A/N: Rated M for Mandarin. Also for strong sexual language.
oooOOOooo
No one was actually surprised to see Guerrero saunter in late to the meeting, and only Winston felt the need to express disgust. "May we start now?" he asked with theatrical levels of sarcasm.
Chance merely nodded in greeting as he tucked his cell into his pocket. Ames, as usual, was watching Guerrero for his reaction to authority figures. Ilsa, on the phone in her office, frowned at him briefly through the glass partitions and went back to her call.
"Sorry, dude," Guerrero answered in a casual tone that suggested he was anything but sorry. "Bi Ming's in town." He cast a look at Chance as if this simple statement explained volumes, then slid into a seat at the conference table across from Ames.
The blond man's eyes widened. "Aw, Bi Ming? From Nanjing? With the..." His hands sketched a broad motion in front of his chest, until Ames caught his eye. He cleared his throat. "...great contacts?" he concluded lamely. Biggest tits you ever saw on an Asian chick, was what Guerrero knew he had meant to say.
"Who's Bi Ming?" Ames demanded, scowling.
Guerrero realized immediately where this was going and regretted saying anything. He restrained a sigh. "She's a friend, dude," he replied, regarding her levelly.
Ames turned her face slightly in an attitude that might have frightened her boyfriend, but merely annoyed Guerrero. "A friend with benefits?"
He shifted in his seat and looked around the conference room. "If what you're trying to ask is whether I just came from fucking her, then the answer is 'yes'."
"You're such a dick!" she exclaimed indignantly. Apparently finding no other outlet for her outrage, she stomped on his foot under the table.
"Ow, dude."
Winston looked at Chance. He wiggled a finger first at Guerrero, then at Ames. "Is he...?" he hissed. "Are they...?"
Chance shook his head, running a hand across his throat to cut his partner off.
Ames, who did not seem to have heard Winston's questions, rose in a fury and put her hands on her hips. "What about Zahra?" she clamored.
He glanced at Winston out of the corner of his eye. The big man was glaring at him. "Yeah," Winston echoed pointedly, leaning forward on the table with hands clasped. "What about Zahra?"
Guerrero winced, less from the pain in his wronged foot than from his disinterest in having this conversation with this man at this particular moment. "It's not what you're thinking, dude."
"Really?" Winston boomed. "What am I thinking?"
The smaller man raised his eyebrows in annoyance. "Whatever you're thinking, that's what we're not doing." He looked at Chance for some help, but the blond was grinning like a kid at a double-feature matinee. Ames was still glowering at him. "Keep it up, sister, and your face'll get stuck that way."
"That was my friend at the NSA," Ilsa announced to the conference room at large, striding though the door like a model on a catwalk. "He says he may have a solution for our little arms-dealer problem." She paused, noting the team's expressions. She assumed the air of a teacher who has just found two boys embroiled in a scuffle. "What's going on?"
Chance shook his head, lips pressed together. "Nothing," he replied casually. "So...friend at the NSA?"
Ames took her seat and kicked Guerrero's bruised foot again.
"This isn't over," Winston grunted.
oooOOOooo
Screwing Bi Ming had been a visceral experience, as always; one which lent the impression that he might not necessarily survive. She rode him furiously and insistently, with a vigor that suggested she hated the requirement of his bodily presence for this activity. Guerrero knew it was nothing personal. Bi Ming was simply a selfish lover. It was one of the things he respected about her. It also meant that she had no problem with him closing his eyes while they fucked. This was instrumental for pretending that she was Zahra.
He had not initiated their encounter with the intent of using Bi Ming as a surrogate. As it had on several previous occasions, sex had been a natural outgrowth of their professional dealings, conducted as they were in a business-class hotel room near the airport. The Navy contact had left, Guerrero had stayed to chat, and one thing led to another.
Thoughts of Zahra had barely entered his mind, until Bi Ming pulled his shirt off.
"Zhe xie xin de," she had commented sassily, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing. Those are new. "I didn't think that was your scene."
Guerrero followed her eyes to the rings piercing his nipples. He shrugged. "Things change."
She flashed her eyebrows in tart agreement, then she reached for his left nipple. His hand snaked out to grab her wrist, arresting her movement.
Those look really hot. I want to play with them now.
"They're not healed yet." His tone suggested that the subject was closed.
Bi Ming grinned wickedly. "Are they painful?" She pushed her hand forward again. Guerrero increased the pressure on her wrist and pinned her other arm behind her back.
Don't touch things that aren't yours, he wanted to say. Instead, he rolled over on top of her, already itemizing the ways that she was different from Zahra. He took his glasses off at some point, but the blurry woman's hair was too long, her skin too tan, her breasts too large. So he closed his eyes. Then it was only her smell that was wrong. When she straddled his hips, though, the smell of sex overpowered everything else, and he was able to populate the area around that moist heat massaging his prick with an image of Zahra...
...Zahra ordering him to keep his hands to himself and let her ride him as she wished, to take her pleasure from him with no concern for his desires...
...Zahra, naked as Eve, dark eyes gazing down at him devilishly as she stroked and tweaked his nipples, claiming the rights he had allowed to her...
Bi Ming did not protest when he began to moan, "fuck, oh fuck," over and over again. He knew she thought it was ecstasy, but it was not: it was rage, no different from the rage that compelled her to jackhammer herself against him now. He groaned and panted, in a frenzy as Bi Ming brought him to climax.
Zahra was in his head, and he could not get her the fuck out.
When Bi Ming had dragged all the fulfillment she could from his body, she flopped over next to him on the crisp hotel linens. "Bu zuo," she concluded. Not bad.
Guerrero rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Fei chang bu zuo," he sighed. Not bad at all.
