The water's cold. [ as if that's reason enough to not get back in. she's already out, isn't she? she's dried off and gotten dressed — or as much as draping a dressing gown over her counted as getting dressed, anyway. ] And I wasn't doing anything. I already told you that.
[ but he doesn't answer her not-question, and she can't just let him walk away with that still lingering. ]
Is that your blood, Marcos? [ there. now it's a question, voice tight around the words as she steps to lock the door behind him. now she's in his space, arms' length, and though she doesn't touch him, she's close enough to. ] Is it?
No. [ he grits the word out, irritation bleeding into every letter. no, it's not his blood. it had been a fight but he hadn't spilled blood this time, something marcos considers a success. ]
It's not my blood. I'm fine. [ physically. in every other way, he was annoyed and pissy but he didn't have a scratch on him after tonight. it should have been a night for a celebration.
too bad the only person who'd wanted to celebrate was the one person whose name he probably shouldn't mention. ]
Good. [ it comes out a little quiet. relieved, maybe. a breath she hadn't realized she was holding pushes out through her lips, shoulders sagging under her robe. she's halfway to expressing that gratitude — somehow, some way, her mind hadn't quite caught up to how she'd do it — when he snaps again.
can i go, he demands, and daisy just gives up. any softness in her tone disappears, swallowed back by irritation and hurt and surprise. ]
Fine. [ this time, she does push into his space, little regard given for how close they are, in order to flick the latch of the lock back open with a jerky click; her hand curves over the doorknob and yanks it open, door bumping against his hip in the process. she lets go of the knob, but the door stays open. ]
Next time, don't bother making a pitstop if you don't actually want to be here.
[ a doorknob jamming into his hip doesn't feel great but he ignores the quick jab of pain in order to glare at her. as soon as she lets go of the door, he shoves it closed again and stares at her. ]
Okay, what the hell's going on?
[ between how their text conversation had ended and now this, he thinks it's time to just get whatever it is out in the open to deal with it because he hates going to bed mad. it makes the whole sleep thing shitty. ]
Are you really jealous? [ that's when this had all twisted up, hadn't it? ] Why?
[ there's nothing between them, officially speaking. bad decisions, maybe. admittedly pretty good sex. but there's no arrangement, no label, no claim she can make on him. certainly nothing she should be claiming, either for her place in the cartel or her actual mission.
so if he's tired of her? if he wants to go back to stroking carmen's ego while she strokes his dick? fine. that's fine. that's his prerogative, and daisy won't stop him. won't, shouldn't, can't. ]
You can do whatever [ whoever ] you want. It's none of my business.
[ why is everything so hard with her? and no, he doesn't mean hard in a good way. unfortunately. that would have been so much more fun than what's happening right now. ]
Then, what is the problem?
[ she's jealous. the fact that this is the first time she's denied it just points to the fact that she is but if she wants to play at not being jealous, fine. ]
You flipped out on me on the phone and now this. I came here to talk to you. I wouldn't do that if I didn't think this whole thing wasn't your goddamn business.
There's no problem. [ daisy... please. ] You came by, you want to leave, that's fine.
[ it's not fine. it feels like she's dragging nails down a chalkboard in her own head. she doesn't even know what she's trying to say, because her head's too full of stress and worry and jealousy and frustration; it feels like she's swimming in it.
but he doesn't leave. he stares at her and shuts the door (again) and refuses to go, and daisy doesn't know what to do. ]
What do you want from me, Marcos? What do you want me to say here?
[ you should be scared of her, he'd told her once. so why would she get in the way? ]
[ duh. come on, this was so far from fine that even someone as dumb as him could tell. does he want to leave? actually no but he doesn't want to stand there and listen to her be upset that he'd come by in the first place. ]
I want you to say what the issue is. [ WHAT'S WRONG????? because there is something wrong and he wants to know what it is so he can figure out what the hell happened in between their very pleasant conversation about fucking to right now. ]
[ it should say something about her current levels of emotional conflict that she doesn't even snap at him for the hypocrisy of his demands. he wants her to be honest? he wants her to be forthcoming with what she feels? daisy just groans, a low sound in her throat, and shakes her head.
there is no good way for this conversation to go. but it has to go somewhere, because she can't just stare at him all night. he won't sit in silence that long. ]
Look. [ listen here, bitch ] If you're — whatever it is you're doing with Carmen, just leave me out of it.
