#swallowedglass

“What? I am totally marriage material.”

Kol glanced at his watch, an eyebrow raised as he noted the time. Cops tended to be notoriously time wasteful, and apparently the FBI weren’t much different. It was almost comical to him how his birth pack had managed to attract not only human cop attention, but national attention. It was honestly a bit of a clusterfuck.

It was fun to watch Neal try to pretend he didn’t notice how pretty the lawyer was, or that her confidence was basically an unspoken challenge for him to make her like him.  He tried to appear informed and involved in the briefing meeting, answering Peter’s questions with a serious earnestness that would have been convincing if Diana didn’t know him better. He took a quick glance at the lawyer- Alexandra Cabot- to see if he was making an impression. Diana caught his eye, and she gave a brief shake of the head and half a smile: dream on, convict boy. Neal clicked a pen and raised an eyebrow, dropping his eyes to the paper in front of him: Oh, Diana, ye of little faith. Peter glanced at both of them, just long enough to make Neal sit up a little and for Diana to wipe the smile from her face.

After Peter dismissed them, he glanced at Neal for a moment, and then Diana. That was as good as a spoken request, and she stood up, getting between Neal and Alexandra.

Elliot saw her coming a mile away. She was the same kind of force-of-nature presence as Liv, the same kind of don’t-fuck-with-me physical impact in any room. not that she had to know how much she got to him. He idly thumbed through some files on his desk as she approached him, and when he finally looked up, his smile was as bland as a bored receptionist. 

WE LIKE PAIN OKAY PHOE

@swallowedglass

Nick pushes his hair back with one hand and grins. There’s sweat on his brow and his knuckles are scraped and his body aches where bruises are forming. But he doesn’t care, teeth stark against his dark skin and split lip. The crowd is a dull roar in his ears and he waves a careless hand at them as he exits the ring. His winning streak is intact, and if it comes at the price of physical pain, well. There were worse things in the world, weren’t there? At least this way he was living.

Fin, his coach, settled his robe on his shoulders and tried to tug him in the direction of the change rooms, but she shrugged him off; fans and spectators were coming to talk to him. He liked doing this right out of the ring. After a shower and wearing real clothes, he didn’t feel the same. He liked the sweat between his shoulders and the bruises starting to show.