A/N: "I got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see, you're the answer. Everything collides- my childhood spat back out the monster that you see." "Light 'Em up" - Fall Out Boy- Sorry for the lyrics as Chapter titles guys but I have been finding so many awesome Renbelle songs and this was one song that brought on the idea for the ENTIRE fic. You owe FOB guys. haha Should I make a playlist? I think this might be in order. Enjoy the chapter you have all be waiting for. ;)
He was content to pin her against the door and attend to her mouth until she told him to stop. But she never did. His hands gripped the underside of her thighs and he bounced her up in adjustment when she started to slip. The movement caused her to rub against his hardness just below his jeans and he may not have felt it but Belle could.
She moaned softly and he ate the vibrations of the sound, pleased that he could sense them along the inside of his mouth. When Belle parted her lips and allowed him to taste her, he thought his heart would stop. It was the sweetness of her tea with a bite of peppermint to finish it off and Renard couldn't get enough. He shoved her head back against the door and kissed her hard, all tongue and teeth and she pushed at his chest, heart beating too fast.
He made a small sound of defeat as they pulled apart. He had hurt her, pushed to hard, like a stallion rocketing from the gate and she was going to make him stop– make him leave.
"E-easy," she breathed softly. Her small hand wrapped around the base of his neck and drew his forehead down to rest at her collar bone. She pressed her lips to his temple and kept him in place. He closed his eyes and nibbled the skin he could reach with extended lips. Gently this time, focusing on the clean way she tasted. The soap, the lotion, whatever she used in those bottles piled on her dresser, was intoxicating.
"Tell me if I hurt you," he grumbled against her neck and she nodded. With eyes cast downward he watched as his own fingers flicked open the top few buttons of her blouse. She grabbed his wrist and he looked at her.
"Over the shirt. Please?"
He nodded and placed his left hand over her right breast. The fabric balled beneath his fingers and he squeezed lightly, his mouth running dry at the way she wriggled between him and the door. Her breasts fascinated him and he wanted to rip the blouse to pieces, cover her in the most expensive liquor he had and take his time indulging in his strongest sense.
With the image so strong in his mind he forced his hand to move lower. Over her stomach and ending at the tops of her jeans. His index finger dipped between the waistband and her skin and she whimpered softly.
The radio on the floor a few feet from them crackled. "Renard?"
"God dammit," he growled and pulled away from her. The device was obviously broken from being thrown across the floor, but bits and pieces of the conversation on the channel was still able to come through. He turned it off with a firm flick of the power button and took the batteries out for good measure.
The library door locked and he saw Belle's shadow on the floor by his feet. He looked down as her arms wrapped around the front of his chest and moved lower. Her hands pulled his shirt out of his jeans slowly and he bit his lip, forcing himself to be content with watching.
"This needs to come off," she said against his back and he nodded, turning in her arms to comply. She raised the shirt as high as she could until he took over and pulled it over his head. Renard's chest was broad, a wide expanse of pale muscle slightly marred by tiny scars. A knife wound here, a bullet wound there, all thin, pale reminders of the life he led. Belle couldn't resist the urge to touch them.
He couldn't feel her soft hands trace the pale, slightly bubbled markings but he watched as she did it with such gentleness that he didn't deserve.
"So many," she said quietly and he suddenly felt the need to apologize. He opened his mouth but his words were stolen as she kissed the largest scar on his right pectoral. She looked at him as she laved it with her tongue, making sure he was watching. He wouldn't have looked away even if someone pointed a gun to his skull. "Did they hurt?"
"Once," his hand slid along the curve of her head, along her hair. "A very long time ago."
She bit her lip and continued where she had left off. Working from right to left, she found each tiny mark and either kissed it or touched it gently. "So you remember pain," she started. Her hand ghosted over his nipple, down his stomach and hesitating lower. "Do you remember- other things?"
When he didn't answer she cupped the front of his jeans to validate her meaning. The visual of her licking his chest and now her hand on his crotch was enough to cause him to shudder.
