Disclaimer: I own none of the copyrighted characters or situations held by NCIS:LA, which was created by Shane Brennan and other artists, or any other source or entity, nor I make any money on this. Original characters are my own. Rated T for Sexual Situations and Violence. Please Review, but no Spoilers!
The Hand of Prometheus
by JMK758
Chapter One
Sting
Nell Jones, elegantly perched on the bar stool in aid of the blood red gown presenting her to her best advantage, allows herself a slight leftward slouch against the polished mahogany, presenting a sultry aspect perfect to the surroundings. This more opulent of two bars outside the dining hall somewhat exceeds a five star rating, appropriate to an Officers' Club room where one is hard pressed to find anyone below the rank of Navy Captain or at least a Major of the various Services. Of course the other commissioned ranks have their room and the dining hall is eclectic, but this room caters to the ultra elite. There is not a uniform that doesn't gleam, a gown that doesn't shine in the light of three chandeliers. The variety will be broader in the larger dining room where elbows are rubbed more intently than in most palaces.
The sun is approaching the horizon, announcing the end of the day, but this evening is bright because she's determined it will be her last one.
\\Here he comes,\\ Eric Beale's voice sounds in her ear under her eloquently coiffed auburn hair.
"Mmm hmm," she hums. Of course her target is coming through the far door, unnecessarily directed by the Maître d'. If not she wouldn't have her gleaming ring with its dozen diamonds and one micro camera in her slouched hand pointed toward that doorway.
x
Captain Thomas Duchane stops before her and offers his hand. "You look lovely tonight, my dear."
She restrains herself, as she takes his hand to come off the stool, from quipping 'just tonight?' There's no room in her adopted persona for a smart ass. "Thank you."
The scarlet slippers, with their six inch heels, oblige her to stand balanced upon her toes, and if kept on for too long would really make her feet hurt, but looking into his eyes she's sure he won't make her wear them, or the backless gown that dips to her curvy butt and teases her legs, for very long.
The diamonds at her throat gleam and glimmer in tiny spots along the front of his white dress uniform jacket. The gold braid and medals there compete with her jewels but she's confident of coming away the winner.
She lets him look. He is, after all, paying for this and the gown has given him much of his money's worth as he'd approached. Between the long slit nearly to her right hip baring her legs from red six inch stiletto heels trimmed in tiny jewels to the top of that breathtaking slit, from her generously wide décolletage from thin shoulder straps of the sleeveless, backless gown to a point a half inch above her navel, his eyes are going exactly where the gown was designed to make them go.
With a wide open back to the gown and not much of a front, it hangs from her shoulders in sleek silken lines, yet with one sneeze this would no longer be an undercover assignment.
Hair: one hundred dollars. Jeweled high heeled shoes that lift her close enough to kiss: six hundred. Gown that slinks along her body: nineteen hundred; his money. Jewels that glitter upon her chest: do not ask but he paid for them too. The look in Duchane's eyes as he looks over his investment on their third date: priceless.
/You've got him,/ Beale's voice says into her ear. /Don't lose him./
She reaches her fingertips under her ear, a disguised adjustment of a strand turning the distraction off. Three encounters, no way is she letting him slip off her hook this evening.
Eric would fancy himself her Handler. The truth is she doesn't need handling, only the perp and a clear playing field.
x
"Would you like to eat now?"
She must still look up, six inches only brings her up so far, but she can read his eyes so well. They're focused nowhere near her raised face but to where the motion of getting off the stool has allowed her right nipple to peek out from the scarlet gown, the pink nub returning his attention.
She doesn't 'notice' his attention; it's the pressure of the gown's edge on her sensitive nub that confirms her success in the long practiced move.
"Actually, I'm not very hungry yet. I was hoping we might dance?"
"Of course."
As they turn toward the door she notices her spying nipple and quickly puts it back under cover and avoids looking into his eyes for the rest of the trek to the door. There's a fine, careful line between ingénue and slut and she's an ingénue.
Of course, he's already seen, before she left the stool, that other than the diamonds the dress is all she wears, and he's so clearly plotting to get her out of it.
Again.
So what else is new?
This evening ends this. Undercover Op over. This evening she gets the final answer.
x
The dancing is nice, he's discrete with his hands, one in hers and the other on her bare back to guide her. He hasn't slipped for a moment, no fast pet down her bare back too low to double check her lack of anything protecting her. But nice as the dancing is, it's just a warm-up - again - and she's done. Over. Finito. If she's going to get to where they can talk about the jewels - the Aztec ones, not the ones around her throat - they need more privacy.
Thus, while he's discrete, she very gradually closes the space between them. She keeps the touch of her body feather light but he's so well aware of the signals she's giving him.
Over a particularly slow dance she looks up those last inches, keeps her lips soft and gentle, the kiss warm and unsuggestive except for the way her lips so slowly, so gradually part.
When he comes away she keeps her lips parted, closes her eyes in time so he sees her face tilted up, eyes closed in dreamy need, her parted lips yearning for the return of his kiss.
