[ Those quiet, seemingly involuntary sounds she makes, the way she presses into him, moves against him – it all sends heat through his veins, and he hums encouragingly against her throat, breathless and laced with—
(need. pleasure.)
—something even Faraday can’t quite place.
His own breath hitches the first time he feels her nails dig into his skin, and the prickle sends a flare of heat through him, sets the tips of his fingers tingling. He takes it for a fluke, that first time, as he does the second, but around the fifth time, he decides he just does not give a single shit about intention or not, because it’s good. Those little pinpoints of pain (that far away part of him wonders if it might leave a mark? if he can drive her to enough of a frenzy that she might lose herself and actually draw blood?), the rough sting of her fingers tangled in his hair – it’s damn good, and— ]
Fuck—
[ hissed out, thready with want. He can’t help it, because shit, the warmth of her body against his, the quiet noises she’s making, each shuddering movement, pours something molten into his gut, sends wave after wave of heat through him. He claims her lips again – greedily, this time. Desperately. One of his hands slips beneath her thigh, skin exposed by the slit of her skirt, and he tries to pull her closer, his own hips canting towards hers, and—
He thought he heard something.
… Probably nothing. And anyway, who gives a fuck? Faraday slips his tongue into her mouth again, licking past her lips and teeth—
No. No, he definitely heard something, that time.
Startled, Faraday pulls away, turning to see a youngish man in a suit just a hair too small for him. There’s an unmistakable redness to his face as he clears his throat again – this time to actually find his voice, whereas the first and second times had been to tactfully capture the couple’s attention. Faraday looks past him to see another man hovering in the doorway, who tries and utterly fails to smother his grin. The first man straightens, and he attempts to imbue his voice with some authority – though he misses the mark. Discomfited, probably. ]
Access to this room is restricted. I’m going to have to ask you to return to the ballroom.
[ Faraday pulls away from Emma, wastes a second with staring at her, before another quiet cough finally spurs him to action. Faraday nods to the guard, offers a grumbled apology, before he scoops up his jacket and slips it on. He doesn’t bother with straightening himself up just yet, nor does he move to wipe off the lipstick that’s surely smeared on his face; apparently beating a hasty retreat is much more important, considering the slow burning embarrassment in his gut. Not an act, that embarrassment, and Faraday silently prays for the floor to open up beneath him and swallow him for letting that little act go as far as it did.
(and for wanting so badly to pick up where they left off.)
He offers Emma a hand down from the table before he quickly shuffles past the two guards. He also buries the desire to punch out the grinning guard, whose shoulders shake with the strain of holding back his laughter – which, Faraday feels, should warrant some kind of reward. ]
[ act though it may have been, emma's going to be impossibly humiliated when she has a chance to think about what she and faraday had done; she shouldn't be letting it affect her so much, shouldn't be so swept away, but she feels like her mind has just gone blank, until the only thing she's focusing on is faraday and his lips and the heat of his hands, and—
—and then they're interrupted just like she expected them to be.
however, what she didn't expect was how mortified she feels when she sees the two guards watching them. this had been the entire purpose of kissing faraday in the first place, to be walked in on and pass off their presence as a pair of overeager lovers, but— god, she doesn't even want to think about how overeager she'd really been.
with color high in her cheeks, she's quick to slip off of the table with her hand in faraday's, ducking her head and following faraday out of the room.
well, it had worked perfectly, that's for sure; there hadn't been any questions, they hadn't been detained, and no one seemed to suspect a thing (if the near-guffawing guard was any indication), but her body is still thrumming with, god, whatever that had been, and she absolutely hates how flushed she feels, her heart still pounding, breath unsteady.
anxiety. just anxiety. that's all it could have been.
she makes it down the hall with faraday, not quite back to the ballroom, before she finally looks up at him. there certainly is lipstick smeared across his mouth, and she's sure it's even worse on her own face, and his hair is mussed all to hell, his shirt rumpled with partially exposed skin, and—
oh, dear god.
there's a few harsh, red marks on his shoulder, leading down his chest near his clavicle, and those sure are tracks from her nails. she reaches up to touch her own neck in a moment of sudden uncertainty, her eyes narrowing slightly at faraday. ]
Did you mark me anywhere?
[ this is an important question, and she decides not to mention the marks she can see on him. ]
[ Each step away from the room helps to cool him down, helps to lighten how heavy his heartbeat had become, but it does nothing to lessen the flush of embarrassment at how quickly he had gone from "this is an act" to— to—
That. Whatever the hell that had been.
And he's not sure if Emma's silence was a signal of that same embarrassment, or if she's merely allowing him to gather his wits about him, because— admittedly, the whole thing had worked him up, had made his pulse pound in his ears, had lit up his skin until it made every touch feel practically electric. The cold wash of reality helps to bring him back down, though. And the mortification has a hand in that, too.
Because— because fuck, that had been good. And given his "experience," that had been good. And— hell, he can't keep thinking about this. He cannot keep thinking about this with his partner, who still found him insufferable and impossible to deal with and hated him at least 95% of the time.
He stops when she does, finally setting to work to make himself presentable. A quick adjustment of his hair, straightening it as best as he can without a mirror. A cursory wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to clean off the lipstick smeared there. Once his hand starts coming away clean, Emma finally breaks the silence that had fallen between them.
... God. Of all the fucking questions—
Clearing his throat, he turns to take a better look, and— the breath leaves him all at once. ]
No.
[ Relief. Because if he had left a goddamn hickey on Agent goddamn Cullen, she might actually kill him. ]
You're fine.
