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“Should’ve known you were gonna be a brat,” Chris mumbled against Piers lips, dragging out the kiss Piers had tugged him into. Piers made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
Chris pulled back wide eyed, and then laughed at the expression on Piers face. Mortified, Piers looked absolutely mortified.
“Don’t. Don’t say anything.”
“Never would’ve pegged you for the type, Nivans.”
“I’m not,” Piers hissed, kicking out at the larger man, who just grabbed his ankle and tugged Piers towards him.
“You sure? Cause you’re looking pretty flush there, kid.”
Piers kneed Chris in ribs, who merely wheezed through his laughter.
“Fuck you — just — “ Piers growled and pulled Chris down over him.
“Hey, Piers.”
Nothing.
“Piers.”
A grumble, a hand waving him off from underneath the covers. Chris considered for a moment. Weighed his options.
“Baby, look at me.”
A pillow to his face, and a bright red Piers glaring at him. Success.
Chris carefully pushed back Piers’ bangs, wiping away the blood trailing down from on a cut on his forehead. Piers gave a shuddering sigh and looked up, finally meeting Chris’ eyes.
“How you doing there, angel?” Chris asked softly, eyes crinkling and smile gentle.
Piers blinked in surprise and huffed a strangled laugh. He shook his head in disbelief.
Piers scowled but threw back the medicine, making a face at the flavor. He shuddered and gratefully took a swig from the water bottle Chris handed him.
He licked his lips and swallowed again for good measure, before looking up at Chris.
“Happy?”
Chris hummed an affirmative and then brought his hand up to Piers’ head and gave him a pat.
“Good boy.”
Piers dropped the water bottle.
“He looks so pissed, Chris,” Jill murmured in awe, “What the fuck did you do?”
“Found out something he didn’t want me to know.”
Jill raised a brow. “And what’s that?”
“Watch. Hey, Piers.”
“What,” the man said flatly, not looking up from cleaning his rifle.
“Can you pass me the cleaning jag?”
“Fine,” was the response Chris got, along with the tool being tossed in his direction.
Chris caught it easily, and then said casually, “Thanks, sweetheart.”
Piers knocked his knee against the table, the jumble of metal in front of him clattering against each other. He buried his face in his hands. Jill couldn’t help it, she laughed.
“I fucking hate you,” Piers mumbled through his hands, before throwing a bottle of solvent at Chris. He missed.