Gin taught her a lot of things she couldn't imagine she'd be capable of one day.

Like reloading a Glock at an immaculate speed. Like parrying an incoming chop to her jugular veins before delivering a deadlier one to the attacker. Like what brands of cigarettes were the best nicotine supplier for your body.

And one above them all, she learnt that in contrast to the brutal line of occupation, Gin absolutely loved slow kisses.

Sherry escaped her bed at 3.27 a.m and trudged tippy toed to the kitchen. No amount of turning around in her bed nor one of those breathing exercises she found online managed to calm her nerves down to slumber. Cold tap water traveled down her throat. The glass clank on the counter and her eyes flicked at a cigarette box almost hidden in the shadows.

She thought twice. Thrice. Don't do it.

Grey smoke swirled above her head as she exhaled from a long drag, the carbon essence chasing the water she just gulped prior. Dopamine seeped into her blood and lulled her head, so her eyelids fell as she tilted her head back.

Perhaps it was past midnight, or simply nervousness, that made the otherwise bitter aftertaste oddly refreshing. She coughed after another few puffs. Had it not been for the mission, she would be comfortably catching sleep. Just having alone time for herself was already too much to ask for, and apparently tomorrow was a busy day in another busy week, yet it was all she could think about tonight. She was just a biochemist, unlike the two in the other room.

They arrived earlier than expected but were surprisingly polite enough to leave her alone and avoid unnecessary conversation. Vodka invited himself for a shameless fridge tour before she could stop him, which ended with her last two apples gone. His superior though, possibly due to the former's presence, didn't speak or move much from the couch, only ate a slice of bread and typed away on his laptop. Slightly past 11 he started turning on a documentary on the television and serving himself an unhealthy dose of Bourbon, which he fetched from her secret cabinet without questions.

Initially she contemplated having them sleep on the couch, but she rather not face them if she needed to walk out of her room for the toilet. So she let them occupy the extra room with one bed. She would die laughing if she imagined those two men huddled on the single bed together, and the floor is impossibly painful to sleep on. So again, she sacrificed her camping mattress to one of them.

Vodka had came by to brief her on the mission plan some days ago and tossed a target file on her workbench. He blubbered on how her apartment was a perfect logistic blah blah blah, but in the forest of laboratory playthings she half listened and in the end dismissed him lest the distillation procedure fled from her mind. Reality started to sink in though, and she suppressed a loud sigh, taking another drag instead.

"Do you have any idea of what you are doing?"

She jumped at the gruff tone. Her elbow darted to the intruder, except the very intruder was out of her league.

It was caught by a large hand, and the air that had cooled her back vanished, robbed by a man's body heat. Her guilty fingers froze and her eyes glued to the counter as if a stubborn child being scolded.

"I don't know who taught you this, but certainly wasn't me," he groaned amongst strawberry-blonde strands.

It was always the smallest touches that made her uptight.

"It's just one cigarette, Gin."

"It could be a gun. Or my key. You could run away with my car, for all I know."

"Why are you out here?"

"Why are you out here?"

"This is my house. I can go wherever I please."

The silver-haired man swiped the cigarette from her custody, stubbed it out on some water droplets in the sink. Sherry fought against him, a futile effort because the more she tried, the harder her back was pressed down. Anxious goosebumps tickled on her nape. She couldn't see his face in this position, but his touches were persistent, though she knew he was not angry.

"All of you know that the next mission is not my job scope. So I don't understand why I should be involved," in your dirty games.

It felt wrongly satisfying to finally be able to hear him speak openly, and not steal glances at her while Vodka was munching down food, as if something was stopping him to do so despite the very power he had, if ranks were involved and if it didn't anyway, there was still nothing stopping him.

A pale hand sprawled on her abdominals. She knew by heart it was a warning, having spent too many training sessions to not notice the slight pressure.

"Because you're gonna learn something from it."

His height naturally allowed easy access to her jaw. She felt his lips tighten on her skin as he smirked, and Sherry didn't react except her heartbeat firing up against her will.

Her elbow was yet to be released from the death grip no matter how hard she was trying to shimmy out of it. Frustrated and defeated, she blurted out. "Show me then, what is so important that I have to learn," and the hand on her elbow stilled.

She braced herself.

An icy gaze finally met her fiery one. The greens that usually held so much hostility were slowly warming up, curiosity softening them into olives.

Gin wasted no time. His slender fingers that rested on her stomach gripped her jaw and he bent down.

Taken aback with a sudden scent of masculine perfume, she tensed. However, his lips were warm as they were chapped, and nothing had really changed since their last one, except the fact that Vodka could accidentally witness them. It made Sherry frown, and it must've caught Gin's attention because he deepened it.