[ He apparently hasn't noticed the marks on his own skin just yet, hasn't noticed the quiet sting in light of the shitstorm of shame swirling through him, but they're certainly still on display for the moment. He waves a hand at his face, gaze fixed on some point over her shoulder to avoid looking directly at her. ]
[ emma is absolutely hitting the denial phase of this experience, because she is not going to spend her time thinking about exactly how much she'd reacted to faraday. he's— faraday, for god's sake. her partner. another agent. the most obnoxious person she works with, hands down.
he's far and away not the kind of man emma would find herself tangled up with, couldn't be more different from her late husband if he tried, and if she'd gone for anyone...
there's no way it would have been him.
couldn't have been.
but if she's focused on the way her body felt, the way he'd touched her and kissed her and—
no. it has to have been a reflection of how long it's been since she's gotten laid, not because of this particular man. maybe if she refuses to think about it, if she refuses to acknowledge exactly how much she'd been enjoying it, then it'll just— go away. because that is absolutely what this needs to do.
she breathes a notable sight of relief when he assures her that she's gone unmarked, because she's not sure how she'd live it down if joshua faraday had left her with a hickey. by hiding his body, that's how.
smoothing her dress back into place, she tries not to think about how his hand had been on her thigh just moments ago, and she looks up at faraday's face, giving a small nod. ]
Good enough.
[ they don't look anywhere near as pristine as they did before, that's for sure, but if they're going to sweep through the ballroom, try not to draw attention to themselves, they shouldn't look too out of place. ]
But you should— cover that.
[ she gestures to the exposed red marks, clearing her throat and looking away to fix her hair as best she can. she doesn't want to discuss exactly what she'd done with her nails, doesn't want to acknowledge what more she could and probably would have done, given the opportunity— because, damn it, that particular "opportunity" is not an option. ]
[ "Good enough." Figures. He snorts out a mirthless laugh as he combs his fingers through his hair again, flattening and straightening as he needs to. Another quick wipe of his mouth, and again it comes away clean. That's a bit of a relief, at least. He imagines his lips are still slightly swollen from their— from—
Before.
—but there's little he can do about that now.
When she gestures, he frowns, glances down himself. ]
... Holy hell.
[ He brushes his fingers across the angry red lines marring his skin, and only when he notices them do they finally start smarting. No breaks, but damn.
He swallows thickly, can only manage a far too quick nod of agreement, and quickly sets to buttoning up his shirt. Every shift of movement brings the fabric of his shirt across those scrapes, act as a reminder of— that, and he feels heat rise up his neck. As he's knotting his tie, he gives Emma another quick inspection. ]
Your, uh. [ He clears his throat, gaze quickly darting to the wall. ] Your lipstick.
[ she glances back at faraday, watches him button up his shirt and hide those marks she's embarrassed to realize she'd left behind. she silently hopes they fade quickly, so she doesn't have to see them on him again before the end of this mission.
she's just finishing with her hair when he speaks again, and—
oh, damn it, her lipstick. she should've remembered that would be an issue, but there's no way she can really fix it without a mirror. she carefully swipes along the edges of her lips, trying not to disturb what's leftover too badly. ]
[ At her direction, his gaze returns to her, and he notices how her lips are slightly swollen from the kiss they shared, how her lipstick is all but faded, and he's suddenly struck by that strange little flare of desire, something that whispers at the back of his head, That was good, wasn't it? Maybe if you play your cards right—
His gaze flits away, and his response is another curt nod. ]
Good enough.
[ Easier to echo back her words.
He straights out his tie, folds his collar over it and rolls his shoulders. Jacket buttoned, he takes a moment to glance around the corner to the party still in full swing. It's better, he knows, not to look too well put together, in case they're stopped at the threshold and asked again what they were doing back there. Better to let a cursory glance leave very little to the imagination. But part of him still wants to erase all the evidence of the kiss they shared, how heated it got, and if he could, he'd run back and beat the tar out of the two guards.
For knowing too much, obviously. Not because he's pissed about their interruption or anything.
He fiddles with his cuff links, before risking a glance at her again. He nods toward the ballroom before heading that way himself. ]
[ sheer determination is what focuses emma enough to follow faraday out of the hall and back to the ballroom. she can't let herself get distracted thinking about that kiss or about him as anything other than her obnoxious partner — because that's all he is. they're there for a mission, and it's bigger than any conflicted physical— anything that may be clinging to her in the aftermath of their coverup.
their work is the important thing here.
they get a few cursory glances as they reenter the ballroom, but at least most people seem content to whisper and chuckle under their breath, rather than say a single thing to their faces — those that notice, of course. most are so wrapped up in their own business, in the dancing and the champagne, to care what two other attendees may have gotten up to. she can't help the way she flushes at the pointed whispers, but she forces the shame back, forces herself to plaster on that well-practiced smile, because if she and her husband are so amorous that they sneak off to a back room together, Mrs. Brennan would be far likelier to laugh it off than be too terribly embarrassed.
damn it.
she focuses her attention away from the party at large, instead looking for their more important targets for the evening. almost immediately, she notices a distinct lack of one bartholomew bogue, and she feels something clench in her stomach.
reluctantly, but out of sheer necessity, emma slides her arm into faraday's, leaning up with her lips near his ear — to look intimate, of course. ]
Bogue's gone. Rivera too.
[ movement is clearly happening, and checking the surveillance wouldn't be a bad idea. ]
[ Faraday's own smile slips back in place easily enough; he's used to that, putting on that particular mask. It's probably one of the things that drives Emma so insane about him – that on the surface, he seems to take things in stride, without a care.
And he does, for the most part. He takes things on the chin, moves on with his life, because he knows sitting with his regret, with his shame, would send him on a downward spiral that only a bottle of vodka would remedy. Not that anyone really knows this, save, possibly, for the therapist they're required to see every once and again for their psych evals.
So he smiles, sticks close to Emma's side – too afraid to touch, because whatever just happened was awkward as all hell. Which is why he's surprised when Emma willingly slips her arm through his, and he unconsciously leans down as she draws up.
