She knew how to push me sometimes. She knew exactly how to get under my skin, what made me tick, how to make me lose it. We shouldn't be fighting about this petty shit, this vicious and ugly and slipping nearly out of control ugly shit that all started because she wouldn't listen to me.
But oh she has her reasons, superficial and meaningful ones all at once, that's true enough, but if I could stop to think long enough – if I could think full stop, I know that I wouldn't be able to recall anything like this with any of the other Maniax, because I would have just ended them right then and there when they dared to challenge me, but this one – she made it so that nothing was ever simple with us.
I have never before been so absolutely, utterly, words-failingly furious with them, only with one of them in particular. Right now, I wanted nothing less than to wipe that ugly, sullen pout off her face, to shake her and–
Cutting myself off mid-word I slammed my jaw shut, leaning back hard into the upholstery of the car, thinking furiously, fighting the urge not to surge forward and grab her by the neck, break her off her windpipe.
"What? What the hell is your problem, Jerome?" It was perfectly-" she apparently hadn't got the memo her own brain just delivered, still in full flight, she was absolutely fuming, completely thoughtless with rage. I knew she was smart, not just with the way she performed on our little team, but people-smart as well. She's good with people, with their motivations and knowing what to say to draw them in so that she falls under the radar. But I was sick of her acting like a fucking know-it-all, like she knew better than me, and she specifically disobeyed my instructions when I told her not to throw herself in the line of fire during the massacre at the GCPD, those fucking cops nearly shot her, which made me consider shooting her myself if she was going to be so fucking stupid.
She knows where to push, how to find a weakness and exploit it, or how to lead someone to a conclusion or a direction they need to see. I shot her a glare, so piercing that she had to turn her gaze away from me, resisting the building urge not to hit her, though the idea kept making its way into my head nonetheless.
"Didn't I specifically tell you not to get in the way?" I rasped, feeling the little self-control I had nearly shatter.
"I know, but I had it under control, I didn't get shot, geeze," she spat, turning to look at me before back at the window.
"No you didn't, dollface," I told her, "but that didn't make it any less foolish, you've got to stop thinking you can measure up to me, stop thinking you can do whatever I can do," I retorted, trying to set her straight.
I pulled well over into the shoulder, we'd been driving when it started, and I barely had the presence of mind to pull over, yanking the wheel hard in a spray of gravel and stomping on the brakes hard enough to have both of us going up against our safety belts. I presumed it was going to leave bruises. Later today. But that didn't fucking matter, I just wanted her to silence that ugly mouth of yours, it never did look pretty when it was barking at me like a dog.
Back to the topic at hand. Which is just exactly why we are both sitting in a dark car, because we need to get this situation in order before we make our way back at the penthouse. We've been arguing for the whole way there, and it should have ended by now, though I couldn't go for calm, cool, and collected, even if I wanted to, not when it came to her being a little disobedient piece of shit. If there's anything I'm almost desperate to do right now, it's to drag her out of the car and hit her. Just lay one on her.
I wondered what sort of point that would prove to her other than making her fear me completely, which wasn't exactly what I wanted, I wanted her to fear me to an extent, yes, but not to where she wouldn't ever look at me. So again, I tried to think past the impulse. But it's not going away quite so easily as that.
"Next time listen to my orders, dollface, I don't want to have to fucking babysit you," I scolded her, because it was exactly what she needed, and probably a spanking later.
She shifted abruptly, half-turning in her seat, the belt a dark line bisecting the skin of her neck from the darker smudge that was her shirt, staring incredulously at me before replying, irritating and false patience dripping from every word.
"I'm sorry, Jerome? What was that? You don't want to babysit me? Do you think I'm five years old? No one fucking asked you to babysit me," she stopped there, which was very fortunate for her. She didn't break eye contact now, jaw clenched tight, and I suspected that if I looked down now, I'd see her hands shaking – that giveaway, the one I always noticed when she got heated like this – see them trembling with the anger that's rolling through her, that's suffocating us both.
