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The job was simple, well, as simple as it could be when partnered with none other than Jack Daniels himself. You’d been briefed, of course, taken note of every detail Champ had thrown in your direction, but the truth of it was, you hardly needed it.
Your role was one you’d played before, hell, you’d played it so damn often that it was practically second nature at this point.
You were the distraction.
So many times you’d been tasked with the role, especially as one of the very few female agents at Statesman, and often it was a lot of fun. High class, expensive balls, exclusive events you’d never attend otherwise. It had left your wardrobe bustling with beautiful dresses and outfits that Champ saw no reason for you not to keep, each attached with memories of fun filled nights where you kept the bad guys captivated as whichever agent you were partnered with did the heavy lifting, searching for whatever it was you were after.
There was something ethereal about standing before your wardrobe, running your fingers over gowns you could never dream to afford otherwise, they were a hint at another life, the life of your covers, of something luxurious and exquisite, something many dreamt of.
But those gowns remained exactly where they belonged tonight, on hangers and dust covers, safe at home and far from the dangers of your job.
No, this distraction asked for something very different. It wasn’t about long flowing gowns, or diamonds that caught even the subtlest of lighting, shining their brilliance throughout the room. Tonight called for something far from all of that, but just as captivating, if the glances Jack had been throwing your way were anything to go off.
The drive had been surprisingly quiet, in fact, you would have been worried that Jack was actually nervous, had you not caught the way he quickly glanced away when you caught him staring at the high hemline of your skirt out of the corner of his eye.
You’d been on missions like this together plenty of times before, with plunging necklines and slits up your thigh that were meant to keep the gaze of anyone who so much as glanced past you. And every time that you did, he would be there with some flirtatious comment that would have had your cheeks burning if you didn’t know he did the same to just about anyone with legs.
But this was different, it was as though the tight little dress had stolen not just his words, but his ability to think straight.
It had been almost amusing as you arrived at the secretly shady club. The way he refused to meet your gaze, the way his hand hovered against the small of your back as you entered, where he would usually happily use the excuse to play to the role, his hand slipping just a little lower than necessary.
But, that was then.
Two hours ago.
You’d been in the club for two damn hours, with all manner of lecherous men taking in what they could of your rather exposed body, and if that wasn’t getting old quick, the lack of progress certainly was.
Surely, he had to have found the papers you were after by now, it wasn’t as if the secretive sub-basement was even that big to begin with. But still, your comms remained irritatingly Jack free.
Songs bled from one to another, without any real hint as to where one ended and another begun. And you continued to dance, continued to throw just enough flirtatious glances over to the men you knew were using the club as a front for, well, let’s say nefarious activities, to keep them where they were, to keep them well away from the mission Jack was on.
But then he was there, lingering off to the side, against a wall; as if he could ever truly blend in. How no one else noticed a fucking cowboy in a club, you had no idea. How none of the women that passed him by bothered to give a second look, well, that astounded you. Even in the most ridiculous of outfits, he stole your attention at every turn, yet there he was, the covert agent of the two of you. Champ must have been losing his damn mind.
Catching his gaze, you raised a brow in question, hoping he had what you were after so you could get the hell out of there, but he gave nothing away as his lips slowly drew into a smirk, eyes drinking you in as you continued to dance amongst the crowd.
“Jack,” your voice was low over your comms, a warning tone, but the way his gaze instantly met yours gave you no sense of accomplishment, no, he was enjoying this too much. “Please tell me we can move soon.”
And there it was again, that damn silence that had your skin crawling.
It felt unnatural for Jack to be so damned quiet. Where were the quips, the quick flirtatious lines? Hell, you’d even take criticism if it just got him to say something.
But instead he just watched and, was that a drink in his hand? Oh hell no! The bastard had clearly gone up to the bar at some point to order a drink, and there you were, still putting on a show for men who made your stomach curl.
“That drink better mean you got it,” you muttered once more, watching the way his lips curled into a more prominent smirk as he took in your words. But still, he didn’t respond, simply watching you over his glass of whiskey as he took a long, slow sip of the watered down liquor.
Damn that man.
If he didn’t have it, you were going to have to think of something, and quickly. There was only so long you could keep the targets on the perfect level between intrigued and not actually trying anything, without losing their interest all-together.
But if he did have it, oh, you were going to kick his ass when you got out of there.
Movement at the booth before you captured your attention. Some of the group were on the move, and it looked awfully like they were getting ready to go back to business, to go downstairs… where Jack was meant to steal the papers you needed.
Glancing back towards where Jack had been lingering against the wall, you were met with an empty space that had you gulping nervously. Hopefully, he had noticed they were on the move, hell, hopefully he’d already taken what he needed to so you could be out of there already.
In your panicked thoughts, you didn’t even notice the way a new body shifted through the dance floor until the warmth of their body radiated through the thin fabric of you little red dress.
“Relax, it’s just me,” Jack’s voice was like velvet, that southern twang drawing out each word languidly. It was the same tone he used when you needed to calm down, when your fears and anxieties got the best of you. The same tone he used when convincing you to rest, to let him take the first shift and just get some sleep while he looked after you both. It was the same tone he used when the others couldn’t hear him over the comms, when work slipped away, and Jack was just- Jack.
And it worked, for all of a few seconds. Your shoulders dropped, your body unwinding from the tight coil it had wound itself up in defensively. It worked, until you remembered the bastard still hadn’t actually told you if he’d got the damned papers.