(He feels the hot brush of her breath against his ear, and the memory of those quiet little whimpers hit him with all the force of a Mack truck and—)
Bogue and Rivera. He tries not to startle at her observation, and for the most part, he's successful, save for the slightest tensing that she can likely feel in his arm. Faraday nods, glancing around as casually as he can manage, and verifies for himself that the two men are indeed missing. He swallows, licks his lips, and forces his grin to widen. ]
[ maybe it's the mention of bogue, or maybe it's just emma's usual ability to shut everything else off and focus on the job. either way, she's refusing to let herself be distracted by the contact with faraday, not thinking about how close their faces are again for a moment, and she leans back a touch to meet his grin with her own smile (but it's too showy, too much for the sake of their cover than a genuine sort of smile). ]
I think I like the sound of that.
[ Mrs. Brennan, ever the eager wife.
for the sake of appearances, she keeps her arm linked with faraday's on the way out of the ballroom, and admittedly, no one seems surprised to see them sneaking off (given the still slightly-rumpled look they have about them, she's sure they're making all kinds of lewd assumptions as she and faraday slip outside). she manages to keep holding his arm until they're in the elevator, and then she purposefully steps away, putting some distance between the two of them. ]
How long do you think we have?
[ until the deal goes down; how long to sit and listen and watch before they get something concrete?
(how long is she going to have to hear bogue's disgustingly smarmy voice through the speakers?)
her attitude is all-business, because it has to be now. gone is the mask of the adoring wife, and emma is back to her usual professionalism — even if there's a tightness in her jaw so less often seen; it betrays a more deeply buried emotion, but, well, that's what she's been trying to keep in check since laying eyes on bogue earlier in the evening. ]
[ There’s the vaguest sense of loss when she finally steps away, and a part of him misses the contact, the warmth of her at his side, and—
He quickly clears his throat, adjusting his jacket again, brushing it down. Better to keep his hands occupied. Better to keep himself distracted, because those thoughts are stupid. Ridiculous. And Emma has clearly gotten over their mutual embarrassment far better than he has, and clearly he needs to follow her example.
… Her example in this case, that is. Not in general. They can’t both be emotionless murderbots, after all.
Faraday glances over at her when she speaks, then looks back at the elevator doors. The brushed metal offers only a blurry reflection, thankfully; he’d hate to see how he actually looked. Still, self-consciously, he wipes at his mouth again. ]
If we’re lucky, they’re jawin’ their way through small talk right now. [ His accent returns, now that he’s not bothering to put on the act. He pauses, considering the possible members of meeting. Both talkers, from what he recalls. Both so awfully fond of drama, as much as they are of cold, hard cash. ] “How’s the Missus? Nifty weather lately. You tried that new place by the docks?” That whole mess.
Figure we got a few ‘fore they get to the important stuff.
[ there's something comforting about the return of faraday's accent, dropping richard brennan now that he can (not that emma will ever admit that aloud).
she nods along in agreement, because she's sure faraday is right; these men are quite the chatterboxes, and expecting them to get straight to the point is a little unrealistic. ]
Got a point.
[ she's content to keep the talking to a minimum while they're in the elevator, mostly because she's far from eager to go through that "chat" faraday mentioned they'd be having. as long as she avoids it, she doesn't have to talk about it, and that is something she's going to cling to.
the elevator doors open onto their floor, and emma strides out without waiting for faraday, going straight to their room and opening the door. she's eager to get out of her dress, to change into something more practical, and to fix what's left of her makeup (mostly by removing it; she doesn't need more reminders of exactly what they'd been doing to ruin it).
checking the surveillance equipment briefly, emma takes off her heels, clicking through a few different screens to pull up the feedback from their bugs. as the software taps into their devices, she goes to find something comfortable from the small pack she'd brought along, something far from the slinky dress she'd had to wear for the evening.
she glances over at faraday, only for a second to take in his still-rumpled look. ]
You should change. You look like you just rolled right outta bed.
[ As Emma all but charges from the elevator, he casts her back a flat, unimpressed look before following after her. That’s just her style he supposes. Focused. Determined. Stubborn as a mule.
Completely and utterly goddamn impossible.
He sighs quietly to himself as she admits them into their quarters, shutting the door and sliding over the latch, twisting the deadbolt lock in place. He loosens his tie again as he moves further into the room, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the bed. It’s as he’s shrugging out of his jacket that Emma makes her suggestion, and he snorts out a laugh. ]
As I recall, that was the idea.
[ And his tone is a touch meaner than he intends, but there’s just something grating about this mess. Something annoying about how Emma seems to be treating whatever that was as a giant inconvenience. Maybe he just feels insulted, like her sharpness is an affront to his skills. (He is, after all, the world’s greatest lover.)
And maybe it’s stupidly spiteful, but while he does ditch the jacket, drapes it over the back of a chair, he decides not to change. Instead, he untucks his shirt, undoes the first couple buttons at his throat. He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it thoroughly to rid himself of that slicked back style he had so carefully constructed prior to the party. The cufflinks go next, and as he plops down in a chair in front of their equipment, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.
This time, he looks over at her pointedly, foregoing those fleeting, embarrassed little glances, almost like he’s daring her to comment. ]
[ in all honesty, emma has to treat that odd little dalliance like it's nothing; it has to be, because otherwise, she'd be admitting to herself that she'd enjoyed what they'd done, and that...that is not a mental trail she can follow.
especially not right now, when they have more important things to deal with.
of course, that doesn't mean she misses the tone he's adopted, and as he fixes her with that look, she just stares right back, her eyebrow cocked just a touch in one of her more unimpressed expressions. ]
Not sure you did yourself any favors there.
[ her tone is bland, because of course she's going to say something, but she gathers up the rest of her clothes, carrying them towards the bathroom (she's not going to change in front of him after all).
...ignoring the fact that she'd already been pressed completely against him earlier and that he'd had his hand on her bare thigh, and—
[ Her observation is met with one of his customary, crooked smiles, and he snorts out another laugh as she leaves. He decides to end the argument there, considering there's work to be done, and he figures a bickering match wouldn't help matters much. He slips on one of the headsets, keeping one of his ears uncovered. The software taps into the devices at last, and catches one of the men mid-sentence.
