some of the least sexy graves/tf you've ever read

Despite all of Fate's jealousy, it's not like he leaves Malcolm no reason to also doubt. When the gypsie comes home that night, he stinks of bar smoke and stale perfume. It's so goddamn typical. Malcolm grouses and pushes him away to the other side of the bed when Fate comes sidling up to him with hands that are already itching to get busy.

He's no fool. Twisted Fate, on the other hand, must have gotten into a bar fight and incurred brain damage if he believes that Malcolm will be there to pick up where the women left off. Despite the charmer he claims to be, that share of Fate's luck inevitably runs dry when he's deep in his cups. The other man seems to be surprisingly lucid after a night out, however, puzzlingly enough. It incites Grave's cynicism.

It's the niggling fear that maybe Fate didn't strike out and is simply insatiable tonight - that it's the sloppy seconds he's offered Malcolm - that has Malcolm obliging for the sake of sick curiosity.

"Alright, I'll bite," he drawls, increduous and already unamused with the assumed deception. He rolls back over towards Fate's side of the bed and ducks underneath the covers.

"I sure hope not," Fate laughs at his own joke, and Malcolm feels it rumble beneath him as he grudgingly relieves the other man of his clothes, tossing each article out of the bed after it's been removed. He has to emerge from the blankets when he must pull the shirt up and over the man's shoulders, and Fate takes advantage of the situation to pull him into a sloppy kiss. Graves tastes the whiskey on the other's tongue, so while Fate isn't shit-faced, he's certainly got a reason to be feeling lucky.

Afterwards, he frowns heavily at the golden eyes that glint at him. Fate won't stop smiling, seemingly unaware of the scrutiny Malcolm is paying him, but his brow furrows quizzically when it takes a moment too long for Malcolm to continue. Fate goes in for another kiss, only for Malcolm to turn his chin up. Fate is undeterred.

"Did I interrupt your beauty sleep or something?" Fate finally reckons, spreading the kiss down and along his jaw before Malcolm peevishly pulls away without answer and retreats under the covers once more. "Have it your way."

Fate's clothes will probably reek until laundry day, but the skin Malcolm finds underneath is thankfully just Fate's musk. He's surrounded by the smell and heat.

"You let one rip, Fate, and you're sleeping on the couch tonight," Malcolm says hotly, his nose crinkled at the thought, and Fate is particularly tickled by the threat. Graves rolls his eyes from beneath the duvet before twisting one of Fate's nipples in order to shut him up. He can't help but feel gratified when Fate yelps and scrambles to shield the spot from further abuse.

Good, let it hurt, Malcolm muses unkindly. The couch will also be occupied (though by whom, he's still unsure) if it turns out that Fate's dick has been somewhere else tonight.

That's why he's quick to get his mouth around it. Fate gasps.

"M-Malcolm," he growls, apparently surprised that there's not much ado about it tonight. He groans when Malcolm runs his tongue up the underside; he blindly paws at Malcolm's head when he hums around it. It's a crude and rudimentary inspection, but Grave lets Fate off the hook for tonight when he doesn't find the taste of pussy or rubber on his dick.

A small, forgotten part of Graves that's still capable of feeling vulnerable is relieved too, but he won't be telling Fate that.

Deciding that Fate has earned his company proper tonight, Malcolm throws back the covers so he can breathe easy without being stifled. He doesn't move off of the card-shark's dick and Fate seems to appreciate that. He peers down, and his smile is so fond that Graves heart lurches uncomfortably.

He thinks that a big part of him should be affronted by it but he lets that go too.

"Yer done hiding," Fate chimes in again. He lets his hands drop to the side of Malcolm's face and runs his thumbs over the mustache resting on lips that encircle his dick, enjoying the sight before glancing up to meet the leer that Malcolm has had trained on him. Malcolm doesn't miss how Fate's eyebrows twitch into a slight grimace at this; the tell is undeniable. "G-good, you look good like that," he adds, a feeble attempt to regain some decorum.

And Malcolm won't lie, Fate looks good too, flat on his back with his hair splayed. Malcolm might be the one with a dick in his mouth, but Fate is looking thoroughly debauched here and there has never been anything as satisfying as having Fate playing into his hand like putty. A fire coils in his belly and he crawls up to take Fate's mouth roughly. Fate's lips are pliant and he still tastes like whiskey but now Malcolm tastes like Fate. Fate groans when he places it and realizes.

