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A Quiet Night In
Continued from: A Blind Eye

It only took a few minutes to arrive at the building housing Mr Talanov's condo. By then, Hood had donned the jacket and coat again, so when they were let out by Koloman, he wasn't flashing a high-caliber revolver around for all to see. Not that there were many on the streets at so late an hour, but appearances were everything.

Koloman wished the pair a good night, and the Pervaya car pulled away in short order, disappearing into the night. Hood offered his arm and led the way in, passing by the pair of doormen who let them in without any issue. The building was not terribly unlike the one they had left, save that this was the sort that the rich and powerful considered more...modest.

Mr Talanov's suite wasn't the top floor penthouse. That was not what he required of the place. A few minutes later he opened the door to the room that had been lent to him for the night. The foyer led directly to a well appointed living room in earth tones and rich woods.

He took her coat and hung it properly, then his own, before making his way to the well stocked bar to pour a drink. "I think this is a bit more your style. The closest place I have to here smells like gun oil. Big surprise, right? Not often I actually try to cash in on an employer's good graces, but you're worth the headache I'm going to get when the boss chews me out tomorrow."
By Spectra's extremely flat and otherwise lack of reaction, it was evident she had was ignorant of this Heinz Ketchup person. Then he explained it, and her laughter rolled with sweet amusement. She'd never eaten a hamburger and french fry in the whole of her life. That Hood thought she had was adorable. Did he not recall the raspberry? She should make him remember before the night was over.

She did have a purse now, so she made certain to pluck the card from his grasp before he could tuck it away once more. She took a certain amount of pleasure in seeing his false name printed so honestly on the stock alongside the title that it seemed he also found entertaining. When Spectra's handbag swallowed the thing up, she flicked the bag closed with a painfully loud snap. "Ladders do need boys to hold the rungs back on the ground,"
she said. The tease did have a ring of certaintude to it, however. She'd never given much thought to the people her agency provided for security, but perhaps she should take an interest. At least a small one.

She rewarded the man that opened the car door with a sultry smile and a flash of dark eyes so uncommon to his part of the world. When she slithered into the seat, she leaned out briefly into the cool air once more to speak to him. "In my world, there is no offense when it comes to business, señor."
Her tilted eyes curled toward Hood, urging him to conclude his own business, because her skin tingled with years of anticipation that they finally be about theirs.

The car finally pulled away, and with the loss of Hood's coat, she almost expected him to eagerly pull her closer. Instead, he gathered something he held far more dear: his guns. Spectra's smile grew warmly as she leaned over to help him don the coat once more. She was tense with foreplay and flirtation, and when she slid close enough for the plush fur of her coat to press against his side, the desire painted a vivid imagination behind burning eyes. "If only you were,"
she purred.

She gave the suite a dutiful examination upon entering. All the fineries were present and the air pleasantly warm. She dropped the pelts of her coat on a nearby couch, and gave little thought to the fact that it puddled to the floor instead. When he turned from the bar, she was waiting. Her patience was stretching to its limits, but she allowed Hood his drink. Hard liquor turned even the gentlest men into the pawning animals they were, and Hood was hardly gentle. She was thoroughly going to enjoy herself.

Hood sipped his drink as Spectra watched him, seemingly in no rush before flicking open the buttons of his suit jacket. A moment later and it was neatly draped over a high-backed chair, leaving him in dress shirt and pistol holster. Another sip of his drink and he set it aside, working at the cuffs of his sleeves. "You know kid, it's strange. Been what, three, four years? Doesn't look like you've aged a day."

Time certainly hadn't been mean to him, but the weight of the years seemed far more readily evident in his eyes. Maybe just a hint of grey at his temples, if caught in the right light. The beginning of wrinkles around his mouth and eyes; he was only in his mid-thirties, but the weight of his life seemed to have had their effect.

