Chapter 12
WC: 2702
Rated: E
Chapter Tags: language, discussions of sexual situations, smut, oral sex female recieving, minor violence, hunt being a meanie butt, uhhh something dramatic happens at the end but i really dont want to spoil it because it's only implied here (will def. be tagged next chap tho), angst, anxiety, humor
A/N: heeeeeeeey sorry bout that 😅 you know that post going around about "fanfic writers have a super dramatic life and have ahit happened like crazy" yeah that's been me the last month.... anywho here's chapter 12!
🖼
The cold air of the hotel room does nothing to cool your body from the heat surging through you. It wasn’t an alarm or the sun that woke you - but instead the mop of curls and trail of kisses finding their way between your thighs.
“If I had known-” a soft sigh interrupts your whisper as his nose nudges your clit “-that mouth was good for more than just scowling I would’ve- OH!” You cry out as Niki drags the edge of his upper teeth over the bud, no doubt in response to your snark.
“Yes?” His fingers probe at the slick of your entrance. One pushes in to the hilt causing your hips to buck.
“I uh- mmm…”
Niki licks one stripe over your folds as he sets a torturously slow pace with his digit. He lifts a single brow at you. “Funny how you can talk all that bullshit until my face is in your cunt.” You don’t justify his teasing with an answer, instead tugging his curls to shove his mouth back against your throbbing heat. His grin is apparent as he takes your nub in between his lips.
He doesn’t stop after the first time he makes you come.
Niki finds it fit to make you fall apart three times with his fingers and tongue before making his way back up the bed. When he does finally push inside you the roll of his hips is delicate, enough to quell the ache from the night before. Your lovemaking is gentle and sweet; part of you wishes it would never end. But as Niki whispers into the curve of your neck how stunning, how smart, how fierce you are, there is little you could do to stop one last wave of ecstasy from washing over you.
The sun rises higher outside your window as the two of you lay together. You have one leg thrown over his hip, your body presses into his side and his fingers trace imaginary shapes into your back. As much as you hate to think about it, the high of the last few hours is coming down. Only one thing sticks in your mind.
What now?
Neither Niki nor James has any idea on what to do about Lombardi. He could be halfway across the world by now, priceless art in tow. But that’s just the first problem.
Your second? What the hell to do about the man in your bed.
None of it was ever supposed to happen - you weren’t supposed to fall in love, if you even dared to call what you felt love. You'd barely known him for a week. He was only meant to be some guy you helped. Garnier warned you he walked around like he had a permanent stick up his ass - something Niki made apparent the first few days of your little trio. What no one told you was that he was capable of being so soft underneath. You don’t think that you could have fought the growing attachment you felt towards the Austrian if you tried. And that is your biggest threat. You don’t grow attached. Not because you don’t like people per say, you just don’t feel the need to be let down by them. It was easier to do your own thing; to protect yourself.
Yet here you are, lying in bed with this man, not wanting to let him go.
Where would you all end up once the mission was done? Niki and James would go back to Interpol headquarters, of course. You would fly back to the States. The end - case closed. The thought curdles in your gut, but you ignore it as much as you can. There is no other option for how this turns out. You would be naive to even think there could be. It's better to take what fond memories you have of the last few hours and store them away for safekeeping.
The feel of Niki’s thumb caressing the skin of your hip draws you out of your thoughts. There is a lot you aren’t sure of in life, but what you do know is that you are not about to bring up this conversation with him anytime soon. If at all. You sigh and sit up, the sheet falling from you to settle in your lap. “We should figure out what our next steps are. To catch Lombardi.” You don’t meet his eye, instead leaning over the bed to pick a shirt up off the floor. He watches you anyway.
Niki nods his head. “Yes. We should.”
And thus the spell you had been under was broken.
___
Three days.
It had been three days and no signs of the Italian mobster, no word from any mole, nothing. Your two agents suspect he is still in Italy, after no record of him crossing a border could be traced. Then again, with a man like Lombardi you don’t really expect him to follow any laws regarding international borders. All that was left for you to do was wait with open eyes and open ears.