"—their linguini. It's quite delicious."
Oh, good. Small talk still. He and Agent Cullen are sure to save the day with this riveting information. He slouches back into his seat, resting the back of his head on his chair's back to regard the ceiling.
He purses his lips as he listens, then, he calls out, ]
You'd better get in here soon. [ He says it dryly, though, without enthusiasm, which belies the apparent urgency of his words. ] You're missin' some awfully important stuff. Like how Rivera's dabbling in Bikram Yoga.
[ emma closes herself in the bathroom, unzipping her dress and letting it pool at her feet. she checks the mirror, now that she has the chance, and starts cleaning off her face, the last of the lipstick, getting back to how she usually looks. it's a relief to step out of the persona of a doting wife (because she left that part of herself behind years ago now), and it's easier for her to find comfort in herself, in not being mrs. brennan.
she glances towards the door when she hears faraday, and just scoffs, rolling her eyes. ]
I assure you, I already got more than an earful about Mr. Rivera's yoga.
[ her tone is just as dry, but instead of thinking about the absurdly mundane things bogue and rivera must be discussing, she tugs on some dark pants, a comfortable long-sleeved shirt, and then proceeds to pull the bobbypins from her hair. there's far too many of them, but it's at least a relief to let down the pain in the ass updo, and when the soft red curls fall around her shoulders, she decides to leave them that way. she can put it up later when she has to.
turning from the mirror, she lets herself back out of the bathroom, going to take her seat beside faraday. ]
Charmin' men, aren't they?
[ she doesn't sound even remotely enthused about this part of the surveillance, but she pulls up her own headset, ready to listen with faraday.
bogue's voice instantly fills her ears, and she tenses all over, fingers clenched — until she remembers herself, remembers her focus, and then she just reaches for the mouse, clicking through a few screens as she listens to the useless babble. she can't let herself get swept away in her own emotions right now, because she has work to do here with faraday, and that's what matters. ]
[ He glances up when he hears the bathroom door open (the hinges don't creak, though; this hotel is too swanky to let the hinges do anything so terribly mundane), and part of him is relieved to see Emma back to her normal self. Nice as she looked before (and damn, had it been nice), he's familiar with her being dressed-down. She looks more like herself.
He purses his lips at that strange series of thoughts and refocuses on Bogue and Rivera.
More of the pointless chatter. More of them dancing around whatever it is they're meant to be discussing, because it's tacky to jump straight to business, Faraday guesses. Never mind the fact that Bogue was the one to arrive at the party with guards as his plus ones. Plus three, more accurately. Rivera does most of the talking, which doesn't surprise Faraday in the least, but when Bogue pipes up—
He senses more than sees the way Emma tenses, there and gone in a flash. Small enough that, were he not so close to her – physically and professionally – he may not have even noticed. But he casts her another look, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, and he finally takes the gamble. ]
[ emma's shoulders tighten when faraday pipes up again, this time drawing attention to her, to what she'd thought would be an imperceptible and unintentional reaction, but...faraday knows her, at least knows her body language and reactions, far more than she'd like to give him credit for.
happens, when you work so closely and so long with someone. ]
This is neither the time nor place, Faraday.
[ her words are clipped, her expression stony as she stares determinedly at the computer screen instead of him. ]
We're supposed to be listenin' to them, not chatting away.
[ even if now this is pertinent; it's relevant because this scumbag, bogue, is within reach, and emma can't let him slip through her fingers again. ]
[ Faraday observes her for another long moment, utilizing some of that focus she often accused him of lacking, before he nods once, turning his gaze back to the equipment. ]
Not now, then.
[ An agreement, but also another one of those half-promises. Not now, sure. Now wasn't the appropriate time. But afterward? Once Rivera and Bogue have inadvertently given themselves up and the information is secured? Faraday intends to yank on that thread again and unravel whatever that mystery is.
Emma was focused at all times, certainly, but this focus was dangerous. This focus was the type one uses when sighting down a sniper rifle with a clear shot on a target, trigger finger itching to squeeze.This focus promised violence and retribution, was an inferno raging below the surface.
It had something to do with these two men. Bogue specifically, if Faraday had to make a wager – and he's reasonably sure it's a safe one.
At last the chit-chat ends, and Bogue is the one to say, "We're both busy men. Shall we get to business?" Faraday perks up at that, resists the urge to throw up his hands and grumble, Finally, and instead shifts the headphones so they're securely over both ears. ]
[ there's a note of relief in the way emma exhales, because the fact that faraday is going to drop it (at least for now) is a bit of a weight off her shoulders. she doesn't have the emotional wherewithal to deal with dragging this up verbally, to tell him why she's so intensely driven by this particular mission (and why she's also so thrown by it). she needs to focus all of her energy into her work right now, especially when she's so damn close to getting what she's wanted for years.
bogue is right there. within reach.
(she could walk downstairs and shoot him dead right now. and god, if that isn't all kinds of tempting, but she can't let herself think like that. by the book, that's what this has to be.)
and then—
there it is. these men can hardly go too long without finally getting down to the real reason they've come together, because it surely is not to discuss horse breeding and yoga.
there's negotiation of prices, of what's reasonable, what they'll settle for, and while they're extremely careful about their language while going over the deal, what they do finally give away is what emma and faraday really need:
a time and a place.
emma doesn't even hesitate to pull up the specified location on her screen: a big shipyard, filled to bursting with warehouses. more than good enough to load weapons and take them immediately out of the country.
the rest of their talk involves some underhanded pleasantries, but then they're clearly wrapping up, and emma finally slides one headphone off an ear to look over at faraday. the fire in her eyes is near vicious enough to set a man aflame, but there's that determination she's so known for. she's ready to finish this. ]
Maybe that fancy party was worth an evenin' after all.
