Closing time had come and gone at Perdition. The neon lights in the windows were switched off, the music quieted, the dancers sent home.

Liv sat with Cillian at the bar, the bottle of rum between them mostly finished. She had reached buzzed hours ago and plowed straight on through to shitface-wasted, celebrating...everything.

Lewis waking up and on the mend. Her new job at Collective. Jeremy-bastard-Thomson temporarily cowed by her cutting her hours at the Initiative to part-time. Finding a shared understanding with Andrés, and entering a real relationship with the man. The really good sex they had all the time. She smiled sloppily at that part, glad that she'd finally found a partner with an appetite and preferences that matched her own. Speaking of Andrés...

"How long does it take to sort out a tracking ID on a shipping container, anyway?" she mused, slurring her words only a little. Andrés had excused himself and gone upstairs to deal with a message that had come in over an hour ago. "I wrote the new tracking program myself. Should be easy peasy to find the damn thing."

Cillian grinned, a little more than tipsy himself. "When the container probably contains something barely legal, you're Andrés fucking Marin and need every detail just so, and have trouble trusting anyone else to do it?" The barman winked, slugging back another shot of rum and topping them both up.

Snorting a laugh, Liv considered him and took another sip of her drink. "You know him pretty well."

"Since ages," Cillian agreed, pulling open the beeping dishwasher to unload it. Steam billowed as he pulled out hot glasses with light, quick fingers.

Liv suspected that length of acquaintance wasn't all there was to the story of Cillian and Andrés but she didn't find the idea threatening. Neither of the two men seemed inclined to resurrect whatever past lay between them, and jealousy wasn't her style anyway, so she let it be rather than make things awkward by prying.

The door to the private room upstairs slammed, making Liv jump, and because she was already drunk and unsteady on her stool she started to slip off of it. Cillian caught her shoulder over the bar until she steadied herself again and she snorted an embarrassed laugh at the near disaster.

Unusually loud footsteps preceded Andrés's reappearance at the top of the stairs, suggesting a blown temper. Learning who Andrés really was under the smooth exterior was a long, slow process, but little by little, he was growing more comfortable with letting his guard down around Liv.

Trust came easier to her now that he let more of his emotions show, rather than raising red flags with charming misdirection. Enough that she'd feel comfortable playing their games again and taking the punishment Andrés had promised for breaking into his office. Comfortable, and excited.

After all, there had to be a way to channel whatever he'd unleashed to become that cold killer in the warehouse. A person couldn't just shove pieces of themselves back into a box and pretend they weren't there. If this was going to work – and she surprised herself with how much she wanted it to – she needed to know that he could direct that energy elsewhere. She might be a little bit of a criminal herself, but she drew the line at murder.

Imogen being the exception. She had it coming when she fucked with Lewis like that.

It helped that he'd never suggested that he'd enjoyed his previous work for Imogen; on the contrary, it seemed to have been something he fell into and didn't particularly like despite his admitted skill and success.

Strong arms bracketed her from behind. The full length of Andrés's body pressed against her as he snatched at her drink. He downed it in one, slammed it back on the bar, refilled another three fingers, and downed that as well. Cillian's eyebrows shot up, but for the first time Liv could remember, the man withheld comment.

"Sometimes," Andrés said in flat tones, "I really miss killing people for a living."

Cillian tensed, glancing at Liv. Nodding once to indicate that she knew, she started stroking Andrés's upper arm.

Learning back against him, Liv twisted her head to try getting a glimpse of his face. He absently skimmed a hand over her chest to squeeze her throat while pouring himself another, more moderate serving of rum. She shuddered, unable to help her gasp as lust flared to life and started dampening her panties.

"Jesus," Cillian muttered, turning to put pint glasses away.

Andrés headed for the stairs, tumbler in hand. "I'll be upstairs," he called over his shoulder, clearly no longer in the mood to celebrate.

Liv and Cillian watched him go, glancing at each other as the door shut firmly behind him. "Lass, whatever magic it is you work on him...maybe give it a try now," the bartender said, setting a fresh bottle on the countertop. " I've seen him get like this before. He's about to make a decision he'll probably regret, and you're the only person I've known who's able to level him out without putting his back up."

Liv searched his face, meeting suddenly keen green eyes. He cares for Andrés, she realized. Enough to see him with someone else and still be his friend. Leaning over the bar, she kissed Cillian on the cheek. "He's lucky to have you around," she said with the soft and certain intensity of the shitfaced.

His mouth quirked in a half-smile that suggested he heard the depth of her comprehension. There was nothing like the understanding reached between two drunk people. "Right back at ya. Now go," he said, pushing the bottle closer to her.

Andrés was staring at his phone when she slipped into the room, the light of the device illuminating hardened features under the black hair that had fallen over his brow.

"Raven," Liv called softly, and he looked up sharply, confirming Cillian's warning. Her heart started to race; it always did when he was like this. She trusted that he wouldn't hurt her, but danger hovered in his hazel eyes and the tension in his shoulders.

