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I watch you.
How can anyone, not watch you?
You swagger into the office with a golden aura and all smiles.
You stop at Hawkeye's desk, which is across from mine. That lithe frame of yours bends over to look at some paper on her desk and your backside paints a portrait worthy of any museum wall. She says something and you rub your chin in thought. A wicked grin slides across that gorgeous mouth and you respond with something that makes her smile. You take one of the papers from her, breeze by my desk and head straight to his office.
Breda stops you mere steps away, pulls you to his desk and starts to discuss strategy with you. I'm so busy watching you I don't realize I'm being watched myself. When the feel of eyes upon me does finally creep up my spine, I look up to see blue-black eyes boring into me. An all too knowing smile is on his face and if I had a little less pride, I would have ducked my head in shame. As it stands, I know his eyes have strayed to the same golden sea and leather clad thighs, so a stare down it is.
Never breaking eye contact with me he calls your name, your actual name, not your title and you respond without so much as a harsh word. I feel my eyes go wide when a white gloved hand with a crimson symbol on it settles on your shoulder, lingering longer than what could ever be necessary. Just when I think you are used to that touch a strange look crosses your face, and you glare at Roy before marching into his office mumbling about weird old men.
This takes a bit of the wind out of the Chiefs sails but he holds his head high and with an arrogant look meant for no one but me, he closes the door.
With the sound of that click, I can't help but feel something has just begun.