Chapter 1: Already flirting?

Chapter Text

He came up around eleven, his green eyes searching around 'til he met yours. A cornered smile appeared on his hunter face. You grinned a little, stirring your drink as he walked by, stopping just against the table.

"Hey you."

"Hey."

Your own voice sounded a little low pitched. Were you already playing the game? As he sat down, you threw a look at yourself in the mirrors behind him. Not bad, you thought. You got your attention back to your drink as the waitress came to him. Beer night or whiskey? Whiskey it was. That didn't meant a lot, except he needed to relax.
"Rough day?" you asked before taking a sip.
He sighted.

"You can't even know."

"On a hunt?"

"Was, in fact. Thing is fucking dead this time, I swear."

"This time?"

He paused before he answered, getting rid of his jacket.

"As I said, you don't even know," he said as he dropped it on the back of his chair.

The waitress came back with the drink and posed it on a paper napkin, making the ice cubes shock and tint in the glass. The hunter thanked her and grabbed the glass between his fingers, then gave it a first shot. He raised his eyebrows, seeming impressed by the taste. As he swallowed, he closed his eyes, taking a second to appreciate the soothing effect.

"Well, that thing ain't shit."

"Yeah, chose the place because of their whiskey."

"Nice touch."

"Yeah, I always touch nicely."

He laughed softly.

"Already flirting?"

"Always flirting, "you corrected.

For the first time, you dared to meet his gaze over your drinks. He looked amused by you, holding his glass near his lips. An eyebrow raised, he fully smiled, showing his white teeth in the dark room.

"I was surprised when I got your call," you confessed. "It's been a life."

"I know. I'm not really the keep-in-touch kind of guy. Get complicated as hell with the job. I'm sorry, you know."

He really looked sorry. And a bit sad about it. You shrugged.

"Not really the calling-back kind either. Doesn't bother me. Still, now that you're here, I'm happy to see that you're good. Wasn't really worried, but…"

"Gotcha. It's fun to see that we are both still alive. "

"Maybe with a few more scratches."

"If you show me yours, I'll show you mine."

Saying that, the hunter stretched out his arms, then rested his elbows on the table, his glass passing again from one hand to the other. You noticed that he looked tired, maybe more than usual. You swept the comment with a wink before you took a sip: you felt yourself begin to loosen up, thanks to the alcohol.

"How is Sam?"

The brother was a friend of yours, so your inquiry was sincere. When you had texted back your bar partner to plan your meeting, you had thought about asking him to bring the little bro (even if nothing of him was little in any way, as far as you knew), but fast enough forgot that idea : this wasn't supposed to be a family-friend reunion. Still, the whiskey drinker knew you were giving a special affection to his brother, somewhat nearly maternal, even if you were about the same age. He took a long breath.

"He'll be ok. He got himself some ribs broken recently, so he'll be sitting at the bunker watching series for a time."

"Sorry for him."

"I'll tell."

"Maybe I should bring him some soup or something someday."

"Don't think that's necessary."

"Maybe I could bring him some pie too."

"For Sam? That's mean."

"I know. I'm the mean kind."

The man gaze got penetrating.

"You sure can be."

Your smirk met his.

"You're right. I would bring some for you too."

"I wasn't talking about the pie," he specified.

"Me neither. "

You finished your drink and, as you clearly needed another, the hunter raised a hand to call back the waitress. He seemed to be holding back his move, as if something was holding his arm down. Nothing of course showed on his face, but you were used to this kind of behaviour.

"Not a hundred percent yourself, huh?" you asked gently.

Your friend frowned as he finished his drink.

"Maybe I got my shoulder dislocated earlier," he admitted.

"Is it Maybe I'm ok now, or Maybe I need some more care?"

He rubbed his front head.

"I'm undecided."
The waitress came back with the drinks. She was cute, with her youngster freshness, looking a bit naïve under her freckles. Her lips were wide opened on a large smile as she was putting the glasses on the table. Was she trying to get the hunter attention, bending to show her cleavage, her tight ass molded by her tight jeans? When you caught the laughing eye of the hunter, you knew he had noticed, and that you were right. You giggled together.

"Still successful with the girls, as I see," you teased him as she was getting away.

"You're not to be outdone. The bartender keeps looking at you."

"Bill's an old friend of mine. He's just watching my back."

"If you mean your lower back, I agree. And by the way, I'm not sure he's all ok with the friendzone tag. "

You took a look over your shoulder and Bill suddenly began to rub glasses with a busy look. It was true : he was sending you some under glances. In the darkness of the place, his muscular forearms unveiled by the rolled sleeves of his white shirt, the mid-aged guy was looking good. You raised an eyebrow and turned back to the hunter, pouting your lips in sign of contentment.

"Seems like we're the sexiest couple of the place," you pointed out.

He nodded, agreeing.

"Not a bad feeling."

You knew the hunter's eyes were appreciating your upper body, you could feel it on your skin. You blushed. The few blades of dimmed light wouldn't reveal it to the hunter, but anyway, you weren't ashamed of it. In fact, you liked that he was still making you feel that way.

"And how are you?", he asked, changing the subject. "How is your job?"

"Oh, you know how it is. Patch a leg, put a Band-Aid on a face. Repel soldiers' advances." You grinned. "Sometimes."

"I am supposed to be jealous?"

"Oh yes."

"Good for you. "

He got a bit nearer you upon the table. You leaned over to get nearer too. You could still smell the soap under his really male cologne ; he must had showered just before he got here. God, he smelled so good.

"You are on permission?"

"Yep. Couple of weeks before I fly back."

"That's a long one. You're alright, Stray Cat?"