Restrain. She always lost this effect around him. Her mouth responded cautiously, experimenting against the edges of his teeth, because she never had any chances before, and he permitted her.

Gin tasted like cigarettes. What did she expect? The man could devour packs after packs and still function perfectly fine. She caught whiffs of alcohol with a mixture of adrenaline, and it drove her into a search for more.

He abruptly withdrew and allowed her to turn facing him. His figure loomed over like a tower in a thunderstorm, though the silver locks that normally veiled his eyes were pushed to the sides now, revealing much of those familiar eyes. Only this time, there were no hard lines on his forehead and no creases between his eyebrows. It was a rare sight of his more neutral face.

They gradually increased in intensity. Feisty and ferocious, mostly coming from Sherry. There was a lot of him to explore, curves already known to her eyes to touch, and with a hammering heartbeat she bit his lower lip. Gin's lavender turtleneck bunched up in a pair of feminine hands, forcing him lower as Sherry too, stood on her toes.

Through closed eyelids she remembered his manic, bloodlusted face after a silenced gunshot. It would go unnoticed by other members, but she could always taste Gin's aggression in the air. Her eyelids half opened, and the image disappeared, only met with his eyelashes.

She snatched his wrists and pulled away in hopes of putting some between them. Anger was sizzling across her face. She frowned from annoyance at his abnormal behavior, and she was certain he was far from drunk.

"This is what I have to fucking do?"

She was surprised at her own outburst as she searched for signs of offense on his face. His lips were tight and she swore his eyes reflected a small portion of the moonlight.

He only cupped her cheeks and kissed her.

It was softer, like lingering ocean tides. It had felt slow-motion, something different, Sherry noted, compared to timid pecks in the past. He was as confident as giving out orders in an assassination, nothing new, but her hands were gaining bravery as they sinfully snaked on his shirt. Her deft fingers traced muscles beneath it, clawed on his back, circled lower down his waist and the onto his belt.

Sherry took a good hold and ripped it off.

Sweaty palms rattled against the cold metal, her breath heaving. Perhaps still fresh from the kissing frenzy, or perhaps because the man on the receiving end of the barrel was grinning.

The moonlight that managed to penetrate her blinds highlighted the angles of his face. It infuriated her how he didn't show any hint of surprise.

And it vexed her that he was menacingly handsome with his own Baretta aimed at him.

The very gun that had delivered countless souls to the afterlife. It will, again and again.

Gin charged his head into it like a bull. Sherry mentally snapped, forcing her eyes to narrow into tunnel vision, and immediately pushed her thumb all the way down the safety lever. The lone click in the dead of the night reverberated between them and sent a shrill up her spine.

"Tell me about tomorrow's plan" she demanded.

Gin choked out an amused chuckle, his lips turning upwards. She failed to fathom his expression, although it seemed that many emotions were passing through his face.

"I can't possibly tell you with a bullet through my head, Sherry,"

Her codename sounded sensual on his tongue - something others could never evoke. She bit down the insides of her cheek, scolding her foolishness.

"Tell me," she barked.

She could see gears turning in his head. Depending on who was asking, mission details were a sensitive topic for him. Sometimes he refused to spare any, and Sherry had witnessed many members receiving violent replies from the executive when they bugged him for more.

Maybe she was an exception.

"Early-forties. Hotel owner. The boss has reasons not to trust him anymore. He knows most of our faces, so we need to send someone new" said Gin, matter-of-factly.

"What's the difference in sending someone new if he's gonna be dead anyway?"

Gin let out a chuckle through his nose, pristine teeth now baring from an evil smile as he locked their gazes.

A face that could turn even a fearless soul petrified, yet she was beginning to be immune to it.

"Dead, you say? Yes, he will be. " he growled.

She screwed the barrel deeper into his frontal bone. "You didn't answer my question."

Strong hands wrapped on the Baretta, one on the black slide and the other on hers, a thumb slotted behind the trigger.

"You'll be fine. Vodka will brief you again tomorrow. Follow your orders." he muttered, monotonous and face unreadable. Something was amiss, but Sherry knew his unpredictability. He lowered the gun and bent down again.

"Biting the hand that fed you, Sherry?" he whispered.

Her throat tightened. His sagging frame was retreating, granting air to wrap around her again.

It was tempting to shove him for more information, she was going to be a part of someone's death after all but didn't act on it. For good measure.

The firearm secured into his waistband and Gin paused midway, glancing at the digital clock on the table, then back to her frozen figure.

"Get some rest while you can, we need you functioning tomorrow," he said dismissively before disappearing amongst the shadows of Sherry's home.

She finally let out a breath she was holding.


Hello! This is my first few fics and I'm a new writer, so I look forward to any comments on my writing. Let me know how is it! This work is also posted on AO3