whoa, whoa, whoa—hold up. hold up. if anyone was the cobra in this relationship, it was gonna be him. abruptly, a dark brow arched in the blond’s direction, the easy-going smile that had once been dancing across the younger’s face quickly turning into something that mirrored clay’s smirk, a quiet little ‘snrk’ escaping him despite…well, honestly, there were no attempts to muffle that noise. “guess I should start calling you white snake during our missions then, huh?” he teased, shrugging his shoulders a little bit, as though this conversation was entirely innocent.
“fine. you can be a little cobra. I’ll be the anaconda. it’s only logical—like you said, you’re older than me. and things do tend to shrink when people get older.” did he feel a little smug after that response? no, not at all; he felt entirely smug. as before, though, the words were uttered in simple jest—something that he made clear when he took a moment to press a kiss to the corner of clay’s mouth, a quiet laughter rumbling through him.
Oh that smarmy little-
Clay’s lips turned down into a frown, the kiss barely registering. If there was anything wrong with his processor of a brain, it was the amount of time it took him to generate a comebacks. He pouted down at Desmond, knowing that it wouldn’t take long for the younger assassin to start feeling bad for saying something like that. After all he was only… 30? 31? And truth be told, his body was a little deteriorated… Whatever had brought him back brought him back in the condition that he was in when he’d…
"Well," he muttered almost indignantly. "You just have so much to look forward to."
So maybe making Desmond feel bad wasn’t the best, nicest tactic, but it was bound to work. It usually worked, anyway. At least… Clay thought so.