#✬ ◟ huntsupe. ⁞ 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚌.

[whitesuited]

she’s not sure when exactly she’d gone and dozed off ------- and while it’s easy ( and logical ) to blame it on the fact she hadn’t been able to close her eyes for barely more than a blink for the last fifty hours, it’s an excuse that never seems to get the sympathy it should. at least not when those fifty hours are meant to be spent with her eyes on the small array of screens aglow in front of of her; the ones that always cast everything around her in a less than pleasing light.

‘allo darlin'.’

the voice that wakes her ( and the light touch on her back that eases her towards consciousness instead of snapping her awake ) isn’t the one she expects --------- there’s no demand to know why she’d let herself nod off with her chin resting ( barely ) in the palm of her hand; no reprimand for disobeying orders. no ---------- it’s the one that hums the greeting just north of her ear before @huntsupe​​ tucks a fingertip’s worth of blonde behind it.

                “hiya handsome,” she murmurs through barely open eyes, a still sleep - muddled grin attempting to pull the corner of her mouth up that isn’t still hidden in the palm of her hand. he’s still fuzzy in the glow of the screens, half his face illuminated and the other half in shadow when she does finally lift up her head -------- sharon somehow managing to stifle a yawn as she taps the apple of the cheek that’s closest to him a few times before her fingertip decides to settle there. a request that doesn’t need a fairly detailed description.

and there’s the yawn, finally.

                “i’m gonna need a little bit more of pick - me - up i think,” not that she doesn’t adore the way he’s already attempted to wake her up ( successfully, to an extent ); she’s just curious what else she can influence before opening her eyes fully. “possibly two.”

[whitesuited]

she’s never been terribly good at goodbyes -------- which some might see as odd considering just how often she ends up being in a situation that calls for one, voluntary or otherwise. ( @huntsupe​ isn’t great with them either, from what she’s seen ---------- which is probably another one of the reasons why she gravitated towards him in the first place. the only problem now is it’s getting harder and harder to say one to him, too. )

maybe she’s not the only one feeling that way tonight; or maybe he really has nowhere else to be other than sitting there on the edge of her bed watching her move back and forth across the room while she throws together a to - go bag. assignments essentially falling out of the sky are nothing new; what they do was never meant to have a set schedule. and there’s a part of her that appreciates the spontaneity of it; never quite knowing where and when the next mission will come ( makes it a hell of a lot easier to have an excuse for not making plans ------- or keeping most people at arm’s length all the time ), but now these last minute orders only feel like a hinderance.

a few day’s worth of clothes, her toiletries bag, and her kit all tossed into the open duffle next to him all for what can only be described as a frustratingly short - notice flight with next - to - nothing in the way of a debrief before she sets foot on the plane. ( the fact that he hasn’t said all that much since she got the call means he’s less than thrilled about this development too. the fact he didn’t get the same call certainly doesn’t help things either. )

               “it’s supposedly just staying in madrid, so at least it can’t be anything too messy,” she says it aloud as she tosses her last balled up pair of socks in; not entirely sure she’s talking through what she does know again as a way to make him feel more at ease about this, or to convince herself. “two days tops? maybe three?” she makes the mistake of glancing over at him when she starts zipping up the bag, getting herself stuck on the combination of a furrowed brow and hazel - green eyes. “it’s gonna be fine.” what she means of course, is that she’s going to be fine.

that doesn’t stop him from standing up in tandem with her picking up the bag and hooking it over her shoulder, making a point to brush some hair behind her ear before leaning in to give her a gentle kiss to her lips. she hums, tilting her chin up in an attempt to make the kiss last as long as possible before she has to be the one to break it. 

              “you know,” a pause that comes with the beginnings of a grin just out of his sightline; the wheels in her head already turning, “no one said anything about you just ... showing up in madrid too. would be quite the coincidence.”

[whitesuited]

she knows she’s only going to be able to hide it from him for so long before he starts getting curious as to why she’s got her hair pulled down in front of her face instead of tucked back behind her ear like she always does ------------- its a poor excuse for camouflage, just as flimsy as whatever excuse she’s planning on giving him for why she’s hiding it in the first place.

