Truce (Open for dirtybusiness)

[halfjack]

Truce (Closed for dirtybusiness)

He didn't know how long he had been sitting in his car, studying the glossy pile of pictures that had been given to him. One hour, two, four? It felt like an eternity as he refamiliarized himself with features that had haunted his dreams for the past three years.

That smile. That fucking cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. Part of him wanted to see that smile, blood splattered and cold while another still wanted to devour it under his own mouth. A thought that not only disgusted him, but angered him to no end.

It was one reason why he took this hunt without hesitation. That, and perhaps now he'd be able to savor the sweet flavor of revenge.

There was only one difficulty he saw in dealing with this mark -- getting close. He could easily take to high ground and see that pretty face of hers splattered on the side of a wall from a high-caliber round, but no. No. It would be much more pleasurable if he was able to personally see the light fade from those damnable dark, soul-sucking eyes. Toy with her just like she toyed with him. In this, Travis would come out the victor.

The flight to Seattle was a long, tiring one, but he immediately got to work, using any and all of his connections to find where his ex-lover may be; her patterns, her schedule. Though she was, and may still be, in the same occupation as he, she had to lead another life. A normal, mundane life.

"Isabella." What was the best way to get in touch with her? Call her. "Don't hang up," he said quickly before she had a chance to speak. Surely she recognized his voice. "I..." A pause, a sigh. "I have to talk to you. Meet me somewhere public. Choose the place and time, send me a text. I'll be there."

And he would.

Though his voice might've remained the same, his appearance didn't. He needed to go underground for a while, needed to fade among the masses. It was surprising what a cleanly shaved face, longer, dye-darkened hair, and a change of eye color from blue to brown could do.

 

[dirtybusiness]

"Hello?"

"Good morning. I was wondering if I might speak with Miss Reynolds," the unfamiliar voice had said. Hesitant. Uncertain.

"Speaking."

"Wonderful. My name is Ralph Jackson. I was wondering if I could meet with you... you were referred by a, ah, mutual friend."

"Which one?"

A pregnant pause.

"Monsieur Baroque."

Isabella had smiled, then. "Why, Mr. Jackson, it would be my pleasure to meet with you."


And it had been. The man (whose name was Ralph Jackson no more than hers was Andrea Reynolds) was obviously uncomfortable with the task given to him by his employer.

Isabella preferred to meet with the person in charge - middle men left room for mistakes, something she recoiled from by nature - but until she agreed to the offer, Mr. Jackson's employer chose to remain anonymous.

Naturally, given the nature of the proposition, she understood the man's desire for discretion. Her little chat with Mr. Jackson went well, considering her dislike for middle men, and she didn't even bat an eyelash when she opened the folder to see a glossy, familiar face staring back at her.

"Travis Evans," was all she said, her tone cool and steady.

"Yes. My employer has reason to believe that this man has been hired by an adversary to terminate him."

"Charming. And your employer would not rather me take care of the adversary?"

The man who called himself Ralph Jackson shifted uncomfortably on his chair, scratching his neck with manicured nails. "My employer isn't sure which adversary has put out a... contract on him. We were hoping that you could also find some more information on who he's working for, as well."

"Not a very popular man, is he?" She allowed a slight smile to curl the corners of her generously proportioned mouth. "I accept the target, but we'll need to renegotiate the price. I'm sure Monsieur Baroque informed you that I don't come this cheap."

In the end, they had settled on a rather cozy figure that Mr. Jackson assured her his employer would be willing to part with, and Isabella had sold her soul to the chase... and what an interesting chase this would be.

"Travis Evans," she said again, softly this time, tracing the familiar line of his jaw on one of the photographs, remembering clearly the passion with which his mouth once consumed hers, his hands like moths that desperately coveted her flame. "My, but it has been a long time since I last thought of you."

She imagined that for him, she had not been so easy to dismiss.

And because of that, she'd have to be extremely careful.

* * *

Isabella fully expected to have to do a lot of stone turning to come up with Travis' whereabouts. She was a woman of a meticulous nature, and once committed to a task, she became fully immersed in it.

She was definitely committed.

What she hadn't expected, though, was for him to find her.

"Isabella. Don't hang up."

The thought hadn't even crossed my mind, lover, she thought to herself musingly just before he went on in a rush.

"The space needle, then. Tomorrow at three. You can buy me a souvenir," she suggested with just a hint of her old accent finding its way back to her voice. Old habits died hard, especially when confronted with one's first everything.

She thought of standing him up, even though she had a job to do. Just for old time's sake. A kind of three-years-later-and-I'm-still-better-than-you ha ha, funny funny. He'd get the punchline, but not the joke. And, to be honest with herself, she liked it better this way. It was personal; at the very least, she owed him that.

No, for her Travis, a cold, impersonal slug in the head from 100 meters away simply wouldn't do.

So she committed herself to meeting him face to face again, knowing that she was even more beautiful now than she had been then, when her striking features were still soft with youth. She pulled her hair back, the glossy sable locks stylishly twisted and pinned, ravishing in a cream cashmere sweater that accentuated her flawless olive complexion and a brown suede skirt that downplayed her curvaceous hips.

She made sure to wear the diamond and sapphire teardrop earrings he gave her on her 18th birthday, although she didn't wear the simple white gold band he'd given her two years later - it had been a long time since she'd felt that slim token on her delicate hand.

