"You're still obsessive compulsive."
Travis sighed long-sufferingly. "I forgive you."
"I've done nothing to be forgiven for."
"She had my name embroidered on custom made panties. Black. Lace. My. Name."
"We're going to discuss that now? You're timing is atrocious."
"Does she have prints of your teeth on her shoulder?"
"That's not my fault."
I didn't bite myself!" Wes turned narrowed eyes to his partner.
"You did that thing with your wrist and..."
"You're blaming me for being bitten? By you? What have you learned in therapy, other than how to embarrass your partner?"
"You're not pulling a gun on me and I'm not dinging your door. Can't we just call this a win?"
"I will still want to strangle you tomorrow," Wes grumbled against Travis' shoulder.
"So? You won't stop bitching. I won't stop ignoring it. You'll still have a coronary over a couple of crumbs in your car, when it gets out the shop. I'll still eat any damn thing I want in it. You'll lecture me on my unethical methods. I'll walk away while you're still talking. You'll still be you, I'll still be me and this will still be this."
"This will still be this." To anyone else, the statement would have sounded like an agreement. To the person who knew Wes better than anyone else, regardless of what their coworkers and therapist thought, it was obviously the verbal indicator of the intense thought Wes was giving the situation.
"Everyone thinks we're married any damn way."
"You tried to choke me after you threw me through a window!"
"We both went through that window and you pulled a gun on me!"
"I wouldn't have shot you."
"I let you land on me."
"So, I'm thinking about moving out of the hotel."
"I said I'm thinking about it."
"Maybe I should get a car?"
"Maybe." Wes agreed.
Travis nodded. "Yep."
Wes cleared his throat. "That's settled."