A/N: I don't own Cruel Intentions (unfortunately) or the character's of Kathryn and Sebastian. And I'm definitely not making money off this. Please read and review!

Time Period: This one-shot happens the day after the chapter Distracted in Love & War.

The Flat

"You're seriously just going to sit there and wait for the tow truck?"

Sebastian had his eyes closed, presumably because he was relaxing, but really because he was trying to avoid Kathryn's glare. "Yes," he said pleasantly.

"They said it could be hours!"


"It's almost dark and we're in the fucking sticks, Sebastian."

"Would you like to have the driver bring out the limo?"

"That will take almost as long."

He knew that she was right. Monday evening gridlock in NYC was legendary. Nothing short of a helicopter was getting out of the city any time soon. "What the fuck do you want me to do, Kathryn?"

"It's just a fucking flat tire. Change it!"

He looked at her as if she'd just ordered him to jump off a bridge. It's just the East River, Sebastian… jump! "Excuse me?"

"Change the damn tire, Valmont," she bit out the words forcefully, and he could tell from her tone of voice that she wanted to hit him. She had hit him once, and she didn't hit like a girl. Not Kathryn. No flailing arms and scratching nails there. No, she had punched him like a prize fighter, right in the nose. She'd made him bleed and that was the first time he'd ever thrown her against a wall. He remembered being stunned at the revelation that she actually enjoyed it. She licked the small stream of blood off his lip and he'd gasped, realizing that he was getting just as turned on. He shook the memory away.

"Or what?"

"What are you? Five?"

He leaned towards her until his face was inches from hers. "I've never changed a tire in my life, and I'm not starting now."

She sighed heavily. "People do it all the damn time."

"Fine, then you change the damn tire bitch!" She glared at him silently. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he said triumphantly as he leaned back against the headrest again and closed his eyes.

Without a word she yanked the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car, slamming the door as hard as she could – which was unbelievably hard. He watched in disbelief as she actually stalked to the back of the car and began opening the trunk. "What the fuck do you think you're doing," he called through the open roof.

"Changing the damn tire," she fired back. He couldn't see her while she was bent over with the trunk open, but he could hear her grunting as she tried to pull the tire out. The stupid little slut was going to hurt herself.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He was going to regret this. Hell, he already did. "Fuck me," he muttered under his breath as he got out of the car and went to the back and found her tugging on the spare. Yeah, like she could actually get it out. It probably weighed about eighty percent of what she did. Gently, but not too gently, he shoved her out of the way and pulled the spare out. "If I break fucking my hand, they're going to find a strangled bulimic coke whore by the side of the road."

"Ass wipe," she volleyed back and laughed at his expression. "Honestly Sebastian! Stop being such a sissy. People change flat tires every day and I don't see them walking around with broken hands."

"That's because they wait for the fucking road service," he growled at her through clinched teeth as he dropped the spare on the road next to the flat.

"How hard can it possibly be?" Her voice was challenging as she folded her arms and stared at him.

"This is a four thousand dollar suit," he grumbled.

All he got was an eye roll. "Poor baby. Mommy will buy you a new one," she simpered in mock sympathy and caressed his face. He slapped her hand away. He had brief urge to bend her over the trunk and fuck her until she couldn't walk. See how much of a sissy she thought he was then. He smirked. The thought did have its appeal and he wondered if he could get her to let him screw her out here, on the side of the road. "You're thinking about fucking me, aren't you?" Her self-satisfied voice cut through his musings and just like that he wanted to strangle her again.


By the time he got the jack out of the trunk, he was already visualizing everything that could go wrong. The car falling on him was the most gruesome. In one of those short but horrifying fantasies, he pictured it happening after he'd changed the flat, and Kathryn simply getting into the car and driving off, rolling right over him. Slut would probably do it too, he though ill-temperedly.

He didn't have to wait long before he hurt himself. After he finally figured out how to work the jack, and started to try to loosen the bolts, he realized that he need the tire to be on the ground for leverage. Then he had to figure out how to lower the jack. Somehow, in the middle of finally getting that done, he split his nail. Not chipped, not broke. Split. Down to the quick and drawing blood. He let out a long, loud string of expletives, while Kathryn, love of his life, laughed at him. Fucking laughed! He glared at her, finger in his mouth, wondering for the third time in less then half an hour if he could get away with strangling and burying her out here, in the middle of nowhere. Whose stupid idea had it been to drive out to the country anyway? Oh yeah… his. Got something against a seven day weekend? Brilliant.

"I can still do it if you want," she offered, still laughing softly.

"No. I got it. Thanks." He managed to loosen the lug nuts, scrapping several knuckles painfully in the process, and then jack the car off to remove them completely. Pulled off the ruined tire and got the spare on. Looking down at his hands as he picked up the tire iron to put the bolts on, he shuddered at how dirty he was. Filthy. He couldn't remember ever having been so dirty. Even as a small child, he'd hated getting dirty. Sighing in resignation, he put the lug nuts on, lowered the tire and began tightening them. His grip slipped on tire iron and somehow managed to bend his finger back at an almost impossible angle. It didn't break, but it hurt like hell. Thanking a God he didn't believe in, he was finally finished. He lugged the flat back to the trunk and shoved it in, throwing the tire iron and jack in after it carelessly, and slammed the trunk closed.

He stood there for a moment, staring with disgust at his torn, bruised, bloody and absolutely filthy hands with utter dismay. Then down at his ruined suit. His scoffed Italian leather shoes. At that moment, he heard the tires of a large truck and closed his eyes in disbelief.

"You folks the ones who called about a flat," a Yonkers accented voice said from behind him.

He looked at Kathryn who leaned against the car laughing quietly. "I'm going to fucking kill you," he told her calmly, annunciating each word slowly.