Selina's eyes are boring into him.
"There I was, when Catherine told me you were mostly sterile, thinking the world would be free of pint-sized Dan Egan-looking fuckers." She holds up one hand, near pinches two fingers together to make her point.
"With all due respect ma'am, it's really none of your fucking business."
Fire him? She might. The threatening look - she tries, bless her- she shoots him has him thinking she's at least considering it.
No respect intended.
"That's where you're wrong," she approaches, bracelets jangling against her watch as she slides a hand over the back of a chair, "because, while you're not my employee, you fucked my employee, and now you've fucked us all."
Both hands fly up then, and her head shakes, and Dan is seriously considering walking out of this goddamn office.
He's a grown adult - Amy, too - and they really don't need to be on the receiving end of a lecture (as though they're teenagers, as though they're incapable of recognising their own mistakes). A lecture by someone who has never exactly been Mom of the Year.
If they want to do this, if they're going to do this (or at the very least even try to do it), then Selina's going to have to mind her own damn business-
"When the press gets wind of this because, you know, they will, it's gonna be your mess to clean up, Danny."
"I'm more than aware."
"And, well, we're obviously going to be working this into the campaign, right?"
There it is. That golden fucking opportunity.
"Ma'am?" Amy voices, quieter than her usual, sounding uncertain as though she's ignorant to the machinations of Selina Meyer, as though Dan hadn't already warned her that her batshit boss would do this.
Come the fuck on, Amy.
"Don't give me that school girl caught with her panties down look, Ame." Selina warns, finally slides into her seat at the head of the table, taps polished fingernails against her wood, "You're campaign manager. Work it out."
With all due respect, ma'am, you're a cunt.
No respect intended.
"As an advisor, ma'am, I strongly suggest we find another way of going-"
Amy's staring at him, all wide-eyed and tense and shit, and he almost wants to smile, because she just knows.
In truth, he's on board with this whole scheme because he can see its advantages, because he's weighed up the pros and the cons, and the pros won out.
"I strongly suggest you keep your mouth shut and your dick in your pants from here on fucking out, Dan."
"Were we having a meeting or an interrogation? Jesus."
Ben is in the doorway, oversized mug in hand, Kent at his heels. The older men in the room take seats across from each other, beside Amy and Dan alike.
"You call the firing squad yet or are you gonna be doing the honours yourself, ma'am?" Ben is joking, but no one laughs because no one knows whether they should or not, because no one wants to publicly find humour in this situation.
Dan really wants to say something, to add something to that, but he refrains (because Amy is still sending him some seriously fucking demonic shade).
Leaning back, Kent nods once, twice, and then he clears his throat.
"I see."
"What?" Ben scowls, flicks open the lid of his mug.
"It seems as though we've added a new member to the Meyer 4.0 team."
At that, Ben turns to face the rest of the team, all frown and confusion.
"Anybody understand what the human computer is trying to say?"
Dan stills, Amy sighs, Gary grins, and Selina fumes.
"Dan here," she gestures, "is going to be given some new responsibilities starting today." She wags a finger over for Gary, at the man is by her side within seconds, "Gar, can you fetch me some of that lemon tea? And an Advil?"
"Sure thing, ma'am."
He hurries away, practically skips like a little girl who's accomplishing a task for her mommy.
"Amy, are we letting this become public knowledge or are we announcing it?"
"It's a little early for… that."
Dan holds up on finger, slides an elbow over the conference table, "If I may, I suggest we hold off on any announcement until it's closer to the twelfth week-"
"Yeah, she basically just fucking said that, you ripped condom."
"Hold the fuck on!" Ben finally exclaims, stupid mouth gaping wide, seemingly disbelieving. "Are you fucking pregnant?"
She's like a surrogate daughter for him (in a weird way), Dan thinks to himself, watching as the older man's face turns from shock to dread.
Congrats, Cafferty. You've got yourself a fucked-up surrogate grandchild.
"Sadly, for everyone." Amy confirms, pushing some blonde hair behind her right ear, "Mostly just for me." She mumbles, and Dan rolls his eyes.
"Jesus, fuck. I'm surprised you haven't been downing whole bottles of toilet cleaner if Dan's the father."
It's almost a joke, but nobody laughs.
Shut the ever loving fuck up, Ben.
"You and me, both."
Dan sighs, fed up with the little comments, "Fuck you." They both did this.
"You fuck you."
"You did. That's what got us here."
"What got us here is your overeager dick-"
"I recommend you refrain from conversing like this in front of the growing embryo, or foetus - I don't know how far along you are - from now on."
