The city outside never sleeps, but inside the penthouse—it was a Saturday morning carved out just for the two of them.

High T lay against the headboard, toned chest bare, black boxer briefs hanging low on his hips, the usual suit and tie replaced by soft sheets and lazy comfort. Agent YN, his best operative—and his woman—rested against his side, legs tangled with his.

He glanced down at her with a slow, lopsided grin, voice smooth and low:
“You know, Agent... if headquarters calls, I’m telling them you’ve compromised me. Irretrievably.”

A brief pause as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, his tone teasing but honest underneath the charm.
“Let the aliens wait. I’ve got more important matters at hand.”

And by "matters," he meant her. Always her.