Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it.
Authoress Note: These are just basically a bunch of one-shots and ideas that come to my mind. I want to at least do five chapters of these, but we'll see where this goes. I am doing this for the couple that has taken a place in my top five fav couples for this fandom, so yes these will all be about a single pairing. Please enjoy~
Closet
"Did you try wiggling the handle?"
He raised a brow at her, looking slightly insulted that she would think he wouldn't already have thought to try that, before she let out a frustrated noise and reached for the handle, trying for herself. Yep. It was still stuck. They were still stuck.
"This is ridiculous. There has to be a way out of here," she exclaimed in frustration, pushing on the door with a delicate hand as he leaned back against one of the walls. A closet. Of all the places he'd ever been trapped in, a closet was the last place he'd ever thought he'd find himself stuck in. And with his uptight "boss", of all people.
When she was still unable to unlock the door or even budge it, Ilsa Pucci let out an unladylike snarl of annoyance. She was stressed. The foundation had been getting onto her about her sudden choice of employees, again, and Connie kept calling her non-stop to talk about her concerns for her safest, again, and she still had to deal with this and payments for the boys recent shenanigans, while trying to get the preparations for an upcoming banquet done. And now here she was, trapped in a closet with her most notoriously dangerous co-worker.
"I could break the door down," he suggested. He could, but she was not up for damaging any more of the building than already was done, so she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. All she had wanted to do was remove some printing paper when the door had gone and closed on her.
She had banged for hours before Guerrero had heard her and opened the door. Then much to her horror, he stepped in to grab the paper that she had been about to forget, and the door shut behind him, trapping them both. And Chance had gone off with Winston to visit an old friend of his and Ames had left, meaning they wouldn't be back til tomorrow evening!
And to make matters worse, it was dreadfully hot and humid in the closet, it being right next to the heating system of the old building. She was already starting to sweat when Guerrero had found her, having removed her top to stand in her white camisole and her pencil stripped knee-length skirt and high heels. God her feet were killing her as well! She hated standing around in her heels all the time.
Ilsa fanned herself and looked around the decent sized closet and froze when she found Guerrero had stripped off his shirt and was standing in a wifebeater and his jeans and boots. She hadn't seen Mr. Guerrero so exposed before. Never even having seen his arms. He was always covering himself professionally with his simple but comfortable and business like attire.
He was a small but compact man. His muscles in his arms weren't like Chances. While Chances were refined and large, Guerrero's were small and compact and rippled when he moved. She was surprised to find a tattoo similar to Mr. Chances on his left shoulder in the same spot. The difference was the color and the extra designs on the dragons body.
"Did you two get those from your old job?" Ilsa found herself asking. Guerrero glanced at her and followed her eyes to his arm and nodded, but didn't say anything. She didn't figure he would. He wasn't much for talking about his private life or self. It was one of the reasons she was so curious about the man. She knew nothing about him, really. It would make her feel like a bad boss. A boss was suppose to know about their colleagues.
Sighing, Ilsa reached up and wiped the sweat trickling from her brow, before grumbling as she brought her legs up to remove her high heels, the pain in her feet almost killing her. She'd been on them all day. Slipping the shoes off she placed them with her top.
They remained silent as Guerrero crossed his arms and closed his eyes. It was possibly late now. They'd been in here for well over two hours now, and it had to be late evening now. She had no watch to really know, but she felt it was past eight or nine. And she was tired herself after a long and hectic day. And being trapped in a closet was the last grate of her nerves before she just wanted to curl up on her bed and sleep. But it seemed she'd need to find somewhere comfortable in the closet for tonight and prayed Winston or Ames would come looking for them.
Lowering herself to the floor as best she could, Ilsa crossed her legs and pressed her back against the door. It wasn't so bad on the floor. It was actually a bit cooler down here. She supposed that had to do with the crack under the door that allowed the cooler air from outside to be wafted in and the other knowledge that heat did rise.
