Characters: Emilie and Stas
Setting: Her bedroom, late Monday, February 14th.
Content: Probably NSFW.
Summary: Stas drops by with a birthday surprise.


After his Valentine's dinner date with Sunny, CCI's infamous bad boy used a charm to climb the wall outside Emilie's window. He pushed it open, expecting to find spikes on the sill. He wasn't sure if he was surprised or disappointed that there weren't any. He grinned at Emilie and pulled the whiskey out of his bag, pouring it into two champagne flutes. "Happy birthday," he said offering one to her.

Emilie had had a pretty successful night, which was not bad when a) your birthday fell on a monday, and b) it was only Valentine’s day every single year. Forever. She’d been laying in her bed, having managed to get her shoes and scarf off. She’d just wanted to listen to music and enjoy her buzz when the window flew open and Anastas crawled in.

A boy, climbing into your window on Valentine’s day? It was almost enough to be romantic. Except that it was Stas, so it really wasn’t. Even still, she’d already been drinking, and an easy smile slipped across her mouth.

“Classy,” she smirked at the glass for a moment and then back at him. “You know... you could have just walked down the hall.”

"I thought I would go for a big gesture," he replied with his usual smirk. That was the whole point of Valentine's day, wasn't it? Sweeping gestures, crappy paper hearts, and guaranteed sex if you bought your bitch booze or chocolate.

Except that one of Stasi's bitches wouldn't put out no matter how grand the gesture was. He wasn't one to persuade when there wasn't any fire under the belt to begin with, so he left Sunny with a chaste kiss at her dorm and promptly showered, changed, and packed his bag of goodies for an evening of impromptu torture at Emilie's. Plus it was her birthday. He could pretend for a moment that he was her present, but it was more likely that her gift would be the pain she inflicted on him.

"Did you have a delightful celebration this evening?"

Emilie rolled her eyes and took a sip from her glass, trying her best not to continue to smirk at him. What a fucking cunt he was-- so presumptuous. Did he really think he could just loosen her up with some Jack and a ridiculous entrance? She wasn't some lightweight freshman, after all.

But she didn't mind the visit, even though she knew what he really wanted--and even though that pissed her off.

"Mm," Emilie replied from behind the champagne glass, licking the alcohol from her lips before she continued on. When she did, she was grinning, smug. "Did you? Having fun playing babysitter, Anastas?"

He smirked at her and ignored her first question. "I detect the faintest hint of jealousy Emilie." He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "It does not suit you." He leaned forward enough to click his glass with hers. "You look disgustingly fabulous." Then he stopped himself from digging an even deeper hole by swigging the rest of his glass before pouring more in.

Emilie gave Stas a bland look at the suggestion of jealousy, raising her eyebrows and her smirk wrenching to the side but not fading completely. Stas still had his friend Jack Daniels on his side, after all.

"I know," she replied simply to his compliment, almost letting it roll off her back completely. "You look like shit." She smirked into her glass, eyeing him carefully from where she sat.

"What do you want?" It was more of an accusation than a question. She already knew, but a small part of her thrilled at what his answer would be.

"Is it so hard to believe that I might enjoy your company for a while?" He let that thought linger. "Or that I might like to wish you a happy birthday?" Not that he'd ever been that thoughtful, but as gestures went this was a pretty big one for him.

"I can go if you like," he offered, though he had no intention of doing so.

"Intensely difficult," Emilie mused, leaving her point there. She tipped her glass against her lips, finishing the last of the whiskey. Eyes shut for just a moment, she sighed happily, slow and languid.

"Mmm, no." She shook her head slowly, her heavy-lidded eyes opening to peer at him again. She was starting to look a little flushed, a little more dreamy. The whiskey was making her stupid but she was already passing the point where it seemed to matter.

"I insist that you stay. Birthday girl gets what she wants," she stifled a short giggle, holding out her empty glass. A silent request for a refill.

"Try harder," he challenged, his smirk shifting a bit more into a genuine smile. He drank some more, moved a little closer to her. He liked that almost happy look on her face as her eyes shut him out momentarily.

