Warning: This content is not good for minors due to some sexual content and strong language used in this work of fiction.

Reader discretion highly advisable.

01. This is Arthur Ketch

- I -

Work and pleasure never occurred to you.

You, had a job to do. Examine the parts and pieces of the creatures brought in for study. Figure out how to eliminate such creatures for the Men of Letters and repeat. The more efficient a creature could be taken down, the better. Logical, methodical, every part of your job was to focus on the work at hand.

Of course, he had to show up.

Ketch, Arthur.

Oh the way he introduced himself like a cheesy Bond knock-off.

First time you met him, he had done so ever so casually and properly. You just happened to say your name while internally rolling your eyes at his egoism. Overtime, you watched his dalliances as per office gossip with Lady Bevell. You'd scoff about it if you weren't half as curious about the truths of the situation. Mind, you used to never really cared for that sort of thing. However for all his pomposity, you had Ketch figured out. Bad boy hidden neatly behind that stringent suit and tie. The persona you built of him inside your head was most definitely a treasured vice of yours.

Belay that. Men like Arthur Ketch were like electric eels. You could be fascinated; never get too close. So you kept your fantasies to yourself. After all, you had a job to do. Focusing in on the job was your topmost priority even if it had been years since any sort of intimacy had been had.

9:30 am; another godawful meeting.

You were the assistant to the Munitions Research department. A small, out of the way section of the British Men of Letters. You were a grunt, not someone anyone would notice really. The Directors droned on as per usual before you spoke your piece. Your presentation was the latest weapon used to disintegrate ghosts. It was that mundane sort of meeting. Honestly, you preferred swords over guns.

Why use rapid fire when skillful, intimate, hand to hand was ever so better?

After the meeting a couple hours later, a voice called out your name. It was lunch, not certainly any real time for discussion. However, when you turned to see who it was. The dashing man of your fantasies stood there looking at you intensely.

You don't exactly remember what was said other than he admired your work. Perhaps you murmured something. You don't know. Luncheon pressed forward. That was the end of that. That was the first odd and awkward meeting between you two.

The next meeting was a bit more harrowing. You were out on the town, a rare thing to do, catching up with some local jazz bands. You allowed yourself to be tipsy with wine when a very dashing man with an Irish accent tried to take you away. The man said his name was Patrick. Tall, tousled brunet locks with a dimply smile. He said he would take very good care of you. Of course, you were feeling light headed and foolish.

That's when Ketch, Arthur showed up. "I suppose you were planning on disappearing Witch and away from our young, inexperienced trouble magnet?"

That exchange drove you to sobriety fairly quickly. You stare at Arthur knowing he could have dispatched the companion at your side. As Patrick skillfully vanished by your side, you felt sick. Ketch in all his grandiosity, gently delivered you home with only a half whispered location of your address. You couldn't help allow the intoxicated feelings that had near vanished from one's veins push you to gently kiss his cheek in thanks.

You didn't notice the dark flash in that man's gaze. He wasn't one for sweetness. He broke pretty little things like you.

- II -

"South Korea?" You ask with a tinge of hysteria. "Why so far away?"

"It seems, your talents and usefulness would be best served researching the methods of the local hunters therein. Particularly that of those who hunt the gumiyo. You understand that nine-tailed foxes are a rarity here." Your superior grinned with a tilt of their silver haired head.

You nod without further complaint. Your office begins to look sparse as you take your time to packing your things. It was late evening when you finally leave the office. Half your things you've put into storage while the rest were a jumble in the leather messenger bag at your side. In fact the night shift were taking over just as you were making your way for the exit to take your normal route via the tube home.

You slump slowly towards the main doors when someone coughs behind you.

His voice overwhelmed your senses briefly. "I do not often ask my colleagues if they need a lift home. Quite unprofessional if you ask me. However, from the look on your face, perhaps a ride is what you need?"

At this point you were already overwhelmed by the fact you would be leaving the only country you've ever lived in for one that barely spoke English. You were quite willing to take his offer. Mind you had seen him drive off in that motorbike of his far too many times to count always wondering what it would be like...

