•The Subtle Seduction•
Chapter One—the Sexual Terrorist
In his eight years working for the CIA, Ryan Fletcher has learned a few things about terrorists.
The first is that they never, ever, under any circumstances bluff. If a group of Jihadists threaten to blow up one of their own hospitals because they suspect a double agent is hiding out there, then goddamn it, they will. And not only will they use 17 lbs. of C4, they'll also record it, and then upload it to the internet as a warning.
The second thing Ryan learned is that they are masters of the long con. The in-depth planning, the devotion of both time and irreplaceable resources, the discipline, the training...everything that constituted a long con came was like breathing to them.
The third thing he learned is that terrorists don't stop until they get what they want. No matter how many years have gone by, no matter the billions of dollars that's being lost in the war effort, no matter how many bloody bodies are piling up they. Just. Don't. Stop.
Michael is a sexual terrorist.
The first time this occurred to Ryan, he immediately banished the thought. Not only is it ridiculous, but it also made Michael sound like some sort of rapist, like one of those creeps on To Catch a Predator.
But part of Ryan always knew he was right about that. Not directly. Not head on. Because that's not how Michael works—that's not how this thing works. If you turn to look at it, it'll disappear, dissolving into the air before you ever really get a glance at it. But if you look out the corners of your eyes then you see it, flickering, trembling like the flame of a candle.
Ryan shudders, the feel of the other man's gaze on him making him uneasy. He shakes his head and turns away from the 90 inch monitor mounted on the conference room wall. The group-Nikita, Michael, Birkhoff, Alex and Sonya-is spread out haphazardly around the conference room, each person peering down at their tablet, which has the electronic briefing for their latest assignment.
Each person that is, except Michael. Their eyes meet briefly before Ryan shifts his gaze. "Okay. So, are we all clear?" His gaze meets each of theirs-Nikita and Sonya's chocolate brown one, Birkhoff's bright hazel one and Alex's electric blue one-as he awaits a nod of confirmation.
"Alright, then we're done here," he says, dismissing them. He turns once again and crosses the room to the table by the door. Having spent the better half of the morning in here, preparing the presentation and reviewing the tactical aspects of the operation, majority of the things from his desk had been brought down and strewn across the small surface. Binders, folders, a tablet, a legal pad, several pens, his ID and an empty coffee mug sat in a messy pile.
Behind him, he hears the sound of his team leaving; Nikita and Alex walk past him and out the door, chatting so fast most of their conversation is a blur. Birkhoff follows behind them, mumbling something along the lines of "...shut the fuck up" while scrolling through his phone. And finally Sonya passes, complimenting the presentation in her soft, accented voice. Ryan thanks her and begins the process of cleaning up.
He doesn't realize Michael is still in the room until he hears the footsteps behind him.
"Need any help cleaning up?" His voice-raspy and guttural-is a shock to the silent room; in the forty-five minutes that was the briefing, Michael hadn't said more than six words. Literally.
"Uh, no. No, I'm good." Ryan gives him a tight smile and straightens a stack of papers that's already straight.
"You okay? You seemed a little...twitchy today."
Ryan keeps his gaze focused on the table before him. "Yeah. No, I'm fine." Of course he wasn't. He had just been eye-raped for forty-five minutes in front of several colleagues. Even if they hadn't picked up on- which he's sure Nikita did-it still made for a very unpleasant time.
Ryan stacks the last of the binders on top of each other, topping off the pile with folders and the legal pad. The pens are already in a neat line and his ID is clipped to his suit jacket. The only reason Ryan turns to face the other man is because there's nothing else for him to pretend to clean.
"You sure?" Michael asks, when he finally has Ryan's full attention. He stands tall, with his arms crossed and head cocked to the side. Without meaning to, Ryan takes note of the way his dark jeans hang on his hips, and the way his fitted light gray shirt shows not just how fit the older man is, but also reveals a small strip of skin above his belt when he makes certain movements.
Crap. He was staring.
Ryan's eyes snap back up to Michael's face, but not before he's caught. Michael smirks at him, his scruffy face lit up with amusement. Ryan curses himself and turns back to the table, quickly gathering up his materials.
"Well, if you're sure..." Michael trails off, and Ryan swears he can hear a laugh in those few words.
His slight footsteps approach and Ryan holds his breath without meaning to. Michael passes by, oh so slowly and Ryan jumps at the slight pressure on his lower back. He whips his head around as the other man skims his fingers along the small of his back. The light, almost non-existent touch makes him shudder and jerk forward, out of Michael's reach.
"Night, boss." he says, with that rare grin.
Ryan stands frozen until he's sure Michael is 100%, completely gone.
"Fuck," he exhales, hanging his head. Well, there goes the denial.
He knew it was a terrible idea to come out in the workplace.
Apparently, I really don't know the meaning of hiatus.
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