“Do you think this is a good idea?”
His flashy grin to her low whisper says ‘when have my ideas never been good?’. Her eyebrow arches in a muscle-memory ‘really, a pissing contest, now?’.
A frisson of something like sexual energy zaps up her spine when his breath heats her neck. ‘Ready?’.
Arc of a flashlight, a rustling movement from the oily dark and they’re back on the job. As ever.