Licensing Note: Based on Characters and story lines from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. All original content and plot for In Want of a Vice is released under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International license by Morgan A. Wyndham. Cross published on Ao3 as MorganAW.

"Do you have to be such an asshole?" Elizabeth finally lost it and tossed her mediocre book down on the table.

"Excuse me?" Darcy asked, looking up from his own book.

"We've been sitting here for half an hour and you haven't said one word to me."

He placed a marker in his book and looked at her with a furrowed brow, "you haven't spoken to me either," he defended.

"That's not the point! I'm not speaking to you because I was trying to make a point, you're just being an asshole." Elizabeth fumed. She'd been stuck here in this overpriced house that her sister's boyfriend had rented up in the Berkshires for a whole long weekend. Elizabeth was only supposed to be there for a party, but Jane had gotten sick, Charlie had insisted that she stay there, and Jane had begged Elizabeth to stay with her. Charlie Bingley himself was a sweet guy, but she'd had to put up with the cattiness of his sisters Caroline and Louisa, the piggish indifference of Louisa's husband, and worst of all the arrogance of his best friend, Will Darcy. Toward the beginning of the weekend she'd enjoyed several stunning hikes, but today it was raining and she was trapped indoors. She'd taken refuge in the gorgeous library whose shelves were, unfortunately, stocked only with medical texts and trashy fiction novels ca. 1950. It had been a dull but satisfactory refuge from the superior sisters until Darcy had ambled in and filled the space with tension.

"Please explain to me the logic that permits you to remain silent for a half hour in good faith while the same conduct on my part is malicious?"

"I've never seen you start a conversation, you only talk when directly asked a question, and even then it's like pulling teeth. I wanted to see how long you'd go if I didn't talk first."

"You were reading, forgive me for assuming that you chose to retreat to the library because you wished for quiet. That is, after all, common courtesy in libraries is it not?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "ok, that accounts for this particular incident, what about all of the other interactions we've had?"

"There's no crime in being laconic."

"How about downright antisocial?"

"I assure you I'm not plotting the downfall of society just because I don't talk much."

"Yes, because when forced to interact with people the best strategy is always to fall back on pedantry and ignore the otherwise accepted colloquial use of words," Elizabeth quipped.

"Forgive me if I prefer to be precise in my elocution."

"Precise isn't exactly the word I'd use," Elizabeth said mockingly and reveled in the twitch in his jaw she elicited. "Oh wait, I forgot … according to Caroline you can't be mocked, even when you use words like 'laconic' and 'elocution' in a casual setting."

He stood and raked a hand through his hair as he began pacing. "Oh, I'm sure you could find a way to mock anyone if you tried, whether they deserve it or not."

"I'm not some troll that just picks fights for the hell of it, but I can't help finding amusement in folly and nonsense," she stood up and intentionally stepped in his path to break his pattern of pacing and throw him off. "It's not my fault that in all of your snobbery you can't admit to yourself that you can be just as much of a fool as the rest of us mortals."

He clenched and unclenched his fist at his side. "Perhaps we are all fools, but it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule."

Elizabeth was tired of his stiff upper lip and 'posh' British accent (Caroline had explained in mind-numbing detail the distinct elegance of his voice and tone and how it implied 'good breeding' the day before) and wanted to rattle his cage a bit. "Such as vanity and pride?" She challenged, taking a step closer.

"I am not vain," he said quietly, "and I'd like to know what is wrong with pride when coupled with a real superiority of mind."

She turned and suppressed a smile at how smug the dude sounded then replied in a cloyingly sweet tone, "well I now have it on the highest authority that you have no faults ..." as if conceding to his god complex. Turning back to him she stepped further into his personal space and added dryly: "you told me so yourself."

"I never said anything so deluded. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever."

"That is a failing indeed!" Elizabeth, conceded. Suddenly struck by the urge to prove him wrong by puffing up those immovable feelings, she pouted as she added "what a pity that I can't laugh at implacable resentment." Then she went for the kill by leaning in and whispering in his ear, "I dearly love to laugh, but I guess you're safe from me."

Darcy's last bit of restraint snapped at that and before she could pull back he'd slipped his arms around her and captured her lips in a kiss. For a moment she stood still in his arms before all of that passion she'd thrown into their argument seeped its way into her kiss and she was responding to him. He slowly walked them toward the door and after a few fumbles managed to close and lock it.

Elizabeth pulled away and raised her eyebrow at him, "rather presumptuous of you, isn't it?"

"Would you like Caroline to walk into the room at this moment?" He asked as he trailed kisses down her neck, she moaned and leaned her head back to allow him better access.

"And what makes you think this will go any further than a few kisses, Mr. Darcy?" She asked, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

"We could stop anytime you'd like Ms. Bennet," he replied, lifting his head and hands fractionally, relinquishing all contact with her body but lingering nearby with the hope of more. She stared back at him with a raised eyebrow, challenging him to make a decision. He wondered if she was making another point, refusing to make the next move. Refusing to break the stalemate, he allowed his eyes to wander paths he hoped his hands would soon follow.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and muttered, "insufferable man," as she lunged forward and was kissing him again, walking them back into the room. She broke the kiss long enough to add "arrogant," and Darcy took advantage of the pause to lift her shirt over her head. She growled and similarly divested him of his shirt as she added "presumptuous."