[ oh my god. this was really about carmen. he hadn't — he'd assumed she'd known he was fucking around about her effect on him (though she did have an uncanny ability to piss him off) when they'd been talking.
apparently not. ]
Whatever I'm doing with Carmen? You mean working for her? [ because that's all that was happening there. that's all that would ever happen there. marcos was done with that. ]
Doing the same thing I've been doing with her for the last few years? You mean that? You want me to leave you out of that? [ sure fine. he'd go to carmen and say he didn't want to work with skye anymore, that's fine. because that's all he could leave her out of since THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE. ]
The only person I've touched in the last few months has been you. [ who are you calling a bitch, bitch? ]
oh. oh. okay. well. that's different. that's better, in any case. she's still annoyed at him for derailing a nice conversation by talking about their boss, but daisy's considerably less mad now that it's not because he's secretly dicking the woman behind her back. ]
You're an ass.
[ a true statement, yes, but there's no bite to the words, just exasperation, as if to say "why didn't you just say that" a million times in a row. shorthand. get used to it, marcos, this is what you're signing up for. ]
You're such an asshole.
[ said in the same tone she'd say "get over here", strongly fighting the urge to smile. ]
[ he hopes not. he's been an asshole to her and in front of her enough that he's pretty sure she knows how terrible of a person he is more than just about anyone else around. but, now that he's found the culprit of all this insanity, he feels a little better.
maybe still a little irritated that she'd think that he'd do that while he was with her but the whole thing hadn't blown up, at least.
her tone, though, tells him something: that she's not really trying to throw cutting barbs at him. not this time. she's relieved, he realizes. relieved to know that he's not stepping out on her and their...whatever this is. ]
Carmen's my boss. You're... [ something more. oh god, she is and he's realizing that and it makes his throat nearly close up. ] You're better than that.
[ she might reconsider her expectations if he was actually, you know, with her. officially speaking. but as it stands, there's nothing preventing him from doing it. they're not actually exclusive. they don't even talk about it.
granted, daisy isn't stupid enough to see anybody else while she's casually getting off with carmen's right hand man, but that's not to say he's not sowing his wild oats elsewhere. she just. really doesn't want that elsewhere to be carmen. (or anybody. but she's not thinking about the implications of that, because those implications are Real Dangerous.)
but then he says she's better than carmen, better than a boss, and a question pops into her mind. but it's such a bad idea. it's such a stupid question to ask. don't do it, daisy. ]
[ he really should have expected that question. he'd brought it upon himself by saying more than he should have in the first place and he knows enough about her personality to know that if she wants to know something, she's going to ask it. she'd badgered him for weeks about what he wanted until his tightly held control had snapped and turned to dust.
he's going to need to answer. brushing this off might work because he'd already said more than needed but he knows she'd know he was brushing it off because there was something he wasn't saying.
he doesn't say anything for a long time. he stands there, back against her door and arms crossed over his chest. she's still in that dressing gown, looking fresh and damp from her bath and it's distracting. ]
Important.
[ guess he wasn't going to brush it off, then. sure, he was going to say that and open up pandora's box. ]
[ it's not exactly a full answer, but it's more than she expected. try as she might to stay neutral, to act as if the word's barely anything at all, daisy can't manage it — she hates how quickly the word settles in her head, how fast warmth seems to bloom across her skin, flattery and something else altogether bright in her mind. she fights the smile that curves up the corner of her mouth, fights it even as she crosses the gap between them (again, always) to let a hand smooth out over the dusty shoulder of his shirt. ]
Really? [ she tries to pretend it's a tease, tries to hum out her contemplation like the word's a barb to be gently pried under his skin or a bit of leverage to be used. but it isn't, and daisy's not that good of an actress.
she's a bad liar. when push comes to shove, when emotions get the better of her, she always falls back on truths. even now, as her face tips up to his, as she watches him blink down at her after saying something so simple and yet so damning, she can't help herself. ]
You're important too, you know.