Whatever had set him off, he was now a coiled spring, temper under control but still ready to burst if he found an appropriate outlet. Some strange part of her mind found it arousing rather than threatening, probably because he'd had opportunity and motive to eliminate her as a witness to his crime and let her go. They were partners now. Having that much trust and faith in someone was heady stuff.

Wordlessly, she topped up the now-empty glass he'd brought up with him before fishing her phone out of the bag she'd left by the door earlier. She wanted to ask what had happened but he wasn't usually interested in talking when he was like this unless it was to give orders, taunt, or tease, preferring physical action.

Selecting a song with a dark, heavy beat from her phone, Liv made a makeshift amp by dropping it into the other, empty glass on the table. Slowly, sensually, she started stripping, watching long enough to see him lock the phone and set it aside before closing her eyes and losing herself in the bass.

When she was naked except for her panties, she opened her eyes to find him leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he watched her. Shivering with the intensity of his gaze, she stepped forward into his reach, not at all surprised when his hands flashed forward, caught her hips, and pulled her astride his lap.

The hardness of his erection teased as she ground against him, the fabric of his jeans pleasantly stimulating as she kissed her way from his neck to his earlobe and bit it with the point of her canine. It was the one spot – aside from the obvious – that she knew would always draw a response, and she wasn't disappointed.

With a growl of want, Andrés slid his hands up her flanks to lift her breasts, nipping and suckling at each nipple before claiming her mouth with his. His lips were insistent, his tongue more so as he pushed it to dance with hers.

Liv drew clawed fingers down his chest to the button fly of his jeans, undoing each one sharply enough to make him grunt. He lifted his hips, and her with them, long enough to tug the denim off and free his cock.

With a few quick caresses of the velvety skin, Liv shifted her panties aside and guided him into her, rocking her hips and swiveling until he was deep inside her core. When she tipped her head back in pleasure, Andrés caught her throat to hold her in place and thrust upward into her.

After a few minutes he took hold of her waist and stood, not breaking their connection, long enough to put her on her back in a free space on the nearest table and taking advantage of the new position to set a vigorous pace. She welcomed it, arching up to meet him until they finished together. He marked her chest, sucking hard at the skin, the dull pain of it adding an extra thrill to her orgasm.

She could feel the intensity of his gaze as he regarded her after pulling out. Sated, Liv stayed sprawled where she was until he lifted her and set her on the couch.

"I still want to kill someone," he grumbled, sounding calmer.

"Congratulations, that means you're human. As long as you don't actually plan to do it, you might even be normal," Liv replied lazily, reaching for the glass she'd poured earlier without opening her eyes. He handed it to her, taking it back for a sip when she was done.

Settling on her side, she curled up and got comfortable. "Are you drunk?" she asked when she heard the glass settle on the metal table.

Andrés slid in behind her on the couch, pulled her flush against him, and buried his nose in her hair. "Not really."

She mulled over her next words, wondering whether it was smart to ask or better not to know. I need to know if he'll be honest with me.

"Did you mean it when you said sometimes you miss killing people for a living?"

He didn't reply for a long time. Liv was drifting toward sleep when he said, "Yes," in a harsh whisper.

"Cos of getting rid of Imogen?" she pressed, trying desperately to hang onto the thread of the conversation as rum and satiation and sleep fought to claim her.

He nodded against her back as his grip on her tightened. "It was such a decisive solution. No more to worry about from her," he murmured.

Liv stroked the arm draped over her waist. She didn't agree with killing as a solution but she still hadn't been able to see another option, even with his telling her about his past with Imogen.

"Why are you okay with all my confessions?" Andrés asked out of nowhere. "You're a hacker, not a murderer."

"I'm not here to judge your past," Liv mumbled, "and we both know I'm not squeaky clean myself." Then, the words that she couldn't bring herself to say sober tumbled out. "Also, cos maybe I love you."

The light press of his lips on the back of her neck made Liv shiver. "Then I'm lucky, because I have no idea why," he whispered back. His lips curved in a smile against her shoulder. It was the last thing she remembered, finally slipping into a pleasantly drunken sleep that she'd probably pay for with a hangover in the morning.

***

"Liv..."

She looked up from her beef wellington at the hesitation in Andrés's voice. "What's up?"

"Are we good?"

Frowning, Liv put her utensils down. "I mean...yes? Why wouldn't we be?"

"Because of what I said last night."

Is that why he wanted to do the fancy French place for dinner? "Which part?" she teased. "Your past, or that you don't regret it?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched, not the one that hid a smile, but the nervous tic she'd observed when something was really on the line for him. "All of it."

He was so tense that she couldn't see the fun in dragging this out. Reaching over the table, Liv took his hand and said, "Yes."

Relief made him slump, then deviltry flickered into his eyes as he looked at her from under the hair that had come loose and fallen over his brow. "Then how do you feel about that punishment? No pressure, I just —"

"I thought you'd never ask," she interrupted, setting her fork down to glance around the restaurant as her cheeks flushed and the pulse in her throat quickened.

"Excellent." Andrés lifted the hand she held and kissed her knuckles. "I'll get things set up tonight."

"No sleepover?" Liv pouted.

"You'll want your beauty sleep."

He wouldn't say more than that. The anticipation kept her up all night, which was probably what the damnable man had intended.

The next day was Friday. Liv had started working part-time at the Commission to accommodate both her work at Surefire and taking care of her slowly recovering brother. She took Fridays off, so was able to arrive at his place in Regent's Park in the late afternoon. Andrés was there, ready and waiting.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, peering into her eyes.

She licked her lips. "Excited. You've been planning something, I know it."

Smirking, he turned and led her upstairs to the master bedroom. "I'm always planning something," he teased.

"Secretive bastard," she muttered, hoping he heard affection rather than bite in the words.

As they entered he stepped aside, letting her take in the device he'd set up and the toys laid out on the bed. Her breath caught.

"You know what it is?" he asked.

"A sybian," she whispered, stepping forward to stroke the smooth saddle of the device. Turning to the bed, she shivered as she considered everything he'd laid out there: silk ropes, blindfold, ball gag, collar, flogger. "Jesus, Andrés."

"Still want to do this?" he asked neutrally.

She looked him in the eye. "Yes, on one condition."

"Name it."

Schooling herself to seriousness, she took a deep breath and approached, pressing herself against him as she peered up at him. "Let the Raven out. Or, you know, whatever it is to go wherever you go sometimes."

Andrés blinked, tensing beneath her hands. "Why?"

She studied him, trying to gauge whether she was asking too much, if this solution was indeed the best one. "Keeping pieces of yourself partitioned away isn't always healthy. It could be good to try finding a balance. If you were going to hurt me, really hurt me, it would have happened at the warehouse. I trust you. I even reprogrammed the chip."

He didn't answer, skepticism painted across his features.

"What's something you do or know well in both situations?" she asked.

"Bodies," he answered immediately.

Liv nodded. Pain and pleasure were two sides of the same coin and she enjoyed the blending of both from him on certain occasions. He'd always been good at finding the mix that was more pleasure than pain, even when he pushed. "You won't hurt me, at least not more than I want, and you might find a balance rather than fighting yourself," she said before stepping back, giving him space to think.

"Okay," he said huskily.

Liv cocked her head, waiting as he closed his eyes, visibly easing his grip and just letting himself...be. And there he goes, she thought, stripping and tossing her clothes carelessly against the wall once he opened his eyes again. Not quite Andrés, yet not all the way into wherever he went as the hitman. I trust him, she confirmed after taking a minute to look within herself, not wanting to rush.

Feeling light and easy, ready for him, she took a rope from the bed and offered it to him. He demanded her safeword and non-verbal signal before accepting it and binding her wrists together.

Andrés tugged her to him for a kiss before bodily forcing her backward to the sybian. He expertly tossed the rope to loop over a hook in the ceiling. "Down," he ordered, and Liv sank to sit astride the device, arms rising as he stepped to the wall, threaded the end of the rope through an embedded ring, and tied it off with a quick-release slipknot.

Coming around in front of her, he brushed the scar on her left bicep before kneeling. "Up two fingers," he prompted, providing his own for reference, and she rose slightly, hovering. With the other two ropes, he bound her ankle to thigh on each side. If she sat fully on the sybian, her arms would be stretched. If she tried to rise to escape the inevitable vibrations, it would pinch her thighs.

Liv was already panting. "Still okay?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yes. Get on with it," she snapped, made ill-tempered by his leisurely pace.

He smirked. "Can you give your non-verbal?"

She demonstrated, twisting her wrists to clap sharply three times.

"Good," he purred, picking up the gag and arching an eyebrow in question.

"Yes," she consented, and he fixed it in place. She nodded agreement again to the collar, then to the flogger when he took it up and trailed the ends over her shoulder.

"I'm not playing around, Liv," he said coolly. "You've already shown an admirable level of resistance to anything less than this." She shivered in arousal at the anticipation.

Finally, he held up the blindfold. She nodded and swallowed. This isn't just physical, it's psychological.

"One last thing, little bird. You're stubborn and proud, but there's no place for it now. I need to be able to trust that you'll stop if it gets to be too much. Promise me that, or we don't play. One clap for no, two for yes."

She clapped twice and he said, "Good. Let's begin."

The silence seemed to stretch forever, honed to a knife's sharpness as she waited for something, anything to happen. Then the click of a button and vibration between her thighs announced the sybian.

Liv jumped, or tried to; the way she was bound only allowed a jerk. After a few seconds, he clicked to a higher setting, and again, changing the intensity at irregular intervals, testing her reaction to each before switching it off amidst muzzled howls.

She quivered, panting and whimpering, head hanging, but made no move to tap out. Two can play this game.

Another stillness stretched longer than before. Liv had passed through tension and had started to relax when the sybian buzzed to life again. She jerked upwards in surprise, trying to rise before settling onto it and moaning with pleasure.