[ 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. ]
[ he wants to say she doesn't have to do this. he doesn't expect it and doesn't really need it to enjoy his time with her. has he thought about it? sure. has he wanted it to happen? absolutely but he hadn't wanted her to feel obligated.
and though he'd started to tell her that, it's easy to tell that her mind had been pretty well made up. he swallows, fingers curling even tighter into the bedding underneath his hands. it'll be a wonder if he does't rip a hole in them by the time this all ends.
when he breathes, it's noisy and ragged, a very clear sign that she's getting to him already and she's barely done anything. her hands, her mouth, they're just that — it's more intense because it's someone he cares about.
he does, he realizes. he cares. he cares about what she does and what she thinks and who she's with. he cares and it's dangerous but he doesn't care about that. he wants and wants and wants.
he babbles a bit, no real words in the stream of conscious that falls from his lips but he's still pleased he can make noise with what she's doing to him. he blinks his eyes open and peers down at her, making himself watch because that's —
god, he's getting in deep. too deep. not deep enough. too late to stop now, though. he moans, fingers curling into the sheets again and yanking hard. ]
[ her mouth skims down, teeth dragging just enough to be felt, just enough to draw a shiver across his skin from the contact. her tongue drags up, soothing the rush of blood along their wake, and he groans. she smiles, eyes flicking up to his as she pulls back — not to stop, not entirely, just enough that she's able to watch his expression and meet his gaze. just for a moment, just long enough to wink before she's diving back in, hands smoothing down to curve around the back of his thighs.
there's a power in doing this. a bit of control, a bit of tease, but there's something else in it too. attention, devotion, trust. things that have slowly but surely filtered in between them, day by day, things that have led her to wanting to do this for him.
so as he begins to babble, as he tightens in her mouth and groans out loud, daisy reaches one hand forward, gently prying one of his off the sheets and pulling it back, fingertips guiding his to curve across her cheek and along the line of her jaw, giving back just that small amount of control when he might need it the most. she trusts him — not to force her into this, not to change this into something it's not, but to enjoy it, to show her his enjoyment, to let go and relax and let her take care of him the way she knows he wants her to.
it's okay, she wants to say, but she doesn't want to stop either. so she just hopes he understands. ]
[ she fucking winks at him and he moans because she's an asshole. good thing he likes assholes but he's going to remember that wink. he's going to remember it and make sure he repays her tenfold the next time he gets to do something like this to her.
but he's certainly not going to stop this from happening either because it feels amazing. so good. too bad. she doesn't need to do this but he's not about to tell her that right now because he's selfish and greedy and wants this.
his head tips back, eyes shut and breathing rapid. just the mere touch of her hand on his makes him shiver, a full body movement that he stops just before his hips twitch. she guides his hand to her face and he splays his fingers out, brushing some of her hair back and scratching his nails against her nail, never forcing her into doing more, never taking more control than she's given.
he's not a good person but he recognizes that she doesn't have to do this and she's doing it for him. he doesn't want to ruin that even if she's going to ruin him with her mouth and lips and everything. ]
[ she's going to ruin him. it's the only possible outcome, and as she feels the muscles in his legs begin to tremble, she guides him backwards, until his weight is supported leaning up against the bed. if he falls in the process of his orgasm, she'd really rather he not fall on top of her.
but making his knees go weak? that's definitely on the agenda, because once she's satisfied with his positioning, daisy stops holding back. it's not a tease, not gentle; there's nothing but determined, practiced motions — her mouth, her tongue, the scrape of her teeth just enough to shoot shivers down his spine, over and over until he's painfully hard beneath her ministrations, until he doesn't have a choice but to let go.
because she won't pull away until he does, won't relent the onslaught of sensations she plans to give him, no matter how hard he clutches at her hair or how many swear words he babbles out. she won't move backwards until he's satisfied, and only then to swallow, to lick her lips, and to grin — it's almost mean to feel so smug, she thinks, but she really does feel particularly satisfied with herself.
[ he agrees. he agrees wholeheartedly and if he was able to speak right now, he'd tell her that in very, very descriptive words on how much he agrees. but he really can't talk beyond cursing in english, cursing in spanish, and moaning. she's good at this and while maybe that's crude to think about, she is and he'd also compliment her on her ability if, again, he could talk coherently.
maybe later.
now though, now's for keeping his hand in her hair, tugging on it lightly but mostly just giving himself something to touch that aren't sheets on her bed. he never tries to push or press because he doesn't need to. she's doing just fine on her own and he's not going to try and change a good thing.
he can feel when things are close and he tries to push at her shoulder to get her to move because he's not going to last longer and he's not sure if she wants to stay on him when that happens. ]
You need to — I can't — move back. [ or don't but he at least wants to warn her so she has a choice on the matter. ]
this is the most bizarre smut tag i've ever written in my whole life??????
[ it's one of those strange out-of-body experiences, she thinks. she knows he's going to come and she knows it's going to be in her mouth and she knows, too, that it's not going to be the most enjoyable sensation in the world — but at the same time, there's absolutely no other endpoint to this that she's willing to consider. this is something she's giving him, fullstop, end of discussion.
so she doesn't move away or stop or slow down. she lets him ride out the course of all those sensations until she has no choice but to swallow one more time, idly aware of the length of him as he pulls back, breathless and panting and legs wobbly beneath him; it's only then that daisy leans backwards, the back of her hand brushing against her lips, and peers up at him. ]
Hi.
[ and then, once more for good measure, she winks again. ]
Stop winking at me, you asshole. [ and forgive him, he's just going to finally lay down on the bed and try to catch his breath. that had been unexpected but in the best possible way. now though, he needs to be off his feet and not doing a damn thing other than laying there, breathing hard and trying to clear his fuzzy head.
he's quiet for a few moments, one hand across his stomach before he peers down at her, eyes glassy but relaxed for once in his life. ]
Come up here. [ he gestures her closer with his hand before scooting back against the pillows and sighing. ] You didn't have to do that, you know.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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and though he'd started to tell her that, it's easy to tell that her mind had been pretty well made up. he swallows, fingers curling even tighter into the bedding underneath his hands. it'll be a wonder if he does't rip a hole in them by the time this all ends.
when he breathes, it's noisy and ragged, a very clear sign that she's getting to him already and she's barely done anything. her hands, her mouth, they're just that — it's more intense because it's someone he cares about.
he does, he realizes. he cares. he cares about what she does and what she thinks and who she's with. he cares and it's dangerous but he doesn't care about that. he wants and wants and wants.
he babbles a bit, no real words in the stream of conscious that falls from his lips but he's still pleased he can make noise with what she's doing to him. he blinks his eyes open and peers down at her, making himself watch because that's —
god, he's getting in deep. too deep. not deep enough. too late to stop now, though. he moans, fingers curling into the sheets again and yanking hard. ]
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there's a power in doing this. a bit of control, a bit of tease, but there's something else in it too. attention, devotion, trust. things that have slowly but surely filtered in between them, day by day, things that have led her to wanting to do this for him.
so as he begins to babble, as he tightens in her mouth and groans out loud, daisy reaches one hand forward, gently prying one of his off the sheets and pulling it back, fingertips guiding his to curve across her cheek and along the line of her jaw, giving back just that small amount of control when he might need it the most. she trusts him — not to force her into this, not to change this into something it's not, but to enjoy it, to show her his enjoyment, to let go and relax and let her take care of him the way she knows he wants her to.
it's okay, she wants to say, but she doesn't want to stop either. so she just hopes he understands. ]
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but he's certainly not going to stop this from happening either because it feels amazing. so good. too bad. she doesn't need to do this but he's not about to tell her that right now because he's selfish and greedy and wants this.
his head tips back, eyes shut and breathing rapid. just the mere touch of her hand on his makes him shiver, a full body movement that he stops just before his hips twitch. she guides his hand to her face and he splays his fingers out, brushing some of her hair back and scratching his nails against her nail, never forcing her into doing more, never taking more control than she's given.
he's not a good person but he recognizes that she doesn't have to do this and she's doing it for him. he doesn't want to ruin that even if she's going to ruin him with her mouth and lips and everything. ]
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but making his knees go weak? that's definitely on the agenda, because once she's satisfied with his positioning, daisy stops holding back. it's not a tease, not gentle; there's nothing but determined, practiced motions — her mouth, her tongue, the scrape of her teeth just enough to shoot shivers down his spine, over and over until he's painfully hard beneath her ministrations, until he doesn't have a choice but to let go.
because she won't pull away until he does, won't relent the onslaught of sensations she plans to give him, no matter how hard he clutches at her hair or how many swear words he babbles out. she won't move backwards until he's satisfied, and only then to swallow, to lick her lips, and to grin — it's almost mean to feel so smug, she thinks, but she really does feel particularly satisfied with herself.
hopefully he agrees. ]
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maybe later.
now though, now's for keeping his hand in her hair, tugging on it lightly but mostly just giving himself something to touch that aren't sheets on her bed. he never tries to push or press because he doesn't need to. she's doing just fine on her own and he's not going to try and change a good thing.
he can feel when things are close and he tries to push at her shoulder to get her to move because he's not going to last longer and he's not sure if she wants to stay on him when that happens. ]
You need to — I can't — move back. [ or don't but he at least wants to warn her so she has a choice on the matter. ]
this is the most bizarre smut tag i've ever written in my whole life??????
so she doesn't move away or stop or slow down. she lets him ride out the course of all those sensations until she has no choice but to swallow one more time, idly aware of the length of him as he pulls back, breathless and panting and legs wobbly beneath him; it's only then that daisy leans backwards, the back of her hand brushing against her lips, and peers up at him. ]
Hi.
[ and then, once more for good measure, she winks again. ]
i'm honored
he's quiet for a few moments, one hand across his stomach before he peers down at her, eyes glassy but relaxed for once in his life. ]
Come up here. [ he gestures her closer with his hand before scooting back against the pillows and sighing. ] You didn't have to do that, you know.
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