@huntsupe makes it hard enough as it is not to notice when his eyes are on her ----- considering how much she looks forward to glancing up and catching his eye, avoiding it feels strange ( and unfortunately doesn’t make the pinch she feels every time she moves her face behind that blonde curtain any less uncomfortable ).

maybe he hears that last sharp intake of breath that comes along with a wince he can’t see, or maybe he’s just gotten tired of talking to a cascade of hair instead of her ---------- but he says her name in a tone that lets her know this little game of hide and seek has worn out it’s welcome. ( not that it ever had much of one to begin with. ) she reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear like she’s done countless times before, revealing the mess of purple and blue and red from the recon she’d done on her own earlier in the evening. 

he holds her chin between index and thumb, tilts her head to the side so he can look at the damage left behind on the peak of her cheek.  

           “it’s okay ----- tomorrow morning you won’t even notice it,” jury’s still out if she’s trying to convince just him or herself too. “i didn’t want you worrying.”

[whitesuited]

it’s always going to be a part of who they are; falling in and out of the shadows on a moments notice, only to pop back up again ( usually ) unannounced. but billy --------- he’s always had more of the showman in him than she does; a flair for the dramatic that’s always proved at the very least thoroughly entertaining ( or completely maddening; depends on which end of the show you happen to be on ). so when it comes time for him to make an entrance, he does it in a way that no one else can ever hope to compare to.

or maybe he just does this with her because he knows no matter how long it’s been since the last time she got to have him this close ----- so long as he’s not showing up covered in blood and looking as if he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards ----- most ( not all; but most ) is forgiven in the time it takes for him to curl the corner of his mouth up into one of those devilish grins and her to hook her fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

( it almost makes her regret ever telling @huntsupe​ just how partial she is to that expression in particular; how it only instigates and encourages her to rise to the occasion ------ but what better way to convince him to keep it in his repertoire than to outright give it her unique stamp of approval time after time? ) this time, that stamp comes in the form of a kiss against that smirk before he can get so much as a word out. ‘trick or treat. miss me, love?'

quite the choice he’s gone and given her, especially with no prior warning. 

            “i know better than to try a trick with you i think,” and while she’s keen on maybe taking her time weighing her options and drawing out this part of their reunion ( another kiss certainly helps those wheels in her brain continue to turn; at least that’s what she’ll insist if he has the cheek to question her methods later on ), the answer feels a little more obvious than perhaps he likes to think it is. “but a treat ----” and a gentle tug at the collar of his coat to help the both of them along, “pretty sure i can come up with one of those easily enough.”

[whitesuited]

her fingernails have been digging into the fabric of her jeans for at least ten minutes now -------- at least she thinks it’s been that long; her attention hasn’t exactly been directed at the clock on the wall over his shoulder, or the watch face on the underside of her wrist to get an accurate estimate. instead, she’s been dividing her focus on watching him ( especially the way his brow creases before he comes in with another folded square of gauze, or the concern concentration in those hazel eyes when he drags it along the gash on her cheek ) and trying not to let each pinch and shooting pain register on her face while he works. those moments of weakness are usually reserved for herself ----- when it’s her and only her tasked with sorting out the aftermath of a night out. tonight’s isn’t even all that bad; a solid knock on the cheek and a busted lip. a combination she’s mitigated pretty well countless times before.

so why break tradition? she’d argued that she didn’t need his help this time anyway; one good eye was more than enough to take care of the rest of her face while she sat perched on the counter and leaned into the dimly lit mirror of their motel room. but he’d insisted ( as much as she’d allow him to before finally giving in, anyway — any fight she’d had left in her after the last few hours petered out along the adrenaline once they’d gotten back ) and now here she was, still sitting on the cold bathroom countertop, only now he’s the one hunched over in that same terrible lighting instead of her.

@huntsupe​ warns her that the next part is going to hurt a little bit more than the rest, a cautionary prediction that doesn’t take long to come true when alcohol gets put into the mix so he can move on from the clean - up to the patch - up portion of their evening.

