Part Two
Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that being invited into his home, his real life, his real self, as opposed to that devil-may-care persona he adopted most of the time, would normally be a big deal. An incredibly big deal. As he pushed open the door and waved her inside, she knew she had to say something.
"Guess you're not a homeless bum anymore."
Damn, that wasn't right. But he was smiling, so apparently it wasn't wrong either.
She tried again, her eyes raking over John rather than John's loft. "Best looking homeless bum I've ever seen."
Still wrong. But he was chuckling now, so he still didn't mind.
Third time's the charm, she figured.
"Where's the bed?" Yup, that was right. Exactly what she meant to say.
"Tired?" There was a hopeful tone to his voice that almost made her sad to let him down.
She held his eyes, her expression deadly serious. "No."
He took a step forward, pausing when she followed him. "Wait here."
"Why?" She looked around, seeing nothing besides the back of the door and a wall.
"Because I said so." With a wink, he headed around the corner.
Ok, so she was allowed to know where he lived, but he didn't want her past the front door. Or maybe he just didn't want her in his bed. No bother, she decided, he was strong and up against the wall was just fine with her. Seemed more like his style anyway. When she thought about it, she couldn't really imagine him owning a bed, couldn't see him relaxing enough to sleep unless he was knocked unconscious.
"Want something to drink?" His voice sounded muffled, like his head was in the refrigerator.
"Yes, please." Now that she was here and the evening's activities were decided, there was no sense in sobering up. Best to stay drunk and numb until afterwards. She had the rest of her life to think about whether or not it had been a good idea.
He returned with a glass of clear liquid in one hand and - she did a double take - a sledgehammer in the other. She eyed it suspiciously. Strange. Very strange. Though, she knew, the man certainly had some rather creative ideas in his twisted head.
She reached for the glass. "You're into some weird shit, John." He smiled and leaned the hammer against the wall while she took a sip. She rolled it around in her mouth before she swallowed and eyed the glass even more suspiciously than she'd regarded the tool. "Is this water?"
"You're plenty drunk enough, Carter." He shrugged. "Anymore and you're going to jump me."
Her eyes held his, every bit of the desire she felt reflecting right back at her. "Would that be so terrible?"
He let his eyes drift down, caressing her body so thoroughly she trembled. "Not at all." He motioned off to the left. "Bathroom's over there if you need it. I'll be right back."
He left her alone again and, for lack of anything else to do, she sipped at the water. She walked further into the loft, looking around what she realized was a high end apartment. The dining room and kitchen were off to the right, the bed against the far left wall. It looked quite comfortable. Despite his instructions to stay put, she walked over to it and sat down. It smelled like him, the scent inviting her to relax.
From there she could see the floating stairs and watched him descend toward her. His blazer was gone, his dress shirt hanging open and untucked. She rested back on her hands, enjoying the view. She wouldn't regret this one bit, not even when she sobered up. It was meant to happen, she'd always known that, and she was glad it was finally time to break the tension that had always clouded her judgment regarding him. It wouldn't be weird afterward. They were adults. They were friends. They were attracted to each other. So they'd be friends with benefits. No harm, no foul.
He approached her, shaking his head. "You don't follow instructions very well, do you?"
She gave him her most seductive look, wishing she'd thought to remove her jacket as well. It was hard to be alluring in dress pants and a polyester blazer. "You're hardly one to talk about me following the rules."
"I won't deny I've benefitted, but you're going to have trouble blaming me for it anymore." He tossed something soft on her lap and nodded toward where he'd left her. "You should put that on. You'll ruin your clothes."
She narrowed her eyes. "I'll ruin my clothes? You never struck me as that kinky."
"You have no idea." He grinned and walked away, retreating to the kitchen.
She turned her attention to her lap to see what he wanted her to wear. It was a tee-shirt. A navy blue one, emblazoned with Yankees logo. Kinky didn't even begin to cover this. Whatever, anything to get this show on the road. As the alcohol was leveling out, she was getting tired and if they didn't get to it soon, she was going to curl up on this extremely comfortable bed and sleep.
