XXXI

G R E E D Y  H U B R I S

—aka, the universe will always balance itself,

INT—TOWN CAR.

PARIS, FRANCE — NIGHT.

SCENE I.

His touch burned me raw like an open wire.

And it's so hard not to compare and contrast from the very first night, but I yield to my own body. I yield under his gaze, his mouth, his searing grip. I scatter my thoughts and let my body yearn and burn and it's the most fun I've had in months.

I scarcely remembered the time in the car— as soon as the door was closed, I was over him and inhaling him. The only barrier between us and the driver and Archie was the partition and hope that everything was soundproof. With Kristoff holding me in place as if I would run away from his lap, I'd bet good money on the soundproofing.

He moved my hips back and forth, both of us moaning at the relief of motion. Of friction. He did it again and my hips bucked.

I yanked his head back from my grip on his hair.

He made a strangled sound between a gasp and a groan.

"Not here," I whispered against his mouth, breathing heavily as I tried to clear the foggy haze in my brain too wanton to make sensible fucking decisions. "We don't want to traumatise Archie, do we now?"

"Fine. But it doesn't mean I can't do this." He grasped my face with both of his hands and devoured me. I was weak to that so I surrendered to fight back in equal measure.

A blur between that and the hotel, between touches and tugs, mingled breaths and raw bites that devoid the line between pain and pleasure— until Kristoff had braced my body up, my legs twisting around his waist, and finally, finally reached his room— my back landed on the bed, him not far from me, his tongue laving over bruises that would show when morning came, my hands flew down his buttons, groaning because why do men have so many fucking buttons, I was yanking on his stupid shirt by the end of it.

Kristoff wasn't doing much better with all the silk and lace, until I heard a fucking tear.

"Kristoff! Oh my god." I pushed him back to check the silk and made a nervous giggle when the I found the tear quite sizeable. Enough to hide a distance, but not when you know, master craftswomen went through every crevice. "Your aunt is going to kill me."

He took my hand and kissed the inside of my palm, littering it until it reached the junction of my neck and my focus faltered. "I don't really care about her right now. I've already paid for this dress. You told me to want you. Let me."

His gaze felt sharp and prickly and my skin felt raw and hot, and maybe it's the champagne, maybe it's giving myself this chance to say fuck it (fuck it, fuck it, fuck it). He lowered himself, down and down until I felt him more than I saw him, moving around the silks and manoeuvring my legs until I felt a featherlight kiss on my thigh and I shivered.

I felt his breath everywhere. I felt alive and burning.

When I felt his finger on me— inside me, moving slowly but purposefully, my eyes closed and I let myself get lost. I let myself unravel and bloom and heat up until I felt his mouth join and I sparkle in ecstasy. Until my stomach tightened and my hands found themselves back on his hair, trying my hardest not to squeeze my thighs against him and kill him.

With how he lapped and adjusted at every sigh I made, at every exhale of his name like a prayer in a solemn church at dawn, I don't think he minded dying this way.

When he curled his finger in just the right spot, my body arched, a breathy swear hitching in my voice.

A slap where he was just feasting earned a full body jolt and a shout.

"Kristoff! Don't do that!"

Mouth glistening with my spend, he smirked against my leg. "How many times must I tell you not to swear?"

Are you kidding me?

But God did that look so fucking sinful.

I braced an elbow, leaning forward with a mischievous smile on my lips. "You're such a dick."

His eyes darkened, sitting up on his hunches, I have never felt a thrill of fear so delicious as the one his shadow and body cast over me, dripping in threat and promise.

"You'll pay for that one."

"The night is long. Don't make promises you can't keep now."

"Promises are just contracts written in air." His lips ghost over my neck, forcing a shiver that went everywhere across my body. I squirmed underneath him, but he wasn't letting up. "When have I, as you know, broken a contract?"

"Never." I smirked, snaking my hand between us. I palmed him. He grunted. "So far."

"Naughty." He captured my lips, suckling at my bottom lip until I felt bruised and lightheaded. My taste in his tongue felt erotic. "Time to get off this dress."

"Why, you don't like it?"

