leverage fic: gratuities (sophie/tara)
Title: Gratuities
Pairing: Sophie/Tara
Rating: adult
Notes: For sabrina_il in the purimgifts exchange. 1000 words.
Summary: Every time Sophie shows up talking about favours it's the same old thing.
The dealer passes her a card, the five of hearts, and Tara nods for another hit.
She's about breaking even, playing just well enough to make it look like she's trying. She sips her drink and waits for the next hand. She's about to lose big, giving her something to commiserate over with the guy sitting two stools away. Her mark might be terrible at cards, but the point is he's good at other things, like managing information.
A commotion at a nearby craps table draws her eye momentarily, and then holds it after the fact. That laugh, that voice, all she can see is the back of the woman's head but it's all she needs.
Tara sighs, and then smiles in spite of herself. All the planning in the world, and you still never know how the cards are going to fall.
Five minutes later the empty stool beside Tara is occupied, and a loud, obnoxious woman is ordering champagne for the whole table. "I am luckee tonight, yez? 'Oo weel celebrate weeth me?"
Tara just can't help herself. "You know, I just love your accent. Can I ask where you're from?"
"Oh, 'ere and zere, all over zee place darleengk. Yez, 'ello? Anozer dreenk for mah Amereekan friend 'ere."
Tara catches a tiny smirk thrown her way, and then the newcomer starts flirting with the dealer.
Tara drinks her champagne and waits.
Twenty minutes later Sophie is trailing Tara to the ladies room, weaving slowly side to side as if drunk.
The act drops the moment the door swings shut and they're alone.
"How are you?" Sophie says.
"Little pissed off, actually."
"Oh Mr Big Spender out there, can't even play a game of bloody twenty-one to save his life? You can do better."
"I wasn't going to date him."
"Besides," Sophie continues, "I need a little favour."
"Right."
Of course.
And of course Tara already knows what's going to happen next - what always happens when Sophie shows up out of nowhere and starts talking about favours. It's never long before Tara winds up drunk and naked - sometimes just naked - and waking up the next morning in a different timezone than the one she started out in with the faint smell of French perfume lingering in the sheets.
Of course, when Sophie talks about favours she's not asking for one, she's come to collect. Any moment now she's going to say, "You owe me, remember," like Tara is going to forget any time soon.
She doesn't even bother asking what the game is. The only question that matters is, "Will you drop that stupid accent?"
"Anyteeng for you, darleengk."
"Okay," Tara concedes, six hours later, "never stolen one of these before."
"Good, isn't it?" Sophie, already relaxed, manages to relax even further into the plush seat of the luxurious private jet which has recently come under new ownership. "Let's see, four hours to Zurich, how shall we pass the time? Gin rummy?"
"If that's a reference to the wet bar, I'll take it."
"What, the whole thing?"
Tara shrugs. "Sure. I think you owe me."
There's a flash of humour, and something else, in Sophie's eyes.
Two gin and tonics later, and a little closer to actually drunk this time, Sophie presses her back into the seat with hungry kisses and a tongue licking between her teeth. Of course Tara's not exactly just letting it happen. Sophie's hands on her hip and thigh are doing it for her and when the one on her thigh travels upward she parts her knees, takes the hand, and presses it firm against the seam of her pants.
Sophie hums, a pleased little sound against her mouth as they kiss some more and her fingers tease through layers of material.
But Sophie has been leading her on in one way or another all night so Tara turns it around, tugging down the front of Sophie's dress with a complete lack of ceremony, other hand up under the skirt and between her thighs, finding panties and slipping underneath. Sophie gasps and Tara pushes up from her recline, urges Sophie down along the wide bench seat and slides her mouth from collarbone to newly-exposed nipple, leaving a wet trail and Sophie sagging, her hands weaving through Tara's hair and holding on tight.
From there it's an easy sell. Pretty skirt up around Sophie's waist, panties manoeuvred out of, and like that, spread open and shameless, Sophie pulls Tara's head down and Tara doesn't just let her, hell no, she makes her own way.
About twenty-five minutes later, give or take, Tara is discovering her underwear swimming in the melting ice bucket.
With a little snort of laughter that might have been endearing if Tara didn't know her, know what was coming next, Sophie takes her hand to pull her back down beside her.
"Come on, you look like you could use another drink," she says.
Two years after screwing each other senseless in the cabin of a stolen private jet Sophie appears, slipping between elevator doors just as they close and coming to stand by Tara with a coy smile. "Been a while," she says.
And once Sophie is in Tara's apartment, shoes off and relaxed, she starts talking about favours again.
"Don't forget, you owe me."
The words are usually heavy with innuendo, smoky bedroom eyes on high beam because Sophie is the opposite of subtle at times.
This time there's something else in Sophie's eyes and the change makes Tara wary.
"A long con?" She sits forward in her seat, interested in spite of herself.
"You could put it that way, yeah," Sophie says.
Twelve hours later Tara wakes up to empty sheets. On the pillow next to hers is a one-way ticket to Boston.
So there it is, Sophie has finally called in her marker for real. Officially, and if anyone asks, Tara's glad. For a while now she's wondered if the debt would be hanging over her head forever.
Which doesn't mean she won't miss the damn thing once it's paid in full.