Chanel, Rouge Allure
Characters: Paul Briggs & Catherine 'Charlie' DeMarco
Rated: M for Mature Audiences only.
Synopsis—Outtake from season 3 ep. 3 'Sense Memory'. The decision to have Charlie wear red lipstick in the Ari takedown came to Briggs' mind how exactly? Chiggs.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot.
After the rendezvous in Miami, Charlie returned to Graceland, worse for wear.
It was eventful, to say the least. Her and Amber ran around like chickens without their heads cut off, chasing leads, if they could even be called that. For Amber to be Mensa level smart, when it came to remembering names, she wasn't the brightest crayon in the Crayola box. At least, she had the knack for memorizing faces. That saved them in the nick of time from getting assassinated execution style. She set up the deal, which was one step closer towards getting Geramine, an associate of Amber's that almost forced her to have a miscarriage.
Now, she grumbled irritably, ticked off with Briggs' request she also have a hand in taking down the sergeant to the Armenian Mafia down. She didn't want to, since the 10 plus hour plane ride with an annoying Amber by her side left her perturbed and wanting to rip her chestnut locks out by the chunks.
Yet, his big, puppy dog eyes pivoted to her direction. He pleaded, and she became putty—easy to mold, manipulate really.
She agreed.
All of the people in the house, including a retired agent, were involved too.
The assignments were as follows—Colby, the retired agent, would lure and stash Layla, Ari's forbidden lover in a random hotel room, Paige, the effortless sex kitten she was, would, then, assume Layla's outfit, identity, don a brunette wig and head to Nancy's to see Ari, Dale had multiple tasks: bartending, pinning evidence, phoning Layla's father with Johnny by his side, Mike would have duel roles as a gas station cashier and setting up the murder scene, while Paul remained as Ari's associate.
That was fine and dandy, but nowhere did Charlie hear her name. "Paul?" She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to reveal her job.
Leaving the group to begin the 24 hour takedown of Ari Adamian, Paul beckoned for Charlie to follow him.
She rolled her eyes, but complied.
The group, that was spread between the dining and living room, noticed the two leave. Several thoughts were sparked by their departure, but they continued with their business.
Charlie tailed Briggs to his bedroom. She situated her ass on his bed, baffled by the sudden change of scenery. Furthermore, it's been awhile, since she had stepped inside. Nothing changed, besides the fact chairs were moved out. Hence, her becoming more comfortable on his bed.
After fishing, Briggs found what he was looking for. He presented the gilded picture frame that he's long kept to her.
Charlie intercepted the item from his hands and chuckled, the tone a bit playful. Her lips twirled into a genuine smile, her first genuine smile in the presence of Briggs' in a long time. She, then, bit her lip, as she examined the frame, her fingertips skating the perimeter, but it was the picture inside that captivated her attention.
Briggs had been watching her, wondering how she felt about him having this keepsake."Remember that," he questioned. He did; that's why he never got rid of the picture in the first place.
"Yeah, I do," she answered, the photograph not allowing her eyes to rove elsewhere.
Before the aliases of Eric and Katie were born, there was Trenton and Natalya. This particular couple was a far cry from the heroin addicts Eric and Katie were. They were actually a loving husband and wife with millions of dollars attached to them. In the finest clothing and most expensive cars, they would travel to the upscale restaurants to meet with clientele that dealt with exotic animal smuggling.
Natalya fancied the fur of chinchillas, claiming it's the softest material, minus her husband's fingers, to tantalize her back.
This photo was taken at a five star restaurant, one where a photographer would go from table to table to capture an intimate moment between couples.
Before their target arrived, they were the next victims of the photographer. They declined in the kindest manner possible, since this picture could fall into the wrong hands, thus their cover had the potential to be blown. The tenacious man would not take no for an answer. He kept begging and begging.
"How can I not take a pikchure of zeez beau-ti-ful couple," he queried with his French accent. "The handsome monsieur and the gorgeous mademoiselle, it would be my honor..."
