Jealous Gaze
Adrian Chase x f!Reader
Smuttt
The dim fluorescents of the Evergreen motel buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry bees, casting long shadows across the chipped Formica table where the 11th Street Kids were huddled over a half-eaten pizza box and a sprawl of mission blueprints. You leaned back in your chair, nursing a lukewarm beer, as Peacemaker—Chris, as he insisted you call him now—rambled on about his latest "strategic genius" idea. His voice boomed through the room, all bravado and barely veiled insecurity, but you couldn't help smirking at his enthusiasm. It was infectious, in a chaotic sort of way.
Across the table, Adrian Chase sat uncharacteristically quiet, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the edge of his vigilante mask, which he'd pushed up onto his forehead like a pair of oversized goggles. He hadn't said much since the briefing started, but you could feel his eyes on you—those wide, earnest puppy dog eyes that always seemed to plead for something unspoken. They flicked between you and Chris, narrowing just a fraction whenever Chris leaned in too close to point at the map.
"So, what do you think, Y/N?" Chris asked, his grin splitting wide as he slapped the table for emphasis. "You and me leading the charge on this one? We'd make a killer team—pun intended."
You chuckled, tilting your head. "Killer team, huh? Sounds like you're volunteering us for the suicide squad part of the op." There was a teasing lilt in your voice, the kind that hid how much you appreciated his over-the-top confidence. It was a nice distraction from the constant undercurrent of danger in your lives.
Adrian cleared his throat, the sound sharp enough to cut through the chatter. "Actually," he interjected, his voice a mix of casual and strained, "I was thinking Y/N could pair up with me instead. You know, for... balance. Chris, you're great at the big, explosive stuff—literally—but subtlety? That's more our vibe, right, Y/N?"
His gaze locked onto yours then, those big eyes softening into something almost vulnerable, like a puppy waiting for a pat on the head. There was a hidden plea there, one that whispered choose me without saying it outright. You felt a tug in your chest—Adrian had always been like this, eager and loyal, but tonight it felt heavier, laced with an edge you couldn't quite place.
Chris barked a laugh, oblivious as ever. "Subtlety? Coming from the guy who once took out a whole bar with a butter knife? Come on, Adrian, live a little. Y/N and I could handle the stealth just fine—plus, we've got that chemistry going on."
"Chemistry?" Adrian echoed, his tone light but his fingers tightening around his beer can until the aluminum crinkled. He shot you another look, eyes wide and searching, as if testing the waters. "What, like... lab partners? Or the explosive kind?"
You raised an eyebrow, catching the subtle shift in his posture—the way he leaned forward just a bit, like he was hanging on your response. "Easy there, boys," you said, keeping your voice playful to diffuse the tension. "No need to fight over me. We've got a mission to plan, remember? Butterflies aren't gonna take themselves down."
Adrian's lips quirked into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Right, mission first. Justice waits for no one." He paused, then added under his breath, almost too quiet for Chris to hear, "But some things are worth waiting for." His gaze lingered on you a second too long, those puppy eyes brimming with unspoken questions—Am I worth it? Do you see me the way I see you?
The room fell into a brief lull as Harcourt shuffled some papers, breaking the moment. But you could feel the air thickening, charged with whatever was simmering beneath Adrian's calm exterior. He wasn't the jealous type—or at least, he hadn't shown it before. But tonight, with every glance Chris threw your way, Adrian's eyes seemed to beg for reassurance, pulling you in deeper without a word.
As the meeting dragged on, Adrian scooted his chair a little closer to yours under the pretense of looking at the blueprints. His knee brushed against your leg accidentally—or was it?—sending a spark up your spine. "Hey," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear, "after this, wanna grab a late-night snack? Just us? I know this diner that serves justice... I mean, pancakes... at all hours."
You turned to him, meeting those wide eyes head-on. There was something endearing about his awkwardness, the way he masked his intentions behind vigilante puns. "Pancakes sound good," you replied, your voice soft, testing the hidden layers. "But only if you promise no side of vigilante drama."
He grinned, relief flooding his expression like a dam breaking. "No drama. Scout's honor." But his eyes said otherwise—I can't promise that, not when it comes to you.
