Hook, line, and fuckin' sinker.
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@cmdr-graves
Hook, line, and fuckin' sinker.
you're kind of gay :/ and I'm not talking about Graves :/ bc he's hella gay :/
your heart is full of hatred
I am pure of heart what do you mean
Thank you @a-phoenix-must-burn and everyone who got me to 2000 reblogs!
you're kind of gay :/ and I'm not talking about Graves :/ bc he's hella gay :/
your heart is full of hatred
Cash ur stinky…
if im stinky... then whos driving the bus!!!
The engine sputters to life, whining in protest. yeah, yeah. coyote thinks. i'll get to you one day. he shifts his feet to find the gas pedal, and frowns when his knees thump against the bottom of the dash. the moonlight outside taunts him, body stuck between man and monster. shifting would make this easier. then again, the last thing new mexico needs is more conspiracies. coyote leans his head back against the leather seat and shifts the chair back, yanking the transmission out of park unceremoniously.
they roll down the city streets, quiet this far into the night. too quiet, coyote decides, and flicks on the radio. some far off AM station crackles through the speakers, distorted guitars sounding more like static. he fights the urge to slap his commander's hand off the knob when he turns it down. any annoyance is interrupted by incredulity at the slurred question that falls from graves' mouth. coyote glances his way in utter bafflement.
"jesus man, you fucking hired me. i figured you'd at least glance at the file." he scoffs, and shakes his head, pressing his foot down onto the brake more harshly than he really should, shifting gears. even in the low light he can see the man next to him looks green. "if you're gonna throw up, open the window."
the tinny, upbeat voice of some product's spokesman begins to sound from the speakers, and coyote twists the dial to a new station, the sound of static filling the cab.
they wind through city streets, coyote trying his best to fit into the skin of a normal driver - a monumental task for someone who spent the best of their formative driving years in cambridge, massachusetts. he idles at a red light, watching the white man change to a flashing red hand, and contemplates asking for an address. one glance at the pallid complexion and furrowed brows of the man in the passenger seat changes his mind. the turn signal thunks on, and 15 minutes later he pulls into a parking lot.
coyote slams his door shut and waits. when no sound comes from the passenger side, he grumbles, pulling the door open, and lifting graves out of the seat.
"c'mon, up and at 'em." he says, locking the car behind him. his keys jingle quietly as he fumbles about, trying to unlock the door with one hand. it door swings open eventually, and slams shut with a swift kick. coyote doesn't bother to take off his shoes, dragging the dead weight of his commander into the bedroom and letting him slump down onto the bed.
In further attempts to keep himself from spewing the mixture of blood and drink that churns his stomach, Graves lets his eyes drift shut. The momentum of turns taken too hard make his head swim. Somehow, he keeps it together until they're parked.
Yet again, his world moves by Coyote's hands.
Graves had always imagined Coyote's apartment to smell much like his clothes do - a lingering smell of cigarettes, and a musk that Graves will soon realize is the scent of werewolf. A musk that now consumes him when he's tucked into Coyote's side. But there's a distinct scent of cleaning supplies as Graves sorts through it.
It settles his stomach just the slightest bit.
Under him, he finds his feet, but there's no effort made to move away from Coyote. Quite the opposite, as Graves buries his face in the space between Coyote's shoulder and neck.
"Never thought ya takin' me home would look like this - not that I'm complainin'."
Something hot starts to burn in the back of Phoenix's throat at the sound of Graves' laughter. Being laughed at, being ridiculed, isn't something that Phoenix is good at taking lying down.
One would think that Phoenix's first reaction to everything should be self-preservation. It's the very base of human instinct. When in a dangerous situation, the first instinct is to preserve one's own life at any cost. Here, that would come in the form of being docile. Agreeable. Letting Graves do whatever he wants in order to stay alive for long enough to escape.
"You're really sad, you know that? What, did your mommy not love you enough? Did Daddy hit you around a few too many times? Your girlfriend leave you because you're a fucking loser?"
There was a cruel edge to Phoenix's voice, one that says that he's not asking for any reason other than to try humiliating the man in front of him the way that the man has humiliated Phoenix.
If he didn't know better, he'd think that Phoenix had been stalking him. He pulls the insults from deep within Graves' past. For a half a second, his smile falters. Blink and Phoenix would miss it. But Phillip Graves is the king of deflecting.
"Aw, sweetheart, project some more. It'll untie ya 'n get ya outta my basement, that's for sure."
Phoenix's fate is decided, he supposes. He's already seen Graves' face, could likely point out a location to anyone with an understanding of the area - and Graves is only making it worse with every word spoken.
Phoenix should already be gone. And Graves can't quite place what's keeping him here.
"Y'done? Or are ya gonna dig y'r grave a little deeper?"
🍺
:3
drag my muse to go out to a bar
You want... a rootbeer. At a bar.
Mhm. Someone’s gotta drive you home.
I can drive fine.
🍺
:3
drag my muse to go out to a bar
You want... a rootbeer. At a bar.
hi hi hi
Soldier.
coyote scoffs, downing the rest of his drink.
“you know i hate it when you call me that.”
the glass thunks against the sticky, lacquered wood of the bar, and coyote knocks his shoulder against graves’, hand ghosting over the small of the other man’s back. when he speaks again, it’s through a sleazy grin that graces his features all too often.
