Panic! At The Disco - Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time
He considered saying something witty in response, but then his tongue was occupied, and she was the talkative one, after all. So instead he set his coffee aside and pulled her over into his lap to gain better access, kissing her back eagerly.
She slid sideways into his lap with practiced ease, the demure way to do it, the proper way - the teasing way, the kind where he'd have to work a little. She didn't make things easy on anybody, not even the people she truly wanted to fuck, and her kisses were still mostly chaste. The hand traveling down his chest, headed for his belt, however, was not.
He slid hands over her hips, fine if she wanted to take it slow, but making it clear that he was going to be just as difficult in return. He trailed his fingers slowly up her spine, tactile by nature.
She slid a hand into his hair, the other undoing his belt. She kissed him a little harder, a little more needily. She loved a man in uniform.
He smiled, one hand on her hip gripping tighter, pulling her against him, his tongue reaching out to brush against her lips inquisitively.
She dropped his belt off the side of the couch a moment later, and then her hand was sliding into his trousers, the tiniest smirk on her face, palm pressing against his growing erection. "Tell me what you do to the girls by the Thames," she murmured, shifting a little to kiss down his jaw. "I want to hear it."
There was something wonderful about her request. To be able to share his work with someone... he certainly didn't need it, but the idea was incredibly appealing. He found the top button of her red dress, tilting his head back as her lips explored his jawline. "I pick them up at clubs," he says softly. "A smile and a drink or two is usually all it takes. The uniform helps. They never even think, most of them..." He undid her first button, and then the next, his fingers tracing soft skin, feeling the ridge of a scar but not pausing in his exploration, just noting it for later.
"I take them for a walk, we find a quiet alleyway or bridge or... anywhere, really... and sometimes I fuck them. Sometimes they're eager, sometimes they try to run, it doesn't matter..."
She shivered, the combination of his quiet words and soft touch combining into a heady mixture. "How long do you wait before you kill them?" She murmured, stroking him slowly, nipping the very corner of his jaw gently.
"It depends in how much time I have..." he whispers, turning his head to bite her ear gently. "Sometimes it has to be quick, but even then it can be fun... I like to just barely nick their artery... hold their gaze while they go..." he murmured, his hands spreading across her shoulders.
She shivered again, electricity shooting down her spine, her fingers tightening in his hair. "Picturing you there, in an alley, over some bleeding girl. That does something to me," she chuckled quietly.
"Mmm... I should tell you about when I have time ," he murmured softly in her ear, finishing unbuttoning the back of her dress, hands sliding down her spine.
She arched under his touch, shifting her legs to face him more fully, her hand slipping down to the base of his neck. "And what do I have to do to hear that?"
"Mmm... I think you should tell me something about your time in America..." he murmured, shifting his hands to pull her dress forward off of her shoulders. "About that information gathering you used to do..."
She slipped her freer hand out of her dress, then busied it pushing off his jacket, pulled back enough now to look him in the eyes, her own dark. "I used to brush up against my target, as if I needed to get by, in order to gauge a reaction. Usually ended with a hand job in the back alley while my other hand pickpocketed him."
"Oh, come on," he said with a flash of teeth, raising an eyebrow as her dress pooled around her waist and his fingers traced the top of her brassier. "You mentioned messy... I'm sure you had more interesting encounters than the usual ..."
"Messy involved my boss-slash-lover," she chuckled, sliding off his lap to stand, her dress slipping off in the process. She held a hand out to him. " Messy involved him fucking me in a pool of someone else's blood."
He took her hand, standing, going from a head shorter to more than a head taller in a single motion. The images her words brought to mind did something deep in his gut, and he swallowed, imagining her dripping in scarlet, viscous liquid, the metallic taste on his lips when he kissed her, watching it drip along her throat...
" Fuck ..." he whispered, chuckling a bit nervously before gathering himself and glancing away for just a moment to pull himself together. When he looked back to her he was still warm and eager, but something deeper was back under control with steel bands. "Sounds like a hell of a thing," he murmured, leaning forward to trace his lips and teeth along her jugular.
"It was," she smirked, unbuttoning his shirt halfway and then grabbing ahold of it and stepping back, leading him toward the bedroom. She'd seen the change in his eyes when she'd mentioned the blood, had seen the longing and hunger appear before he'd pushed it down. "Come now, I think I've been wearing these suspenders long enough. Help me take them off."
He flashed a lopsided smile, following after her without struggle. "I think I can help with that. Always thought those bodices looked pretty uncomfortable as well."
"They are," she confirmed, turning with one hand still in his shirt so she wouldn't walk into any walls. Her room was a bit of a contrast to the rest of her apartment. It was still beautifully decorated and expensive, but it was notably smaller, more lived-in than the rest of the flat. It wasn't impeccably clean - it was the right amount of cozy. The bed was the only piece of major furniture in the room besides from the large armoire and the small nightstand, and the headboard was ornately carved. "You going to help relieve me?"
He grinned, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her to find the lacing on the front of her bodice and starting to loosen it, one hand pulling the lines, the other sliding down the front of her bodice gently, fingers exploring.
She leaned back into him, lifting a hand behind her to slide into his hair, arching just a little so her ass pressed into his hips. "You are wearing far too many clothes..."
He laughed softly, pressing his hips forward against her arse. "Well, maybe you should do something about that," he challenged, loosening the laces enough that he could unhook the bodice, letting it fall to the floor and turning his attention to her breasts.
She turned in his arms to face him, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, her hands running down his chest to hook in his belt. "We're a pushy couple of people."
"I could see that making for some interesting results," he chuckled, shrugging out of his shirt and then running his fingers down over her chest.
"What are you going to do with your gun?" She raised an eyebrow, tapping the leather strap that crossed his shoulder. Her eyes, however, were on his bare chest. He was incredibly attractive, and it kept getting better.
He pulled it off without hesitation, removing the gun and unloading the bullets in the space of a few seconds, hands never hesitating. He returned the gun to the holster and set it on the night stand, before taking the bullets and putting them in a small case from his pocket. It closed and locked with a combination. "Gotten used to that question," he explained with a smirk, setting the locked case aside too.
"Really, even while fucking girls in dark alleys?" She chuckled, pushing his trousers down.
"Sometimes if I had time, I'd get a room," he smirked, stepping out of his trousers. "And we'd go there."
She grasped his wrist and pulled him close enough to kiss again, while backing up towards the bed, in only her pants and nylons.
He reached down as they moved, grasping her hip again as the back of her knees hit the bed. He considered the nylons, then chuckled, motioning for her to take them off. "I always rip them."
She laughed, efficiently undoing her suspenders and carefully unrolled her stockings, moving up the bed to place them on the nightstand. "I appreciate the concern for my apparel. God knows it's hard to get those these days."
He smirked. "Nylons are sacred. Anything else I'm a bit less careful." He waited until she'd set them aside to lean forward again, his tongue finding hers and effectively stalling conversation.
She cupped his jaw in her hand, using it to pull him closer, down over her, her hips already searching for his.
He met her search willingly, grinding against her eagerly, a small moan escaping as his hands traced her frame. It was different, being with someone who knew him to be dangerous, who was attracted to that . To be himself rather than bait.
She could still feel the thrill in her spine, the tinge of fear, of being hunted, of the tension of a predator meeting another in a dark forest. She bit his lip, provoking him, egging him on. Get rough.
He took a sharp breath as her tooth cut into his lip, and then grinned, biting back before leaving her mouth and reaching a hand up to grab at her throat, pushing her head off to the side and biting the joint of her neck and shoulder.
She groaned, nails digging into his back, her own arching up off the soft sheets. Jim would be something close to livid tomorrow if it left a mark, but at the moment she couldn't bring herself to care. It felt good, being with someone who didn't treat her like a china doll, who grasped her sides hard and her neck harder. She hooked a finger into the waistband of his pants, urging him to take them off.
