Work Text:
“So... is this like a thing now?” Frost asks, holding up his socks distastefully with as few fingers as possible. They're clean, of course, but that's not the point.
The point was he kept leaving his things stashed at her place. Places. Her safehouses, that he happened to visit for their dalliances. It almost made her regret inviting him over, but he'd correctly judged it to be not quite so heinous that she'd stop. It wasn't exactly the usual thing couples would contest, but then they weren't a usual couple, if they could be called that at all. The jury was still out on what this was so far as she was concerned, neither willing to be caught in the trap of being normal and predictable, nor admitting anything they didn't have to.
He must have known she would find his go bags. Just like he must've known she'd look in them. A tightly packed black holdall with everything he'd need to escape the city, or country, complete with several changes of clothes, formal and informal. They were at least well-hidden, and so far none of the names on the passports proved to be his real one, as far as she could tell. That he was still holding out on, which made her want to start calling him 'Chemy' purely to see him twitch and rethink his silence.
As she stared at him, waiting for his answer, she realized this was a pure power play. A risky one too since it increased the chance she could provide evidence on him if she felt like it. All it would take was one stray fingerprint that could be the key to figuring out his identity. She'd seen in person how hard he worked to keep anything incriminating from his scenes and yet he never wore gloves at hers. She'd figured before that you didn't need to worry about fingerprints when practically everything you were touching was either fabric or flesh, but this called that into question. Maybe he was just as meticulous preparing the go bag, the fake passport and wads of cash included, but something about this felt like a test. If there was something to be found, she wasn't going to look for it too hard and maybe that was what he was looking for.
“Problem?” he asks with a smirk.
“Next time we meet at yours.”
“And if I don't have a place?”
“I have a feeling you'll find one. Steal one if you have to,” she says with a quick quirk of her brows.
There's a chuckle and then a pause from him before he quietly and smoothly replies, “You pick well, you know.”
“Pick what well? Because I swear if you say 'lovers' then I'm gonna have to knock that ego down a peg or two,” she retorts, making a whipping motion in his direction.
He grins wide and devilish at her in return, as if that's simply one more situation to be negotiated between them, but she swears there's an edge of earnestness on his face underneath his mask of good humor. She isn't sure what to do with that idea.
“Safe houses,” he says after another pause. “Though I'm not sure any house with you in it is really so safe.”
“I could say the same to you,” she says, stalking closer.
“That you could.”
He smirks at the echoed compliment, and she deigns to sit down next to him on the bed, the socks thrown into the corner, more or less forgotten.
“You can keep the bag here, but you're going to have to play fashion show with that formal wear. Call it a favor, one I get to choose the timing of.”
“Deal,” he replies curtly with another grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Can't wait to see you cash that in. I have a feeling it'll be quite the show, but you'll have to let me know what you think of my disguise. In your professional opinion.”
“When haven't I?” she points out as she leans in toward him. Tempting him with her closeness, she doesn't entirely close the distance between them; an action that forces him to make his own move, to show his hand, letting her know he wants a round two just as much as her.
She's totally gonna leave that favor as long as possible to call in, make him stew in the anticipation, because she knows it'll be no less of a thrill for him. The tension they have is half the draw. And the other half? Well, that remains to be seen. They're like an unsolved equation, a puzzle without a solution, trying to figure out where they each fit around the other. Somehow, the answer doesn't seem as important as the challenge they see fit to rise to.