"I can buy you a new one. I want this one off."

When he made another tear— a more substantial one — I let out a laugh that soon mutated into a choked, gasping moan.

— As if I'd tell you all about what happened that night.

A lady is not boastful. A lady is charming in her quiet acquisence and beguiling smile.

(He's quite girthy; enough for your to feel it in your throat but not enough to hurt. Will need a bit of foreplay though).

But the true power was in his hips.

And the stamina that lasted too many rounds for one to be too uncomfortable with without needing a break.

Jesus Christ, my back.

That, my lovely friends, was the first thought I had when I woke up.

I didn't get a lot of sleep, my lower back hurt, and I was alone in the bed— and yet, God, I was smiling like the day had already promised me good karma.

I stretched like cat, and bit my lip at the images of not-so last night.

Kristoff had moved us from his bedroom some few hours ago when the bed had been... thoroughly used. My body no longer felt like my own, my brain halfway to another planar existence, so he had picked me up as if he wasn't just inside me sending me to said planar existence, settled me in my own bed, and from the warm sheets alone, the soft voice that I think was saying to rest, and my eyelids had just. Fluttered close.

Despite being naked, I felt clean. I tried not to feel too fluttery about the fact that Kristoff Park had cleaned me up last night while I slept.

That he should, I thought, bringing the covers up to my chin. The pleasure of my time is a high price.

I burst out in giggles before I sat up, stretched again, and decided on a robe before leaving my quarters.

"Oh, for the love of God." I looked up at Archie. I had just opened the door, ready for whatever the fuck awaited me (with coffee first), and Archie Noh sat on the breakfast table, alone, with a scowl on his face was a two to one estimate.

And yet. . . I didn't feel as I usually did seeing his pretty but awful mug i the morning.

"Try not to look so smug, Ms La Verne. You're putting me off my breakfast."

My smile, which I didn't realised I had on, stretched wider against my lips. "Oh. Good morning, Archie darling."

"Oh dear God," he said in horror. "I didn't realise you could get anymore annoying than you already are. Thank you for proving me wrong."

I laughed. Light and airy. "You're welcome. What's for breakfast?"

He eyed me with distaste as I sat across from him. "Same as it's always been. Truly. If you could try to be less cheery, you would make my day easier."

I took a sip of coffee, taking the cup and warming my palms with it. I didn't bother hiding my giddiness. The glow of someone who reached seventh heaven last night. "I got laid, Archie baby. I'm in cloud nine right now. Nothing you could say to me at the moment could fuck up my mood."

If looks could say, oh really?

"Let's test that theory then. We're flying to Seoul today, after Kristoff's meeting. If my estimation is correct— and it is always correct — you'll be meeting with Kristoff's grandfather in three days."

Well. There is that.

At the reminder of the horror show that spawned such evils (one that will kill me on sight given the chance, another I let make another pass inside me), I remembered.

Oh, so remembered.

We had no point of protection last night.

Guess I'm giving the old man a great-grandchild.

"Touché, Archie Noh, tou-fucking-ché."

"Archie dear, how do you feel about becoming an uncle?"

He sputtered his tea. "There is no way for you to know that fast."

I arched an eyebrow. "And how do you know Kristoff and I haven't been balls to the walls-ing all this time?"

"Balls— balls to the walls-ing? What the fuck?"

"Copulation, fornication, carnal knowledge, knowing each other in the biblical sense that God intended—"

"– Alright, I get —"

"— getting each other's oats off, bonking, nookie —"

"— For the love of God. One more word— one more, and I will shave off a million from your paycheck." He made his point firm by jutting a piece of toast in my face. "One million."

I pouted, taking the toast and slathering it with a dollop of my favourite fresh cream cheese from Brittany, a snipped prosciutto, and some peaches. "You don't have to be an absolute grumpy, frumpy goose about it. Teasing you is the highlight of my day. I truly think we've bonded all this while since you and I spend the most time together."

"I detest every second of it, I hope you know that."

I winked. "I love you too, baby, such a sweet talker you are."