Chris, catching the tail end, clapped Adrian on the back a bit too hard. "Pancakes? Count me in! Nothing like carbs after plotting world domination."
Adrian's smile faltered for a split second, his puppy eyes flicking to you with a silent help me out here. "Uh, actually, Chris, I think it's a two-person booth kind of place. Tight fit."
"Tight fit? That's what she said," Chris quipped, winking at you.
You rolled your eyes, but inside, you noted the way Adrian's jaw tightened, his gaze pleading with you to steer the conversation away. "Maybe next time, Chris. Adrian and I have some... strategy to discuss."
"Strategy, huh?" Chris leaned back, smirking. "Alright, alright. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Adrian exhaled slowly, his eyes grateful as they met yours again. "Thanks," he whispered once Chris turned away. "I owe you one."
The meeting wrapped up soon after, with everyone scattering to their rooms. You lingered, watching Adrian gather his things with deliberate slowness, as if stalling for time. "So, about those pancakes..." he started, his voice hopeful, eyes wide and shining under the harsh light.
"Lead the way," you said, smiling. But as you walked out together, you couldn't shake the feeling that this "snack run" was about more than food—hidden meanings layered in every glance, every brush of shoulders, building toward something inevitable.
The night air was crisp as you stepped into the parking lot, Adrian's van idling like a faithful steed. He opened the door for you with exaggerated chivalry, his puppy eyes twinkling. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady. No capes required."
You slid in, the familiar scent of fast food wrappers and gun oil hitting you. "Chivalrous vigilante? That's new."
He hopped into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a rev that matched his sudden energy. "What can I say? Some people bring out the best in me." His gaze slid sideways to you, soft and imploring. You bring out the best in me.
The drive to the diner was short, but Adrian filled it with chatter—stories from past missions, laced with his quirky humor. "Remember that time with the White Dragon? Man, that was intense. But you... you were amazing out there. Cool under pressure."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," you teased, but there was a warmth in your chest at his words. Hidden compliment? Or something more?
He parked outside the neon-lit diner, killing the engine. "Everywhere, huh? Good to know." His eyes met yours in the dim dashboard light, wide and earnest, begging you to read between the lines.
Inside, the place was empty save for a bored waitress and the hum of an old jukebox. You slid into a booth, Adrian across from you, his legs stretching out until his foot nudged yours under the table. "Oops," he said, but he didn't move it away. "Clumsy me."
"Clumsy? Or calculated?" you asked, arching a brow.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, those puppy eyes locking on. "Maybe a bit of both. Depends on the company." The subtext hung heavy: With you, everything's calculated—to get closer.
The waitress took your orders—pancakes for him, coffee for you—and as she walked away, Adrian's gaze didn't waver. "So, about Chris earlier... he's a good guy, right? Loud, but good."
"Yeah, he is," you agreed, watching his reaction.
Adrian nodded, too quickly. "Cool, cool. Just... making sure. You two seem close." His eyes pleaded: But not as close as us, right?
"We're all close in this messed-up team," you said, your foot pressing back against his subtly. "But some connections... feel different."
His breath hitched, eyes widening further. "Different how?"
Before you could answer, the food arrived, breaking the moment. But as you ate, the conversation danced around the edges—jokes about justice, veiled questions about loyalties, each word building the slow fire between you.
By the time you finished, the diner was closing, and Adrian paid the bill with a flourish. "My treat. For the strategy session."
"Strategy session?" you echoed, standing close as you exited.
"Yeah," he said, his voice dropping. "Figuring out how to... team up better." Those eyes, so wide, so full of hidden want: Team up with me, in every way.
Back in the van, the drive to the motel felt longer, tension coiling like a spring. Adrian's hands gripped the wheel tightly, glancing at you every few seconds. "Tonight was fun. We should do this more often."
"Without the team?" you asked, testing.
"Especially without the team." His puppy eyes met yours at a red light, pleading silently: Just you and me.
You reached over, squeezing his arm lightly. "I'd like that."
He smiled, relief and something hotter flashing in his gaze. But as he dropped you at your door, he lingered, eyes begging for one more moment. "Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams... of justice."
"Goodnight, Adrian." You closed the door, heart racing, knowing this was just the beginning—the slow burn igniting, one hidden meaning at a time.
