Maybe you have already guessed what I was gearing up to, with two shrines in quick succession… Well, the post title says it all: With the horrible war and the successive refugee crisis going on in Ukraine, I wondered how I could help (beyond my own donation a couple of weeks ago). The obvious answer is to sell some of my crafty stuff and donate the proceeds to refugee relief. I had already jumped…
The world as it is today cannot go unmentioned even here in this ‘happy place’. With Russia invading Ukraine, war has become tangible in Europe. I am old enough to feel catapulted back in the times of the Cold War. Even though I was a child back then, I was keenly aware of an ever-present threat – due to living in the centre of Europe, right at the line that marked the border between East and…
I’m frustrated. It all started last week when the bathroom light bulb gave out. Mr Guylty replaced it with a new bulb. So far, so good. But the new bulb is much brighter than the old one, and suddenly the bathroom looks so grimy and dirty, something needs to be done. So I was on my knees today, scrubbing the floor, washing down the walls, cleaning sink and toilet. And tbh, it looks worse than…
The week was really busy for me. Lots of work came in, and I was finally back to writing original pieces for my fashion blog. (It’s way more work but also way more rewarding.) I now know everything there is to know about the best sneakers to expect and invest in in 2022 . Yesterday I went back to volunteering in MoLI and had some really extensive and interesting conversations with visitors.…
Very fittingly for a long Easter weekend, I will have a bumper round-up for you today. At least I hope so. After all I missed last week’s round-up due to travelling. Let’s see what happened in the meantime…
I hope you have had your first cup of coffee this morning, because starting off with this item might otherwise knock you out. Rangerofthewestt has put together a shirtless compilation. You…
Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, smut, angst, heartbreak.
Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Lucas and Amy’s domestic bliss hits a plateau, but then plummets back when someone from Lucas’ past decides to crash the party.
Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. The above image was located on Pinterest, with no link back to the original source.
I also wanted to stipulate, and I don’t mean to be rude, but if you ask to be on my tag list and never interact (even if just a ‘like’ on the chapters I post) then I will remove you after a few weeks. Please try and show some kind of engagement, or ask to be taken off my list if you’re no longer interested.
Thank you to @guardianofrivendellfor helping me decide how to properly end this chapter. I’d originally written it to end in a different way, but after a conversation, we both agreed this way was better. So thank you. And also thank you for messaging me as I’m always useless at reaching out for help and just get frustrated with myself.
And a quick comment on the timeline of this fic. The character of Sarah has been brought back just to add some spice and drama, and obviously, Ros is still on the team. I’m messing with plots and timelines. Now, onto the fic. :)
Thanks, Luthen. It’s a great message on a Monday morning, and my optimist is clinging onto it. Not because I need to watch the Netflix version of North and South, or MI-5 (Spooks) or Robin Hood, but because it’s such an easy way to turn…
It seems Francis Dolarhyde is obsessed with this painting by William Blake. And yes, my ignorance of Thomas Harris’s book is showing. Red Dragon can mean a helluva lot of things, and so years ago when I heard of the book, I didn’t automatically associate it with Blake’s The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun.Obviously, I’m curing my ignorance this…
I certainly have great affection for Richard Armitage, which is still a bit weird to me. Not because it’s weird to have great fondness for someone well-known who you don’t know. I’ve had several celebrities whom I think of fondly. Jack Lemmon was the first one. He did so many wonderful pieces. I remember the first time I saw Some Like It Hot. I was smitten with Jack Lemmon. I think I was about 11…
I’ve had about a week’s break from Covert Eyes so might have a look over it again and try to work on chapter 13. I’m currently watching it on a Discord server and the character’s background etc is becoming more obvious, so let’s try and incorporate some new things.
My last chapter ended on a very angsty note, so let’s do this! *cracks knuckles*
Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, smut, angst, heartbreak.
Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Lucas and Amy’s domestic bliss hits a plateau, but then plummets back when someone from Lucas’ past decides to crash the party.
Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. The above image was located on Pinterest, with no link back to the original source.
I also wanted to stipulate, and I don’t mean to be rude, but if you ask to be on my tag list and never interact (even if just a ‘like’ on the chapters I post) then I will remove you after a few weeks. Please try and show some kind of engagement, or ask to be taken off my list if you’re no longer interested.
Prompts:“You were the best thing that ever happened to me.” Betrayal trope.
Fandom:Spooks
Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)
Warnings: Angst, language, spoilers
Summary:Lucas and Amy are fast approaching their wedding, and Amy is now working for MI-5. Ruth comes to her with a grave concern. Is Lucas really who he says he is?
Comments/Notes: If anyone would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please say. This fic delves into spoiler territory for any of you who have not watched Spooks. My Ruth fangirling comes out strong in this fic; she was actually my favourite character in the series. It also uses the OC of Amy from my fan fiction Covert Eyes, which you can find in my master list on my blog.
You stood in the doorway behind Lucas and although you heard exactly what he said, it didn’t stop you from saying, “What?”
“Yeah. We were supposed to get a double. We got a single.”
“We did not. Did we?”
He stepped further into the room. “See for yourself.”
You moved around him, the pit of your stomach dropping away with a sickening splash. This was notsuppose to happen. “Well… this won’t do.” You brought your small wheelie into the room and turned to stare at the single king-sized bed. “I’ll go talk to someone at the front desk.”
“No. You wait here. I’ll do it.”
“Lucas—”
“I said, I’d do it.” He turned to you, steel-blue eyes bright with irritation. “Are you going to fight me on everything?”
“This counts as everything?”
He didn’t answer, but stalked off, leaving you alone in the hotel room. Of all the people in the world, Donaldson just had to assign you to the one man in MI-5 that you had a past with. What even were the odds of that happening? You lived in New York, Lucas was based out of London. You were never supposed to cross paths again and that was exactly how you wanted it.
But no. There you were, back in New York, just like old times, with him. Well, you’d be damned if you were sharing a bed with him this time. Uh-uh. No way. You’d rather sleep in the bathtub.
“Donaldson will hear about this when I get back into the office.” You rolled your suitcase further into the room, then left it by the desk to cross to the window. Nighttime in New York was almost as busy as daytime. You peered down at the people who from that height looked like ants hurrying along the sidewalks, crossing the streets, dodging the never-ending flow of traffic as they did so. There was a certain amount of comfort in the familiarity.
It was the only thing comfortable at the moment.
You hadn’t seen or spoken to Lucas since your fight at Heathrow almost seven months earlier. He wanted you to stay. You couldn’t. You’d been in England on a temporary basis, working with MI-5 on a joint assignment and when it ended, you were to return home.
You tried not to think about that night at the airport. It tore you apart to leave him, as you were on the verge of falling in love with him. But, you’d worked so hard to get to where you were, you couldn’t just walk away from it. Or so you thought.
You chose your career over him. And basically regretted it ever since.
Now, you had to work together. You were tracking the movements of an arms dealer with dual citizenship between the UK and the US, and he’d flown into JFK that morning, not even knowing Lucas was on the same flight, watching his every move from boarding to deplaning.
Stephen Mills’ reservation at the hotel was for two nights. He was in the room next door and your secretary swore she’d made herself clear about needing a double room for you and Lucas when she’d booked it. Somebody messed up.
The key reader clicked and the door opened and you knew the answer just by the dark expression on Lucas’ face. He confirmed with a gruff, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No other rooms on this floor?”
He shook his head, raking a hand through his black hair. “No other rooms anywhere. Super Bowl weekend. We’re lucky we have this.”
“Well, that leaves us with a problem, doesn’t it?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “No. I just told you, I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Fine.” You weren’t about to argue. If he wanted sleep on the floor, more power to him. “So, according to Donaldson, the bugs were put in place last night. He can’t come or go without us knowing.”