"Too bad you couldn't find a nice lady to go home with," Malcolm sneers, still feeling a little vindictive but mostly just eager to stir shit. "Looks like yer stuck with me." Fate groans again and fixes him with a dangerous look, having been left no choice but to take the bait. He's grabbed Malcolm's ass through his bed-clothes.

"Malcolm, yer the one that I came looking for," he says lowly, and pulls him close. "I could have had anyone tonight, and that's no bluff." Malcolm can tell that he's the one treading on thin ice, now. Fate doesn't want a fight, he just wants to fuck.

Rather than needle him further, Malcolm just shakes his head and gives him what he wants. They both groan at the friction that comes with the sloppy grinding, though Malcolm tires of it quickly in favor of stripping down as well. Fate takes the opportunity while he's distracted and rolls Malcolm onto his back before he's even freed his dick. Before Graves can articulate his dissent, Fate is straddling him and dutifully pulling down the other man's skivvies. He appraises his erection almost reverently.

"Why would I want anybody else when I've got a date with Destiny over here?" he jokes. While it's low-hanging fruit to compare Malcolm's genitals to his gun (although it's not an unfair comparison, if you ask him), Malcolm can't help the wry grin that creeps across his face. Fate throws the briefs somewhere before he resettles in the other's lap and teasingly sets Malcolm's dick between the globes of his ass. "I mean it, Malcolm. You've ruined me for all men," he says, leaning down to take another kiss.

Graves is slow to return the affection simply because he's confused about where all this sincerity is coming from and because of it, the kiss isn't as heated as the last. Fate, through some sleight of hand that has long since stopped being impressive, has ferreted out the jar of slick from underneath the pillows and begun to finger himself in preparation. Malcolm bites at his lip when Fate tries to pull away, but he misses and his teeth clack. Fate hides his face in the crook of Malcolm's neck and lets out a low moan, apparently already brushing against the button inside of him.

Malcolm waits as patiently as he can, busying himself with toying with Fate's dick in the meanwhile. Before long, Fate grips his hand and shakes his head, indicating that any more will end the fun before it even begins.

Smirking, Malcolm pulls away with a huff and folds his arms behind his head. "Wake me up when you're finally ready," he ribs at Fate.

The card-shark groans in irritation. "Alright, alright, hold yer horses," he says.

Malcolm's eyes pop open when he feels Fate slick him down and without much ado, sink down on his dick. They both groan at the sensation, and Malcolm is able to gather his wits first. He leans over as far as he can while Fate's dazed by adjusting to his girth so he can grab the hat that's been left on the nightstand and return it to its usual place atop Fate's head. The irony is not lost on Fate, and though he's still distracted by the discomfort, he manages an unenthused groan at Malcolm's lousy attempt at prop humor.

"Ride 'em, cowboy," Malcolm says in a long drawl with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Fate squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, finally laughing and righting the hat. His eyes, shadowed by the wide brim, crinkle with a warm mirth that has Malcolm's stomach flopping uncomfortably again. "I didn't want to walk straight tomorrow anyhow," he says slyly, interrupting himself with a loud moan when he rolls his hips. Malcolm echoes the sound before he grips Fate's hipbones, fingers digging into the flesh that wraps around towards his back. He lets Fate set the pace mostly because he's satisfied with what it turns out to be rather than any sort of generousity; Fate rides him for everything he's worth and the bedframe squeals its displeasure the whole while. When the athletic fucking threatens to buck the hat off Fate's head, he raises a hand to secure it. It almost sets Malcolm off laughing again because really, Fate looks like a jack-ass like that so Malcolm's glad he put him up to it.

Whiskey dick isn't a problem tonight, thankfully, because Fate looks like he's going to blow it first. Just like anything else, Malcolm can tell by watching his eyes. Before Fate's hand even twitches in the direction of his dick, Malcolm is already helping to bring him off. Fate howls before he remembers the neighbors and bites his lip to stifle it, orgasm suddenly leaving him a vice-grip on Malcolm's dick.