"Goodnight, Adrian." You closed the door softly behind you, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet motel hallway like a punctuation mark on the evening. But your heart didn't stop racing; if anything, it picked up pace, replaying the way his eyes had lingered on you—wide, hopeful, like a puppy watching its owner walk away.
Inside your room, you leaned against the door, exhaling slowly. The dim lamp cast a warm glow over the rumpled bed and scattered gear from earlier. What was that about tonight? Adrian's usual awkward charm had felt... amplified. Every glance, every veiled comment about Chris, it all simmered with something unspoken. Jealousy? Or just his way of staking a claim without saying it outright?
You shook your head, peeling off your jacket and tossing it onto the chair. A shower—that's what you needed. Hot water to wash away the diner grease and the lingering tension. As the steam filled the tiny bathroom, you couldn't help but think of Adrian's foot nudging yours under the table. Accidental? Hardly. It was his subtle way of saying I'm here, notice me.
Dried off and in an oversized tee, you flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The team dynamic was getting complicated. Chris's flirting was harmless, mostly—big ego covering bigger issues. But Adrian... he saw it differently. Those puppy eyes of his, always pleading for validation, made you want to pull him close and reassure him. You're the one I see, you'd say. But not yet. Not when the burn was this deliciously slow.
A soft knock at the door jolted you upright. Who the hell at this hour? You padded over, peering through the peephole. Adrian. Mask off, hair tousled, looking like he hadn't made it far down the hall. His eyes were downcast, but when you opened the door a crack, they lifted—wide and earnest, like a lost pup at the shelter.
"Adrian? Everything okay?" you asked, keeping your voice low to not wake the others.
He shifted on his feet, hands shoved in his pockets. "Yeah, uh... mostly. I just... forgot to say something earlier." His gaze met yours, soft and imploring. Don't send me away.
You stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in before Harcourt yells at us for loitering."
He slipped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence filling the space like unspoken words. "Thanks. I didn't mean to barge in. It's just... about tonight."
"The pancakes or the strategy?" you teased, leaning against the dresser to create some distance. But your eyes flicked to his, catching the way they widened slightly, begging you to understand.
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Both? Neither? Look, Y/N, I know Chris is... Chris. Loud, confident, all that. And you two get along great. It's cool. Really."
"But?" you prompted, crossing your arms. There was always a but with Adrian—hidden in his rambles, waiting to be unearthed.
"But... I guess I wonder sometimes if that's the kind of thing you're into. The big hero vibe." His puppy eyes locked on yours, wide and vulnerable. Am I enough? Or do I need to be more like him?
You tilted your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "Big hero vibe? Adrian, you're the one who calls yourself Vigilante. That's pretty heroic."
"Yeah, but I'm not... flashy about it. Not like Peacemaker with his eagle helmet and peace signs." He took a step closer, his voice dropping. "I just do what needs doing. Quietly. Efficiently."
"Quietly? You once monologued to a thug about justice while zip-tying him." You laughed softly, but your heart softened at his expression. Those eyes, so full of quiet plea.
He grinned sheepishly. "Okay, fair. But point is, if you and Chris... if there's something there, I'd get it. No hard feelings." Liar. His gaze said otherwise—Please say there isn't.
You straightened, closing the gap just a bit. "Chris is a friend, Adrian. A loud, chaotic friend. But that's it." Your words carried weight, hidden assurance: You're the one who keeps me up at night.
Relief flickered in his eyes, making them shine brighter. "Good. I mean, cool. Not that I was worried or anything." He paused, then added softly, "But if I was... hypothetically... what would you say to that?"
"I'd say hypothetical worries are a waste of time." You reached out, lightly touching his arm. The contact sparked, electric. "Especially when there's real stuff to focus on."
"Real stuff?" He leaned in slightly, his breath warm. Those puppy eyes widened, searching yours for permission. Like us?
"Like getting some sleep before tomorrow's briefing." You pulled back, teasing the moment.
He nodded, but didn't move toward the door. "Right. Sleep. Important for vigilante stamina." His tone dipped, laced with innuendo.
You raised an eyebrow. "Stamina, huh? Planning on a long night?"
"Only if the company warrants it." His eyes pleaded: Stay up with me? Talk? More?
