quietmounds | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHAT ¿
WHERE ¿
WHEN day (¿) 39
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[The sun doesn't so much as rise as flick on with the sudden, glaring brightness of noon. Whatever time keeping device you have on you says its about 8:14am when this happens.

The power's back, but the time on your timekeeping device never really make sense with the position of the sun as it moves across the sky.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Also, how come there's a jail but I still can't arrest anyone? Seems unfair.

Maybe that's because you didn't join up with the cops when they opened the station.

I go say hi sometimes.

You ain't a cop though, are you?

... Not anymore, apparently.

[pats his shoulder]

Don't take it too hard. Just saying that might be why the jail ain't a thing that works for you.

Yeah, I'm thinking it might be a good thing.

[he nods]

Might be.

[turn an empty booze glass over in his hand]

I'm done with this. You ready to go?

[he gestures]

Ready when you are.

[he stands, not bothering to straighten out his clothes, sort of doing a shuffle rather than his usual striding steps]

[well, better follow my drunk detective home. McCree falls into step beside him.]

Doing all right there, detective?

[he nods, and is silent on the way to the apartment]

Just... tired.

Something got you feeling weary?

...

Just the usual.

[flops onto the couch]

[there's a moment's hesitation before he goes to sit down next to Lassie, petting at his head]

...

[he allows this, just turning his head to glance like ???]

[wow don't put him on the spot like that?]

—you looked like you needed it, is all.

...

What I need is a good, hard, fuck.

[he laughs, surprised]

Is that an invitation?

[he shrugs.]

Depends on if you're up for it.

Well, that depends on if you're thirsty for feeling my cock pounding you until you can't think straight.

[he leans in, expression and voice even]

I was thinking the other way around.

[oh well McCree's red now, licking his lips]

—Think I'd be more than happy to oblige you there.

Thought you might.

[sliding his hand over McCree's thigh, squeezing gently]