"I just don’t understand how your brain works," Derek says with yet another exasperated sigh, tailing the blond prefect as he turns into the urban fantasy section. "Or, more accurately, your dick."
Logan arches a brow, but otherwise he remains entirely unfazed by the remark, leafing through a new Dresden novel with intense interest. “And I don’t understand why my straight best friend is convincing me that I should want to fuck my other straight best friend.’
"Because he’s Julian motherfucking Larson,” he huffs, catching a myriad of glances from the library’s other visitors (the likes of which range from disapproving to interested to mildly concerned). “Wanting him isn’t a matter of sexuality. It’s a matter of basic intelligence.”
"What, so I should go around enthusing about how much I’d like to sleep with him and inflate his giant ego further?" he snorts. "No, thank you."
"So you would bang him.”
Logan tears his eyes away from the teaser in the book’s cover just long enough to send his friend an annoyed glance. “I don’t see why this is so important to y—”
“Just tell me, okay?”
"Fine. I would fuck him. I would fuck him so hard that whomever managed to pull me out would become the King of England. Happy?"
"Extremely. Have a nice day."