She showed up right on time - she had always been punctual, even on the day she'd left him - and consented to blend in with the tourists and their cameras, feigning interest in the view and history while waiting for him to find her.

It was their history, after all.

From the very first, he'd always been able to pick her out of a crowd.

 

[halfjack]

A diamond encrusted knife to the throat sounds like a good gift. "I will consider it," though the tentative smile was in the murmured rumble of his tone, it wasn't upon his lips. "Tomorrow at three, then." He could have threw up a facade. Made it seem like he wasn't in Seattle, but she knew him. Knew that if he was able to find her number, then he most likely was already in the city.

When he hung up, he mentally prepared himself for what would surely be a very long day. But one that was well worth it.

- - -

Nestled away near one of the wide, sweeping windows, looking out over the smog dusted skyline of Seattle, he absently checked his watch for the second time in just as many minutes. Where she was punctual, he was anal about being someplace on time, and always showed up grotesquely early.

To him, three was one.

It gave him time to scope out the place, learn of the exits. Though he wasn't a skittish man, even after hiding himself away over the past few years, he was a careful and cautious one. He couldn't afford any mistakes, especially when he was being paid a generous amount for her blood.

"You came highly recommended."

"Who the fuck are you?" he had snapped quickly, ice-blue eyes sweeping over the stranger that stood in his garage. It hadn't pleased him not one iota that he was found.

"It doesn't matter," the Suit stated, his Barbie-doll smile still plastered on his lips. "What does is that you've been hired." The packet he tossed at the irate assassin fell to the ground with a sharp slap and Travis hesitantly picked it up.

"He said you'd find some...interest in this particular mark."

After curiously eyeing the stranger, he flipped open the envelope and not only pulled out a thicker one, surely filled with several large bills, but pictures that would have been taken better by a five year old and a disposable camera.

"Some good this does." His eyes dropped to the name plastered along the bottom of one glossy, and while everything seemed to grind to a sudden halt, he outwardly remained unfazed. "Isabella Rossi, hm? Sounds like a whop. So what's so special about her?"

"She's just as good as you are," the Suit stated, then smiled. "If not better. She's over-stepped a few boundaries, that is all you need to know. That, there, is only a third of your payment." Having very little else to say, he turned away from Travis, calling back over his shoulder. "You know who to call when the job's done."

The bustling of a crowd behind him didn't cause his head to turn. What did was the smoky, yet tangy scent upon the air, mingling with the sweeter wash of sandalwood. He knew that scent from anywhere. Even in a milling crowd, it caught his attention with sharpened talons. It took mere seconds for him to zero in on the Italian woman drifting all too easily with the crowd, her interest expressed on her face, yet missing from the dark set of her eyes.

She had grown much since when he first saw her. No more than fourteen, needing some kind of direction. It was an insane idea at the time, taking her in as a protege, but in the end, she made him proud.

At least that was before she decided to do the Riverdance on his heart in sharpened stilettos.

His jaw set, but smoothed over easily as he rose from the table. It was hard to rid of the hunters grace in which he walked, a smooth, prowling stride, something that didn't quite match the tall, 35-year-old man. Even his physique had changed some in the years; he lost weight while working out to maintain a sleek muscle structure. All hidden beneath his professional, smokey gray suit.

"Isa," he murmured nearby, itching to touch her elbow just as much as he wanted to slip a knife between her third and forth ribs. His hand remained at his side. "I truly didn't expect you to come."

 

[dirtybusiness]

She didn't smell him coming, and it was ridiculous even for her to think that she could recognize his particular step after all this time and in the presence of all these people.

No, it was nothing that the usual five senses could pick up that alerted her to his presence. It was the way the fine, downy hair at the nape of her neck and her arms stood on end, like tiny fingers reaching out for a body of electricity. God, she'd loved that about him when she was young and impressionable, that crackling, sizzling energy that radiated from him in a palpable aura of danger.

How stupid she'd been then. Just a lost little girl, thinking she could love a killer nearly twice her age.

She felt the heat of his body, knew her own was responding before he even whispered his intimate name for her. Although his hand never quite grazed her, she knew it was there as surely as she knew her heart was in her chest.

He might disagree with her on that one, of course, but all the same...

"Travis," she responded in greeting, wondering for a moment why he couldn't have had a more romantically inspiring name. So plain. So typically American. Still, when he had thrust inside of her, bringing her to the height of pleasure with a patience and skill one so inexperienced as she could never dream of, his name had been transformed on her lips into something dark, mysterious, captivating.

So foolish. So young.

He didn't expect her to come, though by now he should know better. He never truly expected her to leave, now, did he? She was thoughtful enough not to say it, though. Or maybe she didn't really care about his feelings; maybe she just knew how dangerous it was to push him.

"Curiosity lures the cat," she said with a deliberate twist to the saying, that same twist displaying itself on her luscious mouth. Where he failed to touch her, she succeeded, imposing her hand on the crook of his arm, non-verbally insisting that he lead her, guide her as though all of this were a dance put on for others.

She hadn't expected the casual contact to send a jolt of nostalgia flashing through her, or the longing that swelled as suddenly in her chest as the memory that stirred passionately in her loins.

In that moment, she had to remind herself that she had been hired to kill this man, and that he had ample reason to kill her.

"How did you find me?" She did not voice the other side of her question, although it was there for him to see in her intensely dark eyes; Why are you here?