Tempting. But not yet. "Rain check on that. We've got Butterflies to squash."
He deflated a little, but his smile was genuine. "Rain check accepted. But Y/N... thanks for tonight. For choosing the two-person booth."
"Anytime." You opened the door for him, your hand brushing his as he passed. "Sweet dreams, Vigilante."
He paused in the threshold, turning back with those wide eyes. "You too. Dream of... better teams."
As the door closed again, you sank onto the bed, pulse thrumming. Adrian's jealousy wasn't overt, but it colored every interaction—his puppy gazes begging for exclusivity. And damn if it wasn't pulling you in deeper.
The next morning dawned gray and drizzly, the kind of weather that made the Evergreen motel feel even more like a forgotten corner of the world. You grabbed coffee from the lobby machine—bitter and burnt, but caffeine was caffeine—and headed to the meeting room. The team was already assembling: Harcourt at the head, Economos fiddling with his laptop, Chris sprawled in a chair with his feet up.
Adrian arrived last, sliding into the seat next to yours without a word. But his knee bumped yours under the table—deliberate this time. "Morning," he murmured, eyes soft and wide as they met yours.
"Morning. Sleep okay?" you asked, sipping your coffee to hide your smile.
"Like a baby. No nightmares about exploding eagles or anything." He shot a quick glance at Chris, who was bragging about his workout routine. Hidden jab:
Harcourt called the meeting to order, diving into updates on the Butterfly intel. But you felt Adrian's gaze on you throughout, those puppy eyes flicking your way whenever Chris spoke up. "What do you think, Y/N?" Chris asked at one point, leaning forward with that trademark grin. "We hit 'em hard and fast?"
Before you could respond, Adrian interjected. "Or smart and precise. No need for fireworks when a scalpel does the job." His tone was casual, but his eyes pleaded with you.
You nodded thoughtfully. "Precision sounds good. Less mess."
Chris rolled his eyes. "Where's the fun in that? Y/N, you're with me on this—admit it, you love the chaos."
Adrian's foot nudged yours again, a silent Don't you dare.
"I love surviving," you quipped, nudging back. "Let's go with the scalpel approach."
Adrian's eyes lit up, grateful and adoring.
The briefing dragged, but the undercurrents kept it electric—Adrian's subtle touches, his veiled comments defending his style over Chris's. By the end, as everyone filed out, he hung back. "Walk you to your room?" he offered, eyes wide and hopeful.
"Sure." You fell into step beside him, the hallway empty. "That was intense in there."
"Yeah. Chris has his ways." He paused outside your door. "But I like to think mine are... more personal."
You turned the key, glancing back. "Personal works for me."
His breath caught, puppy eyes begging: Invite me in?
But you smiled coyly. "See you at training later?"
"Wouldn't miss it." He lingered a second longer, then turned away, leaving the air thick with promise.
Training that afternoon was in the motel's overgrown lot, makeshift with tires and crates for obstacles. You paired off for sparring—naturally, Chris grabbed you first. "Let's show 'em how it's done, Y/N," he said, winking.
Adrian watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. But when they met yours, they softened into that pleading gaze.
The session was grueling—dodges, grapples, sweat-soaked. Chris was strong, but playful, pinning you once and laughing. "Gotcha!"
From the corner, Adrian cleared his throat loudly. "My turn?" His voice was even, but his eyes screamed.
You switched partners, facing Adrian. Up close, his intensity was palpable. "Ready?" he asked, eyes wide and focused solely on you.
"Always." You circled each other, the air humming.
He moved first, swift but controlled, grabbing your wrist in a hold. "See? Precision." His breath fanned your ear as he pulled you close. I won't let go easily.
You twisted free, countering with a leg sweep. He dodged, grinning. "Nice. But predictable."
The spar built, touches lingering longer than necessary—his hand on your waist, your fingers brushing his chest. By the end, both breathing hard, he pinned you against a crate. "Yield?" His puppy eyes locked on yours, inches away.
"Not yet," you whispered, heart pounding.
He released you slowly, reluctance in every movement. "Good session." But his gaze said: This isn't over.
As the group dispersed, Chris clapped you on the back. "Damn, Y/N, you're a beast. Drinks later to celebrate?"
