evite | ✈ open post 2kforever

[ 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. ]

I thought only your girlfriends called you daddy.

How about my name?

[ 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.

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. ]

Do you like my dress?

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.

[ it was a freaking great dress. ]

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. ]

Just nice? Be honest.

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.

for the moment. ]

Oh, shut up.

[ 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.

I don't run.

[ 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?

Trying to be something you're not.

[ 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. ]

[ 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.

Then, walk away.

[ 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.

I don't want to.

[ 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? ]

I told you I don't run.

[ 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?

[ she has a feeling it's the latter. ]

What does yours make you?

[ he's letting her get under his skin. he's letting a few nice touches get to him and he knows it. he knows that it's going to give her leverage against him and that's one thing he's refused to give anyone for a very long time.

the fingers on his face, the vibrations against his back, it's all serving to try and erode the very careful and very strong walls that he puts up to keep everyone out. he swallows, blinking a few times to refocus on her. he can't let himself be caught up in a simple touch. is it nice? yes. could he let himself sink into it? yes.

but he's not going to let that happen. ]

You asking me what my power makes me?

[ too could play the 'let's show off' game. the hand he has around her waist starts to slowly heat up, nothing close to burning but definitely warmer than any other place on her body. the light starts to glow, bathing parts of her in a gentle yellow light. ]

That depends on who you ask.

[ ask his father, it means he's a monster. ask his mother, it means he's like her. ask carmen, it's means he's an asset. ask him, he doesn't know that answer. ]

[ it's a dangerous game. going undercover to a gang like this — ruthless, powerful, more money and guns than sense — is risky business, and if daisy doesn't play her cards right, she could get hurt. she could upset the wrong person, say the wrong thing, and wind up another undiscovered body somewhere in the desert.

but she could use this too. if she can wriggle her way into favor with someone beyond carmen, whose attentions were notoriously fleeting and never guaranteed to last, she could protect herself. she could find a niche for herself and grow from there, establish her value to the cartel. seducing marcos diaz, right hand man and former flame of the cartel's leading lady, probably isn't how headquarters wants this mission to go down — but they sent her, not ward, not fitz, not may. they sent her, and she's going to do it her way.

so she smiles into the touch, hums a soft melody of approval at the warmth that spills out over her skin, and lets her head tip to the side in careful consideration. ]

I'm asking you. [ those rumbles start again, more targeted this time, teasing at the muscles of his calves. if she wanted to, she could lift them up, vibrate enough firm air between their feet and the ground that they'd effectively be flying. but that's a little much for the inside of a club. not that the light he's bathing her in is particularly subtle, either. ] What does it make you, Marcos?

[ if the light show or the whispers and stares it brings bothers her, she doesn't show it. ]

I think you want me to think you're a monster. But I see through that.

[ isn't it fun to hear your own words parroted back at you? ]

Do you?

[ marcos is perfectly fine with people thinking him a monster, an abomination, a terrorist who doesn't care about anyone but himself. he cultivates those various reputations and makes sure to even build them up to make himself even more terrifying in the eyes of others. he doesn't want friends, he has no family, and he doesn't want any ties to anyone. there's nothing to be gained there. ]

What do you see?

[ if she's going to pretend that she knows who he or what he is, he wants to hear it. he wants to hear what this person who's been around for five minutes thinks she can see by having two conversations with him.

the hand at her back heats up a little more, still well under any limit that's going to hurt her but it's getting hotter in the same way whatever she's doing to him is making his legs shake. he ]

What do you think you see? [ that was the better question. she thinks she knows. he doesn't think she has a freaking clue. ]

I've met men like you before. Dangerous men, dark and broody, full of rage and smug superiority. Men who think they can run the world by destroying it.

[ it's not a judgment call or a criticism, though the words certainly carry with them a particular heaviness. she's careful to keep her tone soft, calm; the vibrations pulsing from her palm roll upwards, centering themselves against his neck and shoulders, the way a masseuse might target the tension that carried from holding posture too tight. ]

You let your abilities become the only thing people know about you, and they see you as a monster because they don't know what else to say.

[ but the warmth that spills from his skin can heal as well as it can hurt, if the way she's arched into the touch is any indication. ]

I see a man who's got a little more going for him than just some sunlight, but he doesn't want anybody to know that.

I don't want to run the world.

[ he murmurs the words and they're honest. he's not often honest these days, not even with himself, but that's a truthful statement. he doesn't want to rule the world. he doesn't want to have people bow at his feet and do his bidding. he just wants to survive.

and he'll do absolutely anything to make sure that happens. if that means working for the cartel, he'll do it. if it means killing men who stand in his way, he'll do it. ]

People see what I want them to see. No more, no less.

[ even carmen hadn't gotten that deep. she'd tried and she'd gotten further than most but once he stopped talking, he'd stopped being useful in that way. she'd gotten bored. it hadn't been that big a loss.

the knots in his neck start to loosen under whatever she's doing and he exhales, a ragged sound of surprise. he's been carrying that tension around for months and some girl comes along and just undoes it? it shouldn't be happening. ]

You don't know what you're talking about. [ besides the whole running the world thing, she's remarkably accurate and he hates that. ] They say I'm a monster because I am. You saw it earlier.

[ he'd have blinded that man if she hadn't been pushy. ]

Sorry to break it to you.

Are you?

[ she has to wonder. from what she knows of cartels and other organizations like it, you stay for two reasons. you're either family, or afraid of being nothing. organized crime offers people purpose when the world outside brings only fear or pain or both. when she considers his history with carmen — never explicitly confirmed, but hinted at, never outright denied either — it stands to reason that he wasn't born into this place. he came here, needing something that it gave him.

was it shelter? was it a job? was it a sense of belonging? she doesn't know, yet, but daisy knows it must be something. whatever he's getting here goes deep, a need he can't imagine filling anywhere else. ]

You can tell yourself you're a monster, Marcos, but I don't buy it. Nobody's just one thing.

[ she's a good girl, yes. he's been right about that. her moral compass points true and strong, as evidenced by her thankfully private reaction to his torture session earlier today. but that doesn't mean she can't be selfish or cruel or reckless.

as if to prove her point, her hands lift, adjust; they find purchase curving over his shoulders, her fingertips digging into the tense muscles just above his shoulder blades. the vibrations lessen to a soft pulse, the muscles themselves rocking back and forth against the bone.

she knows it feels good, but the pleasured exhale he releases just makes her smile, smug and satisfied. ]

I can be good, if you want, but I don't need you to corrupt me. Somebody already beat you to it.

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