Retrograde
“Don’t tell me you’ve had another busy weekend,” Phil said, the smirk making it obvious that his inflection on “busy” had been intentional.
Ian grinned and reached for one of the china mugs their office kept as a way to ‘do their part’ when it came to living up to the corporate environmental policy. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Oh, yeah? What was it this weekend?” Phil asked, his voice completely innocent, his hand gesture of pointer finger imbedding itself into his other hand’s fisted palm not nearly so pure.
“A live orchestra, if you must know,” Ian said, filling the cup with the sludge offered as liquid caffeine. “Pig.”
Phil chuckled. “Well, as much as I’d love to say that I’m living vicariously through your experiences, unfortunately yours are a little wrong-gendered
