Damaged Goods

DISCLAIMER: This is purely a work of fiction. I don't own Black Lagoon or it's characters, they are the property of Rei Hiroe. I am not profiting from writing this fan fiction.


What did he think, that she'd sit pretty at home while he ran off and got his stupid ass shot? Fuck that.

Without her, he'd be dead almost before his sensible shoes touched Japanese soil. She scoffed as she began stuffing her things into a small, ratty looking duffel bag.

If he wanted to do something as stupid as get involved with Balalaika's dealings over seas, then so be it, but she'd be damned if she wasn't tagging along. Rock was the one who handled most of Lagoon's accounting and negotiating anyway, what the fuck were they supposed to do if he went and got himself killed? Besides, if he died then she'd have to go back to doing her own damn laundry, like hell that was happening. Clearly, she had no choice but to play the role of body guard.

At least, that was what she told herself. Those were her excuses and she was sticking to them. It had nothing to do with the sick feeling that crawled through her gut with the thought of him laying dead in some dirty street. Nothing at all.

Tossing the packed bag into the corner by the door, she plopped down on the bed. Anxious and twitchy, she reached for the remote, flipped through channels without really seeing them. Her foot began tapping against the mattress.

He thought he was being so clever too, using Balalaika's need for a translator as an excuse for feeling all sentimental and nostalgic at the thought of returning home to Japan. She wasn't stupid, she knew better. He was an idiot. If he wanted to get out of this shit hole and back to his cushy, privileged existence then he should just say so. No one would blame him.

But she didn't think she wanted him to leave Lagoon, and that pissed her off. Caring got you killed a lot faster than bullets would. Why the fuck should she give a damn what he decided to do with the rest of his pathetic life anyway? It was none of her business, and if he wanted to stay in Japan when this was over, she'd damn well let him.

Still, her foot continued tapping. That twitchy anxiousness still slithering around under her skin. She needed to shoot something.

A rap on the door had her snapping from her broody thoughts. “What?” She snapped, not moving from the bed.

“Revy, it's me.” Rock's tired voice carried through the door. She didn't answer. Let him beg for forgiveness, he should be bloody honored she'd offered to cover his dumb ass in the first place. Instead of begging she got indifference. “I'm coming in.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What do ya want?”

He took his time wandering over to the bed. He actually had the audacity to plop down next to her and make himself comfortable, the TV lighting his calm expression in the dark. He didn't even look at her as he drifted his attention to whatever was moving across the screen. “Nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she turned her body to face him. “Bullshit. Twenty minutes ago you were shitting bricks.”

He shrugged. “Twenty minutes ago, so were you.”

“Because you're a fucking idiot! I offer to keep you alive, and instead of being grateful, you flip shit! You can't possibly- “

He looked at her then. The ghost of a shit-eating grin crept across his lips as he cut her off. “Is that what this is about? Your feelings are hurt?”

That did it. If she'd been managing to restrain herself before, she was done with it now. “Fuck off. Feelings ain't got nothing to do with it. Going with Balalaika is a dumbass fucking move and you know it.” Her fingers itched for the grips of her guns.

“Maybe, but I still don't want you to come. I'm not your responsibility, I don't want you dragged into whatever shit she's planning down there.” His eyes fought to stay go back to the screen and not the body beside him.

She pulled her gun on him then, shoved it into his throat and leaned in so close that their noses were almost touching. Her next words were snarled. “I hate it when you pull that fucking noble shit. Don't you know you're the only one still playing by the rules? Chivalry is dead, Baby. All the cute little ladies and gents shed their delicate skins in favor of blood, sex and AK47's.”

“You only hate it because it reminds you that despite what you've been telling yourself, not everything is made of shit. Not everyone is out to fuck you.” He hissed back. His wall of indifference was quickly deteriorating in the face of her ignorance.

Didn't he know when to back off? Didn't he know that you were supposed to shut up when someone shoved a gun in your face? Of course not, he was almost as stubborn as she was. A trait she found irritatingly appealing.

Regardless, she didn't like where this little discussion was headed. He was touching on topics she wasn't willing to debate. So when she caught his eyes linger on her mouth before darting back to her eyes, she saw her opening. She leaned a little closer, her chest against his. “And are you?”

“What?” He sputtered.

“You said not everyone's out to fuck me. Are you?”

“I didn't mean-” He looked like a panicked deer in the headlights. “I meant...”

It took everything in her to hold a straight face as he floundered. She brought her mouth to his ear in an attempt to hide her face. “Careful, Rock. Tread this far out and water gets pretty dark, could swallow you right up.” Her voice was low and dangerous, far sexier than should be allowed.

He felt her breath slide across his skin, sending shivers up his spine. Being swallowed up didn't seem like such a horrible plan. He knew she was just trying to change the subject but that didn't make it any less distracting.

