FBI (XXX)

Nope not safe for work, not safe at all- the management

            Steven moaned into Christie’s hair as he thrust into her, her legs wound around his waist as he balanced her between the wall and his torso. With a final loud moan he collapsed against her and kissed her passionately, his knees weakening. She let her feet unhook from behind him as she stood up and buttoned up her blouse, all the while maneuvering herself out from underneath him and back into her office chair.

            The toxicologist leaned his head against the wall for a minute to regain his breath before he looked out at her from under where his arm was braced against the wall, “Can I hold you?”

            Christie blinked at him and cleared her throat awkwardly, “I guess so…if you really want to.”

            “I forgot. You aren’t really into that sort of thing, are you?”

            “I am,” Christie said defensively, “Just not right now.”

            Steven straightened up and quietly pulled his uniform back up from around his ankles. He then cleared his throat, “So, when I get back from Missouri…do you maybe want to get a drink or something?”

            Agent Steele laughed, “You mean like a date?”

            “Sure, why not?”

            “We didn’t really work out so well last time,”

            Steven but his arms on his hips and Christie couldn’t help put stare at the top of his tattoo peeking out over his boxers. He grinned at her, “We seemed to reconnect just fine.”

He walked over to her and pulled the chair closer to him so that he could lean down and kiss her. The warmth of his lips and the subtle bristle of his five o’clock shadow made her smile against him and when he pulled away she breathed, “Fine. Let’s do it.”

“I need a few minutes.”

“I meant the date.” She pushed him playfully away and grinned, “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Agent What’s-his-face soon?”

“Not until tomorrow.”

Christie pointed to the plastic clock at that by her computer and laughed, “It is tomorrow.”

Steven blinked at the flashing numbers and swore, “Holy shit, is it really five o’clock?”

“Yeah.” she folded her legs under her, not bothering to pick up her pants from the floor, “It really is. I think that there is an emergency shower in one of the chemistry labs if you want to clean up before your meeting.”

“That would probably be easier than going back to the hotel.” Steven yawned, the afterglow of sex fading from him rapidly, “God, I’m tired.”

“There’s also a couch in one of the break rooms you could use.”

He smiled, “Care to join me?”

She looked at him sharply for a moment before she cleared her throat, “I have things I need to finish.”

Steven looked down at his hands and nodded, before he reapplied his careless grin and winked at her, “Ah. I’m going to hold you to our date when I get back, I’ll have you know.”

“I hope so.”

He finished dressing and checked his clock, “Good bye, beautiful.” before she could sarcastically reply, he had disappeared down the hallway.

******

            Bernie Hughes had worked for the FBI since the forties, masquerading under countless aliases every few decades. One of his personas had retired, while the other had been unceremoniously killed by a carving knife and the rear-end of a truck in the backwoods of Florida.

            He was a master of false identities: Zachary Alviere and James Forrester had both done their time in the bureau, and all of them were gone, replaced now by Bernie’s current altar ego. He had gone a direction that he had never thought of before and used his real name as his alias, mostly due to the strange sense of nostalgia that the sound of it gave him.

            When he had been changed into a vampire after his seated tango in the electric chair, Timeaus had directed him into the bureau in order to use his lethal skills with piano wire against the enemies of the White Collar revenants all under the pretense of upholding the law, which was a brilliant disguise for murder.

            Bernie sat in Director Franks’ office in his customary black fedora, dark shades and driving gloves made popular and forgotten about way back in the fifties. He looked tragically hipster and outdated, but no one ventured to say a word to the man about it; to do that would be to have a conversation with the spooky, laconic man for more than a few seconds, and few people in the bureau had the will to do so.

            The Director stared at the paper work in front of him, mostly so that he wouldn’t have to maintain eye contact with Agent Hughes, “You will be going to Liberty Cross, Missouri, along with a team from the CDC.”

            “Alright.” Bernie’s voice was always hoarse, like he’d just finished smoking unfiltered charcoal. He adjusted his glasses and nodded, “What’s the reason?”

            “There’s been an outbreak. You will be properly briefed by the head of this CDC team…if he ever shows up.” The chief’s words were oddly prophetic, since the door opened immediately after he’d finished and Steven hurried inside, looking slightly windswept and rugged.

            “I’m so sorry that I’m late,” he said as he hurried to his chair, “I overslept.”

            Director Franks frowned at him but merely went on, “Agent Hughes, this is Dr. Yeats. He will brief you on the details once you begin your trip west.”

            Steven held out his hand for Bernie to shake and gave him a warm smile, “Nice to meet you.”

            Bernie reluctantly took it, and Steven shuddered slightly as he felt the thin, hard knobs of the end of the Agent’s fingers that were withered and tiny beneath the tough leather of the gloves, “I guess that we will be working together then?”

            The toxicologist nodded, trying to dispel the chills that ran down his spine when he looked at Bernie for too long, “Yeah…yeah, I guess so.”