FIC: When All You've Got is Tonight
Title: When All You've Got is Tonight
Author: 3988akasha
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,500
Warnings: assassin!James, MAIN CHARACTER DEATH (sorry), Murder, Situational Conscent Issues
Pairings: James McAvoy/Michael Fassbender
Beta: bones_2_be
Disclaimer: I own my story. The characters in the story belong to themselves.
Summary/Prompt: Based on the DD16x found here. And the conversations about said pictures Huge hugs to sjpheartshim for her amazing prompt...which I shamelessly ran with... PROMPT: What springs to mind is James shooting up a bar Michael works in and he is the only survivor once the bullets stop. He can't resist and gets up to his knees to take a peek to see if the maniac is gone and it looks like he left but of course James is still there which is horribly inconvenient for him to have a witness, especially an innocent bystander, but before he can decide what to with Michael he hears the approach of a group of people. Naturally his only choice is to hop over the bar and bodily drag Michael with him outside where he tells Michael to either come along or get a bullet between the eyes because he can't have loose ends, his choice. so Michael hops on his motorcycle and holds onto James for dear life when bullets start flying again.
When All You’ve Got is Tonight
No survivors, no loose ends; they weren’t bad as orders went. Really, not difficult at all, and when James walked into the bar on that Sunday evening, he’d intended to follow those orders exactly as they’d been given. Then of course, the shooting began and everything went to hell, quickly. The first three men were sitting at the bar, their backs turned to him, and each received a bullet to the back of the head, clean, simple. At that point, two, at the pool tables, looked up, and reached for their guns; they didn’t quite make it, each hit the ground with a heavy thud, their pool cues landed next to them. One poor guy, coming out of the back room, managed to get a single shot off, it went wide, but it pissed James off; he didn’t appreciate being shot at by one of his marks. Usually, he was too far away to have any sort of fun with a target, but not today. Today, he could waste a bullet by shooting the guy in the knee, and he paused long enough to smirk as the man fell, crying out in agony, to the ground. After, he quickly scanned the room, counted the bodies - five kills, six marks, seven bullets. When the moaning became annoying rather than amusing, he turned back to the man on the ground and shot him in the head. He amended his list, six kills.
Altogether, it’d taken under two minutes to complete his assignment, which wasn’t a record for him, but it wasn’t anything to worry about either. Sometimes, there were things he couldn’t plan for, some things he’d never see coming. Like the guy who popped his head out from behind the bar, eyes wide with fear, face white as a sheet.
James swore under his breath, he hated having to kill innocent bystanders, but he couldn’t be blamed for their stupidity or bad fortune at being at the wrong place at the wrong time. There could be no loose ends, no one left alive who could identify him, or he was dead, and when it came down to it, he would always choose his own life over the life of a stranger. He crossed to the bar in three strides, lifted his gun, barrel between the guy’s eyes, watched him swallow, and hated his chosen profession for just a moment before he began to squeeze the trigger. In the silence, he heard muffled shouting, scurrying footsteps outside, and he moved his hand from the trigger. Perhaps it was the poor guy’s lucky day, at least he wasn’t going to die, not yet anyway. James shoved the gun back into his shoulder holster, and leapt over the bar. Without giving the man a chance to react, James grabbed his arm and tugged him out the back door of the bar. He could tell the man was just a bit terrified, his eyes kept darting from side to side and his breaths were short and a bit uneven. James threw his leg over the seat of his bike, and jumpstarted the engine. He looked up at the guy who stared back down at him sightlessly.
“You have two options, man, get on or get dead,” James hollered over the purr of the engine.
He hadn’t bothered to pull his gun, it wouldn’t be necessary. He knew people, and this guy would choose life for as long as possible, even if it meant getting on the back of a bike with a random person who’d just shot and killed six men. James smiled to himself when the guy shook himself a bit before scrambling awkwardly onto the back of the bike. James couldn’t suppress the slight moan when he felt the man adhere himself to his back, he was attractive and it’d been a while. When the bullets started flying, he bent low over the bike and sped out of the back lot; he darted as quickly into the flow of traffic as possible. No matter what the movies showed, he wasn’t going to be shot at on a public highway, no one wanted that kind of exposure. Once he was in the safety of urban traffic, he allowed himself to relax slightly, his posture straightening. His passenger hadn’t loosened his grip, and as James sped down the highway he realized he could’ve just shot him before racing out of the bar. Instead, he’d taken him along, which was quite possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever done, but even thinking back over the events in the bar, he didn’t regret his choice.
