[ she knows he was staring. it's hard not to notice when his gaze is as hot as the light that shines from his palms, harder still when the bartender slides a drink and a knowing glance in her direction, but she doesn't call him out on it right away.
no, she waits until his head swivels back down to his phone, until the false cough of a man clearing his throat after an awkward bout of silence echoes in the small space between them. only then does daisy lean over, head tipping just the slightest bit, to whisper in his ear. ]
You should take a picture. [ a soft chime of laughter, a sip of her drink ] It'll last longer.
[ his shoulder curls up and he shoots her a look, one that says he blames her for being caught staring even if he'd been the one who'd been looking. he can't help it, he'd been caught off guard, almost unable to believe this was the same person who'd slid on a flak jacket earlier in his car. ]
No thanks.
[ fine, he'd been staring. he knows how to appreciate a beautiful woman but it doesn't have to go beyond that. he's appreciated her and now he can go back to scrolling through his phone and trying not to pay attention to her right next to his shoulder. ]
This partying living up to your expectations? [ he doesn't look at her (because that's dangerous when she looks like she does) but he decides to talk to her. doesn't know why. ]
[ if he wants to play aloof, like he wasn't just trying to bore a hole in her chest from his eyes alone, then she'll let him play aloof. she'll sip at her drink and people watch, maybe wait for someone else with better manners (or any at all) to approach her. ]
No one here knows how to dance.
[ carmen guerra's club boasts a better dancefloor than any other in bogota. on a regular night, hundreds of bodies move on the floor, their cash flowing on the liquor and the private booths and the cover charge at the door; tonight, with carmen's nearest, dearest, and most useful filling the space, there are less dancers and more stand-around-and-talkers, much to daisy's chagrin.
if she has to be here, she'd prefer to have a good time doing so. ]
They're all on their phones pretending not to stare.
[ but he does drop his phone on the bar top and swivels around on the stool, turning to look at the dance floor. he's been there a time or two, sometimes with carmen and sometimes with someone else. it's been awhile since he's danced at one of the parties but a few months ago, he was a regular there. ]
Take some initiative and ask around. Find someone to dance with and don't take no for an answer. [ that was his motivational speech for the day. he turns back around and picks up his phone but slides it back into his pocket. ]
[ she doesn't speak spanish, but she can read tone just fine. curt, dry, dismissive — as if he thinks she'll take his suggestion and turn heel, run away the way he wants her to believe he wants her to? there's no way. ]
Come on, sunshine. [ a hand curves around his wrist, pulling it forward with an insistent tug; as his eyes skim down to her hand and then back up to hers, she offers an opportunity for him to justify this to himself. ] I talked you up to Carmen, you show me your moves.
[ she did not. but she could have. still could, if she really wanted to. ]
You don't need to talk me up to anyone. I let my work speak for itself.
[ and he's really not sure how he feels about her speaking to carmen of all people about him. skye doesn't know him, carmen does and if carmen's in her ear, who knows what she's told skye.
but, is he getting up, letting her tug him to his feet with a long suffering sight? yes. ]
And stop calling me sunshine. [ he takes the lead, letting her keep a hold of his wrist as he walks in front of her, weaving through the assembled members of the party and stepping onto the dance floor. he turns to face her and raises an eyebrow. ]
[ maybe it's the dress. maybe it's the way marcos walks, a strut that commands the space he moves through. maybe it's the fact that people know him here, but they don't know her. whatever it is, people move out of the way — they stare, and they talk, and some wolf whistle or shout dirty things at her as she lets him ("lets him") drag her onto the floor, but she joins him either way.
as she steps back into his space, leaning close enough to whisper, to let her mouth brush against his ear, she drawls: ] What do you want me to call you, then?
[ the bass thumps. it doesn't wait for situational adjustments or for anyone to get comfortable; dancers on the floor push her in closer, her arms draping loosely around his neck, hips slotting up opposite his own as they rock to the beat. ]
[ he doesn't do anything so juvenile as shiver when she ghosts her lips near her ear. he definitely feels it and while his skin warms, he doesn't react outwardly which is good because the last thing he needs is her holding that over his head too.
his own arms loop around her waist, one hand pressed against the small of her back to keep her closer and keep them aligned for the various steps of this dance.
and then, he's the one leaning close to her, letting his breath gust over her ear before he murmurs: ]
No. [ calling him by his name's too familiar, too comfortable. like this isn't just a workplace arrangement — an undercover workplace arrangement, no less — that she's fallen into. it implies that she'll see him more often, need to think of him individually instead of just as part of a group.
he said it himself: one and done. they won't have reason to interact beyond this. ] We haven't played anything yet.
