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Rock is sprawled out on the kitchen floor. It’s sweltering outside, and the cool tiles had been pleasant against his clammy skin, for all of five minutes, that is. Now they’re just sticky and uncomfortable from the condensation.
The washing machine has packed in again, usually this wouldn’t be a problem, they have their resident tech-wiz after all. Except Benny’s not here, he’s off visiting Jane in some sunny resort, leaving them at the mercy of temperamental machinery.
So, in short, they’re thoroughly fucked. It’s not like handy-men are easy to find around here, Rock would have a simpler job trying to find a hitman then someone who’s handy with a wrench.
And Rock’s down to his last set of clothes.
So yes, that’s what led him to be here, wearing nothing but his boxers, having spent the last hour or so trying to fix the damn thing to no avail.
“Slacker” he hears her signature snort of dark amusement before he sees her. Revy pads into the kitchen, bare feet uncharacteristically quiet against the tiled floor. It’s too hot for heavy boots, Revy has taken this one step further though, as she stands over him in naught but a tank top and underwear.
It’s a rather lovely view, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t stare a little. She’s all tanned skin and toned limbs, hair tugged up her classic ponytail, a few stray stands sticking to the wet skin of her neck. It makes his mouth a little dry.
Her tattoo is starting to fade, it’s something he’s noticed of late and he can see it very clearly in this current lighting. It’s years of working out in the sun that’s done it, she keep saying she’ll get it touched up soon, but organisation is hardly her strong point. A tribal design, it’s such a cliché tattoo for such an unconventional woman. He still likes it though, it’s fun to trace with his lips…
“I can’t get it to work” he offers lamely in protest.
“Can’t say I’m surprised” she drawls “isn’t this all a little too blue-collar for you?”
“Funnily enough, washing-machine repair wasn’t part of the syllabus at college” Rock retorts dryly, the effect kind of ruined by the grunting noise he makes as he sits up.
He’s not Revy, he’s not got abs of steal.
Revy looks at him in her usual apathetic manner, unless she’s pissed she’s not really the type to get overly animated, especially not in this weather. “Just wait for Ben to come back” she shrugs, folding her arms and leaning one curved hip against the countertop.
Dutch is out God knows where, their boss like his alone time and they don’t question it. But things have been quiet around here, surprisingly so. With no jobs coming in and Benny gone, it’s mainly just been the three of them trying to pass the time. But it looks like they’re down to two now though.
Not that he’s complaining.
“I haven’t got any shirts left” Rock bristles a little “I don’t have that luxury” he pushes his sweat-drenched hair out of his face, picking his torch and screwdriver back up, trying to peer back inside the machine.
“Yeah, you do” Revy insists, she looks a little more awake now, a slight glint of irritation in her eyes. Rock would blame it on the heat if he didn’t know Revy so well. “There’s a perfectly good shirt in the back of your closet, just ‘cause you’re too damn prissy to wear it…” she grumbles, crossing her legs at the ankle.
Not this again, it’s been years and she still won’t let the Hawaiian-shirt topic lie. It’s not his fault she’s got shitty taste.
Rock pulls his head back out to shoot Revy his best deadpan look. It’s hard though, the heat is doing funny thing to his brain and his gaze just gets stuck on her legs instead. When he finally drags his eyes back up to her face, Revy is smirking.
“Such a slacker” she taunts again, lifting a bare foot off the floor and pushing it, not so gently, against his bare chest.
She’s cruel, but Rock kinda likes it at this point. He’s surely a masochist.
It’s a pointless train of thought, she never comes to him when it’s light out. Only when it’s the dead of night or they’re drunk as fuck (or both) does she act on the tension between them. Rock would think it some sort of series of wild dreams on his part, if he didn’t have the claw marks on his back to prove it.
It’s been going on for a year or so now, and it works for them, there’s no need to change it, right? He’d like to be able to touch her in daylight hours though, without fear of her snapping his fingers off.
He clicks his tongue, mainly to preserve some sort of dignity, returning back to the task at hand. “I think something’s jammed in there” he mumbles, the sound echoing inside the machine. Revy just grunts in response and Rock hears the fridge door open and the distinct sound of a bottle being opened.
A cold beer sounds nice right about now, but he’s gotta get this shit sorted first. He almost dislocates his shoulder in the process, but eventually Rock mages to slide his screwdriver through the scrap of offending fabric.
Rock pulls. He pulls so hard that there’s the loud sound of snapping thread and then Rock’s on his back again, feeling winded, clutching a ripped lacy thong in one hand.
Oh yeah, and Revy’s laughing.
“The fuck…” Rock groans, rubbing the back of his head as he forces himself back up-right, staring blankly at the underwear in his hand. “These aren’t yours” he states dumbly. Because Rock knows all of Revy’s underwear, she sticks to practical plain black, these are much too frilly for either of their likings.
“Nope” Revy echoes, sobering up after cackling at his misfortune, popping the ‘p’ “they must be Dutch’s”
“I don’t think they’d fit –“
“They’re from some girl he fucked, Rock, Christ” she rolls her eyes, looking exasperated at his naivety.
Oh, oh that makes a lot more sense. Well, that’s more than he ever needed to know about his boss’s sex life, it’s probably karma, it’s not like they’re particularly quiet.
At least the washing machine is no longer broken, right?
Rock scrambles to his feet, tossing the ripped thong into the trach “You think it’s Balaika’s?” he asks curiously, glancing at the woman behind him. He’s sure he’s seen a flicker of something between the two before.
She arches an eyebrow in response “always thought if she was gonna bang anyone it would be Chang”
Ah, fair point.
“You gonna test it then?” Revy suggests, and when Rock just stares at her she huffs. Perhaps he got a concussion when he fell back on the floor. Or maybe he’s just a moron.
“Here” She rolls her eye again, dragging her top off over her head without any shame, “Test it” she repeats, tossing it to him.
Rock nods, maybe the heat’s getting to him too much, honestly, he swears his brain was functioning a lot better when Revy hand more clothes on. He tosses it in along with some detergent, presses the button and prays.
It make few loud noises of protest, but then water is rushing in and it’s spinning.
Bingo.
Rock turns to Revy, wide grin smeared across his face, but she’s already there, right in front of him “Our fuckin’ hero” she mocks dryly, pinching his nose roughly between her thumb and index finger. Rock has a sharp response already perched on his tongue. But then her mouth is on his, her warm hand pressed against the back of his neck, and suddenly his tongue has much better things to do.
Maybe he should add “handy –man” to his list of duties around here, especially if this is the kind of reward he can expect.