He shifted his hips up and rolled them slightly against her grip to get the pants down, reluctant to release his grip on her neck as his tongue lathed hungrily over her collarbone, exploring.
Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest now as she finally got the blasted things gone, her own still on, but she still arched back up into him again regardless, desperate for friction. The record player was still playing in the next room, the dim strings of the music reaching into the bedroom, adding to the mood.
He continued his exploration downward, mouth and teeth and tongue scraping heat into her skin. He ran his tongue through the grooves her brassier had left in her skin, dragged his teeth over her ribs, his thumb pressing just slightly against her jugular, just for a moment, as she shifted under his grip. His free hand dropped to find the waistband of her knickers where he could feel them shifting against his skin, and pushed them down out of the way, eager to feel her hot against him.
She kicked her pants the rest of the way off, her fingers sliding into his hair again, nails scraping across his scalp. The last time she'd really enjoyed a man being on top of her, well... She had a habit of sleeping with her employers.
He finally dropped his hand from her throat, shifting it down to get a handful of her arse, pulling her hips against his more firmly, grinding into her with needy precision. His teeth returned to her throat, and he growled against her jugular, before he pulled back to look at her, eyes black and a touch wild.
Her own eyes were dark and hungry, meeting his for a second before she pulled him back in by the hand at the back of his neck, teeth clashing against his for a second before she could control her enthusiasm, a quiet moan leaving her throat as he ground against her again. "Fuck me, please," she gasped, pulling away again, desperate for something more.
He had absolutely no interest in arguing, the hand on her arse changing to grab his cock and guide it to her entrance. He paused, his breath catching low in his chest as he forced himself to still for just a moment. "Got a condom?" he asked, shoulders tense, body pressed against hers on almost every plane.
"Yeah, yeah, nightstand," she breathed, her fingers tight on his skin, a leg hooked around his waist. " Hurry."
He snorted, pushing himself just enough to tear her drawer open and dig around for the package. He tore it open with his teeth and rolled off to the side just to enough to get the thing in place.
She knocked his hand aside to line him up, her forehead pressed against his, her eyes on his, dark, wild, urging him on.
He held her gaze as he pushed into her, saw her pupils shrink just slightly and then blow out wide as his cock sank with satisfying snugness into her heat. He bit into his lip as he pulled back just a little, adjusting his angle before pushing in again, feeling her muscles tense and roll to accommodate him.
"Oh, fuck," she groaned, arching beneath him, her fingers clenching hard on his biceps, her eyes soaking in his. Men had this look a lot; the look that they had when thought they were in control of her pleasure. Of her herself. He was one of three people whose look was justified.
He took a short breath, letting out a bit of a laugh that melted into a groan as she pressed up into him, the pain of her fingers in his arms driving him forward and sending adrenaline coursing through him. He shifted just enough so that he could move his hips with a sort of regular rhythm, and pulled almost all the way out of her this time before he entered her again, and again, setting up a rhythm that was just on the border of being too slow, not enough, wanting to push her, wanting to see what she'd do when he held out.
"Moran," she growled, her lips brushing against his throat, before her teeth did, a very obvious threat. She was desperate for it, starving for it. And if he didn't give her what she wanted she'd leave him with scars.
The slight pain was an aphrodisiac like little else. No woman, or man, ever bit him back, ever threatened, ever exerted power in a situation like this. Not with him. No one had the guts. He elected not to push it any further, not yet, just accepted the warning as it was and acted on it. He shifted his knees upwards until he could put more power behind his hips, and thrust into her with new speed and energy, swearing under his breath as she twisted her hips against his.
She let out a pleased groan, nails dragging down his back, fire racing up her spine. " Don't stop."
"Wasn't... going t-to," he panted, arching his back into her nails, his breath coming short and tight as he felt warmth spreading along his spine and down his tailbone.
She kissed and bit a line down his shoulder, the only thing she could continue to do with the lack of coordination that she was beginning to feel. He was driving her physically insane, was making her feel like she'd never have a better fuck than him, like she'd barely make it through this one without bursting into heated flames.
