He had five minutes to download the information before the bodies he left behind would be discovered...

...if he was lucky.

Opening up the computers in the Control Room he cursed his luck as he faced the encrypted files of the Mills Mafia. They were too advanced for his level of skill and the only person who could possibly decode the files, The Librarian, had been caught by the man only known as the Dark One, so she was optimistically assumed to be dead. (When it was rumoured that he would know if you uttered his true name aloud, death was considered to be the merciful option.) It had been a mission gone wrong, just another in the series of misfortune they optimistically called an black op.

Plugging in the USB drive, he did the basics. Delete footage of his presence, loop the video feed that was being recorded to the mainframe, disengage anything that had the potential of recording him. With one eye firmly watching the live video recordings, he followed the instructions the Librarian had left if anything were to happen to her.

He looked at line upon line of code, something he had no hope of understanding. He was an assassin and a thief for goodness sake, how was he supposed to understand any of this? Simply deciding to download it all, he continued on with determining where exactly he should place the wireless keylogger, without it being noticeable.

He was so engrossed with his work that he didn't notice anything until it was too late.

He didn't notice her until it was too late.

(And he would come to realise that it was uncomfortably true in more ways than one.)


'My advice is, unless your intention is to download every virus known to mankind, you better stop what you're doing.'

He stiffened at the voice, feminine in nature, oozing seduction and sex appeal, and -for more than one reason- he felt the urge to turn around to see the woman who had caught him in the act.

She appeared from nowhere. Not a sound was made, no alert was sounded, the video feed showed no evidence of a soul, it was as though magic was responsible for her presence there. And there, in all her glory, was the devil in disguise, Regina Mills, the ultimate femme fatale if he ever had the misfortune of meeting one.

Her eyes glinted in the darkness, and he became aware of how long she spent examining the perfect model of alluring temptation, before him. (He blamed the heels that adorned her feet, they begged, pleaded with the wearer to have them on. To only have them on. And he couldn't deny that the image his mind procured was enticing.)

'If you had bothered decoding more than the first few lines of the encryption, you would have noticed that it was a series of viruses that would serve to copy all the information on your network while corrupting it in the process.' She smiled proudly, and that served to put him more on edge than anything else. 'My personal favourite is the poisoned apple algorithm.'

'Huh?' It was a grunt, escaping him before he had a chance to mask his confusion. She however, went on as though he hadn't made a sound and he found himself annoyed by that.

'You think your getting something nice and juicy, while the virus spreads through your system, poisoning everything in it, shutting it down without the user even realising. I'd assume for an organisation like yours it would be a curse you couldn't be rid of.'

She walked towards him, while he simply watched her warily, she seemed to come alone, and while that meant the odds would have been in his favour, she did know the layout of the place, she knew of his presence when he went to such lengths to hide it, she knew how to maneuver without alerting him of her's. All in all, he did not have the advantage, which meant that he would simply have to wait, to observe the woman in front of him. To find her weakness and exploit it. (Never, in all the worlds, would he have imagined it to be him.)

'Who do you work for, anyhow? I can't see the CIA getting involved with this, and the FBI are so ridiculously slow in their investigation I'm almost insulted with the caliber of agents they sent after me.' The tilt of her head should not look as sexy as it did, but he couldn't deny the appeal of danger to a soul like his. (How else could he justify a job such as this one?)

She wasn't an idiot, she did remain a good distance away from him. She could see the muscles underneath his clothing, and she was not going to risk seeing if they were as strong as she suspected.

'M'lady?'

'Ahh, British then.' She nodded thoughtfully to herself, ignoring, but not discarding his presence. 'So MI6 finally decided to make a move, I'm surprised actually. Didn't think they would bother getting around all the red-tape the American's put around.' He stood quietly, wondering why she was talking to him, what her endgame was. 'Sometimes it seems to be more for our benefit than the country's. '

'How did you get in here?' He cracked, so sue him. He had a file on Regina Mills shorter than the alphabet. If he needed to go fishing for information from the woman herself, he would bring the tackle and whatever else would be required.