As they continued down the highway, the man’s death grip loosened bit by bit, and James found himself missing the pressure of the body against his. He pulled off the highway after about an hour, and turned into the lot of a nondescript motel. As soon as he killed the engine, his passenger scrambled off and looked around, eyes wide and wild, looking as though he’d bolt at any second. James didn’t blame him in the least, but still, he couldn’t afford to waste any time chasing after him.
“Hey, man, relax,” James commanded.
The wide-eyed man turned to face him, pale and trembling a bit from all of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He stumbled back a few steps, still deciding whether nor not to bolt.
“What in the bloody hell just happened? Who the fuck are you?”
James smirked. “I’m James.”
The man continued to stare at him.
“You could introduce yourself, you know,” James prompted.
“Er, right, um, I’m Michael. I still expect an explanation, you know.”
“Of course,” James conceded, “but, I need to get us checked into a room first. Explanations are best left for closed doors.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“I wouldn’t have bothered saving you if I planned to kill you, man.”
Michael nodded. “Okay.”
James placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder, looked into his eyes for a moment, noticing how the panicked must-run-now glaze was gone, before dropping his arm to his side once more.
As quickly as he could, James shuffled Michael into the main office, purchased a room, paid cash, and swiftly led Michael to their room.
“Who the hell are you?”
James choked a bit; Michael had managed to shove him up against the door, slamming it shut in the process, his forearm pressing hard into James’ neck. He was secretly pleased, it was refreshing to see he wasn’t a complete pushover, apparently it was shock earlier that had made him seem so weak, shock that had now faded. There was a fire in Michael’s eyes that James liked more than he should, and it kept him from working too hard to move away. He was curious, nothing had gone as planned today, so he let his recklessness continue to dominate his actions, wanting to see what the anomaly, Michael, would do, how far he would go.
“Why’d you come into my bar and kill all my customers?”
James patted Michael’s arm, indicating it was difficult to breath, making actual words impossible. He coughed a bit when Michael released a bit of the pressure, but didn’t back away which James found interesting.
“It’s my job.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “You job is to come into random bars and shoot all the customers? Look, I’m not an idiot. Tell me what the hell you were doing.”
“Wait,” James said, connecting some of the bits of information he’d gathered about Michael, “You own the bar?”
“Yes you twit, I own the bar. And now you’ve gone and shot it to hell.”
“I didn’t damage anything. They were clean kills.” James couldn’t figure out why he felt the need to defend himself.
“You killed six people in my bar. Might as well have just torched the place while you were at it. Murder is bad for business.”
“You should have better clientele.”
Michael blinked. “Of course, how silly of me. From now on I’ll ask everyone who comes in if they’ve got an assassin after them.”
James smirked. The more time he spent with Michael, even pressed up against the door as he was, the happier he was he’d not shot him between the eyes.
Michael moved away, and ran a hand through his hair. When that same hand moved down towards his pocket, James had his gun out and hammer pulled back, without really even thinking about it. Michael froze; shoulders tense.
“I thought you weren’t going to kill me.”
“That was before your hand moved.”
“I was going for a cigarette, then a shower.”
James released the hammer, lowering his gun to his side. “Leave them here, then.”
Michael spun around, fire flashing in his eyes, the gun from seconds ago apparently forgotten. “What?”
“You clothes,” James said slowly, “leave them here. You can keep your shorts.”
