Chapter Text
Gweld enjoys these sorts of missions. Unlike Geralt or Lambert, he enjoys flirting and socializing; unlike Eskel, he isn’t particularly self-conscious about being the center of people’s attention. Which a lot of people think would be a bad thing for a spy, but as it happens, nobody expects a cheerful flirt to be sneaky at all, so being very obviously in the public eye is surprisingly good cover.
On this particular cruise, he’s supposed to be making contact with someone from VIPER to pass along a bit of intelligence more relevant to them than the WOLF data analysts. Unfortunately, the message about who he was supposed to be meeting was slightly garbled, so all Gweld knows is that he’s supposed to wear a little silver snake earring - which looks very dashing on him, actually - and wait until someone gives him the passcode.
Which no one has, yet, and they’re five days into this week-long cruise. He’d be worried, except that VIPER agents are notoriously paranoid, so whoever it is is probably just biding their time and making sure he’s the right contact, and in the meantime he’s enjoying the hell out of his little side project:
Seeing if he can successfully flirt the prickliest, snarkiest, most delightfully sharp-edged woman he’s ever met into his bed.
Thus far he has managed to coax her into having dinner with him once, and he didn’t even get stabbed with a fork! Or a steak knife, for that matter.
Serrit no-last-name-given is a dark-haired, dark-eyed, leanly elegant woman of about Gweld’s own age, who dances like a dream and moves like she has years of martial arts training. She’s a tattoo artist, and the pictures she’s shown him of her work are deeply impressive. She has a filthy sense of humor and always sits with her back to a wall and could probably put one of her terrifying stilettos right through someone’s throat if she wanted to.
Gweld finds her fascinating.
He can’t exactly have a girlfriend - being a professional spy does rather ruin one’s relationship prospects - but if he could, he’d want it to be someone like Serrit, full of hidden depths and unexplored facets, dangerous and prickly and wild. He’s been very clear that he’s not offering her anything long-term, just a fling for as long as they’re on this cruise, and she hasn’t said no -
But she also hasn’t said yes, which is why he’s currently sweet-talking one of the waiters into setting up a table on a secluded corner of the deck so that he can see if a romantic candlelit dinner will charm her or get him stabbed. Either would be interesting, at least. Though he’s definitely hoping for the former.
She looks distinctly dubious when he leads her out to the secluded nook, but she neither stabs him nor leaves, so Gweld is counting it as a win. He lets her open and pour the wine, which she seems to appreciate. And they actually manage to have quite a pleasant conversation, starting with the most interesting tattoo she’s ever been asked to do (a photorealistic elephant beetle on someone’s leg, which opens its wings as they straighten their knee) and winding through the oddest food Gweld has ever eaten in his cover-role as a freelance journalist. Serrit even laughs several times, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. And when the meal is over, she accepts his offer to take a walk around the upper deck and look at the stars.
He’s feeling very good about his chances to win at least a kiss by the time they pause up near the prow, half-hidden by a stack of beach umbrellas. He rolls up his sleeves and leans back against the railing, posing a little to show off the breadth of his chest and the strength of his forearms, and Serrit does look at both with a hint of admiration in her eyes.
She steps in close, so close he can feel her breath against his lips -
And leans in -
And murmurs, “I shed my skin but not my fangs,” into his snake-adorned ear.
Well, fuck.
Gweld is rather proud that he doesn’t flinch or squawk. “Serrit of VIPER, I assume,” he replies, low enough to be taken as a lover’s sweet nothings, the two of them close enough together that any casual observer would assume they were kissing at the very least.
She chuckles, low and throaty and smug. “You’re good, puppy,” she replies softly. “I almost believed you were really interested in me.”
“As much as it pains my professional pride to admit it,” Gweld says ruefully, “I am really interested. I had no idea you were my contact until just now.”
Serrit draws back just far enough to examine his face in the faint light. “Really,” she says thoughtfully. “Huh.”
Gweld gives her a crooked smile. “Really.”
Serrit tilts her head. “You have strange taste, Wolf.”
“It’s been remarked on before,” Gweld agrees. “The flash drive is in my pocket, by the way.” Safest to have it on him - and his pants are tight enough that he’d definitely notice a pickpocket.
Serrit chuckles and slinks forward again until she’s pressed up against him, not even a breath of air between their chests, her lips a hair’s breadth from his own. One long-fingered hand slides into his pocket, torturously close to somewhere else he’d quite like those fingers, and back out again to slip the flash drive into her own pants pocket, so quickly Gweld suspects even a very suspicious observer would not have been able to tell.
And then she leans forward that last little bit and brushes their lips together in a far-too-fleeting kiss.
“Keep trying, Wolf,” she murmurs in his ear. “Maybe you’ll have better luck next time.”
And then, as she pulls back, she smirks and adds, “I prefer daggers to chocolates,” and saunters away.
Gweld stands there feeling a little dazed, his pants much too tight and his thoughts whirling in unhelpful little circles. The only conclusions he can come to are that he’s going to ask Vesemir to assign him to all the VIPER liaison missions from now on…
And he’s going to stock up on really nice daggers, just in case.