"My wife and I," Trenton began, "are meeting someone. They should be here soon. No pictures please," he finished, his eyes roaming around the busy bistro, thinking the man could pester couples, but, for some reason, he was glued to them.
"Sir, Madame, it would make my night to do zeez," he was insistent.
"Will we get a copy," Natalya posed her inquiry for the photographer. The man nodded, while her husband protested. "Babe, it's okay." She caressed her lover's hand tenderly, then squeezed.
The man clapped his hand twice. "Belle," he said, which translated into beautiful. He admired the lipstick painting her voluptuous lips. The brightness of the red hue broke through the glum ambiance set by the owner of this place. "What color iz zat?"
His shutter clicked once.
"Chanel, Rouge Allure."
His shutter clicked twice, then a third. His 35 MM SLR descended languidly. His elbows were at a perpendicular angle, the camera aligned with his chest, entranced by the couple sitting in front of him.
After they met with their target, Charlie thieved the camera. She was going to return it, after she developed the pictures that were on the film with the intention to take three of the photos. She returned the camera, along with the rest of the pictures, to the restaurant, the following day.
Not once did they smile in the three pictures he captured, nor did they face the camera, to be honest. They had nothing to worry about, but were being cautious.
"Why did you keep one of them and put it in a frame," she asked, handing the photograph back to him.
He placed the frame back where it was safe. He turned to her again. "You remember what happened that night, when we got back to the hotel room," he inquired huskily, the flashback beginning to cloud his brain.
"...Yeah, I do..."
The vino they had savored all night remained in their system.
They stumbled into his hotel suite, their incessant laughter accompanying them.
"I can't believe you took his camera."
"Well, I had to..." She found her way to the bed and plopped. She kicked her four inch heels off, glad to be rid of them. They were murder on the feet.
Perspiration accumulated on his forehead suddenly, and his mouth was parched. He escaped his single breasted jacket, placing the garment to the side. Then, he took off his shoes, followed by the brand name socks. He turned one one light and headed to the mini refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. "Are you going to return it?" He undid the cap to take a drink.
"Of course, after I get the pictures."
She fell back, though this wasn't her room, and came to the realization she couldn't move around freely. The sequins of her designer dress, coupled with the tightness proved unfavorable. She slithered off the king sized bed, her hands went to her back, but the zipper was out of reach.
"Hey, can you help me?"
While facing the wall with the tacky, acrylic painted pictures, she waited for his assistance.
He swallowed roughly at her request. "Did you need me to walk you to your room?" He changed the subject. He watched her shake her head, no. He sighed. Before thinking any harder, he placed the water bottle on top of the empty wooden table. He approached, his pace slow. He came behind her. "Are you sure?" Still a no. Starting at the nape of her neck, his hands pushed her lustrous locks to one side.
Her breath hitched, feeling his fingers grace her skin. Goosebumps began to surface with the anticipation he would take this act one step further.
Zink!
The zipper to her dress came down.
She let the clingy material fall to the floor. Bunched and depressed it was no longer needed. Her back was exposed, showing she wasn't wearing a bra, but she was wearing a black, lacy thong that rested between two, firm ass cheeks. Her head went left, her eyes mimicking to see if he was staring. He was. She smiled faintly after the fact. Her head rolled the opposite way, then went back like a sixth sense had came to life. His chiseled body, not seen but detected, adapted to hers. Her head fell into the crook of his neck.
He grunted, when her tough as nails hands that were softer tonight roamed sensually. His eyes went to the back of his sockets, as his cock became awake, bigger.
"Wait," his hands raked the ridges of his dark hair. He wasn't supposed to let his guard down or take her, not like this. He stepped back one foot. The fear was there, deathly evident in the room, and it was taunting him. "I don't want the dynamic between us to change."
He enjoyed what they had.
With confidence, her body twisted then sauntered the one pace to meet him. Her hands were at jailed at the sides of her body. The only light on was enough. While staring up into his brown eyes, her head tilting slightly. She was curious by the impromptu change of heart. Just a second ago, he warmed her with his body heat. Currently, he backed off, almost scared to touch her. He acted, as if he did, she would dissolve into pieces.