 

[halfjack]

Just how much could a person change in three years? Though there hadn't been much of a physical one for him -- beyond the deliberate 'adjustments' to particular colorings -- inwardly was a different matter all together. He used to be easy to smile, to laugh, even for someone who would gladly kill for the right amount of money.

Now.. Now he found very little reason to. Jaded, perhaps. Anyone would be had they been in his shoes. Christ, he was going to marry this woman. Perhaps even retire and try to raise a family. A thought that was morbidly laughable. No one retired from this profession. Not without being put in a elaborately designed pine box.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he glanced over the roaming tourists then turned his eyes down to her. He did well to keep from letting his eyes linger on the beckoning surface of her lips, and traveled over her face briefly before meeting her gaze in return.

He might not have been giving a direct regard, though the line of his sight had captured her figure. Though the skirt was unflattering and uncomplementing, he could tell her hips had rounded out more, matured, and he had a moment of recollection at how she would shudder, gasping when he'd dip his thumbs into that sensual valley between hip and pelvis, and squeeze...

She had changed much in three years.

Working a smile to his lips, he cupped the warmth of his fingers along the back of her own when they tucked neatly along his inner elbow, and he stepped away from the main throng of people to approach an empty seat next to one of the many large windows.

"Andrea Reynolds," he stated with a shrug, glancing away from her again as he took a hold of a chair to pull it out for her. "You've used the name before." Slipping his arm away from her, he waited for her to sit before he'd press in the chair then rounded the table to reach his own.

"You've changed," he murmured before he could stop himself from doing so. Do not become distracted, Travis. This is a woman you would kill even if you weren't hired. Just as she would do the same to you. Just as she nearly had...

 

[dirtybusiness]

Arching a dark, slender brow as he pulled out a chair for her, she couldn't help but smile, conceding his point. "Ah, yes, Mr. Reynolds," she murmured coyly as he pushed her chair in, those dark eyes as lovely and about as emotionally revealing as black opals. "How could I forget?"

His words wrought an involuntary reaction from her, something that was hard to do and, for anyone else, easy to miss. But even as she mentally swore at herself for letting it happen, she knew he would not miss the simple, familiar gesture of a young woman's delicate hand lifting to brush back soft hair from her cheek. With anyone else, she would have toyed with her earring or pretended to check her hairstyle. She didn't bother with him, though, simply letting him have the victory of knowing he still had some minuscule effect on her.

"Of course I have changed," she stated calmly, as though for all the world they were simply two strangers commenting idly on the sports section, rather than former lovers and partners who ended on a rather sour note of betrayal. Her betrayal.

A woman always had to have the last word.

"You are even more handsome than I remembered," she heard herself saying as she looked him over, surprised to realize that it was true. She remembered the look on his face when she'd kissed him goodbye; a convoluted expression of shock, hurt and fury.

He did not have the glimmer of laughter that forever lurked at the corners of his eyes and mouth that she so adored, present up until the very moment of her betrayal.

"I can't imagine you are here to forgive me, or to mend what's broken. Why the sudden interest in seeing me again, Travis?"

 

[halfjack]

I was wondering the same thing. How could you forget, he thought with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Bitterness welled like a thick and sticky tar in his throat, and he discretely swallowed the acrid flavor down.

You're only making it easier for me.

He followed her movement, his eyes catching upon the earrings she wore for the third time since he stepped up to her. Ever observant, always studious. Rarely did anything go past his notice. Including the almost modest caress of a palm to hair. Ebony wisps fell against her skin, and his fingers twitched to brush them away. Instead, he laced them together, resting his hands against the top of the gaudy orange table.

Bide your time. Becoming personal too soon could make her more leery than she is now.

"You remember me as a man with a scruffy face, shorter hair and lighter eyes. I clean up nicely, mm?" One corner of his mouth rose subtly, a smile that was almost genuine, though had been shot down far too early by her almost accusing tone.

"Do not think me capable of forgiveness, bella?" he murmured the word more akin to her native tongue than a shortening of her name. "I have...been doing plenty of thinking over the past few years." He looked away from her, his eyes dropping down to his tented thumbs as they tapped in a rhythm that unconsciously matched the languid pace of his heart.

"I could hold a grudge, but where would that get me, truly?" Wetting his lower lip with a scant swipe of his tongue, he looked at her from beneath his lashes. "We used to work well together, you and I. And if rumor has it, you have grown in your skills."

 

[dirtybusiness]

She was quiet for a long time, torn between an inward debate on how best to fulfill her contract and a nagging surge of memories that the sight of him was busily churning.

Paris in the summertime, celebrating her first official pull of the trigger that resulted in the death of the ambassador; shivering bodies working together against the chill of winter in Russia before a job well done; a 'vacation' on the nude beaches of Greece, and the jokes that ensued that a Sex On the Beach was nothing more than sand in uncomfortable places.

Just as she was reaching to touch the jewels that dripped from her earlobe, she caught his eyes flickering there, and she smiled again. Would she slit his throat and kiss his mouth as his life bled from the jugular, or would she terminate him mercifully, with a quick and painless round to the head?

"I expect your forgiveness no more than I deserve it, mia cara," she said softly, lowering her hand to curve it gracefully over the other on the tabletop.

It was somewhat amusing, knowing that anyone who looked at them wouldn't think twice about seeing a man and a woman, both sitting with their hands folded on the table.

To those who made their living with the art of killing, however, such a simple gesture held remarkable significance.

"I wish rumor spoke more of your skills. What have you been doing these past three years? Surely you are still working."

 

[halfjack]

There was little doubt that either of them carried a number of weaponry upon them, even if they had to go through metal detectors, there were certain things that just couldn't, and wouldn't, trigger the alarm. The bone knife tucked neatly up his sleeve, for instance. Or perhaps even the stiletto he knew she carried with her sometimes, posing it as a Japanese hair piece when she bound those silken strands into a bun.

It was all Hollywood-ish and 007, but even the movies were close to real life.

As her hands slid to the table, layering upon each other, he rose his chin faintly from its tuck, giving her a more direct look. "Working... No. As far as I am concerned, they think me dead. Or in Calcutta, take your pick." He drew in enough of a breath to chuckle, and with it the scent that was almost over-powering.

"God, I love the way you smell..." he didn't have to see her smile to know it was there, and he shivered as her fingers brushed along the length of his spine, grazing against the angry lines her nails had left just moments prior.

"I love the way you feel..." Wet, and scauldingly snug around him, she tightened even further, just to pull a broken groan from his throat.

Viciously tugging himself out of his reverie before it inspired any more, he took up the slow tapping again, doing well to ignore the tension that had fused itself to the muscles along his shoulders, and thrummed within the low of his stomach.

"I am taking a risk coming out in public like this... I should go. I..." Again, his thumbs paused and he absently watched them as if they held the answers he was looking for. "I only wanted to see how you were doing."

 

[dirtybusiness]

So it was true. He hadn't been working since she'd left him.

I only wanted to see how you were doing...

She saw flashes of him, real and imaginary - the Before and After. She told herself a million times that he would shake it off; surely not without difficulty, but he'd get back on his feet. He was one of the best in the profession, she hardly could have sought out a better mentor if she'd known what she was getting into and went looking for it herself.

She had known that she would hurt him, but she'd never wanted to break him. And somewhere, deep in the cool chasms of her heart, she felt the first crackling sting of regret and remorse that she'd allowed herself to feel in the past two years.

This is going to be harder than I thought, she reflected inwardly as she regarded him across the table, reminded of one of his earliest lessons.

"You want to get close to your mark," he whispered from beside her as they both lay on their bellies on a dusty factory floor in Bolivia, where they were setting up for a mock target to give her practice.

"How close," she had whispered back teasingly, a hand sliding over the distance between them to suggestively squeeze his rump.

"Close enough to know everything about them; what they eat for dinner, who they fuck for dessert. But never let them close to you, Isa. For them, you shouldn't even exist."

Despite the unspeakable distance that spanned between them like a gaping canyon, there was still no one closer to her than her current mark.

And then, the meticulous, patient, compulsively ordered Isabella did something so impulsive that for a moment, she felt like she was that young woman again. The young woman that had been irrevocably his.

"Do you remember that night on the balcony at the Paris Opera House?"

She'd worn a skirt that had a slit up the back. He'd casually wrapped his arms around her from behind, and just as casually she'd reached back, freeing his erection from the confines of his pants, and they'd made love in a slow, imperceptible rhythm, the people all around them none the wiser...

"Come with me," she said after giving him enough time to think about it, standing up with a preternatural grace all her own.

 

[halfjack]

Had he not been on this job, he would be concerned about being out in the open. Just as he had been when that Suit found him months ago. A hitman just didn't disappear without repercussions, and while he hadn't gained a bullet in the back of the head, he found himself stepping very carefully around his contacts, even if he never saw the one that hired him. It was always some other party. Something he hated with a passion.

If events hadn't gone as they did, he might've told the Suit to simply fuck off and leave him alone. He had more control then. More power. Feels like I'm on a fucking leash now.

Silence had settled between them, and he let it linger and stretch until it was shattered by her soft voice, and the images that were brought with it.

Him, behind her, thrusting slowly and shallowly, deepening when he leaned to 'point something out to her'. At one point he was holding a rather civil conversation with another, speaking in fluent and flawless French, all the while she rocked back into him, clenching to try to crack his solid composure. It drove him up the wall, and more than once he damn near thrust her stomach down against the marbled railing to fuck her breathless. Had they not been among a tourist crowd, he would have.

The sudden and harsh twist of desire took him completely off guard, and from parted lips he exhaled a slow and heavy breath, his mouth going dry. He wet his lips, rubbed his tongue against the rippled flesh of his mouth's roof, and still couldn't seem to work up enough saliva to swallow.

That bitch...

She was trying to toy with him again.

Looking at her from beneath his lashes again, he lifted a brow and unlaced his fingers to rest his palms flat against the table. After a calming breath -- what little good that did -- he slid from the chair to follow her. By now the tension had spread down toward his lower back in a burning path.

It had been months, seemingly years since he last had a woman, and she had to go and throw that at him. Momentarily, he entertained the thought of slitting her throat while she laid in bed next to him; naked, tousled and aching.

 

[dirtybusiness]

For a moment, she thought he wasn't going to come with her. There was that instantaneous reaction, a look of painful nostalgia, and then a tightening of his features, starting at his eyes and swiftly settling in his jaw, that made her acutely aware of how ridiculous her offer was.

And then he stood up.

She flashed him a smile that completely transformed her austere demeanor; her teeth gleaming clean and white behind that disarming smile. Taking his hand this time, she pulled him through the crowd, knowing exactly where she was headed, having staked out the place thoroughly in shabby jeans, a Seahawks cap and a pair of non-prescription glasses the day before, when he'd called her.

