Author: Guede Mazaka
L’Art Pour L’Art: G, Danny/Tess, for hannahrorlove
They met in an art gallery, naturally enough. Tess had her fair share of offers, but she was at that point in her life where she didn’t want to keep going through the same preliminaries, only to find out that she and whoever weren’t suited to each other. So she had a test—two, actually. Danny passed the first one by smoothly, covertly, but definitely scoping out the plunge of her neckline.
He passed the second when they went to an art museum on their second date, and he spent exactly the right amount of time making perceptive, appreciative comments about the paintings and making flirtatious compliments her way. Genuinely interested in both art and women…a rare combination, she’d thought.
Later, she realized he had been assessing for a heist. And she bitterly wondered which had had the higher price attached to it in his mind.
* * *
Boys’ Night In: PG, Danny/Rusty/Linus, for thefourthvine
Cards are still flipped every which way across table and floor after Danny’s last dealer’s trick had literally blew up in his face. But Danny Ocean, being the calm confident confidence man he is, had effortlessly turned the laugh at him into a laugh with him. It had something to do with a wink and a finger-flutter at Rusty. Long minutes of mental dissection later, Linus still hasn’t worked it out.
The whiskey’s not working out too well, either. He should’ve stuck to the beer, maybe, but Rusty could slip a glass under your fingers easy as…as…Linus loses it. Over the couch arm, into the wastebasket, frathouse-style.
There’s a pair of hands smoothing back his hair, and another pair resting easy on his waist, just in case. When Linus comes up, red-faced and wiping his mouth, he’s so embarrassed—but Danny grins and makes him laugh with the other two.
* * *
Stranger: G, crossover with From Dusk Till Dawn, Seth and Rusty, for ioreth_firiath
Normally Rusty doesn’t go into bars this far from the strip, but that’s a matter of aesthetic and personal preference. It has nothing to do with how well he can take care of himself; silken tonguework aside, he’s not blind to the gritty side of life.
The man next to him straightens from his slouch just long enough to order a beer, and Rusty stops breathing. But then the other guy flicks a wary look over, dissolving the illusion. “What?”
“Nice tats.” And they are. Rusty can’t believe he hadn’t noticed them before; flamboyant black flames like that bespeak dust and violence, and a world that Danny would never, ever be in. So it’s a bit curious that Rusty was even looking.
He finishes his drink fast and leaves, buttoning up his jacket against the hot wind coming down. Back into the glitzy, fluorescent trenches of limbo.