Well no need to wonder now.

Quickly, you both make your way to the car park. There the glorious Triumph he was known for having gleamed beneath the steady lights overhead. He coolly explains where to sit, how to hold on to him and to move when he moved. He informed you that while the bike was in motion to keep your arms around him. He also told you that in times there could be slowing down or breaking that he needed you to hold the tank at the rear of the bike for balance. Then he efficiently wraps you in an oversized leather jacket to cover your thin blazer and stoppers your head with a large helmet.

In quick order, you leave with a roar and hum, from out of the underground compound for home.

The feel of a bike zipping through a balmy summer evening in the UK is unlike anything else you've ever experienced. Every minor bump could be felt. Through the leather you can feel the muscles of his back elongate and shift. You follow his previous instructions carefully. You enjoy the jolts and speed of the ride. Certainly different from anything you expected. You didn't want to state the obvious yet with the vibrations coming from the bike and the feel of this particular man's body. You felt a certain shocking connectivity to his person.

You do your utter best not to think about the delicious way his body moved. You shied away from thoughts from the litany of sins you'd like to commit with this man. In fact you pretend the that with every shuddering thrum of the bike that your knickers weren't being soaked with desire. You let today's earlier news melt away. Instead you focus on the moment as if you were at work.

Logical, methodical, every part of your job was to focus on the work at hand.

The work being holding on to this very charming, deliciously sinful piece of testosterone.

- III -

You didn't realize it then until much later that Ketch, Arthur – oh Arthur – had always had a plan for you. Really, it never crossed your mind until you were both consensual in the lip-locking.

You got to your home far quicker than was expected. You get off the bike then begin shrugging off the jacket. As you take off the helmet, you instinctively shudder and fluff at your hair. Beneath the all encompassing head gear, the heat had made it static and more frizzled than usual.

Ketch was already out of his helmet rather quickly. His eyes piercing as he looked you over. You notice for the first time that intense look upon his face. You feel your cheeks flush pink once more. You gingerly hand back the items he had taken out for you which he deftly takes from your hands.

"Right, well this is me. Thank you for the lift." You say this as he replaces the items you handed to him into one of the pouches of the side saddle bags you had half sat upon. You awkwardly begin the motion to walk towards your flat building. Uncertain to stay for a response.

"I heard," Ketch stated quickly. "That you are being reassigned. A shame certainly as I quite like your ideas regarding munitions. I also certainly like how you managed to incorporate a Swiss-army mentality in some of your designs. I wonder if," here he paused. You could tell speaking was something he did not entirely like doing. "It is not too presumptuous of me to request a bit more of your time?"

You feel the electricity crackle between you two. You lick your lips. You see him stare at the movement. You lick your licks again. His eyes were like obsidian lasers.

"Perhaps. I was about to make dinner. Pasta." You manage through the tempo of your racing heartbeat. You wonder momentarily, if you could get more than just a bit of his time. "Care to join me?"

It was a surreal way to spend one's last hours in the country of one's birth. Your flight for the Asian continent would be leaving in the wee hours after you collected your gear. There was not much eating – well food – to be had.

Quite after you led him into your very peacefully plain home, the energy between the pair of you had breached a certain line. Work and pleasure never really occurred to you.

Not until now, at least.

- VI -

There was something about a man with a plan or a mission.

It didn't occur to you as you lock yourself in with him, that possibly – you were subconsciously aware about what you were asking for. What you desired. There was something about the man after all.

Something dark and heady.

Something uncontrollable.

You really wanted a taste of all of that, without commitments. Young and naive as you were. You felt you could possibly handle him. Standing in his presence in your tiny flat, you realize – you had it all wrong. You would be lucky to survive his ministrations.

It turns out that Arthur Ketch was quite creative in his slow seduction. Apparently you hadn't kept your eyes away from him quite as well as you thought you had. Additionally, men like him sensed when they were being eyed by someone with lustful intentions from a distance. Part of the job. Awareness and all that. For all his pomposity, Ketch was certainly self-aware of every person in his vicinity.