The grey-haired man is holding up his index finger, on eyebrow raised pointedly, too. "Studies show the repercussions could be extremely negative in the child's later life."
"Oh, fuck off, Kent."
"Yeah, Kent, shut up." Selina buts in, changes the subject as though she was never the instigator in the first place, "We need to talk caucus people, people! We can hold off on these talks for a couple more weeks. Right, Amy?"
Does Selina actually care? Is she actually giving a shit about Amy?
Amy looks up, blue eyes wide, lips pink but dry, "Yes, ma'am." Her shoulders are stiff, her collarbones clearly uncomfortably raised, curved. "Dan can announce it then."
"Plenty of time for that then." Selina shoots the younger man a look, "You, screw your head back on now. You can go back to daydreaming about your mini-me later."
Yeah, because that's what he was doing.
Because he wasn't already thinking of creative ways to announce this or anything. Definitely not.
Two weeks have gone by when Amy finally finds him of her own volition, answer in hand and pride in tact.
He's actually surprised she hasn't sought him out sooner, hasn't tried to talk to him about anything other than work or Selina or Leon trying to hit on her.
At one time, they used to talk about anything and everything (just not, you know, relationship shit), when it was all about Selina's campaign, when it was Selina's presidency, when they were still stuck at the crossroads between friends and enemies, and exes and lovers.
"Is there a reason you're in my apartment?"
He tosses his keys down on the table, slides his coat straight from his arms and hangs it up as the question lingers in the air, unanswered.
She's sat in his kitchen, looking a little more at home, at ease then he'd like.
"Is there a reason you were here before I was?"
"Well, you left a key spare under the mat, so that's either an invitation to walk right in and rob you blind, or it's there for one of those many, many little cling-ons to find so they can sneak into your apartment and blow you in the middle of the night."
"Amy," he greets. He's in the kitchen now, watching her dig into a bowl full of pretzels, the empty bag on the counter beside her, the cupboard door hanging open. When the fuck did he buy those?
"You almost sound jealous."
"Please, I've known you for like ten years. You think I don't know you invite overeager dipshits over to come and fuck you because they think they'll be getting something out of it?"
"I think that you think that. And, no, nobody comes here." Dan nods, steals a pretzel and holds it between clenched teeth, "Still haven't answered my question, Ames."
"Which one?" She lifts a brow, pulls the bowl closer, watches as he crumbles up the bag and throws it in the trash. "Oh." She smiles, faintly, but it's fake all the same, "I made a decision."
"On how to kill Selina and frame Gary? Yeah, believe me, I've thought of that, too." He jokes, takes a seat opposite from her after pulling a beer from the fridge. She looks serious though, so he squints, "Do tell."
"I'm not marrying you." She tells him, carefully avoiding his gaze, fully aware he's probably glaring down at her. "But I'll let you… in."
"In?" Brows knit, lips curl, "Into you?"
Of course.
"Fuck off." Amy frowns, shakes her head softly, blonde hair sweeping past her shoulders. "This was your idea, you know."
He's twirling his beer bottle in one hand, running his thumb over the cool rim of the top, and she isn't sure he's even taken so much as one swig yet, "My proposal was-"
"Your proposal was fucking shit, but the proposal - the idea - in itself was actually quite genius." She rolls her eyes at his grin, at the mention of the word 'genius', "I mean, it could do with some serious work but-"
"But you wanna date me?"
Fuck him.
Amy swallows, drops her eyes to his mouth rather than his eyes because it's easier for her to focus, "No." She shrugs, grabs a handful of the snack without looking, "This isn't dating. This is just convenience. You wouldn't know how to date someone if you were given a fucking handbook and tools, Dan."
"I beg to fuckin' differ, alright?" He holds up one hand, finally has a sip of his drink, and then he's staring down at her, "You just never had the full experience."
"Oh, please." Amy laughs, snorts, "The full experience? What, do we go on long walks on the beach, do I get candlelit dinners and picnics in the park? Jesus Christ, your head is so far up your own bleached asshole."
She brushes him off, stands to stretch out her legs. She's been here for about three quarters of an hour now, waiting for him to get back from wherever the fuck he was, from whoever the fuck he'd been doing.
So, she'd made herself somewhat comfortable - much as was humanly possible in his goddamn man cave of an apartment - with some food and her phone on an almost full battery.
"First of all, I fuckin' hate the beach, so that's never happening. You can't even fuck on a beach without sand getting everywhere and I'm honestly just not up for that. Been there, got the rash, all right? Secondly, Ames," his bony shoulders raise, his elbows drop against the countertop, and she hates how fucking endlessly lean he is, "do you actually want me to take you on a date? Because it sure fuckin' sounds like it."
