Impatient

Maybe because I've been awake for 22 hours, maybe the beers over the past 5, but I cannot make your belt work. My fingers are clumsy and gripless and they let the thick leather slap back down against itself. Again. I rest my hands. Try to will them into usefulness.

The heat from your jeans a fire.

You huff, impatient. Your fingers are sure. You flip back the tongue, open the button with an expert flick.