When she stood in front of Mercer Frey for the second time, separated only by the width of a desk, it became clear very quickly that she had not made the client happy. And when the client was not happy, Mercer was not happy, at least when the client was Maven. If he had seemed grim before, now he had all the warmth of an ice floe.
”Simple instructions – burn three beehives, no more and no less – and you can't even follow those. Can you count to three, Laverna?”
He held up three fingers in front of her face, ink and dust and charcoal-stained fingers, and all she could think of was where she wanted them.
”Yes, I can”, she said defensively, trying to focus on the ledger, the inkpot, anything not-him. ”It was windy, and the flames, uh, maybe they got a bit too high...”
”When I ask you a question”, he interrupted her without as much as a hint of smoothness, ”I expect an answer. Not excuses.”
He muttered something under his breath, and she could almost, almost read it on his lips.
”What?” slipped from her before she could question the wisdom of opening her mouth again.
”I said you might be in the wrong line of work.” His look cut right into her, splitting her defenses apart. ”Said as much to Brynjolf, but he insisted on bringing you in.”
He leaned forward on the desk, and the closeness became tangible between them. It raked along her nerves, like invisible fingernails, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
”Though even plying your trade at Haelga's Bunkhouse, I imagine you've got to follow instructions.”
”What are you trying to – I'm not a whore!” she snapped at him, anger temporarily quelling the insistent pulse of desire inside her.
”No? Pity. I might have availed myself of your services.”
Before she had time for further protests, her chin was cupped in his palm, forced up, and the fingertips pressed into her cheek, taking the measure of the bone structure underneath. His thumb brushed across her lips, and she hated herself for her mouth opening and letting out a whimpery sound that she had no memory of ever making before.
It caused Mercer to break into a wry almost-smirk, as if she had been a puzzle lock that he had just figured out.
”Well, well”, he said. ”I'll take that back. You're already offering your services for free.”
The hand slid further up into her hair, grasped it hard, and her scalp sang with pain.
”Aren't you?”
He was taunting her with his assumption, daring her to say no and close this particular door for good.
She had never been so turned on in her entire life.
”I guess... you could say that”, she ground out, her voice tight and tense. If he didn't let go of her hair soon, she feared he would have a souvenir.
”Is that so.”
It wasn't a question. The grip in her hair loosened just a fraction, and she breathed out shakily.
”Then maybe I'll give you another chance to prove yourself.”
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Simple Instructions, 2/?
Date: 2012-08-20 12:24 pm (UTC)”Simple instructions – burn three beehives, no more and no less – and you can't even follow those. Can you count to three, Laverna?”
He held up three fingers in front of her face, ink and dust and charcoal-stained fingers, and all she could think of was where she wanted them.
”Yes, I can”, she said defensively, trying to focus on the ledger, the inkpot, anything not-him. ”It was windy, and the flames, uh, maybe they got a bit too high...”
”When I ask you a question”, he interrupted her without as much as a hint of smoothness, ”I expect an answer. Not excuses.”
He muttered something under his breath, and she could almost, almost read it on his lips.
”What?” slipped from her before she could question the wisdom of opening her mouth again.
”I said you might be in the wrong line of work.” His look cut right into her, splitting her defenses apart. ”Said as much to Brynjolf, but he insisted on bringing you in.”
He leaned forward on the desk, and the closeness became tangible between them. It raked along her nerves, like invisible fingernails, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
”Though even plying your trade at Haelga's Bunkhouse, I imagine you've got to follow instructions.”
”What are you trying to – I'm not a whore!” she snapped at him, anger temporarily quelling the insistent pulse of desire inside her.
”No? Pity. I might have availed myself of your services.”
Before she had time for further protests, her chin was cupped in his palm, forced up, and the fingertips pressed into her cheek, taking the measure of the bone structure underneath. His thumb brushed across her lips, and she hated herself for her mouth opening and letting out a whimpery sound that she had no memory of ever making before.
It caused Mercer to break into a wry almost-smirk, as if she had been a puzzle lock that he had just figured out.
”Well, well”, he said. ”I'll take that back. You're already offering your services for free.”
The hand slid further up into her hair, grasped it hard, and her scalp sang with pain.
”Aren't you?”
He was taunting her with his assumption, daring her to say no and close this particular door for good.
She had never been so turned on in her entire life.
”I guess... you could say that”, she ground out, her voice tight and tense. If he didn't let go of her hair soon, she feared he would have a souvenir.
”Is that so.”
It wasn't a question. The grip in her hair loosened just a fraction, and she breathed out shakily.
”Then maybe I'll give you another chance to prove yourself.”