Relationship
by loxley85
URL: http://www.bluecatsgraphics.com/pean/fanfics/67/

Part 1

Perhaps she had been possessed by demons temporarily. On reflecting back, Special Agent Anna Cady could not come up with any other explanation as to why she would have ever tangled, literally as well as figuratively, with Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast. A momentary leave of her senses? Some sort of breakdown? Whatever it was, he had surprisingly responded in kind. Well, perhaps not so surprising. They had never treated each other with kid gloves.

It had been a bad day. A long, drawn out, annoying bad day, the kind filled with pressure from above, nasty sniping remarks from colleagues, constant questions about the last job she had been on from the AIC, and where was the rest of her paperwork? On days like this, Cady realized she was unfit company for man or beast by five o’clock. She left the building at the end of her workday without a word to anyone, marched the eight blocks to her apartment, looking forward to an evening of blue jeans, bare feet, chilled wine, and something absolutely mindless, be it book or movie on the box. So of course when she opened the door, feeling relief at last, and sailed into her bedroom—“What the hell are you doing here?” It was the first thing out of her mouth and even now, looking back, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

He had surprised her after all. She prided herself on how that could never happen, and yet here he was in black-suited glory, lying on her bed with a volume of Euripides for light reading. Euripides. Even that annoyed her.

He rose when she entered, marking his place with one long finger inserted between the pages. “Agent Cady, have I startled you?” He himself looked mildly astonished.

“Dammit, Wish, not now. Not tonight.” She dumped her purse in the corner and shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it carelessly on the chair by her vanity. She took off her holster and put that on her dresser. This was quickly followed by the second, smaller gun she retrieved from her jacket, and the knife on the garter that she removed from beneath her skirt. The folded knife she had clipped to the waistband of her skirt came off next. Muttering under her breath, she also removed the brass knuckles from a back pocket. Pendergast watched the ritual but made no comment. Ignoring him, she went to her armoire and grabbed a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, then proceeded to strip off everything except her thong and change into her at-home clothes. When her head emerged through the neck of her shirt, she met his nearly colorless eyes. He was studying her. “What?” She didn’t bother to control the irritation in her voice as she clipped the folded knife into her jeans pocket.

“I will leave,” he said, inclining his head.

And of course she didn’t really want him to go. She just hadn’t wanted him there in the first place. But now that he was here, if he left she would feel as irritated with him as she had when she first saw him. This was all wrong. “No, don’t.”

He turned at the door. “Don’t leave?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Dammit, Wish. We haven’t seen each other in how many months and here you are. No call. No warning. And the fact that you don’t even need the fricking key—”

He looked at her and waited silently, and that drove her insane.

“Say something,” she demanded.

“I have never called you save for work,” he said quietly.

“I know that.” She knew what he meant and it rubbed against her like something harsh and gritty. “And that’s just fine. It’s fine.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and moved toward her bedroom door, where he still stood.

“I don’t suppose calling you for anything other than work would be very intelligent.”

“I know that,” she repeated through her teeth. She was face to face with him now. “Want to move out of my way?”

He studied her for a moment, then stepped slightly sideways.

“Jemimah,” he began.

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped.

“It is your given name. ‘Wish’, however, is not mine.” Was there just a hint of reproof in that statement? Just a wee bit of an edge in that cultured drawl?

Her head snapped up at that, temper hitting the first level of danger.

“Cady,” he said, just before she moved. “Your temper.”

“Pendergast,” she replied. “Your neck.” She reached up to put her hand across the back of his neck, sliding sideways until she was nearly beside him and pulling sharply forward to put him on his head. Just as smoothly, he moved one foot and ruined her throw, grasping her wrist at the same time, pinning it to his chest and moving his elbow downward to pin her arm against him. Reacting instinctively to the impending capture, she bent her knees and went for his legs, but he moved his left one at the last possible second and she came back upright immediately.

He grabbed her forearm. “You’re out of control.”

“Oh, and you’re going to take care of that for me?” Using her free hand, she levered her other arm out of his grasp and came back immediately with an elbow strike that he ducked. Pendergast had it over her in size, reach, weight, and strength. Cady didn’t think twice about giving him a low impact blow or two. She didn’t want to hurt him, really. She didn’t think. Anyway, if she hit him with full power she would hurt herself as well, on all that bone and hard muscle... The concept popped into her head and suddenly enticed her, the thought of his muscles, the thought of his warm skin, and that only irritated her more.

Even as her elbow was moving past his head, Pendergast was already recapturing that arm. He pulled her to him in a bear hug and she went completely limp and slithered down to the floor, free of most of his grasp. He bent over to follow her down and she pulled on his suit coat lapels viciously, intending to take him off balance and over onto his side. Instead he simply planted his hands on the floor on either side of her—his ridiculously long limbs allowed him to do that without losing his balance—and was now face to face and over her, pale eyes glimmering and intent as he stared at her.

Cady didn’t like the position. She went to break the straight line of his left arm on the inside, intending to then spiral him onto his back, but he was too quick for that. He simply bent both arms, push-up style, and collapsed himself atop her, pinning her to the floor. “Get the hell off of me.” She started to push him and suddenly his lips were against hers, and God they felt so warm, and so fine. He licked the inside of her mouth softly, probing just a little, tentative, sweet, gentle. She found herself kissing him back and then stopped and turned her head away in irritation. “What the hell do you think I am? Just someone you can play with whenever you damn well feel like it? Just pick my lock and walk into the bedroom and—mmmmm...” The rest of her diatribe was cut off when he began to kiss her again. She kissed him back, harshly, demandingly, holding him down to her by his suit collar and then just as abruptly pushed him away. This time he did not resist. She shoved at him again, and then backed away from him until she could get to her feet.

He remained on his knees, looking at her warily. They were both breathing hard. She glared at him and shook her head and went to pass him on her way to the hall.

He grabbed her ankle and brought her down, half catching her so that she didn’t quite slam into the floor. “What are you doing?” he asked, eyes cold and glittering. “What game are you playing with me now?”

“I don’t play games with you, Pendergast,” she stated coldly.

He actually laughed at that. “Oh, I beg to disagree, Cady. You have done nothing but play with me since our first assignment together.”

“Oh, really? And who never told me to back off? Who never shut me down? Who never walked away?” She stopped when he freed one of her hands that had been pinned between them and began mouthing, nibbling on her fingers. She closed her eyes as his lips worked past her palm and began moving up the inside of her arm. She shivered, well aware that she was getting goose bumps...DAMMIT! “And who’s playing games now?” She jerked her hand away from him and began trying to push herself out from under him.

He simply let himself become dead weight and again she was pinned to the floor momentarily. Even as his torso was pressing against her, she was already pulling her feet close to her, moving her heels as close to her buttocks as possible to get the leverage she would need to shift his weight when she bucked her hips...

She didn’t dislodge him completely—he was too good for that and she knew he would be—but she moved him enough to wriggle out sideways. He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, and watched as she again got to her feet. She looked down at him, then turned and walked away.

“No,” he said.

She paused. “What?”

“No.” He was on his feet so swiftly she barely had time to take a step back. “This gets settled.”

“What are we settling? Oh, are we having relationship issues?” she added mockingly.

“My dear woman, you have to have a relationship to have such issues,” he answered dryly.

“You got that right. What we have here... What do we have here? Are we just fuck buddies?” she asked, emphasizing the word and hoping to make him wince.

He didn’t. He tilted his head as if thinking it over. “Are we even buddies?” he asked, arching one eyebrow.

He was provoking her, she knew that, and yet she had a struggle not to react to that one. She merely looked at him without answering, and he began walking toward her.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded as he got closer.

“What do you want from me?” he echoed. He put his hands on her shoulders and she actually surprised him when she palm-struck him in the stomach, just hard enough to draw a satisfying “Wumph” from him as he lost his wind.

The satisfaction didn’t last long. He shoved her back against the wall with some force and her head connected with enough of an impact to jar her momentarily. “Not kind,” he said, slightly breathless.

“And the horse you rode in on,” she snapped back at him.

He had her cornered and before she could duck away he put his hand under her jaw, tilted her head back and kissed her, a drawn out, exploratory, lingering thing that went on and on until her struggling got to be too much. He pulled back and dropped his hand, but there was a smugness in his eyes that drove her berserk. She was glad she had managed not to respond or moan during the kiss, although her heart had sped up considerably and she couldn’t help but feel that he was well aware of it.

“Prelude to a nothing?” she asked. His mouth twitched and she wasn’t sure if he was stifling anger or amusement. “What are we settling, Pendergast? Or is this just a one-time decision of fight or fuck?”

“If you hadn’t noticed, Cady, it appears we have been working at both.”

“Really? Did I leave a bruise?” She yanked his shirt out of his pants and tried to take a look at his abdomen, and he caught her arms and pressed them above her head and against the wall. Then he moved closer so that his chest was right up against her tee shirt. She could feel his heat washing over her, radiating, impossible to ignore. And she could smell that subtle, familiar, wonderful Aloysius Pendergast scent... Damn it to hell and twice over on Tuesdays.

“I came here,” he said quietly, “in quite good faith with the reasonable expectation that we might share dinner and a nice evening together. You, on the other hand, came here with an entire granite block on your shoulder, never mind the chip, and—”

He didn’t get any further as Cady wriggled free and keeping one of his hands pinned to the wall, used the leverage to catch him up and under the chin and bring him down sideways. He reached up with his free arm and yanked on her shoulder on the way down, and try as she did to maintain her balance, she tumbled on top of him before managing to roll over and regain her feet.

Pendergast remained on the floor, gazing up at her with colorless eyes.

“That’s it,” she said. “Game over. I think you need to leave.”

He rose after a long moment, dusted off his pants, straightened his tie and re-tucked his shirt, repositioned his jacket, and walked past her in the direction of the front door without another word.

She watched him for a few steps and then followed him, curious. Was he really going to leave? Just like that? Cady was nothing if not honest with herself. She felt torn that he would just go so easily, no more resistance, no more argument. On the other hand, wasn’t that what she had wanted? But she was still fluttering inside from his touch. Hell, the memory of his mouth against hers just a moment ago lingered and she pressed her lips together.

At the door, he stopped, back to her, and took a deep breath, letting his head flop back on his neck for just a moment. The fine, white-blond hair brushed against the black of his suit. He relaxed his shoulders, rolled his head back and forth a couple of times to stretch his neck, and then shrugged his shoulders. He placed a hand on the doorknob and twisted.

“Don’t,” she said for the second time.

He stopped and bowed his head, his back still turned to her. The long, slender fingers still grasped the knob. “Don’t what?” he asked in his quietest voice. Sad? Or angry? She wasn’t sure. At last he looked at her and there was absolutely no expression on his face, not anger, not sadness, nothing. They could have been complete strangers.

Part 2

She shivered when she looked at him and this time, the shiver was not the wonderful kind. Had she ever known him, really? What had he ever shared with her besides the bed? There had been no intimacies. Nothing about his family. Nothing about his past. Nothing but what could be found out about him in the files at the Bureau and the tidbits of information there were simply dry, colorless facts. Aloysius Pendergast, the man, remained a cipher. He stared at her coolly, blinking once or twice but otherwise not moving, not speaking. But she had known him as “Wish” for well over two years now. And somehow trusted him completely.

At last he spoke. “Who is playing with whom, Agent Cady?”

“Who are you?” she asked in reply. The question startled both of them, she could see that.

He turned his head just a little, as if to study her better while reviewing what she had asked. But he didn’t say anything.

“It’s a simple question,” she said.

“Is it?” His voice was as soft as ever, but there was something in it, some buried inflection, that gave her a sudden chill. She was reminded again of how intimidating he could be, even though she had refused to be intimidated by him, ever. But standing there in her apartment, tall, spare, severe black suit, tightly knotted tie, pale hair, cool pale eyes—“Who am I to you, Agent Cady?” he asked softly, almost gently.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I really don’t.” He took a step toward her and she had to will herself not to step back from him. He took another step and she held her ground, lifting her chin. Two more steps and he reached her. He took her face between his hands and kissed her gently, again and again, just his lips against hers, soft and sweet and then she pushed him away, slapping at his hands.

He reached for her again, backing her slowly toward the bedroom. She stepped to the side and he followed, redirected her, one hand on her shoulder, light but firm. She ducked out from under it and he caught her, grabbed her and pulled her closer. She started to push against him and changed her mind, instead grabbing handfuls of his suit coat so that now they were locked against each other, staring hard into each other’s eyes even as he continued to propel them, slow step by slow step, toward her bed.

His eyes were darker than usual, unreadable. She leaned forward and nipped him on the lip. Reflexively, he jerked back from her and she turned her head and put her teeth into his hand.