The shirt hung to her knees, not unexpected considering how tall John was, but she opted to leave her bra and pants. Part of the fun was peeling off the layers, she knew. She was looking forward to helping John out of the rest of his suit. Following him to the kitchen, she found him leaning on the counter, a beer in his hand. She enjoyed watching the way his eyes lingered on her wearing his shirt. He swallowed hard enough for her to hear.
"How come you get a beer and I get water?" She pouted.
"Because I'm not drunk." He took a sip, then placed the beer on the counter next to his phone and the earwig that kept him perpetually attached to Finch.
"Has he been listening this whole time?" The pouting was no longer for show, she was genuinely annoyed.
"No, it's past Finch's bedtime."
She tried to size him up, realizing she had no idea if he was being truthful or not, also realizing that she didn't give a shit. Even if Finch had been listening, he wasn't any longer and wouldn't be when things got interesting. She stepped toward him, leaning her hips against his. "So I guess we should get down to business then."
It was actually a bit of surprise when she felt his arms reach around her, his hands moving to her hips. "Yeah, we should." He held her eyes as he ran his hands down the outside of her thighs, moving to the hem of the shirt and slipping under it. She wondered about that, why he'd wanted her in it if he was just going to take it off, but frankly, she didn't really care. Maybe he'd changed his mind about the kink. Maybe it was just an alpha male thing, he'd wanted to see her marked as his in some way.
Her eyes closed when his hands came up to feel their way along the waistband of her pants. He was gentle and though his hands were calloused, his touch was soft. She almost offered to help him out, but she didn't, instead sliding her hands down his chest to his stomach, then to his sides.
It felt so good just to be physically close to someone, someone she really trusted. Even when she'd kissed Beecher, she hadn't been relaxed. It hadn't felt right. This, however, this felt like it was supposed to. This felt natural. She rested her forehead against his chest and sighed. Had she been sober, she might have questioned why this assassin, this criminal, made her feel like she was home. But she wasn't sober, so she reveled in it, soaked it in, hoped he felt something besides pure lust as well.
When his hand moved into her front pocket, she once again wondered what sort of shit he was into. Before she could be bothered to ask, she felt him pull her phone loose. Oh. Duh.
He turned it off, grinning when she looked up. "Just in case."
"In case of what?" She stared at her phone lying next to his on the counter and idly remembered that the battery had been half dead when she left work. Maybe John had a spare charger she could borrow.
His hands braced on the counter behind him rather than returning to her body. "In case Finch has insomnia." He inclined his head to the side. "Come on, let's go."
She wasn't that drunk. She looked up from her spot resting on his chest. "I thought we were good right here." As if to remind him, her fingers trailed up his sides, hoping her touch had the same effect on him that his had on her.
"Yeah, we're good," he sighed, his eyes drifting closed for a minute. Then he stood up, pushing her back with his body, grabbing her hand to lead her back toward the front door. "But this will be more fun." He grinned back at her. "Promise."
"You'd better not be teasing me." There was little choice but to follow him. The only other option was to leave which would hurt her just as much as it hurt him.
"You know how I am with my promises." He bent down, picked up the sledgehammer, and offered it to her.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with that?" While leaving still didn't seem like the best option, she was getting desperate and starting to suspect John was needlessly dragging his feet.
"Trust me?" He lifted it again, waiting for her to take it before he smiled. He stepped behind her and helped her swing the hammer over her shoulder, leaving it perched on her shoulder like a bat. He pointed at the wall in front of them, his mouth at her ear. "I've been meaning to do some home improvements. I want to take this wall down." He stepped away, leaning against the adjacent wall and smiling. "And you want to hit something. Knock yourself out."
She waited.
He was going to say 'gotcha.'
In a minute.
Any minute.
At some point.
Fuck, the sledgehammer was heavy.