He's smirking, that fucker. And she hates him.
"You can have all the entrées you want, I'll drink the booze you're not allowed, of course." He's watching as she rounds his kitchen counter, phone sat abandoned, pretzels in her hand, because he can, because she's in his home.
"Is that supposed to sound inviting?"
Dan shrugs, boyishly.
"We can talk about work, you tell me all about what's got you so fuckin' stressed out this time, we come back to my place, we fuck-"
"Are you even capable of dating someone without fucking them on the first date?"
"Took two dates with you last time, if I remember correctly." He teases, "Usually, just one's enough to do the trick."
"You're such a slut."
"Unapologetically. And this slut wants to bring you to-"
"I thought you didn't bring women back here."
"Well, this is different."
"Because you've already fucked me… over?" She looks down at her stomach, swallows, feels a small smile dance on her lips (it isn't sweet), "Damn, Dan, and here I was thinking I was special." She feigns a sulk, bats long lashes up at him, lips puckered.
"Well, you said you wouldn't marry me, but you never said no to moving in together."
"Wow, that was quick. Not even screwing me on the semi-regular but we're living together already?" She blinks, pops in another salted pretzel, draws her hand back when he goes to snatch one, "I'm not living here."
"Fine. I'll find us somewhere new."
"Somewhere you haven't fucked half the straight women of New York, you mean."
"Half? Underestimating me, I see." Dan boasts, brows raising up and down twice, shit-eating grin plastered across his face - because of course - and he grabs her wrist, turns it over, "Somewhere I haven't fucked you yet, sure."
"You're not gonna be fucking me, either." Amy declares, eyes wide and certain.
"We'll see." He pries open her palm, looking down to watch as white knuckles turn pink, and then he steals a pretzel, "You'll change your mind soon enough."
"You're so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you?" She licks her lips, sucks at the bottom one, stares up at him, "And why am I gonna change my mind? Because you're just oh, so irresistible?" She snorts, pulls that face where he knows she's half fucking with him, half buying into it herself.
Dan sighs, moving to grab ahold of his beer, and he swings it around in her face, watches as she shifts back slightly with a scowl, "Isn't it obvious?"
He stands to copy her then, only he's taller, but Amy refuses to pull her shoulders in, refuses to back down and resign.
"You think you can live with me and not wanna fuck? You think you can live with any guy who knocks you up and not wanna fuck? It's biology, sweetheart."
"Here I was thinking it was chemistry." She purses her lips, "It wasn't any guy that knocked me up though, was it? That was just you and your retarded sperm." Amy reasons, "Maybe I would fuck any other guy but you're not him."
"Would you fuck Buddy?" He's staring, intently. It makes her uncomfortable as all hell, and he loves it. "Assuming he could even get you off in the first place," Dan trails off, eyes darting up to the ceiling as though he's pondering something.
"Did you just, like, lie back and think of C-Span or what?"
Her face is flushed, redder than it had been a moment ago. He's hit a nerve. Great. Good.
"Jesus, what was it with that guy, Amy? He have like a cock made of broken glass or what? Or was it some new necrophilia roleplay thing where you're the corpse and rigor mortis has already set in?"
"He was nice."
"Nice?"
"Yes, nice. I don't know if you're ever cracked open a dictionary, but generally it means that someone isn't a complete fucking twat."
"You don't like nice."
"Yeah, well, I thought I might."
"That why you came back to me?"
"I didn't come back to you." She walks around him, heads toward the short hallway but stops mid-way and spins on her short heels, finds him directly behind her.
How the fuck is he so stealthy?
"You came to me." He shrugs, tells her, approaches but does not touch her.
She doesn't like people touching her, even in the slightest, lightest of ways. And he's not a complete asshat. He can still invade her space, though. He can still get too close. "You came forme."
"You're gonna keep bringing that up, aren't you?"
"Well, I mean, it's not like I need to." He gestures down, and Amy really fucking wants to slap him across the face. "I just kinda like the reminder that I clearly have more of an effect on you than any other guy you dated."
We barely ever dated, asshole.
"Dan, the only effect you have on me is that I want to down a bottle of bleach every time you open your fucking mouth."
He pauses, seems to gulp, and she doesn't know why. But then she gets it.
"I'm not going to… obviously." She raises her left brow, "God forbid I rip the cord that ties you to me forever."
"You wouldn't want to be rid of me."