He fought back a gag before yanking at the front of his silk top to compose himself. A tiger curls at the bottom of edge it, curled tail reaching one strong shoulder. Archie had defining muscles, always hidden underneath long sleeves and pants. I don't think I've ever seen the man in shorts or short sleeves.

"I know because I know. Let's just leave it at that."

"Do you press your ear on Kristoff's door every night or—" I faked a gasp. "Are you— You and Kristoff —"

"If you value your life, Antonina La Verne—"

"I am kidding!"

"Enough of this. Just because you and Kristoff are falling for your sexual urges doesn't mean everything becomes fun and games." His eyes narrowed. "Do you need a refresher on the Park family or are you okay with going into this blind?"

I bit my tongue with the thought that I knew more than he last educated me in. "I'm not opposed to anything you think I should need a refresher on."

"Park Baek Je knows you exist. He's a dangerous man. Lying to everyone else is one thing, but lying to that man is another."

"And what does that mean?"

"You don't lie," he said flatly. "Because he always knows more than he lets on, and getting caught lying to his face. . . Well, lesser crimes have been punished in worst ways."

Well. That sounds mighty fine for a con artist. "Do you... remember my job in all of this?"

"Which is why you lie close to the truth. You mask your lies with the blend of honesty. You're good at it, no?"

"I think you're forgetting that Natasha knew."

"Because Kristoff wanted her to know. That makes all the difference." He shifted in his seat, watching me carefully. "Ms La Verne, I warn you. Now is not the time to get cold feet."

"I am not getting cold feet. I'm fine."

I am. I thrilled it in my head again and again. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine while I remembered every vile accusation and hints of what Park Baek Je has done that was in the file I read. It was kept concise. Conjecture. Gossip even. But there was a pattern of brutality.

Of murder.

Of people disappearing off the face of the earth, never to be seen or heard from ever again.

Of getting off scot free as if charges were never even made. As if there truly was a status symbol that brought down the law to its knees with ease, and made them beg for mercurial high in the gift given by ruby fingers and diamond tears.

I mean. I had my own issues with the law— benefitting those who can pay them, an outsource of power that by licking their boots will keep them well-fed.

But vile things I've learned, even through conjecture. . .

Kristoff's monstrous qualities were peeled off and pasted. A mask that was stapled to his skin but was not his, not really. That was my assessment.

An old thought niggling at the back of my mind, chipping at cornerstones, prevailed and itched but I couldn't pinpoint or relieve it in anyway.

What does human nature demand?

I shook my head, inhaling. "I'm fine. I can perform. I intend to keep my head where it is, Archie darling. Don't you worry about me."

I was waiting for it, you know. The scoff, the why would I care.

It made it worse and better that Archie nodded solemnly.

"Good. Because this is the performance of a lifetime. There is a plan at play here, and you have to follow the steps by every degree. Just as you said once before. We need you alive than dead."

"Can't spin a sob story, Poor Kristoff Park with the dead lover?" I teased.

"No." His mouth twitched that I could pay good money was a smile. For me. "You're more useful alive."

"Gee, thanks."

I offered my cup, an olive branch across the breakfast table that showed many mornings between us. When he clinked his tea with mine, I smiled.

INT—GABRIEL MOULIN'S APARTMENT.

PARIS, FRANCE — MORNING.

SCENE II.

That same hour by the next morning, Gabriel Moulin opened the door to his apartment before a blur of kinky curls, huffs, and dark skin pushed past him that made him stumble, before he even had a chance to wake up.

He swore. Brightly. Heavily. Under his breath, muttering about investing in new locks and a peephole, in changing addresses or lying about it at least.

"There's something afoot here, Moulin," Ashley muttered, more incoherent than Gabriel was feeling up to par to understand, with bags under her eyes, and a stain on her shirt that he knew she didn't notice much less gave a fuck about, just by the quality of madness in her eyes.

"'Afoot'?" he repeated in English. She was like a walking English subject. She made his vocabulary of the detestable language far wider than he would've liked it to be, everyday since she came here. A practice.

The language and of immense patience.