'By walking.' Her voice was droll, bored and clearly expecting more from the agent in front of her. 'What? Did you think you were the only person who knew how to loop the video feed?'

'But-'

'Name.' She smiled saucily at him, and he realised that he should have left beforehand, regardless of the risks at hand, because this situation, now, was infinitely more worse than anything he could have faced.

'Agent.' He may be caught, but he would not reveal anything - especially to her.

'Well then Agent, you can just call me Your Majesty.'

'Your Majesty I was just curious as to how you hacked the feed without having access to the controls.'

'Please tell me your joking.' His unwavering stare indicated that no, he was not joking. 'I'm pretty sure I could have cracked that code in under five minutes on a flip phone. Trust me, I may have left myself a backdoor, but that is hardly considered my best work.'

'You designed this?' The disbelief and wonder slipped though his tone, nothing in the meager profile reports readied him for that information. Though he had a feeling that it would be almost impossible for anybody to be ready when meeting the fiery woman before him.

'Please give me some credit. There is more to my life than having a fantastic body.' He bit his lip at the mention of her body because, good god, that outfit seemed tailored to his every weakness.

She pulled the drive from the computer and slid in in between her cleavage, his eyes following her every movement and lingering once it was placed securely. The cheshire smile that was spread across her face alerted him to the fact he was not as subtle as he would have hoped to be, but at that point he was well passed caring. He was a trained agent, if he was so affected by lust he couldn't execute a simple mission, he didn't deserve to hold such a position.

'I'll give you five minutes to escape before the guards are alerted to your present Agent.' That snapped him out of whatever daze he was in. She was a criminal, a murderer, he would be insane to believe that she would willingly give him all that time to escape, however it would incomprehensible to not take advantage of whatever time she did give him. But first he walked to her, so unbelievably close, each and every curve on the woman's body pressing deliciously against the hard ridges of his own, and she simply watched him, her eyes dark and calculating, wondering what game he was playing.

'It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Majesty.' His voice was low, smooth, his accent more pronounced and from this position she could definitely appreciate the way his shirt clung to his muscles. She bit her lip at the thought of those muscles tense, braced around her as he held himself above her, the shirt no where in sight. 'It's a shame it'll never happen again. Not unless you're handcuffed. And locked up.' She felt as though she were on fire, her mind flooded with different ways they could both get what they wanted. But, in that instant, he had disappeared.

She didn't have the slightest chance against an accent like that, with a self assured thief who seemed to rub her in all the right ways, lighting her up with barely a word.

She would have to ensure that it did happen.


'Agent Locksley.'

He opened the door with a gun in his hand and not a single piece of clothing on his torso. Licking her lips subconsciously, eyes raking over his fine form, she couldn't determine which piece of information was more of a turn on.

'How did you find me?'

His voice was gruff, clearly being awoken from whatever sleep he was able to grasp, but nothing about his defensive posture or the fact that the gun was still pointed towards her could detract from the way she saw his eyes darken, his pupils dilate in lust. He wanted her and she was determined to let him take her in much the same way she intended to take him.

'I think the only way to describe your aliases is pathetic. But you know I'm not here to talk technology Locksley, nor am I here to talk about the mission you seem to be on.'

'My aliases have served me perfectly thus far.' She snorted, it was rather unladylike and in any other instance she may have felt shame at having such a reaction escape without her control. Instead, she found herself eager, preparing for a battle of wit, something she was sorely missing in her life.

'Hood. Your alias is Robert Hood. The fact that none of your targets had found you earlier both astounds and disgusts me.'

'Regina.' It was just her name but damn, hearing it come from his lips, with that accent and his deep, rich timbre, it did things to her. 'Regina.' It was just her name but damn, hearing it come from his lips, with that accent and his deep, rich timbre, it did things to her. 'How did you find me here?'