Michael spluttered for a moment, looked like he was going to protest, which James secretly appreciated. Then Michael noticed the gun James hadn’t yet holstered and shook his head. He muttered under his breath, James able to discern bits like “Glad I can keep my shorts” and “bloody perv”, to which James smirked. Truthfully, it was simply habit, but that didn’t keep him from watching Michael peel off his clothing. There was no finesse to the way Michael removed his clothes, even knowing he had an audience. He pulled his t-shirt over his head quickly and as skin, pulled taut over tight, lithe muscles was revealed to him, James was glad he hadn’t moved his eyes. He wanted Michael to turn around, he wanted to allow his eyes to roam around the broad expanse of his torso, to see if he was imaging the way the skin would move under his muscles. Without any sort of show, Michael toed off his shoes, denying James a better view of his ass. His jeans slid over his hips like sin and James swallowed convulsively, knowing he was reading too much sex into the movements, but not really wanting to stop. Michael didn’t look back before he went into the bathroom, and James wanted him to, but understood why he didn’t. James heard the water turn on and felt himself harden as he imagined the water cascading down Michael’s body. It bothered him on some level, the sudden attraction, desire, want he couldn’t explain. Regardless, it was there simmering right below the surface of his skin; it was madness, and he knew forcing the point wouldn’t work because he wouldn’t do it and held little hope that Michael was attracted to him.
Taking advantage of his time, James walked over to where Michael’d left his clothes and shuffled around until he found the man’s wallet and pulled it from the pocket. He pulled out the ID: Michael Fassbender, and found himself pleased that Michael had given him his real name. There were a couple of credit cards, club cards for various stores, a library card, and some small bill cash. He was putting the wallet back when he heard something crinkle; he dug around in the pocket and smiled. Apparently, Michael Fassbender was full of surprises. Michael walked out of the shower a few minutes later, hair wet from the shower, water drops following the contours of his chest down to where they disappeared into the towel he’d hastily tied around his waist. His skin was still flushed from the heat of the water, and James moved his hand a bit to cover his growing erection.
“Can I put my clothes back on?” Michael asked, a hand running through his hair.
James smirked. “If you want to.”
Michael raised an eyebrow, but made no move to put his clothing back on, much to James’ delight.
“I found this,” James held up a condom, “in your wallet.”
Michael didn’t answer, but his eyes kept darting to James’ lips. “Do you always carry around a condom with you, Michael?”
His face flushed, but he managed a cheeky smirk. “I don’t hear you complaining about it, James. You’ve not taken your eyes off me since we got off your bike.”
James licked his lips and took a step towards Michael, it was slow, measured and his only chance to get out of this. His smile spread across his face when Michael didn’t move away and he continued to close the distance between them in measured steps. When he was within proper distance, he placed his hands possessively on Michael’s hips and leaned in closely.
“Last chance,” he whispered, lips hovering near Michael’s earlobe. Michael didn’t respond, but his hands moved to James’ shoulders where he massaged small circles into the muscles.
“Good,” James whispered seconds before he mouthed the sensitive skin behind Michael’s ear.
He sunk his fingers deeper into Michael’s hips, loving the feel of Michael’s harsh breathing against his neck. James poked his tongue out, tracing the shell of his ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth, the wet sucking noises as obscene as the little gasps escaping Michael’s lips. He curled his fingers into the towel, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the slightly damp skin, and he heard Michael gasp. A wicked grin on his face, James repeated the action, slowly working his fingers further underneath the towel, stoking the skin that was far too soft to be fair.
“You’d better find a use for that condom soon, James,” Michael growled, voice raw with want.
James drug the towel down Michael’s lean hips, appreciating the way his back curved, little dimples right above his ass. James brought his hand down sharply, giving Michael’s firm ass a good slap.
“Up on the bed, then.” Michael threw a glare over his shoulder, but climbed up onto the bed anyway, as James knew he would.
James reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of zip ties, like a weapon, he never went anywhere without a few, they were amazingly useful. He saw Michael’s eyes widen a bit when he caught sight of him, but he licked his lips all the same; James’ dick twitched a bit, it was good to know he wouldn’t have to force the issue, it make things uncomfortably awkward.
“On your knees,” James gestured, “Hands on the headboard.”
When Michael was suitably positioned, James moved up onto the bed behind him, stroked a hand down Michael’s back, tracing the shiver with his eyes. He moved up next to where Michael gripped the headboard and carefully used the zip ties to bind Michael’s hands to the headboard. He took a moment to appreciate the elegance of his hands, the way the long fingers tapered from knuckle to tip, and indulged in a moment of regret for the time they didn’t have together. In another time, another life, he would have liked to have those hands explore the landscape of his own body, would have delighted of the feel of them on his skin. He shook himself and refocused his attention on the zip ties, careful to make sure they weren’t too tight; he didn’t want them to cut into Michael’s skin.