[ because they have what they need, and while the drop is days away, they know the where and the when, and that's so much more significant than going in blind. ]
[ Faraday listens intently as they plan. Mostly, he's just glad the two of them aren't bullshitting anymore, impatient as Faraday can be. His gaze flicks over briefly to the screen when Emma sets to pulling up the location (she always was quick on the draw), and he thinks to himself, Right. That looks appropriate.
Then as they're wrapping up, Emma directs that heated gaze to him, has that look that signals something boiling beneath the surface. Familiar, for the most part, but given those little slips he's seen tonight, he wonders if this isn't something more dangerous. Reckless.
So his answer is little more than a noncommittal little hum, as he continues listening to Rivera and Bogue politely talk their way out of the room. Little barbs coated in fancy words – the kind of talk Faraday hates engaging in, but likes listening to. Faraday is a straightforward man – he'd rather tell someone to their face if he doesn't like them – but the sort of circuitous ways these folks go about it is at least mildly entertaining.
Once they're well and truly gone from the room, Faraday pulls off his headset. Then, mildly, as he's standing from the desk and going to his pack to find a change of clothes, ]
[ emma's already set to seeing to their travel arrangements, checking in on safe houses close to the drop, preparing to report what they've uncovered, but she actually stops in her furious typing when faraday speaks. she turns, that fiery anger melting away just long enough for her to look skeptical instead. ]
Are you tellin' me you actually wanted a dance?
[ then her eyes narrow slightly. ]
Or were you just hopin' for an opportunity to rattle my chain a touch more?
[ because she hadn't missed how much faraday had been enjoying making her uncomfortable; their daily routine tended to involve all manner of his aggravating antics, and she hadn't been even remotely surprised that he'd been taking advantage of a perfect moment like this mission.
...except for the part where they'd been making out on the table. that...hadn't seemed to be all about flustering her. ]
[ Unsurprisingly, his pack is... kind of a mess. Just things tossed in that he felt he'd need, without any particular mind to organization or easy retrieval. So it takes a bit for him to fish out a worn tee and some sweats; as he's searching, he says lightly, ]
Maybe I just like dancin'.
[ but, that's a lie. He doesn't mind dancing, but he definitely wanted to see how far he could push, at the time. And a slow dance seemed to be a reasonably safe risk, at the time.
Safe in comparison, anyway, considering the giant goddamn gamble he took later that evening. He considers himself lucky that Emma isn't currently chucking his body into a dumpster. But best not to bring that up, any time soon.
Once he has his clothes in hand, he moves toward the bathroom to get changed. ]
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(need. pleasure.)
—something even Faraday can’t quite place.
His own breath hitches the first time he feels her nails dig into his skin, and the prickle sends a flare of heat through him, sets the tips of his fingers tingling. He takes it for a fluke, that first time, as he does the second, but around the fifth time, he decides he just does not give a single shit about intention or not, because it’s good. Those little pinpoints of pain (that far away part of him wonders if it might leave a mark? if he can drive her to enough of a frenzy that she might lose herself and actually draw blood?), the rough sting of her fingers tangled in his hair – it’s damn good, and— ]
Fuck—
[ hissed out, thready with want. He can’t help it, because shit, the warmth of her body against his, the quiet noises she’s making, each shuddering movement, pours something molten into his gut, sends wave after wave of heat through him. He claims her lips again – greedily, this time. Desperately. One of his hands slips beneath her thigh, skin exposed by the slit of her skirt, and he tries to pull her closer, his own hips canting towards hers, and—
He thought he heard something.
… Probably nothing. And anyway, who gives a fuck? Faraday slips his tongue into her mouth again, licking past her lips and teeth—
No. No, he definitely heard something, that time.
Startled, Faraday pulls away, turning to see a youngish man in a suit just a hair too small for him. There’s an unmistakable redness to his face as he clears his throat again – this time to actually find his voice, whereas the first and second times had been to tactfully capture the couple’s attention. Faraday looks past him to see another man hovering in the doorway, who tries and utterly fails to smother his grin. The first man straightens, and he attempts to imbue his voice with some authority – though he misses the mark. Discomfited, probably. ]
Access to this room is restricted. I’m going to have to ask you to return to the ballroom.
[ Faraday pulls away from Emma, wastes a second with staring at her, before another quiet cough finally spurs him to action. Faraday nods to the guard, offers a grumbled apology, before he scoops up his jacket and slips it on. He doesn’t bother with straightening himself up just yet, nor does he move to wipe off the lipstick that’s surely smeared on his face; apparently beating a hasty retreat is much more important, considering the slow burning embarrassment in his gut. Not an act, that embarrassment, and Faraday silently prays for the floor to open up beneath him and swallow him for letting that little act go as far as it did.
(and for wanting so badly to pick up where they left off.)
He offers Emma a hand down from the table before he quickly shuffles past the two guards. He also buries the desire to punch out the grinning guard, whose shoulders shake with the strain of holding back his laughter – which, Faraday feels, should warrant some kind of reward. ]
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—and then they're interrupted just like she expected them to be.
however, what she didn't expect was how mortified she feels when she sees the two guards watching them. this had been the entire purpose of kissing faraday in the first place, to be walked in on and pass off their presence as a pair of overeager lovers, but— god, she doesn't even want to think about how overeager she'd really been.
with color high in her cheeks, she's quick to slip off of the table with her hand in faraday's, ducking her head and following faraday out of the room.
well, it had worked perfectly, that's for sure; there hadn't been any questions, they hadn't been detained, and no one seemed to suspect a thing (if the near-guffawing guard was any indication), but her body is still thrumming with, god, whatever that had been, and she absolutely hates how flushed she feels, her heart still pounding, breath unsteady.
anxiety. just anxiety. that's all it could have been.
she makes it down the hall with faraday, not quite back to the ballroom, before she finally looks up at him. there certainly is lipstick smeared across his mouth, and she's sure it's even worse on her own face, and his hair is mussed all to hell, his shirt rumpled with partially exposed skin, and—
oh, dear god.
there's a few harsh, red marks on his shoulder, leading down his chest near his clavicle, and those sure are tracks from her nails. she reaches up to touch her own neck in a moment of sudden uncertainty, her eyes narrowing slightly at faraday. ]
Did you mark me anywhere?