"I'd like to be. I just know it won't happen. You wouldn't know what to do if I did."
Something seems to click then, and she's suddenly looking up at him with wide eyes and the faintest traces of a smile etching on her face,
"Holy- Is that why you're doing this? Christ, Dan, I know you're fucked in the head, but is that whyyou want me to have this kid? You're so fucking possessive."
"And what's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong is that I'm not, and this… child," she gulps, "is not something for you to have. It's creepy."
"Possessiveness isn't creepiness, honey. Think of it as flattery."
"Until flattery turns into obsession, and obsession makes people violent." Amy folds her arms over her chest. "And you're already a borderline sociopath."
Her blues eyes darken and she grins up at him, watches amusement turn to annoyance, "Fuck, do you want me to pack up my job so we can move to a trailer park and you can keep me cooped up forever? You'll look mighty sexy in a string vest, I've gotta say."
She crinkles her nose, takes one closer to him, bridges the gap, "A bit lanky, but I'm sure by the time I pop out the seventh kid you'll have put on some daddy weight."
"That would require you to do some actual fuckin' cooking, Amy?" He tells her, brow raised sharply, his face the picture of smug.
"Would you hit me if I didn't have dinner ready by seven? Or would you just buy the kids a McDonalds and hope that does the trick?"
"Oh, so, I'm working? I'm not a complete deadbeat?"
"Part-time, CVS." She holds her breath, and he kind of wants to pull her hair, "Meanwhile, I stay home and fuck the guy that lives in the renovated shabby chic trailer next door."
"Do I know you're fucking him?"
"I tell you one day to piss you off, and you throw me up against the wall and grab me by the neck."
"And I fuck you?"
"No." Amy shrugs, lowers her gaze, "You eat me out but don't let me finish because you're a possessive asshole and you think I'm gonna keep begging for more."
Dan smirks, settles his beer down on the side, "Sounds about right. But, you know, if we lived in the suburbs we wouldn't have that problem."
"You're right. I could just fuck the mailman every other day and you'd never have to find out."
"I somehow don't see you faring too well out there with the Stepford Wives of New Jersey, Ames."
"I could eat those bitches alive and you know it."
He does, "You're not gonna pull a Gone Girl on my ass? You're already halfway to batshit."
"And you have the face of someone capable of killing their spouse."
"I don't kill you, though. I just wait for your crazy ass to come home and screw me over again, like the cunt you know you are."
"Wouldn't that make me the cunt you married?"
"Only if you married me."
"Only if you ask me nicely, like a good little boy."
"Fuck you."
"You would like to."
She's turned this whole thing around, flipped the fucking table on him, and now she's stood on top of it, tapping her heels like some spoiled little brat.
That bitch.
Fine. He'll jump. He'll bite. He'll play.
"Yeah. I want to fuck you."
"Order me dinner first."
"Fine. What do you want?"
"Thai."
"The place on the corner's shut. You'll have to settle for Chinese."
"Fine." She frowns, spins around on her heels, heads for his bathroom, "I'm going for a shower. There better not be any dirty underwear in there."
"Only yours, Ames."
Amy flips him off then, one hand behind her back, the other messing with the zipper of her skirt, "Fuck yo-"
"Yeah, you're gonna."
"What, you didn't bring a change of clothes?"
She's in the doorway to his living room, a pair of flannel shorts on her hips (which he's fine with), and an old white t-shirt with some French crap written on the front covering her chest (he minds this).
"I'm sorry, no. I didn't pack a fucking overnight bag."
"You could've at least asked."
Amy smirks, slips one leg over the edge of his sofa to sit her ass down on the arm, "Do you have some weird thing about people wearing your clothes or what?"
He's petty, and metrosexual, and polished, and dramatic as fuck.
"No."
"Then stop staring at me like that." She nods once to catch his attention, moves her arms back to pull her hair up in a ponytail. "Did you order?"
"Yeah, it'll be here any minute."
Dan's still staring at her, unmoving, blank expression. If only his face could properly convey emotion, he'd be a little easier to read. He looks… unsettled?
"Are you having a stroke?" There's glee in her voice, and Dan truly despises her.
"Shut the fuck up." He's running a hand over his face then, and he clears his throat, "Can you sit on the cushion, please?"
Amy holds up her hands, slipping down from the arm of the sofa onto the seat, curling her legs up beneath her.
The pre-campaign campaign has been going well, so far, and she hasn't given anybody any reason to suspect anything. Dan figures this is why she seems relatively chipper. Or at least less pent-up than usual.