That was far from the truth.
She wanted, craved him.
Had been.
"I-we can't," he surmised.
"Who says," she disputed.
He didn't have a comeback.
"Get your balls up, man," she hissed.
"Are we gonna regret this?" He was dead serious.
Her hands massaged the backs of his forearms sensually. "Are we," she whispered.
He cupped her cheeks, giving her a fiery kiss that's been wanted, needed, sought for as long as they first laid eyes on each other. The kiss lasted for what seemed like an eternity. They were no longer on Earth, but high above, on a planet they only knew. When they parted, their pulse elevated higher, their chests, up and down, accelerated, and their lips were swelled with lust. Where she kissed him, her lipstick left traces like a blueprint to where she first attacked his lips, stopped and ended. She wiped his mouth, and he wallowed her touches deeply. She grabbed the top of his white dress shirt ripping it, the pearly buttons sent sprawling and littering the colorful floor.
He took his tank top off, not once did his eyes stray from her.
She admired his body, touching each smooth crevice of his defined chest and abs. She counted his six pack. Perfect, absolute perfection.
Succumbing to visceral desire, he grasped the back of her thighs, lifting her with ease. Her legs wrapped around the small of his back. They stared into one another's eyes intently. He pushed her body flush against his and started to nibble on her neck, paying special attention to her pulse point. Her head draped backwards, as she felt his lips handle her. He laid her on the bed.
The frigidness of the blankets that's been billowed with simulated air tickled her back. As a reaction, her back arched, her baby smooth mounds propelled forth. He saw, and it was the sexiest thing he's seen in awhile. Unlike other women, who often tried hard, she didn't need to. That added to her appeal.
He started to unbuckle his pants. First, the belt came undone, second, he exited his neutral colored pants. In just his boxers, he stared wondering if she really wanted this.
"Are you sure," he questioned again.
If she wanted an interrogation, she'd go to her mother dressed like this. He was killing the atmosphere. Instead of bitching at him, her finger hooked the band of his boxers. She nodded with no words said or needed. She pulled for him to get closer. They resumed kissing, their tongues in a heated fight. She moaned against his lips, but held the inkling he wasn't invested like her.
"Do you want to stop," she asked him earnestly.
They were about to delve into the land of erotica they had never been to.
At least, not with each other.
"Yeah," he answered.
Together, they became and laid naked.
They stared at the ceiling, more contemplation weaving in and out, around them.
They threw caution to the wind and pleased one another at the same time in the 69 position. They laid sideways, her mouth south, her pussy north, his mouth north, his penis south. They tasted each other, adding their hands into the mix. Hers fingers wrapped and fisted his cock, while tongue and mouth worked together to make his dick wet and harder. His mouth explored, while finger her. For a little, she had to stop, steady her breaths because he was consuming her mercilessly, sending her over the edge before she could do the same for him. He groaned in between her folds, not wanting her to stop.
They both never thought they'd be in this kind of position. They always thought they'd dance around each other. They reveled, allowing this to continue. Then, an epiphany struck like an impending orgasm. They needed to be connected.
"Please," she was the first to break apart. She laid on her back, welcoming him with her quivering legs open.
He climbed on top, his dick positioning at her opening. He glanced at her appreciatively. She's been by his side, when things got rough. He placed the tip in, his hips revolved just a bit. From what he saw and heard, he was prolonging their fates intertwining. This was pure torture to her, so he slid in. Her eyes became large at the move. He was larger than realized, and she was tight, her cavity small. It had been awhile for her like him. He reared back for her sake. He placed his arms at each side of her head, her hands touching his biceps, bracing herself for what was to come.
He tried again.
This time, much slower.
His dick pushed into the narrow opening, more and more. He exhaled in satisfaction when he was in. He started to move inside of her. "Oh God," escaped her lips that were close to his ear. His head came down, as he stayed in her, his mouth latched onto her right nipple, then her left. His tongue flicked, his mouth sucked, which increased the indefinite pleasure bursting within her.
