He's in the middle of a meeting at headquarters. Not a particularly important meeting, just one of those meetings at the end of the month to go over what's happened so far, etc. Johnny looks to be doodling in his notebook, Briggs is fiddling with that Buddhist amulet around his neck, nodding along importantly, and Charlie…Charlie's fishing out her cell phone?
Mike narrows his eyes at her warningly, but she just looks up and gives him a wink that spells trouble.
He mentally groans when his phone vibrates in his pocket, but she's looking at him pointedly, so he retrieves it and peeks under the heavy wooden table at the glowing screen.
I'm booorreedd.
He frowns. Another message comes within seconds.
Guess what I'm wearing ;)
He glances up, eyes wide. She's grinning like a shark, those chocolate-brown eyes he likes so much alight with mischief. Mike types out a reply hurriedly.
Charlie, we're in a meeting. Plus, I'm sitting right across from you. I don't need to guess.
She sticks out her bottom lip just a fraction, micro-pouting at him as their boss drones on and on about proper FBI protocol for jobs (he supposes it's probably because of the whole thing with Lauren, but she's not here, and he thinks Jakes is asleep). You're no fun.
He sighs. Fine. You're wearing a denim skirt and a tank. And I think sandals. Happy?
She kicks his shin lightly. No, silly, I meant underneath.
Funny how such a simple message can make his mouth go dry. Charlie.
Yeeesss? ;) Problem, Levi?
Catherine Demarco, we are not sexting in front of our boss. Not to mention our coworkers.
She shifts, her shoulders lifting just a tiny fraction before lowering. I think we are, Michael. Fine. Do you want me to give you a clue? He resists the urge to put his head in his hands, or pinch the bridge of his nose. Fine, well, they're red, and they're lacy, and I do recall a certain agent telling me he liked them.
Shoot. He knows exactly what she's talking about – a pair all translucent crimson lace, slung low on her hips, accentuating miles of tan skin that feels like silk under his fingers. Ah, hell.
She's grinning, and there's the soft rustle of her kicking off her sandals before a foot comes curling around his calf, sliding up teasingly. He glares, catching Paige's attention, but when they both look at Charlie, she's just shrugging innocently with an expression that suggests, well, if a red bra strap denting her collarbone is visible now as her tank top straps slide, that was totally unplanned.
Charlie, I swear to God, unless you want me to corner you in one of those abandoned offices and fuck you senseless on a desk, you have got to stop doing this in meetings.
Her eyes widen a fraction, chocolate brown darkening just a hint, and the corner of her mouth curls up in the way that always makes him want to lean over and kiss it before she types furiously back: What if I want that, huh, Levi?
That foot is now wriggling down the inseam of his jeans, climbing up his thigh, and he's severely tempted to bang his head against the desk.
Luckily, the meeting is now officially over, the rest of the FBI agents meandering around the table to chat, Jakes scurrying to the bathroom and Paige rapping the side of the coffee machine angrily. He grabs Charlie by the wrist.
"I'm totally going to get you for that," he growls into her ear quietly, and represses a smirk at the way she shivers ever so slightly.
Somebody taps his shoulder. It's Johnny. "Hey, um, boss said somebody named Juan wanted to talk to you? That's your shrink, right? Eh, man, while you're out in crazy feelings land, we're gonna go Hector's. We'll get you something, kiddo, okay?"
"Yeah, thanks," he murmurs, trying to hide disappointment and frustration as they filter out the door and down the hallway out towards the exit, Charlie sashaying away in that damn skirt and tossing a "you be good now, Mikey," over her shoulder.
He stomps towards Juan's office, before he's struck with an idea. Mike grabs his phone from his back pocket, fingers flying over the tiny keyboard.
Your turn. Guess what I'm wearing. ;)