[ this is an important question, and she decides not to mention the marks she can see on him. ]
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That. Whatever the hell that had been.
And he's not sure if Emma's silence was a signal of that same embarrassment, or if she's merely allowing him to gather his wits about him, because— admittedly, the whole thing had worked him up, had made his pulse pound in his ears, had lit up his skin until it made every touch feel practically electric. The cold wash of reality helps to bring him back down, though. And the mortification has a hand in that, too.
Because— because fuck, that had been good. And given his "experience," that had been good. And— hell, he can't keep thinking about this. He cannot keep thinking about this with his partner, who still found him insufferable and impossible to deal with and hated him at least 95% of the time.
He stops when she does, finally setting to work to make himself presentable. A quick adjustment of his hair, straightening it as best as he can without a mirror. A cursory wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to clean off the lipstick smeared there. Once his hand starts coming away clean, Emma finally breaks the silence that had fallen between them.
... God. Of all the fucking questions—
Clearing his throat, he turns to take a better look, and— the breath leaves him all at once. ]
No.
[ Relief. Because if he had left a goddamn hickey on Agent goddamn Cullen, she might actually kill him. ]
You're fine.
[ He apparently hasn't noticed the marks on his own skin just yet, hasn't noticed the quiet sting in light of the shitstorm of shame swirling through him, but they're certainly still on display for the moment. He waves a hand at his face, gaze fixed on some point over her shoulder to avoid looking directly at her. ]
Did I miss anything?
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he's far and away not the kind of man emma would find herself tangled up with, couldn't be more different from her late husband if he tried, and if she'd gone for anyone...
there's no way it would have been him.
couldn't have been.
but if she's focused on the way her body felt, the way he'd touched her and kissed her and—
no. it has to have been a reflection of how long it's been since she's gotten laid, not because of this particular man. maybe if she refuses to think about it, if she refuses to acknowledge exactly how much she'd been enjoying it, then it'll just— go away. because that is absolutely what this needs to do.
she breathes a notable sight of relief when he assures her that she's gone unmarked, because she's not sure how she'd live it down if joshua faraday had left her with a hickey.
by hiding his body, that's how.smoothing her dress back into place, she tries not to think about how his hand had been on her thigh just moments ago, and she looks up at faraday's face, giving a small nod. ]
Good enough.
[ they don't look anywhere near as pristine as they did before, that's for sure, but if they're going to sweep through the ballroom, try not to draw attention to themselves, they shouldn't look too out of place. ]
But you should— cover that.
[ she gestures to the exposed red marks, clearing her throat and looking away to fix her hair as best she can. she doesn't want to discuss exactly what she'd done with her nails, doesn't want to acknowledge what more she could and probably would have done, given the opportunity— because, damn it, that particular "opportunity" is not an option. ]
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Before.
—but there's little he can do about that now.
When she gestures, he frowns, glances down himself. ]
... Holy hell.
[ He brushes his fingers across the angry red lines marring his skin, and only when he notices them do they finally start smarting. No breaks, but damn.
He swallows thickly, can only manage a far too quick nod of agreement, and quickly sets to buttoning up his shirt. Every shift of movement brings the fabric of his shirt across those scrapes, act as a reminder of— that, and he feels heat rise up his neck. As he's knotting his tie, he gives Emma another quick inspection. ]
Your, uh. [ He clears his throat, gaze quickly darting to the wall. ] Your lipstick.
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she's just finishing with her hair when he speaks again, and—
oh, damn it, her lipstick. she should've remembered that would be an issue, but there's no way she can really fix it without a mirror. she carefully swipes along the edges of her lips, trying not to disturb what's leftover too badly. ]
Is that enough?
[ for now, at least. ]
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His gaze flits away, and his response is another curt nod. ]
Good enough.
[ Easier to echo back her words.
He straights out his tie, folds his collar over it and rolls his shoulders. Jacket buttoned, he takes a moment to glance around the corner to the party still in full swing. It's better, he knows, not to look too well put together, in case they're stopped at the threshold and asked again what they were doing back there. Better to let a cursory glance leave very little to the imagination. But part of him still wants to erase all the evidence of the kiss they shared, how heated it got, and if he could, he'd run back and beat the tar out of the two guards.
For knowing too much, obviously. Not because he's pissed about their interruption or anything.
He fiddles with his cuff links, before risking a glance at her again. He nods toward the ballroom before heading that way himself. ]
C'mon.
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their work is the important thing here.
they get a few cursory glances as they reenter the ballroom, but at least most people seem content to whisper and chuckle under their breath, rather than say a single thing to their faces — those that notice, of course. most are so wrapped up in their own business, in the dancing and the champagne, to care what two other attendees may have gotten up to. she can't help the way she flushes at the pointed whispers, but she forces the shame back, forces herself to plaster on that well-practiced smile, because if she and her husband are so amorous that they sneak off to a back room together, Mrs. Brennan would be far likelier to laugh it off than be too terribly embarrassed.
damn it.
she focuses her attention away from the party at large, instead looking for their more important targets for the evening. almost immediately, she notices a distinct lack of one bartholomew bogue, and she feels something clench in her stomach.
reluctantly, but out of sheer necessity, emma slides her arm into faraday's, leaning up with her lips near his ear — to look intimate, of course. ]
Bogue's gone. Rivera too.