"You know, we have five minutes…"
"You know, I don't give a shit." Amy shrugs, sniffles with a crinkle of her nose, draws her brows together, "What's that?"
There's a little dark book buried beneath some magazines and folders on his coffee tables, and she reaches forward to grab it before he can stop her.
Oh.
Amy grins, "How many people have you fucked?"
"Does it matter?"
"Just wanna know so I can tell the kid what slut level its father has reached."
"Well, you found the log."
Jesus fucking Christ. "Log? You're such a pig." She looks up at him again, palm flat across the cover of the notebook. He's closer, nearer than he had been a moment ago. His shirt's been swapped out for a t-shirt, and his jeans have lost their belt.
"It's not even the right colour, you moron."
The little navy coloured book resting in her lap flies open then, Amy's fingers wrapped over the cover.
"Am I in it?"
"See for yourself."
"This is some next level Dangerous Liaisons kind of shit, Dan. Seriously, you need therapy."
She flicks through the book quickly, not really paying much mind to anything written on the pages. There are names - so many names - and what looks to be beginning and end dates below each name.
How gross.
"Didn't wanna go back for seconds." Ah, the dates.
What she doesn't understand is the colour code.
The majority of the women's names are written in black ink, but she notices how there are a few - so few really - written in red.
"I take it the poor women who got the red ink treatment were your intended murder victims? You know, until they realised you were human garbage?"
Dan rolls his eyes, snatches the book from her hands before she can check it out any more. He tosses it down on the sofa, lets it slip beneath a cushion.
"Actually, no. Those were the ones I considered longterm candidates."
Longterm?
She finds that extremely hard to believe. And just overall fucking ridiculous.
In what world would Dan Egan ever have considered settling down and actually getting serious with a woman? It's a laughable thought, really.
The buzzer goes off then, and Dan is hurrying to the door to let the delivery guy in. An opportunity Amy does not miss, picking the little navy blue book back up, scanning through the pages until she reaches pages dating years back.
There's someone called Amanda at the top of the page, and she apparently only lasted a few days. Below her is Amy, and the two week mark. The two weeks she'd spent with Dan Egan, thinking he could be anything other than a fucking walking trash can.
Only the other girl got the black ink treatment, and Amy's name is written in red.
Shit.
She'd be almost flattered if it weren't for the score he'd given her. Eight out of ten.
"I take it you found your page?"
"Why am I an eight?"
"It's not that you're an eight. You're a solid nine and half now, a definite ten back then."
"Did you actually… rank my sex skills?"
"Possibly." He's placing cartons of Chinese food on the coffee table, brushing documents and a pocket-size thesaurus to the side. "You could've done worse, Ames."
"Oh." Her throat has gone dry (that fucker!), and she almost feels sick at the thought of him actually taking the time to score her. "Well, I'm glad my fucking you are above average, I guess."
"Technically, you were a six, but then you did that thing-"
"I know what thing I did- I do."
He's smirking, and she's half tempted to pour that cartoon of wonton soup over his head, down his precious clothes.
"Did you…" She begins to flick through the pages again until he pulls it from her hands, and holds it behind his back. Fine, asshole. "Did you update it?"
A few months ago. When you knocked me up.
"Eat, and then I'll let you read the whole thing."
"I'm not a turkey, Dan. I don't need stuffing." As soon as she words fly from her mouth, she realises her mistake, "Don't."
He only chuckles, moves past her, shins to her knees, to sit down on the couch beside her. She tightens her frame, haunches shoulders as he stuffs the book down the side of the cushion. Fuck.
There's a cartoon in her lap then, and she wonders how he knew just what she wanted.
Maybe she doesn't have to wonder, though. Maybe she should realise that, by now, he just knows her.
They eat in silence, save for the news playing on the television that they only half pay attention to because it's mostly about the latest economic fuckup and (honestly) it's nothing of real interest (pun intended), and the sound of Dan slurping the remnants of whatever the fuck he ordered.
Thirty minutes later, she curled into herself, legs pulled up, eyes drawn to the clock on his wall.
And then she realises that they never actually got around to having sex.
"You tired?" Dan is at the opposite end of the sofa, only he's reaching forward for the remote, clicking buttons until the television turns off. Then he's standing, offering her his hand, and she's never been so confused.
"Weren't you expecting something?"
"Much to my own surprise, I'm really worn out, so…" He shrugs, frowns, "Why, did you wanna?"
"Yes, Dan, I want you to false asleep while we're mid-fuck." Amy quips, rolls her eyes
"Well, I can drink some coffee or something if you really want-"
"Nope. No, I'm fine."