"Oh yes," he said breathy. His hand tightened in her hair and he pulled her neck back, making her look at him. "Yes I do M–Belle." They shouldn't be doing this. If reading with her was wrong then this was way over the line. With his hand holding her head towards him he continued, "Tell me to stop. And my offer still stands."
Belle responded by moving her hand and undoing the button on his jeans while still looking at his face. The material gave and Renard let out a heavy breath that he hadn't known he was holding.
"A-and what about this offer?" She moved the zipper down as she spoke and worked her hand between the denim and his boxers. "Does it still– stand?"
He gulped and nodded, pulling her to him again and kissing her hard. He gripped the back of her neck and closed his eyes tightly, speaking against her cheek. "Describe it, Belle. Everything. Don't stop talking."
Now that could be a problem. Normally talking was not an issue for Belle, she had been told she talked too much, but this? She hesitated again. She moved him around the arm of the couch and pushed his chest with one finger until he sat down. Her cheeks reddened as words depicting what her body was currently feeling crossed her mind, but she would try. He still expected her to refuse him, to hand him his shirt and go back to London. To do that now, she knew, could very well destroy him.
She slid her jeans off and stepped out of them, allowing him a few moments of gazing at her creamy skin and blue lacy underwear. He had bought them, he was allowed a quick peek.
"Everything?" she said as she straddled his lap slowly and put her hands on his chest. He nodded and she sunk down lower, her eyes fluttering as the rough material of his jeans made contact with her more sensitive parts through the lace. She pressed her cheek to his, feeling more confident if he couldn't see her blushing, and whispered softly. "Your hands are cold but your chest is warm," she took his hands and tucked them under her thighs trying to remedy the latter.
"What else?" he asked hoarsely, giving her a quick kiss close to her ear.
"Your fingers are rough. But in a strong, well worked way. I want them-" she paused and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Touch me."
He moved his hands over the swell of her thighs, one staying behind to grip her ass and keep her tightly pressed against him, while the other slipped between them and stroked her lightly through her panties. He watched his fingers, making sure he stroked slow and evenly. "A-are you–? Belle, tell me."
She loved the way he said her name. The spice his faded accent gave the l's pleased her as much as not being referred to so formally. She nodded and said quietly in his ear, "Wet? Yes, Victor, yes." Belle leaned back and looked at him. She felt ridiculous; her humiliation apparent on her cheeks but he looked so eager, so hopeful. Her fingers played against the short stubble of his hair as she added, "D-dripping."
His reaction was worth her fleeting shyness. His hips bucked against her at the added word and she whimpered. He couldn't help it. He wanted to know everything. He wanted more. And she knew it. Knew from the way he gripped her that she had started something and now had to deliver.
"The jeans," she made another noise and leaned up on her knees, trying to shove his pants down. "Its too much. The material is sharp. I need something smooth, something warm. Y-you."
Pushing his shoulders against the couch, Renard raised his hips under her and between the two of them they managed to move the blasted jeans to his ankles and out of the way. She sat back down on him heavily and her mouth formed a small 'O' as she whimpered in surprise.
"Oh? What does that– is that good–"
"Hmm-hmm," she nodded, closing her eyes and putting her arms back around his neck. She whispered in his ear, overcoming her shyness for his shared pleasure. "You're hard, Victor. Very hard."
He held her close then, wrapped large arms around her body and buried his face in her hair, thanking the powers that be the he didn't disappoint her in that department. That despite his treacherous nerve endings, everything still seemed to be in working order. His hand found her core once again and he continued to stroke her. Gently petting till she moved her hips against him asking for more with her actions and wordless noises. He was content to watch her, watch her please herself with nothing more than the simple act but she however, was not content and if they weren't careful he was going to bring her with nothing more than the pressure of his fingers.
She grabbed his wrist and forced him to stop, "Enough."
His lip twitched in a small smirk. Without moving his wrist, his deft fingers pushed aside the material of the underwear and stroked along her folds without the extra layer. Every now and then he glanced to make sure he was doing it properly but he still managed to keep an eye on her face. He started with his hand deep underneath her, sliding his index along her tantalizingly slow until he brushed her clit with his knuckle.