[ movement is clearly happening, and checking the surveillance wouldn't be a bad idea. ]
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And he does, for the most part. He takes things on the chin, moves on with his life, because he knows sitting with his regret, with his shame, would send him on a downward spiral that only a bottle of vodka would remedy. Not that anyone really knows this, save, possibly, for the therapist they're required to see every once and again for their psych evals.
So he smiles, sticks close to Emma's side – too afraid to touch, because whatever just happened was awkward as all hell. Which is why he's surprised when Emma willingly slips her arm through his, and he unconsciously leans down as she draws up.
(He feels the hot brush of her breath against his ear, and the memory of those quiet little whimpers hit him with all the force of a Mack truck and—)
Bogue and Rivera. He tries not to startle at her observation, and for the most part, he's successful, save for the slightest tensing that she can likely feel in his arm. Faraday nods, glancing around as casually as he can manage, and verifies for himself that the two men are indeed missing. He swallows, licks his lips, and forces his grin to widen. ]
Back to upstairs, then?
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I think I like the sound of that.
[ Mrs. Brennan, ever the eager wife.
for the sake of appearances, she keeps her arm linked with faraday's on the way out of the ballroom, and admittedly, no one seems surprised to see them sneaking off (given the still slightly-rumpled look they have about them, she's sure they're making all kinds of lewd assumptions as she and faraday slip outside). she manages to keep holding his arm until they're in the elevator, and then she purposefully steps away, putting some distance between the two of them. ]
How long do you think we have?
[ until the deal goes down; how long to sit and listen and watch before they get something concrete?
(how long is she going to have to hear bogue's disgustingly smarmy voice through the speakers?)
her attitude is all-business, because it has to be now. gone is the mask of the adoring wife, and emma is back to her usual professionalism — even if there's a tightness in her jaw so less often seen; it betrays a more deeply buried emotion, but, well, that's what she's been trying to keep in check since laying eyes on bogue earlier in the evening. ]
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He quickly clears his throat, adjusting his jacket again, brushing it down. Better to keep his hands occupied. Better to keep himself distracted, because those thoughts are stupid. Ridiculous. And Emma has clearly gotten over their mutual embarrassment far better than he has, and clearly he needs to follow her example.
… Her example in this case, that is. Not in general. They can’t both be emotionless murderbots, after all.
Faraday glances over at her when she speaks, then looks back at the elevator doors. The brushed metal offers only a blurry reflection, thankfully; he’d hate to see how he actually looked. Still, self-consciously, he wipes at his mouth again. ]
If we’re lucky, they’re jawin’ their way through small talk right now. [ His accent returns, now that he’s not bothering to put on the act. He pauses, considering the possible members of meeting. Both talkers, from what he recalls. Both so awfully fond of drama, as much as they are of cold, hard cash. ] “How’s the Missus? Nifty weather lately. You tried that new place by the docks?” That whole mess.
Figure we got a few ‘fore they get to the important stuff.
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she nods along in agreement, because she's sure faraday is right; these men are quite the chatterboxes, and expecting them to get straight to the point is a little unrealistic. ]
Got a point.
[ she's content to keep the talking to a minimum while they're in the elevator, mostly because she's far from eager to go through that "chat" faraday mentioned they'd be having. as long as she avoids it, she doesn't have to talk about it, and that is something she's going to cling to.
the elevator doors open onto their floor, and emma strides out without waiting for faraday, going straight to their room and opening the door. she's eager to get out of her dress, to change into something more practical, and to fix what's left of her makeup (mostly by removing it; she doesn't need more reminders of exactly what they'd been doing to ruin it).
checking the surveillance equipment briefly, emma takes off her heels, clicking through a few different screens to pull up the feedback from their bugs. as the software taps into their devices, she goes to find something comfortable from the small pack she'd brought along, something far from the slinky dress she'd had to wear for the evening.
she glances over at faraday, only for a second to take in his still-rumpled look. ]
You should change. You look like you just rolled right outta bed.
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Completely and utterly goddamn impossible.
He sighs quietly to himself as she admits them into their quarters, shutting the door and sliding over the latch, twisting the deadbolt lock in place. He loosens his tie again as he moves further into the room, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the bed. It’s as he’s shrugging out of his jacket that Emma makes her suggestion, and he snorts out a laugh. ]
As I recall, that was the idea.
[ And his tone is a touch meaner than he intends, but there’s just something grating about this mess. Something annoying about how Emma seems to be treating whatever that was as a giant inconvenience. Maybe he just feels insulted, like her sharpness is an affront to his skills. (He is, after all, the world’s greatest lover.)
And maybe it’s stupidly spiteful, but while he does ditch the jacket, drapes it over the back of a chair, he decides not to change. Instead, he untucks his shirt, undoes the first couple buttons at his throat. He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it thoroughly to rid himself of that slicked back style he had so carefully constructed prior to the party. The cufflinks go next, and as he plops down in a chair in front of their equipment, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.
This time, he looks over at her pointedly, foregoing those fleeting, embarrassed little glances, almost like he’s daring her to comment. ]
Waitin’ on you, Cullen.
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especially not right now, when they have more important things to deal with.
of course, that doesn't mean she misses the tone he's adopted, and as he fixes her with that look, she just stares right back, her eyebrow cocked just a touch in one of her more unimpressed expressions. ]
Not sure you did yourself any favors there.
[ her tone is bland, because of course she's going to say something, but she gathers up the rest of her clothes, carrying them towards the bathroom (she's not going to change in front of him after all).
...ignoring the fact that she'd already been pressed completely against him earlier and that he'd had his hand on her bare thigh, and—
no. not thinking about that again. ]
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"—their linguini. It's quite delicious."
Oh, good. Small talk still. He and Agent Cullen are sure to save the day with this riveting information. He slouches back into his seat, resting the back of his head on his chair's back to regard the ceiling.
He purses his lips as he listens, then, he calls out, ]
You'd better get in here soon. [ He says it dryly, though, without enthusiasm, which belies the apparent urgency of his words. ] You're missin' some awfully important stuff. Like how Rivera's dabbling in Bikram Yoga.