He pushed her thigh up his hip, feeling her tighten around him in response as his teeth found her neck again. He bit down, hard, and suddenly there was the rush of metal across his tongue that he knew so well, that dogged his dreams... His whole body seemed to harden in response, muscles bunching and then releasing with new energy, like coiled springs. The blood drizzled over his tongue as he dragged it against her skin, and his whole being was alight, focused, in tune for that single moment.
He snarled against her, his hands grappling her shoulders and hauling her beneath him a bit further, tilting her hips up and giving him a new angle as he fucked her with everything he had.
She cried out at the new angle, already burning from the bite, the feeling that he'd completely taken ownership of her, laid his mark on her, however temporarily. She was close suddenly, so close. Just a little more...
He could feel her getting close, heard the noises she was making, and knew that the instant she came he would be following her, if not before. He took sharp breaths, struggling to keep himself away from the edge as he slid a hand between them, fingers finding her hood and rubbing over it broadly as his hips snapped forward, seeking the bundle of nerves that he hoped would bring her over.
She vaulted over the edge, a mangled swear making it out of her mouth before she bit into his shoulder, raked her nails across his skin, bucked up into him, becoming completely lost in her own ecstasy.
Her teeth were in his shoulder, incisors cutting into his flesh, and she was swearing and tightness and heat, and suddenly he was falling over, too, letting out a cry into her shoulder as he came, his body shuddering and trembling against hers before slowly relaxing, emitting heat like a stove.
She thought she might pass out, she felt so good. Her heart was drumming like it was trying to win a race, and her lungs were not doing so well with keeping up. "Holy shit, Colonel," she breathed.
He rolled off to the side out of habit, still floating in a gaze of hormones. He was a large enough man with enough muscle to impose a breathing issue if he didn't.
"I could say the same..."
"I'm not in the army," she chuckled, lifting a hand to touch the bleeding mark on her neck and then examining the blood in the dim light. "Aw, shit, my boss is going to have me quartered."
He smirked at her comment, then raised an eyebrow. "Why? What does he care?"
"I'm his property, and I've let myself be damaged," she snorted, shifting to grab the soft sheets and pull them over her.
"Sounds like a charmer," he muttered, removing the condom and tossing it in the bin before laying down as well.
"He is, when he wants to be," she shrugged, and sighed, making herself comfortable, despite the blood drying on her sheets. It wasn't the first time she'd stained her sheets. It was usually alcohol, though. "I've killed for him. I'd consider dying for him."
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further. Killing for someone didn't seem like much of a bar. But dying... that was a sort of loyalty he didn't see the use of.
She let the conversation die away, rolling onto her stomach with a contented sigh, effectively exposing her back to him. He wouldn't kill her tonight. "Don't try to sneak out in the morning. First person to see you would have you shot or arrested," she added, voice quiet.
"Wasn't planning on it, he smirked. He finally caught a good look at the scar he'd felt earlier at the apex of her spine. JM in precise lettering. He filed that away for future reference, and closed his eyes, waiting for her to fall asleep.
She fell asleep after a long while, unable to be completely comfortable with his presence - a predator's presence - so near to her, but eventually her physical efforts got the better of her, and she drifted off.
He heard her breathing change and shifted, rising slowly out of the bed and walking around, naked, bare feet silent on the carpet. He was looking for any hints as to her employer, or the situation. For the most part, however, all seemed secure, and he found nothing. A few minutes later he used the loo as an excuse, and then climbed back into bed. A few minutes after that he fell into a light sleep, wary.
She woke up in the late morning when her alarm went off. She shifted, groaning, and smacked her alarm clock until it stopped. She was still for another minute before she moved again, sitting up and sliding out of bed.
He woke instantly to the alarm, alert and still. His eyes scanned the room for movement, and he heard it behind him. Harrison. His gun wasn't in reach, but her movements sounded relaxed, unhurried. He shifted enough to see her and relaxed just slightly when he saw her stand, watching.
She stretched and then headed for the bathroom. When she came back, she waved a few fingers at him in greeting before she picked up a silk dressing gown thrown over her dresser and slipped it on. "Breakfast and coffee?"