[ but maybe they will, with his hand so warm against her back, with her own draped over his neck and shoulders, the heat of his breath warm against her jawline. maybe that's what this is tonight. a game. ]
Then, Mr. Diaz is fine. I don't mind your need to be formal.
[ if you wanted to be a hardass, he'd play right on along with this whole thing. no sweat.
he flicks his eyes around the dance floor, watching various other familiar faces shoot glances his way, questioning and curious and sometimes just disgusted. he doesn't give a shit. he has a reputation and he knows it. doesn't care. ]
It's nice.
[ he pulls his head back to look her up and down, nodding. ] You could have done worse.
If I wanted to call you professor, I would have already.
[ she doesn't outright wink, but the drag of teeth over her bottom lip is as good as, amusement shining bright in her eyes as his gaze skims over her dress.
it's a great dress. she knows that much. it's shorter than anything she'd normally wear, way more form fitting, and the damn neckline's practically at her navel. if there was ever a dress that screamed dirty drug money, this was it. ]
If you're not going to use my name, Skye, then don't call me anything. [ see, he remembers your name and he's using it. he's not calling you rumbles mcgillicuddy or earthshaker or whatever other dumb nickname came to mind. ]
I am being honest. Just because nice isn't what you want to hear doesn't mean it's not the truth. [ if you wanted someone to fall over themselves, you were barking up the wrong tree.
but, if you wanted someone to spin you out and then yank you back in flush against his body, then he was your man.
[ but there's no bite to the words. it's breathless, giddy; as he pulls her in, her body melds into the touch, flush against his as if it was molded to the shape of him, and she can't quite help the grin that brightens the space between them. what little there is, anyway. ]
I'm not a nice girl, Marcos.
[ see? she can use his name if she wants to. she can curve in close, too, let her leg slot in between his own, hips rocking in a circle to the beat; there's more to dancing than just throwing your partner around, even if it does feel good to wind up pressed flush against him. ]
What makes you think I care what kind of girl you are?
[ he gives as good as he gets, falling into rhythm with her and never once faltering despite the nudge of her thigh against his, despite the movement of hers hips against his own. he stays right with her, in her personal space, breathing her air and even smirking every once in awhile. ]
Are you trying to warn me away? Or give me an opportunity to run?
[ that's cute but he can make his own choices and make his own mistakes. and he's not really sure he believes that she's not a nice girl. ]
There wasn't a scratch on that man today when you brought him out. [ he's back to talking with his lips pressed right up against her ear. ] He was fine. That's something a nice girl would make sure of.
You should. [ that's honest, at least. he should run, if he wants to survive. if he gets caught up in this, if she has to take him down to take down the guerra cartel, she will. perhaps he deserves it, but perhaps not. ] You should run while you can, Marcos.
[ but that doesn't mean she won't cling to the embrace right now, her hand looping snug around the back of his neck, the other pressed firm against his chest as they dance. ]
You think I'm a nice girl because I didn't have to blind a man to make him talk? [ she doesn't have to torture him to do it, either. ] Maybe you should take some notes. Might save you a little money on your dry-cleaning.
[ he'd already spent years doing that. always running, never knowing where his next meal was going to come from or where he was going to sleep. he'd run and run and run, run until he had to walk and then crawled when he couldn't walk.
he'd told himself that that wasn't ever going to happen again. he wasn't running from anyone. ]
Uh huh.
[ his smirk widens and he shakes his head. ] You're a nice girl who wants to play at being bad. That's all this is.
Is that right? [ she considers him for a moment, watches the sweat bead along his hairline, the faint flush from exertion on his cheeks and down his neck. ] If I'm such a nice girl, what am I doing in a place like this?
[ what's a nice girl doing being recruited into a cartel? what's a nice girl doing in a dress like this, coming to a club tonight? ]
If I'm such a nice girl, what am I doing with a man like you?
[ is he trying to get a rise out of her? absolutely just like she'd been trying to do to him earlier when they'd been working. if she dishes it out, she had to be ready to receive it too. ]
As for what you're doing with me, I don't know. What is such a nice girl doing with a person like me?
[ oh, he is fun. not quite as willing to take a tease, but certainly willing and able to dish it out in return. she doesn't bother to hide the laugh that bubbles up, her forehead dipping to rest against his shoulder as they sway. ]
You don't know anything about me. I've done worse than you, papi.