"You're serious." She stared at him, trying to pretend that it wasn't possible, telling herself he hadn't just let her spend the evening making a fool out of herself, swearing she'd use the hammer on him if he had.
He nodded. "Go on, take a swing."
Maybe, she decided, this was his thing. He wanted to see her being all tough and tomboyish and then he'd get down to business. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any point in getting rid of their phones, she reasoned. Satisfied that the whole thing made some sense, she did what he told her. She lifted the sledgehammer from her shoulder and let it fall forward, barely making a mark on its way down.
"That all you got, Carter? I thought you were angry." He took the weight from her, lifting it over his shoulder and throwing all his power into the swing. A large dent formed in the wall. John's eyes danced. He offered it back to her. "I'm not joking about wanting the wall down."
She blinked at him. "You want me to help you knock down a wall? That's why I'm here?"
He was still grinning, though the expression was far less endearing than it normally was. "You said you were angry. Figured we could kill two birds with one stone."
Refusing the take the tool he continued to hold toward her, she folded her arms over her chest. "You brought me here under false pretenses."
"No, I didn't. I said I was taking you home and here you are, in my home, nothing false about it." Apparently the sledgehammer had gotten heavy for him too because he lowered it to his side and leaned on it. "Come on, Carter, try it. It's fun."
"You misled me."
"I did no such thing." Despite his measured tone, the fact that he lifted the hammer and swung it at the wall again revealed that he was enjoying this turn of events about as much as she was.
"You knew exactly what I was expecting. You lied." She bit back the urge to ask him to take off his tee-shirt the next time he swung the hammer. She imagined that would be pretty damn fun to watch, though the idea alone was painfully frustrating at the moment.
"I know what you were thinking." He leaned the hammer against the wall again, stepping into her personal space to touch her chin and raise her eyes to his. "You're still drunk, Carter, and this is as far as we go while that's the case." His grin returned as he looked down at her attire again. "Once you sober up, we can revisit this conversation."
She arched her eyebrow up in interest. "Are you just saying that so I don't hit you?"
"If you want to hit something," he nodded at the wall. When she didn't smile, he shook his head. "No, I'm not just saying that." He waited again. And again, she didn't smile. "I promise." He left her there, knowing full well what a promise from him meant to her, undoubtedly knowing that she wasn't going anywhere.
Trusting him to keep his word, she thought about his offer for her to take out her anger on the wall. He'd meant well, she knew that; he always did when it came to her. She had told him she wanted to hit something and he gave her the perfect outlet for her anger. With a shake of her head and a rueful smile she was glad John couldn't see, she picked up the sledgehammer.
It was a hell of a lot heavier with neither John nor gravity helping out, but it wasn't unmanageable. She took a deep breath, thought of Beecher and her ruined chance with the FBI, and let the hammer fall. The drywall gave under the second assault, a hole appearing with cracks splintering out in every direction. She grinned. Damn son of a bitch knew too much. Beating the shit out of something in a socially acceptable setting was exactly what she needed. She knew he was gloating, wherever he was, and she didn't care. He knew her somehow, had always known her, and she trusted that.
Because she'd known the same way about him. She'd known to trust him from the very beginning.
It took him around twenty minutes to return. His smug grin was firmly entrenched as he held out her glass of water. "Feel better?"
Hefting that hammer was hard work and she gulped down the cool liquid. "Of course I do." She tried to glare at him, but wound up grinning back. "You knew I would."
He reached out, his palm sliding across her cheek, his expression softening as the look in his eyes intensified. "And the exercise will help you sober up faster."
Damn. Finch might think he was the brains of the operation, but clearly John was a hell of a lot smarter than anyone gave him credit for.
He hefted the weight of the hammer over his shoulder easily. "Mind if I take a swing?"
She stepped back, leaning against the other wall, perfectly content to watch the muscles barely hidden under his thin shirt work. "It's your wall."
"Not for long," he chuckled.