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for trainedbrofessional
When Crowbar had walked into Die's room and asked, "hey, can you tell me my fortune?" Die should have really told him he didn't know fortune telling. But he didn't, so here they were, Crowbar perched on the bed next to him as Die spread out the cards. He's trying to make up interpretations on the fly, but it's kind of hard with Crowbar's breath hot and moist on his neck. After a while, though, Die is pretty sure Crowbar isn't there for a fortune.
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"Crowbar," Die shouted, bursting into the room. Crowbar sighed and shut his eyes cynically. He had been a spritely man once, naive and ambitious. He thought he could change the world, but now. Now, he was just a guy with a hunk of metal and a hat that looked like a fucking nacho chip. He threw it across the room in disgust.
"Whoa," Die said, stretching to catch it. Crowbar didn't see the point. This place was driving him to drink and stepping on the gas. "Crowbar," Die said, and Crowbar just sighed again. "Yeah?" Crowbar asked tiredly."Crowbar, let's make out." And then, everything went better than expected.
"Die, let's make out," Crowbar said, strutting into the bedroom. "Hell yes," Die said. He tucked his doll (carefully) into the dresser drawer and gave Crowbar a saucy wink. Crowbar was hot and bothered and secretly relieved. The last time they had a "passionate encounter," it felt like the doll was eyeing them up.
They crossed the room into each other's arms. Die knocked Crowbar's hat off in a fit of passion and not at all because the thing was pointy as hell and poked him in the eye last time. But there was trouble on the horizon.
Die pulled back and gasped, "wait, what happened to your face?" Crowbar turned to the mirror, and in its reflective surface, he could see that his face was rubbed raw. It was... felt burn.