He waited a moment for her to kick his ass out forcibly, but then she threw him a curve ball he hadn't expected. It was the opposite of resistance, it was almost compliance. He tipped the bottle into the flute and poured her a generous helping. "Birthday girl gets whatever she wants," he offered in a dark, husky tone.

“The illustrious Anastas De Kooning care about other people?” Emilie grinned, her expression a little quizzical. “I don’t believe it for a minute.”

“I doubt you have ever done a single nice thing in your life if it didn’t directly benefit you in some way.” She shifted where she sat, leaning a little closer to him as she did so. She smirked despite herself, trying her best to fight the chill that raised the hair on the back of her neck. Her tone grew more and more smug as she spoke; never wanting to admit that Stas could still get the best of her.

“But I’m glad we agree on the important things.”

"Who said anything about care?" But then he trailed a finger lightly up her arm and pulled it back just as quickly. He didn't like to be vulnerable with Emilie. Her claws were too impressive. "You would not believe a lot of things about me."

Then they were on familiar territory. "At least we have that in common," he purred. "We do not waste time with that which does not benefit us." He leaned closer for a moment and then pulled back away to drink more of the whisky. Finishing the glass he dropped it to the floor with a quick, wandless charm to prevent it from shattering.

He didn't want to be any drunker than he already was in the heart of the lion's den.

Emilie laughed at his response. “No, I guess care is too strong of a word. Even for a fluffy bunny like you, Anastas.”

“No, we do not,” She agreed, taking another sip of the whiskey in her glass. She knew better than to fall for his little teasing advances, and watched him with amusement. Though a faint voice in the back of her mind did ask her why she would be falling for his advances at all.

“So is this all you got me?” Emilie joked. “Whiskey and the desire to be in my company?” She tutted in exaggerated disappointment. “Even Sim got me something better. Sim!”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "There are a few other words I would rather apply to this situation." Such as lust. Or danger. He didn't divulge those words to her.

He pulled back even further at the mention of fluffy bunny. Sunny had changed him and he was still warring against it, fighting to decide who he wanted to be. He was an entirely different creature around Emilie.

"I did not mistake you for a sentimental girl," he replied. "You can keep the flutes," he offered blandly. Sure Sim did better; Sim was a big, sentimental girl. The thought brought a bigger smirk to Stasi's face than anything yet. He wasn't about to misstep even more and say that he was her present. That would go over about as well as the Hindenburg.

“There is entirely nothing sentimental about materialism,” Emilie replied, matter of fact. “I’m just being greedy,” she admitted. “But while we are on the subject... Why should I keep you around at all if I’m not benefiting somehow?” The way she’d said ‘benefiting’ echoed that same tone Stas always used when he thought he was going to get into her pants.

She wasn’t sure if she’d meant it as a joke or not.

Stas offered her the most scant look. "You are not benefiting from this?" He sat up a little straighter as if her answer would push him up and out or closer to her than he had been yet this evening. He wasn't sure if he was in it for more than the sex tonight. Something about Emilie kept drawing him back. She was an opiate; he was her addict. Take it or leave it.

"Mm," Emilie tilted her head, her ever-present smirk turning dark, almost malicious. Though not quite.

"It could be better," she said simply, downing the rest of her drink.

And he was left sitting right where he was. No further away or closer to her than he was before. His lip twitched a bit, like a gunslinger at high noon. He didn't ordinarily bother to be better for girls, but Emilie was becoming a special case.

"You can take what you want from me." I would give it to you if I thought you would welcome it. "Perhaps you should tell me what you want." He had never put it quite so baldly.

Stas had a way of dancing around a subject that always eventually led Emilie to the same frustration and general desire to hit him about the head. She played the game for a while, but eventually she tired of it. It was always the same.

"Anastas. Are you going to fuck me or not?"

The words nearly surprised her as she spoke them, but she had had enough of waiting. She could regret it in the morning if she felt so inclined.

"As the birthday girl wishes," he replied with his 'I'm game' smirk. He liked it when she was brutally upfront, though never so much as when she danced back and forth with him. Emilie knew how to push all of his buttons, and usually in the correct order. He leaned closer, carelessly dropped the Jack on the floor where it tipped and spilled on her carpet, and wasted no time in pushing some of Emilie's buttons.