Deckard

22.

Hell Hath No Fury

She watched as Deckard gulped and tried to compose himself as she glared into his soul. His usually controlled pulse blipping at the intensity of her anger she was portraying, her jaw twitching in annoyance as he then smiled sweetly at her, "Hello, Darling,"

Giving a 'harumph' of annoyance, she turned on her heels as cast an unamused glance over Hattie and Hobbs that stood behind her. Hattie showing a smirk as both women looked over the other with calculating eyes before Megan moved onto Hobbs. Her face falling into a mask of boredom. Striding up to him as he opened his mouth and placing a finger over his lips.

"Hush now, I'm not going to listen to anything you have to say, Beef Cake," She sassed as she turned away and moved towards the monitor.

"This is messed up," Hobbs exclaimed as he struggled to process just who was in front of him. Her grey suit pants were well fitted and sat just above the black heels she had on. Her white blouse tucked neatly into her waistband as she removed the matching grey suit jacket. She was definitely the same woman he had met a few years ago. However, she had changed. He could see the scars littered on her neck and cheeks that weren't there the last time he saw her in New York. She held herself in a different manner as if she was constantly aching in her bones and the dark circles under her eye were prominent even under the light dusting of natural makeup she had on. He understood that the pain Deckard had shown him on that city roof was real, no one could ever fake that. She had definitely been hurt on that mission. He just didn't know-how, and he was pretty sure he would never know.

"Dexy," Megan purred turning and striding with purposeful steps towards Deckard. Grabbing him by the shoulders as he grumbled at her using that derogatory name and marching him out into the back room.

"I can explain," Deckard tried to calm her, spinning to face her and holding his hands up in a defensive manner. His crewneck becoming a little tight around his jugular under her heated gaze. Deckard wasn't afraid of many things, but Megan was someone who kept him on his toes and shaking in his boots.

"Shut ya gob," she glared, her accent so strong with her anger, he struggled to understand her. Crossing her arms over her chest. She noticed how her husbands' eyes watched the movement so she subtly lifted her arms to raise her breasts. She needed him to squirm under her thumb, "I'm not even out the country two bloody minutes and you're plastering a target over ya back. Do you want to die?"

"No, Sweetheart-"

"Don't you fúcking sweetheart me! I'm píssed at ya!" She spat. He could see the vein on her forehead thumping and the fire in her eyes make him feel like he was staring at the devil.

"It's not my fault-"

"It's never your fúcking fault, is it? You baldy twát!" She took a deep breath as she tried to calm herself. She was pretty sure the other two were listening from the other room. Her voice now deadly calm as she glared at her husband, "I'm going to skin you alive when we're finished with what-ever you managed to get your big nose stuck into this time,"

"You finished?" Deckard dared to smirk. His teeth showing as he looked her up and down; at her jutted out a hip and at the storm on her face.

That smirk angered her further.

"You what?" She seethed. She was sure he could see the steam coming out of her ears. Did he really just say that? She moved from her spot and stormed over to him, "You! You 'ave a death wish and am leavin'. When this is over, am leavin-" She stopped when he started laughing. Her blood boiling at the audacity, "You think I'm fúcking joking? Am going to kill you and hang you by your balls of the fúcking Angel of the North!-"

She was suddenly cut off as Deckard grabbed her by the shoulders and smashed his lips onto hers. Pushing him away, her chest rising and falling angrily as she glared at him as he rested his hands on her shoulders, "You're so hot when your píssed," he looked down at her adoringly, cupping a hand behind her head as he brought her in for another kiss. She couldn't help but chuckle against his lips. He knew exactly what buttons to press to get out of the dog house.

"Ow!" He mumbled, pulling away and licking his lips to remove the small amount of blood from where she had bitten him, "I deserved that," he mumbled as he traced his hand down her arm and took her hand. Squeezing it gently as he pulled her into a hug. Just content with holding her close as he placed a kiss atop her head.

"You deserve a lot worse," she mumbled as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. Happy to be back in his arms. She would torture him later.

"Do you think they're hooking up or listening to us?" she smirked as she pulled away and feathered her lips against his swollen ones.

His shoulders dropped as he dreaded the thought, "I can hear the fat heads breathing form here. They're definitely not banging," placing a sweet kiss of his own against her lips before sliding an arm around her hip and guiding her back into the garage.