“Is that really necessary?” Michael asked. “It is,” James responded, noting the arousal in Michael’s tone.
Michael offered no further protests, but he did tug a bit on the restraints, testing his limits. James sucked two fingers into his mouth, sucking wetly on them, noticing the way Michael’s breath hitched at the wicked sound. He spread Michael, rubbing one of his spit slicked fingers against Michael’s puckered hole, pushing gently against the entrance.
“This going to be enough?” James asked.
“Fuck, yes, damn it,” Michael replied over his shoulder.
James nodded and slowly pushed one finger in to the first knuckle. Michael’s entire body tensed at the intrusion and James held still, his free hand coming up to stroke Michael’s lower back affectionately. When Michael began to push back against his finger, James pushed it the rest of the way in, loving how tight he was before adding a second finger. Michael’s head hung limply, his mouth open, little pants leaving his body as James worked his fingers in and out in smooth, deep strokes. With his free hand, he reached down, undid his belt and lowered his jeans enough to free his own straining erection. He gave himself a few sharp tugs before tearing open the condom wrapper. He pulled his fingers free and Michael whimpered at the loss. Once he’d managed to get the condom on, and as lubricated as he could, he settled himself between Michael’s legs, a hand on each ass cheek. He pushed the head of his dick into Michael, and paused, giving himself a moment to catch his breath, the feel of Michael around him incredible.
“James, you fuck, move!”
James laughed roughly, liking the broken command and thrust the rest of the way in, feeling Michael convulse around him. He stayed seated like that, dick shoved balls deep, teasing Michael more than he had any right to before he began to rock his hips in long, deep strokes. He knew he wouldn’t last long, and wanted to get Michael off first, so he sped up, changed the angle, kept a bruising grip on his hips and hit Michael’s prostate with each thrust.
“Gah…Christ…James…” Michael kept up a mostly constant stream of curses and James wished he’d shut up, not wanting to remember the way his name sounded on Michael’s lips.
Losing his finesse, James thrust wildly into Michael. His litany became less coherent, his knuckles turned white from the death grip he had on the headboard. James reached down and grabbed Michael’s dick, hand sliding over it in time with his thrusts. With a shout, Michael shot his load, come landing hot and sticky in James’ hand. He thrust a few more times into Michael before he felt his balls tighten, his own orgasm taking over, and he fell heavily against Michael as the aftershocks rocked him.
Once he’d caught his breath, he pulled out slowly before disposing of the condom. He slid from the bed slid his jeans back up, and walked to the bathroom on legs that were normally steadier. He returned to the bed with a washcloth and a pair of scissors. Careful to avoid cutting Michael’s skin, James released him from the restraints and handed him the washcloth. Silently, Michael cleaned himself up, neither looked at the other, everything they weren’t going to say sat heavy in the space between them.
James’ phone rang, breaking the silence like a clap of thunder on a bright summer day, and Michael’s eyes followed him across the room. Back to Michael, he answered it without saying anything, eyes revealing nothing, before he hung up. He glanced at the clock on the wall above him, the time mocking him, it was Monday and time for his next assignment. He picked up his gun and turned back to Michael, face completely blank. Michael stared at the gun in James’ hand.
“I thought you weren’t going to kill me.”
“That was yesterday.”
“And today?”
“Today you’re a loose end.”
“Is it even hard for you? All the killing?”
James paused, not wanting to lie. “It used to be.”
“I wish I’d never met you.”
“I know.”
James pulled the hammer back and wanted to look away from the warmth in Michael’s eyes. It wasn’t meant to be like this, he hadn’t intended to fuck the man, not knowing he’d eventually have to shoot him. For the first time he regretted “saving” him the day before in the bar, and while he didn’t regret meeting Michael, he could’ve saved them both a lot of hurt by simply curbing his reckless impulses. Lessons learned. He considered apologizing, it was on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. He wouldn’t insult Michael with an apology, he would be cool, professional. It was the final gift he could offer. He timed the shot with his heartbeats, forcing himself to keep his breathing even, steady. He heard the shot, watched it strike Michael between the eyes, watched the body flop back onto the bed, lifeless. Without looking back, James picked up his jacket and let the door click shut behind him.