His eyes lingered for a long moment, enjoying the way her dress hung cling to her form, then seemed to shake it off and shrugged out of his holster next, carefully folding it and setting onto the bar. "So those suit-and-tie pansies still bothering you, eh? Saw one at that crappy club. That bag of hammers didn't even notice me. Being KIA has it's advantages."

His dress shirt was removed next, leaving a plain white and decidedly snug t-shirt. His arms revealed the tightly corded muscles she was familiar with, "Not getting you into any trouble, I hope."
The dress shirt and holster were familiar sights to a woman of Colombian "nobility". Hood wore them better than most, but Spectra paid the constant reminder of danger little mind.

His compliment flushed an agreeable sensation over her like silk floating on warm skin. A dazzling smile accompanied while she absently brushed loops of hair behind one shoulder. She was a trophy to be admired, adored, and coveted. The golden statue would weep to be molded from her image. "You cheat, Hood. Using the way to my heart by telling me how young and desirable I am."
He may not have uttered the latter, but by the gleam in his eye, she knew he meant it.

He had at least ten years on her, but she'd known men twice his age when she was half hers, but none were chiseled from anything resembling his physique. Her eyes lifted the tshirt from his waist and tugged it over his head. Yet, Spectra continued to lean, unmoving, in place while he undressed. What a fine show it was.

"You know, you used to be one of those suit-and-tie pansies."
She prodded. "I was a fruit ripe for plucking. Who am I to care whose hand wants me most."
The insult about Manifesto didn't diminish her mood. She used the club like a stage, and so far, the stage met her needs.

Her gaze trailed his placing the gun aside. A coy smile flickered a far-away light through thick jungles. "You're going to feel naked again,"
and she crossed as a serpent finally roused from its place in the sun. Before him, she slipped from her dress like a snake from its skin.

She kicked the thing aside with the toe of her stiletto, and graciously let him soak her in. It was almost business-like, their interactions, but here Hood was observing a secret alter-ego kept hidden beneath designer gowns. Her choice in couture lingerie was shown only to him tonight, and he won the privilege of knowing Spectra amplified. She modeled the seemingly vintage cuts with a modern, nearly fetish twist of her own style. Slinky, sexy and utterly sensual, the red satin against her cinnamon skin seemed hand-made for Spectra Lin.

Her hands went to the tab of his pants. "No, mío. You're the only one giving me trouble."

It had been a very long time since he had last been so interested in a woman. There'd been plenty of women since that smoldering motel room they had last shared together, but none had really held his attention. They had been lovely, certainly, but they could never come close to the raw temptation Spectra could elicit in a man.

He couldn't help but chuckle at her comment; both the suit-and-tie bit, and the naked part. Any other person, and he would have found the first to be insulting; it wasn't wrong, but he and his team had been on a whole other level then most. And as for the other bit...he suspected he would be more then just feeling naked in short order.

Ideally, he would have been seated, a cigar and a fresh drink in hand for the show that she put on. It was the sort of thing that deserved a man's full attention, but he had no complaints. His gaze followed the path of her dress, memorizing the sway of her body as she closed the distance.

His smirk deepened as she peered up at him, and he rested his hands on her forearms, and instead of letting her continue working at his belt, he turned her away before pulling her into his lap as he sat in a comfortable armchair, one arm wrapping about her shoulders to hold her still while the other began to re familiarize itself with her.

"No need to rush. We have a lot of catching up to do."
His lips carefully brushed against her neck and earlobe. He intended to savor every minute they were going to have together that night.
A brush against her arms and he stopped her. Animosity jerked cold throughout her body. What was the problem? Had he changed his mind? Had she grown too old? Too thin? Too fat? Or was it one of a hundred other reasons? Danger flashed across her eyes, but the shark that touched the surface soon delved deep once more. He drew her toward a chair, and pulled her on top.

She crested his legs, two mile-long stems wrapped on either side of his. The moment he brushed against her throat, she forgave him the transgression. Her eyes slid low, and her face tilted away.

He stroked nowhere unexplored before by other hands, but the thrill was not in being touched, kissed or cradled. It was being touched, kissed, and cradled by one of the world's greatest dangers excluding herself. He coaxed her into relaxation like a cat coaxed into trusting the hand that fed it.

He'd barely been able to contain himself before, a strange turn of events now. "You've grown patient in your old age,"
she teased maliciously and curled toward him to return the favor. Her hands trailed the contours of his stomach, chest and arms. They wrapped around his neck and trailed perfect nails through his hair. There were strands of silver mixed within his after all, but Spectra didn't mind. With age came experience and confidence. She'd known a higher profile of man these past four years than she ever hoped to entertain, but whether athletes, CEO's, politicians, or crime lords, they were all compared to one fine specimen at the height of her imagination. The quiet, eager part of her begged to be explored by someone who knew what they were doing, by someone who appreciated the rare jewel that landed in their lap, literally. Strange now, that she found herself comparing this version of Hood to the one she knew before. The younger version of him was wild and savage. He fed on lust and violence like a blood-thirsty, carnal animal. Whether it was patience or not, there was something distinctly different in him now. He'd grown more apathetic, like flesh and blood meant little in the grand scheme of the universe, yet at the same time, he was more free. What had happened to him to twist his insides so? A passing curiosity, but none so strong she'd stop to talk about it now.

She swung one long stem of a leg over her head like a cat twisting beneath a sun-soaked window and turned away in order to lay against his chest. Folds of hair scented with oils and coconut pressed against his cheek. The spike of one heel ran up and down his calf, leaving a red streak in its wake. He was trapped beneath her now. Her imprisonment of the world's reigning assassin lit sheer glee, triumphant ecstasy, and the rush of anticipation-realized upon her smile.

She didn't relinquish control easily, and when she did, it was not to just anyone. He likely did not need the help, but she was too eager despite herself and guided his hands until they were tangled in the lingerie. It was a stroke of trust show such vulnerability to a man, but he'd earned it the day he pulled her out of that cardboard box in Bogotá.
"They say it's a virtue."
That brief flash of anger when he had first stopped her had made it all worth it; maybe that was what he liked about her company. The emotions were honest; if she were there just to use him, then she would never have let something like that slip. Some might have been insulted or concerned, but he just enjoyed it. She needed to be teased from time to time.

Her own impatience was readily evident, and the way she moved and shifted in his lap had the desired affect. He let out a quiet, pleased growl as her stiletto heel scored along his leg, and at her guidance his hands slipped past the sheer fabric of her lingerie. Warm, calloused fingers boldly stroked along smooth, firm skin and he took shifted in his seat to mitigate quickly growing discomfort.

For all the twists and turns his life had taken, he still couldn't understand how he had been so lucky as to land a woman like herself in his lap. That wasn't a fair comparison...there were no women like her. As patient as he had become in his years, but she was doing a remarkable job of eroding that patience.

With his patience rapidly wavering, he finally stood, arms shifting to scoop her up as he did, craddling her easily against his chest as he did. There was no hint of strain, no delay of movement; it was all one smooth motion without missing a beat. "Enough of that. Where's the damn bed..."
He grumbled impatiently, scanning the various doors before deciding on one starting towards it.

He hardly made it five steps before he froze, entire body growing tense. In a flash his breathing, bordering ragged with excitement, became slow and quiet. Hairs stood on end, and his head cocked just a fraction to the side, before he turned to stare at the door. There had been the faintest sound of metal on metal from the door, lockpicks at work.

One arm dropped from under her legs, the other still steadying her shoulders till her feet were soundly on the ground. "Bathroom, now. Get in the tub."
Then he was turning to lunge for his pistol as the doorknob began to turn.
"Virtuoso? You?"
The ridiculous notion of Hood's virtue twinkled across her skin. What a merry image it was. Somewhere deep and dark in his psyche, perhaps dwelled the hope of virtue, but Spectra would wrinkle and gray before she ever witnessed such the violent birth of his morality. The creature that twined his arms around her and hummed approving groans in her ear was no more virtuous than herself. Their mutual ethical indifference bred the understanding between them that was the foundation of the present reunion. The reminder that a man could be as cold as ice sizzled her desire all the hotter. It panted steam in her lungs that parted lips simply could not resist the touch of his another moment. He turned her to face him again like he read her mind.

Whatever patience he had, she did not share. Her kiss was greedy and restless, and her tongue craved to twine with his. The blur of minutes strung themselves vulnerable and Spectra grew increasingly more covetous. By the time his patience reached its zenith, she willingly and voraciously gave in to his possessiveness.

All at once, his resistance dissolved, and he gathered her with sudden decisiveness. She curled an arm around his neck, utterly surprised at what might appear on the surface as intimacy of the romantic sort. She was no blushing bride about to be deflowered, and talk of a bed threatened to wilt the anticipation building ever since the raspberry. For a woman of such great passion, worry ignited quickly, and she looked over his face for signs of carnality, but instead saw something far more tender. She was completely ignorant of what to make of the revelation, but her stilled-heartbeat returned all the wilder simply acknowledging his growing fetish. Lips curled into a villainous smile, she placed them against the heat of his neck and tangled the claws of her nails into his scalp.

Then he paused. She was promptly returned to her feet. Confusion was quickly followed by disbelief when he lunged aside. The flush of her heartbeat suddenly ran her blood cold when she realized he went for his pistol.

Four years ago she would have obeyed, but no flash of red signaled her flight. She did pull back, but it was with a hand curled about the jut of her hip and an obsessive glower that flashed her eyes wide.

For a brief moment, she relinquished herself to the light and drank in the river that flowed through her body as a result. Sensations she’d forgotten flooded her mind. Every strap of her garter dug into her thighs, and the pinch of lace rippled across sensitive flesh. A cacophony of sound followed. Metal scratching at metal drummed her ears. Her eyes were locked ravishment upon Hood. A deep breath strained the contours of a bared chest that seconds before was pressed flat to hers. The lunge for the pistol strained sinew in his forearms as it had when he pulled her into the chair.

Spectra bit into her bottom lip to contain her exhilaration. Rhapsody spun fatal threads about the air between them on instinct rather than conscious will, and she waited to unleash it on what was about to burst in, but not before giving Hood a chance to show off his art first.
Hood crossed the space to his pistol in a flash, and was already spinning towards the door with the large revolver in hand as it began to swing open. The door opened with the wall immediately to it's right, and the room opened out to the left, meaning the first man through the door stepped in and had to spin to face the room proper, his gaze immediately locked onto the view of Spectra. A black balaclava hid his features, and a compact SMG was tucked neatly into the man's shoulder, the barrel slowly raising towards her instead of checking the room for threats.

Off the same bar as his revolver, Hood plucked a crystal decanter of high end scotch, which was sent flying towards the door even as his weapon snapped up. One loud bark and the first gunman's throat erupted in red, painting the wall behind him. He was still falling as the second man stepped in, spinning to bring his own weapon up to bear on Hood, only to catch the decanter in the face. Cartilage crunched and blood quickly stained the man's mask, and he staggered and tripped over his dead comrade.

The third man was smarter, and a burst of small-arms fire tore through the wall by the door in Hood's general direction, punching holes through furniture and expensive art to embed into bookcases lined with likely rare and interesting tomes. The holes appearing in the wall started at chest level and lowered as the man in the hallway knelt, and Hood put two rounds through the wall in return.

