The Other Woman

by Daria234

Nate and Sophie are in an established relationship, and Sophie has gone legit. But Nate sometimes misses the old Sophie, and all the things she had to offer. Warnings for N/S het, don't read if you don't like.

Written for comment_fic on livejournal. Prompt was N/S, she used to be the bad guy

Sophie smiled kindly at him as she took of her earrings and placed them on the nightstand.

He was used to her rituals, now. The face creams on his bathroom counter, the warm cuddling on a cold night. They were downright domestic these days.

But some nights, when they were casually discussing a job, or the team, or her acting, he would get a look in his eyes, one of those rare looks that actually revealed passion about something.

In this case, for her.

And then their cozy night would turn unpredicatable, and if they were lucky, a little wanton.

Nate never told her what he was thinking when he got that look in his eye. But he knew that Sophie was too good a grifter -- and too good an observer of Nate -- not to realize that in those brief moment, Nate was actually thinking of someone else.

What she might not have realized was that Nate's 'other woman' was actually the other Sophie.

The Sophie she used to be. The one whose very name conjured up a blur of images and sensations: danger and arousal and mystery; blade and fire and lace; dark hair and red lips and long legs in black stockings. The one who was as likely to shoot him as to ride him raw - or both, depending on her mood.
Sophie. The criminal. Who took what she wanted, didn't give a damn, and enjoyed every mi
nute of it.

It was wrong for him, he knew, to miss her so terribly. It was wrong to think of her when he was with the new Sophie, the good woman, the reformed woman who was trying so hard to be more like what she thought Nate wanted. It was wrong to think of her when his mouth ran over this good woman's breasts, teeth putting the slightest of pressure on the tips. It was wrong to think of the dangerous woman as the kind one opened up her body to him, as he closed his eyes and with half his mind tried to remember his past and with the other half tried to forget it.

But sometimes, when she grabbed his hair roughly to direct where she wanted him to go, or when words he had never even heard of would spill out of her sweet mouth like thorns covered in honey, Nate would remember that Sophie never liked being put into other people's categories. She never needed the terms 'good guys' and 'bad guys' the way Nate did.

In times like those, Nate would remember that whatever transformations she chose to undergo, there would always be only one Sophie.