“At least somethingis going our way.” He lifted his carryon onto the bed and opened it, taking out a small speaker, which he set on the dresser and switched on, and then pulled a dark green Pendaflex folder at least two inches thick with information from the bag as well. “This is the dossier on Mills. Have you had a chance to look it over?”
You nodded, diving into your own bag to come up with your copies of the file. “It’s only the basics, but I’m up to speed. I went over it last night, and then this morning on the ride over.”
“Good.” He set the folder on the table and flipped it open. His blue eyes narrowed as he perused the documents. “You know, I didn’t ask for this assignment. Just for the record.”
“I didn’t think you had.”
“Did you request it?”
“No. I didn’t.”
He looked over then, one dark brow arched as if you’d said something unbelievable. “You didn’t?”
“No. Why would I?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I gave up trying to figure out how you think a long time ago.”
“That’s not all you gave up on.”
The words were out before you could stop them, and you regretted them as his back stiffened and he slowly lifted his head. “Me? Igave up? You’re the one who ran away.”
“I didn’t run away. I had to come home. I had a life here, remember? A job. An apartment. Family. I could’t just play house in England with you while it was convenient for you.”
His eyes narrowed and a mirthless laugh bubbled to his lips. “While it was convenient… Sure. Let’s run with that, shall we?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head and turned his attention back to the dossier. “It means nothing.”
“No,” you moved closer to him, letting the folder in your hand drop to the table with a soft slap, “if there’s something you want to say to me, Lucas, say it.”
“There isn’t.” He glanced up at you only briefly, then turned back to the file. “There really isn’t.”
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page, then.”
He didn’t answer, but pulled out a chair and sank into it, leaning forward slightly to continue his reading. It was a posture you’d seen so many times. His cheek resting against his fist, a small furrow forming between his eyes as he squinted because he refused to admit he needed glasses now. His spiky dark hair, so black it held almost a blue sheen, spilled over his forehead. He needed a trim. He’d have bangs before much longer otherwise.
You snagged your folder and moved to sit cross-legged on the bed. You tried to study the notes, but concentration was damn near impossible. A hint of eucalyptus and sandalwood hung in the air. His soap. His shampoo. It was one of them. And when you offered up a sidelong glance, you realized his profile still made you want to sigh. He complained about his nose being too big, but nothing could be further from the truth. It was perfect. Everything about his face was just so… perfect. His was a regal profile—his features strong and handsome, his steel blue eyes contrasting in so striking a manner with his dark hair and pale skin.
Part of you wondered if he was seeing anyone now. Part of you wondered if he missed you at all.
Part of you reminded you that you most definitely missed him.
He wasn’t an easy man to be with—a bit secretive, closed off, traumatized by a past he was reluctant to share and had only told you parts of in confidence. He kept everyone at a distance. But he had been letting you in, if only a little. He’d once told you that he trusted you and you knew trust was notsomething that came easily to him.
But there was something more to him, something that drew you to him despite all of the nonsense you told yourself. Seeing him now was a shock to your system and if you were completelyhonest with yourself, you were nowhere near being over him. You thought about him since that night in Heathrow. Probably more than was healthy. After all, you were being honest with yourself, right?
“I can feel you looking at me,” he said without turning away from the file.
“I’mnot looking at you.”
“Sure you are. The side of my face is getting hot.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “You wish.”
“No, I don’t.”
Static crackled, followed by the soft sound of a door opening and then closing. You both looked up and Lucas said, “I think our boy is here.”
“Sounds like it.”
He lifted his gaze to the speaker. The only sounds were those of shuffling feet, and unpacking. You looked over at Lucas. “How long is he supposed to be here for?”
“Three days. His story is he’s here for the Super Bowl.”
“Of course he is.” You bent back to your file.
Taps squeaked in the distance, followed by the rush of water. Your guy was getting ready to shower.
The bed dipped as he sank onto the edge of it. “Do we know what his plans are for tonight?”
