I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
"As if I'd miss it," Jack rumbles in reply, glancing up just a fraction before Raza swans through from the back room. Her smile is returned, the smuggler's blue eyes drinking her all in - and it feels far too long since he's done that, actually. So when she sidles up behind the bar and leans forward and gives quite a wonderfully plunging display of cleavage, Jack takes his time admiring that too.
Raising his eyebrows at her question - because they both know what he wants - he can't help but relish in the silence of the bar. It is his, tonight, and he doesn't need to focus on anything else but the caress of Raza's thoughts, letting them envelop him completely. "A whiskey on the rocks," he drawls, "But I'd prefer the taste of it from your mouth, if that ain't too much to ask."
Raising his eyebrows at her question - because they both know what he wants - he can't help but relish in the silence of the bar. It is his, tonight, and he doesn't need to focus on anything else but the caress of Raza's thoughts, letting them envelop him completely. "A whiskey on the rocks," he drawls, "But I'd prefer the taste of it from your mouth, if that ain't too much to ask."