"Victor!" she gasped and kissed him hard, showing him with her tongue what she wanted him to do with his fingers. He couldn't have denied her for all of Russia. He used his middle finger and sank it inside of her firmly. As much as he enjoyed the vibrations of her kisses and her moans, he wished she would speak.
"Belle– please," he groaned as he pressed his thumb against her swollen bud and curled his finger slightly.
"S-sorry," She kept forgetting and closed her eyes tightly. "Gods, Victor. I'm so tight. Move your fingers please." She needed some kind of relief from how tightly she was wound. Like a string pulled to tightly on an instrument, if he didn't do something she was about to snap. He did as she asked and moved his finger in and out in small increments, slowly working her open. She had begun to sweat lightly and said through gritted teeth, "So–incredibly, tight. Is that just one finger?"
He nodded and watched her face, kissing along her jaw before whispering in her ear, "Think you can handle two?"
She whimpered again, a small helpless noise of compliance that said she didn't care if she couldn't handle it, she wanted it. He loved that noise, it fed his ego and allowed himself to give into the power while knowing she was enjoying it just as much. He gave her what she wanted, curling both fingers inside of her as she rocked her hips against him, begging for more and teaching him what pleased her.
"It's almost too much," she said as she bounced on his lap and gripped his shoulders like a life line. "So h-hot and wet– is this okay? Am I–"
"Perfect-" he said quickly and willed her to continue as he scissored his fingers inside of her and she threw her head back.
"Victor if you don't stop–I" she panted. She didn't want him to stop. Wanted him to keep doing that forever, till his wrist gave out and then she would beg him for more. "So close, I'm so-" It was too late. She couldn't speak and he was perfectly okay to watch her fall apart in his arms as her body tensed and her nails dug into his bare skin. Belle wasn't quiet about it, it was far too good to remain silent and he pounded his fingers against her, adding pressure to her folds with his palm as she rode against him shamelessly.
"That's it," he said deeply close to her ear, holding her tightly so she didn't tumble off the couch in her ecstasy. "I got you." He bit his lip hard enough that he most likely broke the skin, but he couldn't tell. He saw small colored spots as he watched her orgasm before him and his vision grew blurry. At first he thought he might seize but breathed a sigh of relief as it passed and he knew what had happened.
She was making soft noises of pleasure and saying something that might have been his name mixed with her gratitude as she came down from her high. He slipped his fingers out of her gently and that small movement caused her to clench her thighs, trapping his hand momentarily.
With a tentative hand, he cupped her cheek, turned her to look at him. Once she did, he moved his hands to her hips and readjusted her on his lap. She shivered and helped him move his boxers out of their way to join the jeans on the floor.
"What?" she whispered as he stared at her hips quizzically.
"My pocket knife was in my jeans," he said.
"What on earth do you need that for?" she gaped at him, putting her hands on his chest.
He shook his head and decided to improvise. "Hold still." Curling his fingers into the side of her underwear, he gave a quick jerk and the dainty fabric snapped under his strength. Belle yelped again, the motion causing a pleasurable knot to form low in her abdomen as he did the other side. The shirt was removed much easier, but he still ripped it from her like it had given him an unforgivable grievance.
"I-I could have just stood up," she said as he discarded the useless bit of lace and lowered her hips. "Those were cute–"
"I'll buy you more." He shook his head and leaned up to kiss her as he raised his hips and slipped inside of her. Belle opened her mouth and gave a short moan against his lips. It was like her sounds where cut into pieces, chopped apart with every short thrust that stole her air and forced her to start the noise all over again.
"N-not as tight– but still so good. Oh Victor." she threw her head back and gripped his shoulders. He traded the sporadic thrusts for long, slow ones; gripping her hips and moving inside of her until he reached her end, as if apologizing for the rough start.
Belle didn't think he had anything to apologize for; the slowness was nice and she appreciated the effort, but it was not needed. "Harder– " she breathed and was stopped as he gave into her request before the sentence was complete. His thrust was deep enough Belle could feel an ache within her chest and her mouth opened, frozen in a whimper that she didn't have the strength to voice.
