a second nothingburger drabble, this time bertmos flavor
"My gun come in?"
"I mean, it could have."
Deimos fixes Bert with a hard stare, but can't actually find it in himself to be irritated. Bert is leaned forward on the counter, chin resting in his hand and lopsided smile not faltering. "Seriously, I gotta be outta here in like, half an hour. Is it here or not?" Deimos asks, double checking the time on his phone.
"Where are you off to, lad?" Bert asks as he straightens up and steps further back into the shop, rummaging through stacks of boxes on the shelves behind himself.
"Mission. I don't really need the Canik for it but I wanna take it for a test drive. Sanford is gonna actually bury me if I make us run late though."
"That so?" Bert hums. He turns around and sets a box on the counter, then slides it towards Deimos.
"Uh-huh. Dude's weird about leaving on time like speeding can't fix it," Deimos explains as he takes the gun out to inspect it. It's weighty, hefty grip sitting nicely in his palm and the tungsten finish even prettier in person. And the trigger… none of those thoughts are in the Bible. "Three-fifty, right?"
"Weeeellllll, y'see, with the way the market's been going and the economy in shambles—"
"Bert, we had a deal."
"Have I ever mentioned how great your memory is?"
"Bert."
Bert grins at him, cheeky like he's got an entire card deck up his sleeve, then leans forward over the counter and beckons Deimos closer. Curiosity has him in a chokehold already, but Deimos still makes a show of huffing and rolling his eyes before leaning in.
"I could give you a discount. Fifteen-ish percent off, buuuut…" Bert laces his fingers together and rests his chin atop them, and Deimos already knows the end of that sentence before Bert says it. "I want a kiss."
Deimos will pretend that his face flushes with indignance, straightening up and turning his head away like the notion offends him. Like Bert hasn't tasted every inch of his mouth behind closed doors anyways. He crosses his arms, then sighs, then fixes Bert with a scowl. "How much?"
"Three hundred even. Fifty dollars off the original deal because you're such a valued customer."
This fucking guy.
It's one thing to makeout with your friend when both of you are drunk and nothing matters. It's a whole other thing to kiss him in the middle of a busy hallway.
However, fifty dollars is fifty dollars.
With feigned reluctance, Deimos snatches the hat off Bert's head as he leans forward, holding it up to shield their faces from the busiest side. It's quick, closer to a peck than a proper kiss, but it's different kissing Bert sober. When his lips aren't raw from biting at them all night and Deimos can't taste whiskey on his breath. When there's no thumping music and no obnoxious friends around to poke fun at them for getting too handsy with it.
A single second is like an hour when you feel like you're being watched, and Deimos breaks away faster than he'd like. Then he tosses the hat back onto the counter, slaps down a wad of cash, and grabs the gun before stalking off as he yanks the brim of his visor down to hide the redness on his cheeks, ignoring Bert's teasing remark of 'come again soon!'
Fifty dollars is fifty dollars.