She really isn't. She really wants to be, but alas, her hormones aren't very sympathetic.
"Amy," he pauses, retrieves her hand from her lap and tugs, pulls her upward when she refuses to cooperate, other hand wrapping around her elbow, cradling, fingertips brushing along the short sleeve of his t-shirt.
"Take your shirt off."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
"Right here?"
"Yeah." Dan replies quickly, nods once, twice, "right here."
He's not a fucking beast, but he's a goddamn animal when he wants to be. And she recognises that this is mostly her own fault because her face was basically just screaming horny woman! and (unfortunately? fortunately?) he's not entirely ignorant to her needs.
"What if I say no?" Amy bounces up on her heels, tries to keep her focus on the collar of his t-shirt. It's clean, neat, and yet she's being pulled in by the scruff along his jaw.
Goddamn it. Her hormones aren't supposed to be betraying her already, aren't supposed to be making her crave someone, something to scratch an irritable itch.
"Then you can fuck yourself on my couch."
God, he's easy. Amy grins, chews at the insides of her cheeks, eyes downcast to his crotch. Sucker.
"As if you'd have any complaints."
"Not gonna lie, I definitely have more energy to watch you get yourself off than to do it myself." He tells her pointedly, much to her disappointment because she could really do with something- "But I'll do it."
"So it's a pity fuck?"
Dan pulls a face, as though she's speaking a foreign language he doesn't understand, "It's an 'it's my fault you want my dick' fuck."
"Charming." Her brows raise and lower, and Amy folds her arms over her chest when he lets go of her elbow, "So you don't want me to blow you?"
She kind of wants the whole package, kind of wants to seal the deal.
Warts and all. The whole shebang. The whole nine yards.
Because she kind of wants to, kind of really wants to.
Dan's face nears her own, alcohol-fuelled breath beside her ear but she can smell it, smell him, dancing along the skin of her neck, "No. We fuck, and you get to scratch that itch you like to pretend doesn't exist. Or, well, I get to scratch it."
How did he know-?
"And I know just how badly you need it scratching."
She hasn't noticed that he's been walking her backwards towards his bedroom - or rather, she's been pretending not to notice. "You think you know. God forbid someone doesn't want to have sex with you."
"God forbid." Dan echoes, takes a step back, much to her surprise, "I'm offering you a free dicking here, Ames."
"Wow, I'm so hot for you right now." She deadpans, "Can I not trade you for a free car or something?"
"No," Dan only smirks, tongue in his cheek, and he's staring at something over her shoulder, "You can ride me though."
That fucker.
Walked right into that one.
"You've got exactly five seconds to decide." He's heading for the kitchen, for the coffee pot to switch it on, and Amy lets out a lengthy sigh that sounds more like a drawn out moan.
"Fine."
She's following after him then, watching as he pours half-boiled black coffee into a mug.
He stirs it with a clean spoon from off of the drainer, tosses the teaspoon in the sink and downs the drink swiftly, eyes closed.
Dan downs it like a shot, like an espresso, then he's placing the mug down on the side, tilting his head from side to side until his neck cracks, his muscles worn. "Okay." He bounces up on his dick (once), smacks his hands together (twice), and then his eyes fly wide open.
"What the fuck was in that coffee, crack?"
"It was probably eighty percent granules, twenty percent water, to be honest." He shrugs, moves back over to her side with such an ease. "Shirt, off." He points to her (his) t-shirt and then flings his hand over his shoulder, thumb extended. "Now."
"You could help."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're not that far along." Dan groans, not missing a beat before his hands are at the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up to expose her breasts. "Shit. I forgot they were gonna grow."
"I'm not that far along." Amy glares up at him, skimming her hands over his own to drag the t-shirt over her head, the action loosening her long ponytail. "And you won't be touching this body when I start showing… Unless you want your hands chopping off."
"Another threat to add to the ever-expanding list." Dan pulls at the zipper of her jeans then, pops open the button. "I love it when you talk dirty."
His jeans slip down his legs then, and he's reaching for her shorts before she can even look down, fingers hooking over the waistband. He smoothes them around to her ass, barely even touches her flesh before the shorts are skimming down her legs, and he waits for her to kick them off before proceeding.
It was easier where she'd been wearing that polka-dot dress with the buttons. So much easier.
"I'm not gonna dirty-talk you."
"Shit, is that what you did with the human beanstalk?" He'd find it amusing if it wasn't for the look of sheer frustration on her face right now. Well, it's still quite amusing. "Geez, relax. I don't need you to coax me into it."