[ like literal nazis, for one thing. mistakes were made. mistakes were probably still being made, right now, but she's not moving away. if anything, she's steadily getting closer. ]
I told you already, you can't handle a girl like me. You need a groupie, and I'm not that kind of girl.
[ she's the one that's dragged him out to dance and she's the one with her leg between the both of his and she's the one that's made her way into his personal space without an invitation.
though, he hasn't asked her to move either. ]
Find your way back to the bar and let me find someone that I can spend the night with and release some of this tension with.
[ it's that simple. maybe it's the tension, maybe it's the heat, maybe it's delirium from god knows how many puffs of hair spray and cologne she inhaled while walking through this place, but she doesn't. it's a challenge, and for whatever reason, she can't bring herself to back down from it. ]
If you want to, you can. [ but she doesn't think he wants to either. ] You can do whatever you want.
[ a strange sort of privilege to give a man you don't really like, a man who's made it perfectly clear he doesn't like you, but. well. when in columbia, right? ]
[ so, he wasn't going to be walking away. if that meant staying out on this fucking dance floor the rest of the night, so be it. he's not going to flinch first. ]
But you're right in that I can do whatever I want. That's how I work. [ and most of the time he did exactly that. ]
You're still a nice girl. [ he wasn't going to let go of that. ] It's really adorable. Very cute.
You say that. [ but he'd left without arguing, hadn't he? ] But you seemed pretty happy to do what I asked before.
[ the hand that's flush against his chest relaxes, lifting up to sweep fingertips along the cropped beard that defines his jawline. he doesn't stop her, and so after a pass or two, her nails begin to rake through, enjoying the texture of it underneath her skin. ]
You think you can corrupt me, don't you? That I'm just a nice girl playing at being bad?
[dios, what the hell was he doing? or the better question was what was he letting her do in the middle of this party? maybe carmen wasn't seeing but other people were and this would surely get back to her in one way or another.
and yet, he doesn't stop her. in fact, he has to try very hard not to completely fall apart because that feels really. he makes a quiet sound, low and brief, but it's one he's unable to suppress this time. ]
It's not my job to corrupt you but I do think you're a nice girl playing at being bad.
[ glad they were in agreement. ]
You want people to think you're someone you're not. But, I see through that.
[ he's not wrong. he's not right, either — he doesn't know her real name, doesn't know what she does for a living beyond this place, the kinds of people she fights and beats and puts away. but he knows she's hiding something, that she's putting up a facade for the cartel, playing at being a criminal in order to get something she wants. he's not wrong there.
her nails continue their pathways, encouraged by the soft sound he makes, dragging slow patterns that begin to mirror the gentle roll of fingertips against the back of his neck. both hands, both soft; just gently touching as she watches him. ]
You think you have me all figured out. [ a soft huff of air through her nose, amused; her voice dips, quiet, as if confessing something not meant for everyone to hear. ] What would make a good girl go bad, Marcos?
[ the hand that's curved over his neck flattens, palm flush, and for a brief, fleeting moment, gentle vibrations roll down the column of his spine. barely more pressure than a massage chair on a low setting, but undeniable all the same. ]
Is it power? Ability? The knowledge that one squeeze of my palm could tear this place apart? [ the vibrations stop; daisy withdraws her hand and lets it smooth reassuringly over the nape of his neck, fingertips teasing at the hairline. ] Or do you think my restraint makes me a good girl?
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no, she waits until his head swivels back down to his phone, until the false cough of a man clearing his throat after an awkward bout of silence echoes in the small space between them. only then does daisy lean over, head tipping just the slightest bit, to whisper in his ear. ]
You should take a picture. [ a soft chime of laughter, a sip of her drink ] It'll last longer.
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No thanks.
[ fine, he'd been staring. he knows how to appreciate a beautiful woman but it doesn't have to go beyond that. he's appreciated her and now he can go back to scrolling through his phone and trying not to pay attention to her right next to his shoulder. ]
This partying living up to your expectations? [ he doesn't look at her (because that's dangerous when she looks like she does) but he decides to talk to her. doesn't know why. ]
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[ if he wants to play aloof, like he wasn't just trying to bore a hole in her chest from his eyes alone, then she'll let him play aloof. she'll sip at her drink and people watch, maybe wait for someone else with better manners (or any at all) to approach her. ]
No one here knows how to dance.
[ carmen guerra's club boasts a better dancefloor than any other in bogota. on a regular night, hundreds of bodies move on the floor, their cash flowing on the liquor and the private booths and the cover charge at the door; tonight, with carmen's nearest, dearest, and most useful filling the space, there are less dancers and more stand-around-and-talkers, much to daisy's chagrin.
if she has to be here, she'd prefer to have a good time doing so. ]
They're all on their phones pretending not to stare.