~FIN~
Author: 3988akasha
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,500
Warnings: assassin!James, MAIN CHARACTER DEATH (sorry), Murder, Situational Conscent Issues
Pairings: James McAvoy/Michael Fassbender
Beta: bones_2_be
Disclaimer: I own my story. The characters in the story belong to themselves.
Summary/Prompt: Based on the DD16x found here. And the conversations about said pictures Huge hugs to sjpheartshim for her amazing prompt...which I shamelessly ran with... PROMPT: What springs to mind is James shooting up a bar Michael works in and he is the only survivor once the bullets stop. He can't resist and gets up to his knees to take a peek to see if the maniac is gone and it looks like he left but of course James is still there which is horribly inconvenient for him to have a witness, especially an innocent bystander, but before he can decide what to with Michael he hears the approach of a group of people. Naturally his only choice is to hop over the bar and bodily drag Michael with him outside where he tells Michael to either come along or get a bullet between the eyes because he can't have loose ends, his choice. so Michael hops on his motorcycle and holds onto James for dear life when bullets start flying again.
When All You’ve Got is Tonight
No survivors, no loose ends; they weren’t bad as orders went. Really, not difficult at all, and when James walked into the bar on that Sunday evening, he’d intended to follow those orders exactly as they’d been given. Then of course, the shooting began and everything went to hell, quickly. The first three men were sitting at the bar, their backs turned to him, and each received a bullet to the back of the head, clean, simple. At that point, two, at the pool tables, looked up, and reached for their guns; they didn’t quite make it, each hit the ground with a heavy thud, their pool cues landed next to them. One poor guy, coming out of the back room, managed to get a single shot off, it went wide, but it pissed James off; he didn’t appreciate being shot at by one of his marks. Usually, he was too far away to have any sort of fun with a target, but not today. Today, he could waste a bullet by shooting the guy in the knee, and he paused long enough to smirk as the man fell, crying out in agony, to the ground. After, he quickly scanned the room, counted the bodies - five kills, six marks, seven bullets. When the moaning became annoying rather than amusing, he turned back to the man on the ground and shot him in the head. He amended his list, six kills.
Altogether, it’d taken under two minutes to complete his assignment, which wasn’t a record for him, but it wasn’t anything to worry about either. Sometimes, there were things he couldn’t plan for, some things he’d never see coming. Like the guy who popped his head out from behind the bar, eyes wide with fear, face white as a sheet.
James swore under his breath, he hated having to kill innocent bystanders, but he couldn’t be blamed for their stupidity or bad fortune at being at the wrong place at the wrong time. There could be no loose ends, no one left alive who could identify him, or he was dead, and when it came down to it, he would always choose his own life over the life of a stranger. He crossed to the bar in three strides, lifted his gun, barrel between the guy’s eyes, watched him swallow, and hated his chosen profession for just a moment before he began to squeeze the trigger. In the silence, he heard muffled shouting, scurrying footsteps outside, and he moved his hand from the trigger. Perhaps it was the poor guy’s lucky day, at least he wasn’t going to die, not yet anyway. James shoved the gun back into his shoulder holster, and leapt over the bar. Without giving the man a chance to react, James grabbed his arm and tugged him out the back door of the bar. He could tell the man was just a bit terrified, his eyes kept darting from side to side and his breaths were short and a bit uneven. James threw his leg over the seat of his bike, and jumpstarted the engine. He looked up at the guy who stared back down at him sightlessly.
“You have two options, man, get on or get dead,” James hollered over the purr of the engine.
He hadn’t bothered to pull his gun, it wouldn’t be necessary. He knew people, and this guy would choose life for as long as possible, even if it meant getting on the back of a bike with a random person who’d just shot and killed six men. James smiled to himself when the guy shook himself a bit before scrambling awkwardly onto the back of the bike. James couldn’t suppress the slight moan when he felt the man adhere himself to his back, he was attractive and it’d been a while. When the bullets started flying, he bent low over the bike and sped out of the back lot; he darted as quickly into the flow of traffic as possible. No matter what the movies showed, he wasn’t going to be shot at on a public highway, no one wanted that kind of exposure. Once he was in the safety of urban traffic, he allowed himself to relax slightly, his posture straightening. His passenger hadn’t loosened his grip, and as James sped down the highway he realized he could’ve just shot him before racing out of the bar. Instead, he’d taken him along, which was quite possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever done, but even thinking back over the events in the bar, he didn’t regret his choice.