“Jack, if you don’t have-”
“Relax, I got it,” he interrupted, each word dancing over your skin, his lips so damn close to your ear that there was no way anyone could over hear him.
Humming in approval, and finally feeling the calming effect that having Jack by your side on the job always seemed to bring, you began to turn towards him, only to have him stop you.
His hands were playing against the fabric of your dress, so light you could almost believe you were imagining the gently caresses, were it not for the warmth he emanated.
Your words were oddly reluctant as you spoke again, your mind desperate to remind you of the job at hand, no matter how much your heart and body wanted to lose themselves to the man behind you. “Then can we go?”
“Don’t wanna rush off too quick, do we? Might cause a fuss,” and while normally you might argue, might point out that every minute spent in the humid club was another minute for the target to realise what you had taken, you couldn’t quite find it in yourself to fight him.
Not when those large hands spread out against your waist, holding you with that same lingering care that had you catching your breath when you arrived. Not when his breath danced over the bare skin of your neck and shoulder, so light that you worried it would draw out goosebumps. Not when the smell of his cologne was filling your senses, intoxicating and captivating.
No, maybe one dance wasn’t the worst idea, especially as it gave you an excuse to raise your hands behind you, to sink your fingers into the small curls at the base of Jack’s neck as he hummed happily against you.
Even the music, grating and loud, seemed more acceptable with Jack swaying behind you. And, sure, it was still part of the show, an excuse to leave the dwindling audience without being obvious, an out before any of them got too possessive of what they thought was all for them, but with your eyes closed, and the warmth of his body pressed up against yours, for a moment, you could pretend.
You could pretend that it was real, that you were just out for a night off with the man that had captured your attention the moment he tilted his stupid hat in your direction. You could pretend that his hands wandering against you reverently were truly filled with the care and devotion that they played at. You could pretend that this was completely normal.
It was over too soon, but even in your blissed out moment of daydreaming, you couldn’t begin to pretend that it was still the same harsh electronic beat that had begun when he had sidled up behind you, even if it seemed Jack was in no great hurry to leave either.
But you had to, especially now that the group you had been keeping an eye on was dwindling even further as you found yourself distracted by Jack’s touch.
Pulling your hands from him felt like a magnitudinous feet, something you ought to be proud of as you turned in his hold. He didn’t back away, didn’t remove his hands from your waist, he merely stood there, staring down at you with a look in his eyes that- no, that was a trick of the fluorescent lights. There was nothing there, but the usual mischief that always lingered beneath the surface.
“We should go,” when had your voice turned so soft?
“We should,” he agreed, but made no move to leave, lingering there in the moment, until it seemed as though a switch had been flicked within him, and he was pulling away. “Come on,” he nodded towards the doorway, hand taking yours so gently that it had your heart thumping away in your chest almost violently.
The cold air of the night hit you the moment you made it outside, and with it came your wits. Jack’s hand was dropping your own in an instant, as if it had burnt him, and any feelings of warmth that had been brewing within you left at the movement. And then those thoughts were there, questions and irritations, bubbly away below the surface, now taking centre stage as you searched your bag for the keys.
It wasn’t safe to linger on the softness you felt towards your fellow agent, it would only end in heartache, only cause you issues on the job. But anger, irritation, that was much safer.
Your steps were fast, desperate to put as much distance between you and the club as possible as you focused on the brewing rage.
You could focus on the way he waited, stood on the sidelines as you distracted the target, as he took his time when you should have been making your way far from the club. You could focus your attention on the completely unpredictable manner his personality seemed to shift, emotions flaring from playful and light to silence in a matter of seconds, without a hint of explanation. You could focus on your damn job, the reason you were there in the first place.
“You want to tell me what took you so damn long?” you were fuming as you started the car, not daring to look towards the source of your irritation.
“What can I say, I was distracted,” he answered so easily that it only stoked the fire within you.
“By what Jack?” your tone was harsh, harsher than it had ever been directed towards him as you peeled out of the carpark, ready to merge amongst the masses and lose any trace of you in the crowd. “You were standing there for god knows how long, and you must have found the papers beforehand- so I don’t see what-”
“By you sugar,” he interrupted with a warm chuckle that fought to melt the icy barrier you had placed around your heart once more. And it was working, hell, it always worked. It was like he was your own personal kryptonite, and it left you floundering.
“By- what are you- Jack, this isn’t funny. If I’m going to have to report to Champ about why it took us a damn hour longer than expected, I want a serious answer.”
Silence answered you, filling the car just as it had on the way to the club, but it was different now. Emotions fought against one another, and it was stifling.
And then, just as you thought you couldn’t take another damn second of his silence, he spoke, humour and something you couldn’t quite place filling his tone, making it softer than you had expected. “You’re kidding, right?”
You didn’t reply, only throwing a deadly serious glare his way to show just how much you were not kidding, before returning your attention to the road.
“We’ve done a few of these now, you distracting, me going in… Don’t get me wrong, you look downright gorgeous in those gowns of yours, but this-” he paused, nodding towards the dress you were sporting, the dress that hadn’t come from Statesman, but was something you had bought yourself, albeit some years ago. “You’re stunnin’, and I don’t just mean because I can get a good look at you.”
You almost hated the way your body betrayed you at his words, your glare softening, a smile beginning to play at your lips at him just being, well, him.
“This is more you, and you, well, you’re the perfect distraction, darlin’.”