He nodded a bit, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes before looking around for where his pants and trousers had ended up. "Sounds great."
She nodded and left the room, idly looking for any disturbed items. He'd slept in her bed, but that didn't mean she had to trust him.
He pulled on his trousers and took his gun, loading it again and tucking it into his waistband, making no particular effort to conceal it as he followed her.
She banged around the kitchen for a few minutes, getting together the materials for pancakes, humming to herself. When the pan was on the stove and she was about to pour the batter, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "How many pancakes do you want?"
He shrugged. "If you make them, I will eat them," he said, leaning against the door frame.
"That's unhelpful, but noted anyway," she shrugged, falling back into silence for a few moments, while the hiss of the cooking batter filled the air. The rest of the apartment was obviously built with taste, and a lot of precision, but the kitchen was more like the bedroom; lived in and small, and not very fancy. She didn't know too much about cooking, and she didn't care to. What she couldn't make for herself she had someone else make for her. "When are you expected back?"
"I should be back on base by 1300," he said, walking over to watch her cook. "And I could eat five or six easily."
"More helpful, good job," she smirked, forking the first couple of pancakes onto a large plate waiting by the side. "You'll have time to meet my boss, then. I think he'd like you."
"Will he like me after he sees the mark I left on your neck?" he asked, reaching out to skim his fingers over the impressive bruise on her neck, surrounding the cut of his teeth.
She gave a carefree shrug. "My old boss, he wouldn't like you after he saw my neck. This one? He'll be angry with me, but I think he'll be curious about you."
"I believe your exact words were that he'd have you quartered, but fair enough," he shrugged. "What will he want to know?"
"That I can't tell you. He's unpredictable that way. But I guarantee that whatever questions he may have he'll have the answers to within three minutes. You ever met a reader before, Moran?"
"As in someone who reads?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Reads people, yeah," she nodded, turning off the stove now that she had a respectable stack of pancakes built up.
"What does that even mean?" he asked skeptically. "Like a fucking fortune teller or some shit?"
"No, he doesn't do anything so impressive as to predict futures," she shook her head, picking up the platter and setting it on the table, then set a place each for them and sat. "But he's remarkably good at your past, sometimes even your present. He looks at people and just knows things."
"Sounds like an interesting man," he said, sitting at the other place and forking a few pancakes onto his plate.
"Certainly the most interesting one I've ever met," she chuckled, taking a few as well and starting to dig in after pouring a modest amount of syrup. "But I think you've made it into the top five. I wonder where he'll rank you."
"Glad to hear I've made an impression," he said with a small nod as he added his own syrup and butter, and started to eat. He was hungrier than he thought, and the first few pancakes were gone quickly. He reached for a few more.
She didn't mind that he took the majority of the pancakes; she was, after all, much smaller than him, and he looked like he had the potential to be a mountain of a man, given a few more years and a lot more food. She took only three pancakes in total, leaving the rest for him. "Coffee?" She asked as she swallowed her last bite, raising her eyebrows at him inquiringly.
He nodded just slightly, mouth full of pancake. He swallowed. "That would be great, thanks "
She nodded and set about making it, idly wondering how best to introduce her guest to Jim. "What's your first name, anyhow?"
"Colonel," he deadpanned. "My mother had an army fetish. That's the clothes, too. Never worn anything else."
"Ha ha, very amusing," she rolled her eyes, setting a mug of coffee down in front of him, "Now tell me anyway."
He picked it up, raising it in a casual toast in her direction before taking a sip. It was good stuff, and he closed his eyes, savoring the flavor of decent coffee that hadn't been provided by the military ration core.
"Sebastian," he said finally. "This is good coffee."
She smirked. "Thanks. It's french. Costs a pretty penny, but I do so hate bad coffee," she sighed, swirling the coffee in her mug a little bit. "I'll be glad when that blockade breaks up."
"Won't we all?" he asked with a small grin. "Though the end of all this is really going to make my midnight entertainment more difficult."
