In Which Insurance Agents are Demons

[safetyoffthegun]

Eliot was leaning back against the kitchen counter, laughing with an arched brow as he eyed Bobby, tipping the beer in his hand back to meet his lips, and drinking heavily from the amber-gold liquid.  They'd become fast friends after stumbling across each other in the middle of a job.  Turns out the bad guys that Nate and the rest of their crew had

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[safetyoffthegun]

The way he murmurs makes it fairly transparent that he's thinking about what happened after the job, not during. He swallows against the back of his throat, a scowl curling his lips. He remembers, of course, a flick of eyelashes over his blue eyes as he glares evenly at the man he might consider a demon, but certainly not in the literal sense. It's almost too obvious.

"No, I'm not."

It's snapped back in sharp response. That smug smile makes Eliot's shoulders tense, the way his arms were crossed across his chest becoming a little bit tighter. He wants to punch that smug look off of his face, but that goading has him trying to still his hands. Eliot does his best to do the exact opposite of what Sterling seems to be looking for.

But, that desire is seething under his skin. Eliot would claim he's only violent when it's justified, but Sterling is justification enough. And so, that goading only buys about ten seconds of stillness, before he's moving in a sudden, sharp snap of violence.

His arms uncoiling from their position against his chest, and one hand grabs into his shirt as a balled fist goes to impact skin. Eliot is fast, too fast for Sterling to follow, but that had somehow never really dampened their awkward dynamic. Maybe it was because Eliot never hit him quite as hard as he did everyone else.