"Is that any way to speak to your boss?" I shouted, louder than I should have probably, but the bitch was asking for it, and who did she think she was talking to? It wasn't exactly what I had intended to say, I was aiming for something vaguely conciliatory to calm the situation but that was what came spilling out.
I could see the look in her eye, that she was frightened by the sudden raising of my voice, she twitched slightly after the words came out of my mouth, staring at me with her mouth agape before she shut it closed and turned away from me yet again for the thousandth fucking time. Tears started forming at the corner of her eyes, and she was silently hoping I wouldn't notice it, but I did immediately.
Then she growled something incoherent through the midst of her petty tears and shoved the door open, managing to release the seat belt and scramble out in ten seconds flat. It was only about as long again before I followed her example, throwing the door open in blithe disregard of any oncoming traffic and barrelling after her until I made her come to a stop upon the sidewalk.
"You're a fucking jerk, you know that?" she said through a half sob when she looked back at me. I had to do something to make her stop crying, and quick, her cheeks stained with hot tears didn't suit her.
"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you," I assured her, trying to ease the situation, make her comfortable with me again so that she would forget this whole bout ever occurred. "You're the best damn thing that has happened to me, and I can't lose you over this," I told her, and I couldn't break her gaze, couldn't look away. I just watched her come closer, observed how anger and disappointment were muted by growing hope, by obvious need.
"You know I don't like when you yell at me like that," she replied quietly, offering her submission back to me. "You've gotta stop that, it's not nice," she finished in a whisper.
I prepared for the fierce heat as she pushed unashamedly up against me, invading my space, breathing shallowly, head tilted on an angle that exposes her throat, that suggests a degree of surrender, that she knows I will note and appreciate, and she's not wrong.
My hands settled at her waist, tugging her in closer to give her that extra bit of reassurance.
"Just follow what I say next time, okay? And I promise I won't yell anymore," I lied, grinning wide when she couldn't see because she had rested her head on my shoulder, and she giggled lightly in response, nodding her head obediently.
"You know," she sniffed lightly before that smug smile returned to her face. "They can't get rid of me that easily, you're stuck with me, Jerome," she added confidently.
"I'm not stuck with you," I told her, grinning wide before I finished, "you're stuck with me, silly."
She couldn't help but giggle at that, and I spun her around, hands guiding back into the door of the car, the door she left open minutes ago, and she was right up against the door frame, spine curving back over the seat, inviting, and I leaned in, nipping at her jaw.
Time blurs again, and before we know it, we're both tangled in together completely, breathing hard. Little red marks are coming up all over her neck, and she's licking her lips almost compulsively, chin lifting helplessly as she tried to chase after my mouth as I hovered above her, realizing belatedly that her back was protesting the position quite strongly, leaning inside the car to kiss me again, pulling back long enough for her to scoot back a little and try to wrap her legs around my waist. She swore when her head hit the gearshift, wriggling as I ignored her protests and slid a hand up under her shirt, onto skin, glorious skin. I found the imprint of the safety belt had left on the side of her neck - a thin red score of raised skin, inflamed where the material had been chafing - it'd been a long drive before I'd slammed the brakes on like that, and I licked the length of the mark in silent apology.
She tried to lay hands on me now in return, but not quite managing to do so. Her shirt was rucking up, catching on the upholstery of the seat, and it was obvious she was going to have some kind of carpet burn across her lower back after this. After a few abortive grabs she managed to land both hands on my shoulders, pulling herself a little more upright, shoulders peeling less than gracefully away from the car seat, before she suddenly said, "I'm sorry, Jerome, for back talking you."
I smirked upon hearing those words, her compliant demeanor returning, much to my delight, "And?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, waiting for her to tell me what else she needed to be sorry for.
"And for not listening to you earlier," she added before she leaned in to pepper my neck with her sweet, wet kisses. "I'm sorry, really sorry," her voice came out muffled as she continued to kiss me, but I caught her meaning.
She couldn't see the smirk on my face as she continued her trail of kisses down my neck, and I simply replied, "I forgive you, dollface, you always know how to make it up to me."
And then the argument was over, poof, done with!
You can probably guess what happened in the car afterwards.