He's seen her use the darts. Of course he has. There was an arms dealer in Turkey who'd he'd watched her convince to kill their partner, a frail little old man who'd wanted nothing to do with Katherine Marlowe's order. Dirty business.
And here it was, a sharp point at his jugular. There's the sudden taste of cotton in his mouth, psychosomatic and familiar like the smell of a friend's coat. She hasn't even dosed him and his tongue feels heavy, some prickling automatic response to the promise of what follows. His mind might not be certain, but his body is and for a moment, he doesn't quite grasp what's happened - only that she's there, over him and dangerous, a needle on the verge of being pressed raw into his throat -, and then he realizes he's half hard in his trousers just from the threat.
He tightens his hand then, fingers shifting over and closing sharply on her throat. If she sticks him, he'll be damned sure to break her neck in the same motion. "Well then?" There's something sick and breathless in it, his stomach rolling at the concept (because it's not real, not really; he can believe it and not feel it because the logic connects but he doesn't remember anything beyond shaky outlines and the dig of fingers, something that tastes like sex on the back of his tongue. "You're going to kill me, yeah?"
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And here it was, a sharp point at his jugular. There's the sudden taste of cotton in his mouth, psychosomatic and familiar like the smell of a friend's coat. She hasn't even dosed him and his tongue feels heavy, some prickling automatic response to the promise of what follows. His mind might not be certain, but his body is and for a moment, he doesn't quite grasp what's happened - only that she's there, over him and dangerous, a needle on the verge of being pressed raw into his throat -, and then he realizes he's half hard in his trousers just from the threat.
He tightens his hand then, fingers shifting over and closing sharply on her throat. If she sticks him, he'll be damned sure to break her neck in the same motion. "Well then?" There's something sick and breathless in it, his stomach rolling at the concept (because it's not real, not really; he can believe it and not feel it because the logic connects but he doesn't remember anything beyond shaky outlines and the dig of fingers, something that tastes like sex on the back of his tongue. "You're going to kill me, yeah?"