[ she'd only had her stomach twist over the sight of blood on his shirt, a comical reaction considering their circumstances. ]
that's...that's a thing, isn't it? granted, it's nothing major and can easily be explained away by either of them but this is more than they've admitted in the past. it's more than 'i want you' or 'i want to sleep with you'. it's an acknowledgement of something else and that's more than he's done with anyone in over a year. maybe longer.
underneath her touch, some of the tension in his shoulders eases and his postures relaxes the tiniest bit. ]
Yes, really.
[ even if she'd been trying to tease, he reiterates what he's said. she's important and it's terrifying that that's happened. it shouldn't be a thing, someone managing to get this close to him but despite his best efforts, it had happened.
it's a dangerous dance, what they're doing. closing that gap more and more each time they meet. now that she's close enough, he reaches up and drags a thumb down her cheek, rough against smooth. ]
You don't need to be jealous. If I'm with you, I'm with you.
[ oh, she knows what it means. she knows, and it sends a thrill through her, giddy and ecstatic and terrified all at once. but she's not backing up. she's not shying away from touch or pulling away from him. no, daisy only leans in, lets his free hand circle around her waist, pull her flush against him until there's no room left for anything but breathing.
this is a bad idea — but it's their bad idea, and daisy's not stopping it. she rationalizes it by saying it's another layer to her mission, something she'd aimed for once she realized who he was. and maybe that's true. maybe, when she'd first arrived, she'd learned who he was from carmen and thought he might be the angle she needed. but she's not coming to him to get information, or confessing that he's important to her because she wants the intel he has.
it's real, and daisy knows those real feelings will be her undoing. at some point, she'll have to rip off the mask, and she knows that revelation destroy whatever's still in its wake. but right now, she doesn't want to think about that. she doesn't want to care about what might be or what will be. she just wants to let his thumb drag down the apple of her cheek, and to fall further into whatever this is.
let her bury her head in the sand for now. ]
This is such a bad idea. [ she'd tried to tell him that, once upon a time. ] You shouldn't want to be with me.
[ and yet, he does. and yet, she wants him to. and yet, even as she says it, her face tips up to his, her mouth pressing warm against his own in a kiss that's almost reverently soft. as if expecting him to pull back and change his mind. ]
[ she'd bitched at him plenty for never talking about what he wanted. in the beginning and up till now. but it wasn't that he didn't know, it was that he knew he shouldn't want it and thus convinced himself not to talk about it. he pushed it down and locked it away and made himself believe that he didn't want her. and when he finally admitted that he did, he tried to explain it away as just a physical release.
that had worked for awhile but no more. he knew it was something more than that. it was and when you led a life like his, emotional connections made you a target. they gave people something to hold over you and make you bow to their demands.
and yet, here he is. ]
I thought that was my line. Why not? Why shouldn't I want this?
[ it's not a question she's going to immediately answer, not when she's kissing him in a way that they haven't shared before. they enjoyed aggression and being none too gentle but this was delicate and soft, a breakable thing that he wanted to keep safe.
he doesn't pull away, he doesn't change his mind. his mind was made up. ]
[ she can't answer it. she can't tell him that he shouldn't want to be with a person who doesn't exist. she can't tell him that while he may want to be with skye, she's just a fake name forged into existence, made up for the purposes of destroying the organization that's given him a home. she can't tell him that getting close to him serves a purpose.
if she tells him, the mission's blown. if she tells him, he won't want her. she knows one's more important than the other, but daisy's not sure she knows which one it is.
so she doesn't say anything. she just shakes her head as it pulls away, no in all but words, and dives back in; she lets him keep her flush so that they're backed up against the door, one hand clutched against the fabric of his shirt while the other clings to his upper arm, pulling herself into the warmth of him.
