"The way their bodies moved together could put a restless baby to sleep through the night; their movements wrote a lullaby."
-
-
He turned her in a way that controlled her imbalance, before bringing her back to his level. She was but a pawn to his skill.
"You can dance."
He smiled, "Two years ago I had a special mission in Moscow. The Bureau paid for my dance lessons."
She bobbed her head, impressed.
Her left arm rested on his shoulder, while his' met the lower part of her waist. Their other hands met each other at the side of their bodies.
The live band played Fitzgerald and Armstrong's rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me, and their bodies, nearly touching, found a honeyed harmony in the rhythm.
"Don't be upset. You know Peaches is a wild card. She's unpredictable, you did what you could." He told her.
Monday looked over his shoulder at the others dancing too, "We shouldn't be talking about the case." She whispered under her breath.
He agreed with a subtle nod.
She looked up at him secretly, and then quickly looked away. She couldn't help but notice the quiet but captivating smell of cologne his neck bestowed. Noticing the gel in his perfect hair. Noticing how his suit was perfectly tailored to his body. In a way, at that moment she realized she carried a certain admiration for Apollo Knight.
"I wanted to..." She wet her lips and then looked up at him again, building courage, "I'm sorry about Teresa."
He didn't look at her and there was a small pause.
"I brought Feyre with me to watch the cameras in the perimeter." He admitted, suddenly.
"What?"
"I assigned her to this case. She's outside waiting for us in a black van a couple of miles away."
Monday didn't react to that as much as she thought about how she felt about it.
Apollo didn't give her time to digest the new information; he looked down at her and moved a lock of hair from her face, which caught her of guard and made her hold her breath. With a hint of a smile on his lip, he justified, "Peaches is looking. Lean your head against my shoulder."
She slowly inclined her head to him, hooking her forehead, chin, and nose, like a fitting corner jigsaw-puzzle piece, to his neck. The way their bodies moved together could put a restless baby to sleep through the night; their movements wrote a lullaby.
They danced in silence for some time, until Monday brought her head back up. "I said I was sorry about Teresa."
"I heard you."
Another pause. "Did I irritate you?"
"No." He replied right away. Their eyes met each other very simply, with candid innocence, "I don't think you would be able to irritate me even if you tried."
Monday turned a shade of pink. "Is she still looking over here?"
He subtly let his gaze investigate and then lowered his head back to her, "Yes."
Her eyebrows snapped together, "What are you doing with hands, then?"
His eyes darted to check with certain despair, "My hand is on your waist."
"I know. Why don't you put it somewhere relevant, then?"
His forehead creased, but his expression wasn't surprised or worried at all. He simply lifted his chin and lowered his palm to cup her bum and then toughened it.
Her breathing accelerated, but she looked away to contain it.
"What do we do now?" He asked.
She drew a long breath. "I don't know; feel free to pitch in with the team work, partner."
He smirked, "I have some ideas, but I might need to stretch first."
She shook her head and laughed a little.
"Ready?" He asked.
"For what?"
He dipped her and turned her around, then quickly brought her back up to the surface.
When they met back up, their foreheads touched, and he could feel her eyelashes batting on his cheek. Her breathing hardened as an intense fear came over her. She was afraid she would kiss him.
He looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with the skinny blonde, biting his lower lip and gripping his partner's ass tighter. He then glided a rope of hair off Monday's shoulder and, still gaping at the married angel, kissed it slowly.
Peaches slithered her hand across her own neck, as if his touch was being transfered to her own body. She then signaled at the handsome Johnny and walked out of the room, going through a mysterious door.
Apollo then leaned out of Monday's skin, leaving her chilled pores exposed.
"I have to go meet her." He looked at her but walked backward, towards the back of the salon where the model had just exited from, "I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"Wait!" She called. His attention was elsewhere but he looked back at her, "That was it? What do I do?"
He shrugged and stepped backwards once again, "Have some dessert!"