James, Niki, and yourself would make the journey back towards Florence. You had no intention of staying in the city, as it could be an easy target should Lombardi seek retaliation. The plan was to get to your hotel, collect the rest of your things, and head out early in the afternoon to the town of Prato, a short drive from Florence. Should anything happen, you would be close enough to get back if need be.
The drive was quiet. Mostly. You sat in the backseat of the sedan that some unknown Interpol agent had arranged for you to use. It was nice enough, with worn leather seats and enough leg room for you to stretch out a bit. James insisted on driving; Niki focused on reviewing every single document, note, photo, and observation that you three had collected the last week in the hopes that he would spot something useful. Every so often he would ask you questions about the art. How old and what purpose and how much. You didn't think you could offer anything more than you already had.
The battle between the boys starts with the radio. James turns it up louder. Niki turns it down. James put on a song and begins to sing. Niki turns it off completely. Nothing is said to each other.
Every few minutes you can feel their eyes on you, James from the rear view mirror, Niki from the side one. It would have been fine if they weren't so obvious. You raise a brow the fifth time you catch Hunt staring at you in the reflection. He stops.
You ride in silence for another twenty minutes before James speaks. “You know, Niki - I once dated a girl from Vienna. You Austrains really do like sausage if you know what I-"
"Do not finish that sentence."
"Why not? Something the matter, Niki?"
No response. The only sounds are the engine running and the swoosh of Niki flipping the page of his notes.
"Maybe you know her or something, her name was Helga... or Olga, or you know," he waves the hand not on the wheel absentmindedly, "one of those stuffy names you lot always have." James pauses. Niki still says nothing, attempting to ignore the Brit. You opt to see where he's headed with this tale. James' tone worries you as to what he might say next to get a rise out of his partner.
"But!" Hunt wiggles his finger towards his partner. "I can admit that she was a wildcat - absolutely. Didn't know you krauts were such beasts in bed." His eyes meet yours in the mirror again. "You'd know all about that, right?" He points towards his own neck with a smirk, no doubt calling attention to the now-yellowing bruise Niki had gifted you. Your jaw dropped before he even finished teasing you. That asshole.
The comment kicks Niki into gear, papers forgotten as he reaches across the front seat, nearly throttling the man and tearing at the sleeve of his jacket. Car swerving dangerously and horns honking, you intervene and pull Niki away from James.
"Hey! We are not doing this! I'll be damned if you get me killed over some bullshit joke!" The heat in your cheeks could start a wildfire.
James chuckles, "I'm just glad Niki's got some balls for once. He's always so careful all the time! It's exhausting!" He punches at the Austrian’s shoulder, before he starts mimicking "harder Niki, harder! Oooooh!" in a horrible girlish American-accented voice through his laughter.
"Fuck you!" Niki spits at Hunt. "He's not going to speak about me like that - about you."
You roll your eyes. If anything you’re impressed that James made it three whole days without saying anything to either of you. But of course when he decides to, it naturally has to be in some obscene way to piss off Niki. "You know what? Let him."
Niki whips his head towards you, his brows scrunched tight. "What? Are you crazy?!"
"I think he's just jealous that it wasn't his name I was screaming out last night and this morning." James gives a wolf whistle at your admission.
"Still not sure you didn't just get it in the shit from the other night, but... I know a love bite when I see one. You slags!" You groan into your hands, hoping they will cover the embarrassment and heat burning your cheeks.
"Fucking- ugh, sich verpissen..." Niki scoffs and licks his lips. "I'm done with this conversation. "
Thankfully it was enough to satisfy James, who was content to spend the rest of the drive in silence.
___
The hotel pickup went smoothly, and soon you were all in the car headed to the new one. Tensions abated on the second leg of the drive. This time Niki was behind the wheel with James snoring in the front seat; you kept the backseat to yourself. Every so often the Austrian caught your eye in the mirror. You didn't mind.
Once more you shuffle into your shared room with your agent at the new lodgings. The place wasn’t as upscale as the hotel in Florence, but in all honesty you didn’t care much. You were just grateful to be farther away from the events of Piombino. Niki was sure to get a room away from Hunt, if only to spare you from the harassment of him hearing anything he shouldn't. Not that he would now. Unlike the other locations, the rooms here only came as singles. You felt a pang of disappointment - the beds are too small to comfortably fit two adults on - their murky green patterned quilts mocking you.
