March 2015

I hope you didn't feel like breathing tonight.

  Jack coughs halfheartedly through a smirk, the pressure of her fingers burning hot on his throat. He’s lying on the floor underneath her weight, the dust kicked up from his earlier fall to the floor clinging heavily to his eyelashes and jacket. He’d be more upset about the mess, but there were far more important matters to attend to. Like the woman currently straddling his chest and cutting off his oxygen supply. He kinda needed that. For, y’know, living.

“Ha, actually I, ngh—” He shifts his head and feels her grip tighten minutely, “had extensive breathing plans. Especially the heavy kind. Maybe you could, ah, join me?” It’s a strain to talk, the last syllable reaching a higher octave then the suave one he was going for, but he manages. He would have gone for a wink to seal the deal but his vision is already starting to get fuzzy and he doesn’t want to chance closing his eyes right now.

Not that Nisha seems any more irritated than usual, but Jack can recognize the fire that’s burning behind that golden iris, and feels it mirrored in the base of his spine. There’s no escaping Nisha when she’s in one of those moods. Her grip doesn’t loosen. Jack decides he’ll take his chances.

He drums his fingers on the denim of her dusty jeans, his eyes hooding half from lack of oxygen (and half from being a plain ol’ smart-ass) as he looks up at her, smirk still plastered to his masked face, like a goddamned challenge.  The sweat under his collar almost betrays his nonchalance. And even though he really isn’t in the position to be back-talking the woman who currently has her hands wrapped around his throat,  it’s never stopped him before, so, whatever. He’s into it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve got something better to do, sweetheart.”