-
Monday opened the black van's door assertively, making Feyre jump on her seat.
"God," She whispered under her breath.
Monday stepped inside the van and closed the door. She threw her high heels on the ground and howled in relief.
"What happened?" Feyre asked. She noticed Monday's breathing accelerating, "Good Lord, what's wrong with you?"
Monday widened her eyes and she stuttered, "I-- I'm fine." She looked into her friend's eyes like a deer caught in the headlights, "Have you ever noticed Apollo's smell? He smells like the freaking sea."
Feyre's eyebrows tensed, "What the hell are you talking about?" Her mouth went round, realizing what this might be meaning. "Oh, no." She rolled her chair to her friend and pointed at her, "You better stop smelling that man." She watched Monday's eye look away and snapped in front of her face to reclaim her attention, "You listen to me, Monday: Men that smell good are dangerous. I want you far from him. You hear me?!"
Suddenly, the van door opened again, and both of the girls gawked at the blonde boy holding a tray full of coffee.
Feyre looked at her friend, undone with awkwardness, "Oh," She laughed clumsily, "Yeah, Minnie, I hope you don't mind I got Elliott on this case with me."
Monday's mouth fell open.
Elliot half-smiled, entered the van and closed the door. "Monday, it's lovely to see you again." He said, handing her coffee. She took it from his hand and stuttered a smile, not knowing what to say. He bowed his head and raked his fingers through his hair. "You look beautiful. As always."
"--Of course not." They all heard through the speaker.
Monday's eyes darted the sound box and then Feyre, "Is that Apollo's voice?"
"Oh," Elliott reported as he started to walk towards his equipment, "I installed an emergency bug on our man's tux. We don't have eyes on him right now and it's not the best audio but it'll do the job for tonight." He explained, seating back on his chair.
Monday looked at him and pressed her fingers to her lips. She had had a crush on Elliott Benjamin Wilder and his perfect teeth for the past three years, and now she was stuck in a van with him.
"Thank you, Elliott." She said to him, fiddling her ring.
Suddenly, she heard a distant moan. Her ears picked up the sound like antennas.
Elliott looked down at the ground like a lost boy, and allowed his alluring jawline to do all the work for him, "You know... Monday, I would love to get some coff—"
"Shut up." She ruled, without even having heard what he said. Her ears burned.
Feyre and Elliot exchanged looks, "Excuse me?" He asked.
"Raise the volume." She commanded. Oblivious and confused, Elliott did as he was ordered.
The hushed moans grew louder through the speakers. Her hands squeezed into fists.
"I thought the plan today was to identify future targets and possibly establish a formal introduction." Feyre questioned.
"It was." Monday whispered. She hadn't the strength to raise her voice at the moment.
"...Say my name, Johnny."
"...Tell me the things you want me to do to you."
"Well, it seems we have a *Raven secured in the field. It's a lot earlier than planned, but," Elliott pursed his lips, "It's big progress. Johnny is officially an insider with the target."
Elliott turned back and looked at the two girls who didn't listen to a single word he was saying, both of their faces scrunched and subconsciously reacting to what they were hearing.
The huffs and puffs grew stronger, and between them you could hear a few words, "Difference between..."
"Alright, that's enough for tonight. We should give him some privacy."
Elliott reached his hand to the volume button, but Monday stood up and grabbed his hand, gripping it so tightly that his opened palm turned into a claw.
Her expression had grown dark, and she looked into the depths of his eyes: "Turn it off and I break your fingers."
Elliott jerked away, and Monday's wet eyes went back to the speakers.
"...don't want to kiss. No. Not a woman like you. A woman like you wants to be kissed..."
She turned around slowly.
"Monday?" Elliott called.
She opened the door, stepped out of the van and slammed the door so hard it recocheted, broken.
-
RAVEN (/ˈrāvən/)
a male agent employed to seduce people for intelligence purposes.