A huff breaks from your lips. You shouldn’t even be considering the idea of sharing a bed with him. You had grown accustomed to his presence, his warmth, far too quickly. Of course you had no regrets about Niki - not one. Yet there was the unspoken agreement and understanding that this, whatever it was, was temporary. You could both walk away from those 12 hours with a smile. Albeit, a bittersweet one. No, you could never find a way to make it work out to something of substance because of circumstances beyond your control. But yes, you could have that one night to warm you on those lonely days, to remember how for once you felt loved and cherished and right.
You take a minute to watch him from across the room. He’s rummaging in his bag where he’s set it on the corner dresser, his curls bouncing a little as he moves. You clear your throat. Arm beginning to ache from it’s hold on your own tote, you move to pick a bed. Choosing the one closest to the bathroom, you plop your luggage on top.
You look around the bland suite idly. The ticking clock on the wall to your left reads almost 2 o’clock. Waiting around was never your strong suit. "I'm hungry. Let's go to that café down the street." You look over your shoulder at Niki.
"No. That's not a good idea. Call room service."
You blink at him. "Why wouldn't it be a good idea?"
"Lombardi could be watching," he explains like it's obvious. He busies himself by unpacking his neatly pressed shirts.
"Niki." You raise your brows as if to say don't be ridiculous. "We've had no sign of him in days from anywhere; we've been holed up in our rooms the whole time. I need to get out. Room service would be shit, if they even have it here, which I doubt they do based on the looks of it,” you kick at the edge of the blanket. “And I want a decent cup of espresso and something sweet."
Niki stops what he’s doing. He shakes his head, hands on his hips. "I still don't think it's a good idea."
You grab the room key and strut to the door. Turning back you tell him "well I'm going, and you can either stay here and do nothing or you could join me. Or I could ask James?" you trail off as the door slowly swings closed behind you.
In the end Niki finds himself walking next to you down the busy city street. He figures if you're going out you shouldn't do so alone. You pay the crowd no mind as you stride down the sidewalk as if you belong there. Niki, on the other hand, finds himself watching; his eyes dart from person to person and around corners and in the back of parked cars. Inconspicuously, of course. He wouldn’t be an agent for Interpol if he didn’t know how to surveil.
Suddenly you stop at a brightly lit cafe. Yellow and white striped awnings provide shade to the wired tables lining the street. Small groups of people are gathered inside and out as they enjoy the afternoon breeze. You peek in the front window, eying up the desserts and breads available. “Let’s eat here;” you don’t wait for him as you open the door with a jingle.
The two of you order a light lunch, plus your espresso and a small flaky cake for afterwards. Carrying your drinks you spot a table outside. Niki places both beverages down and you immediately take a sip of your still piping coffee. You hiss as the bitter liquid scalds your tongue.
“Careful, sweetie, you'll burn yourself.” He winces, the term slipping out before he could stop himself. Niki had become used to calling you, his ‘fiancee’, sweetie in public - now that Lombardi knew about your ruse there wasn’t much reason to keep up the charade. If you react he doesn’t notice. Biting his bottom lip he excuses himself to go pick up the food from inside. He turns back before he’s even taken a step. “Will you be alright on your own?”
“I’ll be here.” You smile before bringing the small cup to your lips again.
Niki only has to wait a few minutes for the food to be ready. Once or twice he peers out the window as best as he can to see you. From the angle you sit he can just see your back as you face away from him.
After what feels to him like too long away from you, but probably only five minutes, he makes his way back. The door jingles as he maneuvers through it carrying several plates. He stops in his tracks.
You aren’t there.
Niki twists his neck to quickly scan the area. Maybe you had gone to the bathroom and he missed seeing you? Maybe you were helping someone at another table? Maybe you went into the shop next door? No. That wouldn’t make sense. No matter the case, he can’t look for you while juggling sandwiches and pastries in his arms. The plates clink against the metal table as he sets them down with little grace. That’s when he spots it.
A glint of light catches his eye.
Sitting just there on the side of your espresso saucer is your ring. And underneath the plate - a single bank note worth 100 pounds.
“Scheisse.”
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