Her noises and expressions were enough. He didn't need her words to tell him what she was experiencing. She dug her nails into the leather of the couch and hunched her back so she could look down. The sight of him pushing himself inside of her as he found a rough rhythm to suit them both was enough to bring her to the brink.
He buried his face against the swell of her left breast and growled, "Come for me Belle, one more time. Let me see it."
She shook her head and bit her lip as she rocked against him. "I can't–" A dull burn had started deep within her, foreboding certain soreness in the morning and the thought was keeping her from going over the edge once more. However, Renard was not a man who liked to be told 'no'. With an angle of his hips and one final thrust, he brought her again. He ate the cry from her lips as she clenched her thighs around him desperately and clawed at his chest. Greedily, he watched her orgasm in his embrace and his blurry vision returned along with the spots. The world slowed and he let out a sigh, kissing her gently. What a sight. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. Would it be selfish to pin her to the floor and make her do it again?
Belle laid her head on his shoulder, chest heaving and allowed him to hold her close as she relearned the dynamics of taking in oxygen. "T-thank you," she said.
Renard couldn't help the snicker that escaped his lips as he looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "You're thanking me?"
"Seemed like the right thing to do," she smiled lazily and shrugged. She was quiet for a moment before jerking upright and looking at him worriedly. "You– I couldn't stop. You didn't– you didn't come?"
He couldn't help his small smile, the short upturn of his lips as her words sank in. This beautiful woman had been the first to touch him in years, allowed him to witness that marvelous display of pleasure and now she was worried he hadn't enjoyed himself? He kissed her gently, a quick brush of lips before nodding. "I did. Don't worry. It's just not as," he gestured to her vaguely. "Explosive as you were."
"Oh," She blushed and looked down, eyes landing on his crotch before looking quickly back up and blushing harder. He wasn't done making her blush quite just yet. With steady hands, he raised his fingers and sucked them both inside his mouth. He savored the taste of her and wanted to wrap himself in the light scent as she buried her face in his throat with embarrassment.
"It's all I have, would you rather me not taste you because you're shy?" he said quietly.
There was a pause. She looked up at him slowly and brushed her fingers across his cheek, "You really can't feel anything can you? Anything at all."
He shook his head and took her hand away from his cheek, watching as her fingers curled around his and held onto him tightly. "Vibrations sometimes, but it's rare," he said, still holding her hand and giving a small gesture to his ear. "Of course, I can hear normally but smell is fading. Taste– well, taste is all that's truly left."
"So, should I get some cake flavored vodka, pour it on myself and let you have fun?" she laughed softly, wanting to wipe the haunted look from his face. Only part of her was joking. That part faded away as he looked at her with wide eyes.
"They make that?" he asked quietly. He was torn between the idea of such a product being utterly ridiculous, why would they ruin good vodka? And the image of a naked Belle on his bed covered in the stuff.
She had to bite her lip to keep the truly mischievous smirk from forming on her face as she held out her hand, "Give me your credit card."
Belle woke up in a tangle of sheets and the chirping of birds outside her window. The blizzard had passed and the electric had stayed on the entire night. The clock on her bedside table still blinked however and said something ridiculous like 11 PM. She hadn't had time to set the clock, and the morning light coming in from her windows let her know it wasn't even close to being right. Belle groaned and raised up on her arms, holding the sheet to her chest. Except for her, the bed was empty.
"Victor?" she said quietly.
No response. She sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Last night she had slept like a rock. They had chose to spend the night in her room, since it was on the same floor as the library, and asking him to stay only solidified her point that she was not like the women he was accustomed to. With Victor wrapped around her she had been blissfully warm and, once she drifted off, she had been dead to the world. She would have preferred to wake up in the same way, but apparently he had other plans.
She found her sweat pants and what she assumed as her t-shirt, though when she pulled it over her head she realized it was Renard's. She left it and went to find her fuzzy socks. As she sat on the bed and braided her hair loosely, the walkie talkie caught her eye.