"'Going on', alright, 'happening that's bigger than all of this'— she left the pearls at the party, Moulin." Her eyes met his, fuelled with a fire that had not gone out since that detestable gala. "That means something."

"Not all of the pearls." Gabriel wiped his face, trudging to his kitchen while Ashley had spread eagle her files and notes across his table without asking, eliciting a mutter of here or two as she matched pictures then cursed, shifting more papers.

A whirlwind she was. A busybody.

"Americans," he muttered under his breath. "She sold most of them, did she not?" he continued as he made himself coffee. Then made another one for her.

She waved his sentiments as if they were flies. "She's a thief, that's just common sense."

He offered the mug. "Shouldn't you be in America by now? The case is closed. We found some of the pearls. The countess is satisfied."

Her nephew on the other hand... Well, he isn't the first one to suffer from the hands of a careless woman, and will not be the last. When they told him that the pearls were found, while his aunt jumped in joy and damn near tackled the agent that presented it to her, Louis Fournier looked like someone had just broken his heart to his face.

Ah, but pretty faces are so dangerous.

"Please, Moulin, you know this is a bigger play as I do." She took a sip. "Ow, hot."

"It's fresh. I had made it to help me wake up. I didn't realise you were going to do that for me instead." She stuck her tongue out like a child. "And no, I did not. What I did know, as was said in the report. The case is closed. The director had told you to back off from Antonina La Verne and the Park Family. The director had told you to go back home."

Because this truly felt lost in translation.

"But she gave me a hint," she insisted. "That time, before she left that room."

"When Kristoff Park's bodyguard that we knew was a sniper minutes before the altercation?" he said sarcastically but she nodded as if he was starting to get it. He sighed. One of the few things he knew about Ashley Baudelaire is apart from her stubborn streak that was well regarded to be legendary, Antonina La Verne— Laura Finley, Mara Rosario, whoever she was — she was her white whale.

"And what was this hint?"

"Something to do with the Parks. Something with her connection to the grandson. I just don't know what it is!"

"They left."

"To Korea, I know, the day before."

He snorted. "I'm more surprised you weren't on the same plane."

"I've booked us for tonight."

"Excuse me." He blinked. "Us?"

"I got Director Ripley to sign off on it. We're following this lead, Moulin."

Gabriel tried to remember to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. "C'est qui ce bordel! Merde!Qu'est-ce qui débloque chez toi?"

The woman had the audacity to snort at him. "I actually know that one. And no, there's nothing wrong with me."

"This is a death mission, Ashley. You must know." He grasped her shoulders, breathing heavily as if his lungs wanted to leap out of his chest and beat him with a bat. "You know as well as I do how dangerous that family is."

"Which is why..." She took his hands from her arms, voice soothing as if calming down a spooked horse. He would be offended if Gabriel did not feel like a spooked horse. "... I've booked us a flight tonight. Not right now. We're going to plan this. We don't focus on that family— that was our primary mistake. We don't need to. They're filthy fucking rich, dangerous, and powerful— sure. Okay. We focus on the trajectory that we know. That opened this up for us."

"...Satan?"

"Nah, silly, Laura. Antonina. We dig deep— deeper than I've ever gone through her file, something I had missed. She's our key to all of this." Ashley Baudelaire's eyes glinted like the pearls from a snatched neck. "Just think of it this way. We unlock her, we unlock Kristoff, then we unlock Park Baek Je. We can kill three birds with one stone."

Gabriel looked and felt dubious. "How are you so sure getting to her gets to Kristoff? What if she is nothing more than a bedwarmer to him?"

"Better than nothing from before, right?" She shook her head. "But I don't think so, Moulin. I'll bet my savings and retirement fund. . . whatever he feels for her, it's something to take note of."

"Even simple desire?"

"Desire is never simple, kid. Especially from a man that has it all. A man that has it all wanting something means there's value to the object of that want. The con artist is the key to everything."

Thank you to @/cafekitsune on tumblr for the MDNI banners!

Just because I feel like I need to remind everyone, this is not a romance. Reprieve where it is given is a saving grace, especially as we're about to enter hell.

Tell me your thoughts ;-)