               “ah, fuck … fucking fuck,” it stings, of course, and she hisses --------- a reaction she quickly tries to temper with a crinkle of her nose and a second run  - on sentence that comes out bluer than her eyes but this time, under her breath. “what fucking proof is that shit?” her nose twitches something furious in an attempt to dull the sting through constant motion, enough that he pulls back his hand to watch the way her face contorts for a beat before her composure attempts to make a comeback through watery eyes.

“ you're really cute, you know. “

she’s too tired by now to make much of a fuss about it, and she’s sure he already knows that if it was anyone else saying it she’d make a point of letting him see the specific way she rolls her eyes at compliments like that ------- offered up with sarcasm ( usually, at least; but that’s not entirely the impression she gets when he says it. but if he’s trying to make her smile, he’s going to have to deal with one that has two cracks running along it like a chip in a porcelain cup. )

              “are we sure i was the only one hit in the head tonight?” she dabs at the swollen bit of skin just under the cut with the bottom of her palm, hoping to appease the nerve endings that feel like they’re on fire ----------- all while trying not to smile. that’ll end up hurting too. “unless it’s the black eye ---- it’s totally the black eye, isn’t it?”

[whitesuited]

it's  a  side  of  him  that  no  one  else  among  their  peers  ever  really  gets  to  see  -------------  mischievous  almost;  a  look  in  his  eye  that  he  seems  to  reserve  only  for  her. it's  an  exclusivity  she  that  she  hadn't  expected,  of  course;  never  saw  him  coming. which  means  that  each  and  every  time  she  gets  to  see  him  like  this,  she  only  wants  to  encourage  that  look  even  more. (  even  if  it  means  seeking  out  abandoned  hallways  and  quiet  corners  for  a  moment  or  two  alone  in  a  headquarters  full  of  hundreds  of  agents.  )

but  it  has  to  be  brief  ------------  they're  both  supposed  to  be  walking  (  separately  )  into  a  meeting  with  fury  in  the  war  room  for  the  morning's  debriefing  shortly;  a  protocol  that  seems  a  lot  more  like  purgatory  these  days  standing  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table  and  exchanging  glances  whenever  they  think  they  can  get  away  with  it. so  for  now,  she's  got  to  drink  up  as  much  of  him  as  she  can  before  parting  ways.

@dicbolical​​  reaches  up  and  gently  runs  his  thumbs  along  her  dimples;  the  divots  in  the  lines  he  draws  over  her  cheeks  only  seem  to  grow  along  with  the  playful  grin  that  helped  lure  him  into  this  little  alcove  in  the  first  place. 

              "you're  gonna  make  us  late  if  you  keep  looking  at  me  like  that,"  but  her  concern  doesn't  really  have  any  teeth  ------  and  she  hasn't  exactly  tried  to  shoo  him  away. she  turns  her  head  slightly;  enough  for  her  to  catch  the  palm  of  his  hand  with  her  lips  and  press  a  kiss  against  the  callus  there  ----------------  followed  by  a  little  nip  of  her  teeth. "see  you  in  there,  tiger."

[whitesuited]

she  can't  say  she's  thrilled  at  the  prospect  of  not  being  able  to  be  out  there  with  him  this  time  ------------  if  their  multiple  past  lives  in  the  field  had  taught  her  anything  it's  just  how  well  they  work  together;  (  which  considering  the  both  of  them  at  one  point  were  labeled  as  someone  who  couldn't  seem  to  play  well  with  others,  turned  out  to  be  the  most  effective  act  of  collaborative  insubordination  against  fury  either  one  of  them  could  have  hoped  for  ). and  now  she's  got  to  let  him  go  while  resigning  herself  to  simply  being  a  voice  in  his  ear  for  the  next  few  hours  while  she  plays  hacker  extraordinaire  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  time.

which  probably  factors  into  how  lazily  she's  helping  him  get  ready;  her  efficiency  bottoming  out  somewhere  around  a  snail's  pace  just  so  she  can  be  this  close  around  him  for  as  long  as  she  can  before  the  inevitable  takes  over. static  over  the  comms  means  it's  time. finger  and  thumb  catch  his  chin  before  he  can  get  too  far  away  ----------  and  for  someone  who  doesn't  believe  in  good  or  bad  luck  (  when  your  old  call  sign  doubles  as  a  phobia,  you  tend  to  reject  the  whole  idea  of  superstitions  pretty  early  on  ),  she  still  insists  on  giving  him  a  kiss  for  that  luck  she  swears  she  doesn't  even  believe  in.

