Wilson Degrange-Skeevy McSkeeviton, if you ask Danny-is a 6-foot-6 bear of a man, with tree trunks for arms and legs and a face that might be considered handsome if he wasn't the devil incarnate. Wilson uses his twinks in every sense of the word, first as sex toys, then as guinea pigs for his designer drugs, and finally, as dealers, until they’ve outlived (or not) their usefulness. He is a bad fucking son of a bitch, and if he was a fraction less clever they would have had him weeks ago.
Danny is waiting for a time when Steve can look at this guy’s picture and not clench his jaw so hard he gets a visible tick. That will be a good day.
“We’re gonna get this guy,” Steve says in the van, holding still enough for Kono to finish dirtying him up in the most literal sense of the word. Steve has dirt smudged under his jaw, grit under his nails, mud on his knees like he’s been-
“I know we will, babe,” Danny says, even though this is just Steve pumping himself up. But it was either blurt that or lose another half hour of time he can’t account for thinking about Steve on his knees.
“Not too much dirt,” Chin says, simultaneously checking their earbud frequencies. “Don’t want him to look like a hobo.”
“But.” Kono holds up one finger. “We do want him to look like a Hoooooobo.”
“Yes,” Chin deadpans as Steve tucks his nose into his collar and tries not to crack up, “That is. Wow, Kono.”
“Thank you, thank you,” she smirks, and takes a little bow.
Danny is waiting for a time when Steve can look at this guy’s picture and not clench his jaw so hard he gets a visible tick. That will be a good day.
“We’re gonna get this guy,” Steve says in the van, holding still enough for Kono to finish dirtying him up in the most literal sense of the word. Steve has dirt smudged under his jaw, grit under his nails, mud on his knees like he’s been-
“I know we will, babe,” Danny says, even though this is just Steve pumping himself up. But it was either blurt that or lose another half hour of time he can’t account for thinking about Steve on his knees.
“Not too much dirt,” Chin says, simultaneously checking their earbud frequencies. “Don’t want him to look like a hobo.”
“But.” Kono holds up one finger. “We do want him to look like a Hoooooobo.”
“Yes,” Chin deadpans as Steve tucks his nose into his collar and tries not to crack up, “That is. Wow, Kono.”
“Thank you, thank you,” she smirks, and takes a little bow.
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