this is such a bad idea, but she's too far gone to get out now. for better or for worse — and it'll be worse, before long — daisy wants it too. ]
[ if he's honest, he hadn't really expected an answer. not because he expects her to give him a taste of his own medicine but it's a difficult question to answer. to be put on the spot and be asked something that leaves you emotionally vulnerable to another person isn't easy. it's not. it's hard and it can hurt if it's wielded improperly.
so, he doesn't push. if she wants to keep it to herself, he'll let her. he'll let her distract him with her mouth, with her kiss and with the hands she has on his body.
there's a temptation to reach for the knot at her waist and push things there but he holds back, reins himself in and sinks into the kiss, into her touch and the comfort that it provides.
it hadn't been his blood on his shirt but it had been a long day and this is doing wonders to help him unwind and leave the tension and stress behind. ]
[ more often than not, marcos takes care of her first. it's not usually gentle, not always out of affection or gender roles or devotion — it's more often than not a show of aggression and desire and wanting, things rushed in such a way that gets them both off or that lets him touch her until she's trembling and crying out his name.
she doesn't often get the opportunity to return the favor, but she wants to.
so instead of letting his hands wander into the knot at her waist to unwrap her, or letting his closeness encourage her the way it usually does, daisy pulls back — just enough to offer a reassuring smile, hands squeezing a bit at the expanses of skin in their clutches. she pulls back and takes a few steps, gently guiding him with her, walking backwards through her apartment by sense memory alone until her knees bump up against the edge of her bed. ]
Come here.
[ trade places with her, her hands guiding him to step and turn until it's his knees and back up against the mattress seem to say; once he's in place, they shift, turning attention towards his buttons to undo them. ]
I was jealous, [ she admits, her hands sliding under the open shirt, pushing it over his shoulders and down his arms so that it falls and pools on the ground below. ] That you'd go back to her, that I couldn't have you anymore.
[ her hands slide down his arms, palms dragging along the skin; as they skim past his hands, she squeezes for just a moment before letting them settle along the waistband of his jeans. it's then that she settles, kneeling on the ground in front of him, her head tipped to peer up at him. ]
I don't want you to have any reason to go anywhere else.
[ possessive, but soft. quiet. a hint of a challenge in the way she says it, but one she wants him to let her meet. will he? ]
[ she leads and he follows, a reverse of how they typically work outside these walls. but that's not really true, is it? he tries to lead and she follows when it suits her. if it doesn't, she lets him know.
so, good thing this suits him. he follows, uncharacteristically quiet while she settles him on the bed and slides the shirt off of his shoulders. he sucks in a sharp breath when she kneels in front of him and looks up at him, hands at the waist of his pants. ]
I don't have any reason to go anywhere else.
[ what he wanted was right here. he'd chosen, he'd made the decision and he'd stepped over the boundaries he'd built for himself so many years ago. ]
This is where I want to be.
[ with her. here, there or anywhere. but with her. that's what he wanted. even if she drove him crazy sometimes, she also managed to ground him, to center him, to make him focus in ways that no one else could.
he has no idea how but he's gotten used to it. and it's not something he wants to give up. ]
[ she doesn't say anything. her head bobs in a quick nod of acknowledgement, but for the most part, daisy doesn't reply. her attentions shift, hands busy unlatching his belt, flicking open the buttons, dropping the zipper; it doesn't take long for the waistband to sag from the weight of the belt, stiff fabric bunching up from the slack.
there's a hum of appreciation as fingertips hook through the belt loops and tug down, her gaze flicking up to his as the garment falls to the floor; her hands make quick work back up the expanse of his bare legs to tease at the shorts underneath, nails toying with the elastic for a moment or two before taking the fabric in hand.
she smiles, then, and stills her hands in place. ]
Is this where you want me to be?
[ kneeling here, touching him so softly, gentle and slow and teasing. or does he want something else? right now, she's willing to give whatever he asks for. a rare concession. ]
[ he swallows. it's difficult to not reach down and make her hands do what he wants them to do but he's gotten the feeling that, if he tried, she'd smack them away so he puts them down on her beds, grips the blanket to give himself something to hold onto. ]
Yeah, you're good right there.