'I've been researching this mission of yours.' He stiffened at the mention of her researching the mission, her technological gift something he wouldn't take lightly, but if she noticed she said nothing of it. 'Seems that the British are still trying to express their superiority over us Americans. I'm surprised you were able to gather so much information about us in a short span of time.'

A small part of his sighed in relief; she may have known the details surrounding his part of the mission, but she didn't know the full extent of it's entirety. Because it wasn't just him who was working on this mission, it wasn't even his mission. It was, in actuality, the NSA's. When the Americans with all their eternal optimism, approached MI6 asking for an expert marksmen they had put forward his name without a question; after all, his shot's never missed their mark. The Australian, code-named the Librarian, had already agreed to working on the hacking aspect of the mission and, if necessary, any undercover work. Add in a couple of mercenaries, who really, were almost like wolves with their bloodthirstiness, and the rat-tag team had been formed.

And he was the weakest link.

But they were safe and that was all that mattered.

'Your sources won't be speaking to you anymore. Well, not unless you pull out an ouija board, but I think they would be too afraid to contact you from the other side. Fear is quite an effective tool.' Cute. That is all that was running through his mind when she scrunched up her nose at the mention of fear as a tool she could wield against even the dead. He should be alerting the other's about the deaths, should be reporting that his identity was now compromised, but he wasn't. He was just reflecting on how cute she looked like that.

'Well, aren't you going to invite me in?'

'No.' The astonishment was not disguised in the slightest and her smile widened at it.

'Tsk, tsk, tsk. Were you ever taught manners Agent Locksley, because I am of the persuasion that they are severely lacking.' She waltzed into his apartment, without a care in the world, and if he were honest, he found that to be some kind of amazing.

'What are you doing here Regina?' The roughness of his voice had failed to disappear and they both knew that it was no longer due to sleep. Or his lack of it. And so, when she dropped her coat and he was able to see what exactly she was wearing underneath it - or rather what she wasn't - he couldn't hide his hunger, he never attempted to.

Cute was definitely not the right word to describe this woman.

'I'm just here for a simple conversation.' She smirked at his silent response, taking in his jaw slacken expression and the fire in his eyes which simply set her soul (and libido) ablaze. She approached him slowly, reveling in the fact he seemed to be a statue, frozen in his position, vulnerable to her.

(It was those heels, those bloody heels.

Seemed his wish was granted after all.)

'Unless you want to do something else.' She was a minx, a seductress, a siren. And like any man, he couldn't resist her call, even if he knew it was leading to his downfall. 'Like what you see, Agent?' She raked her fingers down his chest, a trail of red being left in their wake. She admired her mark upon him, and although it was fading away, the brand would remain. She didn't like to share her things, and he was hers, her to do with - or do away with - whenever and wherever she pleased. (And oh, she had a feeling he would be very, very pleasing.)

'Well, I can't deny that you look absolutely stunning. At every angle and in every way.' They were so close now, the feeling of his heart beating underneath her fingertips sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. She could easily kill him, he would have no chance. But she didn't.

Not when he pulled her to him like he just did, giving into the temptation that was there. The skin-on-skin contact fanned the flames instead of relieving them, her eagerness was insatiable and she needed release.

'Yes.' It was hissed out, the warmth he emitted both exciting her and affecting her more than she would care to admit. 'Just... just don't get attached Locksley.' He could feel her against him, every heave of her chest pushing her more firmly into him. She felt more than she heard his words, the rumble from deep within his chest vibrating against her, the thrill it sent manifesting itself in the shiver that wracked her body.

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

And then, with his acknowledgement, they collided.

Clothes went flying everywhere, her skin - oh her soft, supple skin - so visible, so available for him to take, to explore, to feel. And he did do that.

He understood the rules, they went without saying. So when the name 'Daniel!' passed through her lips, he said not a word.

(But then again, she said nothing when 'Marian' was the name he cried out.)

.

..

.

They didn't make it to the bedroom until the third round.

(They didn't make it to the bed until the fifth.)

.

..

.

She brought the handcuffs with her the next night.


I have no words. None.

(Other than I don't own OUAT.)