#leeanncodes

The adrenaline rush was finally starting to taper off, and the inevitable fatigue was on the rise. All Billy wanted to do was shower and sleep, but then, there was you. The slightest shadow of a smile tugged at his lips, yet it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. He was late, by just over 18 hours.. and he'd never called. That’s gonna be the goddamn issue. 

Your apartment was closer to the airport than his penthouse, so it was your address he gave the driver. He'd shower and sleep there, maybe with a little fun sandwiched  between the two. He'd missed the flushed warmth of your skin, the way your lips parted when you moaned as  he took in the sight of you from the space between your thighs as he tasted you. 

Billy didn’t allow himself to think about it much, but you were more than just a guaranteed, occasional fuck. There was something about you that kept him coming back for more, and not always for his own personal gain. Billy cared about your safety, and he’d do whatever he had to to ensure that you’d never be in danger. It would have nothing to do with Rawlins, with Anvil, with anything that Billy would do because he had to. Would that make it better, Russo, or worse? He never had an answer to that question and if things went his way, he’d never need to figure it out.

The ride to your apartment was short, the traffic flowing easily due to the hour. Just fifteen minutes and having paid the driver and giving a generous tip, he hoisted one bag over his shoulder and carried the other in his hand. Standing outside your door, he set his bag down long enough to shoot a quick text: Not in the mood for breaking and entering. And  Billy waited. Sliding his phone into his back pocket, he lifted his bag again and heard the unlocking of the chain lock, then the deadbolt. 

You opened the door to see Billy looking immaculate, his suit not at all rumpled from his flight, not a hair out of place. Keeping your face as expressionless as possible, you looked at him for a long moment. Part of you wanted to hug him for as long as he let you, and the rest of you wanted to slam the door in his face and lock it behind you. You may have been torn in how to react, but you know that your eyes gave you away-- you hated to admit it, but you knew-- and so you relented, but without a word, pulling the door open wide.

Billy walked inside and closed your door behind him. You breezed past him afterward to re-lock both locks and heard rustling behind you, Billy freeing himself of his bags. You took a moment, making an effort to calm yourself down, but now that Billy was here-- finally here-- you were livid.

“What the fuck, Billy?” You turned to him with fire in your eyes. For almost 24 hours, you’d been close to physically ill with worry. “You couldn’t just call? You couldn’t have let me know you’d be late, that you weren’t dead?” You knew better than to ask about any details regarding his work; you didn’t want to know. You knew enough, you knew his hands were dirty, and that was as far as you had the desire to involve yourself with that aspect of his life.

Billy had moved to take off his perfectly-fitted suit jacket, but paused instead, and turned to face you. With a sudden flick of his wrist and a soft click, a blade appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and you gasped in shock. “I'm always prepared, Y/N. You don't need to worry about me.”

Freezing for a moment, the only things moving were your eyes, moving back and forth between the blade and Billy's face before he flicked his wrist one more time to retract the knife. Finally, he removed his suit jacket, disabling the spring blade, and loosened his tie. He expected to turn around to catch an amused, yet impressed smirk gracing your delicious lips. Instead, you shook your head. “Billy.” 

He stood in front of you with just two long strides, not making a sound despite the designer shoes he wore. Lifting your chin upward with his thumb and index finger, he didn't hesitate meeting you halfway for a kiss. A part of him did feel a touch of guilt for having you worry, but that feeling quickly left. He knew he could make you forget about it entirely. He pressed his lips to yours without any pretense and with urgency. Hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, he coaxed your mouth open with his tongue, tangling his with your own as you obliged, and when he pulled back, you were breathless. 

Your chest seized as you attempted to catch your breath. “Russo--”

“Former Lieutenant Russo.” He interrupted you with a smirk. “Scout sniper, Special Forces Marine.”