As they continued down the highway, the man’s death grip loosened bit by bit, and James found himself missing the pressure of the body against his. He pulled off the highway after about an hour, and turned into the lot of a nondescript motel. As soon as he killed the engine, his passenger scrambled off and looked around, eyes wide and wild, looking as though he’d bolt at any second. James didn’t blame him in the least, but still, he couldn’t afford to waste any time chasing after him.
“Hey, man, relax,” James commanded.
The wide-eyed man turned to face him, pale and trembling a bit from all of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He stumbled back a few steps, still deciding whether nor not to bolt.
“What in the bloody hell just happened? Who the fuck are you?”
James smirked. “I’m James.”
The man continued to stare at him.
“You could introduce yourself, you know,” James prompted.
“Er, right, um, I’m Michael. I still expect an explanation, you know.”
“Of course,” James conceded, “but, I need to get us checked into a room first. Explanations are best left for closed doors.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“I wouldn’t have bothered saving you if I planned to kill you, man.”
Michael nodded. “Okay.”
James placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder, looked into his eyes for a moment, noticing how the panicked must-run-now glaze was gone, before dropping his arm to his side once more.
As quickly as he could, James shuffled Michael into the main office, purchased a room, paid cash, and swiftly led Michael to their room.
“Who the hell are you?”
James choked a bit; Michael had managed to shove him up against the door, slamming it shut in the process, his forearm pressing hard into James’ neck. He was secretly pleased, it was refreshing to see he wasn’t a complete pushover, apparently it was shock earlier that had made him seem so weak, shock that had now faded. There was a fire in Michael’s eyes that James liked more than he should, and it kept him from working too hard to move away. He was curious, nothing had gone as planned today, so he let his recklessness continue to dominate his actions, wanting to see what the anomaly, Michael, would do, how far he would go.
“Why’d you come into my bar and kill all my customers?”
James patted Michael’s arm, indicating it was difficult to breath, making actual words impossible. He coughed a bit when Michael released a bit of the pressure, but didn’t back away which James found interesting.
“It’s my job.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “You job is to come into random bars and shoot all the customers? Look, I’m not an idiot. Tell me what the hell you were doing.”
“Wait,” James said, connecting some of the bits of information he’d gathered about Michael, “You own the bar?”
“Yes you twit, I own the bar. And now you’ve gone and shot it to hell.”
“I didn’t damage anything. They were clean kills.” James couldn’t figure out why he felt the need to defend himself.
“You killed six people in my bar. Might as well have just torched the place while you were at it. Murder is bad for business.”
“You should have better clientele.”
Michael blinked. “Of course, how silly of me. From now on I’ll ask everyone who comes in if they’ve got an assassin after them.”
James smirked. The more time he spent with Michael, even pressed up against the door as he was, the happier he was he’d not shot him between the eyes.
Michael moved away, and ran a hand through his hair. When that same hand moved down towards his pocket, James had his gun out and hammer pulled back, without really even thinking about it. Michael froze; shoulders tense.
“I thought you weren’t going to kill me.”
“That was before your hand moved.”
“I was going for a cigarette, then a shower.”
James released the hammer, lowering his gun to his side. “Leave them here, then.”
Michael spun around, fire flashing in his eyes, the gun from seconds ago apparently forgotten. “What?”
“You clothes,” James said slowly, “leave them here. You can keep your shorts.”
