Fics like a little wicked, just like you said
“Best of three, then,” Silver says, clapping and rubbing his hands together. “When you lose, you–” “When?” “If,” Silver corrects, immediately, but with a tone like he’s indulging the idea of Flint winning rather than actually entertaining it. “If you lose, you’ll have to remove an article of clothing.” Flint stares at him. Silver smiles back, mouth like a scythe. “What?" If Silver’s got the nerve to organize a rum soaked nudist arm-wrestling ring on Flint’s fucking ship, in the middle of the fucking night, in the middle of the fucking ocean, he’d better stand up and take the credit for it - and whatever else may be coming his way.
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