For purpleplasticpurse ;)

She's sitting on the end of his couch, heels kicked off and legs tucked up under her. Mike offers to pour her a second glass of wine, but she swirls the dregs already in her glass and refuses. She's pleasantly warm as it is - and anyway, the indulgence would be too decadent, especially after the dinner they'd just had. She'd shared a dessert with him, even. She tells him so.

"Haven't you ever overindulged in anything in your life?" he says. He's teasing. He pours half a glass for himself. "No one can have that much self-control every waking hour of the day. I mean seriously… haven't you ever just done anything for you?"

"Never," she says, dryly and immediately. "I'm selflessly anhedonistic and duty-bound. And that's why I always come out on top."

Mike chuckles at her sarcasm, then pauses, just looking at her. "Okay, then," he says. "So tell me three guilty pleasures. Three things you like, even if they aren't good for you, or selfless, or decorous."

She considers. "Single-malt scotch. Cabaret. And…" she twists her mouth in a little smirk. "Well. I'm not telling you the last one."

"Oh, but I'm really good at that one," he quips, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. He turns his attention to the other thing. "Cabarets? So… strip clubs. You like strip clubs." The idea seems to amuse him.

"Cabaret dancing is not stripping." He puts up his hands in surrender, but his expression tells her he doesn't believe her. She considers whether to share this next thing with him… then decides she might as well. "I was a cabaret dancer, you know, before law school. For a year."

His eyes widen. "You were a stripper."

"I. Was not. A stripper."

"You were a striptease." He presses his lips together, as if trying to suppress his glee. She lobs a throw pillow at his head and he bats it away easily.

"A striptease is an act, not an occupation. Not that it matters - because I didn't and I wasn't."

"Never? Not even for a second?"

"Never for public consumption."

His eyes light up. "Well then maybe you could demonstrate for me how you do it for private -"

She scoffs. He stops.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just. Men are so typical."

"I prefer 'easy to please'."

"I'm not putting on a stripshow for you, Mike. You'll have to convince me better than that."

He pauses, then nods. "Noted," he says, and she knows he'll bring this up again later.

She changes the subject. "So what about you, then? Three things you like, just because." She sips her wine.

Mike sets his glass on the coffee table and leans back. "Italian espresso. Tarantino movies. Going down on a woman."

She chokes on a mouthful of red. She thinks it's the reaction he wanted because he's smirking at her. Mike enjoys taking her by surprise, but perhaps forgets that she can turn the tables on him just as fast.

She sets down her glass next to his and replies, slyly, "I like going down on women, too."

His eyes widen. "...Are you fucking with me?"

She shrugs.

She's done it once or twice; doesn't mind it. But she only ever dates men, and generally only sleeps with them, too. "Even if I am, you'll still fantasize about it."

"Of course!" he splutters, like she'd be crazy to think otherwise. Typical - men were men. "But is it true?"

"I don't sleep with women often… and certainly not recently."

"So that means you're… bisexual?"

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Why do people always have to label things?"

"Well if you sleep with both men and women..."

"I sleep with men, and I have slept with women."

"That's what I said."

"No, it's not exactly the same thi-"

"Which makes you bisexual."

"But I've never dated a woman," she says exasperatedly, "Or been in a relationship with one. So I might argue the opposite. You know, your sexuality isn't solely about who you'll fuck."

Mike pauses, then relents in a rare show of concession. "Okay. I guess you have a point there."

"Uh-huh."

"I just didn't expect that to be the one thing we had in common."

"There are other things," she says, even as she's evaluating his statement with some agreement. They disagree on just about everything. From their politics to their taste in literature to their kids… "We both like scotch," she offers, aware that it's a weak one.

"You like scotch," he corrects. "I drink it. I prefer gin."

She didn't know that. "You always order scotch when we have dinner," she says, bewildered.

"Because you do." He shrugs easily.

It's sweet, if a little ridiculous. "You could order gin!"

"I could," he agrees, but offers no further explanation beyond that. And suddenly, he's looking at her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Tell me the third thing that you like," he coaxes. "I bet I like it, too."

And even if he didn't, Nadine thinks privately, he'd do it anyway to make her happy. (He will like it, of course - she's never met a man who doesn't.)

She shakes her head. "Nope."

"Come on, tell me."

"You don't want to know for any good reason. Just so you could do it to me."

"I'd do anything you want to you," he says, and his voice is edged with just enough rough-hewn arousal that it sends a little shiver down her spine. "And we'd both enjoy it. Tell me."

Somehow he's sitting very close to her now, though she can't recall him moving. He's got one hand on her bare knee, and his fingertips creep just under the hem of her skirt. His thumb strokes back and forth over her skin, and she drops her gaze to it pointedly, then up to his face.

She quirks an eyebrow. "I don't think you're up for it."

He tugs her down swiftly so that she's horizontal on the couch and hovers over her. "Try me," he growls. His gaze flickers down to her lips, and he's so close that she can feel his breath pass over them.

She hums and considers him. "...You have to promise," she murmurs finally, "that you'll still respect me after I tell you."

His smile is big. "So it's that kinda thing, huh? Tell me."

"Promise," she repeats.

"I promise."

Languidly, she stretches her arms above her head so that they dangle over the end of the sofa. "Sometimes," she murmurs, tilting her chin so that her lips brush against his, "I like to be tied up."

His breath hitches, and she smiles against his lips.

Got you.

"Is that right?" he says roughly. He reaches up with one hand to capture both of her wrists in a hard grip that makes her heart race. She nods eagerly. "I think we can arrange that," he whispers, and captures her lips in an intense kiss.

She moans and arches her body against him, seeking more contact, more closeness, more… more. His hold on her wrists tightens, and Nadine's fingers flex on empty air.

"Let me take you upstairs," he murmurs, and her knees go a little weak.

TBC

Comments welcome :)