"Come over here and make me"

Fiona walked into the apartment without announcing herself, as she had taken to doing in the recent days. No one ever came other than her, and that's the way he liked it. He had been playing his sax, improvising to fill his day until she arrived. He paused momentarily when he heard the door open and continued to play through the smile forming on his mouth.

She slammed the door behind her and stormed in. A cloud of electric tension surrounded her. He wasn't sure if it was her magic or if he was just attuned to her moods. His smile disappeared and his brow furrowed, displeased by her clear unhappiness. But he continued to play.

Fiona watched him for a moment, waiting for him to turn his attention to her. When he didn't, she growled, "Get that goddamn thing out of your mouth."

He turned to her with a smirk, barely taking the instrument from his lips. "Why don't you come over here and make me," he said in a tone of voice that was sure to get his point across.

She had been so angry. So upset. And she had come to him for comfort and distraction, and in one sentence, he had accomplished it. Her face spread into a grin as she slowly sauntered toward him.

He allowed her to wrap her strong hands around his instrument and pull him toward the bed with it. He claimed her lips with his own, the saxophone still between them.