[ she was perfectly freaking fine right there. she could stay there forever if she wanted. she wouldn't and he'd probably reconsider that statement later but right now, it's a good look for her. he likes it, selfish bastard that he is. ]
You're good. [ he nods, feeling his mouth go dry once again. ] I want you there.
Good. [ because she wants to be. right here, with her hands tugging down his shorts and letting them fall to the ground, kicked aside and discarded. from here, it's impossible to ignore the very obvious fact of his arousal, or what she wants to be doing — what she doesn't hesitate to do, even. with not even so much as another syllable, daisy leans forward, hands skimming up his thighs to catch him at the base, fingertips gently toying at sensitive skin before anything else.
she won't tease too much, though. at least, not any more so than the act itself is a tease — because while she's not particularly aggressive, there's a definite air of intentional seduction as her tongue drags from tip to base and then back again, one that doesn't go away as her mouth shifts to envelop him, hands bracing her weight as she rocks back and forth by holding on to his hips for support.
this isn't about marcos making her do something she doesn't want to do. she wouldn't, anyway. she'd sooner bite down than be forced into something like this. no, she does this now because she wants to, because it's something intimate and (hopefully) desirable that she gives of her own accord, a line she's never crossed so long as his intentions haven't been known. a part of herself, however small, that she's kept back.
and maybe she should be keeping it separate, knowing what she does about their inevitable path. maybe this should be something she should reserve for someone she can be with for real, someone who will whisper her actual name between the sheets, someone who knows her whole story and not just the crafted persona's. but, somewhere along the line, daisy blurred the two. skye wants to be with marcos, but daisy does too — shouldn't, but does.
she can't tell him any of that, but she hopes maybe her actions will show him that she wants him all the same. ]
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[ but he doesn't answer her not-question, and she can't just let him walk away with that still lingering. ]
Is that your blood, Marcos? [ there. now it's a question, voice tight around the words as she steps to lock the door behind him. now she's in his space, arms' length, and though she doesn't touch him, she's close enough to. ] Is it?
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It's not my blood. I'm fine. [ physically. in every other way, he was annoyed and pissy but he didn't have a scratch on him after tonight. it should have been a night for a celebration.
too bad the only person who'd wanted to celebrate was the one person whose name he probably shouldn't mention. ]
Happy now? Can I go?
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can i go, he demands, and daisy just gives up. any softness in her tone disappears, swallowed back by irritation and hurt and surprise. ]
Fine. [ this time, she does push into his space, little regard given for how close they are, in order to flick the latch of the lock back open with a jerky click; her hand curves over the doorknob and yanks it open, door bumping against his hip in the process. she lets go of the knob, but the door stays open. ]
Next time, don't bother making a pitstop if you don't actually want to be here.
[ is she jealous? yes. now more than ever. ]
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Okay, what the hell's going on?
[ between how their text conversation had ended and now this, he thinks it's time to just get whatever it is out in the open to deal with it because he hates going to bed mad. it makes the whole sleep thing shitty. ]
Are you really jealous? [ that's when this had all twisted up, hadn't it? ] Why?
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[ there's nothing between them, officially speaking. bad decisions, maybe. admittedly pretty good sex. but there's no arrangement, no label, no claim she can make on him. certainly nothing she should be claiming, either for her place in the cartel or her actual mission.
so if he's tired of her? if he wants to go back to stroking carmen's ego while she strokes his dick? fine. that's fine. that's his prerogative, and daisy won't stop him. won't, shouldn't, can't. ]
You can do whatever [ whoever ] you want. It's none of my business.
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Then, what is the problem?
[ she's jealous. the fact that this is the first time she's denied it just points to the fact that she is but if she wants to play at not being jealous, fine. ]
You flipped out on me on the phone and now this. I came here to talk to you. I wouldn't do that if I didn't think this whole thing wasn't your goddamn business.
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[ it's not fine. it feels like she's dragging nails down a chalkboard in her own head. she doesn't even know what she's trying to say, because her head's too full of stress and worry and jealousy and frustration; it feels like she's swimming in it.
but he doesn't leave. he stares at her and shuts the door (again) and refuses to go, and daisy doesn't know what to do. ]
What do you want from me, Marcos? What do you want me to say here?