You flipped thorough your file. “All it says is he’s going to the game in East Rutherford on Sunday. That’s all we’ve been able to pick up. Any other plans he has, he’s been very careful not to divulge them.”
“I wish I could say I was surprised.” A brief pause and then he said, “How have you been?”
His deep voice was soft, a hint of concern woven through it, one that sent a bit of warmth streaking through you. You tried to ignore that warmth, instead focusing on the pages fanned across the pale green bedspread. “I’m fine. You?”
His fingers skimmed along your hair and you pressed your lips together as he swept it back, away from your face. “I’m all right. Busy. Work never stops.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
Those fingers lingered along your neck, just below your ear. He remembered how sensitive that bit of skin was, and when he trailed them down into the curve of your shoulder, you had to fight off the soft shiver his touch sent through you.
“Don’t,” you told him, pulling back. “This is neither the time, nor the place.”
“I’ve missed you.”
He said it so softly and yet its impact was a like a slap in the face or a punch to the gut. You didn’t want to feel anything, wanted the numbness that had pervaded you when you got on that plane all those months ago to come rushing back. It had to, because the alternative was far too dangerous to your senses. You’d rather be numb than feel the pain of wanting someone you could never have. You knew that pain far too well where Lucas was concerned.
“Lucas,” you had to force yourself to look at him, to meet those blue eyes that were now soft and almost tender, “nothing has changed. We want different things and we always will and you want more from me than I can give.”
“I’ve still missed you.”
“Well, stop missing me.”
His hand fell away, coming to rest on the inside of his left thigh. “You mean you don’t miss me? Don’t miss us?”
Hopefully, he didn’t see you draw in a deep breath. And he certainly had no idea how much effort it took for you to look at him, to hold his gaze as you shook your head. “I don’t. I don’t miss any of it. I’m over you. And I have been for a long time.”
Your words struck a nerve. You saw it in how his eyes briefly widened, in the way he pressed his lips together for a moment. Then, he rose from the bed. “Forget I said anything then.”
“I will.”
He dropped into his chair and bent over the dossier once more, leaving you to just stare at him as you wished you could take your words back. Of course you missed him. For the last nearly seven months, you thought of him at least dozen times a day. You’d pull up his contact information and just stare down at his profile picture as you tried to force yourself to dial his number. You’d lie alone in bed at night and almost ache with the memory of what being with him was like. You’d wondered if he spent his nights alone and then hated yourself for it.
And now he was there and instead of telling him you wanted more than anything to try to make things work, you just pushed him away. This time for good.
Wonderful.
What an idiot you are.
The shower noises stopped and the next sound you heard was Mills on the phone. His calls were being monitored, but not by you and so you didn’t know who was on the other end. All you knew was it sounded like he was making plans. If he planned to leave his room, someone from HQ would let you know right away. But your phone, Lucas’ phone remained quiet. Mr. Mills was in for the time being.
You tried to concentrate on the file, but couldn’t. All you wanted to do was go over to Lucas, drape your arms about his neck the way you used to whenever he was working, studying a file, and press your cheek into his, the way you’d done so many times in London. You wanted to feel the cool softness of his hair against your temple, the rough, sandpapery cheek that would need to be shaved come morning firm and warm against your own. You wanted to close your eyes when he turned to brush his lips along your jaw—a kiss that would somehow find its way to your lips eventually. And when that happened… he’d pull you into his lap, or onto the nearest flat surface, work be damned.
Only the low schwiff of pages being turned broke the silence. Even Mr. Mills was quiet. If he was readying to go out, he had to be tiptoeing about his room. The only sound coming through the speaker was a rustle that sounded like someone sitting down on the bed.
But then footsteps sounded in the hallway and you and Lucas looked up at the same time as Mills’ voice came through the speaker. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, darling. There was traffic.”
A woman. You looked over at Lucas, and his eyebrows rose as he turned back to the wall between your room and Mills’.
“I guess he’s staying in,” Lucas said with a shrug.
“Sounds like it.” You bent back to the file.
As you studied the photographs, a soft, but distinct sound wafted through the wall between the rooms. It didn’t register at first but then, little by little, you realized what it was. Once again, you looked up just as Lucas did and when your eyes met, he smiled. “Someone is enjoying themselves.”
You chuckled. “Is that the headboard hitting the wall?”
“I think so.”
It was soft at first, but then the rhythmic thumping grew louder. You tried to ignore it. Tried to concentrate on the words on the page before you.
Then the moaning started.
“Oh my god…” You looked over at Lucas. “He’s really loud!”
Then a woman cried out, “I never knew it’d be like this, Stuart.”
The banging stopped and Lucas snorted. “Oh, shit…”
You clapped a hand to your lips and looked down at the file. The file of one Stephen Mills. Not Stuart. “She called him by the wrong name… oh… oh, no…”
“Someone just went real soft, real fast,” Lucas said, leaning back in his chair. “And someone is either notgetting paid, or has a lot of explaining to do.”
A moment later, a door slammed. Silence followed. Then the sound of a television. You and Lucas exchanged looks once more, he just barely arched an eyebrow. “Poor Stuart. Nothing like a case of blue balls to end your night.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.”
“It truly is.”
Without thinking, you nudged him with your shoulder. “Tomorrow is notgoing to be any brighter, either.”
“I think tonight will be worse.”
“You think?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
You smiled, your cheeks growing a little warmer as you said, “I wouldn’t know.”
His grin widened. “Trust me.”
“I do not want to know any more.”
You both laughed over that for a minute, then it faded into a surprisingly comfortable silence. Lucas closed the file and shifted to look at you. “How have you been?”
“Me? I’ve been fine, I guess. Busy. What about you?”
“The same. I go home just to shower to shower and change clothes any more.”
“I know that feeling all too well.”
He nodded, then after a brief pause, asked, “So, are you seeing anyone?”
“Me?” You sigh softly, shaking your head. “No. Are you?”
“No.” He pushed his chair away and came over to the bed once more. “I wasn’t lying when I said I miss you, you know. I do.”
As he spoke, he sank beside you and this time, when he traced his fingers along your cheek, you didn’t pull away. Your eyelids grew so heavy, the sweep of tingles rippling out from where he touched you soft and sweet.
“I know.” You had to force your eyes to remain open, to meet his, and when they did, you whispered, “Me, too.”
A hint of a smile lit up his face and he leaned in. Your lips met, his kiss gentle, his lips gentler still. His hand curved against your cheek, his fingers splayed up into your hair. His mouth moved against yours leisurely.
But then, those sparks caught. You reached for him, catching his rough cheeks between your hands. He shifted, lowering his hand from your face to snake that arm about your waist. He pressed you down into the pillows, his kiss growing hungrier by the second. His tongue slid along yours, and when you wrapped your arms about his neck and caught the back of his dark green, long sleeved tee shirt, you felt his smile against your lips. You tugged, he obliged, and the cotton whisked over his head and he backed out of it.
He hadn’t changed at all. You knew the tattoos inked into his upper body as if you’d drawn them yourself. They were all black, no shading, no nuances. Just bold, stark reminders of times you knew he’d rather forget entirely. You let your hands slid up along his smooth chest, outward, to let your thumbs lazily move about his nipples.
His eyes darkened, more sapphire than steel blue, and he smiled as he said, “I have missed you, love…”
And with that, his lips met yours again, with fire and fury and his hands roamed over you, beneath your sweater, shoved your bra up and out of his way. You offered no resistance, let him tug your clothing out of his path, smiling has he pressed hot kisses into every bit of skin he bared. Your back arched, his name rising to your lips as he caught your nipple with gentle teeth to tease with the tip of his tongue.
You each wrestled with the other’s jeans, and when you hooked your thumbs in his dark red boxer briefs to shove them down, he smiled and whispered, “Please tell me you’re still on the Pill. I don’t have any condoms with me.”