He doesn't make her wait.
x
It's a careful balance, this showing she's willing if he wants her without asking him to take her away from here and have his way with her, and she accomplishes it with her so lingering kiss, with the way the tip of her tongue touches his lip almost without her will, with the so feathery touch of her breasts to his jacket.
She doesn't count the number of songs any more than notice how his lips and the movement of her breasts against his chest harden her nipples until she's sure he must feel them through jacket, shirt and all.
The moisture and heat building between her carefully shaved labia are an added bonus.
x
Ultimately - after how long? - he pulls back from the kiss but she keeps her eyes closed, head tilted back, lips yearning for his return. "Would you like to go upstairs?"
She holds her answer to a long, yearning sigh that lowers her breasts onto his chest.
xx
The elevator affords them privacy to do far more than upon the dance floor but a Captain is a take charge personality so Nell gives him that control, kisses him as he frees her breasts, right hand exploring every inch of her firm flesh, left hand through that slit to invade her labia, moans and groans and quickening sighs her symphony of surrender. His pinch of her left nipple is too sharp and distracts her but she makes herself smile against his mouth.
The doors open, she has no chance to fix her gown as he scoops her up and carries her down the vacant hall, breasts exposed by the widely spread gown, legs bare to her crotch by the fallen away slitted gown. She feels his hard chest under her hands, thinks of his harder part and must admit to herself, in the tingling and building moisture in her other lips as he carries her toward her fate, that she's crossed the line from ingénue to stripped and conquered slut.
x
He must put her down upon the red stilettos to open the door, and the moment allows her to restore her breasts behind the drape, but as he gets her inside and locks the portal she backs from his reach.
"Stand down, sailor," she whispers, admitting at the sight of him that he will not be down for some time to come. She must get the ingénue back again. She prefers ingénue.
She backs away, halts past the foot of the bed, backed by the closed white curtain. The sun has already set beyond it but she considers it a good backdrop for the red dress. She must be patient. She knows she's not going to get anything about jewels stolen from the temple of Huitzilopochtli until she takes that thing down.
But it's not going to be very long. Callen and Hanna are waiting at Duchane's home for her signal and this Op has gone on too long already.
The scarlet high heeled slippers hold her aloft, on display, hold her up in offer to him.
Very slowly, feeling her body tingle in every charged nerve and fighting to go slowly, to control the moment, Nell raises her hands to the shoulder straps, lifts them off and lowers her arms for a slow unveiling, lowers her hands to her hips. She can feel his eyes stroke her, sear her flesh and then she lets go and the scarlet gown puddles about her raised feet.
He advances on her and she receives him willingly into her arms, the kiss far more scorching than it had been downstairs.
The kiss is very pleasant, she likes fire, and she reaches down, brings her right foot up behind her and takes hold of the long heel, pulls the shoe from her foot and lets it drop to the carpet. Bare foot on the shag carpet, left leg bent now, she's parted quite enough for him to take full advantage, his fingers petting her soft lower lips as his tongue invades her upper ones. She duels her tongue with his, in no hurry to remove the final shoe, not while he's doing such a splendid job.
His fingers thrum her clitoris and undo her. Her rapid gasps fill his mouth as she tries to keep from giving way while still on her feet.
She enjoys the attention - he really is good even with mouth and hands - but he's still dressed and she's supposed to be working.
Reaching back and down, she raises her left shoe up into her hand, slips it off but lets it dangle by the rear from her finger and brings it up behind his back as she kisses him with even more fervor.
Under the guise of her kisses, rubbing herself into his questing hand, Nell tugs the heel, pulls off the long red sheath and lets it drop to the floor.
She raises and turns the shoe bottom below the back of his neck and grips it in both hands.
x
"Tell me… ungh!... something?"
"Anything," he promises into her burning mouth.
"The… uhh… jewels… ohhhhhh… are in your… ohhhhhh ahhhhhh… home… the Aztec jewels… mmmm… ar… en't they?"
Surprise pulls him back and in that instant his eyes tell her everything. Guilty. His home. Hidden and secured but revealed now.
She pulls hard.
The adamantium blade stabs deep. He was bent to her and it slips between his 4th and 5th cervical vertebrae. A hard twist severs his spinal cord. She pulls the shoe heel out as he drops to his knees and falls out upon his back. His eyes, his expression, scream his doom.
Paralyzed from neck down, lungs stopped, heart stopped, he cannot even close his eyes as death claims him.
x
Nell retrieves the scarlet sheath, rubs the blade upon his trouser leg but it must be washed before it's restored.
She steps into and pulls the slinky gown back up her body and resettles it upon her shoulders. Barefoot, she stands above the target. "The penalty for thieves."
Smiling with the satisfaction of another job well done, she closes her right hand, presses her knuckles to her left breast and brings her fist forward, level with the floor, with mocking slowness, a final salute to Captain Cadaver.
"Long Live the Empire."
x/x/x/x/x
If you are not familiar with this series, inspired by Star Trek's Terran Empire, the first two stories are 'INCIS' and 'Shepherd of the Lost'.
And if the Empire suits you, you'll want to read 'Face in the Dark Mirror' and 'Empress Sato', my prequel and sequel to 'In a Mirror, Darkly'.