fixeswatches | (no subject)

"I read into your words 'too much'?" she parroted, lifting her other arm to pound against his shoulder, pulling hard, trying to get away from him. "You just told me I act like a hussy, you big jerk!"

"No, you called yourself that," He hissed, pulling her in closer. "I just didn't disagree with you."

Her wrist chaffed under the pressure of his grip dragging her closer, and she sneered viciously. "Not disagreeing makes it so much better," she growled up into his face. "What about you, Gabriel? You're hardly a fucking saint. How many girls have you slept with? Why does it make me a slut and it's perfectly excusable for you?"

"I slept with two girls, other than you, and neither of them very many times," Only once or twice, really. He had been rather inexperienced before Elle. "And you're the one who always calls me a prude and throws your experience in my face," He spat.

She burned red in the face, and this time she pushed against him instead of trying to lurch away. "I don't throw it in your face!" Although she did call him a prude sometimes. And maybe she threw it in his face last night. "Why does it matter how many and how much to you?" Because she didn't care. As long as he didn't love them, she couldn't care about it like he did.

"It doesn't," He hissed. and it's almost the truth. In reality, even just one man before him would be too many for him, really. It was irrational, but he never claimed to be rational.

"Let go of me," she growled, and finally zapped his hand really hard, stumbling back with the momentum of her pull. She glared up at him, her fury building, and spat, "Could have fooled me."

He grimaced in pain, letting out a snarl as he snatched his hand away from her now. It was probably not a good thing how quickly they could go from getting along to fighting like cats and dogs.

"I hope it hurts!" she shouted vindictively, and then spun on her heel into the bedroom. "So does being called a whore by your stupid jealous boyfriend, just so you know!"

"Well maybe you shouldn't begin so many stories with, 'The guy working was flirting with me and asked for my number,'" He snarled, following her into the bedroom.

She spun back around, so angry now she could hardly see straight. "That doesn't make me a slut, you dumb idiot! I don't ask to be hit on!"

"You don't discourage it either," He snapped. "How would you like it if I flirted back with other women?"

"Flirting doesn't make anyone a slut, Gabriel, it makes them a tease. At least get it right." She let out a cruel laugh. "And as if any do."

"I'm sure if I put as much effort into my looks as you do in yours, just as many women would hit on me," He replied with a cocky smirk.

She laughed again, heartily this time. "That's rich," she said snidely.

"What, you don't think that's possibly?" He asked in an indignant tone, more than just a little insulted.

"You would think that, wouldn't you?" she asked rhetorically, placing her hands on her hips with a mean smile. "You just think your god's gift to the world."

Even though if she were honest, his new haircut, however messy it was at the moment, looked kind of hot.

"You certainly like me well enough, don't you?" His smirk grew a little wider now. "After all, I'm lucky if you can keep your hands off of me for ten minutes."

Her angry flush deepened. "I'm a sex addict," she said snappishly, "I can't help myself." A poor comeback, to be sure, but she didn't have anything else. Well, besides... "And I'm certainly not having any trouble right now!"

"Yeah, but by the end of the fight, we'll probably be screwing," He pointed out in a knowing voice. "It's how all of our arguments seem to end."

She huffed and growled, glowering at him, because he was right. And she snapped. She was certainly liable to it at the moment, and she was too angry to even think of the consequences. She just wanted to prove him wrong if it was the last thing she did, and wipe that cocky smirk off of his stupid face.

She stalked over to their bag and started stripped, shedding all of her layers furiously, pulling out a barely worn electric blue mini-dress. "We'll see who I'll be fucking by the end of the night," she bit at him, pulling it over her head.

Even though she knew it would be him, if anyone.

"You're not going out like that," He shouted in annoyance, infuriated by even the thought that she might fuck someone else. He knew she wouldn't (she wouldn't dare), but the idea still pissed him off.

"You're right, I'm not," she replied glibly, anger laced into her tone. She straightened out the dress; it hardly covered half of her thighs. "I'm going down to the bar," she said, grabbing her strappy pumps and pulling them on. "I bet there's plenty of men there willing to fuck me, don't you think?" she spat, and headed for the door.

He stalked after her, taking large strides to catch up with her. He reached out, grabbing her wrist roughly. "They might be willing, but they sure as hell aren't fucking you."

She turned on him, holding her wrist up after he grabbed it so violently. "Well according to you, all I need to do is not discourage it," she hissed pointedly. "So I'll let you know how it goes." She shocked his hand off and reached for the doorknob.