[ yeah, marcos. ]
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[ but he does drop his phone on the bar top and swivels around on the stool, turning to look at the dance floor. he's been there a time or two, sometimes with carmen and sometimes with someone else. it's been awhile since he's danced at one of the parties but a few months ago, he was a regular there. ]
Take some initiative and ask around. Find someone to dance with and don't take no for an answer. [ that was his motivational speech for the day. he turns back around and picks up his phone but slides it back into his pocket. ]
Haz que suceda.
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[ she doesn't speak spanish, but she can read tone just fine. curt, dry, dismissive — as if he thinks she'll take his suggestion and turn heel, run away the way he wants her to believe he wants her to? there's no way. ]
Come on, sunshine. [ a hand curves around his wrist, pulling it forward with an insistent tug; as his eyes skim down to her hand and then back up to hers, she offers an opportunity for him to justify this to himself. ] I talked you up to Carmen, you show me your moves.
[ she did not. but she could have. still could, if she really wanted to. ]
I'm not taking no for an answer.
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You don't need to talk me up to anyone. I let my work speak for itself.
[ and he's really not sure how he feels about her speaking to carmen of all people about him. skye doesn't know him, carmen does and if carmen's in her ear, who knows what she's told skye.
but, is he getting up, letting her tug him to his feet with a long suffering sight? yes. ]
And stop calling me sunshine. [ he takes the lead, letting her keep a hold of his wrist as he walks in front of her, weaving through the assembled members of the party and stepping onto the dance floor. he turns to face her and raises an eyebrow. ]
Let's go.
[ his turn to challenge. ]
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as she steps back into his space, leaning close enough to whisper, to let her mouth brush against his ear, she drawls: ] What do you want me to call you, then?
[ the bass thumps. it doesn't wait for situational adjustments or for anyone to get comfortable; dancers on the floor push her in closer, her arms draping loosely around his neck, hips slotting up opposite his own as they rock to the beat. ]
I thought only your girlfriends called you daddy.
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[ he doesn't do anything so juvenile as shiver when she ghosts her lips near her ear. he definitely feels it and while his skin warms, he doesn't react outwardly which is good because the last thing he needs is her holding that over his head too.
his own arms loop around her waist, one hand pressed against the small of her back to keep her closer and keep them aligned for the various steps of this dance.
and then, he's the one leaning close to her, letting his breath gust over her ear before he murmurs: ]
It's papi but thanks for playing.
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he said it himself: one and done. they won't have reason to interact beyond this. ] We haven't played anything yet.
[ but maybe they will, with his hand so warm against her back, with her own draped over his neck and shoulders, the heat of his breath warm against her jawline. maybe that's what this is tonight. a game. ]
Do you like my dress?
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[ if you wanted to be a hardass, he'd play right on along with this whole thing. no sweat.
he flicks his eyes around the dance floor, watching various other familiar faces shoot glances his way, questioning and curious and sometimes just disgusted. he doesn't give a shit. he has a reputation and he knows it. doesn't care. ]
It's nice.
[ he pulls his head back to look her up and down, nodding. ] You could have done worse.
[ it was a freaking great dress. ]
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[ she doesn't outright wink, but the drag of teeth over her bottom lip is as good as, amusement shining bright in her eyes as his gaze skims over her dress.
it's a great dress. she knows that much. it's shorter than anything she'd normally wear, way more form fitting, and the damn neckline's practically at her navel. if there was ever a dress that screamed dirty drug money, this was it. ]
Just nice? Be honest.
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I am being honest. Just because nice isn't what you want to hear doesn't mean it's not the truth. [ if you wanted someone to fall over themselves, you were barking up the wrong tree.
but, if you wanted someone to spin you out and then yank you back in flush against his body, then he was your man.
for the moment. ]
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[ but there's no bite to the words. it's breathless, giddy; as he pulls her in, her body melds into the touch, flush against his as if it was molded to the shape of him, and she can't quite help the grin that brightens the space between them. what little there is, anyway. ]
I'm not a nice girl, Marcos.
[ see? she can use his name if she wants to. she can curve in close, too, let her leg slot in between his own, hips rocking in a circle to the beat; there's more to dancing than just throwing your partner around, even if it does feel good to wind up pressed flush against him. ]
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[ he gives as good as he gets, falling into rhythm with her and never once faltering despite the nudge of her thigh against his, despite the movement of hers hips against his own. he stays right with her, in her personal space, breathing her air and even smirking every once in awhile. ]
Are you trying to warn me away? Or give me an opportunity to run?