“Cady, if you sink your teeth any further, I may have to hurt you,” he said softly, almost conversationally, even as the fingers of his other hand were gently stroking her cheek, her jaw line, tracing down the side of her neck.

She relaxed her jaws and began to nuzzle his hand instead, sucking softly, lapping at the warmth of his skin. As soon as he relaxed she nipped him again, sharply, and drew her head away.

He yelped in surprise and then as quickly seized her hair with his injured hand and bent her head back at an angle. His eyes had the beginnings of a dangerous glimmer in them and something inside of her rose to meet the challenge she saw there with both glee and anger. She released his coat with one hand and placed her fingers against his mouth, pushing his head back just a little. “There is no gentle here, Pendergast. There is no tenderness. So you take me in anger, or not at all—”

She barely got the words out before he tore her hand away from his face, pinned it behind her and pushed her roughly onto the bed. His breathing was deep, harsh, and when he shoved her down there was a spot of color burning on each of his cheekbones. “Pendergast—”

“Be still.” His voice was sharp as a slap and as hard and so was his kiss. He took her breath with his ferocity. The long, strong fingers, usually so gentle in touch, grasped the bottom of her shirt and yanked it up between them so that her abdomen was bare. Still holding her pinned, he lowered his head and placed his mouth against her belly, working his jaws, moving slowly up toward her breasts, leaving her aching and not-quite bruised in the midsection, but suddenly so full of need for him that she began to stir restlessly in response. He ignored her movements, now placing his open mouth on her right breast and sucking forcibly. Cady cried out in surprise and a bit of pain, and then his mouth was on her neck. She turned her head to him, seeking his kiss, and once more he ignored her as he nipped at the skin at the side of her throat, just beneath her jaw line.

Then she felt his hand at her waist as he unfastened the top button of her jeans, and began working the zipper down. Now she resisted him, pushed against him. Their legs tangled as they both jockeyed for better position. At last he pushed himself away from her, looking down at her, face expressionless. He stood slowly and began to undress, removing his jacket, loosening the tie knot and slipping it down. She watched him without moving as he unbuttoned and took off his shirt, and again she was struck by the cut of his shoulders, the muscles in his torso, the scars. Fascinated, she saw the alabaster fingers undo his belt, then the button and fly of his pants. She watched him strip until he wore nothing and she felt the familiar longing at the sight of him.

Wordlessly, he came back to the bed and began to undress her and she neither fought him nor helped him. Although he didn’t hurt her, there was nothing tender about it. He yanked off her jeans and her thong and unceremoniously tossed them into a heap on the floor. Her shirt followed next. Then he simply picked her up, repositioned her in the middle of the spread, and lowered himself onto her. His eyes were still too dark and she shivered suddenly as she looked at him. “I will show you anger,” he said quietly, equal promise, equal threat.

He was, at that moment, terrifying: eyes glimmering dangerously, no softness anywhere in his expression, the strength in his arms, his hands suddenly ominous as he stared down at her. Cady consciously forced herself not to react to his statement. The hell with that. “You can’t show me anything I haven’t seen before,” she retorted, refusing to break. His answering kiss was delivered with something approaching lethal force, hard, bruising, nothing sweet except the exquisite pain of sudden overwhelming need. His teeth grated against hers as he worked her mouth feverishly, restlessly. She put her hands up into his hair and pulled none too gently and he finally had to break the kiss to untangle her fingers. She smirked up at him and he pinned her wrists to the mattress before he resumed kissing her. She pushed up against him and he stopped and looked at her.

“And who’s angry now, Cady?” he asked, a trace of mockery in his drawl. The humor in his eyes was dark and edgy.

She glared at him and strained upward for his lips and he released her hands and pulled her to him. She kissed him back once, twice, and after the third began to wrestle him away. He followed her every move and they struggled against each other, still kissing, still nipping.

“Perhaps you should have broken out your scarves,” he said.

“Yeah? Screw that,” she replied and grabbed his hand, twisting it so that the little finger was pushed back toward him, angling his wrist into a lock she knew would cause pain. “Unless you meant you needed them.”

He ignored what she was doing to one arm and used his other hand to give her a slight sharp nudge into the sensitive area in her back just beneath the ribs, close to her kidney. Cady yipped and broke her hold immediately and Pendergast moved to immobilize her arms again.

She slipped his grasp with at least one arm and putting her hand against his chest made some distance between them. “No farther,” she said.

