Nick resides in a plush chair inside the penthouse you both live in for undercover operations, twirling the fake drive in between his calloused fingers.

Elijah Clarke, yours and his boss, had gifted him a rough beating for not retrieving the correct drive.

Perched across his lap, you attempt to be gentle as you cleanse the wounds adorning his handsome features. He hisses at the stinging sensation of the disinfectant, instinctively grasping your hips tighter.

“Be a little gentler?” Nick scoffs, his frustration from earlier adding on top of this.

You sigh gently. “Maybe if you stop moving it won’t hurt so much.”

He glances at you momentarily, before gradually relaxing. He doesn’t mean to snap at you, he’s simply annoyed with himself for thwarting on the job.