[ that's cute but he can make his own choices and make his own mistakes. and he's not really sure he believes that she's not a nice girl. ]
There wasn't a scratch on that man today when you brought him out. [ he's back to talking with his lips pressed right up against her ear. ] He was fine. That's something a nice girl would make sure of.
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[ but that doesn't mean she won't cling to the embrace right now, her hand looping snug around the back of his neck, the other pressed firm against his chest as they dance. ]
You think I'm a nice girl because I didn't have to blind a man to make him talk? [ she doesn't have to torture him to do it, either. ] Maybe you should take some notes. Might save you a little money on your dry-cleaning.
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[ he'd already spent years doing that. always running, never knowing where his next meal was going to come from or where he was going to sleep. he'd run and run and run, run until he had to walk and then crawled when he couldn't walk.
he'd told himself that that wasn't ever going to happen again. he wasn't running from anyone. ]
Uh huh.
[ his smirk widens and he shakes his head. ] You're a nice girl who wants to play at being bad. That's all this is.
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[ what's a nice girl doing being recruited into a cartel? what's a nice girl doing in a dress like this, coming to a club tonight? ]
If I'm such a nice girl, what am I doing with a man like you?
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[ is he trying to get a rise out of her? absolutely just like she'd been trying to do to him earlier when they'd been working. if she dishes it out, she had to be ready to receive it too. ]
As for what you're doing with me, I don't know. What is such a nice girl doing with a person like me?
[ besides dancing. ]
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You don't know anything about me. I've done worse than you, papi.
[ like literal nazis, for one thing. mistakes were made. mistakes were probably still being made, right now, but she's not moving away. if anything, she's steadily getting closer. ]
I told you already, you can't handle a girl like me. You need a groupie, and I'm not that kind of girl.
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[ she's the one that's dragged him out to dance and she's the one with her leg between the both of his and she's the one that's made her way into his personal space without an invitation.
though, he hasn't asked her to move either. ]
Find your way back to the bar and let me find someone that I can spend the night with and release some of this tension with.
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[ it's that simple. maybe it's the tension, maybe it's the heat, maybe it's delirium from god knows how many puffs of hair spray and cologne she inhaled while walking through this place, but she doesn't. it's a challenge, and for whatever reason, she can't bring herself to back down from it. ]
If you want to, you can. [ but she doesn't think he wants to either. ] You can do whatever you want.
[ a strange sort of privilege to give a man you don't really like, a man who's made it perfectly clear he doesn't like you, but. well. when in columbia, right? ]
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[ so, he wasn't going to be walking away. if that meant staying out on this fucking dance floor the rest of the night, so be it. he's not going to flinch first. ]
But you're right in that I can do whatever I want. That's how I work. [ and most of the time he did exactly that. ]
You're still a nice girl. [ he wasn't going to let go of that. ] It's really adorable. Very cute.
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[ the hand that's flush against his chest relaxes, lifting up to sweep fingertips along the cropped beard that defines his jawline. he doesn't stop her, and so after a pass or two, her nails begin to rake through, enjoying the texture of it underneath her skin. ]
You think you can corrupt me, don't you? That I'm just a nice girl playing at being bad?
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and yet, he doesn't stop her. in fact, he has to try very hard not to completely fall apart because that feels really. he makes a quiet sound, low and brief, but it's one he's unable to suppress this time. ]
It's not my job to corrupt you but I do think you're a nice girl playing at being bad.
[ glad they were in agreement. ]
You want people to think you're someone you're not. But, I see through that.
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her nails continue their pathways, encouraged by the soft sound he makes, dragging slow patterns that begin to mirror the gentle roll of fingertips against the back of his neck. both hands, both soft; just gently touching as she watches him. ]
You think you have me all figured out. [ a soft huff of air through her nose, amused; her voice dips, quiet, as if confessing something not meant for everyone to hear. ] What would make a good girl go bad, Marcos?
[ the hand that's curved over his neck flattens, palm flush, and for a brief, fleeting moment, gentle vibrations roll down the column of his spine. barely more pressure than a massage chair on a low setting, but undeniable all the same. ]
Is it power? Ability? The knowledge that one squeeze of my palm could tear this place apart? [ the vibrations stop; daisy withdraws her hand and lets it smooth reassuringly over the nape of his neck, fingertips teasing at the hairline. ] Or do you think my restraint makes me a good girl?
[ she has a feeling it's the latter. ]
What does yours make you?
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