You reached for him, your fingers just brushing along his length. “Are you kidding me? Lucas North isn’t prepared for this? I’m shocked.”
A low laugh swept toward you. “I was decidedly notoptimistic.”
“You’re in luck,” you whispered, closing your fingers about him to glide along him from base to head, “because I am still on the Pill.”
His smile grew wolfish and sinful. “Then what are we waiting for?”
As he spoke, he slid a finger inside you and you bit down hard on your bottom lip as he did something magical with it. What were you waiting for, indeed?
He shifted, eased his finger free, and positioned himself. His entry was slow and sweet, and when he’d seated himself inside you, he brushed your lips with his, and began moving just as slowly. The frenzy was gone, you were in no hurry, but wanted to savor each delicious thrust, wanted to wrap yourself around him and never let go of him.
He smiled down at you. “You’d best notcall me by the wrong name.”
“Same goes for you, you know.”
“Never.” He dipped to kiss you and that was that. No more words passed between you and none were needed. Everything you’d felt for the last seven months came roaring back, and you wrapped yourself around him as you welcomed him back where he belonged. Back where you belonged.
Together.
Lucas seemed to feel it as well, his kisses lingering and gentle as he thrust inside you. You shivered at the sensations running riot at being reunited with him. You’d missed him more than words could ever possibly express, and when he brought you to that summit, you clung to him, shared it with him, and whispered, “I love you,” as you both went over the edge.
He sank against you with a sigh, his lips tender as they swept along the curve of your neck, as he whispered, “It’s about time you admitted it, you know.”
You reached up to brush that same spiky lock of black hair away from his forehead. “Is that allyou have to say?”
“What else is there?”
“Lucas!”
His laugh reverberated through you and he bent to nuzzle you as he murmured, “You know I love you, too. At least, I hope you do. Because I do. And I don’t like being away from you.”
“Me, neither. The last seven months have flat out sucked.”
He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “They have, indeed.”
You lay there, tangled together and sleepy, and listened to whatever television show Mr. Mills watched. You knew he was still in his room because more than once, he talked to himself out loud. And by midnight, it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. He snored louder than any human being you’d ever heard before.
You lay beneath the covers with Lucas, your head on his chest, your arm draped over his hip, your left leg carelessly thrown over his. The bed was good and rumpled, the bedspread bunched at the foot, the only light coming from the bathroom, where Lucas just pulled the door by after he finished washing up between rounds. You were spent and sated and wanted only to lay there in his arms for as long as you possibly could.
“So, what comes next?” you whispered, tracing along the image tattooed into the middle of his chest, the one of William Blake’s Ancient of Days depicting Urizen as the embodiment of conventional reason and law..
“I don’t know, love,” he murmured back, his fingertips sweeping up and down over your shoulder, along your upper arm. “But, we have plenty of time to figure it out. I’ve got a bit of vacation saved, so why don’t we go somewhere warm when this is over and see where we are?”
“I think that sounds like a good plan.”
The phone on the bedside table rang and Lucas stretched his free arm out to snatch up the receiver. “Yeah?”
He listened for a moment, then smiled as he peered down at you. “I don’t think we’ll need that double after all. This room is just fine, but thank you.”
He hung up the phone and a loud snore ripped through the speaker. You propped yourself up on one elbow. “They found us a room with two beds?”
“Yeah. But I really don’t think we need it now, do you?”
“Easy for you to say,” you told him. “You’re not sleeping in the wet spot.”
He laughed and tugged you back into his arms and a moment later, you didn’t give a damn about any wet spots.
~~*~~
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Lucas sighed deeply and checked his watch again. A frown spread on his face. He hated waiting and maybe his impatient nature was a hindrance in his career, considering his profession. As he took a sip of water from the bottle in his hand, he rested his head against the headrest of the rented and much too luxurious car he was seated in. How people could spend so much money on a car was both indecent and beyond his understanding of the world, but then he reminded himself that for tonight, he was supposed to act like that part of the world was his as well.