But she didn't take him to the exit for a romp at his place or hers, or even a hotel.

A quick glance around at the throng of people who meandered as aimlessly as cattle around the restrooms assured her that no one was watching, and without hesitation, she took him into the men's room.

There were no feet visible beneath the stall doors, and she tugged him into a stall with her, the toilet an uncomfortable obstacle between them. It wasn't as romantic as the balcony in Paris, or the secluded little spot on that nude beach, but that didn't matter.

They'd done this in seedier places, as well.

Her hand was on his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her palm. Her eyes were locked up on his, and while the color threw her off, she still thought she could see just a tiny bit of the Travis she knew in there.

The Travis she had once loved fiercely, the Travis she was now hired to dispose of.

But it didn't have to be just yet. There were things he had to know before she completed the contract; definitely not at this moment, but she wanted a clean slate with him before she committed another, greater betrayal.

She didn't pause long to consider the irony of that, instead focusing on that powerful heart beating just inches beneath her fingertips.

"Can we forget for a moment where we've been, Travis?" Her voice was incredibly soft, the closest to contrite he had ever heard her come.

And can I forget what I'm here for?

 

[halfjack]

A tangible ache had followed the example of the tension, but instead of embedding into the tight hold of muscle, it began in his chest, nestled just beneath his sternum where it spread.

Then crystallized.

He couldn't suffer himself to think of these things, not when he had a job to do. He was stronger than this, and always kept it in mind that they might be rivals, or he might be forced to kill her. It wouldn't be the first time he had to kill someone that was close to him. Though it couldn't be said that his best friend was his lover. He was close to Joseph, but not that close.

He had to play a part, even if it meant making it seem like he still loved her.

His fingers hooked loosely in her own as he followed behind her, studying the back of her head in silence. Just where was she leading him to? It was a question that gained an answer swiftly, and while she was turned away from him, he smirked softly. The restroom, of all places.

The moment the door thunked closed, his fingers slid the latch over, keeping it from opening again, then his hand turned to rest palm flat against the cool metal behind him.

One hand at my chest, the other at her side, he mentally catalogued more out of habit than necessity, and brought his eyes to her own, studying the dark depths of them quietly. The back of his knuckles passed along her lowered arm, and he encircled the wrist in his fingers to bring it up. After a brush of lips against the skin, he set it to his chest with the other and tucked the index of his free hand beneath her chin, raising it.

"I can if you can," he murmured quietly and leaned his head down to press his lips to hers, urging them to part for a deeper kiss. Such a simple touch, and already the rhythm of his normally steady heart was beating double-time.

 

[dirtybusiness]

I could crush his trachea, she thought as she rose up to meet his kiss, her fingertips fluttering up to caress his throat. He doesn't really matter to me after all this time, does he?

She firmly settled her hand at the back of his neck, all the while keeping track of where his hands were. If she had known he was doing the same thing she was, she might have laughed.

Two of a kind, they were.

Twisting the hand that he still held loosely to his chest, she twined her fingers with his own, remembering how his fingers had always dwarfed hers, wanting to feel it again, dangerously close to drowning in the memories of him.

Immersing herself in the target.

"Touch me, Travis," she whispered urgently against the corner of his mouth, breaking the kiss for air. She moved his hand to her left breast, the capillaries constricted so that when she unlinked their hands and pressed his palm against the firm swell of cashmere covered flesh, her nipple was already hard and eager to the touch.

Her own fingertips were sinking into the hair at his nape, delighting in the difference of texture and length, using it for leverage when she thrust herself back into his mouth for a kiss that struggled in mere moments to cross the span of bitterness that had taken years to create.

It didn't have to be now, she repeated to herself as she lost herself in his mouth, hair and skin, trailing her hand up his forearm, squeezing his bicep through the smart suit he wore, sliding beneath the lapel to come closer to his heart.

For them, you shouldn't even exist.

For just one moment, she wanted him to forget that these three years apart ever had.

 

[halfjack]

Two of a kind, indeed.

Just as the thought of crushing his windpipe came to her mind, it passed through his; his fingers were temptingly close, and as strong as his grip could be, he didn't have to apply much pressure. Her voice box and the slender, fragile column could be easily collapsed under his grip, and no one would know.

But what pleasure would he gain if he did her now, and in such an impersonal place like a bathroom's stall? He wanted to be able to dig his claws into her, get under her skin, have her ache for him, then laugh when it was her heart he danced on.

Sans the stilettos, of course.

Malleable to her desire, he kept his fingers lax under her hand, his palm turning then released for it to encompass the plush curve of a breast. It wasn't enough, never was enough for him; a man none unlike any other who enjoyed the feel of skin under his hand instead of unfeeling cloth. He dropped his hand, passing it over the side of the skirt to delve beneath the hem of the cashmere, replacing the softness of the woven fur with much softer skin.

Just as I remember...

Truly, he didn't know what to expect. For a woman that made as much money as she did, living on the West Cost, or even in her home country of Italy, more might've been changed than he thought. His thumb, smoothed by years of a razor's kiss sought out the peak and circled it, enticing it to harden further.

Before he even noticed, he was moving, pressing away from the wall to reverse their positions, narrowly missing the toilet as he did so. Hunger snuck its way into the kiss, lust mingling in a potent concoction and for a moment, just a moment, he dropped his defenses, pressing into her with a deep, grinding rock of his hips.

 

[dirtybusiness]

His bare hand. That smooth pad of thumb, sans fingerprints, made her jerk compulsively, still as sensitive as ever.