Guerrero still stood above her and a little to her left as she tried to get as comfortable as possible while dealing with her skirt. "It would be easier if you took it off, dude," Guerrero cut in, causing Ilsa to look up, puzzled. It was hard to see his facial expression in the dark, only able to make out the outline of his face and the faint glint to his glasses.
Ilsa furrowed her brows. "Take off what, Mr. Guerrero?" she asked, as she heard him shuffle above her, jumping as she could make out that he was crouched in-front of her. "The skirt, boss. Easier to sleep without it." Ilsa felt her face warm up as she scowled and looked down, thankful for the cover of the darkness to hide her possibly beat-red face. "Mr. Guerrero I will do no such thing!" she exclaimed, not believing he would ask her to do something so indecent.
She could make out him shrugging in the dark, before he fell back against the wall behind him, left leg out, right leg tucked into an upright capital A form, his left arm resting on his kneecap as he went silent. Ilsa figured he was trying to go to sleep as well. Sighing, she pressed her back against the door again and tried to get comfy, shifting her legs around softly, turning her upper body so she was leaning against it with her upper arm. She huffed as she tried to curl her legs to her body like she always did when she went to sleep, but her skirt prevented her from doing so.
She sat with her legs stretched out for a few more minutes, before it became unbearable, and she reached to the side and unzipped her skirt, lifting her bottom up off the ground to help slide it off, blushing the whole time. In the dark, she could almost see a triumphed, wolfish, smile on Guerrero's face as she huffed. "Not a word, Mr. Guerrero."
He said nothing, though she was able to make out a faint chuckle, before she curled up against the wall and closed her eyes, wanting to sleep so she could wake up and sooner remove herself from this bloody closet. As soon as she got out she was going to call her contractor to come and fix this door so it opened both ways!
-0-
The next morning Ilsa found she was warm, but not uncomfortable. She had expected to wake up with kinks and sores in her muscles, but instead only found that she was actually really comfortable... But had a strange thumping noise against her ear?
Opening her eyes slowly, Ilsa went to bolt up at the realization that she was no longer in her corner, but was stopped by strong arms around her waist holding her in place. She blinked as a strong, but not annoying, smell of cologne touched her nose. Furrowing her brow, she tilted her head enough to catch part of Guerrero's sleeping features on his face. His glasses were off and his eyes were closed softly as he slept, breathing evenly, his heart being what was thumping in her ear, going at a steady beat.
Ilsa calmed her nerves and yawned. She was still very tired... And actually still very comfortable, even knowing she was laying on Guerrero. Biting her lip, she looked at the door as best she could and tried to listen for some indication that Chance or Winston had come to work yet. When she heard nothing but the sound of Carmine's paws across the hard floor, she lowered her head back against Guerrero's chest, her face redder than her favorite lipstick, before closing her eyes. She could spare just a few more minutes of sleep... She was rather comfortable.. And it would be rude to wake him up.
With that, Ilsa slowly drifted back to sleep, cuddling closer.
-0-
Chance chuckled to himself as he ate his breakfast and watched TV, feeding Carmine a piece of his bacon as he walked by, glancing at the closet door at the end of the hallway.
He had found them this morning when he'd woken up and went to go grab a new lightbulb from the storage closet, almost bursting with amusement and laughter at the sight of Guerrero staring at him with a raised brow and Ilsa curled up on his chest. When he'd raised a brow to incline what had happened, Guerrero just grinned and shrugged.
"She's a cuddler, dude," was all he said in a low voice as Ilsa stirred and Chance grabbed the lightbulb he'd need. When he'd asked if he wanted help waking her up, Guerrero shook his head and told him he'd take care of it. So Chance shut the door, making sure the two could open it from the inside after having put duct-tape over the latch.
As he remained comfortable on the couch, he half-way listened for Ilsa to come stomping out of the closet as soon as she was fully up and at em, scratching Carmine's head.
R & R Plz :]