He had had to for obvious reasons.

It was quite strange having this self-possessed man in your sanctuary. After all, your flat building being a modest three storied affair of brick and mortar. It was not exactly "romantic". Your home being a closet sized one bedroom affair with sparse furniture and mostly books. His very presence loomed over you as you place your jacket on the coat rack and gesture him to do so in kind. Even as you lock the door behind you.

The moment you allowed him into your apartment for dinner. You didn't realize, you were on the proverbial menu. In fact. The moment he calmly started taking off that well formed leather jacket seemingly unleashed him in a way. You notice the ripple of muscle beneath the dark shirt he bore over well form-fitted jeans.

It was quite possible you gasped, quietly. Of course you tried to calm yourself, going about your normal routine. You quickly took of your shoes before breezing by him.

"You know, I am quite aware you have had your eyes on me for a while now." He murmured, suddenly behind you. He gently placed those well formed fingers on your shoulders. Quietly asking for permission, an oddity when you consider his usual MO. Arthur didn't do permission, he often just took to your understanding.

"I do not know what you are talking about." You reply, every cell of your body arguing to lean closer to his warmth. Those hands ran down from your shoulders lightly pricking finger tips down your arms and neck.

"Hm," his voice and the heat of his breath close to that spot. The one just behind your ear. "I suppose I am reading your actions incorrectly. I remember that kiss."

You lick your lips and you both stand together in the silence. That impulsive kiss on the cheek.

"That was months ago." You whispered.

"Yes, quite. Months of watching, waiting to see if anything further would come of your actions. Yet it seems, you're quite a little mouse." He teased you with the breath of his words. The heat teasing, prickling that patch of sensitive skin. A part of you wanted him to just do what he seemed to be wanting to do.

"I," you lick your lips again. "I..."

"Lick your lips again." His voice if possible deepened and through the small space between you two, you were suddenly self-conscious of the hardness behind you. There was a rawness to this moment. You wondered briefly if it had been intentional. Maybe it was. At this point, all your internal fantasies were coming to life and it was more surreal than anything you soothed yourself with at night.

- V-

You always knew that inviting Ketch, Arthur into your home was going to end up in trouble. You also knew that he was after something. Not just your body, heavens, no. He was not that kind of man. If he was, word would have spread. He was a sociopathic narcissist after all. One who bandied words and had affairs with high-ranking Ladies.

He was a properly an improper English gentleman.

You were just an assistant. One who got the position because of who your mother was; also an assistant. Legacies did not change much from one generation to the next here. Except for perhaps Ketch whose history was rumored to be his parents abandoning him to the genteel hands of Kendricks. You had heard rumors.

Of course, you also knew that since that one presentation you had done regarding your findings on weaponry that could disintegrate ghosts; Ketch had been hounding you. Quietly, even when you thought he wasn't looking – you noticed his presence whether directly or indirectly in your life. It was subtle, quite much like the man.

Even after that incident with Patrick.

Realization hits you slowly as you stand in the hall of your tiny flat. Your heart racing in your chest. You start to wonder if it was all a dream. Arthur Ketch wanting your body?

It was too much of a stretch, the man had a type after all. Feisty. That was not you. You were a grunt, nose to the grind, invisible. Of course he could also be after your secret notes linking magic to ink so as to create a ward capable of bringing a soul back from the dead. Someone had been to your office and moved around some items. Luckily you wer able to spot exactly what they had been looking for, no matter how good they had been. You had a photographic memory, thank you very much.

No he had said, he'd been watching you for months.

Ketch was not a patient man. He was deadly in his abilities to track, hunt and discharge a target with nary a moment's notice. He did, only a few times, as the Americans would put it: "stake out" certain areas before completely annhilating every werewolf, vampire or creature in that vicinity. He had even gone to the Black Forest in Germany and decimated a colony of ghouls. By himself.