She gasped into his mouth, then caught his tongue in a fierce suckle, feeling his neck relax slightly beneath her tightly clenched grip. When he ground against her, she moaned insensibly, pressing back into him, that rugged feel of his arousal fanning the flames.

It was nearly a sensory overload, but something kept nagging at the back of her mind.

What was it?

And damnit, why now?

As he reacquainted himself with the smooth curves of her breast, she let one hand drift down his chest, nimble fingers that could disassemble and reassemble numerous sniper rifles just as easily as they could handle a blade now making their way down the buttons of his suit and shirt.

"We used to work well together, you and I..."

He twirled her nipple through his fingers with intimate knowledge of her body and she moaned again, nearly melting into him. In more ways than one, lover, she thought with increasing heat, but that nagging little voice wouldn't stop.

You're not thinking, Isabella.

Why now? Why couldn't she just be for this moment?

You've got a job to do.

Despite the ache she felt for him, she knew that cynical, emotionless little voice was right. She found herself cataloguing their conversation up to this point, matching it against the reason she was marking him in the first place.

And the answer was so glaringly obviously that she very nearly gasped again, although her body still felt like a livewire beneath his expert touch.

"We used to work well together, you and I. And if rumor has it, you have grown in your skills."

"I wish rumor spoke more of your skills. What have you been doing these past three years? Surely you are still working."

He lifted his head, looking at her directly.

"Working... No. As far as I am concerned, they think me dead. Or in Calcutta, take your pick."

She remembered Mr. Jackson, in the packed little diner they'd chosen for their meeting, handing her a folder filled with photos and a patchy history on Travis.

"...My employer has reason to believe that this man has been hired by an adversary to terminate him."

How stupid could she be? She'd been so foolishly caught up in seeing him again, in letting herself remember him, that she'd neglected the premise for her hunt. She'd let herself believe him, forgotten why she was targeting him in the first place.

Touché, Travis, she thought as she broke their kiss again, this time trailing her steamy mouth down the familiar line of his jaw, nipping and suckling at his throat in the way she knew he liked. After all this time, you're still under my skin.

She wouldn't let the same mistake happen twice.

With her head back where it belonged, though, there was still this moment, and it would be all too questionable if she backed out now. So she brushed open his shirt when she finally finished unbuttoning it, sweeping her fingers over the harder, more defined contours of his chest and abdomen, seeking the slightly coarse, crisp trail of hair that started at his navel.

She smiled when she found it.

"At least this hasn't changed," she murmured against his throat before branding his flesh with a searing kiss.

 

[halfjack]

When he felt her body flinch from sensitivity, he smiled slowly against her mouth, the gesture easily fading as he continued with the kiss. How could he forget the easy way she'd moan beneath his touch, against his mouth? How easily she writhed and quivered? She was always responsive, and that always roused his lust to dizzying levels.

He wouldn't let it this time, not if he could help it. He needed to keep his wits about him, and if he could fight the urge to savagely take her in the middle of the Paris Opera House while he spoke with one of the guides with her slowly and clandestinely riding his cock, he knew he'd be able to keep up some of his barriers.

Sliding his hand free from her shirt, he rolled his shoulders back, shedding from the suit's jacket easily, and along with it, that razor-sharp bone knife he had fashioned in the sleeve. Blindly he reached over to hang it upon the stall's hook, only for him to fall short by several inches, and expensive cloth pooled on the floor without a care.

He murmured a low groan as he tipped his chin up, a chill raking up his spine as her mouth burned a path over his skin. His hands sought out her waist, smoothing down and back along the curve of her ass in a seeking touch. He had no reason to think that she would love to finish what she began, but there was always that cautious side of him that he could never get rid of. A part of him that always checked for arms and exits.

Then again...she had every reason to be just as leery as he was. Kill before being killed.

Dropping a shoulder as her fingers passed along his torso, following the trail that spanned from navel to groin, he tucked a hands under the fall of her skirt, teasing her skin with the rake of blunt nails as he pressed it up. "Mmvery little has." He licked his lips then turned them to her ear for him to whisper against the shell as his fingers slid up her inner thigh.

"I want you."

 

[dirtybusiness]

From the first moment they laid eyes on each other, she had been drawn to the dangerous vibe that seemed to thrum just beneath the surface. She'd known before then that a normal life, one with a wedding and housework and grubby little children simply wasn't in her future. And then he found her, quite by accident.

He had been the embodiment of everything she secretly pined for; freedom, lust, power and powerful risk.

He had always been a dangerous man. He had never before, though, been a danger to her; and for some reason, the knowledge that he now was only made it unbelievably more arousing for her.

She assisted his clothing with its unscheduled departure from his body; heard the muffled thunk as it fell to the floor. She grinned against his collarbone, having a good idea what that had been, and nipped playfully at the alluringly prominent bone, mingling pain and pleasure.

With his shirt and coat out of the way, her hands were free to explore, and explore they did, familiarizing herself with the newer, sharper contours of his shoulders and spine, triceps and obliques. Oh, honey, have you been working out? she thought with an inward grin, before dragging short, clean nails around to his navel again, toying with that well-known hollow, lightly scratching his ribs.

His fingers were raking up her thighs, dragging the fabric of her skirt with a hiss and a rustle, but it was the sound of his voice, and the words that ensued that nearly made her knees buckle.

She was soaking wet in a second, all because of those three little words.

