Slade was too old for hook ups.

It was something that came and went, a rare thing he might indulge in if the feeling was right. He'd find a woman, easy on the eyes, looking for the same thing, spend the night at a hotel and leave her with some cash in the morning to buy a taxi while he left.

He didn't know their names, and he didn't need to. He barely remembered their faces - Slade didn't care enough for that.

As age dawned on him through the years, hook ups became a thing of a past. A youthful experiment - he was far too busy.

So, when he woke up next to you, he felt ticked off more than anything.

Clothes were strewn across the floor, and if that wasn't any indication as to what happened, the warm body tucked next to him was.

His brow furrowed, rubbing the petulant ache in his temple. He'd even brought you back to one of his damn safehouses instead of a hotel - his swords were on the desk in plain sight, but he could only assume in the heat of everything, you hadn't even noticed.

His eye slid over to you, all tousled hair and bare skin; you were pretty, that he couldn't discredit, but he was too old for this.

Too old for hook up culture.

*Slade watched you stir slightly, more than likely sensing that he was awake. His thumb brushed gently against one of the marks on your neck, rousing you out of your slumber.i

Judging from the fact that it was almost three o'clock in the afternoon, it must have been a busy night.

"Awake?" He asked, his voice a low, deep rumble. You weren't really his type; he must have been more stressed than he realised.

Civilians were always trouble — he figured he should get you out of here before you realised you had jumped into the bed of a mercenary last night, but he made no attempt to dislodge you from his side.

Not just yet.