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Summary
Brant and Nash, they fuck sometimes.
Easy enough. Convenient, isn't it? Works out well for them both, hours they keep; probably nobody else would put up with it but them anyhow. Nash likes to get fucked, and it turns out Brant doesn't mind fucking him. So it's fine. It's enough.
(Until, maybe, it turns out it isn't.)
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Nash leans up to murmur it right in Brant's ear, when he makes the ID. He's got an arm round Brant's shoulders and he pulls himself in close by it, and Brant's got a hand to his waist without thinking, just to steady him as he moves. Takes Brant a moment to actually hear what he's saying: "Think I've got him. Far side of the entrance—just looking round the tables."
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