“And you want me to comply with that?” he asked. Before she could answer he yanked her arm out of the way and closed the distance. “Now,” he said, holding her next to him, face to face, mouth mere inches from hers. “Tell me that again.”

“Pendergast, what the—”

He stopped her with another iron kiss, bringing them both upright so that she sat in his lap, and now, no clothing between them, nothing between them, he began to caress her with hard, sure strokes of his hands. He cupped her breasts and thumbed her nipples until they were fully erect and throbbing for him. He rubbed his hands up and down the soft skin of her back, fingered her shoulder blades, traced the knots of her spine. Then he broke the kiss and dipped his head to nuzzle her neck, her shoulders, her breasts.

With a little cry of anguish, Cady pushed him back and fell on him, mouth on his, hands busy on his torso, his hips, his thighs, until at last she allowed herself to reach his core. She felt him shiver against her touch and she nipped his shoulder, gently now, the way she always had. He put his hand against hers to stop her. “Not yet,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said. “Now.” She met him in a brutal kiss, both of them still pushing and struggling against each other in a bald attempt to achieve supremacy. The only possible compromise was—

“Lie down,” Cady commanded. “On your side.”

Face to face, equal at last, eyes wide open, the kisses eventually began to lose their edge almost as if by agreement, and their mouths slowly softened to gentle, to soothing, to invitational, hands now stroking and fingering, caressing and guiding, and at last they merged into one. She saw the desire in his eyes as they gazed at each other, still kissing, and she realized he mirrored her perfectly. Cady closed her eyes and nuzzled into the warmth under his jaw as he entered her, catching her breath as he began to move. Slowly, so slowly. She groaned against his neck and pulled at him, already at the threshold, aching with need. He moved against her, flowed with her, and she felt that familiar catch, that last breathless, tormented hesitation before the plummet, before the fall... She lost her breath and then caught it in perfect anguish, arriving all the way before him and frantic for him to follow her, pushing him to surrender, willing his release. She cried out, she knew that much, and he quieted her with his kiss, as always, steady, strong, firm, filling her with his breath, his body, his essence. She felt him shudder against her and pulled him closer, as close as possible and yet somehow not enough. She wanted him against her everywhere, every point of contact possible, body to body, skin to skin, until they melted into one motion, one being, one all-encompassing sensation and she gave herself up to him as lost. Her arms were around him, iron bands, and his strong, wonderful hands were everywhere on her, in her hair, against her back, cupping her buttocks, stroking her thighs. They couldn’t get enough, and she moaned with the agony of it, writhing against him, twisting in his grasp, and it was long centuries before she felt the ensuing peace and calm that always seeped into her at last, before the anguish and the need began to dissipate, leaving a gentle, rippling sweetness in their wake.

He broke the kiss and gently lifted her chin with his finger. “Cady...”

She put her hand tightly over his mouth. “Shut up. Don’t say it.”

He pulled her hand down. “Don’t say that I believe my back is bleeding from your nails?”

She looked at him in disbelief, and then unexpectedly began to laugh. What had she thought he was going to say, anyhow? Something romantic? When he continued to stare at her, expressionless, she laughed harder, laughed until there were tears coming from her eyes, and even then she couldn’t stop.

“I am happy I amuse you,” he said finally.

“Shut up,” she said again. “If your back is bleeding, you deserve it. I have a knot the size of Manhattan on the back of my head.”

“My dear woman, shall we count bruises? When you took me down against the wall—”

“You deserved that, too.” She kissed his hand, nipped the fingertips gently, placed his palm against her face and nuzzled against it. “What was that you said about a reasonable expectation of dinner and a nice evening?”

“We should have dinner, then, I suppose.”

“This qualifies as a nice evening?” she made herself sound incredulous but began laughing again as soon as she finished speaking.

He smiled at her then and it seemed to her that his smile encompassed the whole evening, the whole of their time together. “It was different. I hadn’t been expecting to spar.”

“Spar? I thought we were settling.” She regarded him thoughtfully, pushed a lock of pale blond hair out of his eyes, traced the line of his face with her finger, enjoying the soft fuzz of his upper jaw . “Not expecting to spar,” she repeated. “That’s the point, though, isn’t it? For us? No expectations, Wish. None at all. Ever.”

He smiled lazily, the lock of hair falling back across the glitter of his pale blue eyes. “No expectations, Jemimah.”