"See for yourself what I think about that," she murmured throatily against his chin, urging his hand higher with her own before reaching for his belt, intentionally brushing the side of her hand against the length of his erection before 'finding' the buckle.

Perhaps it was just her imagination, or simply a matter of how long it'd been since they were last together, but he seemed even harder than she remembered.

 

[halfjack]

Though his shirt was loose, he wasn't in any rush to shrug it off like he had with the coat, not when she urged his hand higher. He didn't need any further nudges, and with a turn of his hand, he skimmed the back of his knuckles along her inner thigh, grazing them through her crux in a moistening stroke. The enveloping sensation was enough to bring a ragged groan to his throat, and a harder throb through his shaft.

Unconsciously, he pressed close to that innocent graze, greedily wanting more than that tease. Nearly vibrating with tension and a deeply set desire, he finally brought his other hand into play, impatiently snatching one of her own to press her palm flush against him. It wasn't a flesh to flesh touch, but with how much he was yearning, it didn't seem to matter.

Exhaling a shuddered breath, he dropped his head, murmuring a low groan against her ear before the lower lobe was taken into his mouth. He raked his teeth against her skin, following the line of her neck, and used that renewed lean as leverage in the too slow push of his fingers into her.

A mistake on his part, for it snapped a few more threads on his already tentative restraint.

He had always been an eager lover; hungry for more, open to new experiences, but most of all.. he was a patient and considerate one, even when it seemed like he was ready to tear her clothes off just to get to the skin beneath. Though there were times when he had his moments of selfishness.

And as each second passed, he was getting there.

"Mmfuckyes..." Keeping one hand between her thighs, languidly thrusting despite the awkward position of his wrist, he lifted the other hand, sinking it into her hair at the base of her skull.

He took up a grip there, firm and secure to pull her head back. He traced his lips over her lower, then after bathing the skin in the warm caress of his tongue, he tilted his head to urge her lips to part for another kiss.

 

[dirtybusiness]

"Oh Dio," she gasped breathlessly at that first contact of his slightly roughened knuckles to her smooth, saturated flesh. "Oh, my God..."

She responded eagerly when he pushed her hand firmly against his tented groin, and she gripped his erection as well as she could with his pants still in the way, stroking her hand slowly up to the swollen head before deftly flicking her wrist, sliding back down again in one quick, smooth movement.

She felt his moan, and made a sound low in her throat when he sucked her earlobe into his hot mouth, tugging her earring, sending hot waves of pleasure racing through her.

He was sliding his fingers inside her with painstaking slowness, and she nearly did buckle, her thighs reflexively clamping briefly on his wrist before seeming to realize that only impeded his progress. She not only relaxed them, but spread them further, opening herself even more for him.

Mia primo amore...

The words very nearly found their way to her lips, but thankfully the firm grip in her elaborately twisted hair silenced all but a lusty grunt, the soft tendrils coming free at the rough handling.

The way his lips and tongue moved over her own, possessively, searchingly, made her clench all the way down to the tight, slick walls that enveloped two of his fingers. When he finally pressed his tongue into her mouth, she accepted it with perfect yielding, moulding herself to his every movement, her fingers finally managing to unfasten his belt and pants.

That thin, silky veneer of flesh hardly seemed strong enough to contain the rage and lust that pulsed through it; the contrast was dizzying.

If his fingers weren't already inside of her, she would have stroked herself to gather moisture, slather it all over his throbbing erection. Instead, she gripped him snugly in her fist, stroking him expertly, remembering the little things he liked; the pressure of her own unnaturally smooth thumb brushing the sensitive head with each stroke, the extra squeeze at the base.

It was amazing how they responded to one another after all this time; as far apart as their hearts had grown, their bodies hadn't seemed to miss a beat.

 

[halfjack]

This hadn't been in his agenda...

Not this soon, anyway. And it couldn't be said that it wasn't a welcome thing. He had no qualms with skipping forward a couple of weeks, or months, not when her deft fingers were stroking him skillfully through his pants. Then, after a parting tug of them, flesh to flesh met and his back stiffened.

She always knew what he liked, and that's what he always loved about her. No...lusted. This is nothing but lust. Love is too good of a word for this betraying bitch.

That thought inspired a heated cascade of anger and his fingers tightened in her hair. Had she not been pressed flush against the stall's wall behind her, she would've been forced to bow backwards with the force of both his hold and kiss.

His thumb grazed across her, kneading sensitive skin in circles just as languid as the thrust of fingers before she was left empty. His hand rose and cupped along the side of her neck, still damp and warm by her own desire, and he breathed in the scent of her.

That's all it took for that fine gossamer thread of composure to snap.

Growling a low, rumbling groan against her mouth, his hips gave a sharp jerk, thrusting in that grip of hers and he pulled away completely, his fingers tightening further in her hair. Various erotic images flickered through his mind, but only one was enticing enough to act upon, and by his next ragged breath, he forced her around, jerking up the back of her skirt.

Smooth-tipped fingers gripped the supple curve of her ass, slid down then around a toned thigh to sink into her again. He pressed close with a nudge of a foot between her own, his erection nestled insistently against her, sliding downward until it could be tucked between her thighs.

There were no romantic murmurings, no lovely terms of endearments, not even the benefits of a slow thrust to match the rhythm his fingers had been taking. He sheathed himself inside of her hard, fast, and gave an extra rolling jar of his hips to bury as deeply as he could.