Scooping it up, she held down the button, "Vi– Renard." She had a feeling her use of his real name was something he wanted behind closed doors, something to be shared just between them. The radio crackled and silence remained. She sighed and got up, leaving her room and heading down the inordinate amount of stairs. She had wanted to be lazy today. To leave his team of perfectly capable thugs to take care of business while she had their employer to herself. Did he not want that as well? Her stomach fell at the thought that somewhere along the way, she had misread him.
She checked the den, the garage and was on her way through the grand hall to check the kitchen when she nearly collided with Romanov.
"Oh– " she started quietly, unable to hide her disappointment that he wasn't who she was looking for. "G-good morning."
"Looking for Renard?" he raised an eyebrow and adjusted his rifle on his shoulders. His hair was shorter than it had been the other day. The blonde strands now cut close to his head, giving a better view of his sharp face. It made him look older, more stern and Belle couldn't help that out of all of Renard's men, Romanov was her least favorite.
"Yes, I– "
"He went out." he said flatly.
"Out?" Belle paused, slightly taken aback. He left her. What was so important that he couldn't have left a note? Romanov nodded but didn't volunteer any extra information. He watched her and dared her to press him for more, so he could deny her flat out and revel in the fact that even he outranked her.
"Thank you," she said and walked past him toward the kitchen. At least she could stop her quest across the mansion.
"You fucked him didn't you?"
"Excuse me?" She turned around a little too quickly, eyes wide and he smirked, taking her defensiveness as an answer to his question.
"Don't worry. It's not the first time this has happened." He chuckled deeply and shrugged.
"That's none of your business." she said quietly and cursed her cheeks, which were no doubt getting redder by the second. Odds were he wouldn't be so cocky if the man in question was here, but to Romanov, Belle was easy prey. He wasn't worth the threat of her telling Renard, she could handle it, one night did not allow her to cower behind him for protection. She turned back around and headed for the kitchen.
"You know you look a bit like her," he called and she walked faster. Away from his hurtful words and didn't stop till she was out of sight. In the dim kitchen she pressed her back to the fridge and put a hand over her mouth. His words resonated in her ears, made her throat tight and her eyes burn. The more she fought it, the worse it became. It embarrassed her to think the entire house knew about her and Renard, but that wasn't the worst part. Anderson and Felix would no doubt kill anyone who ridiculed her for her actions. And men gossiped too; they most likely assumed she had been intimate from day-one with their boss.
No, what caused her breath to shake and her heart to pound was Romanov's parting statement. She didn't look a thing like Elektra. Did she? If she even resembled the horrid woman, Renard wouldn't have touched her. Or was that his only reason for doing so? Did she remind him enough of the woman that he had loved and lost that he could close his eyes and pretend it was Elektra instead of her?
She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore and thought about going back upstairs. She could occupy herself with the code or read one of her new books, but she ran the risk of running into Romanov. Anderson and Felix were probably at Renard's side, wherever that might be. She wished he would have left one of them behind instead.
The door to the hall opened with a bang and Belle jumped. She heard voices and was relieved to hear Renard's among them. She glanced at the clock above the stove, it was still before noon. Romanov wasn't anywhere to be found as she left the kitchen and walked into the large room.
She opened her mouth and closed it quickly as she laid eyes on Renard. He was dirty; leather jacket covered in a fine layer of brown dust, black soot was just above his eye and across his brow, giving him the appearance of being singed. What stopped her in her tracks was his white shirt, speckled with blood; dried, fresh, his, someone else's, it brought a small sound from her throat and he turned on the spot.
"Belle," he said quietly and the name gave the men around him pause, but no one dared to question it. He made sure the safety was on before he tossed his rifle to the ground and went to her. She flinched back and he looked down at himself and had the decency to look embarrassed. He shied away from her, not wanting to get her dirty. He lowered his voice, not having the privacy he would have liked, "I thought you'd still be asleep."
"Where were you?" she asked gently, trying to keep her voice from accusing him of something she didn't have proof of yet.
He straightened his shoulders, closed off whatever he was thinking by giving her a stern look that after last night, made her chest tight. "I was– out."
"So I've been told," she glared at him, his words reminding her of Romanov earlier. The sound of another gun hitting the floor, brought her attention to the door as Felix walked in and leaned heavily against the wall. His black hair was a dull, dark grey color, covered with dirt and hung in his eyes as he bit his lip. "Why is he up?"
