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She was feeling slighted.

"Alright, what?"

There was a dare in her voice.

Say it.

Sasha's mouth twisted.

"Does it matter?"

"Why?"

She took a step closer, and then another. He was filthy, dirty, rank.

Sasha trailed a hand up his arm, across the bandage. Her fingers paused there, pressed down just slightly.

"Why?"

One brow twitched upwards, a quick jerk of annoyance as she continued slipping her hand up his neck before her fingers paused to toy with his overly-long hair.

"Jerry," she hissed softly, all traces of the sweet and innocent young woman he once knew completely gone, "Nothing about me is sloppy. Not anymore."

The bridge of her nose wrinkled, a soft frown corrupting the curves of her face.

"I'm tired of talking, and you smell. We can continue this discussion after you shower - unless you want me to leave."

Sasha exhaled slowly, an inscrutable expression darkening her expression. Honestly, she preferred him angry and uncontrollable - it called to the identical part of her that she'd come to embrace.

"No." She pulled his hair, sharply, before pulling away completely. If he started with the woobly weebles again, she was so out of here.

"Hurry up."

That being said, Sasha ambled out of the bathroom.

Sasha meandered her way towards the bed, unbuttoning the silk blouse she wore just slightly. One button, two, three. Everything was a go up until the point she heard the singing coming from the bathroom.

It irritated her. This was becoming more work than it was worth.

She pursed her lips and made her way back to the bathroom. An instant later the shower curtain had been shoved to the side, and Jerry was given a very hard, harsh look.

"Tu es tellement plus beau lorsque vous êtes en colère, Jerry."

Sasha was finished, her patience gone. She was not in the mood for the gentle coaxing that Jerry seemed to need, and the icing on the cake was the way he covered himself up - ridiculous. Lifting a hand, she placed it against the freshly stitched gash on his shoulder - and pushed.

"I said you're so much more beautiful when you're angry, Jerry."

She could feel the bend and give of the stitches against the smooth curve of her hand.

"I've got to get back to my work."

That was more like it. She laughed softly when he pushed her, but she wisely took a few steps back.

Only a few.

"I know you, Jerry. I know you better than you know yourself. You and I, we're very much the same - you know it, you just ignore it. And Rep?"

She laughed again, a genuine tinkle of humor.

It was gone in a flash, her eyes sparking with a molten sapphire that she didn't bother to tamp down. Sasha took a step forward, and another. Her hands returned to the buttons on her shirt, deftly unfastening them to reveal a cream and blue balconette brassiere. The silk shirt slipped down her arms, left to pool at the floor.

Although her words were filled with a brash, cool confidence, there was a clumsiness to her actions that spoke of her naïveté. However, the purpose with which she moved made it clear that she knew what she wanted - and she wanted it now.

She stretched her hand out, fingers forming claws that she drew down his chest - lightly, testing the waters - and she gave a low hum at the texture of his chest hair, the muscles beneath warm, damp skin.

"Lets stop talking. You want me. I want you. Why complicate this? It's so simple, Jerry. So simple. Lets just enjoy each other, hmm?"

And then she was on him. Fingers threading through his hair, lips brushing against the scar at his jaw - tugging, pulling, urging. Every gesture she made was a wordless request, an unspoken demand.