“‘n i dunno. maybe if you ask real nice…”
Graves' drink has long since been forgotten in favor of his hands on Coyote, prodding and pulling where ever Coyote would allow. He moves on to tug on a belt loop beneath flannel. Greedy.
"What'd'ya want? I'd get on my knees but you'll have me there soon enough."
im on the computer so i cant send emojis imagine a beer can @callsign-coyote
drag my muse to go out to a bar
It's rare that they go out together. It's even rarer that Coyote is the one to invite him. But Graves already too far gone, entirely too close with a lock of Coyote's hair twirled around his finger.
"Mmm... hi."
coyote huffs in response and takes another swig of his drink. for once in his life he doesn’t pull away from the touch. maybe it’s the alcohol that thrums in his veins. maybe it’s something else.
“hey yourself.”
If the sober version of himself saw the flush spread across his cheeks, he'd pull himself from the seat at the bar and express in not-so-kind words just exactly how much he's embarassing himself.
But alcohol shed his inhibitions and he leans in close to the space above Coyote's shoulder.
"Y'gonna take me home, Michael?"
im on the computer so i cant send emojis imagine a beer can @callsign-coyote
drag my muse to go out to a bar
It's rare that they go out together. It's even rarer that Coyote is the one to invite him. But Graves already too far gone, entirely too close with a lock of Coyote's hair twirled around his finger.
"Mmm... hi."
🍺
- @colonel-v-palmer :3
drag my muse to go out to a bar
It's the commander's turn to bring Venus to his neck of the woods - a bar with blue collar boys, and rednecks. The outfit Venus wears earns him a hoot and a holler or two as the both of them grab a seat at the bar.
"My treat, sugar."
💫 Ten years from now, what random Tuesday are they spending together?
👀 Who gets jealous more easily & how obvious are they about it?
🧩 What tiny habit of the other do they find unbearably adorable?
@cmdr-graves
yelling at eachother about something stupid. probably the price of whatever the latest thing they bought is (new computer parts, a nice cut of meat, another houseplant to neglect
i think its kinda even, graves def shows it more outwardly. coyote cant recognize the feeling in himself very well, and doesnt really show it, he just kinda feels bad
as much as he complains about all the fancy things graves likes to buy, he is kind of tickled by how much he preens. likes teasing him about new greys whether theyre there or not.
🔥 What’s the pettiest thing they’ve ever argued about?
🖤 What’s the darkest “we’ll never tell anyone” thing they’ve done together?
🧳 If they had to run away together tomorrow, where would they go?
@cmdr-graves
Ship Headcanons
🔥 What’s the pettiest thing they’ve ever argued about?
I think something like... Not dropping everything to be available at a whim for him. Something along those lines. Yes he spoils her, but she also has a life and responsibilities. I could see her career being affected and arguments starting over it.
🖤 What’s the darkest “we’ll never tell anyone” thing they’ve done together?
Got married in Vegas. :)
🧳 If they had to run away together tomorrow, where would they go?
With Phil's bank account? The world is their oyster. Probably somewhere remote and sunny. I'm thinking some rural part of Greece or Spain. Bora Bora, maybe. Eee IDK! They'd treat it like a vacay for sure.
Send 🍺 to drag my muse to go out to a bar for a drink together!
Metal of chair legs scrapes across the concrete floor as Graves pulls up the ragged thing to sit in front of his newest toy. The crooked smile on his lips doesn't falter when the bastard kicks the plate away, or when he curses at his captor.
"Y'wish, sugar."
Graves knows that this has all gone so wrong already - the pounding in his head, the entire man sitting on his basement floor with the remnants of blood surrounding him. Will he let that show for a second? No.
"Y'r a fighter. What'd ya got t'go back to- man like you?"
Instead, he stares. Tries to unravel the enigma in front of him.
What does Phoenix have to go back to? Parents who hate him? Friends who don’t really seem to care about him? A sister who would love nothing more than for him to be gone? Some dead end job he picked up after recovering from almost dying?
“I feed stray cats,” he says after a moment, voice still harsh. “Outside of my apartment. Hungry little beasts.”
It’s hard to tell if Phoenix is lying or not. His face doesn’t give much away. His tone gives away even less.
After a moment of even more glaring, Phoenix starts trying to push himself up some, even if it’s just a little. He doesn’t like feeling smaller than this man. Doesn’t like feeling vulnerable or seeming like he’s cowering beneath Graves. It’s not Phoenix’s style.
“Doubt you’ve even got that much. I can’t imagine anyone wants to be around you longer than, what, five minutes? This must be a record for you.”
He feeds stray cats.
Oh, it's ridiculous.
Silence stretches between them, as if boring holes into Phoenix's forehead will make this outcome any different. As if it'll provide him with a reason to either cut Phoenix loose or cut his throat.
The absurdity of it draws a laugh from deep within Graves, raw and genuine.
"Bet ya name 'em, don't ya? Fluffy 'n Socks-"
He's only making himself laugh harder. Even with the knowledge that, yes, this is likely a record since Graves has began this life. At least it's not... cats.
The laughter abruptly ends.
"So. No one to miss ya, ain't?"