Saturday: Free for All
Welcome to the weekend, ladies and gents. You know what that means: Free For All!
All fandoms, pairings and prompts are welcome today. Just remember to follow our usual rules:
ȣ Please, no spoilers in prompts. If there are spoilers in your fill, please warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces ( Read more... )
All fandoms, pairings and prompts are welcome today. Just remember to follow our usual rules:
ȣ Please, no spoilers in prompts. If there are spoilers in your fill, please warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces ( Read more... )
“Easy, Specialist,” the man steps out of the shadows, voice soft in warning. He’s got a gun held in one hand and the other is open, relaxed against his thigh. Eliot isn’t fooled for second because the very way the man holds himself screams of black ops training. “We aren’t here for the same thing and I’m not looking to stop you, so long as you don’t get in my way.”
Eliot takes stock of the stranger, the pale skin and dark eyes, the lean strength in his frame. The name comes to him after a moment’s thought. “Bourne.” Eliot names him in a flat voice. There are whispers of the assassin everywhere, a rumor in the underworld but he’s younger than what Eliot expects. His brown eyes are friendly even though his reputation is one for delivering death despite any obstacle. The man smiles, a quicksilver flash of white teeth in the dark.
“Get what you came for, Spencer.” The man moves towards the outside staircase of the luxury villa with a fluid grace that Eliot envies. “I’ll see myself out.”
Eliot gets the gold statue he was paid for and makes his way back to the apartment he’s holed up in. He’s only half surprised to see Bourne sitting in the chair next to the bed when he enters.
“Something else you wanted?” Eliot grunts, setting his item in the bottom of a camera bag and hiding it underneath lenses and cameras that don’t actually work. It will be enough to get him onto the bus to Casablanca and through security for one-way flight to Rome. Bourne watches him pack up with a smile.
“I have a bit of time to kill.” The man licks his lips and Eliot smirks. He’s definitely interested. Bourne stands from the chair as Eliot crosses the room. Their lips meet in a clash, teeth and tongues fighting for control as hands roam. Clothes are stripped and Eliot finds himself pushing the taller man back on the bed soon after. Then it’s mouths and hands, wet heat and suction. Their bodies tell the story of their line of work but Eliot doesn’t pay much mind to the scars on the skin underneath him as he slicks his fingers. Little time for prep and then only a hiss of breath as Eliot slides in with a muffled groan against a pale shoulder. Bourne’s hips roll up to meet his thrusts eagerly.
The other man clenches around him and Eliot’s hips stutter in the rhythm he’d built up. Bourne grins and reaches down to stroke himself, following Eliot less than a minute later. They clean up in silence. Eliot isn’t surprised when Bourne takes the discarded, ruined shirt with him, disappearing as the sun’s rays start to peek over the ochre walls and Eliot's in the shower. At least it saves him the trouble of getting rid of DNA evidence.
Neither of them were ever in Marrakech at the same time and there's no one alive to say otherwise.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment