milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Connor comes into the bar from the lake door, sword tucked behind his arm. He wanders over to the bar and places the sword on it gently, asking her to hold it for him like every morning, and orders coffee as he takes a seat at the bar, peering around at whomever happens to be around.

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"No, see, this is the part where you're supposed to say that clearly you have excellent taste in girls, as you picked me," Faith instructs, smirking. "And then I get gooshy and say that you're really very sweet, and one thing leads to another, and we go upstairs and wear each other out again."

"Damn. And I was doing so well too."

"It's not too late."

"Not too late to invite Nick along? Okay, but we may get Alex too." Smirk mcsmirky smirk.

"...OK, now it's too late."

Faith slips off his lap, but she's having to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, and she doesn't go far.

"Awwww... I wanted to play." And he pouts a little... okay, maybe more of a mock-pout, but you get the idea.

"Flattery, Connor. Look it up."

She's studying the bar very closely, hair hiding the wide grin on her face.

"Lost my dictionary."

He knows she's grinning, but like he said - he wants to play.

Faith rolls her eyes. "Flattery. Noun. The act of saying nice things about your girlfriend in order to get her in bed. Comes from a German verb that means 'Get your ashes hauled.'"

"Oh, I find that other methods tend to have the same effect, without the insincerity."

Faith snorts. "And of course, anything nice you could say about your girlfriend would be insincere..."

She's still grinning.

"Well, of course. Why would I say anything nice about her?"

He reaches over and, gently, pokes a finger in her side.

"She's mean to me." But he's grinning so much, no chance it sounds anywhere near malicious.

She grabs his wrist and turns to him, giving him the most dangerous look she can muster. "She could be a lot meaner."

The twitching lips probably spoil the effect.

"Mmmmm. Damn, I hope so." His eyes are narrowed, but not in anger.

"I can be...very mean. Very, very mean." Faith raises her eyebrows at him. "Vicious, actually."

"Why do the words 'very slow' come to mind at that?"

"Masochistic streak? Prophetic tendencies? Wishful thinking?" Faith shrugs. "Knowing you, the possibilities are endless."

A wicked little grin plays over his face.

"Pick one."

And she grins back, steps close again, tilts her head up to his. "Give me enough time and I won't have to."

"How far you planning to go while we're still in the bar?"

Faith snorts. "I'd like to keep my job and not get locked up, thanks."

"That leaves us with a couple options then, doesn't it? Here or New York?"

"Mm, decisions, decisions." Faith takes his hand, pulls him to his feet. "Haven't been to your place in a while."

"So, we're going back upstairs then?"

He is so kidding, but - he likes to push buttons a little.

Faith smirks, grabs him by the collar and pulls him down so his face is close to hers. "Upstairs, your place, Central Park, I don't care, just so long as neither of us is wearing clothes five minutes from now."

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macleod_connor - 2005-03-28 02:04 (UTC) - Expand

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faithful-slayer.livejournal.com - 2005-03-28 02:17 (UTC) - Expand

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