, this was a quandary if there ever was one. On the one hand, he still had Flint pinned ( and it had a whole new context thanks to that little bit of cheating on the captain’s end! ) and could certainly get on up out of here well before the damn spitfire registered he’d bolted for it. On the other hand –
Ah, fuck it. Whatever remained of his immortal soul already had it’s soul nailed to this fucking idiot anyway. What was another sin for the coffin?
“That was shit.” A rude critique, but it was true – barely a fucking peck, and hardly anything to brag about. Lifting up, Hal kept his grip and shifted so that he could get up and haul Flint with him. Once they both had their feet under them, Hal was good enough to give Flint his arms back – bu only so as to reach up and yank his lanky ass in for a proper kiss.
Ocean Archive 