Into the Specter

Chapter 21

There are, undeniably, rare moments when Flip truly appreciates his height. This is one of them.

He holds the SIM card high above his head. Attention focused on you desperately trying to reach it. Barely audible, frustrated groans leave your mouth. Sharp, annoyed huffs of air hit his neck. Dirty thoughts invade before he can stop them, reminding him of all the other times he has made you breathe like that. Irritated at the intrusive but predictable lust, he chuckles under his breath and raises the card higher.

"Give it to me," you finally say, coming down off of your tiptoes. But the moment he lowers his arm, you reach for it.

"Ah, ah-" He jerks his arm up again, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Flip looks behind you, noticing London and Warsaw are fully engaged in a new argument. He had heard their bickering when he was coming down the hallway, pulling on the gray hoodie left for him on the bathroom counter. Now, their discussion is even more animated. Flip has an inkling that they are purposefully not paying attention. He'll gladly take advantage of it.

"Say please," he murmurs, dragging his gaze down your body. You changed clothes. He admires the shorts hugging your hips, promptly inclined to spin you around and appreciate them from every angle.

Your laugh is one of exasperation.

Flip absolutely knows his actions are juvenile. It's just, your reactions are so entertaining to him. Tongue in cheek, he looks down with suppressed amusement.

A smile threatens to curl the edges of your lips. To prevent him from noticing, you swiftly slap his bicep. His arm doesn't budge. The act only leaves a sting on your palm. You inhale deeply, directing a glare at that infuriating curl of damp hair that is hanging over his forehead. It bobs when he chuckles again. The misplaced piece complements him perfectly, looking unreasonably attractive.

You glance behind you, spotting that London and Warsaw have now migrated to the kitchen. Despite it being a very casual exit, you know it was purposeful. You dislike feeling out of the loop, knowing it's your fault for putting this shaky alliance on the table in the first place. It only irks you further that you can't picture the rest of this job without Flip there.

It was all so simple. You had your team and the assignment. One common goal. The same motivations. It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment when it all collapsed for you, but everything is so muddled now. You're questioning the job. O'Moore. Not that you never harbored resentment for this lifestyle, but these past few weeks have been unusually overwhelming. The most disconcerting thing is, you've realized the only time you have ever felt anything close to peace is when you are in Flip's arms.

So, when he automatically headed to the couch last night, the majority of you was relieved. But, there was a smaller, more passionate part of you strongly regretting getting out of bed that day. It is trying its best to convince you that you have entirely missed the opportunity to know what it's like to be embraced in the morning. After all, the only times Flip has ever held you is when you are fucking. Maybe this is all just lust. Temporary. You clench your jaw, agitated that you feel saddened by the notion.

You turn back to Flip with a heavy sigh. You hear a cupboard slam. The fridge opens, and the coffee pot beeps. There are chaotic footsteps upstairs, indicating Belgrade and Dallas are now up and about. The argument in the kitchen gets louder. Warsaw is speaking whole sentences in Russian. Never a good sign.

Your staring match with flannel man drags on, and your eyes narrow with annoyance. The tall, broad idiot is smirking, still holding the card high up in the air. His arm must be getting as tired as you are with this standoff.