Michael spluttered for a moment, looked like he was going to protest, which James secretly appreciated. Then Michael noticed the gun James hadn’t yet holstered and shook his head. He muttered under his breath, James able to discern bits like “Glad I can keep my shorts” and “bloody perv”, to which James smirked. Truthfully, it was simply habit, but that didn’t keep him from watching Michael peel off his clothing. There was no finesse to the way Michael removed his clothes, even knowing he had an audience. He pulled his t-shirt over his head quickly and as skin, pulled taut over tight, lithe muscles was revealed to him, James was glad he hadn’t moved his eyes. He wanted Michael to turn around, he wanted to allow his eyes to roam around the broad expanse of his torso, to see if he was imaging the way the skin would move under his muscles. Without any sort of show, Michael toed off his shoes, denying James a better view of his ass. His jeans slid over his hips like sin and James swallowed convulsively, knowing he was reading too much sex into the movements, but not really wanting to stop. Michael didn’t look back before he went into the bathroom, and James wanted him to, but understood why he didn’t. James heard the water turn on and felt himself harden as he imagined the water cascading down Michael’s body. It bothered him on some level, the sudden attraction, desire, want he couldn’t explain. Regardless, it was there simmering right below the surface of his skin; it was madness, and he knew forcing the point wouldn’t work because he wouldn’t do it and held little hope that Michael was attracted to him.
Taking advantage of his time, James walked over to where Michael’d left his clothes and shuffled around until he found the man’s wallet and pulled it from the pocket. He pulled out the ID: Michael Fassbender, and found himself pleased that Michael had given him his real name. There were a couple of credit cards, club cards for various stores, a library card, and some small bill cash. He was putting the wallet back when he heard something crinkle; he dug around in the pocket and smiled. Apparently, Michael Fassbender was full of surprises. Michael walked out of the shower a few minutes later, hair wet from the shower, water drops following the contours of his chest down to where they disappeared into the towel he’d hastily tied around his waist. His skin was still flushed from the heat of the water, and James moved his hand a bit to cover his growing erection.
“Can I put my clothes back on?” Michael asked, a hand running through his hair.
James smirked. “If you want to.”
Michael raised an eyebrow, but made no move to put his clothing back on, much to James’ delight.
“I found this,” James held up a condom, “in your wallet.”
Michael didn’t answer, but his eyes kept darting to James’ lips. “Do you always carry around a condom with you, Michael?”
His face flushed, but he managed a cheeky smirk. “I don’t hear you complaining about it, James. You’ve not taken your eyes off me since we got off your bike.”
James licked his lips and took a step towards Michael, it was slow, measured and his only chance to get out of this. His smile spread across his face when Michael didn’t move away and he continued to close the distance between them in measured steps. When he was within proper distance, he placed his hands possessively on Michael’s hips and leaned in closely.
“Last chance,” he whispered, lips hovering near Michael’s earlobe. Michael didn’t respond, but his hands moved to James’ shoulders where he massaged small circles into the muscles.
“Good,” James whispered seconds before he mouthed the sensitive skin behind Michael’s ear.
He sunk his fingers deeper into Michael’s hips, loving the feel of Michael’s harsh breathing against his neck. James poked his tongue out, tracing the shell of his ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth, the wet sucking noises as obscene as the little gasps escaping Michael’s lips. He curled his fingers into the towel, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the slightly damp skin, and he heard Michael gasp. A wicked grin on his face, James repeated the action, slowly working his fingers further underneath the towel, stoking the skin that was far too soft to be fair.
“You’d better find a use for that condom soon, James,” Michael growled, voice raw with want.
James drug the towel down Michael’s lean hips, appreciating the way his back curved, little dimples right above his ass. James brought his hand down sharply, giving Michael’s firm ass a good slap.
“Up on the bed, then.” Michael threw a glare over his shoulder, but climbed up onto the bed anyway, as James knew he would.
James reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of zip ties, like a weapon, he never went anywhere without a few, they were amazingly useful. He saw Michael’s eyes widen a bit when he caught sight of him, but he licked his lips all the same; James’ dick twitched a bit, it was good to know he wouldn’t have to force the issue, it make things uncomfortably awkward.
“On your knees,” James gestured, “Hands on the headboard.”
When Michael was suitably positioned, James moved up onto the bed behind him, stroked a hand down Michael’s back, tracing the shiver with his eyes. He moved up next to where Michael gripped the headboard and carefully used the zip ties to bind Michael’s hands to the headboard. He took a moment to appreciate the elegance of his hands, the way the long fingers tapered from knuckle to tip, and indulged in a moment of regret for the time they didn’t have together. In another time, another life, he would have liked to have those hands explore the landscape of his own body, would have delighted of the feel of them on his skin. He shook himself and refocused his attention on the zip ties, careful to make sure they weren’t too tight; he didn’t want them to cut into Michael’s skin.
“Is that really necessary?” Michael asked. “It is,” James responded, noting the arousal in Michael’s tone.
Michael offered no further protests, but he did tug a bit on the restraints, testing his limits. James sucked two fingers into his mouth, sucking wetly on them, noticing the way Michael’s breath hitched at the wicked sound. He spread Michael, rubbing one of his spit slicked fingers against Michael’s puckered hole, pushing gently against the entrance.
“This going to be enough?” James asked.
“Fuck, yes, damn it,” Michael replied over his shoulder.
James nodded and slowly pushed one finger in to the first knuckle. Michael’s entire body tensed at the intrusion and James held still, his free hand coming up to stroke Michael’s lower back affectionately. When Michael began to push back against his finger, James pushed it the rest of the way in, loving how tight he was before adding a second finger. Michael’s head hung limply, his mouth open, little pants leaving his body as James worked his fingers in and out in smooth, deep strokes. With his free hand, he reached down, undid his belt and lowered his jeans enough to free his own straining erection. He gave himself a few sharp tugs before tearing open the condom wrapper. He pulled his fingers free and Michael whimpered at the loss. Once he’d managed to get the condom on, and as lubricated as he could, he settled himself between Michael’s legs, a hand on each ass cheek. He pushed the head of his dick into Michael, and paused, giving himself a moment to catch his breath, the feel of Michael around him incredible.
“James, you fuck, move!”
James laughed roughly, liking the broken command and thrust the rest of the way in, feeling Michael convulse around him. He stayed seated like that, dick shoved balls deep, teasing Michael more than he had any right to before he began to rock his hips in long, deep strokes. He knew he wouldn’t last long, and wanted to get Michael off first, so he sped up, changed the angle, kept a bruising grip on his hips and hit Michael’s prostate with each thrust.
“Gah…Christ…James…” Michael kept up a mostly constant stream of curses and James wished he’d shut up, not wanting to remember the way his name sounded on Michael’s lips.
Losing his finesse, James thrust wildly into Michael. His litany became less coherent, his knuckles turned white from the death grip he had on the headboard. James reached down and grabbed Michael’s dick, hand sliding over it in time with his thrusts. With a shout, Michael shot his load, come landing hot and sticky in James’ hand. He thrust a few more times into Michael before he felt his balls tighten, his own orgasm taking over, and he fell heavily against Michael as the aftershocks rocked him.
Once he’d caught his breath, he pulled out slowly before disposing of the condom. He slid from the bed slid his jeans back up, and walked to the bathroom on legs that were normally steadier. He returned to the bed with a washcloth and a pair of scissors. Careful to avoid cutting Michael’s skin, James released him from the restraints and handed him the washcloth. Silently, Michael cleaned himself up, neither looked at the other, everything they weren’t going to say sat heavy in the space between them.
James’ phone rang, breaking the silence like a clap of thunder on a bright summer day, and Michael’s eyes followed him across the room. Back to Michael, he answered it without saying anything, eyes revealing nothing, before he hung up. He glanced at the clock on the wall above him, the time mocking him, it was Monday and time for his next assignment. He picked up his gun and turned back to Michael, face completely blank. Michael stared at the gun in James’ hand.
“I thought you weren’t going to kill me.”
“That was yesterday.”
“And today?”
“Today you’re a loose end.”
“Is it even hard for you? All the killing?”
James paused, not wanting to lie. “It used to be.”
“I wish I’d never met you.”
“I know.”
James pulled the hammer back and wanted to look away from the warmth in Michael’s eyes. It wasn’t meant to be like this, he hadn’t intended to fuck the man, not knowing he’d eventually have to shoot him. For the first time he regretted “saving” him the day before in the bar, and while he didn’t regret meeting Michael, he could’ve saved them both a lot of hurt by simply curbing his reckless impulses. Lessons learned. He considered apologizing, it was on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. He wouldn’t insult Michael with an apology, he would be cool, professional. It was the final gift he could offer. He timed the shot with his heartbeats, forcing himself to keep his breathing even, steady. He heard the shot, watched it strike Michael between the eyes, watched the body flop back onto the bed, lifeless. Without looking back, James picked up his jacket and let the door click shut behind him.
~FIN~