By the time the backs of his legs hit the chaise lounge they'd both shed the majority of their clothing. Any anger that he'd felt toward Elizabeth had sizzled into passion, but as she was clearly enjoying the litany he decided to play along. "I'll add impatient to this list of my faults," he said as he sat down, pulling her onto his lap.

"Selfish," she murmured, scraping her fingernails across his chest.

"Selfish?" he repeated incredulously. At her nod he swiftly lifted her and sat her back down on the chaise while he hovered over her and murmured against her skin, "We all have a tendency to some particular evil," he paused to punctuate the sentiment by nibbling her right breast, "a natural defect," he added as he moved on to her left.

"And your defect is to hate everybody!" She said, though the sting of her words was removed by the breathy moan she'd said it with.

He trailed kisses down her body as he replied in kind "And yours," he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them," he concluded as his tongue made contact.

While this turn of events had never even entered Elizabeth's mind before this afternoon, she had to admit that Darcy's talent with his tongue went beyond linguistics. She cried out in pleasure, gripping her fingers in his hair as he added a finger to his assault. As pleasant as this was, however, she felt the urgency of their argument slipping as he rather masterfully brought her to the edge then eased back. Now that she'd had a taste, she wanted to test his … diction … as well and she knew if he continued to be this tender she'd lose her nerve.

"Darcy!" she moaned, "would you get up here and finish this already?"

He lifted his head up and looked at her with that same intense gaze that she'd noticed directed at her countless times. "I was just trying to dispel your notion that I'm selfish, Elizabeth," he said with a smug tone, his finger continuing to tease her as he spoke.

"Ugh, then get up here and fuck me you smug asshole!" she replied in frustration, rolling off the chaise and motioning for him to recline.

"Whatever you wish, my dear," he said as he followed her command.

"No need for false sentiment," she said as she straddled him.

"Who says it's ungh …" He cut off with a groan as she slid herself onto his length, effectively ending their capability for speech. Elizabeth rode him hard, throwing all of her frustrations toward this enigmatic, entitled, rich guy into her frenzied thrusts. She had to admit that this was a far more stimulating outlet for her anger than shouting matches mediated by the altogether biased referee, Caroline Bingley. She felt another surge of gratification at the knowledge that for all of Caroline's fawning, she was the one who'd broken Darcy's control.

She came fairly quickly after Darcy's earlier ministrations and as she came down she noted his increasingly frantic thrusts and rolled off of him. Considering it only fair play, she even gave him a hand as he finished. He pulled her tightly against him as he came, shuttering and sputtering into her hand as he called out her name.

For a few moments, Elizabeth laid there in his arms as they caught their breath, soaking in the heat from his body and enjoying the languid way he was rubbing her back.

"Elizabeth..." he started in a shaky voice.

After that earth-shattering event – and let's face it, tectonic plates colliding was an apt analogy for Elizabeth Bennet and William Darcy in an all out argument turned sexual encounter – Elizabeth didn't want to spoil it with any awkward conversations or explanations … or worse, him assuming she was after his money … so she cut him off. "Well, that was …" she said as she got up and cleaned her hand on some tissues, "... wow. I never really realized how amazing hate sex could be." Then she started to gather her clothes.

"What!?" Darcy asked, stunned out of his post-coital bliss by that sickening statement. He'd been fighting his attraction to Elizabeth Bennet for weeks and when he'd finally given in and she'd responded so passionately it was better than he'd ever imagined it could be – and he'd had a very active imagination despite his constant attempts to reign it in. And now she was saying … what, exactly?

"You know … I hate you, you hate me, but wow are we physically compatible."

"You hate me?" He asked, confused. He'd had women throwing themselves at him his whole life and the first one he'd thrown himself at hated him?

"What gave it away?" She asked in mock surprise. "The constant arguments? The fact that we don't agree on anything? Our complete abhorrence for each other's social class and way of life?"

"It was you stating it outright, actually," he replied sullenly.

"Aww, and I thought you were smart," she replied, patting him on the cheek like a fucking child. "Anyway, are you clean?"

"Clean?" he asked in bewilderment as he looked down at himself, sweaty and sticky, and pooling a bit on the rented lounge in Bingley's rented home.

"I know it's usually a question for before sex, but you know … heat of the moment and all. I don't have any STDs, and I've got an IUD so between pulling out and that we should be set as long as you're clean," she said in a rush, a blush flushing over her face.

In other circumstances he would enjoy kissing away that blush … but apparently she hated him, so he just impassively answered her question, "I'm clean I haven't ..." been with a woman in years, he was about to say, but that was a conversation for that alternate universe where she loved him and they were happily cuddling in the afterglow, "... I'm clean, you needn't worry."

"Good," she replied as she finished dressing herself, "next time we should probably use a condom, but we're probably fine for now."

"Next time?" He asked, wishing that the blood would return to his brain so he could respond somewhat more eloquently.

"Well..." she responded a bit flustered herself, "... I'm not saying there will be a next time, but we've obviously got chemistry and I'm an open minded girl," she shrugged, "let me know the next time you get the itch." With that she unlocked the door and quietly slipped out, leaving him to pick up his scattered clothes and the pieces of his shattered heart.