"I needed him–"
"He's hurt!" She had pulled the bullet out only yesterday, and couldn't fathom the amount of pain Felix was in right now. "He should be upstairs, resting–"
"Do you pay his salary? I don't think so." he snarled. She wanted to scream at him, slap him maybe. Anything so make him cut the self righteous, high-ranking bull shit.
Anderson moved to help Felix, putting the taller man's arm over his shoulder and giving the two of them an confused look. "I'll leave the two of you to it then?"
"No, stay–" Renard barked at the same time Belle said, "Thank you, go–"
Anderson ignored them both, taking Felix into the den. Renard looked around, making sure they were alone before he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him, going up the stairs. Belle followed, at least this was a step up from being dragged everywhere. His hand in hers was new but Belle didn't say anything as they walked and arrived in the corridor on the second floor that led to her room.
He dropped her hand and looked her over. His arms moved up like he wanted to touch her but he dropped them to his sides, seeing the annoyance still written on her face. What he would have liked to do was grab her and kiss her again, he hoped he was still allowed and that she hadn't woken up to better senses.
"What was the plan Victor? Leave so early that you got back before I woke up and I would be none the wiser?"
"No, I–"
"What did you do?" she said in a softer tone, glancing to his bloody shirt.
"Nothing—"
"Victor, tell me– "
He snarled and grabbed her by the arms. "Look– " She didn't look scared but he kept his firm hold on her still, when every bone in his body wanted to shake her. "Don't assume after last night, that I have to tell you everything."
It was cold. And it hurt. Belle flinched back and ripped her arms from his grip, feeling like she did after Romanov's ridicule this morning. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't form words around the tight burning of her throat.
"Don't forget who I am," he said and continued to look at her with a dark intensity. The look on her face made him want to take it back, to climb back into bed and forget this morning had ever happened. But she had to know, she had to show him that she understood the viper that she was trying to charm out of it's basket.
"Trust me," she choked out. "I won't." She turned from him and he tried to follow but she slammed the door in his face once she was inside her room.
He flinched back from the loud slam and rubbed his hand over his head, growling. He kicked the wall, "Fuck!" This was not how he had planned for the day to go. What did he do now? He walked away from the door then stopped and walked back to it. Doing this multiple times before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He probably looked like an idiot, practicing lamaze in the hallway, but if he didn't give himself pause, he was more likely to say something else he would regret. After a few moments, he flipped off the radio at his hip and walked back to her door.
"Belle." he said and knocked once, leaning his forehead on the wood.
"Go away," she said and he felt his heart sink a little. He thought about running. It was tempting.
There was a pause before he closed his eyes and added quietly, "I'm sorry."
She made him wait for what felt like an eternity. With his forehead pressed to the wood of her door, he knew he deserved to wait longer. He heard her footsteps along the wood floor and leaned away from the door in hopes that if she opened it he wouldn't tumble inside and land in a clump at her feet. She opened it and looked up at him, with watery eyes.
"What did you say?" she asked softly.
He hung his head and let out a breath before leaning on the door frame and looking at her, "Don't make me say it again."
Belle bit her lip and waited. With a man like Renard, apologizing once was plenty, if she could just get that damned temper under control. She nodded and turned around, walking back into the room and allowing him to follow.
He shut the door and stared after her as she walked into the giant bathroom connected to her suite. The light flipped on but she left the door open, clearly wanting him in there as well. With a sigh, he tossed his jacket on the footboard of the bed and followed her.
She ran warm water out of the sink and pointed to the edge of the tub. "Sit," she added gently as she looked in the cabinets. "And give me your shirt."
"Is this a ploy to get me undressed?" He couldn't help it. She had set herself up for that and he desperately wanted her in a better mood.
She bit her lip to keep her smile at bay and shook her head. "No. If I don't soak it, you'll never get the blood out." With a cork from the shelf, she stopped up the sink and filled it with warm water. She used a wash cloth and rang it out before going to him at the edge of the tub. Sitting down, his eyes were practically level with her breasts. He looked up as she touched the warm cloth to the blood above his eye.