When he's slipped his shirt - the one he'd been wearing - over his head, Amy doesn't waste a minute before she's placing a hand on his chest and pushing him backwards.
"I knew you were horny, but at least give my dick a second to wake up." She scratches him - whether it's intentional or not, he has no way of knowing because her face gives nothing away.
"Your dick is always awake; that's your problem." Amy says, blowing a fallen strand of blonde hair from her face just as his backside hits the edge of the sink. She stands in front of him then, looking down at his crotch as though his cock is just going to twitch and come alive.
"You gotta give me something here, Ames."
"I'm not blowing you."
"Wasn't suggesting that." He smirks anyway, and then curls a hand around her waist before she can stop him, before she can question him. His palm runs from the curve of her waist to her hip, and he squeezes, urges, and she knows what be wants.
Amy scowls, goes to swat his hands away, except he's stronger and she doesn't even really try in the first place, "No." She'd be lying if she said she didn't want to. She really wants to, she really needs something.
"Just do it." Dan orders her, shoving her back this time, only lifting his hand from her hip when she hits the countertop. "It'll only take a second. I only need a peek."
"Oh, for fuck-" she cuts herself off with a shake of the head, ennui clear as day on her face.
Reaching behind her, Amy bends her arms and places her palms flat against the top of the sturdy unit, but her biceps do nothing to help her, so she has to wait for Dan to lift her up - he does it so easily, that motherfucker! - and drop her backside down on the counter, as though she's weightless, only one small person.
He's still touching her though, and she'd push him away if it wasn't for the fact that she wanted him to just keep touching her.
"I thought you said you didn't need coaxing into this." Amy states smugly, brows raised when Dan slips his briefs down his legs to his knees.
"I don't need talking into fucking you, I meant." He corrects her, squints like a cocky bastard. "What I do need is for you to cooperate. You're not exactly making this fun, Amy."
"Like that matters." She sighs, "You'd fuck anything that moved." Amy mumbles, drops her hands down onto his shoulders when he nears her, digs her nails into the top of his back when he grabs her buttocks and pulls her over the edge of the counter.
"You're not anything."
"Is that supposed to make me wet?"
"No," he smiles like the fucking Cheshire cat, and he winks, and she's so fucking tempted to kick him in the skull when he starts pulling her panties down, tossing them aside as they slip from her ankles. "Looks like you did that all by yourself."
Amy glares over at him from bent elbows, her arms already weakening, "It's the hormones."
"Sure it is."
That prick. Fuck him.
Gladly.
"Is your dick hard yet or are you just gonna keep salivating like a perv?"
Dan moves his right hand to her side, damn near crushes her ribs. His eyes are cast down though, and he's grinning, "Seems to me like you're enjoying this more than I am."
His left hand rests on her thigh then, fingertips dancing along the inside, "Yeah, I'm really loving being spread open on your kitchen counter like a fucking hooker you're about to slice in two. Hurry the fuck up."
"There's that dirty talk."
He grabs his dick, perches over her with a pause, runs the tip along her folds slowly, excruciatingly, his left thumb circling her clit, taunting her sensitive skin.
"Jesus, fuck."
"What?"
Amy lifts her butt cheeks, feels her body clench tighter on itself when he drags her closer, lets his cock slip past her entrance, rougher than she'd like, gentler than she'd expected.
"Fuckin' hell, you're wetter than a pornstar after a gangbang."
"Shut up." Amy lets her arms slip, and she rests her head back against the 'top, eyes closing as her body moves in sync with his own.
Her breasts bounce, time up perfectly with his every thrust, and there's a heaviness in her chest she isn't sure she likes. There's one hand on her thigh, and one on her hip, and she's her face is flushed crimson by now.
He goes faster, gets rougher with every other move, and she can't help herself but reach out for him, grabbing his neck, tense, and tracing the top of his spine with the pads of her fingertips.
Dan is sharp, Dan is lean, Dan is guarded, and Amy knows she is the only one who can leave a mark, scar, ruin his perfectly crafted character, persona.
She could destroy him if she really wanted to.
He's messing with her, playing with her, and touching her and she doesn't like it. She kind of loves it, and almost definitely hates herself for it.
She'd utter his name, say something (anything) if it weren't for the hand on her throat, smoothed over her body from her hip to her breast to her neck. He doesn't grab her, just lets his palm hover around the base of her throat.
She can feel him though, feel his warmth every time he thrusts forward and she shifts backward. She can feel him when his dick buries itself inside her and she tightens around him as though he's her lifeline, as though he's her saviour.