"I know. No longer able to lurk amongst the rubble, hide your prey as bomb victims," she said wistfully, smirking at him. "What ever will you do?"
"I'll think of something," he chuckled, taking another sip of coffee. "There's still the Thames."
"Isn't that a little cliche? What about graveyards? Who the hell would think to look there?" she suggested, still smirking.
"Maybe I will, though the groundskeeper might notice fresh graves he didn't dig," he pointed out. "Sometimes things are cliche because they work."
"That's why you wait for someone to die, and then you kill someone and bury them in the fresh grave," she laughed, sipping her coffee.
He raised an eyebrow at her, impressed. "Actually, that's damn good," he admitted with a smirk.
"If I have anything, it's a pair of good legs and a decent common sense," she quipped, quirking her eyebrows at him in amusement.
He laughed at that, eyes on her, studying her. She was gorgeous, even in the morning, unbrushed hair curling around her face free-form. And the more he spoke to her the more she seemed to be a fellow, of sorts. Someone who shared his ambitions, his interests, however... uncommon.
She finished off her coffee and stood, moving to put her mug in the sink. "Alright, I have to start preparing for my day, so feel free to turn on the radio, amuse yourself however you like. Do try your best not to break anything, won't you?"
He smirked but nodded. "Wasn't planning on it. If I could use your shower after you're done with it, I'd appreciate it."
"Sure," she nodded, heading for the bedroom, "Or you can just shower with me, I don't mind either way."
He considered that, then stood, following after her and shucking his trousers as he went, not one to turn down an invitation.
She wasn't surprised he followed, and was, in fact, a little pleased. This would give her better opportunity to inspect him. "So, any siblings?"
"No." The answer was short, almost clipped. He provided no further information, nor did he return the question. Family wasn't a topic he was touching on.
"Mm. I do. Little brother. Looks more like me than my parents, neither of which are particularly attractive people, but here we are," she hummed, disrobing and tossing the silk gown towards the bed as she passed it, and entering into a black and white bathroom.
"Well, you seem to have won the genetic lottery, then," he said softly, voice low and quiet as he admired her arse. He walked up behind her, brushing her hair to the side to kiss her shoulder, and getting a proper look at the scar he'd noticed the night before. The initials seemed to have been carved with a knife that was duller than he would have chosen for the job, leaving behind a broad, ridged scar. They were obviously meant to last, and given their location, they had probably been painful.
She shivered as his lips brushed her shoulder, then leaned forward, turning on the shower. "Having a look at the stamp on my back, Colonel?"
He smiled a little at that. "Guilty as charged. What can I say? I'm a connoisseur of scars."
"Not going to ask me what I did to earn it?" She asked, testing the water with her hand to see if it was warm enough, then stepped in.
"Alright, I'll bite," he said, shoving his pants off and stepping out of them before following after her. "What'd you do?"
"I earned his trust," she laughed, stepping fully under the spray and turning around to get an eyeful of him, a pleased smirk on her lips.
"Mmm... So he carved his initials into you. Logical next step, I do it all the time," he shot back, his legs entering the hot spray, the rest of him dry for the moment as she shielded the water.
She moved a little to let him have the water, running a hand over her wet hair. "There are worse ways to express the feeling, but..." she shrugged a little. "Although, to be completely honest, I did do something that warranted a cutting first. We were still kind of starting out, the two of us. I wasn't used to him yet; got upset, ran off, decided to cool off by doing a job that I'd been putting off for a few days. I think he thought I'd made a run for it. When I came back, he grabbed me, bent me over my kitchen counter and took a knife to me that he hadn't sharpened in like two years."
"Yeah, I noticed it was dull. Sharp blades don't leave marks like that," he said, wincing a bit sympathetically. "Right over the spine, too. Had to hurt like hell." He stepped into the water, putting his head underneath and leaning back, letting it run over him for a few seconds before stepping out and starting to rinse his arms down, water dripping out of his buzz cut.
