It was going to take a lot to make the world forget Mr. Jones. You'd figured that much. You sighed, running a hand across the pillow, running your fingers lightly through his hair. Sleeping, he looked almost harmless. Almost. But you knew once he woke up, he' revert to being a pain in the ass as usual, running around trying to save the world. And damaging it in the process. You had no idea why the secret service even funded his missions any more; the success rates should have been pitifully low and that wasn't even mentioning the damage repayments. But, for some reason, they still did. Which, in your case anyway, had turned out to be a major misjudgement.
You weren't trying to take over the world, or destroy it, or remake it in your own image, or any of that stuff supervillains were supposed to do. Nope, you were just running a basic mafia family, making yourself money and avoiding the cops. Nothing special. Nothing suspicious.
Oh hell, who were you kidding? You're a weapons dealer. Dealing in weapons of mass destruction. No wonder they wanted you gone. I mean, you weren't doing it out of evilness, but that didn't mean they'd like you any more. You should have guess they'd move in eventually. After all, your bodyguards had already found a mole back in March; it was obvious you were being watched. But you definitely hadn't expected it to have led to this.
The man in bed next to you let out a loud snore, making you jump slightly. You blushed slightly, even though nobody had seen your slip up. You chuckled slightly, before focusing your attention back to your partner. Or was it lover now? You were never good at judging these things. His dirty blond hair was scruffled up, his cowlick now blending in with the rest of his hair. There was a slight pink haze covering his sleeping face, making his freckles less obvious. Though they were still noticeable, like somebody had decided to lightly dust his skin with cinnamon. On a whim, you leaned towards him and slid a tongue over one of the brown spots, your arms reaching around his back and pulling him closer.
It was warm, holding him so close. And so comforting, in a way you almost couldn't remember. You half closed your eyelids, glancing down the rest of his body, even lifting the bedsheet slightly to get a full look. It was a shame, what you had to do to him. But it was necessary, so very necessary. If you didn't do it, your entire empire could fall to pieces, every thing you'd worked towards in your life crumble in front of your eyes. You lent back into him, wanting to make the most of this moment. You nibbled on his collarbone lightly, eliciting a moan from the other man.
You couldn't fully remember what had happened last night, but the most potent thing you could were moans like that, begging, all self-restraint gone. You remembered other things too, of course; the way his tongue felt, darting and teasing around your entire body, the glint in his gorgeous blue eyes as he did so and the way he casually licked the small bit of escaped liquid from his cheek. You remembered the way his smirk faded and him starting to pant, begging you to carry on, to speed up, to do anything other than leave him like this, his fingers tangling in your hair. And of course, you remembered how tight he was, how warm and tight. You'd been surprised that he'd even been interested in you and not one of your female minions, let alone how far he'd let you go. Yes, it was a shame that you had to deal with him. A great shame indeed.
For a second, you thought about what would happen if you didn't kill him. About being able to return to a hotel room to find him there, to not have to say anything to get him to do what you wanted and get onto his knees, pulling down your zipper. And not just that sort of thing, but to be able to return to an apartment, or any form of permanent residence, without having to worry about a hitman trying to kill you, and to be able to just watch films together under a blanket, grabbing each other at the appropriate moments during horror films. It was a pathetic fantasy, you knew that. But you couldn't help but want it.
You pulled yourself out of the bed, shivering as the chilled air met your bare body. It shouldn't ever be this cold inside, you muttered to yourself, scanning the room for your boxers. Somehow, the only clothes that had managed to stay on the whole night were your socks, though they were half pulled off, looking like they'd trip you up if you took a single step. You hissed through clenched teeth, lifting your feet just enough so you could pull the damned things off. Given how chilly the room suddenly felt, that was probably a mistake.
Your boxers, as it turned out, had managed to be thrown across the room, landing just in front of the door. You stood up from the bed, stretching slightly as you did so, feeling the light that was shining through the curtains hit your body, warming it slightly. Only slightly, mind you; you still felt positively frozen. You bent down, grunting slightly as your back clicked, picked them up and wrestled them on. You took another look back at the still sleeping man in you bed, before sighing wistfully.
You walked back towards the bed, stopping as you reached the bedside table, sliding a hand over the smooth wood, teasing your fingers over the draw handle, pulling it slightly. You slid a hand inside, feeling the tell-tale cold tang of metal against you skin. It was heavier than you remembered, but somehow you managed to pull it out without bashing it against the wooden sides of the draw, before you finally pointed it at him, your finger lightly pulling down on the trigger, not enough to fire it, but enough to get your heart pumping.
"Jones- I am truly sorry for what I am about to do, I hope you know that."
You took one last look at that adorable face, before closing your eyes and squeezing the trigger that tiny bit more. The shot rang out and you swallowed the rising bile in your throat.
It was going to take a long time for you to forget Mr. Jones.