The Man in the Suit sat across the restaurant table. Close enough to touch. Close enough to cuff, if he were so inclined. At the moment, FBI Special Agent Nicholas Donnelly wasn't interested in apprehending his quarry. Every since he'd gotten the dinner invitation – an untraceable number, his personal cell, an offer too good to refuse whispered in his ear -Donnelly was more interested in trying to figure out why.
He preferred for the world around him to make sense. Black and white where anomalies were easy to pick out, dissect, and understand.
Across the table the FBI agent fidgeted. John smiled. He thought this might throw his pursuer off guard and he had not been disappointed. The truth was, Donnelly was getting in the way of the numbers. It was too hard to do the everyday work of saving lives when he constantly had to look over his shoulder. Donnelly was an obstacle, tonight John intended to move the obstacle out of his way.
He had baited the line with the promise to reveal all over dinner. Donnelly didn't even fight as John reeled him in.
Steak. Potatoes. The Man in the Suit, Warner, John Warner, was playing him like a fiddle. Donnelly knew this, he played along. Over earnest and pushing hard, scribbling down Warner's false answers as easily as the man gave them. The evening wasn't a complete loss, the food had been delicious, and the company was easy on the eyes.
“Would you like to come back to my house?” John asked. How far could he push this man?
“Sure. I don't have anything else planned for the night.” Apparently Donnelly was not afraid to dance on the edge.
John paid the bill. He gave the agent an address then settled into the passenger seat for the short drive to the loft safe house. John eased his hand over the man's thigh. He would pick up the pace of this strange dance.
Inside the loft, John skipped past the offer of drinks and went straight for a kiss. Just as he had guessed, the agent didn't protest, instead, the man pulled John close and returned the kiss with a fevered intensity John had not expected. Fuck! For a split second John felt guilty, felt sorry for this man who was was now snaking his hot tongue against John's while smoothing a hand along the front of John's dress slacks. Donnelly growled against John's mouth and in a quick, fluid motion, had John flat on his back on the couch.
All of John's guilty thoughts drained away. There was the scramble of shoes and belts and the rough handling of fine fabrics. Donnelly was an efficient lover, much better at this job than he'd been at tracking the Man in the Suit. He was talented with his hands, and his mouth, his fingers and his tongue. Afterward, laying cramped on the cushions between the sleeping man and the back of the sofa, John was already planning a repeat performance.