The gun she was holding on him skimmed down his front, lightly trailing down his chest and across his stomach. “Well,” She questioned. “what's it gonna be, slick? Gonna show me some of that shining nobility?”

He swallowed hard, reached for her even knowing he'd regret it later. “Bitch.”

She grinned and it was with a twisted sense of glee. Eerily akin to the ones she got in the midst of a slaughter. His blood boiled. He was done fighting her, she'd won.

The gun gave a final push against his groin before being laid to rest on the mattress beside him. Her hand picked up where her gun had left off, agile hands making quick work of his belt to pull him free. Her grin stretched out into a full blown smirk with his sharp intake of breath when she gripped him. Noble, her ass.

She worked him like a pro, watching him the whole time. He couldn't believe this was happening. How had they gone from being at each others throats, to this? His pants went to his ankles and he shucked them off completely. He watched her edge off the bed and drop to her knees.

No way was she going to. Her mouth closed around him, burned like molten fire. Yes, yes she was. God, this woman was divine.

As she watched him, she couldn't help but feel smug. Smug and hot. When had that happened? When had she decided he was worthy of her lust? Probably about the time she'd decided to blow him. His eyes had nearly popped from his head, and her desire had spiked. She liked watching him, liked watching him quiver with the power she held over him. What did it matter if she did want him? They'd already gone too far anyway.

She gripped the base of him and stroked hard, hand and mouth moved in union. Her free hand slipped down and into the front of her own shorts.

He leaned back on his hands, watched with half lidded eyes as her head bobbed up and down along his length. He hadn't missed it when her other hand had moved down to orchestrate her own release. Divine hardly did her justice. He couldn't let her carry on this way much longer, not without embarrassing himself.

He reached down to grab hold of her shoulders. He pulled from her mouth with a wet plop and the sound of protest that left her throat was nearly his undoing. “Take off your shorts.” He demanded.

She frowned as her hand left her center. Who was he to give her orders? But his eyes screamed of rapture, they promised ecstasy. So she indulged him. The shorts dropped from her waist with the clang of her belt hitting the hardwood.

His eyes traveled downward to find her glistening. Nearly drooling, he reached for her again. She stepped toward him and leaned down, ghosted her lips over his, waited for him to try to deepen the kiss. When he did, she shoved him back onto the bed, watched the shock register on his face as he fell back. She climbed over to straddle him, sliding her sex over his length, she was smirking again. Smirking still, when she reached up to yank her shirt up over her head.

And there she was, his Goddess. Completely naked and rubbing herself against him like some wanton whore. If he hadn't loved her before, he did now. His hands came up to grip her thighs. He'd had enough of this teasing.

She hadn't. Every time he tried to shift her so that he was positioned at her entrance, she would move so that she could glide over him instead. She chuckled at his frustration, leaned down and tore open his shirt. Buttons flew in every direction.

She slid up him, trailed rough, wet kisses along his chest as he breathed heavily. His hands roamed her body, touching everything he could, memorizing. She bit down on his left nipple and he jerked. She laughed, leaned back and impaled herself.

Neither one of them managed to contain the groan that action provoked. She began to move and his eyes rolled in his head. Perfection.

Her hips rolled and ground against him. His hands dug into her thighs as he fought to allow her to maintain the control. Her pace increased along with her breathing.

Hoping to hurry her along, he reached over and pressed his thumb against her clit. She moaned and leaned into it. She must have sensed his rush because she rocked harder against him and gave him a breathy command that sounded suspiciously like a challenge. “Come.”

He nearly did. This woman would be the death of him. But his thumb continued to rub fast, hard circles. “You first.”

She laughed, a genuine sound of delight, right before she bore down on him. She pushed him to his limits and for a minute he thought she might win this particular battle. But then she went rigid, her mouth opened and she spasmed above him. “Oh, fuck.” she panted.

His teeth clenched as she rode out the waves rocking through her. He managed to pump into to her a few more times before letting go, squirting liquid heat across her insides. She moaned again, leaned forward as he shot the rest of his load.

When the shivers finally stopped she rolled off him. They lay there side by side, struggling to catch their breath.

When his lungs once again felt capable of breathing air, he spoke. “Okay, I guess I can let you can come.”

She snorted. “Yeah, like I ever wasn't going. Someone's gotta keep you from getting splashed across the pavement.” But there was no real malice in her words. She reached down and pulled out her pack of smokes. She lit one and handed it to Rock then took one for herself.

He knew she'd only meant the whole thing as a distraction, that for her it was likely nothing more than another mission accomplished. He also knew that once he allowed himself to analyze the whole situation he begin worrying about the repercussions of their little tryst. But not right now.

Right now was about the after glow, that wonderful wave of calm that washed over him as he lay next to her nakedness. If the urge to roll over and hold he was there, he ignored it, knew better than to try. He was damn well going to let himself enjoy this moment.

So they lay naked and smoked in silence.