His breath hot against the back of her neck, he left her with the option on how she wanted to position herself while his hands took up a bruising grip upon her hips, steadying her against his needful thrusts.

 

[dirtybusiness]

The tight clench of his hand and the jerk that followed caused the rest of the pins to loosen, some even falling to the floor as her dark hair spilled over his fist in soft waves. Again, she sucked the air from his mouth in a gasp just before he sealed her lips with his own, searing and angry and passionate.

Even with her neck bent at an awkward ankle, the ministrations of his hand on her breast made her arch towards him, her hips bucking of their own accord in motion with the languid thrust of his fingers.

She groaned when he withdrew his hand; felt the dampness of her own arousal on her throat, and after dragging in the musky scent of it she couldn't help but think, If you choked me now, I might just cum to spite you.

Then he was jerking away from her, his growl sending shivers that raced from navel to thighs, and she instinctively threw her hands up against the stall, hissing pleasurably when his fingers found their niche inside of her again.

Those long, shapely legs parted at his urging and at the first feel of his erection, hard and hot against her ass, she moaned deeply, arching her spine to thrust herself out for him.

And then he was inside of her with no further warning than that, driving himself viciously into the glove-tight velvety walls of her sex. Those muscles gripped him, grasping and clenching as she rocked herself back onto him, revelling in the feel of his hands crushing her hips, his breath steaming her neck, his rage barely contained in those insistent, merciless thrusts.

She bit her arm to muffle her cries of unadulterated pleasure when the orgasm came, her entire body seeming to melt and spiral inwards to that single, spasming center of release.

 

[halfjack]

Anyone could have walked into the bathroom about now, and he wouldn't have given a flying fuck whether or not they heard them in that stall. Let them listen, just as long as they didn't call security before he came, he was all right with an audience.

He hissed in a slow, broken breath as her body clenched tighter around him, and he changed his pace, simply so he fully feel the effects of her release. It lured his own closer, and he battled against it even when wanting to succumb. This was not the type of place to have his usual hours long jaunts.

His initial hunger sated, he pried a hand from her hip and pressed his palm against the stall, keeping the bow of his body over hers. Though he had made his decision to have this passion play last, he mused, as he slid his eyes over her delicate neck, on how easy it would be to snap it, or strangle in the circle of his hands.

He let his teeth pinch the skin instead of strong fingers.

Freeing her hips completely, he tucked his hand back between her thighs, determined to keep that orgasm of hers lasting -- more for his benefit than her own.

He could feel it there, tightening the base of his stomach, thrumming along the length of his shaft, and as his hand replaced his teeth in a squeeze that was just tight enough to compromise her flow of air, it was the end of that battle.

For such a length of time -- five, ten minutes at most -- he didn't expect to cum so hard. His tension returned, though for a different reason altogether, and as he rocked into her slowly, he skimmed his lips against the skin of her neck, just along side of his fingers.

 

[dirtybusiness]

She clenched her fingers when she felt the hardness of his teeth sinking into her neck, her hips rocking back on him in quick, tight little circles.

As his every thrust drew her closer and closer to yet another merciless orgasm, she couldn't help but think, When this contract is fulfilled, I'm bronzing this bad boy.

Then he reached around her, his fingers finding the excruciatingly sensitive nub nestled between her legs, his other hand encircling her throat. There it was, threat entwined with passion, exquisite pleasure heightened with a promise of pain. It was simply too much.

She'd have to cut off those hands, too, and bronze them as well.

She threw her head back, her cheek momentarily pressed to his, the corner of her mouth just centimetres shy of his lips. She cried out, wildly pressing back into him, the wetness that enveloped him increasing threefold as she came all over again.

When those intense waves of pleasure finally subsided to a dull throb deep in her loins, she collapsed into the wall again, still having enough presence of mind to arch her back for him.

And just as she had known when her moment of climax had finally arrived, she knew that his had come; and it was like a bucket of cold water splashing down on her.

"Travis, Travis! Nonono, pull out, pull out!" she hissed, trying to twist her hips away from him even though she knew it was too late. Groaning heavily, she let her forehead rest against the stall, her hands clenched into tight fists that drew the flesh taut over her knuckles.

 

[halfjack]

Panting roughly, he ran his tongue across his lips, doing well to wipe away the smirk before it appeared. Not like it will matter in the long run. You'll be dead.

"Fuck I'm sorry. I...shit." Playing the part like a well trained actor, he pulled back, tensing briefly as sensitive and softening flesh slid from her and leaned back against the wall behind him. Tugging at his pants, he closed the front with a fisting of his fingers.

He frowned faintly, then turned his attention down to his clothing with a brief pause as he heard someone enter. Booted steps took the other occupant over to one of the urinals, and he followed the movement with his gaze, even if he couldn't see the person.

Buttoning up his shirt and tucking it back in, he affixed his belt, then leaned to scoop his suit's jacket off of the ground. Remaining quiet while they had company, he watched her, speaking only when the person did his business and left.

"I wasn't thinking. You can still get those pills, right?" One great thing about being a hitman; the medical benefits were surprisingly wonderful. More than once she had to make a trip to the clinic. At first to get the 'morning after' pill, or ones for birth control. Just why she went more often than usual during the last leg of their relationship.. he always found himself wondering, but never asked. Not that he could since she had vanished when he began noticing.

Not that he wanted to ask.

He was too busy dreaming of all the ways he could get back at her for her betrayal.