Before you could answer, Adrian stepped in. "Actually, she's got plans. Right, Y/N?" Eyes wide, begging.
You nodded. "Yeah, prior commitment."
Chris shrugged. "Your loss. Catch you tomorrow."
Alone with Adrian in the fading light, he turned to you. "Plans? Like what?"
"Like figuring out this... tension." You stepped closer, testing.
His eyes widened further, soft and imploring. "Tension? What tension?" But his voice cracked, hidden admission: The one that's killing me.
"The kind where you look at me like that every time Chris opens his mouth." You touched his cheek lightly. "Jealous, Vigilante?"
He swallowed, leaning into your hand. "Maybe. A little."
"Good," you murmured. "Keeps things interesting."
He exhaled, a mix of relief and heat. "Interesting is my middle name."
But you pulled away, slow burn intact. "Save it for tomorrow's mission. We'll need that fire."
"Fire, huh?" His puppy gaze followed you as you walked away. "Count on it."
That night, as you lay in bed, the jealousy-fueled sparks replayed—Adrian's eyes, always begging for more.
The mission dawned early the next day, the team's van rumbling down a backroad toward the Butterfly hideout—a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of Evergreen. You sat in the back, gear strapped tight, the hum of tires on asphalt doing little to drown out the pre-op chatter. Chris was up front with Harcourt, cracking jokes about "peace through superior firepower," his voice booming over the comms like he owned the airwaves.
Adrian slid into the seat beside you, his thigh pressing against yours in the cramped space. "Morning again," he said, voice low, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Ready to show these bugs what real justice looks like?"
You nodded, adjusting your vest. "As ready as I'll ever be. You?"
"Always." He paused, fiddling with a knife from his belt. "Just... stick close, okay? Teamwork makes the dream work." There was a weight to his words, like he meant more than just covering each other's backs in a firefight.
Chris twisted around from the front. "Dream work? Sounds sappy, Adrian. You writing poetry now?"
Adrian shot him a look, but kept his tone light. "Better than your helmet slogans, Chris. At least mine rhyme."
You smirked, catching the edge in Adrian's voice. "Play nice, boys. We've got aliens to squish."
The van pulled up a block away, and you all piled out, shadows in the dawn light. Harcourt gave the final rundown—split into pairs: you and Adrian on recon, Chris and Economos on perimeter. "No heroics," she warned, eyeing Chris specifically.
As you and Adrian crept toward the warehouse, the air thick with tension, he whispered, "See? Told you precision over fireworks."
You crouched behind a dumpster, scanning the entrance. "Yeah, well, don't jinx it. Last thing we need is—"
A guard appeared, flashlight sweeping. Adrian moved like lightning, silent takedown with a chokehold. "One down," he murmured, dragging the body aside. "Your turn next?"
"Showoff." But you couldn't deny the thrill, the way his efficiency pulled you in.
Inside, the place was a maze of crates and flickering lights. You navigated side by side, comms quiet except for Chris's occasional quips. "Found a nest over here," he reported at one point. "Looks like party time."
Adrian rolled his eyes. "Party? More like extermination."
You pressed a finger to your lips, hearing footsteps. Another guard— you handled this one, quick jab and zip ties. Adrian watched, nodding approval. "Nice form. We make a good pair."
"Better than most," you agreed, the words slipping out with a hint of something deeper.
He leaned closer as you moved on. "Most? Who's the competition?"
You glanced at him. "No one worth mentioning."
The recon turned hot when alarms blared—Chris's doing, no doubt. Chaos erupted: Butterflies swarming, gunfire echoing. You and Adrian fought back-to-back, his shots precise, yours covering the flanks.
"Duck!" he yelled, shoving you aside as a projectile whizzed past.
You rolled, firing back. "Thanks. Owe you one."
"Collect anytime." His grin flashed in the strobe of muzzle fire.
Chris burst through a door, helmet gleaming. "Miss me? Let's light this place up!"
Adrian tensed beside you. "We had it handled."
"Yeah, but now it's fun." Chris charged ahead, drawing fire.
You exchanged a look with Adrian. "His idea of fun."
"Mine involves less explosions," Adrian muttered, but followed, covering you both.
The fight dragged, bodies piling up—human hosts crumpling as Butterflies emerged. You took one down with a headshot, Adrian slicing another mid-air. "Like old times," he panted.