The man was a machine. He could not possibly want to have any sort of sexual relations to an assistant like yourself!

It had been a tiny kiss, a peck really, on his cheek. Nothing further could have been gotten from that. Indeed you had done your utmost to even stay hidden from that intense gaze. You ensured you were never alone with him even when you wanted to be. You had been certain he'd never catch you staring. That was an idiotic presumption. Even when you had looked his way and wondered what was beneath the tightly laced suit...

You lick your lips again.

Suddenly you are pulled back. Calloused finger tips clutch your wrists in a firm yet gentle grip. Soft lips touch the sensitive bit of flesh just beneath and behind your earlobe. You moan. Immediately you react by wanting to turn around and kiss the man.

He reacted by pulling you closer to his heat. You can feel stiff jeans dig into the thin material of your trousers and blazer. You feel his fingers wrap themselves into your hands. You are pulled so that your arms are crossed around your body as he buries himself into the crevices of your neck.

Soft kisses, gentle nips. This was the Ketch you were used to. One who knew he had finished playing games with his prey and was going in for the kill. The one who was always in control of the situation. You groan, "Ketch, what are you -"

He somehow manages to lock your arms and hands in place with one hand. The one he frees reaches your chin and your words are muffled by his mouth. In that moment you are floating. This was beyond any fantasy you ever had.

You revel in his taste. Yes, you had wanted this. You had in some respect planned for him to one day enter your home. How he would do so, you did not know. Perhaps it was the – oh the thoughts in your head still as a heady moan escapes your mouth.

The hand he used to draw your mouth to his joined the other in keeping your arms locked across your person while they had easy access to the topmost button of your trousers.

One hand had managed to make its way past the lacy barrier of your undergarments. Roughened fingers were playing around the lips of your most intimate spot. You wriggle in his embrace. He responded by pulling you flush against his hardness.

You feel shivers and that damned electricity again.

You feel him maneuver and manipulate your bodies. You keep your eyes firmly shut as your ecstacy escalates. You try to move your locked arms so that you can pull this very controlled man's fingers closer to your honey pot. He chortles only to grasp one of your hands. You open your eyes with a whimper as his ministrations down south are paused as he spins you around to face him.

He clutches you to his person, you look up, mind wiped with desire.

"I want you," He says darkly. "I want you tonight before you leave for you flight. The whole night, no strings, no entanglements, no thoughts in that brilliantly Professorish mind of yours questioning my intentions. The only thing I want is to fuck you."

You feel yourself gulp.

"I thought you were here for supper?"

He gives you a slow, sly grin. "I'm already having it."

With that, no further words were exchanged. Let's just say, you had the best possible night of your life. Orgasm after orgasm until post-coitus bliss before you both fall asleep. A heady, wondrous slumber overtakes you both. You know he is not one to cuddle. Yet as he rubs your shoulder with a callous hand, you feel oddly safe with him.

Morning happens. You are comfortably warm. You think what you've experienced is a dream. Yet, there he is slumbering beside you. You wonder at him slowly. Your flight would be soon. You had been going at it since you arrived into your flat. Without delay, you leave him in your bed. Your body sore, you are thoroughly fucked.

Steady in your intentions you leave him the number to your hidden safe. He's a smart man, he'll figure it out. You knew that that was his main goal from the start. The sex, the glorious fucking you had that you would never describe to another soul for as long as you lived was just a bonus. You lick your lips and sigh.

You begin moving about your flat, packing for a long trip abroad. He is awake, watching you from the bed. His face serious and clouded over.

You do not let him get to you, you are focused on your task. He doesn't speak, just watches and any further movements on your end pause when he decides words aren't necessary. He gives you a loving you never thought a man like him could give. As if it was a thank you, a painful good-bye and all the thoughts he would never allow himself to speak.

This was Arthur. Arthur Ketch.

Notes: I have no excuses for this one-shot. I was trying a different style out and somehow landed myself with this. Also, some online friends erm...ketched me on to this character.