The lust filled tempation that was always suppressed between the two was in full force, taking over their bodies. It was obvious this wasn't going to be their only time.
Her nails carved into his shoulder blades, leaving imprints, once his thrusting became more urgent, panicked. She captured his lips into another kiss, this one hotter than the last, though she didn't know how it as possible, nor did she care. "Fuck!" She yelled, parting from his lips. Her breathing became more coarse, her fingers bunching the blankets and sheets, his balls grazing her against her silken folds, as his cock kept disappearing inside of her.
His body came up and lifted one of her legs, curving it over his shoulder. His burly hands gripped her thigh. He took her rougher, quicker, his dick striking her hilt over and over. She reciprocated with a counter thrust.
They maneuvered as a unit on the bed that rumbled back and forth thanks to them.
"Shit, shit, shit," every curse word that unfolded from his mouth was because of her, how she felt, how she accommodated his size.
He flipped them over because he wanted her on top.
"Fuck me," he demanded.
Her hands planted on his chest for leverage, her feet dug into the bed, as she bounced savagely. She peered from this position, seeing his face etched pleasurably. She smirked. Her mannerism and movements made him do that. She felt victor. The bed creaked in response to her riding him like she did.
Each time her vaginal walls made contact with his dick, he grunted loudly. His fingers lodged onto the sides of her body. Without notice, she rocked back and forth slowly. His fingers snaked for her clit. He flicked the tiny bud, once then twice. She bucked. Her head cascaded towards the bed, as did her body. Her lean body swayed sensually above him, and he found himself getting addicted to her.
Her chest was glistening with sweat due to this imprudent exertion toppled onto his drenched chest. They started to kiss again, but the kiss wasn't as wild as before.
Once more, he found the strength, and he tossed them over, so he was back on top. He pounded her pussy with more care. "You're so beautiful." A kiss intermixed with each word. She gazed at him questioningly when he said that. He picked up the pace. Her legs came up, and he imprisoned her ankles together and fucked her crazily, venturing deeper and deeper inside of her all over again.
Her moans and groans filled the hotel room, even floating to the outside.
"Give it to me," he pleaded, ordering her to cum with him.
She was on the verge. When he hit it just right, she shuddered beneath him.
This was the pivotal moment, they both longed to have since meeting.
"The lipstick," Briggs mentioned, jarring Charlie from their past. "I need you to wear it. You're going to be with Mikey at the 'murder' scene."
Charlie was taken aback. He brought up the first time they've ever consummated their relationship, but it was only for the lipstick? He could have just told her to wear the fucking lipstick instead! Instead of taking her to a place she thought they both left. She wiped her face miserably, this tug of war she was experiencing made her shift uncomfortably. She just nodded her head.
Her tongue clicked at the room of her mouth, the following second.
"Is that it?"
"No."
"Okay, what else?"
She couldn't help but think he was going to do another cha-cha on her heart, though she did this to them. She couldn't get over the past. He lied to her for over a year. That was the ultimate deal breaker. Since finding out the truth, she's kept her distance. As of right now, they were roommates, friends if that was the correct term.
Yet, she's been keeping a secret from him. She was still pregnant; she didn't have the abortion like she thought they did.
They were one in the same it seemed.
"I'm going to jog Ari's memory, and it will eventually lead us back to the 'desert hotel'. I need you to be my lookout, be a housekeeper," he requested of her.
"Is that all?" She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling cold all of a sudden.
Briggs approached her. The trip to memory lane wasn't for nothing. He did that for a reason. He's missed her. He helped her up, opening his arms for her. She came inside, and he kissed the top of her head. "I'm glad you're safe." Though gone for two days, it felt like forever.
"Are you?" The questioned muffled because of how close she was against his chest.
"I am," he swore honestly. He pondered. "What's the name of the lipstick again?"
"Chanel, Rouge Allure."
He smiled and kissed the prettiest lips to ever talk shit to him.
The End.