Hey guys. Just a small drabble for Jasiper week. Hope you like it!
He is her mark, and an easy one. With his constant staring at the crowd and distracted air, a thief couldn't ask for better.
She saunters up to him, a sway in her hips and a glint in her eye, lips curling back in a smile that would look more at home on a wolf.
He eyes her warily, but she brushes past him, goes up to the bar and says to the bartender, "Whiskey, neat." Her voice is low and with enough of a throaty edge to be almost a purr. She accepts the glass with a nod and tips it down her throat, sighing pleasantly at the burn. She jerks her thumb in his direction. "And one for him, too."
"That's not necessary," he starts to say and she waves her hand, dismissing the sentence before it begins.
"Please," she says, turning to face him, leaning back on her elbows. He tries very hard not to follow the line of her black dress as it clings to her body. "You looked like you needed it. Rough day?"
"Something like," he says, glancing around the darkened club. "This…isn't really my scene."
She chuckles, the sound brushes against him like a cat's tail flicking against his legs. "I could tell."
He flushes slightly (embarrassment? She's almost amused), but he holds out his hand to anyway. "Jason Grace. And you?"
She looks at the outstretched hand and smiles, slow, slow, slow. "Piper Mclean," she says and shakes his hand. He won't see her again, so telling him her names doesn't matter.
She gets the whiskey down him eventually and by applying her by no means inconsiderable charms, gets him on the dance floor. She suspects fully sober, he'd be stiff and uncertain, but now, with whiskey warm on his breath and in his veins, he moves gracefully, easily. His hands settle on her waist, then make a maddeningly slow slide to her hips and she finds herself almost wishing this wasn't a job.
They dance to three songs before she gets another whiskey in him, drags him out again. By now, their dancing is near indecent, but it hardly matters, because the game's about to end anyway.
She rolls her hips against his, deliberately rough and he throws his head back, strobe lights dancing off the lines of his neck and collarbones. She reaches up with one hand and gathers a handful of blond hair, drags his face down hers and kisses him, all teeth and tongue and lips.
With her other, she slides it into his suit jacket, palms his wallet and throws herself into the kiss with even more enthusiasm.
That was a mistake because he's responding to it, clutching her waist and pulling her closer, hands sliding up her back, fingers spanning it, and it's time to cut her losses now.
She pulls back, the taste of whiskey hot in her mouth, and he's a sight to see, lips swollen and flushed, panting like he's run a marathon.
She means to slide back, melt away into the shadows like she's known for, but his hand closes around hers, grips the hand trying to slide away with his wallet.
"Nice try," he breathes in her ear, his free hand still splayed out across her back. "You could've just asked."
Adrenaline spikes in her veins like kerosene to flame as she whispers back, pulling at his ear with her teeth, "But where's the fun in that?"
The game isn't over, she realizes, as he pulls her closer still. It just got a whole lot more interesting.
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