"What time did you leave me last night?" she asked quietly. The blood washed off easily and there was just skin underneath; the blood was not his own and she felt both relieved and horrified.
"About 3AM," he put his hands on her waist, watching her as she re-dipped the cloth and got to work on the soot under his jaw. He idly ran his fingers down her thighs, up and down, just touching. Her shoulders relaxed a little. "I can do this myself, you know."
"I know. Would you rather I leave?" When he shook his head 'no' she continued. "I Though so. Besides, you're coming back to bed and you're not getting in my clean sheets being filthy like this."
"Its's 10:30," he said quietly.
"So?" Belle raised an eyebrow and wiped a trace of blood from his upper chest. He looked down at his feet but she could tell he was smiling. She walked to the sink and dropped his shirt in, pushing it under the warm water to soak.
He stayed seated and leaned one elbow on his knee, rubbing his eyes. The only sound in the room was the sound of her hands in the water of the sink.
"I didn't kill anyone," he mumbled, looking at his feet as his head rested in the palm of his hand.
Belle stopped and turned around. "What?"
"This morning," he looked up as she walked back over to him. "I didn't kill anyone." She wouldn't ask; he knew that, but he wanted her to know. As much as he didn't want to leave her this morning, he still had a job to do. Still had people that depended on him, no matter what had changed between him and Belle.
Belle wiped her damp hands on her sweats and cupped his cheeks gently as she kissed his forehead. There is no telling what he was out doing with Anderson and the others this morning but the fact that no one died was a start.
They wound up back in bed as Belle had wanted. Renard in nothing but a clean pair of jeans at her request of not wanting to have to wash the sheets, and Belle curled up against his side. He leaned against the headboard as she stroked lazy patterns on his chest and he stared transfixed. His fingers stroked her shoulder and came to a pause after a few minutes.
"Is this my shirt?"
She blushed lightly. "Yes. Sorry, I just put it on when I went to look for you this morning."
"It's fine," he resumed his movements on her arm. He was quiet for a few moments as he leaned his head back against the headboard and looked at the ceiling. "And I suppose I can take Felix off
duty for the next few days." He looked back down at her as she raised her head and smiled slightly, "You're very demanding you know th–"
She leaned up and kissed him, stopping his words. He closed his eyes and focused on the taste of her mouth, the freshness of her toothpaste and the other senses that were simply Belle.
"Thank you," she said against his lips and he nodded, rolling her onto her back with him on top. He kissed her, slowly, filling her up with his tongue and lips. He sucked and licked and resisted the urge to use his teeth as she held him close and let him devour her. This would be the way he desired to wake up in the morning and he mentally vowed to not disappoint her tomorrow.
He moved down her body and brought the edges of her sweats with him. His fingers moved the shirt up, baring her stomach and he averted his kisses to the flesh there instead. She squirmed as he sucked the skin beside her navel, pulling it tight between his teeth until there was a red mark. She made soft noises and he smirked, proud of the tiny mark and wanting to leave them other places.
"Victor," she said quietly, closing her eyes and stroking her fingers over his short hair. He pulled her sweats down lower and kissed her low enough that her hips jerked, a small involuntary movement that brushed his nose against the front of her underwear and she blushed.
His radio on her bedside table lit up and Anderson came over the speaker. "Renard?"
"Fuck me," Renard growled against the front of Belle and she whimpered softly as his voice vibrated against her core.
"Could you– turn it off?" she said quietly, as if they could hear her on the other end. He shook his head and reached over and grabbed the device, if it was Anderson, odds were it was important.
"Go ahead, Anderson," Renard said. He laid the radio on the bed and waited for the response. While he waited however, he went back to what he was doing before. With one swipe, he pulled off Belle's pajama bottoms and chucked them on the floor. She looked at him with wide eyes and clenched her legs together, shaking her head 'no'. He paused but when she didn't fight him, he concluded her protests were not because she didn't want what he was offering.
"Are you busy?"