                 "you'd  better  go  before  mallory's  all  up  your  ass. we  just  got  fury  out  of  there,  and  no  one  needs  to  be  setting  up  shop  again  that  quickly  ------  "  

but  of  course  @huntsupe​  does  the  opposite  before  there's  too  much  daylight  (  any  )  between  the  two  of  them;  hands  grabbing  at  her  face  and  kissing  her  again  before  she  has  the  chance  to  step  away  and  leave  him  to  it. she  lets  him  linger  against  her  lips  a  little  longer  than  she  knows  she  should  -------  but  when  he's  got  her  like  this,  almost  anything  he  does  is  instantly  persuasive. but  somehow,  she  manages  to  come  up  for  air  while  actively  tamping  down  the  part  of  her  that  still  wants  him  to  extend  his  version  of  'goodbye'.

                "and  that  ass  of  yours  better  come  back  in  one  piece,  by  the  way,"  she  leans  up  and  in  for  one  more  kiss  before  she'll  (  reluctantly  )  have  to  shoo  him  away;  resisting  the  urge  to  nip  at  the  smirk  he's  making  her  kiss  him  through. yes,  this  is  all  her  way  of  saying  she's  worried  about  him  going  off  without  her  being  there  to  watch  his  back  -------  something  she  knows  he  knows  without  her  having  to  say  it  outright. that  upturned  corner  of  his  mouth  is  all  he  needs  to  let  her  see. "i'm  gonna  be  really  disappointed  if  it  doesn't. kinda  have  a  thing  for  it."

[whitesuited]

tag dump #3 ( sorry this is the long one because i have zero chill ) 

[whitesuited]

he's just gonna sneak up behind her and brush her hair off from her shoulder to expose her neck and then kiss her tenderly right where her neck meets her jaw while wrapping his arms around her waist.

she  isn't  entirely  sure  how  long  it's  been  since  she's  seen  the  countertops  in  her  kitchen  not  filled  -  to  -  overflowing  with  manila  folders,  maps,  or  blueprints,  but  it's  safe  to  say  maybe  just  a  little  too  long. but  it  makes  for  a  decent  enough  staging  area  for  whatever  it  is  the  two  of  them  have  going  on  -----------  keeps  everything  within  reach  while  giving  her  poor,  usually  taken  advantage  of  coffee  table  a  well  deserved  rest. so  she  finds  herself  leaning  against  the  counter,  a  makeshift  anchor  in  the  middle  of  a  sea  awash  in  beige  folders  and  pink  post  -  it  notes.

her  focus  ------  or  lack  thereof;  she's  been  reading  the  same  two  pages  of  the  dossier  spread  out  in  front  of  her  over  and  over  for  the  last  several  minutes  with  nothing  sinking  in,  (  she'd  blame  how  early  the  hour  is,  but  this  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  either  one  of  them them  have  gone  without  sleep  )  is  used  to  his  advantage  -------- @huntsupe​​​​ managing  to  actually  catch  her  by  surprise  with  those  initial  sweeps  of  his  fingers  along  the  curve  of  her  shoulder,  a  subtle  tilt  of  her  head  to  the  side  looking  to  be  more  of  a  help  than  a  hindrance  as  he  clears  himself  a  path  that  ends  with  a  kiss  pressed  against  her  neck.

                     "hey,  tiger,"  she  hums  a  greeting  as  she  lets  go  of  the  edge  of  the  countertop,  happier  to  lean  into  him  than  the  work  that's  thisclose  to  making  her  head  spin. "i  didn't  even  hear  you  come  in."  her  hands  settle  on  his  arms,  running  over  the  transition  from  shirt  sleeves  to  skin,  towards  his  hands  and  back  up  again,  keen  on  holding  onto  this  distraction  for  as  long  as  he'll  let  her. "if  this  is  your  way  of  reminding  me  i  should  have  been  in  bed  two  hours  ago,  you  are  extremely  persuasive."