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she glances towards the door when she hears faraday, and just scoffs, rolling her eyes. ]
I assure you, I already got more than an earful about Mr. Rivera's yoga.
[ her tone is just as dry, but instead of thinking about the absurdly mundane things bogue and rivera must be discussing, she tugs on some dark pants, a comfortable long-sleeved shirt, and then proceeds to pull the bobbypins from her hair. there's far too many of them, but it's at least a relief to let down the pain in the ass updo, and when the soft red curls fall around her shoulders, she decides to leave them that way. she can put it up later when she has to.
turning from the mirror, she lets herself back out of the bathroom, going to take her seat beside faraday. ]
Charmin' men, aren't they?
[ she doesn't sound even remotely enthused about this part of the surveillance, but she pulls up her own headset, ready to listen with faraday.
bogue's voice instantly fills her ears, and she tenses all over, fingers clenched — until she remembers herself, remembers her focus, and then she just reaches for the mouse, clicking through a few screens as she listens to the useless babble. she can't let herself get swept away in her own emotions right now, because she has work to do here with faraday, and that's what matters. ]
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He purses his lips at that strange series of thoughts and refocuses on Bogue and Rivera.
More of the pointless chatter. More of them dancing around whatever it is they're meant to be discussing, because it's tacky to jump straight to business, Faraday guesses. Never mind the fact that Bogue was the one to arrive at the party with guards as his plus ones. Plus three, more accurately. Rivera does most of the talking, which doesn't surprise Faraday in the least, but when Bogue pipes up—
He senses more than sees the way Emma tenses, there and gone in a flash. Small enough that, were he not so close to her – physically and professionally – he may not have even noticed. But he casts her another look, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, and he finally takes the gamble. ]
You need to tell me what's goin' on.
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happens, when you work so closely and so long with someone. ]
This is neither the time nor place, Faraday.
[ her words are clipped, her expression stony as she stares determinedly at the computer screen instead of him. ]
We're supposed to be listenin' to them, not chatting away.
[ even if now this is pertinent; it's relevant because this scumbag, bogue, is within reach, and emma can't let him slip through her fingers again. ]
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Not now, then.
[ An agreement, but also another one of those half-promises. Not now, sure. Now wasn't the appropriate time. But afterward? Once Rivera and Bogue have inadvertently given themselves up and the information is secured? Faraday intends to yank on that thread again and unravel whatever that mystery is.
Emma was focused at all times, certainly, but this focus was dangerous. This focus was the type one uses when sighting down a sniper rifle with a clear shot on a target, trigger finger itching to squeeze. This focus promised violence and retribution, was an inferno raging below the surface.
It had something to do with these two men. Bogue specifically, if Faraday had to make a wager – and he's reasonably sure it's a safe one.
At last the chit-chat ends, and Bogue is the one to say, "We're both busy men. Shall we get to business?" Faraday perks up at that, resists the urge to throw up his hands and grumble, Finally, and instead shifts the headphones so they're securely over both ears. ]
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bogue is right there. within reach.
(she could walk downstairs and shoot him dead right now. and god, if that isn't all kinds of tempting, but she can't let herself think like that. by the book, that's what this has to be.)
and then—
there it is. these men can hardly go too long without finally getting down to the real reason they've come together, because it surely is not to discuss horse breeding and yoga.
there's negotiation of prices, of what's reasonable, what they'll settle for, and while they're extremely careful about their language while going over the deal, what they do finally give away is what emma and faraday really need:
a time and a place.
emma doesn't even hesitate to pull up the specified location on her screen: a big shipyard, filled to bursting with warehouses. more than good enough to load weapons and take them immediately out of the country.
the rest of their talk involves some underhanded pleasantries, but then they're clearly wrapping up, and emma finally slides one headphone off an ear to look over at faraday. the fire in her eyes is near vicious enough to set a man aflame, but there's that determination she's so known for. she's ready to finish this. ]
Maybe that fancy party was worth an evenin' after all.
[ because they have what they need, and while the drop is days away, they know the where and the when, and that's so much more significant than going in blind. ]
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Then as they're wrapping up, Emma directs that heated gaze to him, has that look that signals something boiling beneath the surface. Familiar, for the most part, but given those little slips he's seen tonight, he wonders if this isn't something more dangerous. Reckless.
So his answer is little more than a noncommittal little hum, as he continues listening to Rivera and Bogue politely talk their way out of the room. Little barbs coated in fancy words – the kind of talk Faraday hates engaging in, but likes listening to. Faraday is a straightforward man – he'd rather tell someone to their face if he doesn't like them – but the sort of circuitous ways these folks go about it is at least mildly entertaining.
Once they're well and truly gone from the room, Faraday pulls off his headset. Then, mildly, as he's standing from the desk and going to his pack to find a change of clothes, ]
Never did get that dance, though.
[
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Are you tellin' me you actually wanted a dance?
[ then her eyes narrow slightly. ]
Or were you just hopin' for an opportunity to rattle my chain a touch more?
[ because she hadn't missed how much faraday had been enjoying making her uncomfortable; their daily routine tended to involve all manner of his aggravating antics, and she hadn't been even remotely surprised that he'd been taking advantage of a perfect moment like this mission.
...except for the part where they'd been making out on the table. that...hadn't seemed to be all about flustering her. ]
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Maybe I just like dancin'.
[ but, that's a lie. He doesn't mind dancing, but he definitely wanted to see how far he could push, at the time. And a slow dance seemed to be a reasonably safe risk, at the time.
Safe in comparison, anyway, considering the giant goddamn gamble he took later that evening. He considers himself lucky that Emma isn't currently chucking his body into a dumpster. But best not to bring that up, any time soon.
Once he has his clothes in hand, he moves toward the bathroom to get changed. ]
We'll save it for next time, then.