There was a brief moment of silence. Hood wore an all-too-casual grin, his revolver held up and at the ready as he took a step sideways to start bringing the door and hallway beyond into view. He was painfully aware that Spectra hadn't listened to his instructions; the woman was just standing there, watching. And, apparently, enjoying the show. She was a cold one. His grin deepened slightly; once this mess was dealt with, however many damn hours that was going to take, he wasn't going to waste any more time with teasing.

Sounds of movement in the hallway caused him to pause; two men, barely whispering, the sound of a fresh magazine being loaded into a weapon. Rather then focusing on the still open door, he looked to the holes in the wall; no lite came through most, simply due to how the drywall and insulation had settled, but a few shown with the lights of the hallway. Some of those went dark as someone in the hallway moved, and Hood put two more rounds through the wall accordingly; cursing and the dull thud of a body hitting the floor, and Hood let out a pleased chuckle.

With only one round left in his revolver, he started towards the door before the remaining man could collect himself, glancing briefly to size up the man he had clocked in the face with the decanter; breathing but not moving. Unconscious. Perfect.

A fresh burst of gunfire tore through the wall towards where Hood had been standing when the distraction had begun, and only stopped when Hood stepped into the open door, leveling his revolver on the remaining gunman. The man barely had a chance to register what was happening before Hood fired, and the man's body violently slumped to the side. Hood glanced down the length of the hallway as he flicked open the cylinder of his pistol and poured the spent cartridges into his hand.

It was then the remaining man, who had taken the decanter to the face, sat up, swinging his SMG around to level at Hood's back. His movement was sluggish, but fast enough to have caught Hood with his pants down, so to speak.
The gunfire flashed like the bulbs of a photoshoot.

Bullets sprayed innumerable. Spectra reveled in the tension flushing her body hot and cold. Childish fears of running away were never considered, but when a target set its sights upon her chest, she surprisingly hesitated in lashing out her own defense. The powerful light, brighter than the sun, itself had never dimmed before as it did now, and the cold kiss of fear left a sour taste on her lips.

She locked onto eyes which were all the more sinister when the rest of his face was shrouded by a ski mask. They became one person in that moment, connected by the future trail of a bullet given by one to the other. Spectra stood her ground, but one heel lifted to take a step back despite her silent dare, but before he pulled the trigger, a spray of red shot violent through his throat. She jumped at both the noise and the violence, but the heated smile of relief slowly grew.

Hood turned into a dancing devil then. Though man he was, there was a devil on his face. He cut through the darkness of death with an all too casual grin. One that soon came to be mimicked by Spectra herself. Their pain cried surprise when Hood appeared from no where. He was a flash of focus, a cold blooded machine one moment, and a man slightly bothered by the interruption to their evening the next. A slick sheen trailed his back and chest. The sinew in his arms and shoulders tensed and relaxed with his aim. She cupped her palms over ears pained by gunfire, careful not to disturb the perfectly touseled way her hair fell to bare shoulders. She didn't understand the intracacies of guns, but a dampener would have been doing her a favor.

Passionate witness soon bloomed into security, and she resumed toying with the power of the sunlight streaming through her body. She ached to use it as she had ached lust at the height of Hood's ignited desire. When he checked the hall, her hands lowered from her temples. She shook out her hair and posed a rewarding stance for his return.

The scent of spilled scotch stirred, and Spectra witnessed the sudden rise of a foolish, foolish man. Wide eyed intensity split her smile into morbid fascination. He leveled his target at Hood's back, and Spectra laughed happily aloud, drawing Hood's attention as she did. She finally unleashed the crushing weight of cosmic power upon his skull. He crumpled instantly. She delighted in how well it worked.

The elation of the power coursed sweeter than any drug through her veins, and she went to stand above her victim, careful not to taint her feet with blood or scotch. She toed him with the weapon-like point of her shoe, but there was no need. She'd felt his life extinguish like a torch in the river.

"Is that all of them?"
She asked with bright eyes, almost disappointed if it were so. From surveying the dead man at her feet to Hood, she'd never wanted him more.

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