He's nothing of the sort though, and she knows it. But that just makes everything worse.
"Close?" He's pulled her up by the neck, hand circled around her to thread his fingers through her hair, through loose strands of hair, "Amy?"
He's breathless, and she's not sure she's ever heard him so quiet. Any quieter and he'd be whispering.
And if he did that, whispered something soft in her ear as she came around him, surrendered another piece of herself to him, handed herself over willingly to his touch, she may never come back from the brink of destruction.
He could destroy her, and she knows it.
"Harder… please." Because she's close (oh, so close), and grasping, tugging at his tussled hair is only pushing her over the edge, and his hands on her face are only encouraging her, egging her on.
He pushes harder into her, drops his face down to her collarbone, lips lingering over but not kissing her skin, "Like this?" He grunts.
She sobs a reply that Dan barely catches, her voice hitched, and she can feel his lashes against the hot skin of her neck, feel the roughness of his jaw scratch at her chest. His hands cradle her face, her cheekbones, and it's only his hips that meet her own, only his hips that work her body.
Her legs wrap around his backside, heels digging in, ankles near crossing, and she can't help but moan aloud when he pushes, pounds, pulls her with him over the finish line.
The muscles of her neck tense, and she copies him then, lowering her head to his neck, tilts her face to rub against his flesh when he tugs and twists her hair, forcing her into him. It's softer than she'd like but rougher than she'd expected, and she likes it, loves it.
He's warm but cool, chilly where sweat drips down the side of his neck, and she notices the glistening of her own chest as her darkened eyes cast down, watching him slip in and out of her body a few times more.
"Jesus."
Amy nods once, twice, leans into him when he presses cold lips to her ear no matter how much she tries not to.
Her body takes over, and she runs a hand over his shoulder to his arm when he finishes, grunts something unclear into her neck. It tickles - the noise, the scruff - and she holds her breath as he pulls his face away from her body.
"I could get used to that."
That wasn't what she was expecting him to say.
"Yeah." Amy voices, almost mute, licking her lips after a second. "Maybe."
Maybe his plan wasn't so bad, after all. Maybe they could make this work, somehow. Maybe it could work.
"Amy?" He's looking at her, with furrowed brows, with that smile she despises. But he's not pulling away, and he's not pulling out, and she has to catch her breath before she meet his eye.
Because he looks spent, and charming, and almost like a lost puppy, but she knows better.
She knows who he is, knows he's gonna say something witty any minute now and ruin this.
"I have an appointment tomorrow."
Dan stills, and his right hand slips out of her hair, lowers to rest on the counter beside her naked thigh, "Do you want me to come with you?"
"You don't have to."
"Yeah, I do." She thinks he wants to smile, wants to try and convey some kind of look of sincerity - because he looks pained and his lips are drawn thin, curving upward. "I said I was in."
The left corner of her mouth curls up at that, and Amy smirks, shifts her gaze from his eyes to his crotch, "That, you are."
And then she laughs - giggles, even - and Dan can't help an amused grin from brightening his face, brown eyes clear.
He kisses her then, lips to her jawline, eyes on her mouth, "Move in with me."
"Are you asking or ordering?"
"Which do you prefer?"
"Asking."
"I'm not asking." She feels his fingers on the low of her back, tapping and dancing along the tops of her buttocks, "You're gonna move in with me, or you're gonna marry me. Make your mind up, Brookheimer."
"Can we just fuck on the semi-regular?"
"We could fuck a whole lot more if we lived in the same fuckin' apartment."
He reasons, skims his hand over the top of her thigh to her lap, pushes her legs apart with the ball of his hand, slips his dick from between her legs and replaces it with his fingers, "And I could do this a whole lot more if you let me."
"You can't screw anyone else." She informs her, bends forward when he leans back, folds into him when he moves away, taunting her. "You can't even flirt with anyone else."
"You're asking for a lot there, Ames."
"You either do this properly," she pauses to hiccup, gasp when he slips a finger, two, past her folds, applies pressures to her centre, "or you don't do it at all."
"I'm in."
"Is that a yes?"
"I'll find us an apartment in the morning, honey."
He lowers himself then, moves from her chest to her lap, nudging her legs apart with his elbows, the roughness of his light beard scraping her inner thighs.
She'd smack him if he wasn't so close, if she wasn't so close, "Thank you, baby." She knows he groans because the vibrations hit against her skin and his breath warms her soft flesh with a sting. "Dan."
"Amy," He trails off on the 'm', looks up at her from between her legs, face just as devilishly handsome as ever, just as charmingly demonic as always.
Fuck him.