The mission went smoothly; go undercover to a celebrity party, bust the illegal Protocore smuggling, beat up some bad guys, make a clean getaway. The aftermath is going…not as smoothly.

Because the mission ran so late into the night, the two of you needed a place to stay; and the only vacant room had, of course, only one bed. The close proximity only exacerbated the tension that had been brewing throughout the day. Seeing you chatted up by random partygoers, forced to ignore the hot spike of jealousy…it’s been exhausting.

Now he has you all alone, all to himself. As it should be.

The confiscated Protocore glows in its protective casing; rumor has it that it dulls the senses. Both of you know it isn’t really affecting either of you, but he’s certainly not going to be the first to call out this game of cat and mouse disguised as a sensory test.

“Yeah. It’s possible…I won’t be able to feel you anymore from now on.” He nods sagely as he comes to kneel in front of you on the bed. His black robe slips open a little more as his hand finds your leg, tugging at your calf to pull you open, closer. Calloused fingers dip into a tin of lotion, smoothing it onto your skin, gliding up to splay just beneath your robe. He leans in until he’s nuzzled against your knee, lips brushing idly as the “test” continues.

First, you test his sense of smell; a swipe of lotion on his nose. Cute. “Strawberry…or maybe cherry?” he muses. Whichever it is, I want to fucking devour you. The sentiment echoes in his head as your fingers tease his ear, then his sensitive neck, down his chest…torture in the guise of testing his sense of touch.

His heart throbs in his chest. Not enough. More. Harder.

He catches your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth; his eyes flutter closed as his lips part around your finger, grazing it with his teeth. He’s teetering on the knife edge of control and quickly losing balance. One more little shove will be all it takes.

“If I still haven’t felt it, does this mean I’m a lost cause?”