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A Gift From: kiss_me_cassie
Type Of Gift: Fic
Title: Persuasive Lips (Don't Let the Wrong Words Slip)
A Gift For: geckoholic
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: None
Summary/Prompt Used: Embarrassing package that character A ordered accidentally gets delivered to character B's house AU.
Author's Note: I tried really hard to tap into some non-fluffiness for you. Hopefully the smutty part makes up for only partially succeeding?


It starts with a mislabeled package that arrives on his doorstep instead of hers.

Or actually, upon closer inspection, it's not mislabeled at all. The delivery person simply made a mistake in reading the apartment number and delivered it to twenty-one instead of twenty-seven.

Easy enough mistake to make, he thinks as he picks up the box and turns it over in his hands, testing its weight and guessing at what's inside. There's not much on the outside to give it away, just the buyer's information, a not very complete return address from somewhere in California, and the shipping company's tracking data.

He glances down the hall towards his neighbor's door, wondering if he should go over and drop it off now. If he does, he won't be tempted to open it and see what's inside.

On the other hand, he knows she's not home yet and he should probably wait until she is to personally deliver it.

He tries not to think about how he knows she's not home or about why he's got her schedule so closely tracked and memorized. He tries to tell himself it's just a force of habit, to notice these kind of things.

Besides, even if it wasn't, he probably still would have noticed. There aren't a lot of drop dead gorgeous redheads floating around this part of town and he's not blind. There's no way he'd miss noticing her.

In the end, he decides to wait and bring the package over later, to finally go and meet the neighbors, so-to-speak. It's the perfect opportunity to finally meet her without coming off as a sleazy creeper and to get the lay of the land.

His original plan is shot to hell, however, when an hour later he opens his door, box held firmly in the crook of one arm, to find himself face to face with her. Her keys are in one hand and the other is poised in mid-air, ready to knock.

"Uh, hi," he greets her, somewhat flummoxed by her sudden appearance at his place.

She lowers her hand awkwardly and straightens her shoulders.

"Hi," she says, a polite but distant smile on her face. "I got a notice in my box downstairs that there was a package delivered for me, but there was nothing at my door. I was wondering if it might have been delivered here by accident?"

He's surprised by how husky her voice is. Of all the ways he's imagined her sounding - and he's imagined it a lot - the voice in his head has never sounded as alluring as this. It's been shrill, or accented, or clumsy with too much slang. Her low, cultured tones come as a bit of a shock.

An unexpected wave of arousal rolls through him and he vaguely wonders if she'd taste the way she sounds, like a smooth, aged scotch.

He forcefully tamps down on his thoughts. She's here for her package and he's here for other things. He can't get distracted, no matter how beautiful she is.

"Yeah, it did," he says, belatedly, glancing down at the box in his hands. "I was just about to bring it over."

She cocks her head at that, but he doesn't offer any explanation. She doesn't need to know he has her schedule tracked and knows exactly when she's home and when she's not.

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, staring at one another, before she finally gestures to the package.

"Do you mind?" she asks.

He fumbles with the box a little but hands it over.

"Sorry. Here."

"I know it's a little unusual to ask, but would it be ok if I open it here?" she asks, flashing a bright smile at him. "I'm a sucker for unexpected packages and simply can't wait to see what's inside."

Her request surprises him, as does her patently false reason for wanting to open it right now, but he's curious to see what's inside, so he nods.

"Sure. Why not?"

Crouching, she sets it on the floor, then rips the edge of her key through the tape sealing the box. Inside the innocuous cardboard lies another box, this one made of sleek black enamel.

So not lingerie or anything like that, he thinks thankfully. On the other hand, that black box could contain almost anything, from a set of Japanese teacups to a high end dildo to who knows what else.

He braces himself, not knowing what to expect, but wanting to be prepared for anything.

When she pops the black box open, he's surprised to catch a glimpse of some very sharp, very shiny knives. Not kitchen knives, either. These are some dangerous looking throwing knives. He's seen this kind before and he knows they aren't for some casual hobbyist. Whatever she has them for, it's serious business.

Before he has a chance to ask, though, she's flipping the lid of the enamel box shut and looking up at him with the most innocent expression he's ever seen.

"My aunt," she says by way of explanation as she takes hold of the box and stands. "She likes to send me kitchen gadgets."

"Uh-huh."

Her look is a little less innocent as she arches a brow at him. "You don't think my aunt likes to send me gifts?"

"I'm sure she does," he replies smoothly. "But I know what a set of A-class throwing knives looks like when I see it."

He raises his own brow, challenging her to deny it.

She doesn't. Instead, she shrugs.

"You got me."

"So what's a woman like you doing with knives like those?"

She smirks at him.

"A woman like me? Care to explain what I'm like, exactly?"

He studies her a moment, then decides he might as well just say it. He's already let on that he knows her schedule. What harm can divulging a few more truths do?

"A woman who has money to spare to spend on a fancy leather jacket and shoes, but who lives on the wrong side of town in a barely decent apartment. A woman who takes taekwondo multiple times a week, but who also has an almost fetish-like devotion to the gelato place down the street."

She blinks, then looks him up and down, her cool green eyes assessing him.

"You know an awful lot about me," she says, slowly and carefully. "And here I am, not knowing much about you at all."

He can practically see the gears in her head turning, trying to figure out the best way to get to him.

He shrugs.

"Not a lot to know."

"There's always a lot to know. You just have to figure out the right way to ask so you get the answers you need."

"So I'm asking again… what's with the knives?"

"Self-protection?" she ventures, offering him a flirtatious smile.

His eyes are drawn to her mouth, to those full, plush lips. He wants to kiss them, see how they'd feel crushed beneath his. He wants to taste her and find out if she really does taste as smooth and rich as the finest scotch.

He shakes his head, clearing it.

He's here for a job, not to start something with her, no matter how tempting and intriguing she is. Besides which, she knows how tempting she is. That's why she's suddenly flirting with him. That's the angle she's decided to go with; she's going to flirt to distract him.

For a second, it almost works, too. Almost, but not quite.

He's not some green college kid ignoring all the signs screaming that someone like her would never be interested in someone like him. Nor is he some narcissistic businessman who assumes any woman would fall head over heels for him just because he has money or power.

He's got his head on straight and he knows what her game is. He can and will resist the lure she's dangling in front of him.

"Nope. Try again."

"Maybe I'm an adrenaline junkie," she purrs, setting the box down on the table behind her and crowding in close to him. "Maybe I get off on the power of handling dangerous things."

He swallows and lets her invade his personal space until she's flush up against him, her palms flat against his chest. Her mouth is so close to his he'd only have to dip his head a few inches to get that kiss he'd been wondering about not too long ago.

It's a dangerous distraction.

"Like mysterious men who live down the hall from me and seem to have quite the encyclopedic knowledge of my life," she continues.

Then she's standing on tiptoe and it's no longer just the idea of a kiss, it's an actual kiss.

At first, it's not much more than a light brush of her lips against his. Thing is, even that brief touch ignites a virtual inferno between them, and fuck if he doesn't desperately want to pull her against him and kiss her senseless, despite knowing it's a catastrophically bad idea.

So he does.

He lets go of all the reasons he shouldn't be doing this and cups her face in his hands. His lips slant across hers and he thrusts his tongue inside to taste her. She doesn't taste like the smooth, smoky scotch he's been imagining, but instead tastes like the gelato she's addicted to. He presses his tongue deeper, eliciting a small moan from her.

Whatever her initial reason for kissing him was - whether it was for kicks or a distraction or something else - it's clear the intensity of this kiss takes her by surprise, too. When they break apart, she looks as stunned as he feels.

He doesn't have much time to contemplate it, though, because in seconds she's kissing him again, and if he thought that last kiss was amazing, this next one is even more explosive.

Her fingers clutch at his shirt as she kisses him, before inching their way beneath the fabric to slide across his skin. She briefly toys with the smattering of hair low on his stomach before grasping the hem of his shirt between her fingers and breaking their kiss just enough to peel it off his body.

There are about a million reasons why he should stop this right now, but he's having a really hard time remembering any of them while her hands are against his skin, so they stand there staring at one another for long moments before he bends his head and kisses her again.

She chuckles and jumps up a little to wrap her legs around his waist. He groans and falls back against the wall underneath her slight weight, his dick at full attention and straining hard against his jeans.

He's sure she can feel it, too, but he doesn't much care, because she tastes and feels so damned good. Besides, he has absolutely no doubts that she's just as aroused as he is at the moment.

His guess is confirmed a few moments later when she breaks away to look down at him, her eyes full of want.

"Listen, I'm not usually one for things like this," she says as she slides down his body and proceeds to kick off her shoes. "But I think we've already established I like to live a little dangerously. Bedroom?"

She doesn't wait for an answer, just starts down the hall, hips swaying provocatively back and forth as she struts towards his room. He stares, transfixed for a moment, just watching.

By the time he's gathered his wits together enough to follow her, she's already at the threshold of the room. That's when he remembers why the bedroom is a really bad idea - even worse than what's already happening. Hanging on the wall in plain sight are his recurve crossbow and a couple of long range rifles.

She blinks at them in surprise for a moment then lets out a low whistle of admiration. She turns to look at him over her shoulder.

"Looks like someone else in this room likes to live dangerously too. That's some serious firepower there."

He shrugs, playing it off as no big deal, and pulls her back against him, sweeping her hair aside to suck at her collarbone.

"I like to hunt," he mumbles against her skin.

"Now who's lying about their weapons?" she asks as she turns in his arms.

She doesn't give him a chance to answer, just smirks and gives him a quick peck on the lips before stepping back to start peeling off her clothes.

By the time he's fumbled with the snaps on his jeans and pushed them off his body, she's down to just a basic pink bra and a g-string and is pushing him onto the bed, her knees landing on either side of his ribs as she follows him down.

Her nipples are hard and pebbled beneath the bra and he itches to slides his fingers across them but before he can, she lowers her lips to his again and it's like everything in the world ceases to exist except the feel of her mouth on his.

Long moments later, she pulls away and their labored breathing is the only sound in the room.

"Condom," she mutters, instinctively looking towards the bed table.

That's when he realizes that he doesn't have any.

"Shit."

She turns her head and gives him a crooked little smile.

"S'ok. Not a big fan of penetration on a first date anyway." She stops and cocks her head in question. "This does count as a first date, doesn't it?"

He laughs and strokes his fingers down her ribs.

"It counts as anything you want, sweetheart."

The crooked smile gets a little bigger and she slides down his body, her sex tantalizingly close to his erection for mere seconds before she slides even lower. Her small hands pull at his boxers and he shifts his legs so she can pull them off completely. Once she's got him naked, she leans down and licks the length of him, her tongue swirling across the tip.

His hips buck up off the bed, and he's pretty sure he's not going to last five minutes if she keeps that up. It gets worse when she adds to the torture by stroking his balls.

He's about ready to explode beneath her expert teasing when she squeezes, her grasp anything but gentle.

"Fuck."

She releases him and chuckles a little.

"It's no fun without a little bit of surprise," she teases as she licks her way back up his dick.

Even with the little squeeze from moments ago, he's still embarrassingly close to coming and he tunnels his fingers into her bright hair and tugs, trying to slow her down a little.

"Stop. I won't --" He trails off with a little gurgle as she sucks the full length of him into her mouth. "Oh, Jesus Christ, please…"


Even he can't tell at this point if he's begging her to stop or to keep going, but it doesn't really matter. He feels his balls tighten and he jerks on her hair in warning. She has just enough time to release him with a little pop before he winds up shooting his load across his stomach.

She shakes her hair from her face and grins up at him, before grabbing his discarded boxers and quickly swiping them across the mess.

"My turn now," she says huskily.

He longs to flip them over and kiss his way down her body, but she's got other ideas. She slithers back up the bed and sucks his tongue into her mouth -- and holy crap, the taste of him on her lips nearly gets him hard again -- before positioning herself on her knees above his head.

The smell of her arousal is strong and he nuzzles his nose against her wet underpants, breathing in deep. She makes a little noise and he looks up at her, her hands braced against the wall, head dipped down and eyes half-shuttered as she moves against his face.

He slides one hand down her hip to hold her steady and the other pushes the tiny triangle of her underwear to the side so he can lick her sex.

She shudders above him.

"Rip them," she demands hoarsely.

He doesn't hesitate, grasping the little string at the back with both hands and yanking hard. The sound of nylon rending is loud in the room but neither care because she's completely bare to him now, the sight, smell and taste of her irresistible.

He licks into her again and she trembles.

"More," she demands hoarsely and he doesn't hesitate, licking her over and over again before moving up to her clit and sucking hard.

Her eyes slam shut and she groans, grinding down against his mouth. He sucks a little harder, then slips a hand between her thighs to slide a finger inside her cunt.

He barely has time to add a second finger before she makes a little keening sound and starts to shudder, her whole body shaking as she shatters above him.

He gently strokes her sex as she comes down from the high, his fingers calming now instead of arousing. She leans her forehead against the wall and opens her eyes to stare down at him.

"Hell of a first date," she cracks, her breath still a little shaky.

"Makes you wonder what a second one would be like."

He doesn't know why he says it, or what he expects her to say, but her husky laugh surprises him. She slides down the bed and curls against his side, propping her chin on his chest.

"I'm not sure either of us would survive."

Her words open the door on all the things they shoved aside after that very first kiss and both of them tense as the reality of their situation comes rushing back.

This shouldn't have happened, can't happen again. They both know it.

She sits up and slips off the bed.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm not much of a sleepover kind of girl," she says as she rummages on the floor for her clothes.

Gone is the passionate woman he's just been fucking; she's been replaced with the distant but polite woman who showed up at his door just a little over an hour ago.

With a small pang of regret, he shifts on the bed, sitting up with his back against the wall.

"Need these?" he asks, her ruined underwear dangling from his fingers.

She shakes her head.

"Keep them as a souvenir," she says, as she buttons up the last button on her blouse.

Clothes firmly in place, she gives him one last soft kiss on the cheek and turns to go. He gets up and pads naked to the bedroom door, leaning against the frame to watch her as she makes her way back down the hall.

"Don't forget your knives," he calls after her.

She turns and smiles at him, a little less distantly than a moment ago.

"Wouldn't think of it," she says, picking up the box. "See you around, neighbor."

"Yeah," he answers back. "See ya around."

He waits until the front door snaps shut behind her, then pushes off the door jam and heads over to the bedroom closet. Bending down, he unearths the box buried beneath some old tshirts and sweat socks. Inside is a manilla envelope, which he takes out and carries over to the bed.

Slitting it open with a blunt fingertip, he spills the contents out across the rumpled sheets. There are a handful of photos amongst his pages of assignment notes and the official dossier. He picks one up and stares at it, studies the classically beautiful face and the fiery red hair, then throws the photo back down onto the pile.

Yeah, he thinks grimly, this job just got a whole lot more complicated.