Stray Cat. You'd always thought those nicknames were so cheesy. He probably had a Cherry pie, a Bubble gum and a Honey butt in every states of the USA. At least, yours was kind of badass. And he was worried about you, so you obliged, leaning your head on the side, stirring again your drink.

"Yeah. Had to heal up from an accident implying a rooky, a trench and a gun. You kinda had to be there. "

"Were you gunshot?"

You shook your head to reassure him and a few strands of hair escaped from your loosen bun to frame your face.

"Nah. Only some bruises and a concussion. I'm ok."

The hunter reached out to grab one and let it slowly slide between his index and middle finger. His expression was so serious, all of a sudden.

"Happy to hear it," he said, something bitter in his voice.

"You don't believe me."

"No, I don't."

The strand escaped of his hand. You bit your down lip and sat back on your seat, looking down to your drink.

"I'm just tired of being so far. I miss home."

He nodded slowly. He couldn't understand, but he was good at listening. Since you weren't full of friends to talk to, it was comforting. You downed your drink, leaning your head backward to get you full of it. After you swallowed, you scratched a bit your eyebrow, a little embarrassed by the confession. That, and by the fact that the hunter fronting you wasn't able to take his eyes off you. The waitress came back, five shooters of an amber liquor on her plate.

"From Bill," she specified, posing them on the table.

"Huh. That's sweet…and unexpected," you kinda thanked the girl.

Cocky, your companion took one and raised it to salute the barman, exaggerating a happy look. Boys and toys, you thought. As it was custom, you drank your first with the waitress. You felt the burning liquid downing your throat – ooh, scotch! –and had an inside laugh about her disgusted grimace. So young. She coughed a little and posed her hand on your guest's shoulder. But not stupid.

"You're okay, Cutie?" he asked her as noticing her hand, nothing about the hotness of the drink showing on his face. You weren't impressed : the guy must had burned every taste buds in there.

"Yeah!" she answered while wiping her mouth with her wrist. "Can't shoot that stuff."

"Ah, you gotta learn to shoot your scotch before trying to shoot anything else, sweetheart."

She forced a laugh, totally understanding what he was implying, and wished you good night. Her shift was over. She hadn't turned her back yet that the hunter winked at you, taking his second shooter in his hand.

"After this one we should be going, or I won't be able to go anywhere," he warned.

"You wouldn't get drunk even I you wanted to," you scoffed.

He lifted up the shooter.

"Could want to be at my best," he said.

You smiled back and cheered, gently shocking the little glasses. You both drank, looking each other in the eyes, and shared the pleasure of that last drink, feeling the spark ignite between you two. Before he could make a move, you grabbed what left of his whiskey and downed it too.

"Hey, I was about to finish that."

You wiped your mouth with your thumb and grabbed your purse.

"Come on. We're leaving."

"Not against it, Cat, but shouldn't we pay first?"

"They'll put it on my bill."

The hunter looked over your shoulder as standing up, nearly waving at the barman, then back at you.

"On your Bill, huh?" he kidded you, stressing the syllable so you could catch his joke.

"Shut up," you simply answered as heading to the exit, not before mimicking a quiet thank you to the barman, noting his clenched jaw and his angry-reticent goodbye sign. Interesting. The hunter must be right.

Soon, you were outdoor on the chill night of spring, walking side by side, hands in your pockets but really near one from another. As you were siding the building, you realised no one had mentioned were you were going : you were kind of just following the path. It was okay with you. The night was beautiful and the idea of walking side by side with your friend was more than pleasant.

Although, as you reached the alley, the hunter suddenly turned left and sharply pulled you toward him. With a gasp, you oddly missed a step and lost your balance, kinda bumping into the man. A laugh escaped from his lips and you realised he had hung up by your waist to prevent you from falling. The alley was dark, you were alone together, his back was against the brick wall. You looked your hands on his chest, between the layers of leather jacket and flannel. For a second, you were just breathing against each other, feeling the slow burn fire building inside. Slightly touching, snuggling in the silence of the night. And then, suddenly, a little by chance, you met his eyes. And the fire quickly grew big. And hot. Without warning, as in a rush, the hunter tugged you and just seized your mouth with his.

Wait was over. Couldn't have stood it much longer anyway, you thought, before totally digging it. He was starving for you, holding you as if you were about to run. You weren't. He was hot. Physically hot. You were freezed and his body was warming yours as you pressed yourself against it. You grabbed his jacket to get him nearer, jacked yourself on your tip toes to get more. He pressed his lips against yours, archly, needy. You loved it. Finally, you were tasting it. Lips. Mouth. Tongue. Everything was whiskey and sugar, spices and salt. Everything smelled him, leather, soap, cologne. You were shaky and his scent was inebriating you even more. God, it felt good. You passed an arm behind his neck, trying to be even more on him– it was impossible. You two were almost one, his hands tight on your hips, grabbing you, roaming on your body, recalling your body – every parts of it. You were melting under his touch, under that burning hand that was slipped under your shirt, on your back, trying to find a way to caress your skin. A long chill caught your spine and he let your mouth go, only to realise you were both panting.

His eyes were gleaming. He kissed your forehead, your hair ; his mouth got really near your ear and his warm breath swept your neck.

"My car or yours?", he whispered.

Your hand went down on his chest and you gently pushed him away. His gaze was full of incomprehension as you slightly stepped back : he was unsettled by your move.

"Actually," you reassured him with a kind voice, "this time I thought we could go to my place. Wanna walk me home?"

He slightly frowned and bit his lips. You realised his hand was still holding you by the wrist, so you took another step back and he followed.

"Okay, Cat," he said.

He let you some space and walked by your side as you left the alley and headed to a residential district.