[ you should be scared of her, he'd told her once. so why would she get in the way? ]
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[ duh. come on, this was so far from fine that even someone as dumb as him could tell. does he want to leave? actually no but he doesn't want to stand there and listen to her be upset that he'd come by in the first place. ]
I want you to say what the issue is. [ WHAT'S WRONG????? because there is something wrong and he wants to know what it is so he can figure out what the hell happened in between their very pleasant conversation about fucking to right now. ]
I want you to be honest. [ ha ha ha Ha HA? ]
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there is no good way for this conversation to go. but it has to go somewhere, because she can't just stare at him all night. he won't sit in silence that long. ]
Look. [ listen here, bitch ] If you're — whatever it is you're doing with Carmen, just leave me out of it.
[ it's safer that way. ]
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apparently not. ]
Whatever I'm doing with Carmen? You mean working for her? [ because that's all that was happening there. that's all that would ever happen there. marcos was done with that. ]
Doing the same thing I've been doing with her for the last few years? You mean that? You want me to leave you out of that? [ sure fine. he'd go to carmen and say he didn't want to work with skye anymore, that's fine. because that's all he could leave her out of since THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE. ]
The only person I've touched in the last few months has been you. [ who are you calling a bitch, bitch? ]
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oh. oh. okay. well. that's different. that's better, in any case. she's still annoyed at him for derailing a nice conversation by talking about their boss, but daisy's considerably less mad now that it's not because he's secretly dicking the woman behind her back. ]
You're an ass.
[ a true statement, yes, but there's no bite to the words, just exasperation, as if to say "why didn't you just say that" a million times in a row. shorthand. get used to it, marcos, this is what you're signing up for. ]
You're such an asshole.
[ said in the same tone she'd say "get over here", strongly fighting the urge to smile. ]
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[ he hopes not. he's been an asshole to her and in front of her enough that he's pretty sure she knows how terrible of a person he is more than just about anyone else around. but, now that he's found the culprit of all this insanity, he feels a little better.
maybe still a little irritated that she'd think that he'd do that while he was with her but the whole thing hadn't blown up, at least.
her tone, though, tells him something: that she's not really trying to throw cutting barbs at him. not this time. she's relieved, he realizes. relieved to know that he's not stepping out on her and their...whatever this is. ]
Carmen's my boss. You're... [ something more. oh god, she is and he's realizing that and it makes his throat nearly close up. ] You're better than that.
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granted, daisy isn't stupid enough to see anybody else while she's casually getting off with carmen's right hand man, but that's not to say he's not sowing his wild oats elsewhere. she just. really doesn't want that elsewhere to be carmen. (or anybody. but she's not thinking about the implications of that, because those implications are Real Dangerous.)
but then he says she's better than carmen, better than a boss, and a question pops into her mind. but it's such a bad idea. it's such a stupid question to ask. don't do it, daisy. ]
What am I, then?
[ of course she did it ]
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he's going to need to answer. brushing this off might work because he'd already said more than needed but he knows she'd know he was brushing it off because there was something he wasn't saying.
he doesn't say anything for a long time. he stands there, back against her door and arms crossed over his chest. she's still in that dressing gown, looking fresh and damp from her bath and it's distracting. ]
Important.
[ guess he wasn't going to brush it off, then. sure, he was going to say that and open up pandora's box. ]
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[ it's not exactly a full answer, but it's more than she expected. try as she might to stay neutral, to act as if the word's barely anything at all, daisy can't manage it — she hates how quickly the word settles in her head, how fast warmth seems to bloom across her skin, flattery and something else altogether bright in her mind. she fights the smile that curves up the corner of her mouth, fights it even as she crosses the gap between them (again, always) to let a hand smooth out over the dusty shoulder of his shirt. ]
Really? [ she tries to pretend it's a tease, tries to hum out her contemplation like the word's a barb to be gently pried under his skin or a bit of leverage to be used. but it isn't, and daisy's not that good of an actress.
she's a bad liar. when push comes to shove, when emotions get the better of her, she always falls back on truths. even now, as her face tips up to his, as she watches him blink down at her after saying something so simple and yet so damning, she can't help herself. ]
You're important too, you know.