"Not at the moment," He said into the device as he worked a hand between her thighs and settled his chest between them on the bed once she complied. Belle watched him and gripped the pillow as he bit her inner thigh. He used one hand to mound the sensitive flesh up ever so slightly and put as much of it into his mouth as he could, biting almost too hard. She yelped and put a hand over her own mouth as the radio came back.
"Where are you?"
He picked it up and held the button, "Upstairs. Get on with it, Anderson." He had tossed one of Belle's legs over his shoulder, spreading her before him as he planned on the best way to go about this. He released the button so Belle was free to let out a shuddering moan as he licked her through her knickers. A quick tease of what he intended to do to her in the next few minutes. She frantically tried to help him remove the fabric, not wanting to lose another pair to his impatience.
"Victor– stop– " she said half heartedly as he hooked his fingers in the edge of her underwear and jerked each side down with his only free hand.
"You might want to replace Romanov on rounds tonight."
"And why is that?" His mouth was like a flame against her, so hot, so firm; she put her hand on the back of his head to hold him in place without thinking about it. He put his hand on the underside of her thigh as he gave her the first solid lick and she mewled, arching her back and closing her eyes tightly. With steady fingers, he touched along her folds and found her clit, diving back and nudging it firmly with his nose as he sucked her.
Belle almost came off the bed, yelling his name at the same time Anderson came over the radio, "Felix just broke Romanov's nose." For a long time Renard did not answer. He grabbed Belle by the hips and jerked her to his face, tasting her for real this time, directly from the core. It was wonderful and he must have been doing something right because she was making a mess of the sheets and pillows and she knocked them from the bed in an attempt to grab something solid.
"Renard?"
Renard cursed loudly inside of her and left her panting on the bed. He stopped her torment and sat back on his knees, saying loudly into the radio, "He did what? Why?" Belle shivered and couldn't help the disappointment low in her belly at the loss of his affections between her thighs.
"You want to get down here and find out? Apparently it's about Ms. French."
He wiped his lips on the nearby sheet, unable to focus with the taste of her fresh in his mouth. Renard looked at her with confusion and said into the radio, "Hold on Anderson." He raised an eyebrow; from the look on her face he knew she wanted to say something. "Belle?"
She bit her lip and sat up, wringing her fingers in her lap and saying quietly. "This morning, when you were gone, Romanov said some things."
"What kind of things?" His voice dropped an octave and no matter how much she disliked Romanov, she was suddenly very worried for him.
She retold the events of her confrontation with his man, changing the more colorful words to something that didn't leave her mouth feeling sullied. She kept the part about her possible resemblance to Elektra to herself, but what she told him was enough. Renard listened and stood once she was done with the first part. She had seen that look in his eyes before and was certain he was going to kill the younger man.
"Wait–" she said quickly and scrambled to the foot of the bed, grabbing his arm. "You don't have to do this. He's not worth it." He pulled his arm from her and she grabbed it again. "Stay with me," she paused and whispered, "Please." He looked at her. Studied her face and stayed standing by the foot of her bed. It went against his better judgement, he wanted nothing more than to go downstairs and take a swing at him for himself, but he didn't try to pull away from her again.
He brought the radio to his lips and held the button, "Anderson."
"I'm here."
He sighed and closed his eyes as Belle leaned over the footboard and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Put Petros in Romanov's place on the rounds tonight. I'll handle whatever it is later." He opened his eyes to see Belle plant a kiss on his cheek. "And Anderson, don't let the bastard bleed all over my fucking house."
"Copy that Renard."
As far as the team knew, he and Belle were working on the code. If he ran too quickly to beat the man to a pulp for a handful of insults, it might cause the others to talk. Romanov was not worth his time when he had a half naked Belle in his arms. The radio fell silent and he tossed it on the
arm chair in the corner, not wanting to have to replace another one from being thrown across the room. His face softened and Belle smiled, the small doubts in the back of her mind being pushed aside as he climbed over the baseboard and back onto the bed.
"Is that what you wanted?" he teased and she nodded.
"Yes, thank you."
"Good. Now where was I?" he said and tackled her backwards onto the bed. As she bounced on the mattress, she let out a laugh. That sound was music to his ears and he decided everything else could fucking wait.