"Oh, it did. One of the most painful things I've ever experienced, in fact," she shook her head, though her voice was still light. "Screamed something awful, I did. But at least my dress didn't get stained."
"Got to know your priorities," he said with a smirk, turning around on the premise of washing down his front and doing his best to rub the image of her, screaming and bloody, out of his mind before his lower brain did things it shouldn't.
"That I do," she agreed, reaching for the bottle of shampoo to lather her hair. "Healing wasn't very much fun, I'll tell you that."
"Yeah, I'd bet not," he said, nodding a bit and grabbing the bar of soap, lathering up his hands before starting to rub down, stepping out of the water to give her a go again. "Friend of mine got a piece of shrapnel right across the shoulder blades. Sonofabitch was lucky it didn't sever his spinal cord. Took forever to heal."
"And god, they're a bitch to shower with. Forget trying to wash your hair while the wound is open," she muttered, moving back under the water.
He nodded in agreement. "That's most wounds, though," he said. "Some way or another, they're going to fuck you over when you shower." He wiggled his foot, indicating a long, thin, but jagged scar that ran from just under his ankle bone to his knee, along the outside of his calf. It was still a bit pink. "Got thrown by an explosion and caught rebar. Took a few months, and soap was always getting in the damned thing."
She gave a sympathetic hiss. "That's rough. I've always been worried about being impaled on something. I don't know if could really stand the front. I'm more of a flirter than a fighter."
He shrugged. "It's not as bad as they say, especially if you have our set of... interests." He cupped some water into his hands to rinse his face. "Certainly not the worst thing in the world."
"I very much enjoy being clean," she sighed, lifting a hand under her hair to run a finger over the scar on her neck. "And the front looks very... grimy."
" That , it is," he agreed, rising off a final time and leaning against the wall, watching her. "Completely filthy. But you get used to it."
"I don't know. Just doesn't seem like the kind of life for me," she shook her head, turning off the shower and wringing out her hair.
He shrugged. "To each their own." He stepped out, passing her a towel from the rack and taking one as well, drying quickly. "So, when do I meet this employer of yours?"
"Get dressed, and we'll go ahead and meet with him. He's probably not busy," she hummed, taking the towel with a nod and starting to dry off her hair. "Even if he is, I think he'll want to see you."
He nodded, heading out into the next room to get dressed. His uniform shirt was a bit wrinkled. He'd have to change it when he got back to base, but for now it would do.
She finished drying off and did the same, heading for the armoire, starting to rifle through and decide what she was going to wear. She settled on a black dress, cut looser than the one she'd worn last night. She didn't need to go hunting in the bunker.
He stood in front of the mirror for a moment, straightening his uniform and tucking his gun back into his shoulder holster. "Anything in particular I should know before this meeting?"
"Be polite, but don't grovel. That'll put you so far below him it won't matter that you're interesting," she said, putting in a pair of ruby earrings. "Just do what he says."
He laughed. "The day I grovel is the day the sun goes out. Let's go do this, then."
"Alright," she chuckled, giving a small nod. She put on the pair of shoes she'd just dug out of the corner of the bottom drawer in her armoire and then left the bedroom, heading for the door to the foyer. This would be an interesting experience for both of them, she was sure.
He walked behind her, the heels of his shoes clicking on the polished floor as they headed for the lift.
She led the way back to the elevator, and once inside pressed the button for the bottom floor - the safest floor. "You better wait in the waiting room until I call you in. I should make sure he's not in a bad mood."
He nodded just slightly at that, taking his surroundings in carefully once more. He cataloged the last sentence to add to his expanding image of the man he was about to meet. Temperamental.
The doors ding ed open and she stepped out into the waiting room, which was a gray, uninviting room, and was built that way for a reason. Anybody who had to sit in this room was someone that Jim still wanted to assert control over. Someone that needed something from him, anyway. Nobody except Lorna came down here without being summoned. "Take a seat. I'll call in a minute," she said evenly, walking across the room to pause by the mahogany double doors, where she knocked twice.
This room was much more his style than the others. Simple, and practical. He sat down, lounging back and closing his eyes.