"Fuck, Fate," he mumbles, busying himself with wiping the bit of ejaculate on his hands onto the bedsheets. He's surprised when Fate catches his hand and pins it next to his head before lacing the fingers.

"Go and finish," Fate sighs before he flops down onto Malcolm's chest. A frown settles over Malcolm when he realizes that Fate is going to be entirely unhelpful. It'll be no good to try to take Fate like this, boneless on top, so he slips out and rolls them both over. He can feel Fate's legs lazily wrap around his waist as he slowly drives himself back inside. Fate is tighter than a cave-in.

"I'm alright," Fate groans, splayed out on the pillows. Malcolm huffs in response; he wasn't going to ask but he had been wondering if it was uncomfortable.

It's a different experience to be fucking Fate when he's already looking well-fucked like this. He's tight around him but pliant everywhere else with heavily lidded eyes and the desperation from before now gone. Distantly, Graves realizes that couldn't possibly upset Fate when he's like this, satisfaction practically oozing from his person, and it drives Graves a little crazy because it's plain hard to see Fate this happy and sure of himself. In the midst of his thinking, Graves winds up taking his sweet time until the slow, languid pace feels less like fucking and more like making love and he and Fate do not make love, they aren't even friends.

"Hey partner,"

They aren't even partners.

Fate reaches behind to grip his ass. "Balls-deep isn't the time to be thinking about something else. Don't you bail on me here."

The attitude and hypocrisy in his words is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Graves sees red and the next snap of his hips is unkind and harsh. Fate gasps and bites at his lips, lashes fluttering. Malcolm's dick twitches, only slightly appeased with the display.

"Atta' boy," Fate moans. They're both probably too old for this shit but Malcolm suspects that Fate's dick is making a valiant effort to re-join the party. He growls and bites down hard on Fate's lip.

"Shut the hell up, you rotten sunnuva--" he threatens around clenched teeth. He's fucking Fate in earnest, the bedframe taking up its lament once more. Fate's smile is warped by his bottom lip having been snatched away.

"You're mad," he comments astutely.

"Shut the hell up!" He still has Fate's lip between his teeth.

A few moments later and Malcolm feels the need to ejaculate well up behind his balls. He has Fate silenced at this point, mewling and clenching around him every time he pulls back to slam back in. Graves growls, unsure if that's something he's happy with; it feels good but it's more control than he's willing to allow Fate, even if it's accidental. He bites down hard enough to draw blood and Fate hisses, momentarily distracted, and instead of stopping, he grips Malcolm hard and it's enough, it's more than enough.

Fate lets out a gasp that breaks out into a growl, and distantly, Malcolm wonders if it's because Fate really did manage to come twice alongside Malcolm or if he's annoyed that Malcolm came inside.

"You're heavy, Malcolm," Fate complains before Malcolm's even begun to enjoy the fuzzy after-glow. His temper flares once more but it does not catch, having cooled like the spunk smeared on Fate's (and regrettably, his own) chest. He groans and rolls off. His eyes light on the bedside table on the way and he reaches over to grab the half-finished cigar resting on the ash-tray.

"Can I have a light?" he grumbles to Fate and when he turns back, Fate's already holding a red card with a flame burning neatly along the corner. Malcolm presses the butt of the cigar to the flame, rolling it so that it burns even. He thanks Fate with a grunt. Ever-theatrical, Fate flicks the burnt snub of a card away with a snap of his fingers and it's gone.

Malcolm takes a long drag and considers. With a huff, he exhales, smoke billowing out through flared nostrils. Fate's dozing next to him, the Hat having been hung up on the bed-post. Like he's realized that he's being watched, Fate blinks up at him.

"You alright?" he asks. "You really did seem mad back there."

Graves huffs out again, laughing derisively. "Oh-h-h, did I?"

Fate tsks and rolls over with an easy smile. "You're going to have to forgive me one day, you know."

"Sure," Malcolm drawls with some heavy sarcasm, "but it's going to take another half of my life."

"At that rate, it sounds like y'wanna grow old together," Fate snorts.

Graves frowns deeply at that and ruins his cigar against the ash-tray before pulling up the blankets.

It's well past his bedtime.