"Old? We've barely started." Your breath matched his, adrenaline surging.
By the end, the warehouse smoked, team regrouping outside. Harcourt tallied the win. "Clean enough. Back to base."
In the van ride home, exhaustion set in. Chris slumped across from you, helmet off, hair matted. "That was epic. Y/N, you were on fire back there. We should team up more often—y'know, dynamic duo style."
Adrian, next to you again, cleared his throat. "Dynamic? More like destructive. Some of us prefer not blowing everything to hell."
Chris laughed. "Jealous, buddy? Afraid I'll steal your spotlight?"
"No spotlight needed." Adrian's hand brushed yours on the seat, subtle. "Just the right partner."
You felt the warmth, squeezing back lightly. "Partners are key."
Chris raised a brow. "Partners, huh? Sounds cozy."
The van hit a bump, jostling everyone. Adrian's arm steadied you. "Cozy works."
Back at the motel, debrief was quick—beers cracked, wounds patched. You excused yourself early, heading to your room for a shower. The hot water eased the aches, but not the buzz from the mission... or from Adrian's constant proximity.
A knock came as you toweled off. Adrian, again, looking rumpled but wired. "Hey. Just checking in. You good?"
"Yeah. Sore, but good." You stepped aside. "Come in."
He entered, closing the door. "That was intense today. Chris almost got us barbecued."
"He's reckless," you said, sitting on the bed. "But effective."
Adrian paced a bit. "Effective? Sure. But there's better ways." He stopped, facing you. "Like how we did it—synced, no drama."
"No drama?" You tilted your head. "Seemed like plenty."
He sat beside you, close enough to feel his heat. "Maybe. But it's because... things matter more now."
"Things?" you echoed, heart picking up.
"Yeah. The team. The fights." He hesitated. "People in them."
You nodded slowly. "People make it complicated."
"Good complicated?" His hand found yours, fingers interlacing.
"Depends." You leaned in a fraction. "On the people."
The air thickened, his breath mingling with yours. "What if one person wants to simplify it?"
"Simplify how?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the words hanging between you like a challenge. Your heart hammered in your chest, the van's confined space feeling even smaller now, the stakeout forgotten amid the hum of the engine and the distant city lights flickering outside.
Adrian's hand tightened around yours, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. "Like this," he murmured, leaning in closer, his lips brushing yours in a tentative graze that sent sparks racing down your spine. It wasn't forceful—not yet—just a soft press, testing the waters, like he was giving you one last out before diving in.
You didn't pull away. Instead, you leaned into it, your free hand coming up to cup the back of his neck, fingers threading through his tousled hair. The kiss deepened almost immediately, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that had been building for days, weeks maybe. His lips were warm, insistent, parting yours with a gentle nudge of his tongue that coaxed a soft gasp from you.
He broke the contact just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours. "See? Simple. No more dancing around." His voice was rough, laced with that awkward charm, but there was an undercurrent—I've wanted this too long to stop now.
You smiled against his lips, nipping lightly at his bottom one. "Simple? Feels complicated to me." Your words teased, hidden layers suggesting the tangle of team dynamics, the jealousy simmering under his skin. But your body betrayed the playfulness, pressing closer, your chest brushing his in the dim light.
Adrian chuckled low, the sound vibrating through you. "Complicated's my specialty. But this?" He kissed you again, harder this time, his hand sliding up your arm to your shoulder, pulling you flush against him. "This is straightforward. You. Me. No Chris in the mix." The name dropped like a subtle jab, his tongue sweeping into your mouth right after, claiming the space as if to erase any doubt.
Your hands roamed, one slipping under his jacket to feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, the other tugging at his collar. "Jealous much?" you breathed between kisses, your lips trailing to his jaw, nipping there lightly. The question held weight—Admit it, it's been eating at you.
"Only when it matters," he admitted, his breath hitching as your teeth grazed his earlobe. His hands found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you. "And you matter. A lot." He captured your mouth again, the kiss turning heated, tongues tangling in a rhythm that mirrored the pent-up frustration of all those veiled glances and brushed touches.
