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Sno-Ball's Chance in Hell

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"I refuse to take any responsibility for this," Danny hissed.

There was silence in the pitch black, and his eyes didn't seem to be adjusting to it. Rusty, because he was a bastard and half-cat or mostly food disposal or whatever his family background, probably thought the place was lit up like Vegas on fight night.

"You think this is my fault," Danny muttered.

Vegas on fight night would be a marked improvement from their current location, trapped in a broom closet in a cathedral during midnight mass.

"All right, fine," Danny grumbled, "this is my fault."

He felt Rusty's long eyelashes brush his sleeve, and figured that was as close to a "told you so" as he was going to get out of Rusty for the time being. Later, and for many, many years to come, Danny anticipated he would pay for this little failure in planning. Every time that they drove past a church, dressed up like preachers to rip somebody off, or saw some vaguely religious iconography anywhere on the face of the planet, Rusty would grin, it would lilt, and Danny would think, "God."

At least Danny wasn't the one dressed like a nun. That was his one comfort.

"All things considered," Rusty said suddenly, voice smooth and low and rough, like vermouth going down and denim on Danny's skin, "I feel that a man caught having locked himself into a dark, enclosed space with the intention of doing unspeakable things to a bride of Christ--"

"I had no intention of doing anything!" Danny hissed.

"--should think himself in far greater trouble than the one who is wearing a wimple and freshly shaved," Rusty finished, self-satisfied and apparently telepathic now.

Danny glared into the dark, and debating shoving Rusty, but there wasn't even room to move his hands, much less his entire arm. Also, there was that vague fear that somebody's something was too close to somebody's something else, and despite that Thing In Belize They Did As A Favor To Reuben He'd Always Remember And Be Grateful For Yadda Yadda Here, Let's Price Some Rattan, Danny and Rusty had an agreement about gratuitous groping.

"It's midnight," Danny said. "Your five o'clock shadow has turned into a teenager."

"They grow so fast," Rusty said, with the wistful air of a father or just a demented conman, and for a moment Danny didn't know whether or to curse him soundly for being ridiculous or for telling the worst puns ever. He settled on cursing Rusty soundly because apparently the long nun's habit served as very nice padding for where Rusty was curled up in a corner on the floor, whereas Danny's ass was starting to hurt like he was the fair-haired altar boy.

"I also have to wonder," Rusty starts, and Danny hangs his head, which causes him to rub his nose into what appears to be a mop, "whether or not the particular set of religious relics including but not limited to the bodice of a twitchy virgin are worth this particular set of circumstances."

"Also," Danny added sulkily, "there's that thing where we're robbing a church."

"The Catholic church," Rusty rejoins smoothly, unperturbed, "has always been a center of unrest. Its accumulated wealth over the years can stand the loss of three or four million and absorb the loss, no question. No, what I question, Daniel, is why I am getting a wicked foot cramp and your elbow in my family jewels."

Danny tried to rearrange himself, but ended up just making Rusty swat him, because apparently Rusty had the luxury of moving his arms.

"Sorry," Danny tried.

"Sorry will not cut it," Rusty said feelingly.

There was a pause, and then the crackling of cellophane.

Danny's eyes bulged. "Are you serious?"

Cellophane continued to crackle.

"Oh my God, you're seriously eating," Danny muttered.

Rusty chewed in mostly-silence. It sounded sullen.

Danny groaned and wished he could rub his face. "What are you eating?"

"None of your business," Rusty said brightly. The cellophane wrapper crinkled temptingly.

It was going on three hours that they'd been in the closet. Danny was desperately in the need of a toilet, a full-body massage, and for Rusty to take his shoulder out of Danny's throat. Danny figured that the last thing was the least likely to happen.

"Let me have some," Danny finally said.

"I have no liberty of movement at the moment," Rusty said, upbeat. "And if I did, I would still not be sharing this delicious, hydrogenated, artificially-colored, could probably survive a nuclear holocaust treat." A pause, and then a deeply pleasured moan.

Danny turned his face to the wall. "You're so cruel."

"Nuns are not cruel."

"You're not a nun."

"And you're a terrible detail-man. You're never allowed to try to work out the details ever again," Rusty said. At the rate Danny knew of Rusty to eat, there was a very strong chance that whatever food Rusty had probably hidden away and was gorging himself on was already gone.

Danny's stomach rumbled at that; perhaps it was time to suck up.

"I admit my failings in this department," Danny conceded.

"I never made you wear a dress," Rusty muttered, slightly sullen.

"That's not--"

"That was your idea," Rusty interrupted. "I was horrified."

"That dress was very flattering on me," Danny argued.

"Your thighs looked enormous," Rusty said, probably just to be mean. "It was too low at the top and too high at the bottom; you look terrible in pink. I was embarrassed to be seen with you."

There was a long pause, and Danny held his breath, because there was that sliver of possibility that he was going to be forgiven--under threat that he was going to be forced to wear a dress next.

"Your hair did look kind of cute," Rusty admitted.

"Well, you did it for me," Danny murmured.

Danny got the wind knocked out of him a little bit when Rusty rapidly rearranged himself, and there was suddenly the crinkle of cellophane again before something round and slightly warm was pressed into his hand.

Danny jerked at it with the desperation of a starving lion, and when he finally freed the food from the wrapping. He took a bite. It tasted pink.

"Oh my God, is this a Sno-Ball?" he mumbled through the food.

"I was using them as my breasts. You're eating Giselle."

"You named your fake tits?" Danny managed, trying not to choke on the Sno-Ball.

"Daniel," Rusty said reasonably.

"Sure," Danny said around the Sno-Ball.

They could hear chanted Latin through the door of the linen closet.

"I give this about another half hour," Rusty said thoughtfully.

"Okay," Danny agreed.

"Do you want another Sno-Ball?" Rusty asked.

"What, you have more in there?" Danny demanded, jerking on the elbow further away from Rusty's sensitive bits until it freed itself and let Danny reach to pat at Rusty's chest.

Rusty smacked Danny's hand away. "I took one of Tess' bras."

"So two more Sno-Balls," Danny said, grinning.

"I didn't say that," Rusty replied.

Danny could feel Rusty's lashes on his sleeve again like a smile.

"No, you didn't," Danny agreed.