[ For several moments, Jack simply stares blankly at Brock. He blinks slowly and runs his tongue over his teeth. Logic and his discourse over the entire situation that just happened are at odds and his brain is taking a little longer to settle on the proper reaction to have. Jack swallows, then clears his throat, and it's that action that spurs his brain back to reality. His lips twist and he makes a sound of disgust. The bottle of champagne is set down on the table in front of them as his other hand gently pushes against Brock's face to get his filthy, sappy, romantic bullshit out of Jack's face.
If that's the reaction Brock was looking for — for Jack to be inconceivably horrified at the very notion of Brock turning into some sticky, sopping wet romantic — he definitely got it.
At least for a second or eight. ]
You're disgusting.
[ Situating himself better on the couch, his legs are parted into a slight vee and the robe splits open enough to expose a strip of a pale thigh. From that, it's easy to wager he's wearing nothing underneath. Nothing is done to correct it, either. Modesty is a thing that exists, he knows, but he also can't seem to find it within himself to care. Jack tips his head back to rest against the cushion of the couch and makes the attempt to not think of what things would be like if this was real. It's not like either one of them want anything this solidly committed. And, really, who needs it? It's just words on a paper in a binding contract, proof that love possibly exists and his heart could really, honestly, and truly belong to someone else.
So stupid. Totally unnecessary to living a full, contented life.
Completely.
Jack lifts his left hand, fingers splayed as he looks at his ring. When the dossier with the mission had been given to them, two simple gold bands were included on the specs and supplies. That did not go over well with him. He'd needled (aka: heavily bitched) until he'd gotten his way to at least get them something better. Jack Benjamin doesn't wear cheap gold. Not that it really mattered, but he wanted something to better reflect who they are. Neither one of them are all that traditional. So, he'd gone with darker metal because it made sense; Brock's was similar, but with no additional baubles. He's just not that kind of guy. They don't need a perfect matching set. That's not who they are either. And even if this is just for a short mission and they'll have to give them back once all is said and done, Jack's willing to go the extra mile to make it look as convincing as possible.
Looking into what that means is out of the fucking question.
The light glints off the edges of the black diamonds, staining his eyes for a moment with the false reality. It's a dangerous game he's edging upon, so he simply sighs and drops his hand down, choosing to rest it against Brock's thigh. His head lolls to the side so he can look at Brock. ]
no subject
If that's the reaction Brock was looking for — for Jack to be inconceivably horrified at the very notion of Brock turning into some sticky, sopping wet romantic — he definitely got it.
At least for a second or eight. ]
You're disgusting.
[ Situating himself better on the couch, his legs are parted into a slight vee and the robe splits open enough to expose a strip of a pale thigh. From that, it's easy to wager he's wearing nothing underneath. Nothing is done to correct it, either. Modesty is a thing that exists, he knows, but he also can't seem to find it within himself to care. Jack tips his head back to rest against the cushion of the couch and makes the attempt to not think of what things would be like if this was real. It's not like either one of them want anything this solidly committed. And, really, who needs it? It's just words on a paper in a binding contract, proof that love possibly exists and his heart could really, honestly, and truly belong to someone else.
So stupid. Totally unnecessary to living a full, contented life.
Completely.
Jack lifts his left hand, fingers splayed as he looks at his ring. When the dossier with the mission had been given to them, two simple gold bands were included on the specs and supplies. That did not go over well with him. He'd needled (aka: heavily bitched) until he'd gotten his way to at least get them something better. Jack Benjamin doesn't wear cheap gold. Not that it really mattered, but he wanted something to better reflect who they are. Neither one of them are all that traditional. So, he'd gone with darker metal because it made sense; Brock's was similar, but with no additional baubles. He's just not that kind of guy. They don't need a perfect matching set. That's not who they are either. And even if this is just for a short mission and they'll have to give them back once all is said and done, Jack's willing to go the extra mile to make it look as convincing as possible.
Looking into what that means is out of the fucking question.
The light glints off the edges of the black diamonds, staining his eyes for a moment with the false reality. It's a dangerous game he's edging upon, so he simply sighs and drops his hand down, choosing to rest it against Brock's thigh. His head lolls to the side so he can look at Brock. ]
Did you ever want to get married?