Quiet Tension

Company

When I wake up the next morning, the bed is empty. I see Simon's bag on the floor still, so I know he's around here somewhere.

Yawning, I get up, picking out a sweat set and heading into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

I head downstairs to see a shirtless Simon making me breakfast. He hears me coming into the kitchen and turns around.

"Good morning," he says, and slides a plate with waffles over to me on the counter.

"Thank you," I say. He puts a plate of eggs and bacon down as well, and brings his own plate of waffles over to sit next to me.

"Didn't know how much eggs or bacon you wanted so I just made a plate," he says, nodding to the large plate in front of us.

"I'll stick to waffles for now," I say. "Don't you like beans on toast or whatever?"

"No, actually," he says, laughing at the joke. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Better," I say. "You?"

"Much better. Your bed is ridiculously comfortable."

I smile, and we eat our breakfast with small conversation. I offer to help clean up, but he brushes me off, doing the dishes in record time, loading them into the dishwasher.

Watching him do this menial, but somehow attractive task, makes my skin flush. Simon Riley, primary Task Force 141 member and killing machine, is in my house, making me breakfast and doing my dishes. Without a shirt, which means I can watch every single muscle flex as he moves.

I'm once again reminded that my self control is pulled so tightly, so thin, that it's about to snap.

He turns around, drying his hands off before he sees my face. "Are you alright?"

I nod hurriedly. "Yes."

A look I can't decipher flashes across his face before he smirks. "Okay then."

"I've got... laundry," I say, excusing myself and re-washing the load from last night, hopeful to get all the dust out in a second go. I carry the clean clothes from the dryer into the bedroom, carefully folding them.

Too carefully. I'm trying desperately to gather myself and my thoughts.

Simon and I shouldn't be together. I have a career to focus on, and I don't want to be hurt.

But he wouldn't hurt me, at least I don't think - I mean, I watched him kill for me in front of my very eyes. Plus, aren't I less focused with all this tension between us?

Stuck in my thoughts, I mindlessly fold the rest of the laundry, and am opening and closing drawers, putting it away, when Simon comes in.

"Mind if I use your shower?" he asks.

Knowing that he probably knows damn well I have another shower in the house, I nod.

"Great," he says, and grabs a toiletry case from his bag and heads into the bathroom.

"Towels are in the cabinet," I call out. I hear a muffled thanks from behind the door.

Unsure what to do with myself while he showers - do I leave my bedroom or not - I decide to just finish putting away the laundry, and pick up a few things, since my room is kind of a mess.

As I'm paused by the bed, reading a message on my phone, the bathroom door opens and Simon emerges, one of my green towels wrapped around his waist, hanging dangerously low on his hips and really not hiding what's underneath.

"Sorry," I say, tearing my eyes away, but it's definitely too late and he definitely noticed.

I pick up the now-empty hamper and go back to the laundry room, hoping that he'll get dressed in the moment that I'm gone.