The van's seat creaked under the shift of weight as you climbed into his lap, straddling him without breaking the kiss. Adrian groaned softly, his hands sliding down to your hips, guiding you closer. "God, Y/N," he muttered against your neck, lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. "Been thinking about this during every damn briefing."
You arched into him, fingers fumbling with the zipper of his jacket. "During briefings? That's risky." Your tone was playful, but your hips rolled against his, feeling the growing hardness beneath you. "What if Harcourt caught on?"
"Let her," he growled, nipping at your collarbone. "Worth it." His hands slipped under your shirt, palms warm on your bare back, tracing up your spine. The kiss reignited, fiercer now—teeth clashing, breaths mingling in short gasps. You could taste the faint salt of sweat from the day's stakeout, mixed with the lingering sweetness of the energy bar he'd scarfed earlier.
Time blurred in the haze of heat, your bodies pressing together in the confined space. Adrian's fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, inching it up, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your bra. "Tell me if it's too much," he whispered, pulling back just enough to search your eyes, his own dark with want. But the plea was there.
"Too much? Not even close." You yanked his jacket open, hands exploring the firm planes of his chest. "But we should... relocate." The words carried suggestion.
He nodded, kissing you once more, slow and deep, before helping you off his lap. "Hotel. Now." His voice was strained, hands shaking slightly as he adjusted his clothes. "Before I lose it right here."
The drive back to the Evergreen was a blur of stolen glances and lingering touches—his hand on your thigh, your fingers tracing patterns on his arm. Tension coiled tight, every red light feeling like torture. "You know," Adrian said, voice low as he navigated the streets, "I've been holding back. Didn't want to push."
"Push now," you replied, leaning over to kiss his neck while he drove. "I can handle it."
He parked haphazardly in the motel lot, both of you tumbling out and hurrying to your room—his was closer, but yours had the do-not-disturb sign ready. The door barely clicked shut before he had you against it, mouth on yours in a bruising kiss. "Finally," he panted, hands everywhere—tugging at your shirt, unclasping your bra with surprising deftness.
Clothes shed in a frenzy: shirts tossed, pants kicked away, until you were both down to underwear, skin flushed and heated. Adrian backed you toward the bed, his kisses trailing down your chest, lips closing over a nipple with a suck that made you moan. "Adrian..." Your fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him on.
He looked up, grin wicked. "Say it again. My name." His hand slipped between your legs, fingers teasing over fabric. "Like that."
"Adrian," you gasped, hips bucking. "Don't tease."
"Who's teasing?" But he was, rubbing slow circles that built the ache. "Want to make it good." Memorable. Better than anyone else.
You pushed him onto the bed, climbing over him, grinding down against his erection. "It already is." Your mouth found his again, the kiss messy and desperate, tongues battling as hands explored.
He flipped you suddenly, hovering above, eyes locked on yours. "Condom?" Practical, but his voice trembled with need.
"Nightstand," you directed, watching him fumble for it. The moment stretched, charged, as he rolled it on, his body aligning with yours.
"Ready?" he asked, positioning himself, the head pressing against you.
"More than." You pulled him down for a kiss as he thrust in, slow at first, filling you inch by inch. The stretch was perfect, drawing a shared groan.
He started moving, hips rocking in a steady rhythm that built quickly. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he muttered, burying his face in your neck. His thrusts deepened, pace picking up, the bed creaking under the force.
You wrapped your legs around him, meeting each thrust. "Harder," you urged, nails raking his back. "Like you mean it."
He did—pounding into you, the slap of skin echoing, sweat slicking your bodies. "Like this?" he growled, angling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
"Yes—god, yes." Pleasure coiled tight, your hands clutching him as the edge approached.
Adrian's breaths came ragged, his rhythm faltering. "Close... Y/N, I'm—"
"Me too." You clenched around him, the wave crashing over you in a shuddering release, crying out his name.
He followed seconds later, thrusting deep with a groan, collapsing onto you in a tangle of limbs.
Panting, he rolled to the side, pulling you close. "That... was worth every jealous second."
You laughed breathlessly. "No more jealousy?"
"Only the good kind." He kissed your forehead. "Keeps the fire going."
The night stretched on, rounds blurring—slow and tender, then rough again, exploring every inch until exhaustion claimed you both, tangled in sheets, the slow burn finally erupting into flames.
