“I’m saying it doesn’t affect it, Vince, not when it comes to your job. You’ve been there for years, no one is going to turn you into an i***t overnight.”
“Made me enough of an i***t to let you into that case file,” Vince mumbles into his neck, “dick.”
Reza doesn’t answer, only brings a hand up to stroke the recently-shorn hair at the back of Vince’s head. “Get off,” he demands after a moment.
Vince sucks a short kiss into the base of Reza’s neck and complies, watching Reza float to the loo, door open wide as he flits around at the sink.
He feels better, a bit. Mostly he feels settled, soothed by the particular chill of Reza’s logic, his biting words and playful venom.
It doesn’t solve anything, though.
Illson had essentially called Vince twisted, hadn’t he, wrapped up in Reza’s dark