When Harry had suggested the undercover attendance at one of the most spectacular parties of the year, Lucas had just laughed. It sounded like something coming from a movie but when he was briefed about the details, especially the guest list, he realized this could be a great chance to have a closer look at one of the more interesting, both financially and character-wise, members in a loosely connected group of businessmen all claiming they had no interests in arms dealing but all secretly supported one of the largests trader in the country, one who never mixed business with emotions, never asked for the purpose behind the devastating weapons he sold to the highest bidder. The only shadow resting over this operation was that Lucas could not pick his own partner. Harry had been very persistent about who it had to be, despite Lucas’ attempts to dodge the issue and go alone. Apparently, he needed a date, someone who would gracefully follow him, glued to his arm, speak little but smile a lot and as the night would go on, discreetly excuse herself and then secretly report every detail back to Harry. She was the reason he was now dressed in a tuxedo and seated outside a small townhouse. Its walls were painted white a low iron fence surrounded the building. And he was waiting… for her.
Nooooo how could you end it there!?? You cruel woman!
This was such a great surprise! I love how you described the tension between them, then when they finally gave in to their feelings? So beautiful and hot!
Thank you. First time writing Lucas. I’m very happy you liked it! ❤️
Lucas sighed deeply and checked his watch again. A frown spread on his face. He hated waiting and maybe his impatient nature was a hindrance in his career, considering his profession. As he took a sip of water from the bottle in his hand, he rested his head against the headrest of the rented and much too luxurious car he was seated in. How people could spend so much money on a car was both indecent and beyond his understanding of the world, but then he reminded himself that for tonight, he was supposed to act like that part of the world was his as well.
When Harry had suggested the undercover attendance at one of the most spectacular parties of the year, Lucas had just laughed. It sounded like something coming from a movie but when he was briefed about the details, especially the guest list, he realized this could be a great chance to have a closer look at one of the more interesting, both financially and character-wise, members in a loosely connected group of businessmen all claiming they had no interests in arms dealing but all secretly supported one of the largests trader in the country, one who never mixed business with emotions, never asked for the purpose behind the devastating weapons he sold to the highest bidder. The only shadow resting over this operation was that Lucas could not pick his own partner. Harry had been very persistent about who it had to be, despite Lucas’ attempts to dodge the issue and go alone. Apparently, he needed a date, someone who would gracefully follow him, glued to his arm, speak little but smile a lot and as the night would go on, discreetly excuse herself and then secretly report every detail back to Harry. She was the reason he was now dressed in a tuxedo and seated outside a small townhouse. Its walls were painted white a low iron fence surrounded the building. And he was waiting… for her.
Prompts: “You always promised you’d never hurt me.” Kidnapped trope.
Fandom: Spooks
Pairings: Lucas North/John Bateman x OC (Amy Holland)
Warnings: Kidnapping, being bound, language, spoilers for those of you who haven’t seen the show, or at least seen until the end of Lucas’ story arc at the end of season 9.
Summary: Lucas, or rather, John, has kidnapped Amy after Ruth has found out his secret and told her. In his desperation, what will Lucas’ next move be?
Comments/Notes: If anyone would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please say.
(I needed a break from the original stuff I was working on and Provocatrixxx gave me a prompt: Lucas North, the first night he spent in the safehouse. Since her first comment was “Adam/Lucas”, I decided to throw in a tiny hint of that too. :) )
The noise was wrong. The light was wrong. Even the bed was wrong. MI-5 safehouses weren’t necessarily renowned for their luxury, but the bed was the softest thing Lucas had lain on in eight years. His body refused to relax into it, kept finding ways to resist the lure of anything soft. Anything soft had to be a trap.
If he had to lie here one more moment, he would lose his mind. It was torture in a way the Russians would envy and wish they could emulate.
According to a commenter, JustLuthen, it’s a done deal:
