Written for Leverageland challenge, Heist 13. Prompt: "First time." Perhaps because of my on-going story, The San Lorenzo Job REDUX (#shamelessplug), this was the first thing that popped into my head. Since I haven't actually read a fic that details what Sophie later dubbed "The San Lorenzo," I thought I'd take a crack at it. For those of you that are reading my other story, I imagine that this takes place in the same universe, though it can stand alone.
Nate Ford downed his whiskey and forced a laugh at newly-"elected" President Michael Vittori's less-than-funny joke. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy; he was just tired of the party. Stealing a country, narrowly avoiding death and arrest, and taking down one of the world's most wanted criminals was exhausting work.
He finally excused himself and headed to the bar for one last drink. He'd lost count of how many he'd had, but that had never stopped him before. He stumbled across the floor, trying and failing to avoid running into people, tables, and chairs – yep, definitely drunk – and scanned the ballroom. Hardison and Parker had left hours earlier, excitedly muttering something about pretzels. After mingling and catching up with whom Nate presumed to be old friends, Eliot, too, had inconspicuously slinked away, probably for some much-deserved rest. But Nate was scanning the ballroom for the one member of his team he was certain had not left the party yet.
He found her alone at the end of the bar, nursing a glass of wine and gazing at the crowd with the same longing as when she'd opined, "Don't cry for me, San Lorenzo." She'd been lurking around all night, blending in as only Sophie Devereaux could. She wore an elegant gray dress, black hat, and veil, and her hair flowed beautifully down the left side of her face, making her unrecognizable to anyone who didn't know who they were looking at.
Nate collapsed onto the stool next to her. She lifted her veil, turning to him with a vaguely amused expression.
"You, Mr. Ford, are drunk."
"I'm always drunk," he slurred. How many drinks had he had?
Sophie raised an eyebrow. "Self-awareness about your drinking? You're very drunk." Nate could have sworn he heard a slight slur in her words, as well.
"I think I'm entitled to celebrate." He hadn't intended to sound defensive, but he didn't want a lecture. "I just stole a country and defeated one of the most evil bastards on the planet."
"Yes, you most certainly did." Sophie's eyes twinkled with something he couldn't identify. Her voice was somehow both seductive and giddy, filled with pride, wonder, and admiration. She placed her hand over his, and a thrill shot through him.
Her eyelids fluttered coquettishly; Nate's stomach did a somersault. She flashed him the smile that had forced countless men – good and evil, handsome and ugly, rich and appallingly rich, tycoons, politicians, and kings – to their knees, promising her everything her heart desired.
Nate's heart pounded, and at the sight of that smile his mind, always whirring, came screeching to a halt.
"You, Nathan Ford, did something no one else in the world has ever done before. You are the best I have ever seen." She leaned into him until her face was mere inches from his.
Nate inhaled, and his nostrils filled with one of his favorite scents in the world: Sophie. It was comforting and familiar and mysterious and invigorating and sexy…
He thrust his hand into her hair and pulled her into a kiss. As their lips met, he felt a jolt of electricity that made him to tingle from head to toe. It wasn't their first kiss, but this one wasn't for a con, and it wasn't a goodbye kiss filled with desperation and followed by a slap. It was the type of kiss he'd imagined for years, almost since they'd first met. Dreams of that kiss had haunted and guilted him during his marriage. More recently, though – since that horrific performance of MacBeth in Chicago – those dreams had inspired him to do better, had allowed him to hope that maybe, some day, he could move on from Maggie and Sam and be happy again. With her.
She threw her arms around his neck and buried her hands in his hair, kissing him with a ferocity that told him she'd been dreaming of this kiss for much longer than he had, and now she was done waiting. It showed him that he wasn't another one of her marks – this kiss was just for him. He was the best she'd ever seen.
Nate wrapped his arms around her until he could feel every one of her curves against his body. He got hard as he pressed himself into her. She moaned in delight, and he tightened his grip, trying to get even closer, but he knew there was only one way to do that.
Suddenly she stopped and pulled away. He tried to follow her, but she put her hand to his mouth, blocking it from hers.
"Let's get out of here," she whispered. "I want to do some things to you that I'm pretty sure would give dear Michael a heart attack."
Nate's heart leapt, and a grin spread across his face. "After you, Ms. Devereaux."
She leaned forward. For a second Nate thought she was going to kiss him again, but she turned at the last second and put her mouth to his ear.
"That's not my real name, darling." Her breath tickled his neck and sent a shiver down his spine. "I want to make sure you're going to cry out the right one."
She ran her finger down his cheek and under his chin, which made every hair on his body – and some other parts – stand at attention.
She smiled as she pulled away, a seductive simper that he knew she'd been saving for this moment. "And rest assured, you will be screaming."
As she turned away, she grabbed his hand to pull him behind her, but it wasn't necessary. Nate would have followed her anywhere. This woman, this thief – who would always and forever be Sophie Devereaux to him – had stolen his heart years ago. Now he was finally ready to give her the rest of him.