[ she'd only had her stomach twist over the sight of blood on his shirt, a comical reaction considering their circumstances. ]
To me.
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that's...that's a thing, isn't it? granted, it's nothing major and can easily be explained away by either of them but this is more than they've admitted in the past. it's more than 'i want you' or 'i want to sleep with you'. it's an acknowledgement of something else and that's more than he's done with anyone in over a year. maybe longer.
underneath her touch, some of the tension in his shoulders eases and his postures relaxes the tiniest bit. ]
Yes, really.
[ even if she'd been trying to tease, he reiterates what he's said. she's important and it's terrifying that that's happened. it shouldn't be a thing, someone managing to get this close to him but despite his best efforts, it had happened.
it's a dangerous dance, what they're doing. closing that gap more and more each time they meet. now that she's close enough, he reaches up and drags a thumb down her cheek, rough against smooth. ]
You don't need to be jealous. If I'm with you, I'm with you.
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[ oh, she knows what it means. she knows, and it sends a thrill through her, giddy and ecstatic and terrified all at once. but she's not backing up. she's not shying away from touch or pulling away from him. no, daisy only leans in, lets his free hand circle around her waist, pull her flush against him until there's no room left for anything but breathing.
this is a bad idea — but it's their bad idea, and daisy's not stopping it. she rationalizes it by saying it's another layer to her mission, something she'd aimed for once she realized who he was. and maybe that's true. maybe, when she'd first arrived, she'd learned who he was from carmen and thought he might be the angle she needed. but she's not coming to him to get information, or confessing that he's important to her because she wants the intel he has.
it's real, and daisy knows those real feelings will be her undoing. at some point, she'll have to rip off the mask, and she knows that revelation destroy whatever's still in its wake. but right now, she doesn't want to think about that. she doesn't want to care about what might be or what will be. she just wants to let his thumb drag down the apple of her cheek, and to fall further into whatever this is.
let her bury her head in the sand for now. ]
This is such a bad idea. [ she'd tried to tell him that, once upon a time. ] You shouldn't want to be with me.
[ and yet, he does. and yet, she wants him to. and yet, even as she says it, her face tips up to his, her mouth pressing warm against his own in a kiss that's almost reverently soft. as if expecting him to pull back and change his mind. ]
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[ she'd bitched at him plenty for never talking about what he wanted. in the beginning and up till now. but it wasn't that he didn't know, it was that he knew he shouldn't want it and thus convinced himself not to talk about it. he pushed it down and locked it away and made himself believe that he didn't want her. and when he finally admitted that he did, he tried to explain it away as just a physical release.
that had worked for awhile but no more. he knew it was something more than that. it was and when you led a life like his, emotional connections made you a target. they gave people something to hold over you and make you bow to their demands.
and yet, here he is. ]
I thought that was my line. Why not? Why shouldn't I want this?
[ it's not a question she's going to immediately answer, not when she's kissing him in a way that they haven't shared before. they enjoyed aggression and being none too gentle but this was delicate and soft, a breakable thing that he wanted to keep safe.
he doesn't pull away, he doesn't change his mind. his mind was made up. ]
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if she tells him, the mission's blown. if she tells him, he won't want her. she knows one's more important than the other, but daisy's not sure she knows which one it is.
so she doesn't say anything. she just shakes her head as it pulls away, no in all but words, and dives back in; she lets him keep her flush so that they're backed up against the door, one hand clutched against the fabric of his shirt while the other clings to his upper arm, pulling herself into the warmth of him.
this is such a bad idea, but she's too far gone to get out now. for better or for worse — and it'll be worse, before long — daisy wants it too. ]
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so, he doesn't push. if she wants to keep it to herself, he'll let her. he'll let her distract him with her mouth, with her kiss and with the hands she has on his body.
there's a temptation to reach for the knot at her waist and push things there but he holds back, reins himself in and sinks into the kiss, into her touch and the comfort that it provides.
it hadn't been his blood on his shirt but it had been a long day and this is doing wonders to help him unwind and leave the tension and stress behind. ]
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she doesn't often get the opportunity to return the favor, but she wants to.
so instead of letting his hands wander into the knot at her waist to unwrap her, or letting his closeness encourage her the way it usually does, daisy pulls back — just enough to offer a reassuring smile, hands squeezing a bit at the expanses of skin in their clutches. she pulls back and takes a few steps, gently guiding him with her, walking backwards through her apartment by sense memory alone until her knees bump up against the edge of her bed. ]
Come here.
[ trade places with her, her hands guiding him to step and turn until it's his knees and back up against the mattress seem to say; once he's in place, they shift, turning attention towards his buttons to undo them. ]
I was jealous, [ she admits, her hands sliding under the open shirt, pushing it over his shoulders and down his arms so that it falls and pools on the ground below. ] That you'd go back to her, that I couldn't have you anymore.
[ her hands slide down his arms, palms dragging along the skin; as they skim past his hands, she squeezes for just a moment before letting them settle along the waistband of his jeans. it's then that she settles, kneeling on the ground in front of him, her head tipped to peer up at him. ]
I don't want you to have any reason to go anywhere else.
[ possessive, but soft. quiet. a hint of a challenge in the way she says it, but one she wants him to let her meet. will he? ]
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so, good thing this suits him. he follows, uncharacteristically quiet while she settles him on the bed and slides the shirt off of his shoulders. he sucks in a sharp breath when she kneels in front of him and looks up at him, hands at the waist of his pants. ]
I don't have any reason to go anywhere else.
[ what he wanted was right here. he'd chosen, he'd made the decision and he'd stepped over the boundaries he'd built for himself so many years ago. ]
This is where I want to be.
[ with her. here, there or anywhere. but with her. that's what he wanted. even if she drove him crazy sometimes, she also managed to ground him, to center him, to make him focus in ways that no one else could.
he has no idea how but he's gotten used to it. and it's not something he wants to give up. ]
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there's a hum of appreciation as fingertips hook through the belt loops and tug down, her gaze flicking up to his as the garment falls to the floor; her hands make quick work back up the expanse of his bare legs to tease at the shorts underneath, nails toying with the elastic for a moment or two before taking the fabric in hand.
she smiles, then, and stills her hands in place. ]
Is this where you want me to be?
[ kneeling here, touching him so softly, gentle and slow and teasing. or does he want something else? right now, she's willing to give whatever he asks for. a rare concession. ]
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Yeah, you're good right there.
[ she was perfectly freaking fine right there. she could stay there forever if she wanted. she wouldn't and he'd probably reconsider that statement later but right now, it's a good look for her. he likes it, selfish bastard that he is. ]
You're good. [ he nods, feeling his mouth go dry once again. ] I want you there.
[ just to answer the actual question at hand. ]
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she won't tease too much, though. at least, not any more so than the act itself is a tease — because while she's not particularly aggressive, there's a definite air of intentional seduction as her tongue drags from tip to base and then back again, one that doesn't go away as her mouth shifts to envelop him, hands bracing her weight as she rocks back and forth by holding on to his hips for support.
this isn't about marcos making her do something she doesn't want to do. she wouldn't, anyway. she'd sooner bite down than be forced into something like this. no, she does this now because she wants to, because it's something intimate and (hopefully) desirable that she gives of her own accord, a line she's never crossed so long as his intentions haven't been known. a part of herself, however small, that she's kept back.
and maybe she should be keeping it separate, knowing what she does about their inevitable path. maybe this should be something she should reserve for someone she can be with for real, someone who will whisper her actual name between the sheets, someone who knows her whole story and not just the crafted persona's. but, somewhere along the line, daisy blurred the two. skye wants to be with marcos, but daisy does too — shouldn't, but does.
she can't tell him any of that, but she hopes maybe her actions will show him that she wants him all the same. ]
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this is the most bizarre smut tag i've ever written in my whole life??????
i'm honored
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