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Basira is there for business. Elias has played them all for long enough, and she's had it with him; sending her on suicide missions or giving her leads that go nowhere, all while promising it's just part of what needs to be done.
All it takes is her arm barred across his throat and a fist in his hair to keep his head pinned, and he's already palming weakly at her wrist. Trying to apologize for being a dead end.
"Detective, please, we can —"
"— Quit calling me 'detective'," she sneers. "You said yourself I'm not a cop anymore, right? What makes you so fond of keeping up the title?"
Elias struggles to swallow, his throat flexing weakly under her hold. He tries to give her a smile, smug in the corners, but it only comes off desperate.
"I just like the way it sounds," he admits, "don't you?"
Basira snorts on a laugh and leans into his neck a little more. She has to admit it's satisfying hearing his breath catch wetly in his throat, watch his eyelids flutter again when that rush of panic and can't breathe kicks up in his system again.
He keeps trying to get higher on his toes to relieve the pressure, but she's already slightly taller than him and her boots have a small heel, too; keeping him from taking a full breath is practically effortless.
"What would you prefer I call you?" he asks, wheezes, still prioritizing drama and showmanship over literally breathing. "Would you really prefer I call you Basira, then?"
Hearing her name come out of his mouth is disgusting. It sounds like a swear coming from him, or a slur, and she never wants to hear him disgrace it with his snake tongue again.
She yanks on his hair this time, forcing him up even straighter.
"I'd prefer you not speak to me at all," she says, honestly. "I suppose 'detective' is better than knowing what my name sounds like from your awful mouth."
Elias's smug smile quirks up again, but he doesn't comment on what exactly she thinks of his mouth.
"Sorry," he says, without any regret.
"You're really not," she scoffs, and she's right.
Elias tries to laugh but it won't move past his lungs.
Basira eases up just a little. His eyes are locked onto her, watching for weakness or a moment to strike or only Watching, she's not sure of which, but he doesn't talk back and doesn't make any move to escape her once he's flat on his feet again.
"I think I like you better when you shut up," Basira says, her turn to be smug. "Makes it harder to tell you're a fucking creep, too."
He keeps smiling, obediently says nothing. He angles his head to lean into Basira's hand in his hair, expose his throat more. It isn't trust, or even a tease, she realizes — it's submission. It's an open invitation to put him in his place wherever she thinks he belongs, on his stomach or on his knees, make him pay for everything he's done through pain or torture or denial.
Basira realizes he's influencing her thoughts at the same moment her thigh shoves between his to pin him completely.
"Don't do that," she hisses. "Pervert."
Elias wets his lips with his tongue and shivers in a deep breath, the most she's allowed yet.
"Wouldn't you like to?" he asks. "Grind my face into the floor with your boot? Prove to yourself that if I can bleed, you can kill me? Wouldn't it make me seem so much more human if you could tear me to pieces under your hands and watch the fallout?"
His voice is a rough purr, and when his eyes aren't shut against his lungs struggling for air they're trained on her, on her mouth, pupils dilated and painting him into a much different picture.
"The guards wouldn't stop you," he continues, in the hesitation between his words and her not yet telling him to fuck off. "You could run me into the ground and leave me here beaten and bloody and humiliated. Take pictures on your phone, even, show Daisy and Melanie and Martin how manageable you've made me."
"I wouldn't show them," she spits. "It's hardly revenge anyway if you're getting off on it, is it?"
Elias chokes around a laugh.
"I suppose not," he agrees. "But it'd still feel so good, wouldn't it?"
It's Basira's turn to swallow. He has a point — whether it became sexual or not, being able to hurt him would be cathartic. Taking out her own frustrations and taking them out on Daisy's behalf, too, not ever touching him pleasantly and only laying him out to bleed and bruise.
"Raincheck," she finally says, pushing herself away from him with one last shove against his throat. "I'll beat the shit out of you another time."
Putting distance between them again, it's obvious what a mess Elias is. Hard in his prison-issued sweatpants, breathing hard from more than the euphoric fill of air into his lungs and red from more than strain and struggle. He doesn't move toward her, just leans himself against the wall like he could collapse without her supporting him.
"Well, then," he finally sighs, equal parts relief and disappointment. "I look forward to it."